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Barrackpore railway station

“I once saw a bleeding, severed hand from the window of a train.  Then a few seconds later, another body part – it was as if they had been thrown out, one after the other.  I felt a hollow just below my sternum, as I looked away quickly.

It was on my way to school – I took a train to a school in Calcutta, from a rural station some 25 miles to the north. There had been talk of political violence, but I was eleven, and had paid little attention to it.  Newspaper stuff – grown up talk – they missed so much, reading bad things in newspapers and discussing it all endlessly. Pointless, I thought. I got to school and told a couple of my friends.  They thought I was making it up.”


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