I saw a boy in a wheelbarrow. His father pushed him around, along the rail tracks where the people live. He says something and the rather laughs. Then he moves faster and the child is beside himself with glee.

A few metres ahead, there is a pink goat. You can name her if you wish, it won't matter, because the first thing you notice is, is that she's pink. She's talking to a cat, and the cat looks deeply interested, which reflects well for the goat because our feline friends are not known to be generous with their attention.

Soon enough, the boy, the wheelbarrow and the father trundle towards the animals and the animals scamper to the side, both out of fear and for privacy.

I crane my neck to see what might unfold beyond this, but my train moves along and everyone is just silhouettes now, in the sinking Bombay sun.