Cattle class

I woke at seven a.m. yesterday morning, somewhere in northern Maharashtra (or possibly southern Gujarat – it’s difficult to tell), 14½ hours into my 16 hour journey on the Rajdhani Express from Delhi to Mumbai. It’s one of India’s fastest trains, shooting across the country at an average speed of over fifty miles an hour. (FIFTY! Eat my shorts, TGV).

Before the sun went down the previous evening, we had a lovely view of the countryside south of Delhi: it’s mostly flat, farming country, with straw huts dotting the landscape and the odd bored-looking cow to keep us on our toes. Occasionally we’d pass slowly through a small town, where at least half the buildings look unfinished, the bicycle rickshaws skilfully avoid the piles of rubbish, and a handsome temple rises above the throng. And there’s still a cow, only this time it’s wandering along the track, right next to my window, giving me a quizzical, slightly disdainful look like I’ve committed some dreadful faux pas at a cocktail party.

All in all, it’s a much more civilised way to get around than all these ghastly aeroplanes. Where else can you get an 800-mile journey, a comfortable bed for the night, a good supper (mateer paneer, cumin dal, cardamom rice and chapathi, with chutney to spice it up and dahi to cool it down), a well-meaning if slightly mysterious breakfast (a sort of fillet-o-veg with peas and tomato ketchup), lashings of tea and biscuits and a morning newspaper delivered to your bedside… and still get change from forty quid?