He stood under the shower and let the hot water wash the grime off this body. He closed his eyes and willed the sorry sights etched in his memory to go away but they clung to him. And soon he was standing there again, on the platform waiting for his train to take him back home. And as he stood there, two men and a young girl descended the steps of a second class compartment of an outstation train on the wrong side of the tracks facing him, lifting a woman who appeared to be sick. He stood there and watched as they dragged her across the tracks and placed her at the edge of the platform. He stood there and watched as they tried to revive her, rubbing her hands and legs. He stood there and watched as they asked for help, and none came their way. He stood there and watched as those who were meant to protect passed the woman and barely even acknowledged her presence. He stood there and watched, sympathetic but cynical and unwilling. And yet, the only difference between him and her was that he born on the right side of the tracks.