‘Dance? Did you say dance?’
Zorba asks Basil ecstatically as he removes his own coat and takes him through the first steps of sirtaki in what was later to be known as the legendary ‘Zorba dance.’
Shuffling a little, the cack-handed Basil picks up speed with the still-brimming peasant, kicking up dust on the deserted Cretan beach, forgetting misfortunes – past and those in store – and the roasted lamb they had sat down to eat.
I might be pushing it when I say I was reminded of this iconic scene in cinematic history while explaining to the restaurant waiter that I would make do with chicken wings.
Sometime earlier I had placed the order for grilled chicken to his singsong ‘okay’ only to be confronted later by a mobile screen on which a translation app was at tedious work telling me there was only one piece of grilled chicken but a whole lot of other options including fried chicken wings which I chose.
‘Wing’ing it
“Chicken wing,” I told him.
“What?” He looked at me incredulously with an unnerving Leslie Chow smile.
Wing, wing, I repeated to no sign of recognition.
That’s when I set out on the Zorba path, flapping my hands, stopping just short of clucking and box stepping on the concrete streets of Bangkok Night Market. It worked though, just like in the movie, brightening up things on an otherwise long day. If you think I still had no reason to be thinking of Zorba, I got Monsters and Girl Scouts to blame.
Okay, not okay
I made many quirky discoveries – the kind that turn out to be fun in the beginning but inconvenient later: the Thais say okay to everything at first. Like the lady at the shopping mall whose sparkly eyes and incessant bowing interspersed with ‘Sawasdees’ promised us the moon when my friend showed interest in the silken skirts with alluring macrame work she was selling – and four for the price of three. It was too early in the trip for us to realize that we were wading into tricky waters.
The calculator changed hands more times than clothes. We finally gathered – I hope wrongly – that the lady wanted my friend to wear more blouses and fewer skirts. And in blouses too, she wanted her to wear three of the same color.
More blouse, less skirt
An important lesson I learnt that day – again which I hope is wrong – that in Thailand the only painless exchange is when you are handing over baht.
Engrish, please
In a land which thrives on tourism, it is boggling to find English is such an alien tongue. To my various phonetical deliveries of ‘magazine’ at a bookshop, the chappie at the counter brought me a bunch of Thai magazines. Though I was more bent on the news variety I was really tempted to pick up some especially those with nice looking ladies on the cover he brought me. I didn’t as I was worried that I might miss the flow of ideas and he might be left a bung for life because of me. I picked a Forbes magazine written in Chinese.
Then where bliss is available unspoken and contentment is for the taking you tend to believe that language has no place. Many times throughout my stay at a suburban golf resort I was tempted to eavesdrop into conversations between the elderly white men walking hand-in-hand with their younger local lady friends. I even made friends with a couple. To my consternation and wonder, I found that they didn’t talk to each other at all though they spent entire days in their room. Each time he would talk to me by the pool she would drift towards the local caddies having a beer or smoking with whom she would share a hearty laugh and return looking happy. Probably I am wrong – language does have its place.
Some universal things
VOA – Visa Ordeal at Arrival
I flew a direct Air Asia into Bangkok from Kochi. Calling it a ‘full flight’ would be an understatement – it had people ready to burst out of its fuselage. If making money in the airline business is about cramming people, then Air Asia is a lodestar – low-cost carriers please note. See, I don’t have a problem with airlines making money, in fact I am in the business of helping airlines make money. But the problem here is when the cabin crew gets stressed by the swarm sometimes they behave brusquely and there is a dominos effect of negativity. Let’s not forget that good vibe is good branding.
The flight landed at the Don Mueang Airport amply deserted for the wee hour. There was one visibly frazzled woman at the immigration counter who struggled to tally names in group hotel bookings against individual boarding passes. She sat there like the little white pebble on the beach that sunk deeper with each tide that washed over it. Visitors milled around with wads of paper – hotel booking, return tickets, bank statements and 2000 baht – leaning against the tall glass with the futile hope of understanding what she was saying. English when rendered in Chinese comes out a bit confusing – it takes a while for you to figure whether she was berating you for a missing document or congratulating you for meticulous paperwork.
If I were to abscond in Bangkok, this would be the reason
Waiting for my turn after filming the chaos I told my friend a host of thoughts I would be sharing with the lady at the counter, including: Wasn’t the ream of documentation against the spirit of VOA itself? Why do you want to see return tickets? Do you think people go absconding in Thailand? Even if they do, wouldn’t it be good for business? And bank balance statements? Which case you must give some kind of bonus to somebody who shows a deposit way above what you mandate – how about a spliff to take off the edge of travel? A welcome catlap at least?
Of course, when my turn came, I did none of these, partly also because it was my friend’s turn after mine. My face was puckered with indignation which didn’t have any impact on her. She shouted at me that my documents were in place. But she pulled up my friend for something missing even though he had the same set of documents that saw me through.
Flying business in Thai Airways on my return seemed like that heavenly, mile-high, make-out following a makeup with your lover with whom you had a nasty spat. The seat rolled out in many directions all the while thrumming with a soft pounding of the massager from inside. As always, I blacked out the entertainment screen after checking the route, distance and arrival time. Sipped on the prosecco that was served before take-off. The meal was sumptuous, or as sumptuous as can be laid out on the tray.
Mile high make-out
“What would you like to drink with your food?” The flight attendant asked, smiling sweetly.
I was having chicken, asked for white wine.
“You sure you don’t want any more champagne?” After take-off it wasn’t prosecco anymore but champagne proper, I had one already.
“I will have white wine, thank you.”
“White wine, okay.”
She said okay which worried me a little, but for once things turned out just fine.
