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"I'm taking a jasmine garland back to Susan," I say. "I'll buy it fresh, put it in a box with wet tissue paper and ask the flight attendant to put it in the fridge. Susan will open it and the perfume of India will invade Melbourne."
I'm on the top deck of the ferry with this great French guy I've just met called Bruno, and an older woman, Louise. We watch children dive to showoff for us, men who work with coconut shells, or move stones, or lie in hammocks, or women bathing in the river.
"Great idea, the garland," says Bruno. "I must remember a present for my mother, otherwise, no forgiveness."
"Forgiveness for what?"
"Your parents ...