Tamil banana. Part 2.

So, we walked past the reception and nodded hello to the guys behind the desk. They looked at us strangely because maybe its a bit of a strange sight, you know, a young girl with an ancient dreadlocked dude. Or maybe it's not that strange, I don't know.

Anyway, we stopped in front of a private room. It was unlocked and thankfully he didn't hold open the door for me.

He went and sat at the dressing table and started mixing a brown paste with some water in a plastic bottle.

I planted myself firmly in the open doorway and tried to casually lean against the frame but I must have looked on edge because I felt pretty on edge.

A tall chubby Pakistani man wearing black plastic glasses was standing at the foot of the double bed.

His nose was red and puffy and he was assessing the situation through sideways glances.

Dreadlocks gave him the plastic bottle and he drank the whatever it was.

"I told you I'm a healer. You have to be careful about what you eat, so many things are poison, even the tomatoes. Come with me and I'll take you places." He held out the brown paste for me to smell. "These are herbs, there are 23 in here. They can fix any kind of problem you have with your breathing, you know, if you have a cold or flu or whatever."

The room was very white and the lights were very bright and I really didn't know what to say.

I edged into the room keeping the door wide open and behind me. The herbs smelled spicy.

"Here, this is for you angel," he held out a banana. "It's a Tamil banana, up from the north. I got them fresh from the tree."

"Yeah, I've known Russell for years and whenever I have a problem he fixes it for me. But he doesn't like it when I go to Ministry of Crab, he says its poison, but it tastes hella good. Do you wanna grab some food tomorrow?" He asked me from the corner of his mouth, with a sideways look.

I took the banana and looked at it. Then I looked at the Pakistani man.

"Uuhhm, I'm seeing someone...tomorrow," and I really hated that I didn't just say no because I didn't want to go. "So, Russell? I'm pretty tired by now, thanks for the.." I shook my head slightly and left.

I kind of wonder what would have happened if I had committed to the situation more, what story I would be writing instead of this. But anyway I climbed up to my room, sat on my bed and ate what turned out to be the tastiest banana I've ever had.

Tamil banana. Part 1.

I was sitting on the marble window ledge outside my hostel, smoking there because I just liked that spot on the street, especially at that time of night.

Anyway, a blacked-out Jeep pulled into the driveway of the hostel.

It stopped midway, next to the window ledge.

The electric window whirred down and from its smoky depths a dark figure leaned out.

Naturally, as anyone would, I approached the window.

"I didn't see you yesterday, I came looking," his voice drawled.

I took a drag, kind of buying time, because what the hell am I supposed to say to that?

"Yeah?" I studied his eyes. They were soft brown, old age had collected in a grey ring around the iris.

"Yeah, you're staying in room seven, yeah, I saw your bag in there when I knocked yesterday. My friend needed a place to stay so I checked him in here. You don't know it maybe but we drove past you right here the day before. Now I'm thinking," he leaned closer, "what's an angel doing sitting out here and where did she come from?"

I poised the cigarette between us, by way of answer I guess, because really now, what the hell am I supposed to say to any of that?

"I'm from Pakistan but I was born in London. Where are you from?" I thought he was wearing a turban but actually he had wrapped his decades long dreadlocks around his head.

I thought about why I had just told him that.

"I'm from right here! Sri Lanka. Ah, so what you doing down there where they eat the pig? You're drinking toilet water in London, toilet water. After so many years of eating pigs they become pigs, don't you know. Do you smoke? The herb, I mean." He held out a fat joint.

"No thank you, I'm a teacher.." I had a strong impulse to bail on the situation and I think he sensed it because he pulled back into the darkness of the Jeep. Smoke billowed out of the window.

His chest rumbled with slow laughter while he pulled on his long white beard. His eyes searched my face for something.

"I'm a healer, don't you know.." His mouth set in a grim downwards smile that didn't reach his eyes.

He rolled the car into the car park and we started walking up the stairs of the hostel.

"Come and meet my friend. He's from Pakistan too. You should stay with your people, not those pig eating, toilet water types. An angel like you should be with her people, I can take you places don't you know. I got a white woman. Man! I can't get rid of her! She's got five children from me and I tell you, she just won't go away."

I followed him to a room and mulled over the many things he'd just said.

The cockroach.

It was dark brown; hard and polished.

Scuttling around, twitching its antennae, probably on some Godless mission - unaware and hateable by virtue of its very being.

I snatched the bum-gun and shot.

The cockroach wasn't expecting the assault. It panicked, desperately trying to find a way away from the relentless jet.

I cocked my head, clinically looking on as the water pummelled the pitiful creature.

When I finally let up the cockroach pressed itself into the tiled corner up on its hind legs, it's forelegs out and ready to brace itself against another attack.

Confused betrayal seeped through the bathroom.

He never came back.

Be there in a minute.

I reclined against the dark glass watching groups of young men walk past, sometimes eating, sometimes laughing, always searching.The weight of my legs pressed downwards against the ledge of a window. The chill of the marble pushed back.

Smoke plumes trailed upwards into the fluorescent street light of the city night.

The cigarette filled my lungs, soft and acrid.

Exhale.

The warm sticky air clung to my cheeks and calfs in a salty film. I traced a finger over my collarbone and looked at the bead of sweat. I felt the gentle pressure of blood in my arms.

The rumbling din of the street moved gently through my stomach, up and around finally resting behind my closed eyes. I waited there for a few more seconds.

I stubbed the cigarette out and hailed a tuk-tuk.

The confusing experience. Part 3.

It goes like this.

You make a decision; to stop being a lil bitch. Because actually, you ARE in paradise. What a waste it would be if you looked back and couldn't remember what you were belly-aching about.

So, you stand up and dust the sand off.

People don't decide who you are, no matter how often you think they do. And definitely no matter how often you think they think they do; it's all just inane chat in your tripped out brain.

So, you tilt your head and knock words out of your ears.

By now you've replaced sand for mud, palm trees for ferns, oceans for mountains.

You find yourself revelling in warm duvets, muddy boots and cups of tea.

You meander through time, unknitting the furrow in your brow. Your shoulders rest lower and you breathe deeper.

And yeah there's that full moon again, and yeah its serene. It's goes and comes, comes and goes.

The tourist.

There once was a man.

This man was not remarkable in any particular way, not even in the way some people can be remarkably dull.

He was not unusual in any of his activities, not even in the way that he went on holiday to a tropical beach after spending a year slogging away.

"Right so, I want the grilled prawns okay?"

"Yes, prawns."

"Now, I want them without shells okay?"

"Yes, okay, without."

"With NO shells, you understand?"

"Okay, no shells."

"Without." The man eyed the waiter warily.

"Without," said the waiter in his thick indecipherable accent.

He was not unreasonable in his wants, not even in the way that all he wanted was for things to run smoothly.

The prawns came with rice instead of chips and it made the mans blood boil.

The confusing experience. Part 2.

It goes like this.

You've been melting through days and weeks.

You rub your eyes and look at the shore and sure enough the beach has shrunk. 

You've been partying like crazy and when you look up you see that all your dots have disconnected.

You need to change the channel.

You find it bewildering that you can feel cold under such a warm sun. 

You flick through so many, trying to ad lib, but most of the shows are halfway through and you're an extra in them anyway.

You feel yourself waning like that moon that was once so bright.

Straw hats.

"Oh my God!" they giggled at nothing all the time. They linked arms when they weren't trying on dresses, continuously swapping tales of mischief and heartache.

Tal plopped a couple of straw hats on their heads. They pouted, tittered and made plans to decorate them with feathers.

Evening sunlight filtered through the salty sky over the girls as they flaunted along a sandy path to another shop.

"Ma holekh..?" smirked a couple of boys, proudly x-raying the girls as they walked past them.

"Ta-auve..." they brushed the boys off with a flick of their hair.

They threw their heads back in laughter and floated off into a haze of their little idioms.

Even though they had just met, they shared eons for the sake of being girls. Even though they had just met, they understood that need to be tethered and free.

The return.

It was grey and raining in the morning of the day before her flight.

She breathed a sense of relief that the island was as sad as she was to part ways.

She looked out at the endless rolling ocean unable to imagine life anywhere else. Fuck. Fuck fuck shitballs.

She sighed her way downstairs and sat at the bar with the boys who worked there. They took turns in trying to make her laugh.

"Ayyyooo Pizza Queen! When you are crying, we are crying!" 

A smile cracked through her stubborn melancholy. Her stupid brothers.

She closed her eyes and listened to the waves crashing mixed up with that Hindu prayer Babayya insisted on being played all morning, every morning. The usual thing people do when trying to grasp at precious moments.

"She's been in Hikkaduwa for five weeks and she hasn't seen the turtles! How? Eh, get ready and come to the road." She daren't deny Chanaka Boss.

She knew him well enough by now to realise the tenuous rarity of that command.

They came back to a flurry of Japo-Singhala babies. Their ruckus drowned out the ticking of the clock; right now there were shells to be found, welli-sand-cakes to be made and sword fights to be had.

Oshi and Baba didn't make a big deal about surprising her with a piece of silver in her last batth-packet.

She spent the day flitting between playing with her babies and bantering with the others. By this point the sun was beaming in all its tropical glory.

Of course it was this way. Of course it would be on her last day when everybody understood that she had somehow become part of the family.

Loui, Loui, Loui.

I always thought 'go to your happy place' was a turn of phrase, but it's real.

                                                                                 *

The sun had dropped off the edge, but there was still an orange glow radiating up through the dusk over the horizon.

I was facing the ocean with Loui wrapped around me like a baby monkey. She smelled like one too; my sticky bundle of sand and Japo-Singhala (Japalese? Singhanese?).

She asked her mother something, her mother said something back. Suddenly Loui fainted and hung limp in my arms.

"She's asking if her purple eye shadow still on. I tell her it's finish, now she's shock," her mother explained. Tenderness flowed up from my tummy and out of my throat in a chuckle.

I lay back on a sun-lounger with her sitting on my belly. The orange glow framed her sweaty head like a halo. Her long hair kept getting trapped under her armpits. The waves roared ever so gently.

I showed her how to do the Native American call by patting her mouth, she tried doing it back to me by smacking my face.

We babbled to each other in our own spaghetti language, tickled and poked and we laughed so much.

We spent an hour like this, but they say time is relative.

When I close my eyes we're back there on that sun-lounger, never ever and forever.

50 rupee adventures

It had been the usual beach party scene, maybe a bit more commercial.

Anyway, it had rained and the cops came so after an hour of the stalemate between the party-people and the police she bailed to bed.

Her phone buzzed against her dehydrated cheek. She jolted awake.

Kevin: Come to the afterparty. Hibiscus. (3:15 am)
            Change of location. Sun and sea. (10.09 am)

She groaned, smiled and rolled out of bed.

Fucking hangover. It made everything harder but she managed a shower and a slick of eyeliner.

"Oi Kevin, I'm in Peacock." her voice gravelled down the phone.

She lifted the curtain and squinted through the window. There was a rainbow in the distance.

"I'm just with my business partner now and sometimes he's going to get something to eat. I'll come pick you up and we can go meet him", she could hear him grinning. "Man, last night was so cracked out, I haven't even slept yet you know! Even the afterparty is fully packed, sick beats"

She giggled, getting a buzz from his excitement.

She put on a dress, blew her reflection a kiss and dashed downstairs.

He was waiting on a sofa. They started laughing when they saw each other.

"Yo dude, what the fuck happened last night?", they high-fived.

"Yeah I know man! Some fucked up scene man. So after the police left, some people busted out the drums and everybody was dancing in the rain you know, like some cracked out shit. Then, sometimes everybody moved the afterparty to Sun and Sea, everybody's dancing, getting fully cracked out! I haven't even slept yet!". Kevin was snickering and bopping to a beat in his head while he talked.

"Aww man, let's check it out! But I'm so hungry..", she clutched her belly.

"Ah yeah. Come let's go!"

She searched her pocket and pulled out a note.

"50 rupees?"

He pulled out a 50 rupee note too. They cackled and started making their way.

They tumbled and jostled down the road busting jokes until they reached the door of the rotti shop. They toppled into their chairs. Kevin's business partner was sitting with some other guy and they were half way through eating.

"Two egg rottis, two plain. Some dhaal curry and fish curry. Thank you, ayya" Kevin said to the rotti shop man.

They half listened as the business partner rambled on about some plan involving giving skills to rural children.

"Mmhmm..." they alternately mumbled between mouthfuls. They washed the rotti's down with a coke and busted out of the joint.

"Fuck that was tasty. Let's go party, whats the time?"

"11:30. Hey, you know, we didn't even pay, say thank you or good bye". He raised his eyebrows and his mouth was filling with laughter.

She looked at him and they busted up.

"Come on man, the sun is killing me", she punched his shoulder and they bowled down the road.

When they rocked up to the party, they scanned the scene, making sure they were a team.

She made sure they always had a cigarette, he made sure they always had a joint and the whole time they bounced around to random deep house.

"Fucking cracked out man!"

The confusing experience. Part 1.

It goes like this.

You find yourself surrounded by the ocean, bright green leaves and players from the beach.

You stumble but falling on sand doesn't hurt that bad.

You see him, your eyes meet - the way your eyes meet with many others in a crowded place.

He says hello to you at a party but it's too complicated to say hello back.

You're in paradise, you should be happy. But you're still yourself no matter where you are. More than being in paradise you're being overwhelmed.

The warm flush of the party surges through your limbs. You close your eyes and stay there, just behind the screen of your eyes.

When you open them it's morning.

Not just any morning.

The moon was full; bright and endless.

It still hangs high in the sky, surrounded by the dark blue of the night before.

You look far over to the East where the sun hangs in line with the moon. They greet each other from across the sky with bittersweet happiness. It's a matter of moments before they won't see each other for another month, but they're here right now.

Slowly but before you know it, the sky is strewn with lashings of pink and orange, purple, yellow and blue.

You're tripping out but this is real.

Every time you look back through the archive in your mind, it's real.

Untitled 2

Once upon a time there was a boy.

He imagined he had the kind of earnest curiosity you'd find in one who hadn't experienced rejection. He was often found in search of adventures so with him he carried a burlap bag of adventurous essentials; rope, underwear, a torch, his late fathers Swiss army knife, a comic book, chocolate and dog biscuits.

Upon this particular time he set out to the woods behind his house.

To look at the woods one would imagine all manner of ghastly beasts lurking behind the ageless trees, hiding in wait for the succulent innards of a wayward wanderer. But the boy knew the woods differently.

To him the woods were more familiar than his home.

He stood at the threshold of the woods and contemplated what adventure he might find today. Looking up at the sky he saw distant dark clouds, ruminating over their tiresome grudge. They would cast their darkness over the woods in time.

He glanced back at his house, took in its glow and stepped into the woods.

He loved the sudden hush that fell, like walking into a meeting of the Ancients unannounced. Sometimes he would scale the parameter weaving in and out of the line that separated the woods from the world.

Pressing further into the quiet he searched for signs. A broken branch, a footstep. After a while he arrived at his favourite brook of the river which flowed thickly through the woods.

The water was teal grey and meandered leisurely down, down, down.

He climbed up the old tree with the comfortable branch. Warm sunlight filtered through the canopy and hung heavily in the air. Tiny insects danced in the pockets of light, leaves breathed deep the silence and the boy fell off the branch.

He landed on his back with a dull thud. As the wind was knocked out of him his body tried to suck more back in. He raged for air while darkness closed in on him.

He woke with a start. The air was a lot cooler now.

"You ought to be more careful", came a voice from behind him.

"I was looking for you. Did you push me?", the boy squinted.

"Not this time."

The boy looked at the dog. The boy gathered his bag and balance and they started walking further into the woods.

The low sun was just about to fall of the edge. Down, down, down.

The dog towered over the boy on it's hind legs. It wore a black utility belt from which it pulled out a carrot. The crunching made the boy wince.

The dog was almost unaware of the boys presence but the boy kept glancing up trying to think of something to say. After all this time their interactions were for the most part, exhaustingly awkward.

"I brought some -", he stopped short when he saw it.

A huge undeniable it. There was a metaphor sitting on a fallen tree. It looked layered like an onion. It's outer layers were wilting. The dog approached it and peeled a section off. Inside there was a firmer and more translucent layer.

Deeper into the thicket they went and darker it became. When the boy looked back he caught glimpses of the metaphor through the net of brambles but it was getting harder to see.

The silence of the woods pressed against the boy and the dog.

"Where are we going today?"

"It's hard to say. Imagine that you are in a story and of course, you couldn't say exactly what is going to happen but perhaps you can hazard a guess"

"Who is writing the story? If I am writing the story then I want to go that way", he pointed in that direction only the dog couldn't see because it was pitch black.

"Okay", the dog replied simply and further into the oppressingly loud silence they went.

The darkness flowed over them like a silky liquid, gliding over all their nooks and crannies. The gentle ebb and flow of the darkness helped push and pull them through the woods.

They walked and walked. The boy ran through a million things he could say to the dog but none seemed relevant or interesting. After a while the boy got pissed off because why couldn't the dog make an effort?

"I'm gonna head off that way, see you".

The dog grunted and the boy walked home.