A WALK IN THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE (Part 3 of 4)

I gave Saji a hug and felt the shoulder of my white cotton yogini habit getting wet. I kissed her on her cheek and lay the palm of my right hand on the crown of her head. “I bless you, Saji, and I will send a prayer into the universe tonight to ask the gods to help you on your path to become a great politician. The only thing you need to do is to really believe in yourself. And remember, there is a formula to attract the things you desire. When you pray: don’t ask the gods: ‘I WANT to be a mayor.’ You should pray: “I am grateful and thankful to have the passion to be a mayor.’ I looked into her eyes. “Because when you want something, you keep pushing your dream away from you as you keep telling the gods that you WANT something. So the gods will respond to that and leave you in a state of wanting, rather than making that desire come true. If you desire something, you need to thank for it in advance. Then the law of attraction kicks in.”
Saji looked at me. “Thank you.” And after a pause she said, “What is your name?”
“My name is Pantau.”
“Pantau? What kind of a name is that? It sounds like a Hindu name. It means ‘The Way’. Is it Hindi?”
“No, it’s Tibetan. It means ‘To be helpful. It is the name of my previous body, a Tibetan freedom fighter who was killed by the Chinese. The Dalai Lama bestowed this name on me when I met him a few years ago. He actually renamed me Pantau Lhamo, or ‘Blessing Deity.’”
Saji took this information in but a few moments later she suddenly got up from the taqat, positioned herself at my feet and touched them with her hands and forehead.
Though feeling completely uncomfortable with this kind of appreciation, I didn’t want to insult her by pulling her up from the grey concrete floor.
“Pantau-ji, is there something I can do for you?”
“Well, actually, yes. Forget about my eyebrows, I’ll come back for that another time. Now that you’re down there at my feet, have a look at the ball of my left foot. I have been walking around on my broken sandals for ages and I have grown a nasty corn in the ball of my left foot. It troubles me when walking.”
Saji had a look at my foot and started rubbing it with her thumb. “O dear! That is a very big deep corn that I cannot just cut out. You need to see a doctor for that.”
“Oy nicht gitt. There are no doctors here in Papanasam and I have no idea where to go.”
“I have an uncle who lives some 10 miles from here and he’s a doctor. I could close my shop now and take you to him. I am sure he’ll be able to help you.”
Suddenly I saw an image of a grey concrete box-like doctor’s practice in my left eye and an exceptionally old man with thick spectacles and some suspicious looking 18th-century’s physicians’ tools spread out on a shmutzig-looking grey piece of cloth that used to be sparkling white some 300 years ago.
I held my breath for a second or 30 while gazing at Saji. Finally I uttered the words: “Okay.” I sighed. “Okay, that is very kind of you. I would really appreciate your help.”

Five minutes later we boarded a tuk-tuk (a three-wheeled scooter rickshaw) driven by the only female driver in Varkala and perhaps in India at large. Well, she wasn’t really trying to be a woman. During our 45-minute drive the driver explained to me that she wanted to be a boy and tried to look as masculine as possible when driving his tuk-tuk but that he would dress as a women when she would visit her parents in some upcountry village. She hadn’t had her hair cut short, but he would manage to make it look more like a masculine hairstyle and he would also dress in male trousers and shirts and bind her breasts. He would also lower her voice to sound like a man. The way he moved his body was convincingly masculine.
“Well, very interesting. How do the other tuk-tuk-drivers feel about you?”
“They’re okay with it. Keralites are tolerant people and they are in awe with the fact that I am the only female tuk-tuk driver in Kerala.”
While she was speeding to our destination through the wetlands of Kerala, passing temple elephants, groups of totally naked holy Saddhus smeared from head to toe by ashes, and other things that I will cover in future stories, she showed me a newspaper clipping of an article of her standing in front of his tuk-tuk, accompanied by a story and the headline: FIRST LADY TUKTUK-DRIVER.

Amina Aliyar
The sole “female” rickshaw driver in Varkala


He delivered us at the doctors’ office which was a grey concrete box-like accommodation with inside an exceptionally old man with thick spectacles and some suspicious looking 18th-century’s physicians’ tools spread out on a shmutzig-looking grey piece of cloth that must have been sparkling white some 300 years ago. I swallowed. There were about 30 sick men, women and children waiting outside on the floor, but they were all made to wait for me, as I (for some inexplicable reason) always tend to receive priority in India.
The old doctor was very friendly, spoke perfect English (as all educated Indians do) and installed me on a table that must have been once used to serve food at Malayalam wedding ceremonies. He had a look at my foot, disinfected the area, materialized a glass syringe in a metal frame from thin air and filled it with anesthetics from a small bottle. He shot the stuff in my foot and after talking chitchat for a few minutes he suddenly took out a scalpel and cut the corn with root and all out of the sole of my foot in one perfect maneuver. I didn’t mind the blood that started jetting all over the place, which stopped the moment he had put one stitch in the little wound. He wrapped my entire foot in sterile gauze and, to prevent the gauze from getting dirty, he covered it with a plastic shopping bag. I got off the table, was able to stand on both feet and felt very relieved. He gave me some antibiotics and painkillers and told me I could expect my foot to swell up and I would be unable to use two feet for walking for at least a week or two. I saw in my left I that the doctor was absolutely right about that prediction.
“Thank you, doctor. How much do I owe you for the surgery and medication?”
“Madam, it’s my pleasure that I was able to help you. You don’t owe me anything.”
“O doctor-ji, I can’t accept that. I insist on paying you.”
“Madam-ji, really, you don’t owe me anything.”
I kept silent for a few moments, contemplating. “Doctor-ji, are you a Hindu or a Muslim?”
“I am a Hindu, Madam.”
“Would you accept a few hundred rupees from me and donate that to the temple that you go to, spend it on firecrackers to ward off angry spirits or anything else you feel conducive?”
The doctor smiled. “Madam-ji, that is very nice of you. Yes, I will accept such donation.”
I handed him 400 rupees which was generous as the treatment wouldn’t have cost me more than perhaps a 150 rupees with any other village doctor.
I boarded the tuk-tuk and Saji offered me to drive me to her family home and introduce me to her husband and children. I was exhausted by now and desired to go straight back to my home and relax in my hammock. Nevertheless, I felt I couldn’t reject her offer.
“That would be lovely,” I said with a tired smile.
“You must be hungry by now. It’s nearly 8 o’clock. I will prepare for you a nice meal and make sure you will get home safely after dinner.”
I put my palms together in front of my forehead and bowed my head. “Thank you, Saji. You’re a very good person.”