It happens. Every darn time. Whenever I travel on Indian Railways by II-AC, the computer invariably assigns me a friggin' side berth. I ought to write to Laluji (the Railway Minister) that they should ask their clients' height when making a booking. Infernal side berths. You know, those pokey little benches on the side of the corridor. They are a little less than 6 feet long. I am a little more than 6 feet long. The lower one is formed by two seats folding together, so there's always a rather uncomfortable bump in the middle. Grr. I-AC, which doesn't have side berths, was full up. Every time I vow, "Never again!" and, of course, I end up in a side berth again.
Hmph. (At 4:00 am, the passenger in the adjoining lower berth -- the "regular" one -- disembarked at Surat. So, at least I could stretch out for the two hours it took to get to Baroda.)
At 6:15 am, I got out of the rick and looked at the darkened house, and a whole wave hit me. Papa's not at home. He won't be. Ever again.
What a deep and vast ocean this.