The Trans Indian

This is an account of a journey I'll never, ever forget and want to blog down to, if nothing else, purely laud the fortitude of my travelling companion and myself. Probably the longest, most torturous of train journeys from which I emerged my grimiest, tanned -nay, blackened- best. Before I start, let me make it clear that this is from my college days. i.e. that golden era when your pocket money woes would shame the chana seller at your college gate. That probably is the best reason I can give for foolishly buying non-ac train tickets from Bangalore to Delhi in the month of May. That translated to 36 hours of sweating it out at insanely high temperatures. But who cares if you've stood in line three days in advance to get a 50% discount on your ticket? Gloating that we would cross almost the length of the country in 300 bucks, we awaited our nemesis. Plus I didn't know until afterwards that I had magnetic properties. So what if they exclusively attract The Worst Luck Ever. If Lindsay Lohan knew, she'd probably have offered me her role in Just My Luck. As we boarded the fateful train, we made a last-minute supposedly thoughtful purchase. Grapes. Like some KILOS of them, as if they were an endangered fruit on the verge of extinction that we would never eat again. So we got on our train on time, prim and proper that we were, and promptly climbed on to the upper berths that we had specially asked for since we wanted no disturbance in our sleep on the first day of summer break. All smiles, grape juice, chug-chug, all well. Just a lil hot, thats all. The night went fine, and so did the following morning. But as the day started progressing, the roof right on our heads started getting warmer, together with the air being circulated by the fan right on our reddened faces. Desperately fanning ourselves and munching the now-disgusting grapes, we only prayed for the day to end soon so we could be in Delhi the next day. Night fell, and the sun rose the next day with some more plotting against our fate. Just as the day became unbearable and we resembled baked turkeys with a film of gleaming filth, we heard THE news. A train on the same track had been derailed and we would have to spend an extra day circling in Madhya Pradesh, waiting for the tracks to be cleared. May + Madhya Pradesh= Deep regret. For not buying ac tickets. For choosing upper berths. For not wearing something lighter than oversized tees that weren't thin enough. For stuffing enough grapes to bloat our bellies simply for want of a deck of cards that would have been a sport better than chewing saccharine sweet citrus. Two days later, we finally made it to Delhi. A sour expression on our faces and heavy bags on our backs, we took a bus for the last leg of our journey. We had been travelling close to 40 hours, and sort of had a seizure when the tyre got punctured in the middle of nowhere. Hailing every vehicle that crossed the damn bus, we scowled at each one that didn't stop. After some desperate prayers to the cosmos, we got another bus, and finally reached our destination in merely 50 hours. The one decision I made that actually turned out to be a smart one was the one that I took as I reached home. I decided to make a lesser conspicuous back door entry.

Any questions?

One thing that's always baffled me is the constant questioning I get by strangers everytime I travel. By now, I'm such an expert at predicting the volley of queries that will shoot off from my fellow passenger's mouth any minute, that I feel like an amateur clairvoyant. I even know the order, by heart:
1. You are travelling alone?
2. Why?
3. Buy why?
4. Are you married?
5. So are you travelling with your parents?
6. No friends either? Tsk Tsk!
5. So then you are going there to meet someone?
6. So are you a student in that case?
7. So you don't have any work there?
8. Absolutely nothing?
9. You are travelling ALONE? ( pupils dilate, lower jaw drops)
10. Back to question number 2

And the viscious cycle continues, each time with different expressions and exaggerated gesticulation. Suspicious looks, disapproving nudges, she's-not-a-morally-upright-good-Indian-girl looks, and sometimes safety tips. A young gentleman even asked me once if I had run away from home. I had to reassure myself in my head that I indeed WAS a harmless backpacker bumming around peacefully, and didn't have the look of a street urchin or a juvenile child on the run. Constant travel across India has mellowed me down though. I no longer look shocked/surprised if people don't understand that I'm just trying to explore a superb country which others are either not privileged to do or travel half the globe to do. I guess my flaw lies in being an Indian trying to holiday in her own country rather than buying a 4 nights/5 days package to Phuket.