A WALK IN THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE (Part I of 4)

One night when I was asleep in my hut in Varkala I had a strange dream. In my dream it was night and I saw a young foreign lad standing on the edge of the cliff looking out at the sea. I recognized that particular location on the cliff; it was at the far end of the north-cliff, a rather deserted area with no public lights. I saw the boy tilting his head backwards in an awkward manner and suddenly he collapsed and fell forward and down the 30-metre (100 feet) cliff. The name Steven popped up in my dream. Steven from Sydney.

The next day I was reading A brief History of Time, written by Stephen Hawking, the man in the wheelchair who communicates by means of a voice-computer. I was swinging in my hammock, my adopted stray dog Snow-white and her 7 cubs were lying in the shadow of my hut next to me. I looked at my watch and noticed it was 4.30 pm. I suddenly remembered I had an appointment with a beautician on the South-cliff, a few hundred metres beyond the helicopter platform. Indian beauticians know how to model eyebrows as no other beauticians in the world (by means of threading) and it was time to have my eyebrows done. It was about a half-hour walk and as I had agreed to show up at 5, it was time for me to leave. I got ready, locked the door of my hut with my Sanyo digital door lock (I love that thing. I bought it for 100 baht in a shop in Bangkok and I could press the right combination with my eyes closed. I never had to walk around with a door key. Looooove it.) Anyway, I was ready to start moving, but something held me back. Did I forget something? I had my bag with me, my wallet with a few hundred rupees, my little necklace with prayer drum that was blessed by the Dalai Lama, my mala with 108 crystal prayer beads around my right wrist. And yet I had a feeling that I had forgotten something. I opened my door again and had a look inside my hut. A few moments later I realized that I didn’t forget anything. I had my money and prayer drum, my mala; what else would I need? I locked the door and started walking on the red gravel footpath along the cliff. I greeted Tenzin and Dolker.

“I am going to have my eyebrows done.”
“Okay. You want to have dinner with us later tonight? We’re making momos.”
“Tukdeche, that is very nice, Tenzin-la. I love your momos. See you later. Can you please make a little extra food for Snow-white?”
I walked on. I greeted, Rajeev, Anil, and Kumar. “Where are you going Madam-ji?”
“I am going to have my eyebrows threaded.”
“O.”
While I was walking a strange feeling came over me and it had to do with time. I slowed down. I looked to my right, observing the sea. There were palm trees along the footpath. I looked at a stray dog laying in the shadow of a palm tree. And then, out of the blue, I saw something with my left eye that appeared to me as a film. My right eye was seeing reality, my left eye saw something that wasn’t there. With my left eye I saw how the sleeping dog woke up, walked towards me and started licking my right hand. At the same time, a coconut fell out of the tree and hit the spot where the dog had just been sleeping. And all this I saw as a movie with my left eye. My right eye still saw reality happening and the dog was still sleeping in the shade of the coconut tree. I looked up to the coconuts in the tree top and back to the dog. While I slowly approached the tree, the dog woke up (for real this time), walked towards me and started licking my right hand. I thought: This is very weird! What is going on? A second later, a coconut fell out of the tree and landed on the spot where the dog had been sleeping, preventing the dog from being hit on the head by a heavy coconut. Believe me, in Kerala 600 people a year die of falling coconuts; and many more dogs, including my 2001 adopted stray dog Big Ears and her two puppies!
I stood still for a moment, contemplating, my heart racing like junky on crack-cocaine. “Goddamnit Jesus, for Christ sake, son of a bitch! This is weird,” I thought. (Okay, you may think this holy Pantau keeps using the Lord’s name in vain all the time, but I was baptised a Catholic and Dutch Catholics are permitted to use the Lord’s name in vain as much as they want, especially those who converted to Buddhism).
I continued moving on slowly, walking on the footpath towards the helicopter platform. Now let me explain a little bit about the helipad. In the early 2000s, the helipad of Varkala was a clearing in the palm tree forest along the cliff. It was as large as a football field, but only half of it was covered with asphalt that had a large white circle painted on it with a big white H in the centre. On one side of the helipad was a red-coloured gravel-like area the size of two tennis courts, as the cliff was made out of a red volcanic substance. While I was walking across that red gravel area something truly weird unfolded in front of my eyes (and until now I have been hesitant to share this experience with living human beings). A number of circles appeared in the gravel as I was looking at it. It appeared as if an invisible person was drawing circles in the gravel with an invisible stick. Nobody was around and the circles didn’t make any sense to me. I slowly continued to walk towards the helipad and turned round to have one more look at the strange circles in the gravel. I had a sensation that these circles meant something and I made a quick drawing in my notebook. I pondered on what happened here. I looked at my watch. It was ten to 5 and I didn’t want to show up late at the beauty parlour. I moved on, crossed the helipad, continued on the footpath that descended towards an area with a number of huts, one of them occupied by the girl’s beauty parlour. While I walked on the gravel footpath, a young man on crutches and covered in plaster stumbled towards me. He looked as if he had been in a bad traffic accident. While he was about to pass me, I stopped him.
“O dear, what happened to you?” I asked.
“I fell off the cliff last night. I was on the north-cliff enjoying the view of the sea and the starlight. And while I was standing on the edge of the cliff, I think some Indian knocked me on the head from behind. I fell down the cliff and landed on the rocks. I was unconscious. A few fishermen came to my rescue and took me to the hospital. I broke my arm and my leg and as you can see, I am full of wounds and bruises and cuts. I hate this country. It’s not safe for foreigners. They just knock you on the head to rob you. They don’t mind killing someone for a few hundred rupees.”
“So you got robbed?” I asked.
“Well, that is the strange thing. I still had my wallet in my pocket with all my money and credit cards, my passport and my digital camera. Nothing was missing. I still had my expensive watch on my wrist. So I don’t understand why someone would knock me on the head and push me off the cliff. I am a tourist. I didn’t have any argument with any Indian while I was here. I don’t understand why someone would try to kill me for no reason.”
I stared at him. “Okay. Just give me a moment. Can I just hold your hand for a moment? I feel the answer coming. But I need to hold your hand to make contact.” I took in a deep breath. I don’t know where the following information came from, but this is what flashed through my mind.
“You weren’t knocked on your head by someone.”
“I wasn’t?” the young man replied.
“No. There is something wrong with your brain. While you were standing on the cliff last night, you suffered an aneurysm. There is a problem with an artery in your brain. You have a blood clot in your brain. That is why you suddenly collapsed and fell off the cliff. I think it is better for you to see a neurologist right away. There’s a good hospital in Thiruvananthapuram that has an MRI scanner. Don’t waist any time. Get in a taxi right now and get yourself to the hospital.”
The young man stared at me. “Who are you? Are you a doctor or a psychic?”
“I am Pantau. I am just a very simple person with extraordinairy experiences. You can ignore my advice or take it seriously, but if I were you I would get myself to a hospital right now. Tell them what I told you. The problem is at the base of your brain.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Good luck. Here’s my card. Call me if you know more. I am curious whether I was right about this. What’s your name?”
“Steven. I am from Sydney, Australia”
“Yes, I know. Good luck and call me.”
I helped getting Steven into an Ambassador taxi and told the driver to rush him to the Kerala Institute for Medical Science.”
It was 5 past 5 pm when I was able to move on to the beautician. I was five minutes late.
“O Madam-ji, what happened to you? You look as if you’ve been crying.”
“Yes, Saji. I just had a very strange and emotional experience.”
“Saji? Madam, how do you know my name? Saji. I never told you my name is Saji?”
I pointed at the large sign above her hut. SAJI’S BEAUTY PARLOUR.

Saji smiled. So you want me to thread your eyebrows yes?”
“Yes, but can you give me a glass of water please? I forgot my bottle of water. Left it in my hut. I just had this very strange experience and I have to calm down a little.” I looked at the girl and suddenly started reading her mind.
“O dear. Saji, I think we need to have a good talk before you start caring about my eyebrows. There’s a lot on your mind that's troubling you.”

End of Part 1 of 4

THE MIRACLE OF THE LOST FLASH DRIVE

One day in February 2003 I was walking through Varkala towards my hut. En route to my hut was a little palm-leave grocery shop run by an Indian. I didn’t like him very much because once he had overcharged me and cheated me out of an extra 20 rupees for a bottle of coconut oil. Since then I never bought anything in his little shop and whenever I passed his shop he would always look very angry at me and I would look very angry at him. However, that day I decided to be like Mother Teresa and forgive the bloody bastard for cheating me. He was surprised that I entered his shop to buy a bar of Cadburry chocolate.
“So you’re not angry at me anymore?”
“No. I am a yogi. I thought it is ridiculous to manifest angry behaviour as a yogi, just because you overcharged me for a stupid amount of only 20 rupees. I would like to apologize to you for my stupid behaviour. I should have known better. I hope you accept my apologies.”
The Indian was dumbstruck. “O madam-ji, you are quite something! How nice of you. For months you don’t speak to me, don’t buy anything in my shop and just ignore me or give me the evil eye. And now you apologize to me because I cheated you? I was the one who was wrong. I was so greedy that I cheated a yogi. It’s like slapping a nun in the face and call her a whore. I am so sorry. Please, you can have the chocolate bar for free. I am so sorry.”
“Thank you, but I do intend to pay for the chocolate, but I will give you 20 rupees less for it. Is that okay?”
“Of course madam-ji.”
I opened my wallet and paid the price of the chocolate bar minus 20 rupees.
After I left the shop I organized my bank notes in my wallet, 10 rupee notes, 20 rupee notes, 100 rupee notes, all in correct order. I moved on to my hut. As I arrived at my hut I sat down on my bed and switched on my laptop computer. Earlier that day I had received a message from my publisher in Holland that he expected me to send him the final version of my book Pantau in India as he needed to send it to the editor. I wanted to go through the book on my laptop for the last time before I would email it to him. The moment my laptop started loading Microsoft Word, I noticed there was smoke coming from the keyboard. Within a minute the laptop was on fire. I quickly took it outside and threw it onto the ground. An Indian who was watering the palm trees around my hut aimed the hose onto my computer and the fire went out instantly. Half of the computer had already melted away.
I took in a deep breath and temporarily put my 168 Bodhisattva Vows on hold. “Jesus fucking Christ hanging from the cross for God sake Goddammit son of bitch from hell Maria Magdalena and all the apostles Pontis Pilates Judas Jesus Marcus Jesus holy Christ for God sake son of a bitch!" I said. I continued by saying, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..FUCK!!!!!!!”
My Tibetan friend Tenzin came out of his hut and stared at me and then at my computer. “O. That is not good,” he said.
“No, Tenzin. I am completely fuuuuuu…I am completely having a problem. My book is in my computer and I have a deadline. I need to send it to my publisher today.”
“Don’t you have a backup?”
I looked up into the sky. “Thank you Jesus. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! Of course I have a backup. Every day I back everything up on my little flash-drive. I keep it in my wallet. My whole life is on that pen-drive-thingy.”
I got my bag and took out my wallet. I opened my wallet. “What?” I couldn’t find my flash-drive. I turned my wallet upside down, coins and banknotes and business cards fell onto the floor but no flash-drive.”
“What? WHAT?? Where the fuuuuuu…where on earth is my flash-drive?!” I almost got a heart attack. “What the bloody coconut is going on? Tenzin! All my photos and letters and all my novels are on my computer and on my flash-drive.”
“There is a computer guy on Beach Road who fixes computers in the internet café. Take your laptop overthere. Maybe he can take out your hard-drive and retrieve the information from it.”

"Tenzin, you're so smart. Thank you."

Half an hour later the computer guy on Beach Road opened the melted remains of my laptop and had a good look at the charred hard-drive. “Sorry madam-ji, but your hard-drive is gone. It’s burned beyond repair and the disks are gone. There is no way to fix it or get the information from it. It’s badly burned.”
I burst out into tears. Two years of work had gone up in flames. On my way back to the room I passed the shop of the Indian who sold me a chocolate bar with a 20 rupee discount.
“Madam, why are you crying?”
“I am a writer. I wrote a 360-page book on my little computer. I have to send it to my publisher today, but my computer went up in flames and now my book is gone. What’s more; my whole life was on that computer. Photos, emails, letters, everything. I made a backup every day, but I lost my flash-drive as well. So now I have nothing. Everything is gone and I won’t be publishing a book this year. My career is gone. I have to do everything all over again. I might as well kill myself. My publisher will kick me out, rip our contract to pieces. He has already printed his sales catalogue with my book featured on the cover. A book that no longer exists. Letters have been sent our to the media. Two hundred journalists are waiting for me to talk about my book. My flight to Holland has already been booked. This is a major disaster. I might as well be dead.”
“What is a flash-drive, madam-ji?”
“It’s a little thingy, a bit of metal and a bit a plastic and it looks like… well, it looks like a flash-drive. You stick it into the back of a computer and you can transfer information from your computer onto the flash-drive. So if your computer burns down, you still have the information on the flash-drive.”
The Indian opened the drawer of his wooden till and took out a little plastic thing with a bit of metal sticking out of it. “Does a flash-drive look like this?”
I had a look at it. “Yes. And that is indeed my flash-drive!” I burst out into tears.
"Madam-ji. When you walked away, you were fidgeting with your wallet and all your banknotes. And there was this little kid that saw how something fell out of your wallet. And this kid came to me to show me what had fallen out of your wallet and he said he could perhaps sell it for a few rupees. He had no idea what it was but it looked expensive. And then I said, you should not steal from that yogi because it will give you bad karma. And then he said that he didn’t steal it, but that it had just fallen out of your wallet. And then I said, you should give it back to her, and then he said, I am not going to give it back to that white woman, those people already have enough money. I am going to sell it. And then he ran away, and then I ran after him for about a kilometre, because that little bastard was very fast, but I caught up with him and smacked the hell out of that kid and took away that plastic thing with the metal thing sticking out of it, because it belonged to you.”
I stared at him. When I had calmed down I said to him. “Rajeev, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, madam-ji.”
“For months we’ve been angry with each other, right?”
“Yes, madam-ji. Because I overcharged you for 20 rupees.”
“If I had not made up you with earlier today, would you have done all that for me, running after that little kid and given me back that flash-drive?”
“Of course not. I thought: that woman is not a real yogi because she doesn’t understand that I am a poor bastard trying to make a bit of money for my family. I have 9 children, 2 of them sick in hospital and I am desperate for money. Almost every day you come to my shop to buy some coconut oil or a chocolate bar and then I decided to overcharge you a little bit because I needed some extra money to pay for medication. When you found out, you got angry and I felt sorry I cheated you but I was too embarrassed to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have cheated you like that, I know. Every time you walk pass my shop you either ignore me or give me that evil look, so I thought: what the hell, she's not a real yogi, so screw her. But today you came over to apologize and I thought: yes, she now acts as a real yogi. How nice. She forgives people who do wrong. So if you had still been angry with me and lost your flash-thing I would not have run after that kid for half a mile to get the flash-drive back. But because you apologized I thought, I run after that boy, get the flash-drive back and put the thing in my drawer. And I thought, if memsahib won’t come back soon to pick it up, I will go to her hut on the cliff because I know where you are staying.”
I put my hands in namaste and bowed my head. “I bless you, Sir-ji. Here’s 500 rupees to pay the hospital bill. Let me know if you need anything else. You know where I live. I bless you ten thousand times.”

WHAT THE TIBETAN ASTROLOGERS THINK OF ME

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

In the fall of 2005 I consulted the Medical and Astrological Institute Men-Tsee-Khang, in Gangchen Kyishong, Dharamsala, India. Though skeptical about any outcome, I thought it wouldn’t be harmful to hear what they had to say about my live(s). It would take them three years to come to a conclusion, which was finally sent to my home in Bangkok by mail in 2008, as, by then, I had already re-settled in Thailand. Please note that I never had a personal conversation with the astrologers. I just left them with my legal given names, surname, my birth date, legal gender and hour of birth.

This is what they wrote to me. Please note that I didn’t correct spelling and grammar. I marked sentences in bold that sound accurate to me. Everything not bold hasn't either happen yet, doesn't sound accurate to me, or I do not have an opinion about it.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Detailed birth chart of Ms. Veronique Renard, born at 7:30 on Wednesday, the date 26th May, 1965 which corresponds to the 26th “a” day of 3rd month of the Wood-Snake year in Tibetan Lunar Calendar.

Effect of natal weekday: Tuesdays and Fridays are your life-principle day and life-force day respectively which are supposed to be your most favourable days of the week to carry out your important efforts and plans. Whereas, you must refrain from the same matters on every Wednesday, as it is your foe day which is your most unfavourable day of the week.

Effect of the natal constellation: The colours which give the most suitable vibrations or which are the most beneficial to you are white, yellow and blue. So, you should use your dress, jewels and stones in these colours as much as possible to make your life more fortunate. You should always be on your guard against troubles, difficulties or annoyances which would crop up in the following unfavourable periods of your life-12th, 17th, 20th, 37th, 53rd, 61st, and 73rd. You are bestowed with beautiful complexion and well-featured body. Fortune seems to be good enough to you in this life. You possess fine way of talking with great desire for wine. You are firm and honest with have a capability to hoard up sufficient property. You talk well on any subject that crops up in general conversation.

Effect of the elemental astrology: You are clever and with highly sensualist who is fluent in speech by nature. You are sharp with various knowledge who take proper care in every efforts. You are pride as well as arrogant who do not fear of any obstacle that comes in life. You have a capability to carry out domestic matters successfully ahead. Your later life would be more happier than the earlier one. You are large hearted, cool, and bearable in personality who carry efforts in peaceful way. You will find your most harmonious relationships with persons born in the year of ox, rabbit and dragon. You will succeed best as a nurse, teacher, social worker, writer and translator. You are gifted with smart brain and lovable nature. You are jovial who often love to create jokes but are rather deep thinker. You are religious with possess much self-willpower and self-respect. You are great ambitious who is liable to keep up two homes. You were born as a god in the previous life and are liable to be born as a female human being in the next which testified that you have a mole or wart, or some other mark on either your right foot or on the right cheek and on the left side of your buttock. However, you should consecrate an idol or a statue of Lord Buddha which could help you to be born as an idol maker or a religious person in the next.

Effect of the zodiacal influence: In the matters of health, you will get through life without much trouble from illness. You will rather enjoy an adequate life span that you can be able to live up to the ripe age with least obstacles. In matters relating to financial prospects, you would be more fortunate in making finance. You will earn money in fits and starts with less fluctuation. You may not receive care and cooperation from your relatives as you expect and besides, disputes may happen with them. You will come in contact with desirable friends and acquaintances with whom you will remain friendly and have good relationship and your opponents will be defeated to harm you. You will find a good job and have great potential to carry out successfully ahead with whatever job you become associate. You will come across a learned and compatible spouse with whom you will enjoy a very happy married life and you both would be blessed with either three of four beautiful and obedient children. You were sharp and versatile in studies and had acquired various fields of knowledge during the study life.

Planetary influence: Right from the date of your birth until you reach the age of 10 years, 3 months and 6 days, you were sharp and enjoyed sound health with less illness during the period which was a right time for your parents to expand knowledge and experience with complete freedom from tension and worries. Success and happiness were found in your domestic life. You were extremely loved and cared by the families. Then, after the aforesaid period to till you reached at the age of 22 years, 5 months and 15 days, you were liable to have injuries caused by falls or accidents. Changes in career or place of residence was prone to confront in your parents’ life. You were lazy and blur in studies, were inclined to be much misunderstood by your close relations. You were forced to live under unhappily condition during the period in which you have found considerable amount of trials and sorrows. You got easily upset by annoyances, anxieties or depressing influences which were inclined to make you too introspective and have a bad effect on your health. Then, after the aforesaid period to till you reached the age of 33 years, 4 months and 12 days, you started out into the world to make your own life. You had fallen restlessness and had much desire for change and travel. You could probably make a distinct success in your plans and were liable to gain fame and position in any community where you might be. Growth of family’s financial was highly increased during the period. Then, after the aforesaid period till you reached at the age of 37 years, 10 months, and 9 days, you had undergone great losses in financial and the separation of loved one was experienced. You encountered hardships in carrying your efforts and had to cope with many unusual situations. You were much disturbed by your loved one in this unfavourable period of your life. Then, from the aforesaid period to till you reach at the age of 50 years, 8 months and 9 days, you had great perseverance to involve in religion and social affairs. Your dreams are likely to become realities if you develop self-confidence in all you undertake. You can earn sufficient money in this period. You would be much attached to your home and family. You would be greatly influenced by the surroundings. You will go through this period with less illness. Then, after the aforesaid period to till you reach at the age of 54 years, 6 months and 15 days, gifts, favours, and offers are prone to be gained from your intimate friends and the people of high positions but you may have to depart from the loved one and besides, your health can be affected with such ailments. Financial matter of the family would be hampered. However, you are advised to be strict on extra spending and instead alms should be given as much to the poor and needy people as possible for the benefit of your family’s financial. In addition, your health should be taken with proper care. Then, after the aforesaid period to till you reach at the age of 60 years, 11 months and 15 days, you will get through this period without much trouble from illness. You may get more sleep than the average person. Your relationship will remain stronger with you hubby and the improvement of financial would be cropped up. Your efforts and plans could be carried successfully ahead as you desire in this favourable period of your life. You will be keenly interested in religion and your desire may go in for humanitarian service. Then, after the aforesaid period to till you reach at the age of 65 years, 5 months and 12 days, you will be active and resourceful, have great perseverance in activities. You will be rather quick in thought and action but are likely to undermine your health by continual mental strain and overwork. You are likely to be much disturbed by the troubles chiefly cause by you close relations. You will find hurdle in carrying your plans because of financial crisis which may cause by the fire and robbery if exceptional care is not taken. You are liable to be drawn into unfortunate legal matters. As for remedy to counteract misfortunes, you will be advised to raise spiritual flag on top of the hill or around holy temple and furthermore, religious ceremony should be performed as well for your well-being. Then after the aforesaid period to till you reach the age of 77 years, you are supposed to bring on yourself restricting conditions either cause by the home ties or due to your sickness. Problem in money matter may crop up and your domestic matters are not likely to be carried as well. Henceforth, religious rites should be performed as much as possible to eliminate restrictions.

With best wishes,
Mrs. Choenyi Sangmo, astrologer.

End of the letter.

Interestingly, there is so much talk about financial matters. The last thing I am interested in is money. I also appear to get sick a lot. The only time I have been sick was when I was a baby and I nearly died. Though fragile until the age of ten, I have never been sick ever after, with the exception of a small problem at age 15 which required surgery, and a broken arm at age 34, which also required surgery.
I must say, if I pick up any book written by western astrologers and read their ideas about people with my birth sign of Gemini, they tend to describe my personality quite accurately. It still baffles me how different people are, just because they were born at different times during the year.

A COURSE IN MIRACLES PART II of II

Heide sat down on a chair that I had borrowed from my neighbours. Sounds of crickets and bats entered the dim room through the glassless window. The ceiling fan was wafting warm air onto my body. I was lying down on my bed with my eyes closed, my tape-recorder switched on.

(The following text is a brief summary of an original 20-page transcript).

“I would like you to breathe in and out deeply a few time,” Heide said with her soft, gentle voice. “You feel totally relaxed. When I count from three to one, you sink into an even deeper form of relaxation. Your mind is empty of thoughts. “Three. You feel relaxed. Two. You are now fully relaxed. One. In your mind you are looking down at your feet. What do you see?”
“I see boots. Leather boots. Big boots.”
“What colour?”
“Brown. Brown leather boots.”
“And where are you standing?”
“I’m standing on grass. It’s swampy.”
“Swampy?”
“Yes. The grass is wet.”
“Look around you. What do you see?”
“Grass. Swampy grass. I am standing on a grass field. There is a rivulet close by. Its water is very clear. I want to drink from it.”
“Then drink from it.”
“Don’t worry, I am already drinking from it. Its beautiful water. Cristal clear water.”
“Where is this grass field?”
“It’s some sort of meadow. It’s an alpine meadow. I am rather high up a mountain.”
“Turn round. What do you see behind you?”
“High mountains. Snow mountains with sharp peaks.”
“And what is in front of you?”
“Also mountains, but these are lower and their tops are round and smooth, easier to cross than the mountains behind me.”
“What do you see on your right?”
“O! There is a big horse. A black one.”
“And on your left?”
“In the distance I see a valley with a lake. There’s a white horse.”
“Can you have a look at yourself?”
“How?”
“Step outside yourself and have a look. What do you look like?”
“O fuck! I am ugly and old! I am an old man. My face is dark and my skin looks like leather.”
“You don’t have to cry. It’s all in the past. What kind of clothes are you wearing?”
“I am wearing a Mongolian hat. It’s old. My clothes look dirty. It’s a thick black coat.”
“Are you Mongolian?”
“Yes. A nomad. I am old. I am about to die, but I don’t know that yet.”
“How do you die?”
“Just like that. I stop breathing. I die of old age.”
“What year is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s not important where we live. But it’s very long ago.”
“What happened after you death?”
“Nothing.”
“And after nothing. What happens?”
“I am alive again.”
“Who are you.”
“I am a boy.”
“How old are you?”
“About sixteen.”
“Where do you live?”
“I live in a tent. A white one. I hate my parents. They’re not nice to me. My father beats me. He hates me.”
“What do you do?”
“I run away.”
“Where to?”
“I take two horses and travel to China.”
“Do you arrive in China?”
“Yes. I am doing well.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I am a business man. I am not sure whether my business is legal, but it brings in a lot of money. I live in a big city. The houses are made of wood and stone. There is electricity. I see cars. They look like cars the way they made them in the 1920s and 30s. I am rich. I drink a lot. I live in a hotel on the second floor. There’s music coming from a bar further down the street. A piano. I never heard the sounds of a piano before. I like it. It’s a bit out of tune. I sleep with many women. I pay them. And I drink a lot. I am always drunk and have a good time with many women, sometimes more than one at the same time.”
“What do these women look like?”
“They look like hookers but they’re pretty because I have some cash to spend. I am rich.”
“What kind of business do you have?”
“I engage in transactions. I traffic stuff.”
“People?”
“No. Opium.”
“How old are you?”
“I am twenty six. At least that is what I tell people. I am a little younger.”
“And which city do you live in?”
“Let me see. Strange. It looks British to me. No. It’s not British. It’s colonial. I think I am in Shanghai.”
“Shanghai?”
“Yes. I engage in business with some people over there.”
“Tell me more about that.”
“I spend much time talking with older men in some sort of gentlemen’s club. It has a big clock above the entrance. It has a very high ceiling and old British furniture. There's a lot of smoke in the room. I have some sort of prominent status over there. Because I am rich and I help those old men overthere.”
“Are you Chinese?”
“No. I am Mongolian. I ran away from my parents because my father beat me. I travelled to China. I like China. I relate well to Chinese. My business in Shanghai is going fine. I am selling stuff to these old men in the gentlemen’s club. They look like westerners to me.”
“From which country?”
“I don’t know. They look like British to me. They speak English. I also hear some people speaking French.”
“And what do you sell them?”
“I don’t know, but whatever I do, it’s not stuff I could say out loud. But I make people happy.”
“What do you look like?”
“Oh, I am very handsome. I have just changed my appearance. In my early years in China I had long hair in a pigtail and I would dress in traditional Chinese robes, but in Shanghai I went to a tailor who made some fine western suits for me. I look very dandy. My hair has a western style and I am wearing glasses. I look like a gentleman. My skin is white. I speak Mandarin. The Chinese accept me as one of their own. The western men think I am Chinese.”
“So what happens after that?”
“The country is in trouble. There are rumours that we’re going to be occupied by the Japs. I don’t like it. It disturbs my business and I fear getting killed by these bloody Nipponese. My contacts with the government tell me I should get out of the city.”
“What do you do?”
“I flee the country. It makes me feel sad. I like China. I was happy.”
“Where do you go?”
“I go to Lhasa?”
“Lhasa? Where is Lhasa?”
“Lhasa is in Tibet. It takes me two years to get there. It’s a hell of a journey.”
“I see. What do you do in Lhasa?”
“Fight with some drunk Tibetans because they think I am Chinese and they don’t like me.”

"Why not?"

"I am popular with some girls and I have taken a girl who belonged to one Tibetan."
“So what happens?”
“These bastards kill me.”
“How?”
“I am walking in an alley at night, minding my own business and these bastards, three of them, ambush me. One has a dagger and he cuts off my head. The fucking idiot. If he had known that I was a Mongolian he would not have done that.”
“So what happens after that?”
“I am small.”
“I see. How small?”
“I am a baby.”
“Where were you born?”
“In Amdo.”
“Amdo? Where is that country?”
“It’s not a country. It’s a province of Phoyul.”
“Where is Phoyul?”
“Phoyul is a very big country north of Bhutan, India and Nepal, and South-West of China.”
“Phoyul?”
“Yes.”
“What is the capital of Phoyul?”
“Hlassae.”
“Hlassae?”
“Yes. Hlassae.”
“I don’t know that country. North of India and Nepal? Are you talking about Tibet?”
“Yes. It’s called Phoyul in Tibetan.”
“And Hlassae is Lhasa?”
“Yes, it’s the capital. But I was born in Amdo. I’ve never been to Hlassae. I've been to Shigatse, but never to Hlassae. I am from a rich family, a noble family. We live in a very nice house. We have many people working for us in the house and on the land, but we treat them well. I am their Master.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m a young man, but I am the oldest son and I took over our estate after my father died.”
“So you’re a nobleman, a master. Are you married?”
“No. I don’t like women. I like them as friends, but I don’t like to get married to a woman.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love my boyfriend.”
“Do the two of you live together?”
“No. He’s from Ladakh in Western Phoyul. It’s a small kingdom. I met him when I travelled to Leh. I met his parents.”
“What is his name?”
“His name is Lde. He’s a son of the King and Queen of Leh. He’s very handsome.”
“I see. And what is your name?”
“My name is Tenzin Pantau.”
“Oh. Isn’t that the name you mentioned when we met at the restaurant earlier this evening? Pantau?”
“I never met you. Did you meet me in Amdo?”
“Okay, I understand. So you had a relationship with the son of the King and the Queen of Leh? What was his name again?”
“Was? Not was! His name is Lde. He’s handsome and he can speak my language.”
“And what about you? What do you look like?”
“I am always wearing nice chupas and I love my hat. It’s a top hat with four flaps of fox fur. My chupa has leopard skin. It’s beautiful. I like my boots. My father gave them to me. I have a handsome face. My hands are beautiful.”
“Does your father know about your relationship with Lde?”
“My father is dead. My family knows that we’re friends. I love my mother. I have three sisters. They don’t know we love each other like husband and wife. My oldest sister knows. I told her.”
“You said you spent time with his family?”
“In Ladakh, yes. They live outside HLeh in a small Palace called Schtock. They like me. Lde and I travel to Hlassae.”
“What year is that?”
“1957 or 1958. I am not sure. We don't care about time.”
“What is your life like in Lhasa?”
“There are problems with the Chinese. Lde and I travel back to Amdo to meet with my mother and siblings. I tell them I am going back to Hlassae and I want their approval and blessing of the lamas in our monastery. On our way to Hlassae I rescue a small boy that can’t speak. Lde and I adopt him as our son. We go back to the capital and speak with Kundun.”
“Kundun?”
“Yes. He’s the King of Phoyul. He lives in the Potala Podrang.”
“The King of Tibet? Who’s that? Kundun?”
“His Holiness the Dalai Lama. He tells me not to provoke the Chinese. I am very angry and want to kick them out of our country. But Kundun says not to provoke them.”
“I see. What happens after that?”
“The Chinese receive word of my plans to organise an uprising. They want to kill me."
“What do you do?”
“Lde and I and the boy travel to Nepal. We rent 4 rooms in Kathmandu and send the boy to school. I want him to study with the monks in a monastery. A few years later Lde and I go back to Hlassae but we get arrested. Lde can’t prove that he is a prince and a son of the royal family of Leh. They put us in a labour camp outside Hlassae. The Chinese are brutal. They hurt me. They take Lde away from me. It breaks my heart. I fear that they are going to kill him.”
“And what do the Chinese do to you?”
“They hit me on the head.”
“And what happens then?”
“I die.”
“What year is that?”
“1963.”
“What happens after that?”
“I have no body.”
“You’re alone?”
“No. I have no body. I am flying.”
“Okay. And what happens after your flight?”
“Don’t want to talk about that. I see a painting. An oil painting.”
“An oil painting?”
“Yes. It's made in Flanders, I think. It is a portrait of me.”
“You were reborn in Flanders?”
“No. I am talking about my being in France. Paris. The painting was made by a Flemisch painter.”
“So you were reborn in France after 1963?”
“No. After flying I was born in Nederland in 1965. Here I am talking about my life in the 17th century in Paris.”
“O. So you are going back in time?”
“What time? There is no such thing as time. I am well-dressed. I am wearing a strange white wig and a lilac suit jacket. A shirt with ruffles.”
“Are you a nobleman?”
“Far from it. I am a killer.”
“A killer?”
“I enjoy killing people. I execute people by chopping their heads off with a dagger in public. Bad people. Poor people, witches, thiefs, rapists, scumbags, children. And I kill them. I have the authority to kill. I don’t like this. Can I end this please? I want to stop.”
“Sure. I will count from three to one and you will slowly get out of your trance. Three. You are slowly waking up. Two. You open your eyes. Take in a deep breath. One. Don’t get up. Just remain like this for a few moments.”
(A few minutes of silence).
“Can I have some water please?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Flabbergasted.”
“Do you remember what you said?”
“Yes. Every word. I have no idea where all this information comes from.”
“Your tape ran out after an hour. I decided to make notes of the rest of the conversation as I thought it was highly interesting.”
“The tape ran out? It was a one-hour tape. What time is it?”
“It’s half past 2. You’ve been in your trance for four and a half hours.”
“Four and a half hours? It felt like only half an hour. This is crazy. I talked for 4,5 hours?”
“Yes. I have put many people in trance and made them travel back to previous lives but, o my, you are quite something. I have never met anyone who spoke in such detail. And you spoke about 4 different lives. And you remember every word?”
“Yes.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay. I need to contemplate on all this. It’s kind of new to me. I kind of knew a bit of history about Pantau and Lde, but I didn’t know about the Mongolians and the French killer. Very weird. Do you believe this is all true or do I just have a lively imagination? I am a novelist after all. This is how I write books you know. Fantasy. Imagination. Creative thinking. Getting yourself into some trance and make things up. You should see me writing after smoking a spliff. I come up with stuff that I didn’t even know I had in me.”
“Do you believe in reincarnation?”
“I am not sure. I am sceptical.”
“Don’t you believe in what you just told me? All those details about so many different lives? Four and a half hours of describing 4 lives? You can listen to your own voice on the tape and read my notes.”
“I am sceptical. Bring me some scientists and historians from the USA and let them confirm that what I said is true.”
“I see. It's a bit late right now but I would like to explain a few things to you about what you said...next time I see you.”

A COURSE IN MIRACLES PART I of II

In the fall of 2001, I was talking to some friends of mine in Dharamsala. I told them I had found it a little nippy in the Himalayas the previous winter and asked them if they knew a nice place in India where I could walk around in a “bed sheet” on flip-flops without getting cold. They told me they always spend their winters in Varkala, in the very south of India. According to them it was a very special place. It had some mystery about it.

On November 26, 2001, I decided to travel down south. The moment I arrived in Varkala, I was in love with it. In 2001, Varkala was only known to the experienced back-packer and those foreigners who lived in India. It was only a little developed back then and the local fishermen still camped out on the beach at night close to their traditional wooden boats. There was a small Tibetan community as well that ran some Tibetan artifacts and handicraft shops on the 30-metre high cliff above the beach. There were few low-budget guesthouses hidden in the palm tree forest and about ten open-air restaurants and shops, all constructed from biodegradable construction material such as local palm leaves.

One day I was chatting with my new friends, Tenzin and Dolker, a Tibetan couple that ran a little Tibetan shop close to the place I was staying in. Though Tenzin had little education, he was fluent in English to the extend that he was able to teach me English words I never heard of before. Apart from that, he was one of the most spiritual Tibetans I have ever met. We would speak every day for hours about the workings of the matrix of the universe. One day he suggested me to be silent for a few weeks. Just don’t speak, observe and learn, was his advice. When I was done with being silent, I returned to him.
“Very helpful,” Tenzin. “After a weeks, I felt I was able to communicate with the ants and giant cockroaches in my hut. I asked them to go somewhere else…and they listened.”
Tenzin smiled. “O, you are a quick learner. It took me twenty years before ants started listening to me.”
“So explain this to me, Tenzin. Is there some sort of magic in the universe that starts to help us when we pay attention to it?”
“You just have to go slower. People are so busy these days that they just don’t see the little miracles happening all around them. A few weeks ago you told me that you didn’t believe in reincarnation and that you were very sceptical about those people in Dharamsala who think that you are the reincarnation of Pantau.”
“Indeed. Well, I like to believe in it but it seems so difficult to understand. I don’t know much about Pantau and what he was all about. I wonder why this Tibetan guy decided to reincarnate into a Dutch person’s body. It’s too much hocus-pocus for me, Tenzin.”
“But you told me that some Tibetan had put you under hypnoses and that you started telling him about your previous life.”
“Yes. But I can’t remember what I said. I think it was a very deep hypnosis and I don’t trust those techniques. There is too much of a scientist in me. If there is one thing I have learned from the Dalai Lama it is not to trust anything automatically a person tells you. He said that one should hold every theory against the light and study it from every angle possible before accepting it as truth. Buddhism is not about blind faith. That is why I like His Holiness so much. He even accepts scientists to scrutinize everything he believes in. I like that.”
I took in a deep breath. “You know, Tenzin, I wish I would meet someone who could help me unraveling the mysteries of this Pantau-person. I may have adopted his name, but I want to know more about him. I want to feel more convinced of the concept of reincarnation. The astrologers of the Tibetan Mentsekhang discovered that, after Pantau died in the early 1960s, he reincarnated into a god. And this god decided to return to earth to be reborn in my body? You know Tenzin, I love the Tibetans and His Holiness, but really, if I go on television in the Netherlands talking about all this stuff, people will consider me to be completely nuts and lock me up in a mental hospital.”
Tenzin nodded. “Yes, I know. You want some tea?”
“Yes please.”
“Have you read the book A Course In Miracles?”
“No. Is it good?”
“Yes. A few years ago someone lend it to me. It’s a very big book, written decades ago. It will come to you when you are ready to receive it.”
“I see. Do you know any people in this area who can do regression therapy?”
“No.”
“I wish I would meet someone other that a Tibetan who could help me to travel back to my previous lives.”
“Well, if you can talk to ants and cockroaches, you can talk to the universe. Just send a message into the sky and attract what you desire to experience. Don’t WANT it, as that message will push it away from you, but ATTRACT it. After that it is just a matter of time.”

A little later I took my leave of Tenzin and started walking along the edge of the cliff, across the helicopter platform and further down to Beach Road. I turned right, walked onto the beach and entered the open-air restaurant called Somatheeram. Mr. Aje, the owner of the restaurant came up to me with a big smile. “Good evening, Pantau. How are you?”
“Hungry.”
“I have some beautiful red snapper for you. 100 rupees. You like it with coconut rice and some chapattis?”
“That sounds delicious, Mr Aje.”
“It’s very busy today. I don’t know why. Every table is taken. Perhaps you don’t mind sharing a table. Perhaps with that lonely lady overthere. She is German. Very nice woman. I can ask her if she doesn’t mind you sharing her table. She is about to finish dinner anyway.”
“German, huh. She speaks English?”
“Yes, she does.”
“Good. I don’t want to speak German today. I have been speaking German for months with my Japanese-German ex-fiancé and I am fed up with that language for the moment.”

Aje introduced me to the German woman. Her name was Heide P. and she was a slender, spectacles-wearing middle-aged woman. It was only 30 degrees but the woman looked visibly hot; she was sweating like a pig and kept wiping her forehead a neck with a cotton scarf.
I sat down at her table and smiled. “Sorry to invade your privacy. But if you’ve been in India for a while you know that there is no such thing as privacy over here.”
Heide giggled. “You look like someone who has been here for a while.”
“Ah! Can you tell?”
“Well, it’s the way you dress and the expression in your eyes. It shows that you have been studying the universe for a while.”
I looked up into the star-studded sky. “Well, I am just a beginner.”
I directed my eyes at Heide again. She looked at me with a strange expression.
“O my God,’ she said. “There is this white light flashing around you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Pardon?”
“There is this light. O, there it is again! It’s a spirit.”
Okay, a German nutcase, I thought.
“What spirit?”
“You’re a very special person. There’s something about you. I wonder why I need to meet you?”
I kept quiet.
“Okay, just give me a moment.” She closed her eyes for a few moments. Then she looked at me intently. “There is a reason why we meet today. I can still see the light surrounding you. It’s very bright. It’s flashing to attract my attention. It’s a very powerful spirit. It’s telling me that I need to connect to you.”
I still remained quiet in an aura of scepticism.
“Don’t tell me anything about yourself. It will come to me,” she continued.
“Okay. Tell me something about you then.”
“I am from Cologne. I am very interested in spiritualism. For decades I have been studying a publication called A Course in Miracles. Actually, I knew the author and I read parts of the book before it was even published. I work as a regression-therapist in Germany.”
“Ah! That is interesting. Would you like to regress me to my previous lives some time?”
“Do you believe in rebirth?”
“On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I believe. On Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays I don’t.”
“And on Sundays?”
“On Sundays I take a rest.”
Heide laughed. “I would like to work with you, because I see a spirit light flashing all over the place. It wants to be heard.”
Nutcase. An interesting nutcase, but definitely an interesting German nutcase.
“So how does regression-therapy work? You put people under hypnosis?”
“Not really. I put people in a trance. I will ask them some questions and guide the person through the conversation. Normally a session lasts about an hour.”
“I am interested.”
“Me too, because I don’t believe in coincidences and there is a reason why I am meeting you tonight. Also, I have never seen anyone with such a strong aura and this spirit light is overwhelming. After you finish your dinner, I wouldn’t mind coming to your room. Is it a quiet room?”
“Yes. It’s very basic but it’s cool and quiet. It’s also free from cockroaches and ants.”
“Good.” Heide looked at me more focused. “Did you know that during your immediate previous life you were a deity; a god-like state of being? I also see a very powerful male spirit. I am fascinated. I can’t wait to put you in a trance and find out more.”
I smiled. I looked up into the sky and observed the constellation of Orion. I took in a deep breath. I looked behind me to see if I could see the bright white spirit light, but couldn’t. Next to me I could only see a middle-aged German woman who was still sweating like a pig. I realized I came a long way in these past few years. I already started to open myself up for people like this German woman. I was looking forward to my first regression-therapy session.

Left: Mr. Aje, the owner of Somatheeram Restaurant; right, his waiter; below, his cook.

DAVID BLAINE AND THE SUICIDAL MAN CALLED BRIAN

Do you believe that some dreams contain premonitions? Well, I don’t. I am a very Dutch person that has both feet on solid ground and just don’t believe in hocus-pocus.

In my dreams I recorded a duet with Barbra Streisand, made love to every member of the Korean boy band Super Junior (twice), sold over 100 million copies of my book Pantau in India, and was invited by Oprah for an exclusive one hour interview. None of my dreams came true, with a few exceptions…

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Since 2000 I am trying to unravel the mysteries of the workings of the matrix of the universe and still I have no idea. However, one night in December 2003, I had a strange dream about a man in a glass box and a person called Brian from London. It was a strange dream, a little bit frightening as well, as I saw someone committing suicide on live television by jumping from a bridge. Normally I tend to forget my dreams as soon as I wake up, but this time I remembered the images of the man in the glass box and the other man called Brian from London committing suicide on live television by jumping from a bridge.

That morning I got out of bed, got dressed in my white “bedsheet”, and put my hair in a knot on top of my head. It’s not a fashion statement, but merely the way yogis tend to dress. If you’re dressed like that in the West, you may get arrested and put in a mental hospital; in India people will namaskar you, touch your feet with their foreheads and take in every word you speak as if they are spoken by someone of great importance.

I left my hut and walked on my plastic flip-flops along the cliff of Varkala Beach. I kept seeing the images of the man in the glass box, and a man called Brian jumping off a bridge on live television. I felt a little farklempt as these images were disturbing and I didn’t understand why they kept re-appearing in my mind.

Normally I would have a fruit-muesli with yoghurt and coffee at Café del Mar, but this time I decided to walk a little further and go to a tourist restaurant that I had never been to before. Meanwhile I was mesmerized by the sight of a few dolphins swimming from north to south some 100 metres off-shore in the Arabian Sea, and this time I also saw a great whale with her calf swimming in the same direction. Should have brought my camera with me, I thought. Bummer! You don’t get to see big whales every day. I took in the lovely sight and the tranquil atmosphere of off-season Varkala. Only a few smelly hippie-like backpackers had found their way to Varkala but at 11 a.m. they were still in the process of sleeping off their highs so I was the only person on the cliff apart from the local merchants and restaurant personnel.

I entered a quiet open-air restaurant and sat down in the shade of a palm-tree with a book. It was deserted apart from one western man in the back of the restaurant who was chatting with a waiter. The waiter came over to me to take my order. An hour later I finished breakfast and stood up. I hardly ever signal a waiter to bring me the bill (which can take ages in India); normally I get up with a banknote in my hand and walk to the Indian who handles money and who often sits in the back of a restaurant. So was the case at this eatery. I paid my bill of 45 Indian Rupees to the restaurant owner who sat behind a little table in the back of the restaurant and greeted the western man who was still chatting with the waiter by nodding at him in a friendly manner.
“Ah, that is Pantau,” the waiter said to the western man. “She’s a yogi. She’s from Dharamsala in the Himalayas. That’s where the Dalai Lama lives.”
O my, I thought. I don’t even know this waiter and he even knows my name!
I smiled at the man who extended his arm to me. I kept on smiling while I shook his hand. 'I guess I don't have to introduce myself anymore. And who are you?"

“Hello, ma’am. I am Brian from London.”
And that was the moment my dream re-appeared in my mind. Brian from London. I wondered if he had anything to do with a bridge, live television, suicide and a man in a glass box. Here I was at a cross-road. I could say, “Nice to meet you,” and leave the restaurant, or “Nice to meet you. So tell me, how did you end up in a place like Varkala in India?” I decided to go for the second option.
“Nice to meet you, Brian from London.”
“So you live here in India?” he asked me.
“Yes, I divide my time between Dharamsala in the north and Varkala in the south. I spend the winters here as I think it is bloody cold in the Himalayas in winter.”
“That is quite a trip. India is big.”
“Yes, 12 hours on the Jammu-Kashmir train to Delhi and then two full days on the Rajdhani Express to Kerala.”
I had a good look at the man who didn’t appear to be very happy. I always wondered how people can look so sad and stressed in a beautiful beach resort with a more than fabulous view.
“Can I offer you a drink?” the man said.
“That’s very kind. Thank you.” I looked at the waiter. “I would like to have another coffee, please. Extra strong.”
I sat down next to the man. In the next hour he told me he was very unhappy.
“Two months ago I got into a fight with my wife. She wanted a divorce and my life fell apart. I left the house, totally disorientated. I walked and walked and walked and ended up on Tower Bridge. I felt so depressed that I wanted to commit suicide. And so I climbed over the railing and jumped.”
“O dear! But you’re still alive.”
“Yes. People who jump from Tower Bridge don’t survive. It’s high. Somehow I survived. I don’t even remembering hitting the water. I was knocked unconscious. But a few moments later I woke up and was floating belly up in the cold water of the Thames. My clothes were ripped off my body. I was completely naked apart from my shoes. I started swimming towards the South Bank. It was a totally insane situation as Sky Channel had recorded my jumping from the bridge. There were thousands of people standing on the South Bank. They were all there to watch David Blaine.”
“Who? David Blaine? Who's that?”
“He is a magician. He was executing some stunt by sitting in glass box for six weeks suspended in the air along the Thames.”
I nodded and felt a shiver run down my spine. “Right. I didn't know about that.”
“My attempted suicide was broadcast on live television by Sky Channel. It was very weird. But I survived and was taken to a hospital. A few weeks later I decided to travel to India. I flew to Goa and then took the train to Kerala. And that is why I am here. I thought I might find some sort of solution to my problems in India.”

I remembered the words of my own therapist in the Netherlands. In 1999 I consulted her to fight my own depression. I told her I wanted to travel to India to find a cure for my depression through a spiritual journey. She told me: “Sick people don’t travel to India to get better. Healthy people travel to India to get sick and die.”
I ignored her remark. I travelled to India shortly after and was able to cure my own depression in India. Seeing so many poor people dying in the streets in India, I suddenly felt a lot better about my own life. I hoped Brian from London would be able to find a cure too.

I spoke with Brian for a few hours before I moved on with my daily activities in Varkala. I never saw him again after our meeting.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

On September 5, 2003, David Blaine began his 44-day endurance stunt sealed inside a transparent Plexiglas case suspended 30 feet (9 m) in the air next to Potters Fields Park on the south bank of the River Thames, the area between City Hall and Tower Bridge in London.

SOUTH-EAST ASIAN TSUNAMI

On Sunday, 26 December 2004, I decided to get up early (shortly before noon). About a half hour walk from my hut on the cliff of Varkala Beach was a small upscale hotel called the Taj Garden Retreat. This hotel allowed non-residents to spend their Sundays at their pool and enjoy a buffet lunch for 200 rupees. That was a good deal. I must say, 200 rupees for a one-day five-star experience is not much, even for a low-budget person such as me. The price included a bed with mattress plus towel plus parasol at the pool. As my hut and my life in India didn’t include any luxury, I would occasionally treat myself to a Sunday at the pool of the Taj Hotel.
I got up at 11.00, had a light breakfast at Café del Mar next door, and started walking to the Taj Garden. I greeted the doormen, entered the lobby and found my way through the building to the garden at the back. It had a wonderful kidney-shaped pool and a wonderful view of the Arabian Sea. Normally I would only encounter very view people at the pool but this day it was busy. Very busy. All beds were taken by western tourists.
I felt disappointed. I had been looking forward to spending this day at the pool, surrounded by luxury, enjoy the buffet lunch around 3 p.m., but I guess that wasn’t going to happen today. The pool man apologized to me. “Sorry Madam. It’s very busy with hotel guests today. I am afraid we cannot accommodate you this time. It’s very high season right now. Maybe in a couple of weeks it will be more relaxed and perhaps you should come a little earlier next time.”
I left the Taj, disappointed and dissatisfied. Okay, what to do now, I thought. I had been looking forward to swimming in fresh water for a change. I shrugged my shoulders and walked down Beach Road towards the beach.

It was a beautiful day, rather busy with Indian day-trippers from upcountry who were visiting the nearby temple and enjoying a stroll along the seashore. I walked towards the north-end of the beach and sat down on the sand near the area where most western tourists could be found. I greeted the two Indian life-guards that kept an eye out on the swimmers, as the current was known to be unpredictable in this area. I glanced at my watch. It was shortly after noon. I gazed at the horizon and felt the sun burning on my skin. Perhaps not a great idea to have my white skin exposed to the burning sun at this time of the day. I ran a few options of “things to do” through my mind. Go back to my hut atop the cliff and read a book in my hammock. Perhaps have a chat with my neighbours, Tenzin and Dolker, who had a small souvernir shop in their hut. Have a swim in the sea and then return to my hut. Yes. That last option felt alright.
I was wearing my swimsuit underneath my clothes. I pulled my shirt over my head, got rid of my skirt and folded them up before I put them in my bag. I had a look around. There were perhaps a hundred western backpackers on the beach. I observed the sea. Normally there was a fierce surf with high waves but today it was unusually calm. The sea was like a mirror and I had never seen it like that before. Wonderful water for swimming. I was looking forward to my dip. Suddenly I felt a shiver run down my spine. I didn’t feel comfortable. I felt restless. For some inexplicable reason I changed my mind about swimming in the sea. By now I had come to take these inexplicable signs or intuitive feelings seriously. I felt uncomfortable being on this lovely beach and there was an urgent need to leave. I took my clothes out of my bag and got dressed. I picked up my bag and was about to walk to the staircase that went up the 30-metre (100 feet) high cliff when the life-guards asked me why I decided to leave already. “Don’t know. I changed my mind. I am going back to my room. I’ll come back later when it’s not so hot.”

I walked to the cliff and climbed the staircase. I turned left on the footpath along the cliff. It was only a short walk to my hut from here. I passed Tenzin and Dolker’s souvenir shop. Tenzin stood outside looking at the sea. “Hi Pantau. I thought you said you were going to the Taj Hotel today.”
“I did go but it’s very busy right now and there were no beds left for me. Bummer. I was looking forward to a day at the Taj, but I guess the gods had some other plan in store for me.”
“You want to have lunch with us a little later?”
“Sure. I am not really hungry yet, but give me a shout when you are ready.”
I walked passed their shop and turned right. My hut was at the back, just a stone-throw away from their shop. I pressed the buttons of my digital door lock, went inside and put my bag on the bed. I took my small digital camera out of my bag when I suddenly heard Tenzin shouting my name. I came outside to see what was the matter.
“Pantau. Come! Something strange is happening!”
I could see him standing at the edge of the cliff facing the sea. I ran towards him, my camera still in my hand. I could see a number of waves, about two metres high, coming towards the beach. They appeared to approach the beach very slowly. All the tourists jumped up. Within seconds the first waves flooded the entire beach, but they flooded the beach rather slowly and no one was swept away. People waded through the water towards the rocks and the cliff’s staircase to get on dry land. Another wave hit the beach shortly after. No one had an idea of what was going on.
“This is very strange, Tenzin. I have never seen anything like this before. This is unusual. And look at all those people on the beach, they’re up to their knees in the water. O my God, look! Their bags and everything are dragged back into the sea. Holy cow! Look! The water is sucked back into the sea and it takes all their belongings with it. How odd. What on earth is going on?”

I started to take some pictures of what was unfolding in front of my eyes. Half an hour later the water started to retreat completely. On Tenzin’s little television set inside the shop we saw that the world had been hit by the biggest earthquake in recorded history.
No people in Varkala died in the tsumami that started some six hours earlier off the coast of Indonesia. The tsumani travelled across the Indian Ocean, bounced off the Maldives Archipelago and travelled back to the south-west coast of India where Varkala is located.
The beach of Varkala remained closed for 10 days and monitored from the air by planes and helicopters until the authorities were sure that no more tsunamis could be expected.

North and south of Varkala Beach 168 people perished. In Kollam 131 died, Alappuzha 32, and in Ernakulam 5. A few hours south of Varkala in the Kanyakumari-area, around 10,000 people died.

The earthquake triggered a series of devastating tsunami along the coasts of most landmasses bordering the Indian Ocean, killing more than 225,000 people in eleven countries, and inundating coastal communities with waves up to 30 metres (100 feet) high. It was one of the deadliest natural disasters in recorded history. Indonesia, Sri Lanka, India, and Thailand were hardest hit.
With a magnitude of between 9.1 and 9.3, it was the largest earthquake ever recorded on a seismograph and had the longest duration of faulting ever observed. It caused the entire planet to vibrate as much as 1 cm (0.5 inches) and triggered other earthquakes as far away as Alaska.

JOANNA LUMLEY: YOU LOOK LIKE SOMEONE WHO’S BEEN HERE FOR A LONG TIME.

In March 2004, nearing the end of my annual winter retreat at Varkala Beach in South-India, I passed by the little palm leave hut bookshop of Kumar. Tourists often left their old books behind in guesthouses or would give them to Kumar before they would return home, so Kumar ended up with a nice collection and was able to make a little business out of these used books and resell them. As I would read about a book a day and didn’t want to buy any books, I had made a deal with Kumar that I could rent his books for 30 rupees and return them within two days.

That day I was chatting with Kumar and drinking Indian milk-tea when he started telling me about his favourite Indian actors. “I love Amitabh Bachchan and Hrithik Rochan. They can dance and sing very well. I love them. Who are your favourite actors?” he asked me.
“Well, I like Jodie Foster. Some people say I look like her. And I like Barbra Streisand very much.”
“Who?"
“Barbra Streisand. Do you know her?”
“No. Never heard of Bar… what is her name again?”
“Barbra Streisand. She’s also a very famous singer.”
“Is she from Engeland?”
“No. She is American. My most favourite English actress is Joanna Lumley. She played the role as Purdey in The New Avengers. She also starred next to Jennifer Saunders as the chain smoking, boozing, cocaine-sniffing fashion director Patsy Stone in the British comedy television show Absolutely Fabulous. Very funny. Love her.”
“Who?”
“Joanna Lumley.”
“I see. Never heard of.”
I smiled. Of course, I can’t expect a former Indian fisherman-turned-used-book-seller to know about Joanna Lumley or Barbra Streisand. We continued talking, changing the subject to more local topics of interest, such as coconuts and fishing for blue marlins. As I was about to finish my tea, Kumar suddenly stood up. He looked at me. “Joanna who?”
“Lumley. Joanna Lumley.”
“Joanna Lumley,” he repeated. He stepped into his two-and-a-half square metre bookshop. A few moments later he returned outside and handed over to me a very used paperback pocket book. I looked at the worn cover. “O my God, what a coincidence! Joanna Lumley’s autobiography!” I flipped it open. “Printed in 1989. How wonderful. I would love to read it.”

Back at my hut on the cliff I lay down on my hammock and started reading Joanna’s autobiography. Here I learned that she was born in 1946 in Srinagar, Kashmir, as her father served as a major in the British Indian Army. Later she would make a documentary about her father who also spent some time in the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan. She is also known as a Free Tibet activist. I looked up into the sky through the palm leave canopy and wondered if I should send a copy of my book to Joanna and ask her to commend it, perhaps write an introduction for its upcoming English translation. My mind started to wonder off. How to contact a British celebrity? Should I send a letter to the BBC? Would they pass my letter on? Would she actually contact me?
I finished the book within two days and returned it to Kumar. “Very interesting. She is born in your country, did you know that?”

Of course he didn’t.

A week later I travelled back to my home in the Himalayas during a grueling three-day train journey. The next day I picked up my jeep that I had left in the care of an auto-repair shop in Lower Dharamsala, making sure it would still work after my 4-month retreat in South-India. On April 6, 2004, I woke up at 9 and tried to make up my mind as to where I would have breakfast. I could go to my favourite Tibetan restaurant atop the mountain for thukpa. I could go and chat with my friend Dykey-la and have breakfast at the Om Hotel that was owned by her family. No, I have a better idea, I thought. I’ll have breakfast at the café of the Norbulingka Temple in the valley.
The Norbulingka was one of my most favourite places in the Dharamsala-area. It was a beautiful temple, surrounded by a lovely garden. Some of the buildings of the Norbulingka accommodated a school that taught Tibetan refugees thangkha painting and wood carving, as well as a variety of other Tibetan handicrafts. From the top of the mountain of McLeodganj, it was about a forty-minute drive in my jeep. The Norbulingka Café served very tasty Tibetan bread. Yes, today I would have breakfast at the Norbulingka, and after that I would be able to meditate in the temple. Unlike the Dalai Lama Temple in McLeod, only very few people visited the Norbulingka in the valley. It was always nice and quiet in that beautiful temple and I always enjoyed going there for meditation.

I parked my jeep outside the temple next to a small motorcade of expensive looking jeeps. Uniformed drivers stood in the shade of the large bodhi-tree close by. I was wondering who had been brought here with this motorcade. Was His Holiness the Dalai Lama visiting the temple? Surely someone of importance must be visiting the Norbulingka. I walked through the main gate and turned right toward the café with the outdoor terrace. From a distance I could see that only one of the 8 tables was occupied. At the far-end, two women and a man were having breakfast. As I came closer I recognized the woman that was facing me to be no one other than the British actress Joanna Lumley. I almost got a heart attack. I froze for a moment and turned into a salt pilar. I had the urge to scream: O MY GOD, IT’S JOANNA LUMLEY!!! However, I decided to play it cool and not act as some sort of crazy fan. We looked at each other. She nodded and so did I. I decided not to sit at the table right next to her and her escorts but at a table on the other side of the terrace, as far away from her as possible. Let’s play this professionally, I thought. Let’s give the girl some space. I am not going to talk to her. I am not going to ask her for an autograph. I am not going to arrange for a photo shoot of Joanna and me. There won't be a picture of me and Joanna smiling at a camera. I’ll be completely cool.

My friend Thubten-la, who worked as a waiter at the café, came outside to take my order. “Hot lemon-ginger-honey, cheese omelet with Tibetan bread, please,” I ordered. “Thubten-la, come closer, I need to whisper in your ear!” I whispered. “That woman with the blond hair overthere…that’s Joanna Lumley!”

“Who?”
“Joanna Lumley. She’s very famous. She’s a British actress.”
“O, is she? Very nice. I don’t know her.”
“I can’t believe seeing her here.”
I put on my sunglasses so that I could stare at Joanna without getting noticed. She was all dolled up in make-up, coiffed with a great hair-style, and dressed in a beautiful silk salwar kameez. What on earth was she doing here dressed up like that?

About fifteen minutes later I was half-way eating my breakfast when the man and woman who accompanied Joanna stood up and went inside the café, leaving the actress sitting alone at the table. I took off my sunglasses and smiled at her.
“You look like someone who has been here for a long time,” Joanna Lumley said to me with her posh accent. It took me a few seconds to take in her words. What did that mean? What does someone look like who has been here for a long time? It doesn't sound as a compliment. Perhaps she thinks I must be here for a long time because I am dressed like a Tibetan. Like many other people she can tell by my demeanor that I am not a tourist. I smiled at her. “Well, Miss Lumley, it is not a coincidence that I am seeing you here today.”
Miss Lumley sat up and looked at me, suddenly more focussed.
“I just finished reading your 1989 autobiography. I picked it up at a small bookshop in South-India last week. I just returned to my home in Dharamsala.”
“You just read my autobiography? Wow!” Joanna Lumley stood up and walked towards me. “Can I sit down with you for a moment?” she asked.
“Yes. Of course. You look absolutely fabulous, Miss Lumley. All dressed up. What are you doing here?”
“I am here for a photo shoot.”
“Great. Well, you look absolutely fabulous.” I studied her face. She looked great for a 58-year-old woman. I wondered how many cosmetic procedures she had done. Should I get the name of her surgeon?
“I read you were born in Srinagar in Kashmir. Very interesting. I visited Kashmir a few years ago. I wasn’t meant to but the propeller plane I was travelling in crashed just outside Srinagar, so I ended up spending some time there. Beautiful valley. I remember the documentary that you made about your journey to Bhutan in the footsteps of your father. Very interesting documentary. Loved it. Especially how you explained about folding up your dirty clothes and put them at the bottom of your backpack. They would move to the top of the backpack and come out looking much cleaner the next time you would wear them… O, buy the way, my name is Veronique Renard, but the Tibetans call me Pantau.” O Jesus bloody Christ hanging from the cross; I am rambling. She must think I am a nutcase.
“I see. So you've been living here.”
“Yes. I moved from the Netherlands to Dharamsala in the spring of 2000. Wasn’t very happy with my western life-style and decided to live close to the Dalai Lama and become a Free Tibet activist. I published my memoir last year. The book is expected to be published in England next year. We’re working on its translation right now.”
“Interesting. I would love to read it. Do you have a business card?”
I looked in my bag but couldn't find a business card. I was also upset because I didn’t carry my digital camera in my bag. My mobile phone was bought before they made them with cameras in it. I didn’t even have a piece of paper on which she could sign her autograph.
I only carried a book of the Dalai Lama with me. But it wasn’t my book so I couldn’t ask her to sign it. However, I was using one of my own Pantau in India-book marks. My publisher had a 1000 of these book marks printed to give away to my readers. He had given only 20 of them to me. In turn I had given most of them away to people who hadn't even bought my book. I only had one of those book marks left but decided to give it to Joanna Lumley. It had my website address printed on it.

The two people who accompanied Joanna came out of the café. They had gone inside to pay the bill. They were surprised to see Joanna sitting at my table. Joanna introduced them to me. We shook hands and exchanged a few words and soon Joanna stood up. “Nice to meet you. Send me a copy of your book when its English translation has been published.”
“I will, Miss Lumley. I certainly will.”
After Joanna had left, I thought: I forgot to ask her where to send it to. I should have asked her for her email-address or some contact information of her people so that my people can contact her people. Hmmmm. Should I send a copy to the BBC, hoping that they will pass it on to her?
I finished my breakfast. I asked Thubten-la for the bill. “Can’t believe I just met Joanna Lumley! What a coincidence.”
“Coincidence?” Thubten said. “There are no such things as coincidences.”
I smiled.

It’s now 14 January 2009. I never sent a copy of the English translation of my book Pantau in India to Joanna Lumley. I’m such an idiot really. But I am going to look up the address of the BBC and finally send a copy addressed to her, perhaps print out this little blog-story and send it along with it. Would she remember our conversation? Would she send me a signed photo? Would she like my book and commend it?

If you read this, Miss Lumley, I would like to thank you for giving me the pleasure of meeting you at the Norbulingka. Do you believe in coincidences? Did you have a dream the night before our meeting about meeting someone in India who had read your 1989 autobiography? And please explain to me: what does someone look like who looks like someone who has been “here” for a long time?