However, the taxi driver was such a funny man, I did not mind it at all. It helped that I was not in a hurry.

When I first got on, the other passengers were foreign workers from Bangladesh, men who could obviously do with more money.

The taxi driver asked one of them, “I introduce a job to you... you want? The pay is very good, but the job a bit hard to do.”

This took place shortly after September 11. The taxi driver then pulled out a copy of the newspaper, pointed to a picture of Osama bin Laden on the front cover, and said, “You go and find him.

"You dress up as a woman, cover your whole body except your eyes, and go and catch him. After that, you give me 10 percent of your reward enough.”

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Magic!

Later during the trip, when I was alone with him, the taxi driver had a job offer for me too. When I told him that my business was not doing well, he suggested that I become a loan shark. A lot of Singapore businessmen come to Malaysia to do this, he claimed.

The taxi driver was Indian and apparently quite a religious man. He had a very elaborate alter, dedicated to Lord Ganesh, set up on his taxi dash board. I have seen this quite often, but his was exceptionally elaborate. He also had a bell dangling from the rearview mirror.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“That’s the God,” he replied.

“No, I mean the bell,” I asked again, explaining that I already knew about Lord Ganesh. “What is it for?”

“Oh,” he answered. “This one sometimes can work magic. Sometimes when there are children behind and the children cry, I ring the bell, 'Clang! Clang!' and the children stop crying!”

He was so funny! That was one of my most memorable taxi journeys ever,

But the long detour was also memorable. So another time when I flagged down a taxi and there was a passenger at the front, I asked the driver, “Where are you going first?”

“Your place first,” the front passenger answered, her voice indignant. She was a middle-aged lady, wearing a tudung. This is a head-dress worn by some muslim women. It covers the hair and neck, revealing only the face.

The tudung suggested that she was a religious and conservative - or rather, less liberal - Muslim. The really conservative cover their entire face except for the eyes.

I got in. To make conversation, I asked the driver, “So where are you going after you send me?” To my great surprise, he said, “Actually this is my wife. She is just coming along for a car ride.”

“How sweet,” I thought.

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Special massage

Then, the taxi driver asked, “Have you ever tried urut?” referring to a form of traditional Malay / Indonesian massage. His wife is Indonesian.

“My wife does urut,” he continued. “When you do something, you must advertise your services. Otherwise how would people know?”

Oh! His wife was not just coming along for a car ride after all.

“My wife can do special urut,” the taxi driver went on. “You just come for three sessions. She will also give you some jamu (herbal medicine). After that, your 'little brother' will become very strong.”

We had begun talking about sex, the taxi driver and I. He was telling me how, after three sessions of this special massage, I would feel very shiok (pleasurable) whenever I “played with women”. He was talking about sex for play and for pleasure, not just for love, not just within a marriage.

We were having “men’s talk” with his conservative, religious wife sitting right besides him. Yet it seemed normal and natural. Everything was said as a matter of fact.

I did not know what to make of the situation. Perhaps sex, and the pleasure derived from it, should be regarded that way - as a matter of fact. Nothing to hide.

No need for men to be shameful about the fact that they sometimes like to play. Certainly no need for them to hide the fact that they might not be able to play. Help is at hand, not only and not necessarily from Viagra.

I have heard about such treatment before. The Chinese call it jua gen, meaning "pulling the veins". I was not surprised that the Indonesians have a version of it. After all, men’s inability to “play” is an age old problem, as old as their desire to play. So there must be some age old solutions.

I kept the telephone contact of the taxi driver, just in case I wanted to use his wife’s services one day. But first, I need to get over my unease about having my sexual organs massaged by a religious conservative wearing a tudung.