This work is copyrighted to LuckOfTheDraw, 2011. No part of it may be reproduced or copied without the written permission of the author.
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This incident took place during the early 80s in India. I had just turned twenty, and had started to wonder seriously about life. As a girl I had quickly learnt the art of observing without being noticed. My family was extremely conservative, so I grew up with constant injunctions to conform to strict rules. "Good behaviour" was both the prescription and the phrase used to reward conformance. To compensate for this stultifying regimen, my observational aptitudes developed out of all proportion to my other life skills. Needless to add, I was a still a virgin and would in all probability remain so until my arranged marriage first night with a man I would not have seen before.
In those days, most Indians travelled by train. Train travel was slow by today's standards, but it got you to your destination wherever it was in our vast sprawling subcontinent. Most trains were not air-conditioned. Because of the long distances, sleeper coaches were the norm. First class sleeper coaches were not as grand as the term sounds, but were comfortable and you would meet middle class people as your co-passengers for the most part. The coaches were divided into compartments. Generally each compartment had four sleeper berths, two lower and two upper, but each coach always had two smaller compartments with only two berths, one above the other. These compartments were called coupes. I'd already heard that coupes were very popular with honeymooners.
That summer, I had gone from Bombay (today called Mumbai) where my parents lived to a place called Raipur for the holidays, where my grandparents lived. This was an annual ritual, much looked forward to, because it gave me a chance to meet all my cousins. For some reason, that year, my parents had left early back for Bombay. My return trip back took place, therefore, in the company of an elderly uncle and aunt who also lived in Bombay. There was absolutely no question of being allowed to travel on my own. Raipur was a relatively small town, so it took an overnight journey to reach Mumbai. The train left at around three in the afternoon.
On the day that we left, we had reached the station a little early and the train was yet to pull in alongside the platform. We had checked our reservations and I had observed that the fourth passenger in our compartment would be a gentleman whose age was listed as 35. My uncle and aunt had subsided onto a bench and I was wandering here and there looking for books to while away the journey with. At the place where our coach was expected to stop, I saw a man standing with his single suitcase. He looked the right age, was quite tall, around six feet, and appeared very fit from the half sleeved shirt he was wearing. He looked pleasant and sported a well maintained mustache. Our fellow passenger, I decided.
It was then that I spotted her. She was alone, with one large suitcase and a travel basket for luggage. She would probably not have caught the eye of anyone but another woman, because she was dressed strikingly, but in a very subtle way. The top of her salwar kameez outfit clung just that little bit tighter to her figure and the neckline was just that little bit wider and deeper. The color combination, in a shade of dark green, was very sophisticated and classy. Her hair, which was shoulder length, was tied back demurely with a single clasp. No jewelry of any kind, obviously not on a train journey through central India, where pickpockets and gangs of thieves could suddenly appear. Not really the kind of outfit worn for a long train journey, more suitable for an afternoon social engagement, but still nothing extraordinary at first glance. She looked to be in her mid thirties, but very well maintained. She was very nice looking in a quiet, understated kind of way, with a good complexion. Her best features were her eyes, which were large and dark, and her mouth which was wide with a full lower lip and which looked like it could smile easily. For some reason, my curiosity was aroused and I decided to hang around for some more time and watch discreetly.
I saw her observe the man long and carefully. He had also spotted her and looked at her briefly, for that extra second which told me (even for someone as innocent as I) that he found her attractive, and then looked away politely. Then she seemed to make up her mind and walked up to him. I was behind them but close enough to hear the conversation.
"Excuse me" she said. She had an attractive voice, low and very melodious, very well modulated .
He turned politely "Yes?" he asked.
"I am really sorry to disturb you like this, but I am facing a problem. You see, I have had to go to Mumbai at very short notice because of a sudden family problem. I have a ticket, but the train is full, and there are no berths available. It is very important that I reach Bombay tomorrow. I was wondering if you could help me."
"I am sorry, madam, I don't understand." the man said. He too spoke very well, and seemed a real gentleman, very polite.
"You see, the railways allow a husband and wife to occupy the same sleeper berth in case of overcrowding. If I could travel as your wife, I could reach Bombay tomorrow."
He looked taken aback.
"I don't know, madam.." he started.
"I promise you I won't be any trouble. I can sit up the whole night while you sleep. If a berth becomes free somewhere else in the coach during the journey then of course I can go and occupy it." she hurried on.
For a second he looked at her. Then he smiled.
"It will be no problem, madam" he said. "Please ask your porter to bring your suitcase over here and join me . We should be together when the train arrives at the platform."
The porter brought the suitcase over and she paid him his charges. She smiled at her new companion.
He was looking slightly embarrassed.
"I think we should introduce ourselves. It will hardly do to not know each other's names."
Just then the train rolled in slowly and I lost the rest of the conversation. Sure enough, our coach was right opposite to where they were standing. I ran back to my uncle and aunt. The platform became a bustle of activity, with people and porters hurrying up and down with luggage, trying to find their allotted places.
Soon were settled in our compartment. The man and the woman sat opposite us. My uncle, aunt and I arranged ourselves on the berth opposite. The man sat next to the window, as did I. She sat in the middle of the berth next to him, but not touching him. We all made small talk and we learnt that he was a travelling sales manager with a pharmaceutical company on his way to Bombay after a business trip. She kept mostly silent, answering in monosyllables.
The train soon started and in about half an hour the monotonous clickety-clack of the rails had lulled us all into a gentle drowsiness. My aunt and uncle had lolled back against the backrest and had dozed off with their mouths open. The man was awake and smoking - it was allowed in India in those days - and flicking the ash out of the open window. I was half awake and observing my surroundings with half closed eyes.
From time to time, he would steal a glance at her. She was resting comfortably back against the backrest with eyes closed. Her duppata - that flimsy length of sheer cloth that Indian women drape on their bosoms when wearing a salwar kameez outfit - had slipped down one shoulder. From his corner seat he was able to observe her bosom in profile. It was certainly very nicely shaped and seemed firm, like a mango with an up tilted end, as it quivered and bounced gently with the movement of the train. The neckline was also now exposed and he could clearly see the deep vee of the cleavage between her breasts. He would look at her and then turn away and draw deeply on his cigarette.
Time passed, and I too dozed off. When I opened my eyes I saw immediately that the man opposite had also fallen asleep. But the woman was awake. I was intrigued to see that she was looking in a considering kind of way at the man. Her lips were slightly parted and she once flicked her tongue over her lips before biting her full lower lip as she looked at him.
Then the train started to slow down as it approached a town. Everyone started to wake up in earnest and we were soon asking each other whether tea would be served as it was now about 5 PM. In a short while, the door opened and a waiter appeared bearing two trays of tea. On Indian trains during those days, you got a full tea service with a separate kettle with freshly brewed tea, teacups with saucers and a small pitcher of milk and sugar on the side. The waiter set down the trays and mixed the tea for the three of us on our side of the compartment.
When the waiter turned round, she said "I'll make the tea, please". The waiter left.
She placed the tray on the berth between them and started to mix the tea. This required her to turn and lean forward slightly while facing the window. She was concentrating on making the tea, and the man got a long unhurried look at her breasts and cleavage and face. His expression suggested that he was looking at her body against his better judgment.
She looked up and smiled deeply at him. Holding the gaze, she leaned forward and offered him a cup. That gave him an even more generous view of her cleavage. The cup rattled in its saucer as he accepted it. She turned around and bent down to open the travel basket and take out a packet of savories. She stood up and, like a good Indian wife, offered the guests and old people and children first. As she did so, bending forward slightly, I got a glimpse of the black bra she was wearing under the dark green kameez. The three of us accepted the savouries gratefully. I was careful not to look her, but I could see from the corner of my eye that the man had his gaze transfixed on her buttocks.
Still standing, she turned around , bent down and offered the savouries to the man. Now he had an even better view of her breasts and cleavage and no doubt the bra as well. I, on the other hand, could now see her buttocks outlined against the thin fabric of the outfit. They were certainly round and firm. I suddenly found myself hoping I would have a derriere as attractive and well shaped as hers when I grew up.
She sat down and started to sip her tea. Things slowly moved back to normal as we finished our tea. As a girl who had travelled a lot by train, I knew that the most boring part of the journey was about to begin, the interval between tea and dinner. I did what I always did in these circumstances. I took out a book and started to read.
My action seemed to act as a signal to the woman. She reached into the travel basket and brought out two books. She passed one over to the man with a smile, who accepted it with a look of some surprise on his face. I could see that it was an old James Bond novel, "From Russia With Love". I had read the book. All of a sudden, I recalled the scene in the Orient Express when Bond was alone with the girl.
