Many years back, I found myself standing at the platform of a railway station. It was a family trip and we had alighted from the train or waiting for one. The vague memory of a yellow frock teases me to believe that, that was what I was wearing then. The twilight rays bathed the station and everyone was doing something or the other. Everything was going well until we noticed a goat's kid in the middle of the tracks. I remember looking at it for a while until I heard its knell; the sound of the train. It was struggling to find its way out of the tracks. I was standing right across and every fibre in my body told me to jump and save it but I froze and stood there, dead still. The train ran over the little kid. Perhaps, that was my first experience with a number of things. The sorrow of death, the horror of its inevitability, being ashamed of my cowardice and having to accept it and move on.
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