“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.”
READ MORE AT THE LINK BELOW