![]() ![]() ![]() Everything outside was muted by a thin haze that hung in the air. The warmth of the day slipped away together with the stacked concrete buildings of the city behind us. Though I had already visited several Indian cities, the energy and crowds of people still overwhelmed me I had come from the space of a North Dakota covered mostly in wheat and barley fields. We moved for several hours through chaotic traffic, and layers of Delhi suburbs. ‘Edie.’ She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, remaining cross-legged while the two Indian women stayed deep in conversation in their language that sounded like a song to me. ‘I’m Nola,’ I repeated, putting my hand out to her. ‘Hi,’ she said, sliding over on her bench to make room. She stopped typing, squinting up at me from behind her bifocals. Above the wrinkled lines of her knees were linen cargo shorts and a purple t-shirt that read ‘Never not working’ in bright green letters. She had salt and pepper hair in a crew cut, and twice as many freckles as I did on her tanned face. She was much older and typed with one finger on a cell phone that didn’t have a touchscreen. My bunk was fastened to the wall with straps above where another woman sat cross-legged. ‘Most welcome,’ both women said, chiming one after the other. She was slightly older, or it could have been the reading glasses she wore on the tip of her nose that made her seem that way. ‘Yes, I am sleeping here,’ the other woman said. I noticed a small roll of skin popping out from under the fabric around her ribcage. She was in her mid-thirties, and her sari exposed a soft midriff. ![]() ‘You must be across from us,’ she finished, handing the ticket back to me, still smiling, and pointing to the bunk opposite. This bunk is forty-three A,’ she said, pointing to the bunk above her head. This is Jayshree,’ she replied, smiling warmly. I think I have the upper bunk,’ I said, showing them my ticket. They sat on the lower bed with the upper bunk tucked away behind straps that looked like the seatbelt in an old car. Their earrings clinked in time to the movement of their heads. I waved at them, and they smiled, greeting me in Hindi. I found my compartment where two women sat chatting on one side. ![]() Actual free-range chickens roamed the walkways together with multi-generational families squeezing past train employees stocking food trolleys. As I stepped through carriages in between people and livestock, I looked for the female-only compartment where I had reserved a bed. The train was light blue on the outside with paint peeling away from the metal in flakes its color washed out from exposure to the sun. I boarded the train at New Delhi station in Kamla Market, stuck between busy families gathering luggage and children while everyone tried to find seats. I had left my life and family behind in North Dakota to travel alone in India through Rajasthan and Himachal Pradesh when I met Edie on a train from Delhi to Hyderabad. I started working with her right from the beginning, helping her distribute the cleanest, purest LSD in the world. She is under five feet tall, has bad knees, and wears dentures. Edie looks for a new partner to help her trading of illegal psychedelics, and Nola searches for a way to begin healing from her deeply traumatised childhood after leaving life and her evangelical Christian family behind in North Dakota. Bigger Than it Seems follows the friendship of the young narrator Nola, and Edie, the much older woman from London. She writes poetry, short stories, and is currently completing her second novel. She has lived, worked and studied in Europe, India and the UK since 1999. Andrea Grieb is originally from Detroit, Michigan. ![]()
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