By the skin of my teeth....

The Krishna’s promised they would take me to the station. Insisted they would take me to the station actually. So accompanied by a friend they battled their way from their apartment through the late afternoon traffic, texting and phoning to assure me they were on their way. Believing I was catching the train from the Secunderabad station where I had entered their lives, they had intended to pick me up a couple of hours before my train left. They were a good thirty minutes later than they had hoped, but no matter, my train was always leaving from Hyderabad Deccan, a station I now know I could have hit with a stone from my hotel window.
So now we had ninety minutes to kill, and the boys reckoned a drink was a good idea. The ‘1 Flight Down’ is, as you can imagine, down one flight of steps, and just across the road from Deccan station. It is one of a number of almost English bars in ‘happening’ Hyderabad, I have learned. Social activity takes place in near darkness, except by the pool tables. I was challenged to a game, and since it’s more than a decade since I played, I anticipated a hiding. The boys were wonderfully awful and I excelled. In fact, no boasting, with the pressure off I played a blinder, and they kept clapping and banging the table which was a touch embarrassing.
I was also quizzed about English beer. They drink things like bottled Kingfisher, and lagers here, and a bottled was offered to me to approve its coldness. Was it too warm for me? No, I only drink warm beer. The concept of ale proved to be beyond my powers of description – they didn’t get it. When they come over to see me, I’ll make sure they get it.

Anyone who knows me, knows I’m never late. In fact I take early to a new level, so after an hour or so I was angling to leave.
‘We have plenty of time’ I was assured.
Then suddenly, panic stations - it was drink up, get the car, rush down the road, U-turn and get to the station. The friend and I piled out with the luggage as the car was moved on by a policeman. My train stood in the station on the opposite platform. It was due to leave at 6.30, and at 6.29 the friend and I were struggling over the bridge to the platform as the tannoy announced its imminent departure.
The train was pulling out as we got on and the friend quickly got off. I hardly had time to thank him, and no time for ‘good byes’. Boys eh? But thank you the Krisha family a thousand times over.
No time for me to find the right carriage either, so the bags and I bashed our way down the narrow corridors, fortunately heading in the right direction. I’d just got settled and had my ticket approved, when a male passenger and I were asked by the ticket checker if we would mind moving. This was because a politician wanted his family all in one compartment. The bags and I struggled off to our new home. These corridors are not for wide loads. I am battered and bruised.
My cabin mate is a really nice Indian guy of mid thirties, spent eight years working in the US, and has a baby of four weeks and couldn’t wait to get home. His English is perfect and we had a good laugh before retiring, particularly over my choice of evening meal.