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?