Barmy Baht-ism in Bangkok

From above-the-sky parasailing to under-the-water walking on the ocean floor, from ‘Heaven Above’ to down below, and everything else in between, including the downright obvious adventures (with and without a mis-) – a decent enough summation of the revelry that were the five days post 15^th august, I guess.

A being-planned-from-ages trip to Thailand finally did take off after a hasty running around and making all arrangements on the last day. The first view of the city peering through the western clouds wasn’t exactly inspiring and/or exhilarating, rather, it did successfully camouflage the great time we were about to have. Being whisked to Pattaya from the airport was a first feel, what with the famed East Asian skyline dotting on either side roads worthy of being deemed runways.

A curved road along the beach, lined with the McDs and the Burger Kings of the world on one side, with the prostitutes of Thailand on the other, and with a glittering sparkling skyline in various colours and shapes somewhere afar, was just about what Pattaya was. Until we went on to explore the famed Walking Street. One with a mostly pinkish hue, curvaceous anatomies glittering in neon lights, more than just a handful beer bars, and lots and lots of people, all enjoying within the purview of whatever their definitions of pleasure was. The rest (and the best part) of the two nights in Pattaya was spent rocking to the tunes of a rather good live band in Hard Rock Café, smoking, drinking and headbanging away the worries of life. There also was the inevitable share of parasailing and bumpy (on the waves) motor boat rides, underwater walk and the stunning revelation at the life within, sea food and coral island, secluded beaches and windy coastlines – you name it! And the meals, drinks and fags were taken care of by the ubiquitous and round-the-clock ‘7-11s’, with prices that would put a kirana to shame.

The second leg of the trip was as less laid-back as it was more jaw-dropping than the first. The Thai capital, infested with skyscrapers, and with the pictures of the king and the queen on just about every place manageable, was a treat to the senses. A city bustling with life and glitzy malls ten times the size of the biggest one back home, and with Buddhist temples on just about every corner, thriving with elegant thais in all shapes, sizes, attires and colors. For all the swank, chicness, glitz and glamour, the place has a distinct cultural niche of its own, which proudly stands out on its own, refusing to be swamped by the invasion of sky trains, spotless clean metro rails, haughty office complexes, and an army of iPods, fashionable phones and a motley of gizmo gadgets.

The first real view of the malls, the centrally located MBK, Siam Paragon, Siam Discovery Centre and more was enough to subdue the living daylights in us out of awe. The first night spent at Ocean World – sharks, penguins, et al – followed by the customary pitcher at Hard Rock Café accounted for a time well-spent. Next day morning was all about a rather hurried tour, starting from western Bangkok, through the temples of Golden Buddha and the standing Buddha, the parliament, the Grand Palace, gems and jewellery store, myriad buildings and traffic jams. The second part of the day was spent in doing what most people do when they go to Bangkok. Shopping. We shopped, and we shopped and we shopped – until the wallets permitted. The hotel room looked like all but a disaster from the godown of a polythene manufacturing unit.

A little break from shopping was spent atop the highest point in Bangkok, the Baiyoke Sky Hotel terrace, taking in Absolut, and the most fantastic panorama you will ever see. A skyline that will put any European city to shame, a meandering river, one of the most revered in all of Asia, and a confounding network of roads, replete with grand flyovers, equally staggering structures for U turns (imagine!) and of course, terrific cars, which, well, just deserved to be running on those fairy tale tracks.

My last evening proved to be my best in Bangkok, and a recommendation to anyone who has just one evening to spend in Bangkok. The Siam niramit. The grandest, most opulent cultural performance one can ever see in theatre, capturing the entire essence of the richly adorned Thai culture. Tracing the history of the Thai people, through the trade and patterns established with the outside world, the festivals celebrating a spiritual elevation of humanity, so to speak, through to the most amazing depiction of Heaven and Hell I had ever seen, as taught in the Buddhist heritage. I sat spellbound through the entire show, not able to manage as much as a yawn or a nod. Fantastic costumes, larger-than-life sets, and exquisitely staged out performance – and at 10pm on the 18^th of August, I knew that my trip to Thailand was made, and that it couldn’t possibly get bigger and better than this. I felt bad for my two comrades who missed out.

The remaining part of the night was spent more perfunctorily than any other, walking through streets bustling with nightlife. Out of money, out of energy, but not out of spirit, we silently took in the last night in Thailand, a glittering, sparkling gem in south Asia.

There wasn’t much to do on the last morning. We went out to the south eastern part of the city, and met the happiest and the most energetic ‘tuk-tuk’ driver ever, who drove us through Chinatown, the pier, and generally those smaller bylanes that tourists wouldn’t normally care to visit – all of the old city. We returned back, had a customary burger and cold coffee at 7-eleven, which by now had become such an important part of our existence there, and packed off to the airport.

Thus did an adventure, an experience, draw to its end. One honest conclusion is, of course, that east is east and the west is west. Images remain, as do memories, of fashionable malls, of buildings challenging the heavens, of Toyotas and Hondas abounding the roads, of the neatest metros, and of the sweetest people, and one long last everlasting image of a small girl sleeping on a ragged cloth with two of the cutest puppies one will ever see and a small broken box with a few coins within, right next to the entrance of a sky train station, under the starry skies.

Maybe we still haven’t got everything right.

Reminiscing Bhadrachalam

1^st of August, 2006.

15 days before completing one year at Bhadrachalam, I left the place.

This time, maybe, for good.

And as always, just like everything else in the past, and just like every other time before, I had trouble letting go.

Yes, the place had its share of creeps. The place had its share of woes. The place had its share of inducing frustration and pessimism in the most hopeful of souls. And the place had its own little basket of goodies. The place had its own little pleasures of life. The place had its own brand of people, each different in his own right, but each with a bhadra-ised soul.

My soul had begun the imperceptible yet inexorable transformation too, before a few rude jolts pulled it back.

350 days of first professional experience were not just about the work aspect of life. There was a lot more to learn, a lot more realities to face up to, and a lot more people to cognize up to. And not all of it professionally. There were moments – moments that were looked forward to, moments of revelation, moments of once-in-a-while pure and innocent happiness, and moments of achievement too.

Mundane moments, worth zilch in the grand cosmic scheme of things, but important, because they all are now irremovable components of the human being who is different from what he was 350 days ago. The eagerly awaited Saturday nights, booze sessions under swaying eucalyptuses, languorous Sundays, slumberous Sunday movies, and deathly pale Sunday maggie, the once-in-a-while cricket matches, the more-often-than-not badminton games and the once-in-a-lifetime paloncha, useless discussions with the singular purpose of killing time, never-stop-grumbling-at-‘Adithya TV’ meals, bhadra page 3 parties (yes, that too!), occasional late evenings tucked away at ‘gemba’, munching data, sipping chai, and talking garbage, little chulls across lives, little quiet birthday celebrations, and little outings across the river, unabashed cribs and unashamed entertainment, and the not-so-thin line between the two – it could go on and on. Confessions, when in flow, just never cease.

A lot of emotions are due, which will never be actually vented out. Ranging from gratitude, to anger, to exasperation, to happiness, to downright cold nonchalance. To one and all, though spelling them out individually would defeat the shroud that the generality of it all otherwise imposes on it.

Here’s to you, Bhadrachalam.

For those unnecessarily nostalgic hangovers.