The Bhopal ki Shaan was gently chugging its way across the heated plains of middle India towards Delhi. Inside, the AC I compartment, it was all quiet except for the stertorous breathing of my co-passenger sleeping on the berth above me that rose above the din of the train’s song. The AC was sluggish for this hot summer night and feeling warm, I threw off the thin white sheet covering me. Suddenly, the metal doors were pushed open and two men entered. Along with them came the bogie attendant carrying their luggage. The men adjusted their suitcases below the seat opposite mine and then both settled down on the seat, one curling up to sleep and the other a large Sikh man, reclined against the berth’s backrest.

I wondered, “Two men on the same seat in a first AC compartment??? Did AC I have provisions for RAC?”

A quick google search said “NO. There was no RAC for first AC.”

Now I was wondering, “Should I raise an objection over this extra man inside the coupe?”

Other Half was fast asleep on the berth opposite mine, totally oblivious of the happenings around him. I decided against creating a ruckus, mainly because the two men had actually done nothing objectionable so far and I was not in the mood for any mayhem right then. But that extra man, that huge Sikh’s presence itself was disconcerting to me. I felt kind of exposed. And I had caught the attendant staring at my bare feet sticking out of my culottes and this coupled with that un-authorised male presence made me very, very uneasy; even though Other Half was there with me. Forty five years of conditioning that had taught me to implicitly distrust the opposite sex rose protectively to the fore and I pulled the white railway sheet back over my body. I had learnt well the lesson of covering my body for I knew that all males were unequivocal sexual predators, irrespective of whether they wore a suit or a lungi, spoke the language of the streets or suave English, were daily labourers or executives. “Cover up, keep away, keep alert……” My instinct whispered warnings, a well-honed reflex of survival, active even at this staid middle age.

I pulled the sheet tightly around me, adjusting it all around my body so that nothing was visible. Cover up, cover up, cover up………..

It was an uneasy night. I kept tossing and turning because it was hot within the sheet but I couldn’t afford to get rid of it. All night I kept adjusting it, wondering whether that extra man was leering at me in the darkness. In these times of Nirbhaya, of Asifa, of Unnao, of #MeToo, a woman could not afford to sleep easy, could she?

Then I think I must have fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. I woke up the following dawn to find that the other man had departed and now there was only one man on the bunk next to mine. The huge Sikh was now fast asleep, head cradled in the crook of his arm.

The next hour or so, Other Half and the man exchanged a few sparse words, once they woke up but I refrained, maintaining a studied silence. The man was constantly on the phone, wishing friends and relatives, “Baisakhi da bohut bohut badhai!!!”

Finally, the train reached Nizamuddin. The man quickly collected his lone strolley bag and waved to Other Half, “OK, chalte hain.” Other Half, always impeccably mannered stood up and helped the man out.

“Happy Baisakhi to you.” Other Half wished the man. The man waved back again, in acknowledgement

Then as he stepped over the doorway, I really don’t know why, the man turned, paused and then smiled a soft smile at me through his white beard, “OK beta, Happy Baisakhi. You know I have two daughters just like you. They live abroad with their families.” And saying this, that elderly Sikh gentleman, an indulgent father and a doting grandfather disappeared quietly into the mad melee of Delhi.