Elaine Cook

We were to board the sleeper train that evening for the four hundred and fifty three mile, twelve-hour journey to Allahabad. Before leaving we needed to stock up on supplies for our supper after first snacking on the famous Indian street food. We crowded around a stall where an assortment of delicious looking morsels were being prepared and sold. The vendor dropped unsavoury coloured strings of batter, dough balls or patties into bubbling hot oil. They sizzled until becoming a rich golden brown before being ladled out and piled high onto metal plates. My tastebuds danced a wild jig when I sampled the tangy yet spicy potato curry sauce of  Aloo Puri for the first time. There was one ingredient with a subtle aftertaste flavouring the whole dish. It reminded me of a sharper, more pungent version of thyme.

‘That’s carom seeds you’re tasting,’ said Vijay, reading my mind as I dunked the puri, a crisp, golden soft puffed up pillow of delicate fried bread into the sauce.

To finish, I couldn’t resist a plate piled high with Jalebis, fresh from the pan of bubbling hot oil. The aroma of cardamom and saffron had my mouth watering. My jigging taste buds calmed to a sensuous smooch as the golden iridescent swirls of crisp batter soaked in spiced sugar syrup, hit the sweet spot. I chewed slowly, savouring the gelatinous, silken juices sliding over my tongue.

Arrival at the train station followed the same routine with the porters hoisting two bags each on top of their heads, with a further two large bags strung over their shoulders. As usual, people thronged the bustling platform. We stood in a circle around our mountain of luggage, our concentration fixed on Vijay as he read out our bunk numbers for the train. As Vijay gave out the last number he smiled, ‘Now, look behind you everyone. While you were all concentrating on me, everyone else has been concentrating on you.’

We turned as one and broke into laughter. Around us in a huge circle, a crowd of ten deep had gathered watching us with great curiosity. The heads tilted on one side and quizzical looks spoke volumes. People at the back jumped up and down, trying to get a better view. Why are you here? Where have you come from?

The crowd dispersed, and I wandered around with my camera strung round my neck carrying my earlier purchases, six huge oranges and a vegetable wrap, in a white plastic bag. With my photographer’s eye, I scoured the scene for potential subjects. Two children dressed in Goddess costumes and makeup performed acrobatics on the railings of the walkway which descended from the bridge over the platforms. I hadn’t used my Hindi speaking skills very much. Here was an opportunity to use the one phrase I’d practiced over and over at home. Please may I take your photograph? ‘Krypaya main apane sir kaat kar sakate hain?’

They erupted into howling laugher. The elder girl spoke English in her thick Indian accent. ‘Lady, you’ve just asked if you can cut off our heads.’

My faux pas had broken the ice. As I pressed the shutter we chatted about their village school, their families and their excitement at going to the Kumbh Mela.

The children ran off and the loudspeaker burst into life. I guessed that a train must be due to arrive as passengers picked up their bags and moved closer to the edge of the platform. Sure enough, a train came into view and rumbled into the station. Our train wasn’t due for another half hour and I rattled off a few shots from my camera. Travellers boarded, then disappeared into the midst of the long row of blue and white carriages.

The train crawled out of the station, thinning out the crowds. On the platform that ran parallel to ours I noticed a large black and white pig snuffling around in the dirt, her brood of five piglets scurried around her. I became absorbed in the photo opportunities on the other side of the track. It was at the edge of the station in front of a row of single-storey buildings which acted as a playground for a group of rhesus macaque monkeys. As I fired off a few frames, I spotted one particular monkey, the biggest one, sat on the opposite platform watching me. It followed me with its eyes as I wandered around taking photos.

I took a step forward and looked down to raise my camera. Someone shouted, ‘Don’t get too close to it,’ just as the animal sprang to life.

A microsecond later, I saw to my horror that it was thundering across the track towards me.

The macaque came at me with such speed I had no time to think. The only instinctive, desperate reaction I could muster was to turn my back on it. I hunched forward and clasped my camera into my stomach with my right hand. My left arm swung out to my side, out of control with the weight of the bag full of oranges dangling from my wrist. I took a terrified breath, steeled myself and waited for the impact.