Out of Agra

As I sat on the cycle-rikshaw bouncing my way down the road in the direction of Agra Cantt station a sad feeling filled my body as I realised for the first time that I wasn't really enjoying myself. The commercialism and coldness of the Indian tourist business had succeeded in destroying all the good thoughts i'd had so far on my journey. This really was not something I desired, and I would hate to leave this country thinking such negative thoughts.

Still, I was on my way to the station and would soon be leaving Agra for Delhi. Or I would be if this rikshaw guy would hurry up... he had quoted me 20 minutes for the ride, but we were approaching 40 minutes. My train was leaving in another 5. I enquired how far we had left. "Just another 2km" he said. My heart sunk.

At 13:50 we reached the station, my train was due to leave this minute. Despite my better judgement I paid the rikshaw guy (to save time and argument) and legged it into the station. Locating my platform I ran (as fast as one can with 25kg on their back) over the footbridge and arrived on the platform just in time to see the back of the train disapeared from view. FUN!

Agra was going to destroy me, I felt sure. Perhaps it felt it hadn't yet extracted enough money from my pocket and it wanted more, it always wants more. I walked slowly back to the information office on the other side of the footbridge finding one string of positivity to cling to; at least it wasn't blisteringly hot. The information officer informed me I had missed my train, a piece of knowledge for which I was most greatful. She then told me to go to the ticket reservation office and pointed vaguley in some direction which completely incomprehensable and I gave up asking.

Eventually I found the ticket reservation office (nowhere near the station entrance) and took my place in one of a number of queue's. Obviously this was the wrong queue, it's always the wrong queue, even though it appeared identical to the others, and after a 10 minute wait I was directed to yet another. Luckily apathy restrained me and I survived the inconveinience by not caring at all about anything, ever, anymore.

Finally I got to the counter and was informed I would have to cancel my original ticket before I could get another and was handed a form to fill in. Joyfully I returned to the back of the queue just praying there wasn't yet another mystery queue I was supposed to be in. Finally I succeeded in canceling my ticket and recieved a generous 50% rebate on the price. All I required now was a new ticket for the next train, so I asked my friendly reservations officer:
- Apparently a ticket for the 4-o-clock train to Delhi was only available from a different office on the other side of the station compound... of course it was.. it all made so much sense. So off I went with a skip in my step and nothng but seething pain and hatred in my eyes. Today was a good day.

After another spirit sapping queue was defeated I asked the attendant for a ticket to Delhi. Expecting to be given yet another painfully unnecassary form to fill in I was pleasantly suprised when he replied "Cerainly sir, that will be 68Rs". As it happened I had a 100Rs note already scrunched up in my hand which I had been carefully scrutinising in the queue to relieve the intense boredom and stress that was welling up inside me. I handed it over, happy that this transaction was to be over quickly, and the man smiled. I felt a tug on my sleeve. Looking down I saw yet another of the small begger children which seem to take up residence beneath my feet whenever I stand still. Shooing them away (as has become second nature now) I looked up and waited to recieve my change.

"68Rs sir, you need to give me another 18" said the attendant, smiling and holding in his hand a crisp new 50Rs note.

"Excuse me" I replied looking at the gleaming 50Rs note, realising that the man had just performed a switch for my grubby and scrunched up 100Rs whilst the child had distracted me.

I couldn't believe it (or rather I could). This damn place was not going to let me go without a fight. It wanted my money hard, and I wasn't going to give it the pleasure. A 5 minute stand off entailed, with him demanding more money and me screaming at him that I had given him a 100Rs note, and that I didn't even have a 50 on me, let alone a brand new one like the one he was waving. Suddenly his english became really bad and he couldn't understand my words. How convienient. Then I uttered the magical word 'Police' and suddenly things changed. He found the 100Rs note and immediately gave me my change appologising for the inconvienience. I had no idea he was such a big fan, I wonder if he liked Sting's solo work aswell? We will never know.

I spent an hour on the platform waiting for the next train chatting to an insane man who felt I was somehow responsible for the entire British Raj era and listening to his inane dribble about the might of the Indian Army and his unhappy marriage to his wife. He then demanded I come back to his village where he would organise a naked indian girl in a dark room for me. Honoured by his generosity I regretfully declined his offer and made a run for the train which was just pulling into the station.

I spent the next 6 hours standing in a very cramped gangway as the train moved slowly from station to station while various mens attempts to fondle my groin were met with a shove and an angry growl. I wandered if the insane mans offer of the dark room might not have been preferable. It was indeed a happy day.

Where was Delhi?