Destroyed...

I have told this story of this part of the trip on countless occasions and I hope this retelling will do it justice.

It is not for the faint-hearted.

At the time I felt I was never going to experience anything this bad again. Unfortunately India decided that this night could be eclipsed, but more of that later.

This is what happened on the GT Express 12616.

The trains were meant to be a highpoint of the trip. They weren't.

I could describe the hundreds of platforms, the throng of humanity pushing in all directions, the noise, the chaos, the monkeys, the rats, but I won't. I need to get onto the train...

Our tickets, which had only been confirmed an hour before had split the group between two carriages. One of the group was feeling ill, so Gilly kept the more fragile ones with her. I took my group to our carriage, a first class sleeper.

Night had already descended as we pushed our way down the carriage. First ticket, we slid the door open, there on his own was a rather large , foreboding Muslim gentleman. Looking at the group I realised this would have to be my apartment. We moved down the carriage and the group paired up, and after negotiations with 'sitting tenants, everyone managed to find a bunk for the night.

Now I headed back to my companion. I said 'hello', he replied courteously, but over the next eighteen hours (or so) we exchanged another two words only.

Let me describe the situation before the action commenced. My Muslim gentleman with his old fashioned suitcase . His prized possession was his Koran. I had my green baseball cap on and he would not have known if I was English or American.

I threw my bag onto the top bunk opposite him, quickly putting my ear plugs in. This allowed him to commence his procedures to get ready to pray. An intense situation, East and west separated by a few feet I remember getting my phone out and watching 'Convoy' as he started his prayers. Surreal.

The intensity of the room meant I could not see any of the countryside, it was pitch black anyway, but I could not see from my bunk. As the hours passed I settled, as did my Muslim gentleman.

"Nighty night," I offered, yes, those were words two and three, our conversing was over.

It could have been (and should have been) a wonderful opportunity for East and West to meet and learn something of each other's culture. Unfortunately, neither us seemed interested in the other.

A few hours in I lay back on my bunk, my head propped up by a pillow, still watching 'Convoy' on my small phone's screen when something gurgled in my stomach. Not a rumble, a definite gurgle.

I am not one to use toilets when traveling. I managed Australia and back without a visit to the plane's toilet. I managed Los Angeles from Heathrow and back without a visit to the plane's toilet. I managed Amsterdam to Chicago...well, you get the picture.

I was not going to make it from Delhi to Sewagram.

The gurgling was like a bubble in my stomach, something serious was going on. I began sweating, my body was trying to reject something.

Thus I jumped from the bunk, swerved past, over and through old ladies and families in the aisle, racing to the end of the carriage. There were two signs – Indian toilet and Western toilet. I felt that I was going to explode. Pulling open the right hand door I was greeted by a stainless steel toilet...blocked by paper and an empty bottle of drink shoved down it.

Quick, into the Indian toilet. A very small, stainless steel room that contained nothing but a hole, with the track visible underneath. Either side of the hole there were two ridges to place your feet. Any niceties or considerations were overtaken by an even bigger gurgle. It was now a race to get my trousers down in time. My stomach now felt convoluted and twisted, my body at total war with something.

I managed to pull down my trousers and hover just over the hole. No need.

Blash.

Yes, blash. I have invented a word for what happened next.

I am not mathematician, but there are some angles involved here. Imagine that I am crouched directly above the hole. In that moment a torrent was produced...unfortunately the force was at ninety degrees to the ground. The force of it hit the back wall and splattered upwards and down. A complete covering behind me.

At the same time I projectile vomited forwards at ninety degrees. A mighty and unstoppable force. It hit the front wall and splattered upwards and down. A complete covering in front of me.

Blash.

All in a split second. The two most frightening forces that my body has ever experienced.

In one go my stomach had forced out its complete contents in the most violent manner. The only safe and clean place was over the hole where I was crouched.

I looked behind, I looked in front. Carnage. Horror.

Now what? Could I just walk out and leave it like this? What if there was somebody waiting to come in? All my years of working in industry, planning, thinking on my feet were all meant for this moment. I had to solve this problem. I did.

There was a small stainless steel cup attached to a chain hanging from a small tap. Fortunately, my clothing having been in the middle of the adjacent forces was untouched. My purple boxer shorts were clean.

Using the tap I poured water onto them and started to clean down the wall behind. I think it also helps having been a parent who changed the nappies of his children, you realise that what is in front of you has to be cleared up. I continued to pour water on my boxers, wash the walls, wring them out into the hole and repeated the process for about five minutes.

It is difficult to explain the joy and satisfaction of leaving that room clean. I had pebble dashed it from top to bottom and now I was leaving it cleaner than I had found it. India had attacked me, I had fought back.

I washed out my boxer shorts one last time, wrung them out, folded them up. Whatever had happened to my stomach, I walked out of that room almost with a smile on my face.

Taking a bit more time on the way back I noticed the families in the aisles. As it was night there was an eerie yellow glow from the lights. There was a whole community here, all life was in this corridor.

My experience had wiped me out physically and mentally. I made it back to my bunk. I lay there. It seemed the right time to listen to Bruce Springsteen. I needed an out of body experience.

About one hour later my stomach gurgled again. You probably don't want another graphic description. I won't give you that. My route to the toilet was complicated by an Indian gentleman who seemed to be approaching the toilet door. I raced and grabbed the handle before him, I smiled at him, a smile that also contained a plea and an apology. Nothing was going to keep me from the hole, and in our shared glance I think he understood that.

It wasn't so bad this time. I hit the hole, sort of. But I did vomit into the space in front of me. I was feeling weak now, but this was an easy situation for a veteran of Indian railway toilets to solve.

And an hour later, and an hour later.

In the end I stood crouched over the hole, my body completely drained, coughing up orange globules from my stomach. There was nothing inside of me. I could hardly walk.

Daylight came, my students (remember them? I was supposed to have been in charge, looking after them for the night) had had a wonderful trip. Mixing with the families, enjoying the whole experience, everything this trip had meant to be about. I had been crushed, again.

Apparently, a student with Gilly in the other part of the train had a similar experience and a few others had stomach problems.

Eventually we arrived, dismounted from the rain and emerged onto the glorious heat of the platform at Sewagram.

Sunlight, the train ride was over, I was weak and low. Barely able to lift my rucksack we were met by representatives from the Centre where we would be staying. As if they knew, they had brought along their doctor. He held me, asked me a few questions and within seconds had produced a syringe from his bag and had injected me with something.

I don't remember the trip to the Centre. I vaguely remember being put to bed, a mosquito net put over the top and seeing the doctor again. And then I slept. And slept.