In Rajasthan

I spy you from a long train
traversing the dusty plains
armed Sikhs fore and aft
guard us from dacoits
while we admire views
of ancient citadels
crowning sandstone escarpments
from air-conditioned carriages.

We halt at a desert town
where you wait
in the searing heat
a young Rajput woman
with samosas and bhel poori
for the hungry travellers
who pour from third class
and engulf you
until the whistle blows
and the tide recedes
and you are left to count your rupees
which you slip in to your sari
before looking upwards
and casting me a smile.

Then you turn
and scamper off
between ramshackle huts
as the locomotive chugs slowly
away from your home
and I am left wondering
about a world in which
we will never meet.