My head rests on the crook of my arm and my eyes snap open. Something had woken me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I grope for the light switch but come up empty. The gentle motion and quiet, distant clatter coming through the reinforced glass remind me that I am on a train. I sit up and look around. Outside the dawn has just broken and the first infantile rays of the sun seep through the overcast sky. My compartment is robed in darkness and I can just make out the shapes and humps of my fellow passengers in slumber. There is an eerie silence, broken occasionally by coughs, snores and the rustle of sheets on the vinyl seats. Yet these sounds are so subtle and mundane, they were a part of the all pervading silence and become distinguishing with agonizing slowness. Yet something had woken me up. Everything in the compartment is so familiar and normal; I was sure that whatever had caused me to jerk awake was foreign. I look around again and this time I see it clearly. My fellow passengers with whom I had chatted casually last night were no longer there. In there place I saw faceless specimens of humanity lolling about in their beds, immune to my fears and worries, and their own probably. Suddenly I felt that I had to get out of the compartment or else I would suffocate. As I was trying to find a way out, the shrill whistle of the train pierced through my thoughts and cleared the cobwebs of my mind. My station had arrived. But what had woken me up?