A WALK IN THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE (Part 2 of 4)

Papanasam Beach Varkala

I sat down next to Saji on the taqat in her very little beauty parlour. It wasn’t more than a grey concrete box with some basic beauty parlour products, but if you know how beautifully Indian girls have their eyebrows modeled by means of threading, you accept the concrete box and appreciate the beauty-parlour-threading specialist and her basic accommodation.
I explained to Saji what had just happened between my room and her beauty-parlour, and she listened to me with much interest. I kept it brief, as not to overwhelm her with my parallel-universe-chitchat.
I held her hand in mine and looked into her dark brown eyes. She was an extremely pretty girl, perhaps in her mid-twenties.
“I don’t know anything about you, but there is a lot on your mind,” I said. “You worry about what’s happening to this fishing community.”
Saji’s eyes became moist and tears started flowing over her dark complexion. “You feel the need to do something about it. You want to become the mayor of Varkala, right? Or even president of India.”
Saji nodded in agreement.
“Because then you would be able to help the people you care for and talk some sense into them.”
Saji nodded again.
“You come from a poor family and have a husband who beats you. You worry about the safety of your children. You always dreamed of becoming a beauty queen, but you never got the chance because you’re from a low cast. I am so sorry, Saji. But I have a feeling you might become successful in politics. I think you should consider getting elected as a mayor.”
“Madam! How do you know all this? You don’t know me.”
“I know, but something strange is happening with me these past weeks and I have premonitions and dreams and I sometimes feel I can read people’s minds.”
Saji just stared at me.
“So Saji, talk to me. Why do you worry so much about the local people?”
Saji took a deep breath. “Before the tourists came, life was good. The men would go out to sea with their boats and canoes to fish. They’d come home with their catch at sunrise. They were strong men, healthy and happy, beautiful strong bodies. The women would receive the fish from the men and sell them at the market in the afternoon. The men would rest and talk and laugh and relax in their beach huts. They would tend to their fishing nets and enjoy the silence and beauty of the holy Papanasam White Sand Beach and Black Sand Beach. They would climb the palm trees and collect coconuts. The women would wash the laundry by hand and cook and take care of the children. But everything changed these past ten years. It all started when a few western tourists came to our holy beach and stayed for a while because they didn’t like the tourist places in Goa. They would eat masala dosa in our local dhabas and sleep on the beach. And the Varkalayans thought that it was good because there was some foreign money coming into our little community and they were able to build a better school for our children and improve the roads. And then more and more tourists started coming and they needed places to stay. So some of fishermen started to build simple guesthouses from volcanic rock with palm leaf roofs and sit in front of their new properties on a chair doing nothing else than letting these tourists in and collecting the money. And the men soon started to feel bored and started drinking and smoking ganja to feel better. More and more tourists started to come and people started to cut down the palm trees on their land to build more guesthouses. They earned enough money to buy washing machines so the women no longer needed to do the laundry by hand and they started to grow fat and develop heart problems. Less and less men would go out to sea and they started to grow fat too and more and more people started to die of heart attacks. Now there are fewer men than women in Varkala. You have no idea how many men have become drug and alcohol addicts, feeling bored and unhappy by sitting in front of their guesthouses and beating their wives and children because they feel frustrated. The municipality has decided that the remaining fishermen are no longer allowed to tow their wooden boats onto Papanasam Beach as they want it to look better for the tourists now. There’s so much competition between the guesthouse owners that families start to have disputes with each other. They build high walls around their properties and don’t talk to each other any more.”
I nodded understandingly and wiped away some tears from Saji’s face with a piece of her toilet paper. (Toilet paper in India is a luxury product and serves as Kleenex and not to wipe the bum, but that is a totally different story).
“How many years will it take before Black Beach will be turned into a tourist place? How many years will it take before all the other beaches in the area will turn into tourist places? What will happen to Kappil Beach? This is a Muslim community. We used to pray five times a day to Allah. The men would go to the mosques, but I wonder what they pray for these days. More money? Bigger guesthouses?”
I observed Saji’s worried expression on her face.
“More and more tourists are coming to our beaches to lay half naked in the sun and shock the men, women and children in our community with all that exposed skin. The tourists don’t understand that the way they dress on the beach in those little swimsuits comes across to the local people as pornographic garments. I have heard stories that some of our men became so excited that they raped some of those tourists. So… to make a long story short, I am not sure whether economic development is actually beneficial to our community. In the past, we were happy. But now…. well, I guess now we are as unhappy as many of those tourists. Did you notice how many of them complain about everything? They think our toilets are dirty or primitive, the mattresses too hard, the Indian food too spicy. So they want French fries and hamburgers and spaghetti. They rather drink water from plastic bottles that the Coca Cola Company delivers in trucks. Did you know that Coca Cola is pumping up groundwater from underneath the nearby farmlands? That water is full of pesticides but the tourists think that water in a plastic bottle is clean. And the rubbish of plastic is piling up as we don’t have a garbage collection system. They refuse to drink the holy water that is coming from the spout of Papanasam Cliff, though the local authorities have tested that water over and over again and proven that it has special healing minerals and no bacteria. Another branch of that well leads to a nearby hospital and they use that water to heal their patients. For hundreds of years every generation of Keralites know that the water from Papanasam Cliff is holy. But give it some time and the Coca Cola Company will put a plug in the spout or put the water in plastic bottles to sell it to tourists in the shops for 20 rupees per litre.”
“And that is why you want to become a mayor? To stop all this insanity?”
“Yes. My people are going crazy, just because of all this tourism. We may have more money, but the more money we have, the less happy we become.”

This is me.

I dedicate this story to the people of Papanasam Varkala Beach, Black Beach, and Kappil Beach and hope that my love for them reflects in the above photos.

End of Part 2 of 4