We finally got on the (right) train, less than four hours late. Mac looked over at me, smiled and said, "Well, that was easy." Ha, ha. We settled in easily ( the cars were marked this time) and met our neighbors, a few quiet men, one of whom was chain smoking, and a pack of loud, unruly teenage boys who were playing loud music and trying to wrestle each other from the upper bunks. It was about 12:30 at night. In the rest of the sleeping cars, the lights were out and people were- you guessed it! - sleeping! We had been at the train station since about 4 pm, so we were ready to relax, as much as one can relax while sitting up in a smoke-filled, cold, loud filthy train. The seats were basically benched with thin vinyl padding. The whole train seemed ancient. I finally poked one of the teenagers and told him to "knock it off" (I felt so old!), which they all did, and then I turned off the lights win vague approval from the rest of the grown-ups and tried to get comfortable for the next 12 hours or so. The chain smoker left and another man came, asking questions like "what do you think of India?" And "why do you think history is important?" When his phone rang I took my chance, pulled my hat down over my eyes and fell asleep.
Somehow Mac got a whole long bench (a bed, really) to himself, though at some point in the night the TTE came and woke him and the man across the aisle up and demanded that they switch beds. Sarah and I shared the one bed, next to windows that wouldn't shut, waking every hour or two to find a new balled-up position that might hurt less. By morning we were exhausted and so grateful for the sun making its way in through the filthy windows to warm us a bit.
Somehow Mac got a whole long bench (a bed, really) to himself, though at some point in the night the TTE came and woke him and the man across the aisle up and demanded that they switch beds. Sarah and I shared the one bed, next to windows that wouldn't shut, waking every hour or two to find a new balled-up position that might hurt less. By morning we were exhausted and so grateful for the sun making its way in through the filthy windows to warm us a bit.
I got up at sunrise, watching the towns pass, one after another, families waking up, lighting fires, heating water and food, bathing next to the tracks from communal spigots. Everyone around me was asleep. I sat there, huddled in my thin, "borrowed" Aerosvit blanket, watching other people start their days, feeling a bit like I was getting an intimate look at these strangers, and through that intimate look, feeling like they weren't strangers at all.
The chai man came through every half hour or so, offering tea to the waking passengers. People folded their blankets and took turns in the bathroom (private, stinky hole in the floor), and one woman repeatedly cleared phlegm from her nose and throat as poor Sarah was disgusted almost beyond words. As it got closer to the juicy, light-filled middle of the morning, each stop brought new faces, both commuters and vendors, the commuters taking out playing cards and organizing games or reading the paper, the vendors coming on walking up.and down the aisles with offers of food (mountainous towers of fried something, vegetable patties, bags of chips and bottles of soda), shoe shines, fixed zippers or quick tailoring, even some sort of trading cards, until the train began to slowly crawl forward. There were also beggars at each stop, children who passed out notes, women with tiny, portable shrines, a man who swept the aisles, stopping every so often to extend an open hand to a passenger. As the only white people in the car, Sarah, mac and I were prime targets. Sarah avoided this by continuing her uncomfortable sleep, and Mac was sort of turned away from the rush, but my seat was right in the middle of it, and I was fully conscious. I was surprised at how many of the beggars found poking me to be the most appropriate way to convey their needs, and I tried to ignore them all. I had nothing to give, anyway, apart from an apologetic smile (which left my face quickly the more they poked me).
When we arrived at our stop, we had to find a cab to drive up up into the mountains to McLeod Ganj. It was a beautiful drive, and we were so excited to finally be there at our yoga school, when we finally found it. The view from our room was of the mountains and valleys, with huge birds soaring and diving and mongeese running through the brush below... We couldn't have imagined it any better. Class was to begin the nest morning, so we settled in and met our classmates, and tried to get some sleep.
The chai man came through every half hour or so, offering tea to the waking passengers. People folded their blankets and took turns in the bathroom (private, stinky hole in the floor), and one woman repeatedly cleared phlegm from her nose and throat as poor Sarah was disgusted almost beyond words. As it got closer to the juicy, light-filled middle of the morning, each stop brought new faces, both commuters and vendors, the commuters taking out playing cards and organizing games or reading the paper, the vendors coming on walking up.and down the aisles with offers of food (mountainous towers of fried something, vegetable patties, bags of chips and bottles of soda), shoe shines, fixed zippers or quick tailoring, even some sort of trading cards, until the train began to slowly crawl forward. There were also beggars at each stop, children who passed out notes, women with tiny, portable shrines, a man who swept the aisles, stopping every so often to extend an open hand to a passenger. As the only white people in the car, Sarah, mac and I were prime targets. Sarah avoided this by continuing her uncomfortable sleep, and Mac was sort of turned away from the rush, but my seat was right in the middle of it, and I was fully conscious. I was surprised at how many of the beggars found poking me to be the most appropriate way to convey their needs, and I tried to ignore them all. I had nothing to give, anyway, apart from an apologetic smile (which left my face quickly the more they poked me).
When we arrived at our stop, we had to find a cab to drive up up into the mountains to McLeod Ganj. It was a beautiful drive, and we were so excited to finally be there at our yoga school, when we finally found it. The view from our room was of the mountains and valleys, with huge birds soaring and diving and mongeese running through the brush below... We couldn't have imagined it any better. Class was to begin the nest morning, so we settled in and met our classmates, and tried to get some sleep.
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