12. Goa to Indore  

I woke up in my own bed, which is a common place to wake up; covered in my own urine, which is not as common, but still too common for a man my age. The night before I made the journey to Anjuna beach, in Goa. I was staying in the capital of Goa, Panaji. Which was the equivalent to Australia’s capital of Canberra. Anjuna beach is where the nightlife was, apparently. Which is what I found out once it was too late to change. The cab ride was an hour. I left around 6pm. I was going to do it the day before, but time got away from me as I was thinking of similes. I walked to the beach and it was everything you could imagine. Lights hugged the sea line as far as you could see. I sat at the second closest restaurant. Men stand on the sand and try and hale you in. Once you do, the next restaurant shows no qualms in trying to steal you. I was a wanted man. I sat down and ordered a beer and looked at the food menu. The man came back,

“I’ll just get the French fries please” I say,

“One French fry sir” he replies,

“Well preferably a few”

I hadn’t eaten yet today, because I don’t like feeling like a fat fuck and maybe I should have had a proper meal now but the energy of the place urged my belly towards the beer instead.

I sat and watched the chaos unfold. My feet in the sand on the comfortable chairs. An elderly couple a few tables ahead of me. The lady stood up, her body feeling gravity a little more than most. Weak knees moving through the softness underfoot. She posed for a photo that her husband tried to take.

“You’re too far away” he said to her, yet only I heard.

She sat there posing. Looking British and innocent. Still posing.

“Come closer” he said, moving his hand with the same gesture.

She stood posing. I chuckled to myself. She waddled back and asked him how the photo was. He explained she was too far away and she walked back, a little closer and they took the photo. A dog sat beside them and I whistled to him. Most of the dogs don’t react to a whistle. Most of them don’t really care for you at all. But this one walked over softly and sat beside me. I told him I loved him with everything but words and drank my drink.

After all that, I walked through what was probably the Main Street, but every street in India is the Main Street. I followed my empty wallets needs to find an ATM. Got money out, then followed a blonde lady into a bar called the purple elephant. I sat at the table by myself, adjusting to the beer prices. Around $3 for a stubbie. A stubbie, so Australian.

The women started to roll in, the Russian women. Some tall, some skinny, a few old and not many ugly. One lady in a red dress with red hair, looked like the lady on the matches packet. I hadn’t seen a figure like that in a while. Not outside of the screen anyway. It was clear something was afoot. They walked in groups and paraded around the bar. The beers went down as I watched. Now a few Indians were sitting on the same table as me, as the place started to crowd. One fellow looked at the red headed scarlet and turned back to me and shook his head.

“Whores bro” I said, and he nodded his head.

Somehow I ended up on the table with them all. Asking them about Russia. All of them were leaving tomorrow. That’s a line that just jacks the price up, or at least is well rehearsed for the clingy Indians. They’re clingy to me I couldn’t imagine what they’re like with Russian whores. If you give them an inch, they don’t demand a mile, but a million more inches.

Then the Russians roofied me. Date rape drug. But the system is so fit and well thanks for the kingfisher strongs that it just helped me appreciate the moon. I don’t remember how it finished with the Russian women, but I walked out alone. Stumbled into a cab, woke up where this story started.

The flight was a few hours to Indore, from Goa.

“A cab to the airport please” I asked the man at the hotel next door,

“Which airport, there are two”

“I dunno, the main one”

“Look at your ticket”

I opened my phone.

“It just says Goa”

“There are two airports”

“I know, you keep saying”

We worked it out, Goa international. Had the same conversation with the driver as I battled my insides wanting out of my body.

I flew from south to north eastish I don’t know, I left my compass at home. The pilot was showing off to someone. Bouncing up and down on the air. 5-point turn to get into the runway and then reversed it in. I felt quite vulnerable and thought the great Riley Dyson was sure to be dead within the hour. But that was just the body getting one back for what I put it through the night before. I didn’t have any beers that day. I was one day sober.

Ralph visited me in my dreams. The real Ralph and the emotions with him.

“I’m scared I didn’t do it properly, at the end?”

“It’s okay” he said, “I knew I had cancer.”

I hugged him and held him. He was still itchy; he was still Ralph. He then turned into a puppy. Then I woke up. I didn’t sleep too well, or long, but I was glad to see my Ralph.

I tried to get a tuk-tuk. The man couldn’t speak English.

“Shravatan Statue” I said, as I pointed to the map on my phone.

He just shook his head. So I kept walking. I got an Uber. He kept asking me to ring him. I watched his car stay stagnant. I was tired and annoyed but no one else’s fault. I got the Uber, got to the statue, got the tickets to the cricket, got a tuk-tuk and got Holkar Stadium.

The buzz went straight beneath my skin and I could feel the energy of the crowd pulsating. Indore doesn’t usually host the cricket; they weren’t even meant to host this. They don’t have an ipl team so the whole city was excited to have this test at their venue. I don’t know what it was, but when I walked into the stadium, I had to hold back tears. They welled in my eyes and started to fall down my cheek. It’s as if, sometimes, your soul cannot believe what your ego has allowed. It was beautiful and surreal. I only saw 3-4 other Aussies. One kid wearing an Australian flag, t shirt and the blue and gold colours on his cheeks. Silly mistake. Every time I saw him he was covered in a crowd asking to get photos with him. I sat discretely and didn’t make too much of a fuss, but that didn’t help.

I couldn’t be fucked, but I also couldn’t be fucked not being fucked. So I fell through the currents of conversations with the locals. Which all tend to go the same way.

“Where you from?”

“Australia”

“What city?”

“Melbourne”

“Oh very nice”

Silence…

“You enjoying the match?”

“Yep, it’s good, you?”

“Yes, very much so”

Silence.

A younger group sit next to me. Right next to me. Skin touching on a 33-degree day with empty seats all around us. The third question he asks,

“Which god do you worship?”

“Ahh, none, all of them. The one God. I dunno”

“No god?”

“I believe in souls and energy”

“Can I take a selfie with you?”

“Sure”

“Do you have Instagram?”

“Yep”

He gets his phone out. They all get their phones out. I type my name in. They all scroll through commenting on my past.

“Very sexy, do you have girlfriend”

“Nup”

“You are very handsome you deserve two girlfriend”

“Thanks”

“Can I ask you a very personal question”

“Sure”

“Have you had sex?”

“Yep”

“And is it good?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good, have any of you?”

“No, girls are insulted by us”

“Some by me too”

“Which companies’ condoms did you use?”

“I don’t remember”

They are all nice kids. I just wanted to watch the cricket. But what do you do, be rude? Maybe, but not yet.

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