Some books are strange. You return to them over and over again and the strangeness continues. One of the strangest books I read was during a train journey from Mumbai to Bangalore in 1974 when I was myself unsure of what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go. So, like the protagonist in Mani Kaul's '27 Down', I travelled on without quite knowing where and why.
I would look out of the train windows and wonder what lay beyond that tree in the plain, the hill in the distance and the infinite horizon. I'd wonder whether beyond that horizon lay another hill, another tree and another train through whose windows looked out another me! I'd get my feet back on the ground at each railway-station stop.