Sleeper Train from Ahmedabad to Udaipur

I´m sitting at a computer in Jaisalmer with true high·speed internet, and outside there seems to be a group of cows chewing cud in the dirt. Only in India do we find a new computer covered in dust from the road and stores selling beautiful handicrafts with piles of fly·covered manure just steps outside. I had a glass of the most delicious chai from a man with no front teeth, and just below the chai stand sat a stinking open sewer. And Nick has gotten sick from a nice restaurant with real tablecloths and a menu in good English, while the street food at the train station went down with no problems.

I left off at Ahmedabad. We had sleeper seats on our second train ride, from Ahmedabad to Udaipur. We arrived at our train car and the lights were dim and the aisles too narrow. We found our seats occupied by an Indian family with a full dinner spread before them, and they peered at us curiously and said hello. We shoved our luggage under the seats and Nick, exhausted, pulled himself onto the top bunk to fall asleep as quickly as possible. My bunk was still acting as the seat back for the main row of seats; it needed to be raised and locked in place before I could crash. While I waited for the Indian family to finish their meal, they invited me to partake.

I politely declined, an automatic response. Nick admonished me from above, saying, ¨Eat, it´s rude not to.¨

The youngest of the women, dressed in a lovely sari, asked again if I´d like to try. I nodded okay this time, and she blushed with happiness. I had forgotten that in India people love to share and expect you to accept gifts, even when a complete stranger. She piled a plate high with spoonfuls of each dish and gave me a stack of parathas.

¨We´re all housewives,¨she said proudly. ¨This my mother, this my auntie, they cook the food. That my cousin,¨she said pointing to their bored-looking male escort. ¨Where from you?¨

¨USA,¨ I said, and received a blank stare. I tried again, ¨America, New York City,¨ and she nodded vigorously in understanding. Most Indians don´t seem to recognize U.S. or United States, but always understand me when I say I´m from America.

¨You like?¨she asked, pointing to the plate as I munched away. I was actually grateful for the food, as we´d only had a chance to snack so far and a real meal was well in order.

I nodded, ¨Yes, yes! Very good. You are good cooks!¨ All three woman smiled and spoke among themselves in Hindi, giggling.

The food was good, a homecooked veg meal prepared by the two older women. There were buttered homemade parathas, a spicy green vegetable, a spicy pickle, a dish made of chilis, Ruffles·like chips, a mealy fruit that tasted like dates, and mandarin oranges. They kept saying ¨try, try¨and smiling. The pickle was an odd taste for a Westerner but overall the dishes were tasty and a nice sampling of homecooked food rather than the usual restaurant fare. I couldn´t understand a word the two older woman said even when they attempted English, so I mainly chatted with the younger woman. They were all headed to a cousin´s wedding in Udaipur.

After they finished dinner they put the entire meal setting away in about one minute flat. Nested containers were fit back inside each other, used disposable plates were thrown out (the train window, of course, where else?), and everything was neatly packed away and shoved under the train seats with the rest of the luggage. They promptly pulled out a complete array of sheets, blankets, and blow-up pillows, pulled the middle bunks up and locked them into place, and were lying in bed so fast I wasn´t sure what had happened.

I fumbled with my own bedtime preparations feeling more an idiot tourist than anything else. Nick and I hadn´t really prepared ourselves well for the sleeper train; we had nothing but a single thin sheet and no pillows or blankets. It had been so hot on the daytime train but overnight journeys get quite cold with night air rushing through the open barred windows. I needed to use the bathroom, take out my contacts, and figure out makeshift pillows by using our laundry bag and our down vests. As I chained the luggage to the seats, recommended for travelers on sleeper trains, I was pretty sure my shenanigans seemed pretty silly and strange to the Indian family. The women happily chatted among themselves, but they were really waiting for me to finish banging around. As soon as I finished getting ready for bed they reminded me to turn off the light and then fell completely silent.

In the morning, the train rumbled to a halt and bright light shone in through the windows. In my sleepy daze I swore I heard the Auntie look up at me and say in perfect English, Keep sleeping, we´re not there yet.

But then Nick was up and telling me we had arrived in Udaipur, and before I knew it the Indian family had whisked their luggage away and were gone without a trace. I realized then that Auntie must have said something to me in Hindi, like Hey you get up or you´ll miss your stop!