update from phet

Federer meets Nadal

I don’t think I’ve ever thought (really thought) of my father as a tragic figure. Actually, I don’t think I’ve thought much of the man since reconnecting. I know now that the sorry and imaginary figure I had growing up was just that, imaginary. What did I really know of the man? Really. This trip, although sad, has shed new light onto the man who is my father. I’m strangely similar to him. I notice it in the way we sit, or stretch ourselves out, our general outlook on life, simple pleasures, and the desire to be stress free but finding stressful personalities around us and within. We like the same food - could survive on noodles alone, and a general dislike of fish (although we can chow down on it as much as anyone else). And then there’s the overall melancholy, a sense of mortality (of course we were there for a funeral) about him that I can understand even though the picture isn’t entirely clear for me, and I don’t expect it will ever be. You see, life, according to the wisdom of my father, presents you moments of shock - externalities to the karmic ride, moments of reckoning, just or otherwise - that one can’t help but face. As he puts it, Federer hen Nadal (Federer meets Nadal), sees him across the net on the other side of the court and must confront this beast of a challenge; get beat, bruised, and as in the recent French open, slaughtered. But like a champion, or with the grace that he has shown, Roger takes on Nadal whenever and wherever he can. My father has had his share of Nadals. What’s the history behind the two women? What’s with the truck accidents? What were the details of the drive to Sekong with my brother (I’ve probed but sometimes details such as these are better left with the person, or you listen when you can, I suppose)? While I might have cried many rivers growing up about not having parents, at least, I’ve had the opportunity to reconnect - my father got cut from his early as well and never saw his father after the late 70s. What was the scene then? What were his last memories of his old man who left for America and now buried in Chico, CA? While very sad, I don’t think missing the chance to say good bye to his mother by a day would be considered a Federer meets Nadal moment in my father’s universe. If it is, then it is like the recent Wimbledon battle, he can be proud of the fact he was there to play his role for the family, hold his head up high even in defeat.

I decided a few days before leaving Canada that henceforth I would call my father Roger. People were puzzled, Betsy thought it was hilarious hearing it over dinner, but I think it works and fits. He’s kind of accepted it, as he never complained throughout our flights back to Bangkok. I was like, Roger Federer, do you want more tea? Roger, they want you to show them your passport. Are you hungry Federer, should we go for more noodles.
So Roger and I got to really hang out in Toronto. Our favourite spot, the garage. In fact, I think we were enjoying the garage way too much. And during these episodes and throughout the trips together he has added to the many lessons I’ve learned over the summer:

1) me van dong me comh - where there is sweet there has to be bitter. This is very Zen and there’s enough in the statement to get the duality, but here’s the explanation kinda in Roger’s words, over a bowl of noodes (of course) in Bangkok. You see, he tells me, you absolutely need/want all that chili pepper in your noodles, right? Why? Because it’s your sweet (what you want) but you’ll have to suffer later, the pain that inevitably follows for the Sayos/Chayyos/ Chans after the sweet pleasure of a well put together bowl of noodle. You can have your sweet but know that there is bitter that comes with it.

2) A man without land is nothing. This is, of course, very Duddy Kravitz but it is so true, especially as you get older. Roger made it known more than once he was happy that his sons (in Canada) had land. He doesn’t quite get the concept of condos and how one owns land in the air. I’m not sure I do. The countryside blew Roger away and I think he wanted to spend more days up there, post party. But we are trying to not think about finalities, like it was his last chance to see the place or something. Google maps was a major discovery for Roger (actually the many laptops around and the Internet became major fascinations for Roger) and he would show his new plot of land in Pakse. Funny that we were back to buy a home and land for the dead.

3) You can’t help who is your family This may sound cold but it isn’t. It’s a recognition that we are born into relationships without choice. What choice do you have, as Roger would say, that he or she is your brother or sister. None. You can’t choose your parents either. You have to love (although that’s not his word) them however they are, as they have to do the same for you. A sub-teaching to this, and what I’ve learned this trip, is that a funeral is about negotiations - negotiating what one wears to a funeral, what photos and songs should go on a slideshow or bristol board, whose names belong where, who should say what and how, whose flowers get place where, the order in which the pall bearers take, etc. All these rites and showings had to be negotiated in an extremely intense and stressful time, with tempers near the surface and about to burst. In many ways, my gramma was non-negotiable about her life and particularly when it came to family. We are tied like it or not, and perhaps the reward is coming through (things like funerals) together.

It’s been a long three or four months, starting with my trip back to Canada with the kids, in what, April? I am so glad that we made the trip and that gramma got a chance to see the kids one last time while she was aware of things and not yet stuck to the bed. She looked healthy then (but who knew what was going on inside). Then back to Delhi for the kids and Australia for me.

Skype wins! I made it my mission in Sydney and Pakse to get people connected and, in retrospect, say their good byes to gramma. My aunt in Australia was in tears immediately when video of her mother came onto screen, in an arcade place minutes from their house. My mother, Ling, and Ing could not hold back tears either, in an Internet cafe, when I was in Laos following Australia on business but also to take my father to Bangkok for his visa application. I guess my last visit with gramma was also on skype. I couldn’t handle it, had to let Ji and Thaba speak to people. I had to sit in the corner and just cry, and then comforted by my wonderful wife and son. Seung Yi didn’t know what was going on but I think could see we were all sad. I think the older generation Sayos/Chans are realizing there’s no technological obstacle (and major costs) in connecting with each other. Any obstacles now are their own. Roger Federer was into chatting with his daughters in Pakse and Vientiane. Gou ma is pretty much addicted to the Internet and default games (Spider on Vista) but she was super excited when I showed her the video conferencing capabilities of MSN - before that she was working with preset comments and emoticons.

Departure from Toronto was rather sad for Roger Federer as he said his good byes with his sisters. Who knows when they’ll see each other next: although Roger was expressly optimistic about air travel in future (if only the authorities would allow a couple of joints for the long haul, in flight relaxation and for the smoking ‘lounges’ during transit). But who knows about the future? The trip to Tokyo was uneventful. We were both tired and wanted to be quiet. The new Bangkok airport already feels crowded, unlike how KL’s airport feels, for example. There are too many people offering you a ride, taking you for a ride, and their tours and hotels, and packages. The shops and eateries before and after customs are nice, a bit pricey, but still just way too many things in a space that should feel open. We left our bags at Chubb’s at the airport. Mental note: there is one at departure as well, we had used the arrival location. Not bad but much pricier than the old airport, about 100 Baht per bag per day.

We left our bags for weeks at the old Bangkok International on our first trip to Asia (some 13 years ago) and it was like pennies. We stayed for one evening at the Ibis hotel (thank you Reena), where we had stayed on our way to Canada over a month ago. We were even put in the same room (701), smoking room for Roger’s menthol habit. The evening that we were on our way to Toronto, 6 June, we had checked into the hotel late because Roger missed his flight from Pakse to Bangkok (another story to tell) and had to improvise from Ubon and came into Bangkok later than expected. Street vendors were starting to close so we had to walk some blocks for sub-par noodles (of course). It was almost midnight when we got back to the hotel, we had to get up at four and head to the airport so there was little time to rest. Still we hung out at the lounge, well, because the real Roger Federer was in a bit of a semi-final battle at the French Open, against Monfils, a Frenchman that was hoping to do a Yanik Noah move. The real Roger was doing fine until he started showing signs of vulnerability in the third(?). We had order a couple of Heinikens because we weren’t allowed to sit and watch the game for free, even though we were paying guests. Roger didn’t finish his drink and decided to go up to sleep first. I wanted to watch the entire match. I don’t remember which set they were at, if the real Roger was in trouble at the point or not, when Pheuy called and I kinda knew what the message was going to be. I must have sounded without emotions on the phone then. I don’t know what I was feeling. I must have stayed there for about 10 minutes more, not quite drinking the beer, and not quite following the match. I found myself getting into the elevator, through the corridors and then at the front of the door. I had my head down and remember Roger asking what was the problem and concluding by himself that it was over. His mother had passed away and he was too late. He cried himself to sleep that night as I made calls to London and Sydney. It would be until a week later that we would get to see her body (something very different from how it would be in Laos).

Five weeks later we were in the same room. The room had a strange familiarity for us - like recognizing a deja vu as it’s happening - kinda, sorta like that. Again, we had to get up early. Roger had an early morning flight and we had to reclaim his luggage at the airport.
I waited and looked through the frosted glass they have up between travelers going through immigrations and friends and families sending them off. I waited in the airport, looking for free wifi, until I knew Roger was on the plane and back to his reality. When we said good bye, we both said the same thing - everything is done now. Mission complete. My flight was much later so I went into town and went massage crazy and shopped for a couple items at Panthip. My flight to Delhi was not a connecting one so I had to pay for overweight baggage, an extra $200. In the end, Jet Airways wasn’t the cheapest.

There are two things I learned on that trip back to Delhi:

1) Bollywood and Regional cinema (as the in flight entertainment system categorized it) has really done a number on young and middle- age men’s sense of fashion. What’s up with the silver sparkly vest with twenty pockets? What’s with the machismo puff and moustache? And the chains? Pickle stabbers are so like old and slimy, man.

2) Serving what seems like limitless whiskey and beer to a group of machismos who just had a whale of a time (no doubt) in Bangkok is not a good idea. It started out a bit rowdy, with the guys bent on trying their best to keep the party going and bent on using their Thai ho-speak, like me love you long time (to the attendants), or more bang bang give me drink drink. That was difficult to handle, and then the constant bing binging. Poor attendants, how they must hate this route, had to keep telling the dudes in acid denim, sorry sir we’ll have to serve all the passenger first before we can give you yet another round of whiskey; sorry sir, please I’ll come back with your drink once we are through turbulence, in the meanwhile please stop using the call button. And then these (probably first time travelers) started to film and take photos (with their newly bought digital toys from Panthip no doubt) and taking up aisle space and flashing light into your eyes. And to top it all off, the dude two seats behind me decides to start a fight with the man ahead and diagonal to him across the aisle. I’m not sure what the issue was about but it was evident that someone’s mojo had been stepped on. Then it got heated, friends started to do the hold-em back move, like if an index finger was out of place their friend in rage would pop out of the seat and all hell would break loose. Then people started to shout at each other. The guy next to me, who was in one camp stood up and started threatening everyone in sight. Then people stood up and stared (the Beatle song comes to mind) and cabin staff came into the picture, and now we have a scene happening. An in- flight fight, as it were. All this while, I’m thinking to myself, annoyed, tired, and wondering if I should not stand up and tell them they should all take it outside. Like for @#$%% sake, what are you going to do? Fight in an airplane? And then what? I looked ahead and thought to myself, Jesus, the dude who has had the most to drink and awfully quiet is at the bulk head seat, by the emergency doors. What a horrible idea. What if a love-you-long-time had really messed up this guy’s trip, and what if he’s feeling a bit suicidal or simply too @##@$#-ed up from the drinks, courtesy of Jet Airways. On the way out to a surprisingly humid Delhi air, I said the cabin crew that I don’t think alcohol is a good idea. One attendant gave a funny smile, like we know but ha ha what to do. I mean it, said I, and that was that.

It’s my first saturday afternoon back to Delhi. We threw a farewell party for Sunil last night - actually he ‘organized’ a joint party with a friend who was also leaving Delhi. The party was at farm- house style club out in farm-house nowhere country, an odd and hard to find place with a small number CNE like games, air hockey, a pool and a small kids area. I later offered our place for a number of us to continue the party. The last person left at 4am. We thought it appropriate today that we leave Golf Links and the last haze of Delhi behind and head for the airport at 4:20 pm. It’s become our pattern - like in KL and now Delhi. Ah, the bitter will come later.

In employment news, my contract status has been changed to indeterminate - although the word sounds negative it’s actually a good thing. It means I am passed my two year contract mark and will be here for an indeterminate period.

Shaddy came by the office this morning and said everyone has this bug. I had assumed he meant computer bug and asked if his machine was down. No, some flu virus is spreading through out the city, and according to Shaddy, the hospitals are expecting or already dealing with queues of people with problems. I’m not sure if I’m in that category of sickies but it started early evening for me - head cold, achy joints and muscle, tiredness, and so I crashed after skyping with you and after talking with Ji for a bit. I slept for like 10 hours and then made my way somehow to work. I’m going home for lunch and I think perhaps I should just call it the day and cancel my afternoon appointments. Better to be healthy when you guys arrive.

So I went driving with John this afternoon. I wasn’t up to returning to work after lunch. My body was aching and being in the office was not helping, so I decided to go to Khan and get my passport photos taken (I’m applying for a new one because I am running out of pages). I got into the driver’s seat when we got back to Golf Links. For the life of me, I couldn’t get into gear, I had major problems getting into gear one, and I would immediately stall the Innova every time I tried to get to gear 2. I couldn’t even get the car going enough to leave our intersection at 97. John couldn’t figure it out, and kept on telling me to by easy on the clutch - but I was. It was only after a while did he and I notice the hand brake up. Duh. No wonder it would stop each time I got into gear.

Anyway, after that little joke I drove around the colony, on the main road, the alleys, between folks playing cricket, renovating and such. The guards were looking at me oddly but were encouraging with waves the next few times I came by. John was impressed with my gear shifting and I didn’t stall the car once, until...John decided I was ready for the main roads outside Golf Links. So I drove to gate 1, switched to gear 1 and tried to balance on that incline, poised to make a left turn. The first time was fine as I didn’t really need to come to a complete stop and no one behind on the little hill so I made my way out into traffic and went a bit around golf links to the late night gate. Ok fine. So I thought I would do this again. Remember this is the gate and turn your father would like for John to down shift and get into much faster. Actually, at least the way John was instructing me, we went into first, but this time had a car waiting behind. Traffic didn’t allow me to turn left so I had to hold but it’s tricky with a manual on an incline and you need to balance (clutch and accel together), in an automatic, the car will simply stand for you. I did a poor job of balancing and had to hold on the brake until the car behind got around us (I apologized with a wave). After getting into first and make that turn at the gate I circled around the colony, drove around to where Khan market was and then reenter at GL apartments. So far I would say it’s more like motorcycle driving with the almost constant clutching and shifting because there’s a lot going on - auto rickshaws, lots of cyclists (that you don’t notice usually), beggars, motorcycles, etc. I will try again tomorrow. John seems confident with me so I am happy with that.

[Delhi-28-July-2008]