2 tier ac (2 bunks, air condiioning) is a wonderful way to travel. Its decor is the plastic material that is generally reserved for the various forms of hospital stretchers and other surgical wheeled devices. I am constantly brought tea and food and then at night my seat folds out to form a bed, of medical standard. I draw the curtains to the rest of the carriage and I am in a cocoon of my own. Me and the blackness of the Indian night rushing past.

In the night we pass a station full of sleeping people, I note that the style of dress has drastically changed from Mumbai and that full on handle bar mustaches seem to be the fashion in this rural area.

To the sound of a cacophony of snoring and flatulence I gently drift off to sleep. With the thought that it would be quite easy to have sex in this cocoon of mine. At 2 I finally sleep, I believe my last thought was of my bobbing white arse rushing across the Indian landscape, a rythmic bastion of light in a dark world.

At 7 I am awoken to a  gentle alarm over the tannoy reminding me that it is 7 and that I should be awake when India wakes up. I look out of the window and marvel at the silky, silvine (Is that a word?) mist  that hangs like a mystical blanket over fields upon fields of shitting men. There are thousands of them, they are everywhere. Squatting like mere cats, they all have found their individual spots and orientate themselves so that they are not facing another shitting man. No hiding in a bush for these men, the open field is the place to go.

Good morning India.

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