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my age for an Indian, with my messy Indian style, possibly Tamilian. Wenlin Tan • Chiang Mai, Thailand short hair, older-than-marriageable-age Moments later, dabba tins rattle, look and shabby Western clothing. releasing whiffs of heaven in the I cover my body with a hairy blanket compartment. The mother lays out and try to close the privacy curtains two newspaper parcels that reveal The Giant and the Bird with my trembling fingers, only to get bright white curd rice, savoury brown it stuck midway. The boys take delight dosas, white idlis and tamarind rice. in my state as they whisper and break Aromas of masalas from a drumstick out in bouts of laughter. My fist closes sambhar broth further infuse the tangy A swarm of Chinese tourists clusters from Burma, has now been overrun by around my om pendant in an attempt air. With her every fist rotation, I look around the small space in front of the vacationists armed with selfie sticks. A to muster a little courage. on in nostalgia; the parents feed their red brick wall directly opposite me, at firm tap on my shoulder rouses me out ‘Rascals, stop it! Immediately!’ children lovingly, just as my own used to the T-junction where Ratchadamnoen of my daydream. My gaze floats up to A strong female voice surprises me. with khakras, gathiyas and homemade Road meets Tha Phae Road. Each meet a pair of porcelain blue eyes, at I was so focused on the boys that theplas. These are well-known Gujarati tourist is determined to get a selfie least two heads above mine. I had forgotten about the family foods that have been constants in all of with a small golden plaque with ‘Tha The first thing I notice, height in the compartment. The young my family travels in India. Phae Gate’ inscribed on it. difference aside, is the Hat, sitting mother, dressed in a green sari and ‘Akka saapidunga!’ Their son, Different from that of typical oval- above a pair of eyes. maroon cardigan with jasmine flowers probably aged seven with oiled hair, shaped Thai settlements, Chiang Mai’s It is a beat-up straw hat adorned decorating her curly hair, makes sharp rabbit teeth and high-waisted pants, architectural plan is rectangular, with a with colourful pins, badges and sequins, movements with her left hand as she reaches up to pass me a parcel, his defensive wall and moat surrounding finished off with a translucent pink supports her young bundled daughter hands now lined with wet rice particles. the city centre and a main gate in each ribbon like the final flourish of a well- on her hips with the other. Her son He speaks to me in Tamil, and I briefly direction. Tha Pae Gate lies in the east, practised signature. The owner of Hat looks on as her husband, in a striking wonder if this family, like many others signifying prosperity, and was the main has chosen to match it with a bright- white dhoti trimmed with gold, puts his such as my grandparents, have moved gate through which diplomats and monks blue short-sleeved shirt with excited newspaper down and twirls the dhoti from their homeland in Tamil Nadu for entered the city in the 13th century. mustard-yellow fish splayed all over like into a shorter kilt, just the way I imagine better pastures. Will this boy and his sister I’m imagining the reactions of they’re having a fiesta, jeans so old and South Indian star Ranjinikanth would. know of their roots and be comfortable feisty Lanna warriors when told that tattered they’d make any mother frown The boys say it was all fun and games with it, or will they lose most of it in their strong and impregnable fortress, and equally worn-out sandals. and they profusely apologise to me adopting a new identity and culture? which once fended off countless attacks ‘Hi, I’m Ju, you replied to my thread for the torment they put me through. I Will they one day, like me, knowingly or want to really give it to them, but they unknowingly, come back to their native seem remorseful and so I let it slide. place in search of their heritage? ‘Madam. Relax. Abb sab okay hai,’ I humbly accept the little boy’s offer the father assures me in Hindi. His and attack the food, licking my fingers accent and clothes are different from every step of the way, as it comforts and the others and remind me of a South nourishes me with every bite. 36 P L A C E S The Giant and the Bird 37 on the Lonely Planet forum last night.’ My attempts to be a good listener fail fountains occupy the central area. A My eyebrows furrow as I hesitate to ‘I know, you said you’d be wearing a miserably; most of what Ju says gets fitness corner and a large deck for koi divulge the intimate details of my life hat…’ I try my best to keep a straight face. lost in the sweltering heat as we dodge feeding occupies the east area, while to with a stranger. I look up into Ju’s eyes, The crowd is swelling, so we agree streams of weaving traffic and fight the west lies a playground. The park is iridescent and flecked with blue like the to escape to Nong Buak Hard, a quiet the constant bombardment of smells, a hit with the locals, who have occupied ocean, and I decide he doesn’t seem park in the southwest. We consider colours and sounds from the market at almost every space of leafy shade. We like a dodgy person. walking or taking either a tuktuk or a the corner of Mun Mueang Road. luck out with a spot right by the pond ‘I had a burnout at work, my first and songthaew, a rustic carpool service. Most tempting of all are the bowls under a willowy tree. only job, seven years now. Taking some You simply flag one down and let the of khao soi, a tangy Burmese-influenced Ju says his trip started off as a simple time off while I think through things.’ driver know your destination. If the local favourite of wavy yellow egg dream to spend a few months in Asia ‘Time off will do you good… Why driver is going your way, you haggle on noodles peeking out from ponds of rich photographing locals. Chiang Mai then?’ Ju’s face remains the price. A songthaew costs easily half and creamy mustard-yellow curry broth, ‘What about your Hat? Where did unchanged as he looks away. or less than a tuktuk. Great value aside, accompanied with chunks of tender- you get it? Doesn’t wearing it make you ‘My yoga teacher incorporates a songthaew forces me to practise cooked chicken and lily pads of fiery- feel weird?’ massage techniques in class to help my half-arsed Thai and be squished red chilli oil floating on top. I resist a ‘Do something that makes you feel us get deeper into the poses. She like marshmallows with strangers: the second lunch, peel my eyes away from uncomfortable, every day.’ told me about the certification course true gem of the ride is indulging my the street stalls and soldier on. It’s the mantra of a famous here. Touch is special – it gives comfort twin loves of people watching and ••• entrepreneur, Ju tells me. When he beyond the physical, and it’s fun learning storytelling. I steal quick glances at the Finally, the colours surrounding us spin was browsing Ben Thanh Market in about human anatomy. I’ve been here driver or fellow passengers and conjure to a chromium green, telling me we’ve Ho Chi Minh City, he chose this Hat – three times previously to learn massage, up secret identities and backstories. reached Nong Buak Hard. The park the most feminine of all the available staying about two weeks each time. The clear skies after a few days of consists of three main areas: east, central designs, to accompany him on his It’s like home now, almost.’ I smile, unexpected downpour is a rarity, so we and west, with a concrete running path journey through Asia. softening, memories flooding back. agree on taking a leisurely walk. The air wrapping its circumference. Lawns ‘It’s a little weathered now, but it was A moment passes, and there are no is thick with the dry, unrelenting heat dotted with climbing ylang-ylang trees, once fit for a lady.’ He crosses one leg words. Maybe it’s that we’ve lucked out of March. Just ten minutes into it I start ixora and orange-jasmine bushes, and over the other, hands folded demurely with a really comfortable spot or that to regret our unfounded optimism. small ponds with koi fish and large over his knees, his best impression of an I have experienced catharsis of some 19th century Victorian lady. It takes all sort. All my senses are heightened: the my restraint not to burst out laughing. chattering of a small child chimes with It brought him weird stares and the chirping of sparrows, the warmth of pointed looks, but the Hat also became the sun lies evenly over my body like a a conversation starter, enabling him to silk sheath, the lightest breeze caresses make friends with all kinds of people: like a cat’s tail. I close my eyes, relishing curious backpackers, nosy middle- the moment. aged vendors, lonely elderly folk.

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