About an hour after the Madras Mail chugged out of Bombay’s Victoria Station — and after fifteen or twenty devotees cleared Prabhupada’s first-class AC sleeper cabin to find their own seats in second-class coach — the conductor appeared and punched our tickets. The door’s slammed and latched against the noisy corridor, and I’m suddenly a little shy and awkward to be alone with Prabhupada for this long journey in such cramped quarters…A far-off moan from the locomotive breaks my slumber. The light is out and I scoot over to peer over the edge of my bed, down to Prabhupada’s bunk, expecting to see him sleeping. I’ve never seen him actually asleep — this may be a first. He’s on his side in the starlight, legs drawn up, and just then his right eye opens and stares into mine above, with no expression on his face, as if to say, “Thought you’d catch me sleeping, huh?”