Our train didn’t leave till 12.30 today, but especially as the train left from Old Delhi stn, we decided to go directly there + get ourselves settled. Delhi’s own particular brand of transport is a version of the universal Asian auto-rickshaw, only instead of being pulled by a put-put motor scooter, this one is the normal sort of body attached to a massive old Harley Davidson motorcycle. They operate certain fixed routes, one of them being from Connaught Circus to Old Delhi, for Rs1.50 a head, so we took that, our driver being an old + fat white-bearded Sikh. As a rule, I tend to prefer Sikhs to the other groups I come into contact with in India. I don’t know why – perhaps it’s because one of them hasn’t cheated me yet, maybe simply because I can recognise them.
We picked our way thro’ the squalid hustle of Old Delhi, from where the machine let us off to the stn, + breakfasted there. We spent an hour or two in the first-class waiting-room, + then got on our train. We don’t enjoy Indian train rides one little bit – the trains are dirty + squalid + uncomfortable, the company unconducive. In China, the trains were haven of peace, in India the ride is one simply to be endured. Having said that, this one was relatively civilised, really the best yet. This was mainly because we had a zealous conductor, who made sure, for the most part, that the people in our carriage had reservations. So that at stops along the way, one carriage door would be locked, + he would man the other to check people’s credentials. And generally, too, we were quite fortunate with the people assigned to our compartment, so that all was reasonably civilised.
Only one person travelled the whole way with us, am Iranian Ba’hai girl at college in Udaipur. She was, by our standards, decidedly odd, but occasionally she came out of her shell to be pleasant, + shared her food with us. With the limited resources at our disposal, we reciprocated. I also borrowed the book she was carrying, a Sidney Sheldon thriller, + finished that off. It was much more the thing for a long train journey on hard seats than the dense + pretentious Indian novel I am wrestling with at the moment.
The day finished badly, however. I had been listening to the radio during the evening, but come nightfall I climbed into my middle berth, + lay quite comfortably in my bunk, listening to the radio on the headphones, with the aerial poking out the window. The reception was good, + I was enjoying the programme, a recording of Beethoven’s violin concerto, when suddenly there was a nasty crack. I grabbed the radio to check the damage, + discovered the aerial savagely bent in half, very nearly broken off. I thought at first that I had inadvertently poked the aerial out too far, before I realised that the damage had been done by somebody inadvertently slamming the shutter down. It was dark, so one can only assume it was purely accidental, but it didn’t make me any the less pissed off about it. I didn’t tell Val straight away, not seeing why I should spoil her night as well.
Off to Rajasthan, killing more time before returning to Delhi for our visas.
