LAHORE	141
on the crude restorations, the modernity of which
was only too apparent, I did my best to kindle my
enthusiasm. Unhappily enthusiasm is not fired
to order.
And I fear that Lahore has stamped itself in-
delibly on my imagination as a huge, conventional
dummy, void of life and personality ; a place where
nothing's doing, tedious as a Sunday afternoon.
When the train we were to take that evening came
in, we found it full; the only vacant place was a
single sleeping-berth in a compartment for four,
occupied by three Englishwomen who feigned
sleep and a whimpering child. We decided to
wait for the next train, due in two hours later.
Aimlessly I roamed about the station, crossing
several lines, exploring subways that ramified in
all directions. Time and again I lost my way in
ill-lit, elusive corridors. In every dark corner, on
benches, on the ground, or sprawling across the
platforms, lay Indians of the poorest class, looking
like little heaps of squalid cast-ofF rags, blue with
dust and yellow with the cumulative grease of
ages. They were waiting for our train or for the
next one, due in at daybreak. Their tickets entitled
them to stay here under cover, and here they were
at home, amongst themselves, with the whole
station for their waiting-room. As Indians wait,
they waited, squatting on the ground, their legs
drawn up and wide apart, an arm lolling on each
knee, in silent immobility. Some men were smok-
ing small clay pipes ; others had cigarettes which
they held between the little finger and the palm of
the hand. When one of them wanted to take a puff
he closed his fist and applied his lips to the orifice
beside his thumb. A cigarette was shared by several
men, who passed it round from hand to hand.