Rumination on Buddhism

Having now traveled in many of the Asian countries which have Buddhism either a state religion or as a dominant religious persuasion, the differences between the daily practices and quality of adherence is as different as light or day. I am sure there are many treatises on how and why they evolved so differently but what amazes me is that there are few questions about how they all may have deviated from the Original Buddha’s sermons. When Buddha passed away in 6th Century B.C, the first Buddhist council was held and oral history points to hectic debates on how and why the teachings should be preserved. There was a schism, with the more orthodox ones actually wanting to incorporate the very rituals and laws and dogmas and orthodoxy that The Buddha preached against. The others were more keen on the Eight Fold Path, a means to live life with beauty and peace outside of the wretched dogmatic Vedic way of life (later called Hinduism). By the 3rd Century B.C, may more kings had adopted Buddhism lending it credibility as well as much needed royal support. The King Ashoka was the well-known one and during his regime, another remarkable event occurred: The Buddhist Council which now decided that Buddhism must be a proselytizing religion for it to gain more adherents. This strategy was later actioned by royally supported missionaries traveling to Sri Lanka, South East Asia, China – all this while the Vedic religious traditions (later termed collectively as “Hinduism”) were firmly entrenched on the South Asian subcontinent! Each of the overseas geographies adapted the Buddhism to include the existing cults. For example , in Thailand, the equally fast spreading Tantric cult affected Buddhism. These cults were based on fertility, in part, and this element was beautifully incorporated into a Tantric form of Buddhism i.e Vajrasena and Lo and Behold! a female Goddess, Tara, was now beginning to get worshipped. Did Buddha ever envisage such a development?! So , what is a PURE religion and how do adherents change a religion and how do mores and social customs get incorporated? I find the religious histories of my subcontinent immensely fascinating. The religion I was born into i.e Hinduism has its roots in 1500 B.C with the Vedas being composed as an oral tradition, yet it is the only one that is NOT self-revelatory i.e no God or Saint or Holy Person established a path unlike Buddhism or Islam or Christianity. Yet the shrewd alacrity with which the priesthood allowed Hindusim to be  morphed through the centuries is amazing – from phallic symbols to monotheism swinging back to Gods for every major event in life and natural occurrence to animism and later to a foreign concept – private devotion to The God – a very Islamic influence.

I am still reading on….(Francis Watson is an excellent writer on these histories) and will crystallize my thoughts on this facinating past, which is so much a part of who I am and where I came from.

The Death of a Benazir

Benazir, or The Unique, Bhutto has been killed. The media (read Western media ) has managed to admirably contact every Middle Eastern Expert, every think tank, every video archive, all foot soldier journalists, every ex-terrorist, every opposition leader, every special advisor and has raised several gigantic video masterpieces celebrating this brave woman. Words like “courageous” “for the people” “hated and loved” stumble out easily.

http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2007/12/27/world/20071227BHUTTOLIFE_index.html

As a South Asian, my loss is not over life being lost, but a sense of loss over choices that Pakistan had managed to generate for a stable democracy. This has been a long time coming and despite Madam’s rather murky past and murky family background and a out and out shady hubby, I did admire her for jumping in and playing her role. And she was a woman in a sub-continent with big moustaches and bigger male egos. Otherwise, she would have a continued a life of luxury, rummy and yachting in sunny Dubai as do most regional corrupt despots. She chose not to. Now I sit and watch Mushie decide next steps. It will be fun to now watch the democracy rear its ugly-beautiful head in one of the most crucial geographies the same time it does in one of the most influential democracies, i.e US of A.

The Globalization of Festivals – specifically the tyranny of Christmas

It is Christmas. I am working. I am pissed that I am working. I am more pissed that everyone is working.  I am even more pissed that the entire Christmas week and New Year period are working days in Thailand. Or, maybe, I should not be so pissed. Looking at the basics, Christmas is the day the Christians say the Lord Jesus Christ was born. I know this as near 100% fact because I attended a conservative, ridiculous catholic school, the Mount Carmel School in India. Now, India is a “secular democracy”, which gives it permissions to have holidays for the birth years and deaths (imagine!) of all omnipotent Gods and Goddesses of Christianity, Buddhism and Hinduism and for Islam , Ramadan and Id are celebrated and revered. Thailand , being a Buddhist nation, celebrates only the Buddha’s birth (not sure about his death – I mean, could he die?) and not to forget every birthday of every major royal figure. Jesus is a hobby for all shopping malls. The final ridiculosity , then, is that Thailand has all working Christmas and New Year weeks but the malls are dressed with top of the line Santas and Christmas trees to lure the shoppers and the suffering expatriates. Would, perhaps, the Vatican have even considered this?? This is the wonderful contradiction in the Thai and indeed, many Asian societies. Now, I am pissed because I am pissed about Christmas. I should actually ask: “Christmas, er, what is that?”.

A lifetime of being brought up a Hindu in a mixed neighborhood and strict schooling in a  Catholic school has wrought irreparable damage to my mind. So, I am pissed and will stay pissed.

A Poem – C.P. Cavafy

ITHAKA

As you set out for Ithaka

hope your road is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

Laistrygonians, Cyclops,

angry Poseidon-don’t be afraid of them:

you’ll never find things like that on your way as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body.

Laistrygonians, Cyclops,

wild Poseidon-you won’t encounter them

unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your road is a long one.

May there be many summer mornings when, with what pleasure, what joy, you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time; may you stop at Phoenician trading stations to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfume of every kind- as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Egyptian cities to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.

Arriving there is what you’re destined for.

But don’t hurry the journey at all.

Better if it lasts for years,

so you’re old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you wouldn’t have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.

Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

The Family

So it is: yet another sunday is flushed down with not much to do and not much really done. The ordinariness of life, its myriad pushes and pulls. Spending a sunday with family presents some unique avenues for self-observation and development. For one, it is hard to know which moments offer clarity and love – most are about navigating the complex pathways of domesticity and tasks around living – the laundry, the whats and whys of distant relatives, the mealtimes, the what-should-do-todays. There is not much silence other than when the newspapers rustle and get passed from one to the other in a ritual practised since the tablet came to be. So much of the family life is dependent on the consistent fabric of micro-demands and micro-abuses that accumulate to a unified whole with which everyone is satisfied. There are no “I love You’s” but then the coffee would be made just so that says “I Love You’s”. In our case, it is the Fin Cafe – a Vietnamese-French concoction with a single shot coffee with divine condensed milk. There is a sufficient and just-right level of abuse to make sure that the powerful subterranean forces of individual freedom and thought do not overwhelm this delicate fabric of togetherness. In our case, it is when I can nag about him not having done his share of housework or grocery shopping. The extended family adds several shell like layers to this dependency fabric – love not being, in this case, reciprocal and symmetric, the individual is then frequently the sole agonized middleman in an an ever-increasing scope of demands. But, in the end, at night, the light is turned down and yet another day comes to a close. And we are happy in this togetherness, at least a flimsy deception that life is then bearable and its colossal sorrows and mind numbing devastations simply a bridge to get to that lovely yonder beyond the pale of anything one can imagine.

The Expatriate or the new Colonial Master?

expatriate

  • noun/ekspatrit/ a person who lives outside their native country.

  • adjective living outside one’s native country.

  • verb/ekspatriayt/ settle abroad.

Close your eye and imagine the word ‘Expatriate” and what comes to mind? Well, if you are most people, it is an image of most likely a Caucasian, surrounded by domestic help, an anorexic stay at home wife, an extravagant lifestyle that stretches between Sydney to Lagos to Mumbai, at home everywhere and nowhere. Here in Bangkok, several publications and websites are targeted at the “expat” including all of the English media i.e The Nation daily newspaper. The classifieds offer all manners of services from at-home massages, to domestic help to lawyers to real estate. The not-so-concealed agenda is to offer a dream of a life better than (i.e domestic help) or same as (i.e barbecue ) your home country which is presumed to be USA/UK/Australia/EU. Note , for example, yesterday’s article in Nation on barbecues which I found amusing – this was a review of a shop selling barbecue grills just like at home in Australia and the article described how many Thais returning from abroad also now have developed a penchant for the smoked taste of grilled food. The tone was immature and presumptive and in any case seemed to suggest to a hapless reader that if he was not into the smackdalicious habit of “backyard grilling” he was missing something.

 YEt this morning, at the Immigration Office in Bangkok, to extend the visa for my parents, I saw what you see in most Immigration offices worldwide. More often than not, the “expatriate” is a Bangladeshi cook, the Burmese maid, the Indian tailor, the Laotian construction worker, the Chinese businessman, the Malaysian trader, the Filipino manager, the Arab with his tag team….

So, how rough is it for these real expatriates to settle in bereft of the disgustingly cushioning services offered by the multinational firms? Very rough. For one, no agent to help find a millionaire pad, no car and yet you have to figure out a public transportation all in local language, no secretary to figure out a bank account and no immigration lawyer.

Yet, as Nayan Chanda describes vividly in “Bound Together: How Traders, Preachers, Adventurers, and Warriors Shaped Globalization ” , people have been moving or expatriating out for several centuries from the Romans to Spanish to the South Indians to the Chinese. Most were not rulers but small time traders yet the image of the rough and ready awshucks white man as the  “farang”, “firang” “expatriate” has stuck from the literary sketches of Conquistadors in Philippines to the Brit traveler in Khakis and diarrhoea.

We bought a house in Mumbai an an area I can only tell you in person (Shhh…it is Jogeshwari). I can’t even shamelessly round it up to say Bandra or Juhu. No cafes. No alternative bars. No arthouse cinema. No gallery. No park. No sea. No pottery class. No train station. No supermarket. No Leftists rally ground. No bookstore. No poetry readings. No nothing. Just slums, hutments and this monstrosity called Kalpataru Estates – “it is just like  – you know Coliseum?” as the greasy Kalpataru agent told us. I died of diarrhoea when he said that. But, we swallowed our shame. We killed the gnawing feeling and we paid the price. At little less than 10 million Indian Rupees, we had no choice. So, there it is: After a lifetime of living in hip neighbourhoods, from Bangalore to Napean Sea Road, Bombay to Upper West Side, NYC to Mannheim , renting as we go by, sleeping like prostitutes with homes all over, THIS Jogeshwari is where we bought our house. Now let me slink back to our “Moddun L-shaped Swimming Pool – just like in Rome”.

Poe’m – CP Surendran

PROSPECT

By: C. P Surendran

While you were sleeping
A dog yawned in the sun
And in the distance,
A train, blindfolded by a tunnel,
Window by window
Regained vision.
I thought of all the things
That could happen
When we are looking away,
The universe we miss in a blink.

Hua Hin – Bangkok_By_The_Sea

I fail to understand why Hua Hin exists. There are so many outstanding beaches in Thailand – why Hua Hin? No emerald water. No beach, unless you call a 5 foot strip a beach, transplanted Bangkokians, some of the ugliest buildings particularly the chain hotels pimpling whatever decent coastline that’s there. I stayed at the Hilton, an excuse for a hotel with a pretty good pool, though. The bathrooms are Hospital white and the rooms a pale copy of other resort hotels. No internet unless you ask and pay for it – which is nasty, given the room charges. The breakfast is ersatz hotel fare – same ole eggs, fruits, yoghurt with few or none of the interesting flavourful local foods. The main street is Sukhumvit transplanted – same chains, banks, shopping. Yawn. Serious Yawn. Worst is you don’t escape the Thai Lolly Molly with her pink-roasted farang man. Instead – wise ones say – head to Pranburi, Cha-Am. Well, only if you need a weekend break out of Bangkok and dont want to flight it out. The one thing that did stand out was the outstanding restaurant by the sea – Baan Issara – fresh seafood, Phad Cha was lovely with fresh lemongrass, squid and gigantic river prawns as well as the grilled salmon.