Unfortunately I woke up with grade A Tummy Lurgy. I know that the universe was preparing to loose it on me and I was not particulalry suprised, but I wasn't pleased either. This meant I spent, in essence, the entire afternoon before I had to leave lying in bed and trying not to die, which was about as riveting as you might imagine.

I finally managed to rouse myself at 2:30 for the cab driver, who looked at me curiously as I curled into a ball of pain by the window. Thankfully, I was so exhausted that I was not particularly affected by the switch-back laden trek down - I even fell asleep.

I stumbled out onto the Dehradun train platform and managed to figure out which platform I left from. Too exhausted to contend for platform space with the extremely settled looking businessman who had consigned it, I squatted on the cement like everyone else and stared off into space (while everyone else stared at me.)

The train arrived promptly and I seated myself in first class - Sheila had got me first class to avoid any chance of my contending with a Bad Element. The car itself was not markedly different from the second class one - other then featuring larger seats and an absence of dogs - but the service men were wearing funny hats which I suppose attracted a premium. First class also means lots and lots of food. We were plied with an introductory course of samosas, candy bars, chocolate mints, potato chips and god knows what else with a promise of a multi-course meal to come. I of course couldn't manage much more then a couple of toffees.

I was also amused to note that a sadhu-appearing gentleman with long unwashed hair and white pilgrims clothes was comfortably settling into a plush seat and checking messages on his expensive cellphone.

The sun was going down and we sped through the rhodendron jungles and past the ever-decreasing, shadowy spires of the Himalayan foothills (rising incongorously up from the orange and parched low-lands.) I slipped further and further away into a sort of waking dream as the train rattled on to a sacred Ganges river town, full of whitewashed temples and elaborate Hindu statues, lit pink and orange by the evening light. The Ganga itself seemed to be running dry, and children and bored looking men picked through the white washed stones and mounds of trash left in the river bed. We stopped at the station and I got a momentary glimpse of hordes of white-attired pilgrims packing up their stuff and preparing to go home after their mandated yearly (i think) wash. A pack of young boys dozed on top of an imposing stack of microwave ovens.

I then fell asleep.

I awoke after the tomato soup course had been served, much to my consternation - soup sounded pretty good. I did manage to choke down some tasty and partially frozen curd, a little bit of butter chicken, and a bit or two of too-greasy paratha. I was thrilled when they served us butterscotch ice cream for dessert. Somehow few things are more elementally comforting when you're sick then butterscotch ice cream.

We arrived around 11:30 at night and Sheila's friendly cook met me again. I was feeling slightly restored and managed to keep up as we weaved our way around jubilant hordes of late night travelers. Unfortunately the Delhi train station's staircase is extremely tight and we had to contend for space for almost 15 minutes, fighting for breathing space with plump grannies and muscular young men with equal vehemence. But we made it - and I fell into bed with every intention of staying there a good long time.