2nd AC

Calcutta Int'l Airport - the Sify Cafe (now a card-carrying member)

Clearly too pampered till now. Windamere with its hot water bottle tradition lulled me, muffled my road smarts. No call for my whinging about a second class train seat, and no need for upgrade. The Uttar Banga, while the least romantic of the three trains that leave NJP for Calcutta every eve (the romancers: The Darjeeling Mail and the Kanchenjunga Express), it may be the least intimidating.

Once it revealed the secret of which of the nameless, numberless identical sleeper cars was my S1, all fell into place and there was no call whatsoever for me to lash myself and bag to the seat. In the berth opposite mine: a grandmother whose son came prepared her bed, switched off her reading light. Below a chubby lady happy more than happy to stow my case beneath her seat. Across the train aisle, a form that slept the entire journey finish beneath an embroidered Kashmiri shawl. The conductor made a pointof checking in one me. Head propped on my daypack, reading Indian Travelers Tales, I fell right back in love with India.

For all the good vibes, sleep did not just tip toe in. My berth was in the compartment's social neighborhood of smoke breaks, morning throat clearings, ladies with their with toothpasted-toothbrushes, chattering bathroom queues and, intermittently, the chai/coffee wallahs. The stations themselves - save for the vendors who boarded at them - were quiet in the morning, only birdsong.

And so we came into Sealdah.

C