It was in the middle of France. I was just dozing off in my TVG seat and at that moment Kusmi woke me up. Kusmi--a sweet name, similar to Bengali name "Kusum' which means flower. Kusmi was not a kind person forcing me to open my eyelids to see what I was missing outside. When I looked around, across the dining room of the train, a few people were there. At the corner of one table, three old ladies were talking in their elegant low voices.
And then, Kusmi--a French tea--just emerged from the cook's shelf, put on a white shirt, showed me the greenness spreading across the horizon.
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