Tuesday 11th February - No Tips Please.

We are roused around 6.40 by a man delivering bed tea. Or to be more precise flasks of warm water with a teabag each, accompanied by tiny packets of digestive biscuit crumbs. Facebook provides a reminder that exactly one year ago we were roughing it in 2nd Sitting, although the morning cuppa was better.

Out of the window the distinctive rocky outcrops and huge boulders of the Deccan Plateau are all around. We must have made good time overnight as current speed varies between trundle and dead stop but we are up with the schedule. The names of the stations that we pass through are fascinating. Lingampalli, Hi-tech City, Nature Cure Hospital and James Street are just the more noticeable ones. We are moving into the Hyderabad/Secunderabad conurbation.

At Secunderabad Station we stop for fifteen minutes and there is a sensational, unprecedented development as a man arrives on the platform with a bucket, sponge and squeegee and proceeds to clean the outside of the windows. This is normally D's job and he carries a special microfibre cloth around India for this very purpose. For once the window wasn't too bad to start with and the process makes no obvious difference.

It is a grey, rather murky morning and, as we leave Greater Hyderabad, there are signs of heavy overnight rain. The man delivers our complimentary copy of The Hindu. Apparently there has been quite a bit of unseasonal rain causing anxiety to farmers. R starts to chunter about the lateness of breakfast but dash it all, it's not even nine o'clock yet. Progress is somewhat dilatory, with slow running and stops at unscheduled stations. At one point we are 15 down. Breakfast  arrives and D remembers to remove the paper tray liner before it gets all soggy. More of this later.

Breakfast itself is comprehensive with cornflakes, banana, bread, butter, omelette,peas, three soggy chips, a small chocolate bar and a flask of hot milk. Yeuk! When you are hungry dry cornflakes are a treat. The lack of a knife is no impediment to seasoned travellers. The bread is buttered with a spoon and the two slices clamped around the omelette to create that gastronomic delight, bread omelette. Even Indian Railways can't mess up bananas. The breakfast tray includes a coffee satchet but no teabag, but we have learned to carry a couple as back up. With only a little difficulty we persuade the steward that we would like hot water. He brings this as well as a couple of teabags. God bless IRCTC*.

We could regale you with romantic descriptions of the vista from the train but for the time being our view is mainly of impenetrable thorn scrub interspersed with southbound coal trains. Instead we shall return to the aforementioned tray liner or, as it should be known, the Bill of Rights. It lays out in great detail what the passengers' food entitlement is in Rajdhani 1AC class. D has already spotted a number of infringements. We were not supplied with a welcome drink. Admittedly we were not desperate for a tetrapack Mango Frooti or its equivalent but small erosions of rights lead to the downfall of democracy. In days gone by one would be handed a red rose at the beginning of a Rajdhani journey. At supper last night we were served 90 gram cartons of curd when the schedule clearly states Branded Curd - 100gms.There is a principal at stake here and we have paid Rs 385 each for on train catering. We need a lawyer. No, wait. There is a phone number to call listed at the bottom of the page. R confiscates D's phone as a precaution.

The rest of the nineteen and a half hour trip is pretty routine. There are a few slacks for engineering work. A lot is being done to add an additional southbound track. In some places it is in use, in others just a bulldozer scrape alongside. One section has a wiring gang at work, all manual labour and hand tools. D's curiosity gets the better of him and he walks back through five coaches of Curtain Class (2AC) to visit the pantry car. They must think R is coming as they are busy scrubbing away at the stainless steel surfaces.

Life in Coupe E goes on. Reading, dozing, writing up the blog, listening to the man next door's insufferable ring tone. And lunch. All to specification including a full 100gms of curd, finished off with butterscotch ice cream, our favourite. At this point we suddenly realise that we need to mug up on Nagpur. The original intention was to spend tomorrow travelling the surviving branch of the Satpura 2'6" narrow gauge lines. This runs from one of Nagpur's subsidiary stations out to Nagbhir, about 100km to the south east. All was booked to facilitate this but Indian Railways threw a spanner in the works by closing the line for gauge conversion in late November.

There is one other thing that we want to in Nagpur which is planned for Thursday. D being uncharacteristically cavalier assumed that we would find something to occupy us for a day. So sitting in Coupe E we dig out Lonely Planet. Nagpur's attractions are covered in a ten line paragraph. We don't have time to wait for the summer orange season, nor do we have the inclination to go any great distance to see temples or ashrams so it looks like we will have to go on safari. We find a company online that operate in a couple of different National Parks and call them, but the line breaks up before we can achieve anything. A lady with fluent English calls back and we explain the situation. She explains that both parks are too far for a day trip to be a success. They could do a one night stay at a resort at Pench National Park, with afternoon and sunrise safaris, that would get us back to Nagpur for early afternoon, giving time for our other planned activity. If we wish to go for it we must decide quickly as ticket sales cut off at 4 p.m. 

The concensus is let's do it so we then spend an hour WhatsApping questions and answers back and forth while travelling north at around 90kph. The agent will come to our hotel to collect payment. By this time we are on the run in to Nagpur and it is time to gather our belongings. Nagpur Station has changed a bit and the former narrow gauge section has more or less been obliterated. The prepaid auto booth has moved but is easy enough to find and provides us with a hassle free ride to the Hotel Dwarkamai. At this point we leave the hassle free zone. At reception they claim that our booking has been cancelled. D is able to show that it is listed on the Booking.com as a current, confirmed booking. We smell a rat as there is a long list of rooms for a wedding party lying on the counter. A hotel in Lucknow tried to bounce us because of a wedding booking and D had to get Booking.com involved. This time he is in the process of contacting them when, magically, our booking is revived and we get an upgraded room for the same price. Sometimes being a Level 2 Genius pays off. To add to its list of crimes the Dwarkamai is pure veg, temperance and plays awful Carpenter's cover versions in the lift. 

At 6.30 reception call up to say that we have visitors. It is Zennia, the agent, and her husband , David, accompanied by their eighteen month old daughter. He speaks little English but Zennia translates as necessary. There is a slight hiccup as David has forgotten to bring the paperwork and spends time on the phone talking to their office. It is agreed to send stuff immediately by WhatsApp and have the paper copies delivered later by hand. There is then a problem getting phone signals but eventually the documents arrive on D's phone and we settle up. The battery on the card swiper is flat and a loan of a charger from the hotel is required. All the time the toddler is wreaking havoc around reception. By the time all is done R is worried that D has done a runner.

We decide to take the easy option and eat in the hotel restaurant tonight. The waiting staff outnumber us 3 to 1 and the service is spot on. We start with masala poppadoms which have a spicy kick to them causing reactions which do not go unnoticed by the staff. Along with our main course of Alu Dum, Makhani Dal and Jeera Rice they try to produce a remedy for the effect of the spicy food. Butter pats arrive on a plate. When we ask for more water the chap sprints to the counter and back. We are enjoying the food but could do without the scrutiny. When we say we have had enough finger bowls arrive followed by Gulab Jamuns "On the house". The sweet syrup immediately quenches the fires in our mouths. We thank the staff and retire to our room giggling. 

* = Indian Railway Catering & Tourism Corporation Ltd.