Getting from A to B, Indian style

Travelling around India is a battle of wills, a test of patience, a shared seat or bed, enormous acts of kindness and throws up just about every scenario you never thought possible.

The cornerstone of local transport is the autorickshaw - a mechanised version of the traditional rickshaw. It is customary before each journey to undergo the haggle, where the cheeky driver gives you a starting price of double or even triple what you should pay. You must then give a

price less than half of what you are willing to pay and after a weary exchange of rolling and pleading eyes, a fair 'tourist' price is reached. Everyone relaxes. The rickshaw then jerks into motion and you are thrown into the stutter of traffic, surrendering your trust to the driver as he dodges and weaves his way with expertise - and often complete recklessness. Nevertheless, it's the best way to make short journeys.

Intermingled in the congestion are wooden wagons, drawn by bullocks, horses and camels, unmarked taxi drivers, bicycle rickshaw wallahs (for an even more perilous journey than the auto), cows, goats, the occasional elephant and general motorists - persistently using their horns to demand right of way, even when the traffic is stationary.

And of course there are the local buses, heaved around the towns and cities by drivers chewing and spitting red betel juice, or paan. Their aging engines roar and shudder as they drive around at alarming speeds, crowded with people that double their capacity.

On India's roads, accidents and mishaps are common and arguments ensue over blame for bumps and hold ups. Overtaking is the norm and at first I found myself closing my eyes and holding my breath for large parts of the journey - but it does get easier!

The long distance bus journeys, both Government and privately run, do not get any easier however. Flying down roads of rubble in the dead of night and roadside stops at 3am for sugary chai and to use the toilet (field or bush) is not for the fainthearted - or sane. I still have yet to recover from a particularly bad 'sleeper' bus that resulted in me throwing up out of the bus window countless times in the early hours of the morning; I'm not the first and I certainly won't be the last.

For long distance journeys, the India train network is the desireable way to travel. As my grandfather wrote: "Travelling on India's railways is one of life's great experiences." Never a truer word spoken.

The trains are always brimming with the over-population of India and seats get booked up weeks in advance. So, to avoid being number 187 on the waiting list (yes, the waiting lists are often this extensive - pure Indian optimism), you have to plan ahead or hope the train has a tourist quota or Tatkal (a late release of seats) available.

The long distance trains (my longest journey was 32 hours!) are sleeper trains, fitted out with hundreds of berths (beds). Naturally, and I have to say thankfully, there is a class system. The regular 'sleeper' carriages have overworked fans, more than the occasional cockroach and often people sleeping in the luggage racks (travellers included). Then there are three air-conditioned options: 1AC, 2AC and 3AC. I have had the pleasure (and in part, displeasure), of trying out each of the different classes, but my preference is 3AC (three-tiered berths of lower, middle and upper) and 2AC (just lower and upper berths) as air-conditioning is a necessity when travelling through the Indian summer.

The single best thing about the trains are the people you meet, even those you end up sharing your seat with. Often travelling by myself, I have shared many a family's food and life stories, and have been quizzed about my own. And there there is the endless stream of chai-wallahs (sweet tea sellers), snack merchants, the occasional holy man and people selling the usual Indian paraphernalia.

At night time, the bunks are set up and in the AC carriages starched sheets - that faintly smell of bleach - and pillows and blankets are provided for a fairly decent night's sleep. The talking stops and you are serenaded by the occasional mobile phone, burp, fart and guttural snoring.

Morning arrives and you are greeted by the pungent yet passable toilets, a salty nut cutlet and chai for breakfast and yet more people pile on.

Indian transport is a delight, a fright and a whole new wealth of experience.