I remember, many years ago, making the journey to visit my parents by train, sitting in a second-class carriage. I had an upper berthnothing glamorous, but I didnt mind. Down below, two ladies occupied the lower bunks. When I lingered downstairs, waiting for the conductor, one of them grumbled as I shuffled about, clearly displeased with my presence.
Later, feeling peckish, I made my way to the table, only to find the ladies had stationed themselves on either side, sipping their tea quietly and determinedly. It was obvious they didnt want me sharing their space.
Would you mind if I had a quick snack? I asked politely.
One of them set down her cup and replied, Young man, your tickets for the upper berthsaving a bit, were you? You can eat up there! We need to rest, and wed rather not smell your food. Besides, wed like a bit of peace.
It was clear they had no plans to relent. Resigned, I made up my bed and climbed to the top with my pot of instant noodles. Just as I began to eat, the train gave a sudden lurchmy dinner cascaded hopelessly down onto the lower nook.
Noodles strewn everywhere, tangled in the elaborate hairdo of the lady below. Long ribbons of pasta festooned the compartment; I didnt know whether to burst into laughter or tears.
She exclaimed, Young man! Havent you ever eaten on a train before? Is it your first time or something? Utterly disgraceful!
I really didnt mean for this to happen, I replied earnestly, picking noodles from her curls as gently as I could.
For the remainder of that night, the unmistakable smell of instant noodles hung in the air. Even the conductor kept a distance from the lady. She wanted to freshen uponly there were no proper facilities on this regular old English train.
Despite everything, I managed a decent sleep, though the aroma kept my appetite alive. Looking back, I cant help but thinkperhaps they received just a taste of their own medicine.
