Dingledodies

"They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn..." JK.

Music.

I have decided to joing CSS and jump on Lupe's bandwagon or rather her tour bus and start dating music.

Reasons:

- It doesn't give you colds
- It takes you for walks
- It is there when you have to clean the house
- It talks nonsense often
- It can break your heart but then you can just skip along to the next track and all is better (great for someone as emotionally retarded as me)
- It can teach you
- It gets along with your friends
- It dances with you
- It makes you smile

Music took me on the best date yesterday. We walked to the botanical gardens, hunted for fairies and smelled flowers together. We then walked home and cooked dinner and cleaned up together. Contentment.

And your heart is like a garden
And your heart is in the cities
And your heart is confiscated
And your heart is on the table.

Eating Daisies

I fell asleep beneath the flowers

For a couple of hours

On a beautiful day

Daydream

I dream of you amid the flowers

For a couple of hours

Such a beautiful day

(Lupe Fiasco - Daydreamin')

My poet/stylist/confidante came up with a term "eating daisies." I took this phrase and I thought about. I thought about it a lot - as I seem to do.

Only a happy person would ever eat daisies. That is logical, right? A sad person would not go around eating daisies. No, definitely not! Sad people do not go around eating flowers.

So when I am happy I am "eating daisies" and when I am really happy I am "eating daisies dipped in gin."

I am eating daisies when..

- The theme music for The West Wing comes on.
- I buy new shoes.
- I visit Patchewollock.
- There are fresh flowers in the house (obviously not daisies, they are not safe).
- I have someone to talk nonsense with.
- My sister pats my head just right.
- I can leave work at 5pm on a Friday.

I am eating daisies dipped in gin when..

- I am lying on my bed reading a good book with my legs dangling out my window, kicking about in the dirt and among the geraniums.
- I am hanging out on the deck with my parents, Manna and Matt getting drunk with Sparticus at my feet.
- I slip into newly washed white sheets and into the welcoming snuggle of Joshua (my teddy bears) arms.
- Dad and I go for walkies with the dogs and Mum meets us at the park.
- I can kick my shoes off at a gig and dance.
- I am falling in love.

The Chillum

Heartbeats

So my song for Laos was Kings of Leons Slow Night, So Long. This trip my album was Jose Gonzalez's album Veneer and especially his song Heartbeats.

One night to be confused
One night to speed up truth
We had a promise made
Four hands and then away

Both under influence
We had divine scent
To know what to say
Mind is a razor blade

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no

One night of magic rush
The start a simple touch
One night to push and scream
And then relief

Ten days of perfect tunes
The colors red and blue
We had a promise made
We were in love

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough

And you, you knew the hands of the devil
And you, kept us awake with wolf teeth
Sharing different heartbeats
In one night

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no

Why like dis?

I learnt a few new words and phrases while I was away. Probably more Hebrew then anything else but really every different state in India has their own dialect and the Israelis are like locals there? My friend Annette and I formed our own language which was a mixture of Hebrew, English, giggles and mmm's - we named it Hebrish.

(before you go on I am well aware that many of these phrases are spelt incorrectly - I'm just not sure how to correct it)

Why like dis?

This is the answer to everything.

- mosquitos? Why like dis?
- a bike running out of fuel in the middle of no where? Why like dis?
- an expensive thali? Why like dis?

It can be said in disbelief with a raise of the arms. In horror. Or sadly with a sorrowful shake of the head.

My friend

Everyone in India is 'my friend'

- My friend how much?
- Come on my friend, good price for me?
- My friend!

Bhaiya

"Baya!!!!!!!!!!!!!" meaning "Brother!!!!!!" and said in context like "Baya!!!!!!!!! Where is my banana lassi?" We mostly used this in Havelock. The more endearing term if Ji.

And from my Hebrew friends...

Sibabba

- good, all is good, oh really? good!

Wallah (my favourite)

- really.....
- really!!!!!!
- really!?!?!?!?!

Yellah

- Lets go!
- Get out!!! (as in 'no way!!' not leave here please kind of way)

Yellah Yellah

- Lets go, lets go! (impatient)

Also everything is possible in India.

Disembarking...

I left Havelock with:

- 36 sand fly bites
- 2 infected sand fly bites
- a grazed chin
- a grazed knee
- a toe leaking puss
- strange bruises
- new friendships
- a few old friendships cemented
- 1 broken heart
- a tan
- regrets
- and a few new words

I left Havelock without:

- 2 pairs of Havs
- a few tears
- my sarong and my favourite hat

So I am sitting on the ferry shoeless, choking back a few tears (hiding under the lifeboat – I am tres discreet) with a mindful of regrets and legs so itchy I want to scream.

Most of you are shaking your heads in disgust right now. Not Again! Right?
But this timeit was my own doing. All my own doing. So I will suffer in semi-silence. I promise.

I can also promise come September I will not be in Australia. I have plans people.

Ashish!

Ah Ashish! Our 16 year old waiter at Sunrise. He had the sing songy voice of an angel. Imagine my own sing songy voice but 10 octaves higher. It is possible.

He was particularly attached to our friend Oren –

“Oren!!!! Oren Juice!!!” - ie. "Orange!!!! Orange Juice!!! - is what our dear Ashish would yell.

Ah Ashish. The kind of boy who deserves his own facebook group.

The Beach

I started reading The Beach on my ferry ride from Port Blair to Havelock Island. And during my time reading the book I came to realise that Richard and I were pretty much in the same boat.

There was group of us who met at the crazy ticketing stall.

- Or (The Commander)
- Amir & Ran the beautiful shaggy haired Israelis
- 1 very talkative Canadian – Mike
- Michael (I pity the girl who comes between he and his chillum)

We were a band of merry strangers all embarking on semi virginal islands with images of coconut tree lined beaches, clear waters and on all of our minds some kind of adventure. We camped out on the top of ferry and did the usual get to know you traveller shit.

I’m forgetting my book/trip link. Ah where is my mind? Anyway just at the chaper when Richard, Francoise and Etienne arrive at The Beach we arrived at Havelock. Wow I hear you say. Then a few days later we went snorkelling (or schnoorkelling as the Israelis say) and I was at the chaper when the Swedes get attacked by the shark. Wow again.

My time continued to parallel Richards – we both had the sand and the water that we dreamed of. Also the unrequited love. The soft scent of weed permeating the air. And I guess the boys calling to the chillum would be like the calls of native animals on their island.

Richard had Daffy to talk to though, whereas I had Raju the dog. Raju always sat next to me while I read on the beach. Often covering his paws with my hands so that I couldn’t read.

And then.. my book got eaten. Probably by Raju.

Mamallafuckingpuram

Thrown off the bus at 5am on some highway a fair way out of town as they forgot I was there and I was fast asleep. I did have the best overnight bus ride ever though. Sprawled out across the whole backseat. However, I did lose a book I had been enjoying - non fiction works by Salman Rushdie as they dragged me up the aisle.

Mamall: 1 - Susannah: 0

Eating bad fruit and curd and vomitting for half of my first day.

Mamall: 2 - Susannah: 0

Running into Asuka in an internet cafe and being introduced to a family that may have adopted her. Learning how to draw columns or rather, trying to learn how to draw columns and celebrating Pongal with them.

Mamall: 2 - Susannah: 1

Being hassalled continuously by the shop keepers who thought they were all more handsome than Fardeen Khan.

Mamall: 3 - Susannah: 1

Having the owner of a bookstore take us to visit one of the schools he helps fund. The kids rushed to meet us with their school bags and bright eyes - even though it was their day off. We chatted, drank tea, Asuka got to talk about favourite colours and I had to talk about cricket...

Mamall: 3 - Susannah: 2

So I am coming back, no? No.

On my way to catch the bus to Chennai I somehow 'lost' my wallet. Well that is what the Mamallapuram police report says. Lost! I was robbed bloody tuk tuk driver! I spent a few hours being yelled at my military uniformed, beret wearing policemen who carry big sticks (this makes me smirk).

Mamall: 6 - Susannah: 2

Walking from the police station to the same highway bus stand I was thrown off at.

Mamall: 7 - Susannah: 2

Having two drunk Indian boys try to feel me up on the two hour bus ride to Chennai when all I wanted to do was throw up and cry. Which I did in between yelling abuse in a variety languages.

Mamall: 8 - Susannah: 2

Being in Mamallapuram and no with my friends in Vattakinal.

Mamall: 100 - Susannah: 2

(Thank you Asuka for keeping me half sane)

Israeli Eyes

Today, I am talking about Israeli boys, well, certain Israeli boys and their eyes. I had my first encounter with a most beautiful set when I arrived in Vatta - the kibbutz in the clouds of Tamil Nadu.

A lot of your have asked me to write about the place but I don't really want to. I love the girls I lived with - Moran, Shiran, Rona and Anette. They are the most generous people I have ever met - nothing is mine, nothing is yours, it is ours.

Anyway, back to the eyes. The eyes I am talking about are a deep brown, wide and a stare so intense it is.. well it just is.. It sounds so cliched to say that someone has intense eyes and I thought it may just be a one off. A very special one off. But then, I met another one who showed an even more intense intensity (I need a thesaurous) in his looks. Most of you know and many have remarked that I cannot look a person in the eye for long so for me it is bewildering but I find myself actually holding their eyes and continuing eye contact.

Amelia - there is no looking over heads; James - there is no looking everywhere but.

They - these special Israeli boys - make it far too easy to fall in love with them. Their eyes and their beautiful, serious, soft natures.

Swamiji

Last night a blind man named Swamiji came to me in an internet cafe and asked me to send some emails for him. I agreed. Swamiji has several hundered friends and likes to send each email individually. I didn't mind so much - he was a very interesting man.

Dear Susannah

Namaskar from the heart of the blind.

Life is forever a joy. Whether we recognize it or not, it is always there. Waiting on our doors like therising sun of dawn. Painting the whole universe in ocher. In the same way, may yourdreams come true, glimmering with the colours of the rainbow. Infusing creativityand instilling clarity in boundless beauty. Limitless love of life continues to saturate your heart and soul. Love light laughter.

Swamiji

One Crowded Hour

I jumped on the public bus from Ernakulem to Munnar – we were late so I ended up having to sit on the ground in aisle pretty much the whole way. No, this isn’t another Indian Horror Bus Ride Story, it is a story of one of my favourite subjects – love.

I was lucky enough to be sitting facing a lovely Indian couple with their disabled son. Two hours into the trip the son started to pee while he was sitting on his fathers lap. The father realised, smiled and kissed his son on the head – love. He sat there peacefully for the next three hours.

At the moment I was listening to Augie March’s One Crowded Hour. And I definitely felt far from those nonsense bars with there nowhere music. And it wasn’t like drinking gin with nothing else in.

Then I thought of my own Golden September (or rather Golden December) and realised there was never anything there, it was like eating air. But, hell, at least I had that one crowded hour – and I kind of enjoyed the wreck and ruin.