The 2963 to Udaipur

"Train travel is the best way to see the country," I've often been told. And I don't mean only by Indians; I've known Americans to remark the same regarding the U.S. Of course, with Americans this declaration is usually followed by a "they say," since few have actually traveled extensively by rail, and one is left to wonder who "they," those who make such a recommendation, really are. Perhaps there is truth in the statement; however, I can't say that I saw much of India on my initial train voyage here, that is, I saw nothing of the country's physical landscape. Much of this blindness can be attributed to timing: the 2963 from Delhi to Udaipur departs at 7 P.M. (just as the sun sets this time of year) and arrives at 7 A.M., perhaps an hour after morning's first light. Thus the window for prime landscape viewing is brief, and in any event light was irrelevant for me: from my vantage in the upper berth, I could see no more than twenty feet to one side of the train. Ultimately, my voyage would be defined by its boredom.

I had purchased a ticket for a 3 Tier AC berth. Evidently, 1st Class was sold out; the ticket agent offered me a choice between 2 and 3 Tier. "What's the difference?" I asked.

"The difference is one of comfort, sir." (It was only later that learned that the nomenclature referenced the number of bunks along the wall in a compartment.)

"What's the difference in price?"

"Anywhere between 700 and 1100 rupees ($18-$27)." (Which actually was the difference between 1st class and 3 tier.)

I opted for less comfort and the Rs814 ticket. My expectation of sharing a compartment with one, or at the most three other people proved optimistic: I would pass the night with eight others (including a three-year-old boy, no ticket required, who shared a berth with his mother). My 3 Tier AC car comprised eight such open compartments of eight berths, abutted by a bathroom on either end.

I had an upper berth, close to the ceiling and clustered among the six berths (three on each wall) on the larger side of the compartment. Among my compartment mates were an older couple who were quite accomodating of my large bag, which couldn't fit under the seat. Their son worked in Manchester, England, they told me. The man was friendly and had rumpled, unruly black hair, a gray moustache, and brownish nubs for teeth. His cell phone would beep throughout the night, intoning a waiting voice message. The three-year-old boy (I'm estimating his age) would cry himself to sleep around 11. Inexplicably, written on his denim shorts, in small letters just above the hem of his left leg, was the word "LICK." Across his butt, in large script, the word "DUDE." Other mates included the boy's mother, a young Sikh man who shared the upper berth across from me, two stern middle-aged men, and a youngish man who climbed into his berth prior to departure and didn't speak a word or descend until we had arrived (except, perhaps, to use the bathroom).

At nine, after eating dinner (my only meal being a small bag of Lay's "India Mysterious Mint" potato chips), everyone, on unspoken assent, prepared their berths and crawled into bed fully clothed. By 10 the lights were extinguished, although I tried for some minutes to read by the glow of an adjoining compartment. Berths were about six feet long, the same as a normal mattress, and precisely as wide as my shoulders. They came with a pillow, two thin sheets, and a heavy brown blanket. In my aerie, I was close enough to the ceiling that I couldn't sit up fully. The lulling, rocking motion of the train was pleasant, and the train's whistle sounded a bit like the soft, sustained note of a trumpeter; still, I couldn't sleep in the cramped quarters. My body continues to adapt to the time difference, a process which will likely take a couple of weeks. I wonder, however, if it will ever adapt to the thin, stiff mattresses and pillows that Indians seem to favor. After a few hours my body ached--shoulders, back, neck, head--and I would manage perhaps a total of two hours of sleep for the night. Dawn's arrival--the window opposite my berth turned gray--was welcome, for it meant I could soon disembark from my berth and the train. Udaipur beckoned. Outside the train station, I asked an auto-rickshaw driver to take me to Seva Mandir (a name known to all in Udaipur), and I was on my way.