Buried Alive.

As I jot down these lines, I find myself in a singular situation. Let me explain.
I've been scarce during the past few weeks, wandering in remote and isolated areas of the subcontinent, literally and figuratively. And during this time I was not always stationery. For my commuting I had the chance to taste this most noble of transport facilities in the country, the sleeper bus.
In short what this stands for is a relatively modern bus with an upper deck consisting solely of sleeping berths, doubles on the right and singles across the aisle. The normal seats are underneath but a full-sleeper bus exists as well. I tried the doubles once or twice and despite the bumpiness of the road I slept soundly. Thums-up!

But in front of the dilemma of "how do I return to Mumbai from where I currently find myself?" I had the brilliant idea of trying the single sleeper bus bed. Just for laughs. Why not? Right? And here I am now, seat B, upper deck-first on the left. Already ten and half hours in my trip and not half way through yet, practicing my very limited and very recent yoga postures just to take a breath. My luggage is with me naturally, in my bed cubicle that looks uncannily like a one-legged, short man's coffin. With a little extra space at the top and a window. At least the improbably dug-up road and the hyperactive driver are keeping it up, dispersing consistently and constantly any morbid thoughts. This is the roughest bus ride ever and I've got no-one to blame.

So, where were we?