The Tran to Varanasi

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ChinaMark and Padraic hopped off the bus in Somewhere, Punjab.

On the way down from McCleod, they had been debating whether to go to Amritsar or Varanasi. Seeing as ChinaMark had only one month in-country before heading off to Thailand, they decided to go to Varanasi. In addition, there was a group of very attractive Israeli females headed that way.

The only problem is that Varanasi is quite far from Somewhere, Punjab. The Israelis had informed their new acquaintances that they had already booked train tickets.

Padraic and ChinaMark went up to the ticket booth, seeking sleeper berths.

“No sleeper.”

(After consultations)

“Can we get seats?”

The usually-humorless man showed a hint of a smile, and gave the tickets to the relieved American duo.

The seats on the train were uncomfortable, but there was plenty of room. On account of foreignness and beardage, Padraic and ChinaMark were able to make friends with a huge Sikh man on the bench across the way.

As the sun set, some more folks got on the train.

Then some more.

Padraic and ChinaMark had the oft-coveted corner seat by the window. By this point, there was standing-room only.

More people got on the train. Then some more. Then some more.

In compartment meant to sit fifteen human beings, there were about sixty-seven people.

The large Sikh directed seating arrangements. He let the friendly foolish foreigners keep their spot. They had as much seating room as their hipbones could lay claim to.

Some more people got on the train.

Padraic had to time his breathing so as to not interfere with the lung-expansion of ChinaMark.

They made eye contact. ChinaMark was wide-eyed, seemingly on the verge of a (futile) panic attack. It was his sixth day in India. Padraic, at least, had two months of India under his belt.

The train maintained its equilibrium of accommodating five times the recommended dosage of humanity for about eight sleepless hours before leveling out to a more reasonable level of insanity.

Padraic crawled onto one of the upper luggage berths, following the example of a small man he had seen make his way to this relative haven. He fit his six-foot three-inch frame next to the (particularly) short dark-skinned farmer, and they slept head-to-toe for about three hours of welcome unconsciousness.

Some Indians know when to suspend the cultural bias against feet.

Morning came, and soon there were almost enough seats for everyone. ChinaMark managed to sleep. They arrived in Varnasi only two hours behind schedule.

Hindus believe that Varanasi is cremation grounds for the entire universe.

No one ever checked their ticket.

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