Ask any tourist headed for Agra and you will find only two words on their lips: The Taj Mahal.

And so it was that we found ourselves headed in that direction to pay homage to the most extravagant monument built in the name of love. We left early in the morning to catch the Bhopal Shatabdi Express which leaves the Old Delhi Railway Station at 6:00am for the 2-hour trip covering 204 kms.

The moment our taxi deposited us at the station’s driveway at 5:35am, a swarm of red-shirted baggage handlers encircled us like vultures waiting to pounce on leftover prey. We started haggling for the right price before finally agreeing with one of them to pay him 20 rupees each for the two suitcases weighing 20 kilos each. He immediately slung both on top of his head as though they were nothing but pillows then started on a quick trot that made us run along with our trolley and knapsack just to be able to keep up with him along Platform 1 to the extreme right hand side.

The train, made up of over a dozen coaches, pulled in on exactly on time at 5:55am at platform 1 with its engine throbbing quietly. Since we had First Class tickets, our car was right up front and we found ourselves almost out of breath when we got there. Meanwhile, the guy with our heavy luggage had hardly broken into a sweat. He asked me what our seat numbers were and as I fumbled for our reservations inside my wallet, he suddenly read out our names. Wow, I thought in amazement, this guy’s psychic! I looked up and saw him pointing at a piece of paper stuck on the side of the carriage door. Curious, I moved closer to see what it was. Lo and behold! Among the Kumars, Ravis and Singhs was written our names with Seat Nos. EC3 & EC4. All passengers with reservations were on that list and later on, as we boarded other trains, I always got a kick from reading our names on it.

With all our luggage securely stowed on the overhead rack, (do not leave it just inside the door as this area next to the loo is used as a makeshift kitchen by the stewards) we settled down to read the newspapers proffered to us by the steward while seated on the comfortable reclining seats that were similar to those on an airline though these were much wider and had more legroom. Seating was four abreast – 2 on each side of the aisle – and I noticed that they had seen better days judging from the fabrics’ frayed edges and flaking paintwork. A far cry from Eurorail standards but adequate for the Indian riding public because they were air-conditioned and surprisingly cheap. I paid only 1,500 rupees for the two of us and that included breakfast. The toilets at the far end were clean and there was running water for washing up. Plus they provided us with ice cold mineral water which we were thankful for since we forgot to bring along the ones in the hotel. To avoid stomach trouble that could spell disaster for our trip, we decided to stick to bottled mineral water no matter what. They were available anywhere from 12 to 20 rupees per litre depending on where you bought them.

With a slide nudge, we finally were on the way, gliding slowly forward before gathering speed, leaving behind the station that was now crowded with so many people departing, arriving or just waiting for their respective trains. There wasn’t much of a view to see, though every now and then I espied interesting small towns but mostly, the scenery was rural in nature. The lay of the land was as flat as a billiard table hence, fields planted with every kind of crop dominated the landscape. I, therefore, concentrated more on the latest Bollywood buzz in the papers and magazines I was reading. Meanwhile, the wife was busy on a texting spree to the folks back home.

My only complaint was the window on my side whose glass was almost opaque from discoloration and leftover grime that wasn’t wiped clean on the exterior. This made for blurry and sepia-toned scenery which wasn’t ideal for photography. On the other side, however, they were cleaner and you could very clearly see the views that slid by. I was tempted to swap places with the two female Japanese tourists enjoying their own world had they not been busy clicking with their mobile cameras. Hey, I read somewhere that when you look past your own window whether aboard a car, train, bus or plane, you only see half the world. True, isn’t it? Anyway, my little problem was a case of the glass being cleaner on the other side of the aisle.

About 20 minutes into the trip, uniformed stewards came and offered us either a "coffee kit" or a "tea kit" with some small biscuits. You had to make your own from the tiny flask filled with hot water that they gave you. Then, after clearing up our foldable trays attached to the seats, they came back a couple of minutes later to serve us breakfast: Cornflakes with hot milk, scrambled spicy eggs, white flabby sliced bread with butter and jam, and a banana for dessert.

There was an intercom aboard thru which a female voice announced, both in Hindi and English, messages or names of stations along the way even though we didn’t stop by them. The express train was headed for Bhopal which is eight hours away from Delhi with only one stop in Agra.

Just before reaching Agra, we witnessed the dubious privilege of seeing the worlds longest latrine, for miles one saw through the thankfully hazy mist and dirty windows, hundreds of people, young and old, male and female, in the middle of the countryside doing what only comes naturally first thing in the morning, "beware a rural Indian's left hand" is indelibly stamped in our minds after seeing their ablutions !

The train finally pulled up at the station  right on the dot at 8:00AM.  Outside our Choomti arranged driver was waiting for us with a small placard.

So off we went to freshen up at our hotel first before meeting our Guide and then making a quick tour of the city that was once the capital of the Moghul Empire before heading out to the Taj Mahal.