orange saree softly shines in the mild winter sun against blinding green
you drape your pallu around your head
i watch from behind the window of an air-conditioned train compartment
the screen that separates us
you, picking paddy in mud-covered feet me, sitting on my berth with notepad and pen using you as my muse both of us born of the same soil in the same country but suddenly, I wonder if being there makes you more Indian than I am.