It is time for me to leave Mysore, and in a few short days I leave India all together. I get on the train to Chennai and I smile to myself:

A long time ago, in Auroville, one of the other guests had been travelling for a while. She had bought a train ticket, one of those with a designated seat. There was such a crowd in the train station and even though she had help from one of the station workers, she had a hard time getting on her train. People were actually pushing her out of the train, physically trying to prevent her from boarding. She adamantly showed them her ticket saying she had a reserved seat. The guy who helped her was pushing her from behind, holding her backpack trying to help her. People were so hostile, because they all wanted to get on the train, but there had probably not been enough tickets. Stories from other people involved difficulty in even finding the right platform or the right train and then struggling with diarrhoea in disgusting toilets, people being drugged so that it would be easier to steal their stuff. It is a preferred way to travel by trains in India: air planes are expensive and many people don't have cars; or it is just too far to drive. And there are so many people here, buses are also often full to the brim. And booking the ticket is another multiple step program, I think only fully understood and appreciated by the people who invented the rules. Being one to worry, all these stories made me reluctant to get on the train. But my desire to go to Mysore was stronger than my fear of the trains, so me and my inner Indian(a) Jones decided it would be character building. Well, it wasn't.

I left my hotel in Chennai five o'clock in the morning and got to the train station half an hour later. I walked into the station prepared for a jungle of people, luggage, beggars, trains and vendors and general mayhem. The people who couldn't afford accommodation in the city had slept on the floor, and I was weaving my way through sleeping bodies and luggage to find the train schedule. I walked a couple of meters and got on my train, found my seat and settled in, still half an hour before the train was due to leave. No hassle whatsoever. The same happened on the way back. People were so friendly and helpful. It was a seven hour journey but there was no time to get bored between meals, snacks, water bottles, coffee, chai, more snacks - who knew that meals was a part of the price?And my book. Obama and me. It was initially Pam's book, and once she had finished with it she gave it to me. On the day I saw the Dalai Lama, Barack Obama was inaugurated in the United States.

After a night in Chennai I get on a plane to Delhi. And no smog! A guy told me there were only 50 meters visibility because of the pollution. He would never go on a trip to Agra just to see the Taj Mahal - the same pollution had started to ruin the white brilliant marble. Well, Delhi in the north is certainly different than the south. It is markedly colder, and people are wearing sweaters, thick cashmere scarves, winter coats and hats. People have different features here and many have green or blue eyes, which gives them a striking appearance. In the busy traffic from Indira Gandhi airport to the train station I suddenly realize something odd. It's quiet. People are not honking their horn every few seconds, they are almost driving behind each other in the lanes! It's like being in Europe. We drive along and I see a huge statue, a monument even. Gandhi's salt march. It's impressive, and it reminds me of the old woman - Vimala Takar - that we met 14 years ago in Mount Abu in Rajastan on my first visit to India. She had walked the march with Gandhiji. I remember the culture shock that time. From the cabin window in the air plane we could see people living in cardboard boxes. We hadn't even landed yet.

Sitting on the train to Chennai from Mysore I observe that I am totally comfortable here on the train. I don't understand one word being spoken around me. I don't know the name of the food I'm eating, let alone what's in it. I don't know or understand or agree with all of the customs and traditions. I look nothing like the people around me, nothing makes me belong here. But I'm so used to this place, it feels less foreign. I know how things work now, and I relax in this place, in the people's company.

I get to the train station in New Delhi, and in the guide book it says that the stations in Delhi are crazy. I step out of the taxi and immediately a man approaches me and asks me if I need any help. Thanks. I walk through the security and up a flight of stairs, down another, and I find my train. Another man shows me were my cart is, and I find my name written on a list attached to the train. Cool. I take a picture of it. It is a sleeping cart, and though I'm not spending the night on the train, I get comfortable on my bed. Two guys opposite me wonder what my sweet name is, where I'm from and then we start talking about politics and Obama and the cast system and the youth in Europe and such things. I show them the book I've been reading and we have a good conversation. Have I heard of the Rotary Club? They are members and they are a part of a group of 40 people that have just been to Delhi to partake in something to do with that. I finish reading Obama's book, and then the cart is suddenly filled with the family members and friends of the guys. They all want to meet me. One of them leaps up in my bed with me, and she announces that I am now her sister. And all the guys are my brothers. Who is my favourite brother? I point to the two men I first had a conversation with - to much applause and general merriment. They laugh and smile and look at me, discussing in their own language what they think about my clothes and everything else, without modesty. It's like being in Fiji. They buy tomato soup for me, and one of my new brothers gives me a packet of crisps. I don't really feel like it, but if I won't eat it, he can't either. These people persuade like nobody else. The compliments fall like rain upon me, I'm blushing. Amidst all of this the boys selling samosa, tomato soup, playing cards, omelettes, water, cold drinks, chai, coffee, chocolates and others sweets are going back and forth through the isle calling out what they have for sale.

I'm not married? We enter into a new conversation about the differences in culture. These are educated people but they have never been abroad. Their only encounter with western culture is from TV. At one point it's just impossible for them to understand our ways, it's just too foreign - not based on their religious values, that so deeply affects everything here. No matter, the interest and respect is there, and we return to easier topics. I get to Agra station and say goodbye to my flock of new siblings. My taxi takes me to my hotel and I get early to bed, for the next day I'm getting up at 5:45 AM.