The departure was so uneventful that I don’t actually remember the train leaving Victoria terminal.

The train journey had yet to begin so finding seats in the 2nd class unreserved coach had been easy.

A window seat so I could have a side to myself.

The journey was going to be long, conversations and eye contact could wait. With my head leaning against the window I drifted.

Uninterested I let Bombay speed by.

The train began picking up passengers as it headed into India. Soon the bench was full. Four. I remained undisturbed. Plenty of room between me and the window.

One more stop and now one had five. Soon all did.

Standing room only.

I began to feel my body pressed against a stranger’s.

Should I say something?

I slept only to be awakened to the sound of my luggage being moved from the overhead rack. I watched through the gaps as a clever rearrangement of space gave enough room for a body to stretch.

Much more conformable than the wooden bench.

The first of many delays which stopped the circulation of fresh air through the open windows allowed a thin film of sweat to buildup between myself and the body pressed against me.

We talked.

The aisles were now full. Standing room only, yet the train kept stopping constantly exchanging its cargo. Despite the sometimes unequal exchange the coach kept taking on a larger number. That was the beauty of the 2nd class unreserved coach. A ticket only guaranteed you a chance to get on.

What happened when I had to go pee. Could I come back to my seat?

Can six people sit on a bench?

Five sure. The sixth?

The cabin had become a system. It would experiment. Success or failure would return it to balance; until the next station injected another dose of unpredictability which I had begun to look forward to.

The train continued to barrel through the Indian country side.

Eventually I realized I had been taken in.

That feeling I clearly remember.