The beauty of late-night trains is you can hop on, deal with the ticket collector, and then straight to bed. Early evening trains? Ugh. You get the whole circus: tea/coffee vendors, biscuit sellers, dinner caterers, and, of course, the beggars. Not to mention the chatty co-passengers who think they're on a late-night talk show.
Adventures in Railway Berths and Snoring Symphonies
I found my berth in coach B2 and couldn't believe my luck: a lower berth! I was about to give myself an invisible high-five when three Gujarati-speaking ladies entered. The youngest, a cute lady, sweetly asked if I'd swap my lower berth for the middle one so her elderly mother could have my spot. With a smile that could melt butter, I couldn't say no.
Moments later, the same lady made a similar request to the other guy with a lower berth, this time for her aunt who had the upper berth. The guy looked crestfallen and mentioned some vague nasal problem but agreed to swap with me. So, two swaps later, I was promoted to the upper berth, with Mr. Nasal Problem right below me.
Moments later, the same lady made a similar request to the other guy with a lower berth, this time for her aunt who had the upper berth. The guy looked crestfallen and mentioned some vague nasal problem but agreed to swap with me. So, two swaps later, I was promoted to the upper berth, with Mr. Nasal Problem right below me.
Nasal Nightmares: When Snoring Sounds Like a Spitfire
Nothing unusual about this guy, except for a flap of skin behind his head that looked like a dog ear. He quickly hit the sack and began making deep guttural sounds. His "nasal problem" was an understatement; it sounded like a WWII Spitfire engine on its last legs.
Being right above him, I experienced the full acoustic effect. It was like being in a dogfight, with this guy creating turbulence below me. I reached for my Philips GoGear MP3 player, only to find I had no earplugs. Desperate, I considered cotton buds, but that was like holding an umbrella in a thunderstorm.
His snores varied in rhythm and pitch, making it impossible to ignore. Each minute felt like an eternity. I stepped out of the AC cabin, hoping the TC (ticket collector) was still around. By some miracle, he was. I explained my predicament, and he muttered something in Tamil while scanning the reservation chart.
"B51 is available," he finally said. I almost hugged him. I quickly grabbed my stuff and navigated the cold, dark railway bogey, which now resembled a morgue with bodies wrapped in white sheets. I found B51, another upper berth. Relief was short-lived, though - this section had not one but two snorers already in full swing!
I landed in Coimbatore the next morning, bleary-eyed and sleepless, feeling like I had survived a night in a snoring symphony orchestra
His snores varied in rhythm and pitch, making it impossible to ignore. Each minute felt like an eternity. I stepped out of the AC cabin, hoping the TC (ticket collector) was still around. By some miracle, he was. I explained my predicament, and he muttered something in Tamil while scanning the reservation chart.
"B51 is available," he finally said. I almost hugged him. I quickly grabbed my stuff and navigated the cold, dark railway bogey, which now resembled a morgue with bodies wrapped in white sheets. I found B51, another upper berth. Relief was short-lived, though - this section had not one but two snorers already in full swing!
I landed in Coimbatore the next morning, bleary-eyed and sleepless, feeling like I had survived a night in a snoring symphony orchestra
