|The final push|
So I have one evening of my trip left, what better way to enjoy it than learning to roll Beadies (the leaf cigarette – no smoking though), making incense sticks, testing every oil until I smell like a flower shop and then ripping up Mysore behind the wheel of an Auto Rickshaw – with the driver taking a backseat shouting to his friends as we cruise past like the rude boys on Southend Seafront.
My life is up in the air and I have no idea how it’s going to land. I bump into a Spanish spiritual lady who I connected with within 10 seconds of small talk. Embarrassed about our embrace with so few words spoken we went our separate ways only to bump into each other later and start chatting deeply. She reassured me that I was on the right lines and without knowing my issues at all said she felt clarity was coming my way in the next week. In love I had to be patient. Sweet.
A few hours before I was due to leave, lying listening to music, each word connecting with my every thought, she asked if I was spiritual. It was one of those questions she already knew the answer to.
“Nah,” I replied, “I’m not into that kinda stuff”.
“The kinda stuff we’ve been talking about passionately for the past 8 hours” she replied smiling.
I’m Danger Dan – nerdy, clumsy, loud, ungraceful, stupid. My farts stink. Spiritual? Come on, get real – I like bikes. No?