It was a huge shame to have to leave Ranthambhore after those four spectacular days, but I needed to get to Delhi to catch my train back to the North East. The journey itself was relatively painless in the Kota Express. It was crowded due to the holiday and we arrived in time at one of Delhi’s main stations.


This was my first real experience of Delhi . My last visit six weeks ago being confined to the area around the airport. Certainly from the train window I could only make out a view of the slums, where people were eating their lunch some even sitting between the railway lines as we arrived, surrounded by mountains of filth and squalor. I was hoping for a slightly modern railway station, but this wish was in vain. Everybody seemed to be travelling, and the squash to get up and down the stairs was severely uncomfortable.


Outside, the reputation of the Delhi taxi drivers and rickshaw drivers was instantly confirmed as true as everybody was trying to rip me off. Eventually I gave in to one, and he drove me 100 yards to an army road block, turned round and said “Obama is here today, all roads to the centre are closed, but I an find you a new hotel.”  I just got out and walked. He was left by his rickshaw in front of the army yelling at me. Outside of the railway station it was easier to find a more honest rickshaw driver, but the blocked roads and traffic jams were a real problem . Obama was certainly in town and my 7 kilometre journey ended up taking just under two hours.


I arrived at the super friendly Ajanta Hotel next to the New Delhi Railway station in mid afternoon. Here, to my great disappointment, the internet also hardly functioned. After going down the road and spending a vast amount on a mediocre coffee, I realised that this must be an ‘all India’ issue. Luckily, Jack the manager of Ajanta was super helpful and he managed to summon up the Indian train website on his mobile and quickly ascertain that my requested seat, which I purchased in Jodhpur, was still on a waiting list. With just eight hours to go he looked suitably concerned when I asked whether this waitlisting could have a success story. Consequently I asked him if he had any suggestions for me and it was then that we found out that all tickets on trains heading to the northeast over the next few days were also on a waiting list . He did though discover a tourist quota seat available in 1st Class on the train the following day.


I ran off to the station and up to two floors of the concrete edifice to the Tourist Ticket Office to find a row of humourless, morose ticket sellers. Within minutes I had my ticket and a refund on my old one. Back in the hotel I thanked Jack, and then started to tackle my next issue. My friend Nungty in Dimapur had asked me to buy some night cream for her. “You will be lucky to find anything open today, with Obama arriving and Republic Day tomorrow. Just a few local chemists,” Jack mentioned. I hurried around the local bazaar. After some eight fruitless attempts a kind Chemist said I need to go to Connaught Place and I would find it there. Into the subway I went as the sun set and emerged in Connaught Place to find some shops open but no Chemists open. I tried a whole host around the major hospital and gave up, with little accomplished. Faced with road blocks in every direction, I found the subway, but then could not remember where I had caught the train from. It was late in the evening when I finally found the Ajanta Hotel.


The next morning Delhi was like a ghost town. Everyone was watching the parade on TV. I managed to eat a wholly unsatisfying breakfast and then packed and left for the train station. I had always wanted to travel First Class in India especially on the high class Rajdani Express and now I was going to get the chance. I had travelled First Class in China in the 1990’s and was interested to compare. Unfortunately, the usually helpful Indian Info screens did not work at New Delhi Railway Station and after an intensely physical slog all the way to Platform 16, I could not find the carriage on the 20+ carriage train. There were no staff (I could find) unlike in China to help and the catering staff spoke little English and spent most of the time telling to speak with the Railway Staff, whom I could not find. After ten minutes of sitting in the “1A” carriage a kind fellow passenger told me I was in the wrong carriage. Actually it did not look right. “For first class find the “H” carriage,’ he helpfully suggested. Now why hadn’t I thought of looking for a carriage with ‘H’ instead of running up and down the train with my bags.


First Class in India is four beds to a compartment, not two like China. A regular 2nd Class here is six beds and third is eight. All meals and drinks here are included and cooked next to the cabin - so there is no dinning car like in China, Russia and EU. All the food i was given here was very good, much better than normal stuff on the trains. Firstly I settled into the cabin and took the opportunity of a stationary carriage to tie up my luggage with a chain (an Indian thing - recommended by India Trains). Suddenly I realised that I was staring into the eyes of a large well fed rodent (a mouse I guessed) who shuttled under my fellow travellers bed, as he entered the room.


Bala was an army doctor off to his posting in Shillong and he did not appear to notice the rodent. A very nice man, he sported a “Bobby Charlton” haircut. That is, a long strand of hair that is combed (strand by strand) over a balding head. I had not seen one of those in 30 years. I decided against telling him about the rodent. I had told a member of the catering staff, but he had just shrugged and brought me a cup of tea (which I assumed was for me and not the rodent).


We started moving under the grey Delhi skies and it took a good thirty minutes to get out of the city. Every 2 hours the catering staff emerged with food, sometimes I assumed it was dinner, but then Bala would add “its a snack”. As it was getting dark we stopped in Kanpur in UP and two elderly passengers came into the cabin. They were both in the late sixties and duly got the bottom two bunks. The man’s wife “she is called Gentle” (he said when he introduced her) was dressed in a beautiful pink and gold shawl and seemed to spend most of the night shivering. The man (I forget his name) was very talkative and was quick to tell us he was a member of the Jain religion. In fact all three were very friendly and quite talkative although Mr Jain did insist on praying for two hours in the evening and early morning whilst also sending back the food as it was not either vegetarian enough or was the wrong thing at the wrong time of day. I was surprised to found out what a complicated life these devotees have to follow.


The only other thing of note was Gentle’s flatulence. Her belching and wind knew no bounds, both in volume and quantity. When we were eating, drinking, sleeping, reading and getting up - she let rip. Usually in rapid succession. At times this was reminiscent of an AK47 machine gun - and from both barrels. Rarely have I met such a petit lady with such a prodigious talent. It was so hard not to say something or even refrain from making eye contact. Gentle was certainly a wind machine. At times Bala kept the compartment door wedged open and in Northern Indian in mid winter this was bracing, but again all four of us ignored the reason and went on if nothing was happening. During the evening, after dinner I had to take the opportunity to investigate the kitchen in the adjoining compartment just to get some fresh air and suppress my giggles. When I got back Bala again had the compartment door wedged open. Despite this, the next day I bid farewell to my fellow companions when Guwahati station arrived bringing certainly a welcome relief of fresh air.


With minutes I was back in Baruah Bhavan with Raj, Hari and everyone else. Unfortunately the internet issues which had dogged my planning, blogging, communication attempts in Rajasthan and Delhi were also here, 1800 kms away. Exasperating, but at least the internet did actually work - although at just a snails pace, so some basic chores were completed included most importantly booking my return flight to the UK.


Raj was as helpful as ever and soon pointed me in the direction of some clothes shopping, medical procurement, book buying, camera supplies etc. Everything I had been unable to do in Delhi due to arrival of a head of state. Within twenty four hours I was again ready for the North East and arguably the most demanding stage of my current Indian venture. Unfortunately this meant that yet again I had not seen any of the sights in Guwahati I had planned too, and I mentioned to Raj that next time I must.


The following morning I was off to Dimapur to see Nungty for her birthday party. Nungty, who is one of my oldest Naga friends, has been very kind to me on my visits to Nagaland last year and I was determined to attend her birthday. As she was in the process of moving apartment again(!), she kindly asked an old friend of hers Amon to accommodate me which he very kindly did.


We had a great birthday party first in the valley north of Dimapur on the road to Kohima. Here we had a picnic before returning to Dimapur and carrying on in a restaurant before ending at Amon’s apartment. Exhausted I had a good night’s sleep, before enduring a futile days search for a railway ticket plus another problematic day trying to secure a permit for Arunachal Pradesh.


As the day drew on, Indian was throwing her best bureaucratic delaying tactics at me and I knew at one time I was endanger of loosing my cool, when my rickshaw driver, knowing that I had a few minutes to get to a bank before it closed, decided to stop and talk to a fellow auto rickshaw driver. Consequently I missed the bank and the driver just shrugged his shoulders.


In view of this and my overwhelming tiredness I asked Amon if I could crash an extra day. This turned out to be a relaxing godsend as it certainly improved my state of mind. I also managed a trip to see Heka at Little Lights Coffee to get some more supplies.


On Monday, Amon took me to the station where (after another prolonged ticket purchasing fiasco), I managed to board the express for Jorhat and Majuli Island, eventually.