Hardcore Traveling

After indulging myself for over two weeks in Arambol, Goa, I decided it's time I get out there before I get too soft, and make my way to Bangalore in Karnataka, and from there to Thiruvanamalai in Tamil Nadu.
Goa was great. I got enough sun to make me look quasi-Indian (past that skin threshold where you're perceived as a pouch of golden coins, and into a lower tier, perhaps silver coins.)
So after saying my goodbyes, exchanging emails, and making vague promises to the Nepali kitchen staff that I shall return next year, I made my way to the bus that would take me to the railway station.
And there it was, as if to tell me: 'if it's hardcore traveling you want, that's what you'll get'. At first the bus wasn't too full. There weren't any vacant seats, but at least you could stand without making physical contact with anybody.
But then they just kept coming. Copious amounts of people made their way into the bus with utter disregard to personal space, a concept that hasn't been discovered yet in India.

For the next hour or so, I found myself in a ludicrously uncomfortable position: a young Indian male, about my age but quite a bit shorter, had his head in my armpit, which is quite commendable, since I don't believe any of you would have survived the atrocity of the stench for more then about 7 seconds. A little child found himself with his head resting against my crotch, while his mother and I were exchanging salty humid breaths, and for my Coup de grâce: a young peddler, with an obnoxiously large package jabbing at my side.
Somehow I braved through it. I arrived at the train station, and found out that I don't have a seat. Under the column 'Seat' on my ticket, it read: 'RAC', which after consulting with someone, I found out denotes: 'Reservation against Cancellation'.
Now, facing a 14 hour train ride, you could probably understand my agitation.
I looked frantically at my ticket again and again, as if hoping that by some miraculous divination, the 'RAC' will change into something more plausible, such as '42'.
Luck was on my side. After catching a seat, I loathed and glared at each and every passerby, hoping from the bottom of my irritable heart that it isn't his or her seat. After about an hour the train took off.

Relieved and exhausted (loathing is an exasperating affair) I fell asleep.