I boarded the train heading towards my parents home, taking my place in a second-class carriage. My ticket was for the upper bunk, but honestly, it didnt bother me at all. Down below, two women occupied the lower berths, eyeing me with a sort of silent disapproval as I climbed up. I lingered briefly downstairs, hoping to find the conductor, but even then one of them made it clear she wasnt pleased with my presence.
Later, hunger got the better of me and I decided to have a bite to eat. When I tried to use the table, the women deliberately sat close on each side, sipping their tea quietly to block any access, as if marking their territory.
Is it alright if I just grab a quick snack? I asked, hoping for a bit of kindness.
Young man, your tickets for the top bunk. Saved yourself a bit of money, did you? Well, you can eat up there. Weve got to sleep and then put up with the smell of your food. Besides, wed like to rest, one of them replied icily.
Resigned, I made up my bed and climbed to my perch with a packet of instant noodles. Only moments into my meal, the train lurched unexpectedlymy dinner tumbled from my hands, scattering noodles everywhere.
Long strands of pasta rained down like confetti, landing across the compartment and even winding themselves through the elaborate curls of the lady beneath me. For a moment, I felt torn between laughter and tears.
Young man, havent you learnt how to eat on a train? Is this your maiden voyage? Its abysmal! the woman snapped, outraged.
I didnt mean to! I protested, starting to unravel noodles from her hair.
The whole compartment was soaked in the aroma of instant noodles for hours. Even the conductors avoided her, as the smell clung stubbornly. She wanted to clean herself up, but there were no modern comfortsjust a basic, old train and a lingering scent that wouldnt fade.
Despite everything, I managed to sleep, though the smell only fuelled my hunger. In the end, I couldnt help thinking: perhaps they brought it on themselves.
