Chapter 1: The Platform and the Chain

The platform floor was still cool from the night, the smell of spilled chai mixing with coal dust in the humid air. At sixteen, you were selling newspapers at the Lucknow railway station. The platform buzzed with life—hawkers shouting for chai, coolies whistling for customers, the sharp clang of the engine bell blending with distant cries of "Times of India! Hindustan Times! Nai khabar!"

A military train chugged in, coaches painted a dull, intimidating green. An officer in stiff khaki poked his head from the window, moustache twitching. He called in clipped Hindi, "Arrey, paper-wala! Oye, upar uthao paper! Zyada upar!" You rose on your toes, stretching your arms high. Before you could blink, he grabbed your skinny shoulders and yanked you up onto the train—your slippers scraping the metal step, a flash of panic as you clutched your newspaper bundle. For a second, you thought Amma would appear and scold him for manhandling you. The suddenness left you dizzy—the platform’s shouts, the heavy scent of coal, the clatter of wheels below.

A metal chain was locked around your waist. You flinched as the iron touched your skin, instinctively rubbing your waist where the cold metal bit in—just like you did after falling off your cycle as a kid. You stared at the iron links, heart pounding, realizing you were now nothing more than a conscript, dragged away from your ordinary world. The distant whistle of the train seemed to mock you as Lucknow slipped away—cricket matches in the alley and Amma's dal-chawal fading with every mile.