I THOUGHT THEY were praying. What else would they be doing in rural West Bengal, hands pressed palm to palm in the moonlight? This was India, after all.
But the row of men slung across the road left us no room to pass. I was too busy hoarding the night smells of ponds to be apprehensive at first. I don’t drive a car, or often ride in one, so inhabiting a vehicle puts me in an odd state of remoteness from the world.