Boarding the train in bustling Mumbai, I felt excited to be starting the next phase of our round-the-world trip. Jessica and I had just waved goodbye to our friend Nicola, and were planning to spend our final two weeks in India chilling with the hippies in Hampi and relaxing on the idyllic Goan beaches. We knew that including India in our itinerary had been a brave decision, but just how huge this leap into the unknown was about to become, neither of us could imagine. The three of us – firm friends since secondary school and now in our early twenties – had spent the previous six weeks exploring the sights and sounds of Northern India, from the cultural riches of Rajasthan’s palaces to the quintessential Britishness of the lush-green Himalayan hill stations. As we traversed this vast and diverse country, our escapades had been both plentiful and tale-worthy. We experienced an assault of colour, noise and chaos in the blue and pink jewel cities of Rajasthan. We danced and slept atop the sand dunes after camel trekking across the Jaisalmer desert, waking in horror to a swarm of sand flies which hovered nearby. We enjoyed moments of serenity, writing our diaries overlooking the majestic Ganges in spiritual Varanasi, or attempting a spot of yoga in Shimla. We learned to love Indian tea, sickly sweet at first but increasingly delicious as our taste buds grew accustomed to the flavour. Our adrenaline rushed as we crossed a deadly ravine by makeshift cable car, the mountain road blocked following a sudden landslide. Any malfunction would have led to certain death! In India, this kind of situation seemed perfectly normal. Now, feeling weary after our earlier farewells, Jessica and I settled down into the top bunks of our carriage, preparing for the overnight journey south, blissfully unaware that the real stand-out story of our travels was about to unfold. By this stage we were confident travellers, having navigated the Indian railways several times, acclimatised now to the frenzied stations and overcrowded trains. Organising our belongings, we were approached by a man who strolled casually into our compartment, engaged us in small talk and concluded his approach with the offer of a bourbon biscuit. Looking back, I can’t understand why we weren’t more cautious. Up until that moment, we had carefully refused any offerings from strangers, heeding the warnings from Lonely Planet, unwilling to become victims of the latest traveller scam. I don’t know why that night was different, but as I swallowed the final mouthful and curled up to sleep, I had no suspicions, just a fleeting awareness that the biscuit had tasted slightly bitter. Our next memory is of finding ourselves stumbling around the train, unable to locate our valuables, feeling confused, emotional and excruciatingly tired. Indeed, we felt drunk! We had no idea of the time. Our vision was hazy, our limbs heavy, our speech mumbled. With concerned Indian chatter surrounding us, we were helped from the train and assisted to Gulbarga city hospital, which by some twist of fortune was just a short stagger away. For two nights, brisk medical intervention ensued. We were administered injections, placed on drips, soothed while we vomited, and provided with a private room to sleep – oh how we just wanted to sleep! Unbeknownst to us, our presence in Gulbarga – being so far from the regular backpacker trail - was causing quite a stir, and we soon attracted the attention of the local media. Stifling laughter as the photographer pleaded with us to “please, look serious girls!”, the story of the two English backpackers who had been drugged with an unknown substance, mugged of their possessions while lying unconscious, and somehow ended up here, in this town, was published the following day. After a police interview, several frantic phone calls home and a two night sojourn in the local convent – where we recuperated with hot showers, jacket potatoes and the steadfast kindness of the nuns who had read of our ordeal – we blessedly resumed our travels, unharmed but a little wiser. The incident will forever be my dinner party tale, my unique story, my radio phone-in. And as for a bourbon biscuit, sorry but I will politely decline!