Sleeper Class

The trains in India are an experience unto themselves. Sleeper class kicks it up a notch.

The alarm went off at 3:15 and within a minute James came bursting into the room and flipped our light on. "Wakey, wakey!" he snarled. We sat up, oriented ourselves, pounded a cup of coffee and jumped in the autorickshaw for the 45 ride to the train station. On the way we dodged cows, monkeys, pigs, goats, and the occasional pedestrian or bicyclist in complete dusty darkness. We made a few turns, bounced our way through what seemed like a industrial park, and turned onto the bridge that crosses the Ganges to the north of Varanasi. The city was still completely asleep. It was a nice way to say goodbye.

Mughal Sarai Junction was once the largest railway junction in Asia. There are about 4 platforms and 8 tracks. Our driver helped us find the platform, and we waited. One hour went by. Two hours went by. Three hours went by. We asked for the fifth or sixth time. We were told it would only be 30 more minutes, but consistently assured it would arrive at the platform we were on.

We passed the time by buying cookies for the kids they hire to clean the platforms -- although I'm pretty sure they live there -- and trying not to get crapped on by the pigeons above. The platforms are filthy and the air is filthier. The trains rolling in and out looked more like cattle cars than passenger rails, and we were growing increasingly uneasy about the next four hours.

Suddenly another train pulled into the station, and I noticed a dirty sign on the side that read Sealdah Express. Our train...three tracks over. We grabbed our bags and ran up the stairs, over the tracks, and down the ramp to our train, found our car, jumped on, and made our way to our seats. They were taken, but the overhead beds were open, so we hopped up top.

There isn't much room up there, but it's cozy and feels ancient and kind of quaint. Ceiling fans dot the entire surface of the roof of the car making it hard to see too far from your perch, but we settled in, put on some music and zoned out. I fell asleep for a little while and Mike started a book.




When I woke up, I jumped down and looked out the window. The countryside seemed lush considering how dry it was. We passed small towns full of squat angular brick buildings all centered around an incinerator. The train stopped for a little while and we got out on the tracks. It was just starting to get warm. It felt good to be out of a city again. It was quiet.


The train started to move and we all jumped back on. Mike and I climbed back up, bought some chai and a couple of samosas and within an hour or so we where in Gaya, a small town about 25 minutes from Bodhgaya. Once we were out of the station we boarded a rickshaw that barreled out of the city and onto the country roads.

We seemed to be driving along a ridge that separated a dry river bed from some incredibly green farmland. It was just a another simple reminder of the stark dichotomies India has been dealing us since we arrived.

I saw a sign that read "Bodhgaya 12km". The Bodhi Tree awaits.