Some time ago, after a fairly good aikido session at Thai-Ippun Dojo in Din Daeng, I had dinner at one of my usual restaurants. I was quite hungry but I didn’t want to eat too much as it was already late, so I ordered just one plate of fried rice. As the owners of the restaurant seem pretty nice people, I usually chit-chat with them in Thai. But that day something made me regret my talkative mood.
They have a son who is about five-six years old. He has to stay in the restaurant with his parents until they close it at about 9pm. As you can imagine, there’s nothing much for him to do there. He has only a reclining chair in which he vegetates while watching TV or playing with his few toys.
A woman selling Thai dessert (khanom baeng) on a street in Bangkok (2009)
I saw his father give him some medicine. He had the flu. There must be something in the air because many of my students have running noses too. So, the boy took his medicine and went back to his chair. As soon as his father finished administering the pills, we continued our conversation. Soon the mother joined in and took over our conversation, so I started to eat. While I was eating the boy shouted at his parents to be quiet because he was trying to sleep. None of the parents replied. They went on laughing and making noise.
As soon as I finished my meal, the boy told his parents that he couldn’t breathe properly. At first the parents ignored him. The boy started whining and shouted out that he couldn’t breathe. In the meantime, the mother and the father started closing down the restaurant. His mother, annoyed that she was being interrupted by her own son, told him that he could die if he felt like it.
Thai street restaurant selling noodles from… a boat – kuay teow ruea (Bangkok, 2009)
Seeing that nobody cared about him, the boy started to cry. At this point the mother got really angry, picked up a stick and started smacking the kid on his legs. The louder the kid cried, the angrier the mother got and the harder the blows came down on the boy’s legs. After about five-six blows, the poor boy was able to control his sobbing and the mother stopped beating him.
I paid for the meal, got on my bike and went home feeling sorry for the boy. I also thought about the huge difference between the life my rich students have at home and this poor boy’s boring life in his parents’ restaurant. Instead of PS2, iPhones and private tutors, the poor boy in the restaurant chair had to make do with some old cardboard, a spinning top and, most unfortunate of all, irresponsible parents.
Initially published in 2009 on a now-defunct website about Bangkok.
Nu se suprapune deloc cu imaginea care mi-a ramas mie in memorie despre oamenii din Thailanda.
Trist. Traiul greu inraieste unii oameni, dar sa-i spui asa ceva propriului tau copil e cumplit, nimicitor, pentru ambele parti.
E vorba cumva despre copilul cuplului unde mancam si noi cand am fost acolo? cei de langa spalatorie?
Exact!