This incident dates back to 1995. Things have changed a bit since then, but this is my recollection from one evening in Delhi, during my first trip there.

Four of us had almost completed a project in India, and all except me were leaving. I was staying to do some final proof-reading and editing.

After dinner, the other 3 left for the airport and I went up to my room to bed.

But just as I’d fallen asleep the phone went. It was a call from the airport where one of our team, Simon, had been taken so ill that he’d been chucked off the plane.

I had to go and get him to a hospital.

The first thing I had to do was to get some cash for the taxi. Luckily the front desk at the hotel was still staffed, so that was taken care of.

Next I needed a taxi. Most taxis in India were locally produced versions of the British Morris Oxford, dating from the mid 1950′s.

Maintenance was never a priority, so they were less than pristine. In fact, they’d be laughed out of the garage if they were ever presented for a road-worthiness test in Europe or the US.

Shutting the taxi door caused the entire vehicle to rattle like a drum kit, and this was exceeded by the shuddering when the driver let out the clutch.

Luckily, this particular cab was incapable of more than 25 miles per hour, and that speed halved at the slightest suggestion of an incline. That was a good thing: any faster than that and it would have shaken itself to pieces.

At that time International flights all departed between about 10:00 pm and 4:00 am – so I was arriving at the airport at peak time.

You’re only allowed into the airport terminal itself if you have a ticket for travel on that day, and guards armed with rifles ensured compliance.

But I didn’t know that, so when I arrived I was gob-smacked by the sight that greeted me.

All the well-wishers of everyone who was leaving India that night were camped outside the doors of the terminal. There were hundreds of people. Possibly thousands. Some had even brought blankets and food, and set themselves up for the night.

It was a heaving mass of humanity.

I had no mobile phone and, faced with this crowd and the armed guards, absolutely no idea how to get into the terminal to rescue Simon.

I tried the British Airways offices – closed. (It was after midnight by now)

I tried the Airport Manager’s office. Open, but he and his colleagues were in the middle of a game of cards.

I was told to wait and someone would help me. But after 15 minutes, during which time the card game continued uninterrupted, I figured I’d just have to try to attract someone’s attention from the terminal entrance. If I could get close enough.

I was just trying to persuade the armed guard that I should be allowed to speak to someone at the BA desk (which was only about 10 paces away), when one of the BA staff saw me and came over.

I confirmed that I was “Mr Martin”, and he told me that because I’d taken so long to get there, and because Simon was so ill by now, British Airways had arranged for an ambulance to take him to the hospital.

That was a far, far better solution than me trying to get him to a hospital in my decrepit taxi. Especially as I had no idea where any hospitals were.

At that point Simon appeared – in a wheel chair. And I can honestly say that I’ve never seen anyone look so ill and still be alive. He gave no sign of recognising me, and he told me later that he’d no idea I’d even been there.

Anyway, they loaded him into the ambulance, told me which hospital they were taking him to and set off.

By this time it was approaching 2:00 am, so I figured my best plan was to get back to the hotel and deal with the hospital the next day. As long as I could find my taxi.

Luckily (I guess because none of the hundreds of people outside the airport were planning on leaving that night) it was still there.

And luckily I was able to get the driver to understand I wanted to go back to the hotel.

Simon was released 2 or 3 days later – he’d had a particularly nasty case of Delhi Belly and needed a drip and some serious re-hydration.

And I escaped about a week later, with only the loss of the batteries in my walkman (to the security guards) to complain about.

Like I said at the beginning – things have changed since then. Thankfully.

I’d arrived in Delhi from Hong Kong at 1:00 am, grabbed a couple of hours sleep and was standing on the platform at Delhi Railway station by 6:30, when the train was supposed to leave.

Only to be listening to announcement after announcement explaining that trains from various locations were delayed. By several hours, in most cases.

Not encouraging.

I was on my way to Chandigarh for a 2 week project and my client had suggested the train as the best way of getting there.

From Hong Kong that didn’t sound like a bad idea at all – I’ve always loved train journeys. But I was revising my opinion rapidly at that moment.

We eventually left about 30 minutes late and I watched as Delhi moved slowly past the window.

Chandigarh is in Punjab and almost due North of Delhi. In theory a 3 hour train journey.

Although I’d made several trips to India (Delhi and Calcutta) prior to this trip, this was the first time I’d taken a train.

And, therefore, the first time I’d seen the way people are packed into them and onto them. Literally.

The local commuter trains are so busy that people are hanging from the carriage doors, clinging to any point they can on the outside of the carriages and sitting on the roof.

Because my train was a long distance train (they called it an express but it wasn’t very express at that moment), and because I was sitting in an air-conditioned carriage (the equivalent of first class), I could watch the commuters from relative comfort.

I say ‘relative’ because the accommodation was by no means plush.

But I did have my own seat, a lot of space and a window to look out of.

Indian trains (at least the one I was on) are incredibly smooth. There’s no jerk as it moves off. In fact it’s easy to not notice you’re moving at all until you’ve already picked up some speed.

They’re also very quiet.

But they’re definitely not high speed. I don’t know what actual speeds we reached on that trip but it was closer to 50 miles per hour than 150.

There were stops and delays en route, made worse by the fact that we had to be diverted because a train crash the previous week (more than 100 people were killed) had closed the direct line.

So instead of 3 hours the journey took more than 5.

But I enjoyed it. It was very relaxing, very smooth and we were served excellent tea at regular intervals.

The countryside from Delhi up to Punjab is very flat. If you like wide open spaces this is for you. Me – I prefer mountains and variety.

But I enjoyed the trip enough that I’ve wanted to go back and do a long train trip – Delhi to Mumbai or Delhi to Chennai, for example.

With all the time in the world (no client deadlines), I think a trip like that would be wonderful.

I haven’t done it yet, but it’s there on my list of things to do.