Home for the next month

Even the dust smells clean

I wasn't looking forward to Bangalore Railway Station. The big stations are crowded and confusing, with high bridges to climb up to move from one platform to another. 

Indian Railways 2AC

Then, almost by accident, I showed James my itinerary and he noticed that my train would be stopping in the suburbs, less than half an hour from his house. 

His driver, Jeevan, loaded me up in plenty of time and we crawled through the traffic but still arrived in plenty of time for the scheduled departure, and in even better for the anticipated delayed departure - 35 minutes late. 

Indian railway platforms are l-o-o-o-ng, and since the timetable allowed only 60 seconds for the stop in this suburban village, I made sure to ascertain roughly where my carriage would be stopping and settled down for the second most frequent activity of life in India, - which is WAITING.  

I was travelling in 2AC - 2-tier air-conditioned sleeper and the ticket for my 6-7 hour journey had cost me £10.80. My Senior age status assigned me a lower bunk, which I appreciated rather than trying to climb the metal ladder and then fall off the shelf.

Not visible night-times

I slept intermittently, worrying about where the train was, since there were no announcements, and few signs station platforms to give any indication of how far the train had travelled. Fortunately, a railway attendant stirred from his bunk to tell me I had one more stop to travel - so perhaps I should have trusted all along that 35 minutes late out of Bangalore would actually mean 35 minutes late into my destination.

What it lacks in amenities, Kulitalai makes up for with the length of the platform. Not that I needed to worry about the long walk as a smiling face of the ashram's driver was hurrying towards me to seize my bags and lead me off to the car. 

By 3.30 I was in bed and fast asleep - and I slept for more than 7 hours.

Still no signs -  to tell me where I was - and a distinct lack of Costa Coffee

When I awoke, the first thing that struck me was the clean, fresh air after the pollution of Bangalore (and -worse still - Mumbai.) My lungs had forgotten the taste of the country air, and I swallowed and savoured it like a parched desert traveller gulping water. When we pulled into the familiar driveway to the ashram and I could easily have rolled out of the car and curled up on the dust - because even the dust smelled clean and fragrant. 

Home until the New Year

I staggered to my hut and lay down under the mosquito net. I then slept solidly for seven hours.

When I woke, I sorted the room out to the way I liked it and after an hour or so, feeling showered, clean and refreshed, I wandered down the path to the monastery chapel or ashram temple -  whichever you prefer to call it.

The birds were chirping, and there was a faint breeze rustling the banana leaves. I kicked off my sandals outside the doorway and went barefoot to my seat in the empty space. It would be an hour until the midday Prayers, and I enjoyed the silence, the peace and the opportunity to reflect on the past month and on the challenges ahead. The deep contentment is blissful.