The signal drops before you do
Your phone loses network somewhere between Karjat and Khopoli, and for a moment you reach for it reflexively, the way you'd reach for a glass that isn't there. Then the train curves into the first tunnel and the carriage goes dark except for the pale green glow of the exit sign, and you stop reaching. Outside, when the light returns, the hills are so close you could almost touch the wet ferns pressed against the rock face. The Sahyadris in July look like they've been wrung out and hung up to dry, every surface dripping, every shade of green turned up past what seems reasonable. You don't decide to pay attention. You just do.
