It's late when we board the train at Hospet, much later than it should have been. The mosquitoes are out, the dogs are prowling and the moon is glowing unusually pink.
The additional hour wait has at least given us time to suss out the carriage system so we don't repeat the last leg's episode. It's with confidence we step onto the sleeper train and locate our beds and with bitter dismay that we find a rather large Indian man already occupying that space.
'Ah. Your seats are here?'
Yes. I struggle to hide the irritation in my voice.
'Allow me to help you.'
He shifts his own bags to make room for ours beneath the horizontal shelves which become beds on the late night train services.
'You want to sleep now?'
Um. Soon. I mumble my response, sheepish that he's returned by abruptness with kindness but still too tired to redeem myself properly.
'Okay, soon.'
He's taken it literally, of course. In India, everything is meant exactly as it is said and so he's assumed that my 'soon' means 'not right now,' rather than 'right this second' or 'an hour ago, in fact.'
Blissfully unaware of my Britishness, he launches into conversation: 'My name is Gooru.'
He's well dressed and speaks impeccably. We follow the usual 'where are you from, where are you going, how many days in India' routine and in turn discover that Gooru is on his way home to Bangalore after spending the previous night at his brother's house warming party a few stops from Hospet.
We make the most of his local knowledge and inquire which of the three Bangalore stations we're best to get off at and how long it will take us to travel from there to the airport.
Having known us now for a solid three minutes, Gooru invites us to his home for breakfast insisting that we won't find a better meal in the entire city.
'My wife is the best cook there is! And she'll be delighted to have you. You must.'
His smile was so warming that it was with huge regret, we had to decline. My mum had already booked a special breakfast for us as it would be the morning of my birthday.
'Ah wishing you the happiest of birthdays! Well then you must at least let me book you a cab. If I book it, you'll get a much cheaper fare.'
We'd noticed the last couple of days that tourists are charged up to double the locals' fees for train tickets, temples, tuk tuk journeys, accommodation and even food. When it's so cheap though, it's difficult to mind and in a way it's nice that the Indians all look out for one another. They're like one big family.
Gooru is keen to make us part of that family too.
'You're a guest in my country and I want you to love it like I do. If I look out for you, you will leave India with happy memories and maybe one day you will return again.'
He's digging out his phone to arrange a cab when suddenly he stops.
'Oh wait! You have Uber?!'
Do you? I can't hide my surprise that something which I consider to be so modern-world has made its way to India.
'Yes, we have Uber! And it's the cheapest way to get around. We have Uber X, Uber XL like you. But we also have Uber Moto and Uber Go, perhaps not like you? These are small cars and bikes or tuk tuks?'
I smile at the thought of me ordering an Uber in London and a tuk tuk turning up. Amazing.
We're so grateful for the tip and continue to listen to Gooru's teachings on India, including the different types of rice in every region and what temperatures we can expect to be met with in Munnar.
'It's okay if you're used to sweating.'
We're getting used to it fast.
Almost mid-sentence, he realises he's run over his parameter for 'soon' and must leave us to sleep.
'Goodnight girls.'
Goodnight Gooru.
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