On the other side of the river a body lay dead in silk. Next to him a man scrolling through his phone.
First of all, I have to tell you about the time I was sexually assaulted in Dharamsala. It was the second last night before I left. Walking home from watching live music. Kissing Ayelen goodnight and making the journey down the hill to my hard mattress. Listening to music with my phone torch out to see the rocks and then avoid the giant holes in the poorly paved road. From the opposite direction floated another light. Down the hill and joining my route I heard him talk.
I took my headphones out and said, “What's that mate?”
“I like your style”, he said, in that gay accent that transcends all borders, as if there's a button within a mans asshole that gets turned on by a knob.
“Thanks man, I like yours too” I said politely,
“I am gay”,
“I know, I can tell. I'm straight”,
“You're straight?”,
“Yes”,
“Let me touch you”, he said, reaching for my dick.
I jeered away but he still touched it.
“You don’t have to do anything, I touch just once”,
“No. Stop”,
“I suck for you”, he said, reaching for my dick again,
“No. If you were doing this to a girl it would be wrong” I said, strangely, as if him doing it to me wasn’t wrong, but that’s what I said.
He took that hint and continued walking. Maybe I should have punched him. Maybe I should have shown more aggression, but that was my initial reaction.
I'm glad I didn’t punch him.
I don’t know what it is with the Gays. Is it just me or are they doing this to everyone?
Is it my colourful clothes?
The way I was floating to the music and the pheromones of being with Ayelen?
It crossed my mind for a second. Maybe ill just chuck it in this poofs gob and be done with it. My little secret. But I'm just not gay. Even when the world keeps telling me I should be, or I am. I don’t get it with the new wave of gays. The original notion was that you are born gay. Now with the push for gender-fluid sexuality it dismisses those who really have a yearning for cock. The ones who used to get railed in parking lots in the 80s and if you got caught you would have your head kicked in. That was a real test of your sexuality. And if I bashed him, how would the world see that?
Would they side with the gay small Indian who touched me without consent or the straight white male who has financially stable parents and was a victim. Can I be a victim?
I choose not to be. Its just a story now. One day he will reach for the wrong cock and get a wack to the little red dot on his forehead. Until then he can walk off with the excitement of taking the ludicrous chance.
The other thing I want to tell you is that I made a playlist for the Sky High Café and gave it to Yash. A part of me lives on in the building I felt was home.
Now that they’re out of the way. Today I went to Shivas temple where the cycle of life is on display.
Walking there through the dry streets of Nepal, my eyes drink the dust in the air. A group of boys who looked spaced out walk towards me. I don’t know what drug they were on but if I had to guess, some form of opium. (It was glue).
“Give me a drink of water”, one said, as I walked by.
I ignored him but wanted to say, “Use your manners!”.
Checking my phone every 5 minutes made the one hour walk seem like two. Walking into the place, a man got my attention and told me I need to buy a ticket. $10. And I did. The same man followed me as I walked aimlessly. I felt the warmth of a fire and realised it was a burning body. I sat on the ledge and tried to find some skin, but couldn’t. The smoke from the vessel found my face as if his soul was slapping me. The man became a guide. Took me on the tour. I thought it must have been part of the ticket. They burn the bodies. The family watch on. The father dies then the oldest son lights the fire in his mouth. The mother dies then the youngest son. Then they cut all their hair off and wear white for a year. Come back a year later and wear a different colour. The river was running slow and full of rubbish. The monkeys walk alongside the river trying to find a liver. The bodies burn for four hours before they’re gone. Then young poor boys come and sift through the ashes trying to find gold. A gold tooth, a ring, a necklace, anything.
“Can anyone do that?” I ask,
“Yes”,
“Do they every fight?”,
“Yes”, he laughed.
He pointed to a large building.
“That’s hospice” he said, “Where people who are terminally ill come and stay here until they die. Its an honour dying in a holy place”,
“Do they get any treatment?”,
“No” he said, “Maybe some holy water and things like that”.
Sounds painful and awful. But what would I know?
We cross the river, a lady follows me trying to sell a necklace.
“No thanks”, I say fifteen times.
The answers require meditation. Separation. Everyone can ask a question once but when you say no and they persist. When you say no and they start using guilt to get the coins from your pocket, you want to turn around and say “I said fucking no!”…
But I don’t.
He showed me a temple. Scattered with blood. Explained the god who was chiselled with precision on the front door. Said something about the devil.
“They use to sacrifice humans here, now they sacrifice animals”,
“How long ago did they used to sacrifice humans?”,
“A very long time ago”,
“What animals do they sacrifice?”,
“Goat, water buffalo, chicken, duck. Just last month they sacrificed a duck”.
I laughed in my head. Their forefathers ashes would be turning in the river. Having once sacrificed humans to now a stupid little duck. Poor duck.
He told a story of the water buffalo they did. Five men holding it still. He said its similar to the way they make Halal meat. Which I've seen and is actually quite humane considering you're cutting the throat of an animal.
“It is more painful for the animal”, he said, “First they cut the skin”, then something else but I cant remember.
He told me they make the blood squirt into the temple. The more the animal strains the more the blood pulsates with intention.
“This all dark energy?” I asked,
“Yes”, he said.
Scary.
Then we crossed the brick built bridge. To the side of fertility. Eleven temples sit in line. Those who wish for a baby come here and offer the temple five elements. They were honey, yoghurt and a few other things. The offering goes into the earth and I guess it works if they’re still doing it. On the other side of the river a body lay dead in silk. Next to him a man scrolling through his phone.
“He died today. He will get burnt in the next 24 hours”.
So I sat on the ledge and could see it all. The dying, the dead, the burnt, the unborn and the living walking through the energy, giving and taking money from each other.
We walked up to three men who looked as holy as any person possibly could. Long dreads and painted faces. Sitting together in orange robes.
I asked the guide, “How much will is cost to talk to them?”,
“Its up to you”, he said.
So I sat with them They all gave me blessings. Tapped my head. I closed my eyes and meditated. I gave them blessings too. As he tapped my head and I meditated I didn’t really feel anything.
“Do you want a photo?” asked the guide,
“No thanks, this is just for me” I said,
“Good mantra” Said one of the holy men.
When in reality I just knew it was going to cost a shitload to get it and to be honest, I didn’t care for it too much.
I wake up at 5am in the morning to crawl through roofs and wire power points for a ladies iPad charger and they sit by the river all their life, and I should give them my money?
I would happily trade places brother. But I took their blessings and not their photo. And I paid them all $5 each.
The lady was back with the necklaces now. So I bought one for $10. I felt like the ashes getting conveyed for gold. We walked on through life and death. He showed me the main temple, which I wasn’t allowed in because I'm a foreigner and not Hindi. Completely understandable and respectable. The temple was the Hindus equivalent to Mecca. Its funny how I'm not religious but have found myself in the Vatican, listening to the pope and now the Mecca of Hinduism. I didn’t see the Dalai Lama, his status could not trump the inconvenience and my incredible laziness.
We walk out, now the guide turns and says, “I hope I made you happy, now I hope you can make me happy”.
Not another bloke asking to suck me off is it?
No. Just wanted money. I opened my bleeding wallet and gave him $10. 1000NPR.
“This is only $10” he said,
“I thought you were part of the ticket”
“People usually pay $40”
“Well, this is what I feel comfortable giving”
“You can just give me 1000 more”
“No”
“Ok, god bless you”
“God bless you”
And I don’t feel a flicker of guilt. His game turned on himself. He didn’t ask me if I wanted a guide. He didn’t tell me it was going to cost money. We didn’t set a price. Once again there was no consent. So take your $10 my friend and thank you for the tour.
Rest in Peace Duck.
I walked home. Walked to a café. Read and did nothing. The sun was nice. Everything was nice. On the way home the busy streets full of questions.
“Massage”
“Hash?”
“Hey brother, nice beard, where you from?”
“Need guide?”
“You speak English?”
And off they go, and with my headphones in I walk and say “No Thanks to everything”.
All my desires are easy to dismiss when they come as offerings from another man. So I walk to the hostel, smoke a joint and open a beer and pen this. I hope you liked it baby. x
