Wednesday, 17 August 2011

Back from the Danish summer, a new "machine"


Got a new machine for the house, well, for me: a cross trainer. Exactly the same as the one I have back in PJ. Felt that I needed to get myself a bit more work out:) Too much of sitting at the desk is not a good thing! Have officiated the machine that arrived yesterday, so need to have a bit of discipline to follow through, and not end up having the machine as a clothes hanger, as my colleague cheekily pointed out:)
So, I've just also got back from a week in Denmark, mainly to attend Kamma (my mother-in-law's) 80-years birthday party and of her partner's 90-year birthday. Amazing! They don't look their age and I'm glad that they are doing fine. I don't really know people who've lived as long and with a good quality of life as they both do. One can aspire to live like that:)
Not much thought processes happening, since I'm trying to focus back on work and also following more and more negative developments regarding press freedom, seems each government in the region is trying to outdo the other in being worse!
And my internet connection seems to have found its way back into my living room, albeit still extremely slow and unstable. But maybe I should take the opportunity to post more on the blog more regularly:)

Ciao!

Sunday, 3 July 2011

Poem dedicated to Najib and his mafia

Clay - by Elia Abu Madi

(Translated by Mahmoud Abbas Masoud)


At one time, Mr. Clay forgot that he was no more than mud
So, he walked insolently, bragged and boasted.
Body covered with fine silk,
He glorified himself in a self-admiring manner,
Purse full, he became haughty and rebellious!

Brother, turn not your face away from me;
I am not a charcoal, nor are you a bright star.
You did not make the silk you are wearing,
Nor the jewels with which you adorn yourself.
You cannot eat gold when hungry,
Nor drink strung pearls when thirsty.

In your fine attire, you suffer and rejoice,
Just like me in my tattered clothes.
You entertain hopes during the day,
Have dreams and visions at night.
My heart, too, has sweet dreams,
Just like yours, for it is not made of stone

Are all my wishes made of dust,
While yours fashioned of pure gold?
Or are all my wishes doomed to vanish
While yours are destined for immortality?

Nay! My wishes and yours, alike, come and go,
Like any others, for nothing is everlasting.
You, who so bent on exhibiting self-esteem,
When struck by disease, don’t you complain and groan?
Don’t you sigh and moan?

When your sweetheart forsakes you,
Don’t you sorely miss her when remembering her?
Like me, you smile for favorable circumstances
And frown when visited by calamitous events.

Are my tears bitter like gall,
While yours are nectar-sweet?
Is my weeping a humiliation
While yours is victory?
Are my smiles waterless like a desert mirage,

While yours are shimmering jewels

One firmament spreads over both of us,
A scene that amazes and dazzles my sight,
While your eyes unmindful, lacking awareness of it.
One single moon gazes upon us,
As she gazes upon a shack and magnificent edifice.

If she seems bright to your eyes,
I do not see her dark from the crack of my shanty.
The same stars you see, I also behold,
When faint or gloriously ablaze.
With all your riches, you are no closer to them than me,
Nor am I any distant from them, despite my wretchedness

Like me, from dust you came, and to dust you shall return,
Why then so much pride and aloofness?
You were a child when I was a child,
You will grow old; I, too, will advance in age
And become toothless.

I neither know where I came from,
I possess no knowledge of my past
Nor do I know what the future holds for me.
If you do know, say it

Otherwise, why should you fancy yourself unique

You live in a stately palace, well-protected by armed guards

And fenced all-around with high walls,
Prevent, if you will, the night from spreading over it,
Stop the fog from thickly gathering above it.

Notice how the light enters freely
without ever asking for your permission!
So why should it be chased away?
One single resting place is your final lot,
Do you know how many lots and spots
Your decaying corpse will provide
For grazing worms and hungry maggots?

You have closed the doors of your palace in my face
When chased by storms and threatened by inclement weather,
Yet you made accommodations
And generously provided for your dogs and cats.
Thus, I heard life laughing at me for my begging
And mocking you for your miserly denial

You who have a charmingly beautiful garden,
With water, birds, flowers, and fragrant shrubs,
Rebuke then the wind for swaying, bending
And upsetting the trees in your garden.

And stop, if you can, the water in the pond,
Order it not to make swishing sounds
Unless in your presence, under your watchful eye.
When the bird sings on the tall tree,
It cares not, whether you or I
Listen to its melodies.
Flowers deride not my poverty,
Nor coax and flatter your riches.

Do you consider the river to be exclusively yours?

Nay! It is rather a pathway for the soft breeze
It is a source of water for the birds to drink.
It belongs to the luminaries
To bathe in its cool water, in the summer nights.

You assume it is yours,
Yet, does it meander and flow into the veins of trees
By your command?
It was here long before you came to this world,
It will still be here long after you have departed this life.
It will ever remain, alternating between ebb and flow

Do you think the meadow belongs to you?
Behold the bees unhesitatingly sip nectar from its flowers.
I see how the ants so laboriously built colonies in its soil!

According to their law and logic, you are an intruder,
A thief, who has usurped their rights, disturbed their harmony.
Even if you owned all the fields of the world,
You will never be happier than the butterfly of the field

Do you consider yourself beautiful?
Well, you are no lovelier, nor more generous
Than a rose, that exudes its fragrance.
Do you deem yourself mighty, with sword in your hand?
Then it is odd that a mosquito should extract nourishment
From your cheeks!
Do you think you are rich?

In vain would you enjoy your costly attire
Had it not been for the silkworm that made it possible for you
To revel in your fine apparel.

Do you think you are strong?
If so, command sleep not to overtake you;
Order the dark to turn away from your eyelids.

Ask gray hair not to approach and appear in your head,
Bid freshness to remain forever in your cheeks.
Do you think you are knowledgeable?

Then tell me where does imagination come from?
In which vale or valley is it born?

What is the Life that appears and disappears?
What is the Time that people praise and blame

O Clay! You are neither purer than, nor superior to
The dirt you walk on, which someday will enclose you.

No matter how sturdily built a palace you dwell in,
In time, it will surely be completely torn down.
It doesn't matter how finely sewn a robe you wear,
Someday it will be tattered and become ragged.

Let no hate and enmity enter your heart,
I have turned mine into a temple of love.
I am more deserving of your love
Than clothes that will wear out and rot
And money that will be spent or lost.

Yellow




This is the best I could get for changing the colour of the blog.

Nothing to do with royalty as some people may think or assume from previous and other "associations" - its the colour of the movement for free and fair elections in Malaysia. Now called the Bersih 2.0 - clean up the dirt of the current political regime and its stooges in the name of Election Commission and the police. More than 100 people have been arrested, and 6 now under the draconian Emergency Ordinance from the Socialist Party of Malaysia for trying to bring down the government in collaboration with foreign powers. Bullshit. But bringing down the BN - well, yes, because its corrupt, its abusive and it has no respect for human rights and human dignity.

Everyone who is taking up the yellow cause is a peace-loving Malaysian, wanting only the best for the nation. Ignore the propaganda by the government about the violence, no, reject it for it is they who are legitimising violence and abuse.

I cannot join my friends this July 9 but I take my hats off to them - and shoes - all yellow - that they persevere. They have seen the nasty insides of the lock ups and detentions once too often in the name of defending democratic and human rights. Truly the heart aches for the nation.

In 2007, days after the first Bersih march when we submitted a memorandum to Parliament, our DAP friend captured this and said it was the darkest day of Malaysian Parliament. One of the 7 arrested challenged it in court and won. Outside Parliament 29 were arrested. But those arrests don't come close to what has happened in the last week, only showing how much more authoritarian the state has become.

Wednesday, 11 May 2011

Getting down to starting the PhD

I think I've found the theme for my PhD research – and it has been a long search. Ironically, not surprisingly, I feel I've been drawn back to my undergraduate work to look at the media within the political economy context and the critical/cultural paradigms. I've just been reading a book that appealed to me because it addressed the issues I am interested in, and I thought: hmmm...I've seen that train of thought – ok, theoretical framework – somewhere. Blimey! I think I meant to use this framework way back in 1995 without realising it! So, someone (Professor Simon Cottle to be specific) has just inpired me to revisit the framework and I think this is it:)

What he talks about is mediatized culture – which basically refers to how the media do not simply report or represent diverse situations of conflict, but actively enact and perform them. It seems his work came out in the early 90s but somehow not to my library, I don't remember quoting him in my research. I'd like to think we kinda thought about the same thing around the same time:)


But I'm also looking forward to revisiting some of the good old folks - Peter Golding and gang - for the thesis.

Ok, what is this mediatized conflict all about? From wars to protests and racial killings, moral panic to environmental threats, the media not only present the information but they actually create them.

For my undergraduate thesis, I wrote on the Social Control in the Newsroom: An analysis of the 1995 general elections by the News Straits Times. In that research, I tried to show how political and ownership control filtered to the newsroom and why journalists did what they did in terms of the reporting. I tried to show the link by showing the ownership trend, reading the content and attempting to understanding behaviour of the journalists.

Why this topic?

Because unfortunately, racism will not go out of fashion, judging from the present developments. Take the most recent case of the 1Melayu 1Bumi being sold by the newspaper Utusan – by its editor Zaini Hassan. That the Chinese in Malaysia are ganging up to take over the country from the Malays. So the Malays need to stick together. Not just stick together but to fight for the rights of the “race”. What does that entail? Going to war? Taking the parangs and attacking all the Chinese? Denying them economic activities? Apartheid? And now the Chinese, formerly Communists, want to create a Christian state. Absurdity at its peak. But why do such ridiculous postulations get the kind of coverage it gets in the Malay media? At the same time, we know that the other vernacular media are also not doing justice to the situation. Ethnic interests and reporting tend to not only define the content but to set the agenda. That it is also widespread gives it a kind of timelessness, which is not something to be happy about.

Missing are questions about class relations, why journalists and editors do what they do – what are the latent meaning or values that the media represent?

I hope I can make a contribution to the discourse on media and identities.

Now down to working out the details in an academic format:)



Saturday, 26 March 2011

Saying goodbye

I think today's the day that I say goodbye.

Its an unexplainable moment. Well, not really. Its explainable. Walking down the road, feeling light-hearted and resolving that I need to let him go. And I don't think its one of those moments that passes by just to be replaced by the same attachment. There was a feeling that its this point onwards that I actually move forward.

Its not easy, when clarity or the realisation comes. There's nothing tangible but its heavy nevertheless.

There comes a time, and maybe that time has come.

Farvel min kaereste!

Sunday, 6 March 2011

Another book


I recently found this interesting book, a bit more difficult to read, but fulfilling nevertheless. The book, The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse, is by Louise Erdrich, an enrolled member of the Turtle Mountain Chippewa, Pembina Band.

It starts off with the confessions of a Father Damien Modeste to the Pope, through letters, of secrets and stories in the little town. Right from the opening chapter, the reader is told that Father Damien is actually a woman, whose circumstances in life led her to take on the cloth and become priest in the town of Little No Horse.

It is the story of Agnes deWitt of Wisconsin who became Sister Cecilia at a convent, and had to leave when she fell in love with Chopin on the piano (literally), and is led from one situation to another until a great flood leads her to the corpse of Father Damien whom she had met before and who was on his way to “save” the Ojibwe in a remote reservation. Her life takes on a turn when she takes on Damien's clothes and assumes the role of the priest in the reservation.

Between the two, where was the real self? It came to her that both Sister Cecilia and then Agnes were as heavily manufactured of gesture and pose as was Father Damien. And within this, what sifting of identity was she? What mote? What nothing?....

Father Damien was both a robber and a priest. For what is it to entertain a daily deception? Wasn't he robbing all who looked upon him? Stealing their trust? Shameful perhaps, but Agnes was surprised to find that the thought only gave her satisfaction. She felt no guilt, and so concluded that if God sent none she would not invent any. She decided to miss Agnes as she would a beloved sister, to make of Father Damien her creation. He would be loving, protective, remote, and immensely disciplined. He would be Agnes's twin, her masterwork, her brother.”

Did she deceive? She did. But people also saw what they wanted to see. We are filled with expectations when we meet people, that they are to us what we want them to be. Call it neurolingustic programming, or whatever, there was a role to be played, and she played it.

The past always comes back to haunt, but Agnes is able to fit in as Damien – for 80 years, she lives as the priest in Little No Horse and does wonders. At some point in her time as a priest, she is visited by another priest (Father Wekkle) who discovers her identity and they end up having a sexual affair. Years later, this priest is on the verge of death and comes to seek out Agnes. The thing that bothers her the most is the feeling that he patronizes her, even in his weak state, as though she is less of something because she is a woman.

Had he patronized her way back then? Had she noticed? Or had he learned this? Did she patronize women too, now that she'd made herself so thoroughly into a priest?”

Would people change they way they behaved towards you if the information they had about you changed? Here is a box that is often used. Women. Less smart. Less intellectual. And there are many other boxes as well.

Through the chapters, the priest is caught in many dilemmas, which she obediently refers to the Pope, and doesn't get any responses. I guess she's relevant to the folks and that's the essence of it. What is really “service to the people” if not what is meaningful to the people? You can argue that sometimes people don't know what they need – an argument I would use to say that political education is important and needed because you need to exercise your choices wisely in politics – but I think with religion and spirituality, it takes on a different spin and I'm less tolerant to that.

The investigator from Vatican who comes to town to investigate the case of the miracle involving another member of the church concludes at the end that it is Father Damien who was the more saintly. Even where the characters knew her real identity, they kept it to themselves, and to some extent, protected it.

Maybe what was important was who she became and not who she was.

It was bit tough with the book to follow some of the characters, but I like the development of the story. You think that by revealing the identity of Damien in the first chapter that the mystery of the story is taken away, but no. The sub-plots are as interesting as the main story. Anyway, I like one of the lines in the end, where the character who has taken care of Damien (Marie Kashpaw), and ironically is the one who assists in his death, pulls out a crumpled paper where she had written one of Damien's sermons: “What is the whole of our existence but the sound of an appalling love?” Amazing.




Monday, 28 February 2011

Food and journalists

Last night, I literally had to force a group of really wonderful journalists across town in Siem Reap, in search of vegetarian food. I'm usually easy and can settle for any compromise for food, but when the only option was raw salad (at a BBQ place), my friends suggested we went elsewhere, even though I knew they really wanted to try the BBQ. So, the 10 of us, including Melanie from CMFR, got into the 4-wheel drive again to look for another place. I felt bad, but I really appreciated the folks for accommodating my dietary needs. And then I feel bad because there is usually too much food for me, that I find myself stuffing my face just to avoid wastage:)


(the Cambodian wayang kulit at the restaurant last night)











But they've been great on all fronts. The training, organised by the Cambodian Centre for Independent Media, attracted 40 journalists from around Cambodia (in Malaysia, we - in CIJ - used to be so grateful when even 5 journalists turned up! I know the record has improved since:)) - with the focus on reporting freedom of expression. The organisers were very helpful and made it very comfortable for us. The programme was a bit heavy though, but organisers always try to maximise the opportunity when they get a group of journos together.

Cambodia is not an easy place to work as a journalist. From what is essentially a one-party authoritarian rule (manifested by the number of legal restrictions placed on expression) to the alleged extent of corruption, journalists face numerous threats in the course of their work.

Over the two-days we spent with them, we heard different violations, and importantly, how journalists felt about the limitations that exist. Some were inclined to accept that if it was in the law, then state restrictions were justified. Never mind that the law was problematic to begin with. But the overwhelming majority felt that the curbs on freedom of the press and freedom of expression were unreasonable.

I was asked by one of the journalists to compare Malaysia and Cambodia. I was inclined to conclude that there were more similarities than differences. Legal instruments are used to justify actions against the media, such as censorship and persecution. Like many governments in the region too, politicians tend to demand and exercise more control and powers than they actually deserve.

I've always been inspired by stories of people who have fought the system and come out of their challenges with a stronger resolve. Even if the Cambodian journalists are going through tough times (threats, professional standards etc, welfare issues), the existence of groups trying to work for press freedom groups just means that there's mobilisation against the violations, against the system. We may have been limited by our language differences, but we had more, not less, to share.

Tonight, there is a plan for a grand buffet and maybe an evening drive around the Angkor Wat. I think the contradictions are fascinating, and challenging. Greatness in heritage, and a society struggling to find its footing in dealing with today.

So, good luck to the friends in the Cambodian media who hope to raise the profile of freedom of expression higher:)

Sunday, 27 February 2011

Phaasa Thai...here I come!

So, I've finally signed up for a Thai language course, after being here for 3 months! I will start in a few days and have signed up for a one-month 40-hour intensive course in March, at the Thai Language Achievement School. It will focus on mainly on the phonetics and basic sentences. And then if I go on to the next level, I will learn the grammar in depth. Time and practice will tell if the school is worth sharing, I got a recommendation for it, so am curious:)

I have a small vocabulary that will get me to my house, tell the housekeeper that I will be away and for how many days, ask how much and get around in the market, numbers and when the advertisement on radio is saying call this number xxx5555 (ha-ha-ha-ha).

I realised when I started picking up Danish that it is important to listen to the language, so that you soften your ears to the tone and the speech. So I have the radio on most of the time, in Thai. When learning Danish, it was the movies that did the trick. I'm not sure I have the patience with Thai movies now, I'll stick to the radio. It helps that I live among mainly Thais (with the exception of my neighbours whom I've not bumped into) in my area so I have no choice but to learn the language.

[Incidentally, the person I learnt Danish from, Sripen, is from Phuket, who has been living in Denmark for many years:)]

I've been adequately warned that with Thai, there are words that could mean the total opposite. For example the word that describes beautiful and ugly (suay), or that there are stoppers among the alphabets in the words and those that sound different depending on the location in the word. Well, if life wasn't challenging already.

And funny how some sounds appear in the different languages too and that is quite fun:
  • kun (only, in Danish) - Noun for you in Thai
  • nok (enough) - bird (Thai)
Someone I met had said that the principles of the sounds are quite close to the Indian language and so I've been trying to make out the script myself and try to figure out how the words work. I have two goals in the short term:
1) Be able to converse with the people in my area
2) Read the stops on the bus

And I don't know how long, long term will represent but then I hope I can understand the radio/news and discussions when attending forums.

So, sawasdee kha or sawatdee kha!

in Siem Reap this Feb

I just realised that the first time I came to Siem Reap was in 2007, and possibly around the same time. It was a birthday present for Soeren. He would have turned 52 last year. I didn't think much about the trip I was about to make this time, even though its for work, that it would be somewhat of an anniversary. Four years since we were here together, to see the Angkor temples.

These days I think I have a better grip of my thoughts but traveling unpacks all of it again. And particularly to places where we've been together. Which is what we deliberately chose to do to commemorate a year since he died. Lone and had a nice late brunch (Soeren loved this, breakfast in bed even better), we went to Annexe Gallery to see an exhibition by a Malaysian artist who passed on a couple of years ago and we heard an early evening performance at the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra. Ended the day with dinner at Out of Africa with good company (he celebrated his birthday here a few years ago with some friends). No need to ask how many thoughts and memories came flashing past - there were many.

It has been difficult to pen down what I felt or thought after a year, and it took me a while to write anything. I think the one thought to take away is that you have to live while you're alive. Apparently, easier said than done...

Sad that you're not here, that I can't celebrate your birthday with you, that I can't tell you what I'm doing here in SR.

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

Court case here

In the last post, I promised to write something about the trial that started in Bangkok earlier this month. It involves the director and webmaster of a popular website known as Prachatai.com.

I contributed a piece to the Index on Censorship and sharing it here.

21 Feb 2011

The case of Chiranuch Premchaiporn, the webmaster on trial in Bangkok, has far-reaching implications for freedom of speech – not just in Thailand, but in the wider region too, argues Gayathry Venkiteswaran

Here is SEAPA's summary of the trial and the report from a forum we organised after the trial, with a view of the trends in the region.

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Lone has left the building

Guilty of delayed postings. But I have a good excuse, or so I think.

For two weeks, I had a nice time being a host to my sister in law, Lone, here in Bangkok and with a short stop in Malaysia (a bit about that later). And in the midst of it, a very important court case that unfolded and got postponed, involving a very wonderful person who is director and webmaster of a popular website in Thailand (also a bit more on that later).

Before that, Noel visited for a weekend, and we had a nice time checking out food places and some night spots:)

This time, with Lone, we had a nice dose of jazz, also with another Malaysian friend not only enjoying the music, but also singing a couple of songs at the Mandarin Oriental (where the resident band was great but the crowd was too snobbish...it comes with the territory I'm sure, of staying in a hotel like that!) But no bitching! Bangkok jazz is fantastic. There are so many talented folks literally at every corner. And not just jazz. The symphony orchestra is mainly Thai names, unlike the Malaysian one, which has more foreigners than Malaysians. Maybe this sounds nationalistic. Okay, so I'll settle for the fact that its really good to be able to enjoy good music and inexpensive prices. I like KL and Bangkok for that, maybe the latter more:)

It was also an opportunity for me to check out some of the sights in Bangkok but most of the time, Lone was on her own as I was at the office. Everything was fine, until we decided to take an organised tour to Kanchanaburi because I thought going by ourselves was just a bit too inconvenient. That was a mistake. I now have learnt the 10 different meanings of "10 minutes" - the guide was a cacophony of sounds, she knew little and repeated the little she knew 10 times, assured us the train would arrive in 10 minutes every 10 minutes, and made us have our food in 10minutes. I don't even remember what the highlight of the trip was. The museum was merely a collection of photos and news articles, we were forced to take the boat on the River Kwae (which was actually nice, but getting to that point was frustrating) and a train ride that lasted 1 hour over the bridge to nowhere but our lunch spot. I think if we had gone on our own, we would choose what to see and how we would see it. Kanchanaburi itself is a tourist place but I'm sure the nature park would be very interesting.

Despite it all, it was nice to get out of Bangkok even if just for a few hours, to try and see more of the provinces and districts. I should make it a point to explore outside Bangkok.

Monday, 3 January 2011

Sightseeing

I've just completed a book titled Sightseeing by a young Thai, Rattawut Lapcharoensap and am blown off by how simple yet powerful his collection of seven stories is. As the cover says, the writer “takes his readers beneath the surface of Thailand to a place that is dynamic and corrupt, full of pride and passion and fear.” He was born in Chicago and raised in Bangkok.

I picked the book up at a sale and am glad that this unassuming book has been absolutely rewarding. As a newcomer to Thailand, I am trying to understand what the country is about. Fortunately for me, I work with a great bunch of people, Thais and non-Thais and am able to learn a bit. Because I work and stay outside of the city centre, I get to see a bit more of the daily routine of the folks around me who don't necessarily work for an embassy, an MNC or an NGO:)

But the reality is, Thailand is a place for foreigners to get wild, to shed their skin and be something else. No one back home will know. Its a secret shared with the people here. Shake off your clothes, let your hair down. Its almost as though the locals expect you to do that. Some do, its money for them. But if you stop and think about it, how do they really feel about it?

We all need it sometime, this craziness and maybe we just have to thank the Thais for letting all of us experience that, in our own ways.

Back to the book.

In Farangs, Rattwut's lead character, a half-white half Thai guy is obsessed by white women but ends up always being heartbroken. But the scene that drew me into the above train of thoughts was when one of the farang girls “luk” wants to impress is taken to his uncle's elephant corral, and the uncle is immediately irritated by the sight of the girl in her bikini.

“'Tell the girl to put on some clothes,' Uncle Mongkhon growled. 'It's unholy.'”

The uncle, who has had his business affected by a big tourist company, scolds the nephew for disrespecting his establishment and asks if the Americans would appreciate it if the others stripped down to their underwear and rode on the eagle!

And his Ma sums up her view of the farang tourists: “'Pussy and elephants. That's all these people want.'” She says that Thailand has so much to offer, the temples, the food, the culture, yet all the foreigners want to see are the elephants, go for the sex and and get skin cancer burning their skin on the beaches. Bitter and disappointed because of being abandoned by a farang with a baby, yet cashing in on the only currency driver there: tourists.

In his other stories, Rattawut explores the struggles of families against poverty, death, desire and lust. In Cockfighter, Wichian almost dies after a streak of losses in cockfighting, to a local bully who imports a Filipino cock and trainer. The story is told by Wichian's daughter, Ladda, who watches how the father is losing his mind, how the mother struggles to work sewing laces and sequins onto bras, and who wants to be out of this place.

Priscilla the Cambodian has no links to the queen of the desert:) Its a very telling account of resentment and xenophobia so close to many of us. Here, the writer touches on the fate of Cambodian refugees in Thailand through the story of Priscilla, a young refugee and two local Thai boys who befriend her. Then there's a story about a lady who is going blind (the book title) and goes on what is probably her only and last holiday trip to the Andamans with her son, who thinks he will have to give up his studies to take care of the mum. And in Don't let me die in this place an American, Perry comes to live with his son and Thai daughter-in-law in Bangkok after suffering from paralysis. Perry thinks its the worse thing to happen to him, living in Thailand, but soon begins to appreciate the love between his son and daughter-in-law and to accept being taken care of by them.

In Draft Day, a young man risks his friendship to avoid being drafted into the army because he has the benefit of his family's high connections and in At the Lovely Cafe, the story is about a young boy and his older brother after their father dies (and mum goes a bit off the edge) using the typical symbols like riding the motorcyle, visiting a brothel, drugs...but in vivid images and ones that move you.

I think its wonderful how Rattawut weaves through the different personalities and characters and offer the readers fiction that is so personal. He writers brilliantly, I like the humour but he captures the conflicts and dilemma well. Anyway, I have to share my favourite line in the book, can't help it. From Farangs:
“I knew it was love when Clint Eastwood sniffed her crotch earlier that morning and the girl didn't scream or jump out of the sand or swat the pig like some of the other girls do. She merely lay there, snout in crotch, smiling that angelic smile, like it was the most natural thing in the world...”
There's a photo of the author on the back cover. He's a nerd. But hey, nerds rock!

Some real reviews here, and here.

Now off to pick something else from my depressingly tiny book collection.

Oh Sunday bliss

It was a gorgeous day for a walk in the park and birdwatching. I chose as my first field trip the Suan Rot Fai (the old railway park), now renamed as the Wachirabenchathat. Its very close to the Chatuchak market and Chatuchak park, so was cautioned that there were birds being sold in the park that could be escapees.

Anyway, I found a really useful site on birdwatching in Thailand, maintained by a guy called Nick Upton, site called thaibirding.com. It has checklists for birds spotted in various areas, so that was some homework for me to do. Its tough when you're a novice and doing it alone. But I think Suan Rot Fai is a good training ground to get used to the small ones. Even though the list has only 3 warblers, I swear to God they drive me nuts! But they are so adorable:)

There are 3 favourites for today, all new, or at least I managed to identify them on my own. By the way, the park is busy with joggers, bikers, families picnicking, and still it was a rewarding day in terms of new birds on my list.

The first fav was the Indian Roller. All sites I read said this bird can be seen perched on wires in the town or close to residential areas, but I had not spotted any. So I was quite determined that I should see one. And lo and behold, it was the first for the day after an unsuccesful attempt to ID one of the tiny birdies. Truly you can't miss the Roller, especially in flight. The turqoise on the crown and wings in the sunlight is stunning! I read the description in the book the night before and thought, that's a lot of colours, but they are there – turqoise, purplish-blue, green, olive, brown. The good thing is the Roller is there for a while so there was enough time to appreciate the fella.


(All pictures taken from the birdinginmalaysia site)












Moving on, there were some of the others, the warbler is tricky but I made it:) And of course the flycatcher too, but it was actually close enough for me to observe even without the binos.

Then my luck! Fav #2 for the day. I had just turned and spotted the Coppersmith Barbet on a tree by the water. He gave me enough time to make out that it was indeed him, and then flew off. Its relatively smaller than the other barbets I've seen but very colourful nevertheless.


Around the corner, I saw the Common Kingfisher and thought of the number of people who walked and jogged pass and didn't see this beautiful bird. I watched it till it dived into the water for feed!

I've been most curious about the bulbuls at my place because I wasn't sure which they were. But this morning I had the chance to watch them for a while at the park and am sure that my neighbours are also the Streak-eared Bulbul.

At some point, I had seen the warbler and decided to observe it for a while, to try and identify all its features. I found a bench and sat there with my binos. All of a sudden, the place became a flurry of activity with the bulbuls, and the Asian Pied Starlings. And among it all I spotted a Small Minivet!

Then off to see the water birds – egrets and the herons. The Chinese Pond Heron is a funny one. He just stands there like he's a chameleon thinking that no one notices it there. He's still for a long time, and then when he thinks he's tricked you, he starts to move. And he's not even hiding between any grass or branches, just out in the open. Funny dude!

Now its been 2 hours and I think I've done quite well for the day, at least knowing most of what I've seen. The park is a nice place to just sit around as there are some small lakes and lots of trees. Maybe the time is right too as its not too hot these few months. But its time to go back. So I pack my binos and head out of the park. Just at this point, the Indian Roller decides to fly past and parks himself on a tree branch close to where the butterfly park is. I notice there's a pair. Out come my binos again and I watch them for about 10 minutes before I frighten them off trying to take a photo:)

Now I think I'm really done and then this bird flies past and I'm curious. Out with the binos again and here was fav #3 for the day: the Tiger Shrike. I've seen the Tiger Shrike in Cameron Highlands before but this was much closer.

A nice wrap up for my trip today. Back home for some food and a siesta in the breezy afternoon.








The list for today from SRF:
1. Coppersmith Barbet
2. Common Kingfisher
3. Indian Roller
4. Little Egret
5. Chinese Pond Heron
6. Tiger Shrike
7. Black Naped Oriole
8. Small Minivet
9. Pied Fantail
10. Common Iora
11. Asian Brown Flycatcher
12. Oriental Magpie Robin
13. Asian Pied Starling
14. Streak-eared Bulbul
15. Arctic Warbler
16. Two-barred Warbler
17. Olive-backed Sunbird

This evening while writing this, I spot a pair of red-whiskered bulbuls just outside my apartment. My first encounter with these birds was in Mt. Abu in Rajasthan, and I just love them. They have a bit of a crest and red on their cheeks and vent (in trying to recruit my nephew as a birdwatcher, I told him its the bird with the red bum-bum. At least he rememberd it). Chances are with bulbuls, if you've spotted one, its in a pair and there might also be a few more around.

Saturday, 1 January 2011

Happy New Year!

So this was my first New Year's eve in Bangkok, apparently one of the most happening places to celebrate New Year. But it was pretty much the same stuff - concert, fireworks, parties etc.
Skipped the fireworks blitz downtown but went around the older part of the city, and did what many Thais do - go to the Wat and take photos in front of the Chitalada Palace:) And then saw pretty much every home and apartment have karaokes! Its massive!
But here's to hoping that the year brings something to cheer about - knowing fully well every experience is relative.
Happy New Year to all!
1.1.2011

How difficult was the year

Writing Christmas cards was difficult this time. After the first line, there had to be long pauses to take care of the emotions that literally poured with the words. And the words were: “What a year it has been...exactly a year ago, Soeren and I left Malaysia to move to Denmark.” Verbalising feelings and emotions are difficult and I struggle to give them meaning. Anyway, a few of us friends were asked a few nights ago how we would describe the year in terms of difficulty, rating it anywhere from 1 to 10 (10 being the most difficult). That's the theme for the post – difficult.

One friend said I would certainly say difficult, for what has happened. Was it, I thought? The 9 months since Soeren's funeral has been a time for me to think and reflect. A lot. To the point I'm philosophising about everything. Someone's going to say shut up sooner or later. Back to the score of difficulty.

Was it a difficult year? It was definitely a sad year, the emotional experience has been rather intense. There is feeling of loss, in a different way than I've experienced before. As I told my friends, there's that churning in the gut that I think is what people refer to or experience as, emptiness. The physical manifestation of sadness is not to be underrated. The tightness in the chest. The gulp in the throat especially when you're about to cry. The feeling of being caught off guard when the tears sneak up from nowhere when you read, listen, say something familiar. So, yes, its been difficult. But that is sadness. And I need to turn it over on its head because its a good thing for me, me who often find it difficult (here's the word again) to express pain and sadness.

But there are so many things to be grateful for. As there should be on a daily basis:) There are family and friends to be thankful for. Those who know how to help you get to the core of your state and get through the experiences; those who are just there being themselves because that's how you love them anyway; those who create opportunities for you to expend your adrenaline and anger; those who genuinely care; those you have a good time with. Often many do not know how they have been supportive. Its these people who Soeren spent his last year saying thank you to. One can only learn from that. Clearly he was able to do that because he accepted his circumstances and used the time he had to gather good vibes for himself.

And in that way it was easy. He made it easy for people to support and help him. I realise how much better life is when you're not in a denial. Its not about accepting “fate” as it is but taking the reality of the situation and steering it in the direction that you want to as much as you can. Even in the most traumatic, life-ending experiences when nothing really makes sense, you can still choose for it to be meaningful.

I know my mother's theme in the last years of her life was detachment. She expressed it in ways that took me some time to understand but I eventually did. I recently found a book she had been reading but didn't complete, and saw also the train of thought she might have had reading the book. I'm planning to explore that much more at a later stage but it was clear with the interpretations of the soul, attachment and detachment, how it possibly played a part in her spiritual journey. My last conversation, in the form of an argument, was a way for her to detach from the world, maybe she knew it was her last day alive. My last conversation with Soeren was about detachment, with him picking my brains on how to interpret it and what it meant. I'm not sure I know fully well what it means, but I have an idea of it, and tend to accept its basic principle. Maybe that's another reason for not immediately saying 10 on the score of difficulty.

But we agreed over a very nice dinner, my friends and I, that each person would relate to the word difficult, differently. We all have our own tolerance for pain and sadness. The numbers will not mean anything to anyone but ourselves.

My score was 6. The loss can be unbearable but the flipsides are not to be, and should not be ignored. I refuse to have it on the lower side of 5, maybe because that would mean I have lost some control over the situation. And I don't think I have.