Girls girls girls

So how many parties have I attended since I last wrote? Well how many days have there been?

Jeez, it gets tiring man! I gotta leave this place.

But Dharamsala has so far been the one place where I’ve managed to make a group of friends. So leaving has naturally been difficult. For once I’ve had the opportunity to prolong friendships, so I’ve taken it.

Tomorrow perhaps I leave.

At Monday’s open mic night, I played Bob Dylan’s Rainy Day Women No. 12 &25, Radiohead’s High and Dry (someone pointed out that some short arse famously covered this recently – Jamie Cullum, that bastard) and I also played a song that I wrote because someone suggested I do so.

At this evening I met another guitarist called Josh who was singing Leonard Cohen covers. Nice.

As I watched him talking between songs I could have sworn the guy was English. Pale skin, slight frame, floppy dark hair and a posh sounding voice. But no, after a few hours I discover he’s from Melbourne. Of course it seems so obvious now.

So we’ve hung out the last few days and are planning to meet excitable girls in Rishikesh soon.

Girls. Man! I think this is the reason I keep being unable to leave this place. Everyday I fall in love. Twice.

Yesterday, for example, on my way to the jam session at the café, I met a beautiful Israeli girl (yes, the fetish continues). She has spunk this girl. Dig it.

And then at the jam session she buggered off outside to smoke with the English Tantra expert with impressive beard and bald head. Like all travelled English men he has the gift of the gab. I could see this paragon of youthful lust staring, bewitched into his wise (bastard) eyes. But alas, I fell in love.

And then later I fell in love again.

Post jam session, the party moved to Scorpio’s house. This is a 36 year old, half Indian, half Londoner, Ali G resembler, who is about 6’5” and a loud ass rapper and performance poet. Needless to say we get on.

At the jam session myself and Josh played a banging guitar combo of the Punjabi MC (I think) tune with the Nightrider bit in the background. Know the one I mean? Well, Scorpio did a nice rap and a couple of percussionists helped us cobble together something rather glorious. People danced and everything.

It has now become a reprise whenever a party needs some injection of energy.

There was a special moment last night when myself and Josh were dancing on Scorpio’s bed like some kind of horrific post-modern nightmare tribute act to the Beatles Ashram while rocking out to the Punjabi tune as a packed room of loved-up and drunked-up happy monkeys shook their asses like the world was threatening to end.

Also, we had a lot of fun rapping. I actually battled Scorpio while I played a blues guitar thing. I think I won. Hehe.

Plus I can’t rap, I was just making up verses. Good though.

And then I fell in love again. Again! Man!

A German girl this time. She had been there the whole time just being all on the other side of the room, giving me cute eyes every now and then. And when the time came to put down the guitar and dance to some rather dubious rap and r’n’b from Scorpio’s Ipod, she came into my life. For a bit.

Turns out she is beautiful (they all are) and again has that spunk. Perhaps her being German made it difficult to understand when I was trying to make her laugh and when I was being serious. Hmm. The old problem. Still, we had a nice dance and then after a while she left with the remainder of the party. I leant myself on Dom and Scorpio, the last two remaining and said “beautiful womans!”

Then I went for a poo.

As I sat on the toilet hoping, praying for the gentle, clean and painless release from lunchtime’s excesses I heard a female voice.

Eh?

She came back! She came back with a German (male) friend. They said they wanted more partying. She must have come back for me, surely.

But no, like most stories on here (stories from my life) the reality makes a much more banal and pathetic narrative. No, she came back to dance for a bit, complain that Scorpio only had hip hop and Craig David on his I pod, have a flirty play fight with him, and then dance some more with the German guy who happened to be the only person in the room who could actually dance. Bastard. Don’t tell me that after all this time she is going to go for the one guy from her own country. I mean I know he’s really nice and a good dancer and he’s older and maybe better looking. But COME ON! don’t you dig the hair! Go on! Have a go! I don’t mind!

Oh, you’ve gone.

I gotta get out of here. I know that part of me each day keeps wondering if maybe I stay another day I’ll get to spend some more time with some foreign beauty I met the other night. And then maybe she will want to share an X-rated adventure through Northern India with a bum-haired man for say, a couple of weeks.

No, I need to keep moving. The plan, to leave for Rishikesh tomorrow with Josh. Let’s see.