Here among the plants, I am six again, running through the forest on my grandparents' farm in the Western Ghats. Peppercorn, cardamom, and ginger, boiled together by the humidity like a cup of chai. When anyone would get upset, my grandmother would say, 'When everything goes wrong, perhaps it's setting itself right.' For the longest time, I couldn't find truth in her words. How, out of so much loss, she could find hope. But now, I think I see it. Here, with them, pulling together for something more than just survival. On Snowpiercer, one-thousand and twenty-nine cars long.

Asha