Smoke, crushed metal, and screams. Objects and bodies strewn on the railway tracks. I’m bleeding and unable to move. My consciousness has a gaping hole through which memories surge in.
Twenty years ago when living in the Mumbai slums close to the railway tracks, a deafening crash had ruptured my sleep. That night Father had come home with the shiny promise of gold jewelry hiding within his clothes.
Now, someone moves me away from the wreckage. My eyesight is a blur but I can feel gentle hands carefully removing my gold chain and rings. I smile in spite of my condition.