Fishy Chronicles 17: New Year In Cambodia

Dear Me,

It's so strange to get back together after so long. I’m using a fake Mont Blanc pen to scribble in you. From Orussey Market – 20 dollars only, after some bargaining.

Do I still have my old journal? Will have to hunt for it. Hope no one's looked through it. Hope there’s no incriminating stuff.

I know I took a break... I shouldn’t have... when my marriage unravelled and Amma, and then Appa, died. They always told me to be strong, but...

I saw ‘his’ sister the other day. Didn’t have a choice. My cousin asked me to visit and attend church with her and who did we see looking at us in shock from a crowded pew near the door – the He Devil's very own evil sibling.

My cousin Roma smiled at her and, despite there being other vacant spots in the crowded church, sat next to my former sister in law. What an uncomfortable Sunday service it was.

When I asked Roma why she did that, she said, “That was the best spot in church – right under the fan and the doorway next to us if we wanted to leave early. Plus, I wanted to piss her off!”

I need to take a page out of Roma's book – to teach people that good manners doesn’t mean weakness.

This is a fictional series surrounding the narrator, a divorcée who lives in the distant suburbs of Mumbai, her ex manservant, a former underworld don turned world traveller, and a school of vocal, irascible fish.

Anyway, here I am now with Fish, Genie, Nobby and Donny, a new friend from the North Pole. That’s an interesting story and you might have wanted to be there – in the thick of it. I did have a good Christmas – the ‘family’ turned up – and now I'm having a better New Year. Genie has taken us to Cambodia. He says it is his New Year’s gift to us. So be it. What a lovely gift.

We were led to believe we were going up in a deadbeat World War 1 Fokker, but Genie played us. Scared us to death. We eventually came here in a Cessna, with literally only the clothes on our backs, plus the two extra undies I wore while travelling and an aviator that I have now misplaced. Since then, Genie has got me some fine clothes and a pair of sunglasses that make me look like a dudette.

We’ve been around the floating village Kampong Phluk and the nearby lake Tonlé Sap and saw Angkor Wat! And the smaller temples nearby – Ta Prohm and Bayon. They were amazing – of course, aided by the guide's commentary.

At left, tourists climbing the stairs for a view from
 Angkor Wat's top.
Top right, the view most tourists want of Angkor Wat.
  Bottom, the carvings on the wall of the Ramayana and Mahabharata.
(Photos: A. Peter)

The fact that the country is, and has been, Hindu and Buddhist warms our hearts. It is like coming home. Especially when seeing the temples everywhere, even in Phnom Penh. And if you're still unconvinced, wait till you see the Cultural Show, Smile of Angkor, in Siem Reap, about the history and evolution of Cambodia. I had been dismayed that Genie wanted me to see it, with friends of his, but I was hooked from start to finish.

At Pub Street on New Year's eve, in the heart of Siem Reap, we squeezed into a peaceful young crowd, that swayed to Taki Taki and Cambodian pop. We inched through the masses, trying to find an Indian restaurant that time of night, and even though Genie was right behind me, it was the most peaceful and courteous crowd I’ve ever rubbed shoulders with.

If this had been new year's eve in Mumbai, for sure there’d have been alien hands on every part of my body. And I would have been insulted for being loose and out late at night.

Fish were smitten by the guide Genie organised for us on our temple visit day – a sweet Cambodian girl named Suvanna. When they realised she hadn’t eaten breakfast, they tried to ply her with fruits and juices. They insisted she hold them up close to the murals in Angkor Wat, because they saw fish and other water beings carved into the walls – in scenes from the Mahabharata and Ramayana.

They threw dirty looks at me when I offered to hold them up. So I held onto Penaaz and Genie and I backed away and went off to look at the rest of the temples. Then we crouched over the spot that is supposed to be the centre of the earth. Genie placed his compass at the spot – the needle shivered and spun, but did not stop moving.

Clockwise from left. Ta Prohm temple, a silvery Spung tree, that's the colour, it looks silver. Apparently it's found in many East Asian countries. At bottom, our sweet guide Suvanna.
(Photos: A. Peter)

An apsara and Angkor Wat.
(Photos: A. Peter)

 The best part of the trip is that Genie has an outing planned for us every day. But, I think Fish are being their uber fractious souls.

Every morning there are little chits of pink paper on Genie's bedside table. Yesterday one was folded back into a rocket shape and balanced on a book. When I sniffed it, it smelt of kebabs.

I tried to open the pink letter, but I heard Genie's throat clear and hurriedly threw it away.

You remember what happened the last time I looked at one of their pink demands. War broke out at home. In any case, my silly neighbour from across, with her massive unfettered breasts swinging in my face, tried to barge in, saying there was too much of a racket.

I wonder what she was trying to achieve by entering. How did she plan to subdue Fish? I dearly wanted to watch her try.

She got upset when I offered her the pair of spare Emirates ear plugs Roma had given me years ago. I have new ones now.

Zeba grabbed the ear plugs and threw it angrily into the flat behind me. I was shocked. So arrogant!!! She tried to step in, to complain to Genie personally, she said, but I used the basketball block and she bounced backwards unexpectedly into the hall.

“Genie's on an indefinite holiday in Sweden,” I said, irritated up to my eyeballs. How dare she treat me so!

“You’re lying,” Zeba said. “I saw him here this morning!”

Shit. “Where?” I asked pseudo imperiously.

“He was making tea! Don’t you have any shame – making a fine man like that slave in your kitchen?!”

“No. I don’t.”

“What is he doing in your flat anyway.”

“He’s my employee.”

There was applause from Fish when I finally wrestled the door shut, but I was worn out. I hate the bitches of Peaceful Society. I have looked at buying another home, but I don’t have the money. So for now, here I am. Peaceful Society, I want to learn how to stick uncomfortably in your throat.

So, back to Cambodia. Some of Fish's demands were related to the local market.

Though we bought a packet of it, I couldn’t bring myself to eat the fried locusts. I’m not even sure they were fried. I never asked. Donny bravely took a bite and left it at that. He said it was an acquired taste.

Genie ate lots of local fruit. It came in all sizes. Mangoes grow year round. And even if a fruit isn't in season, you can get a dried version of it on the street or in the market.

We tried to be adventurous and ate local food wherever we could, on the long drive from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh, but we stayed hungrier than we intended. Though we were often surprised by some dishes we discovered accidentally.

And some very sad news.

I discovered today, I am three kgs heavier. I do not blame it on Cambodia. It’s my life's excesses.

Toodles. Until my next soul-racking update.

                                     ******

A better look at a Spung tree. In the sunlight it looks
like it is painted with silver paint.
(Photo: A. Peter)

Siem Reap's Pub Street on New Year's eve.
(Photo: A. Peter) 

Fishy Chronicles 16: Encountering Kampong Phluk

I stirred and burrowed under the covers. And then I was wide awake.

The phone Genie gave me last night was ringing. An iPhone. How the hell did one turn it on?

“Change and come here for tea,” Genie said.

“Yes, Boss.” I said to the dead phone, when I'd mastered my groggy self. It seemed like it was going to be a day filled with orders and marching.

Next door, Fish were getting ready for their trip. Nobby took the first sip of my tea and Donny, the elf, was dressed in a pair of long pants and a half sleeved shirt of pale peach with small white flowers. It was the tiniest shirt I’d ever seen. I was wondering if there was a factory manufacturing elf clothes, when a small spatter of water hit my left eye.

My annoyance left me quickly. My love, Dimitri, was trying to get my attention. “I want to visit the markets,” he said.

“Okay. Why are we whispering?”

“The others shot down the idea.”

“Why?”

“They want to drink martinis in Pub Street.”

Pub Street was the hub of activity in this tiny town of Siem Reap. Only, according to the net, Siem Reap was Cambodia's second largest city. I was amused when I saw how big the population of Cambodia was. Sixteen million – less than Mumbai's.

“Most of the reduced numbers of Cambodians is probably because of Pol Pot's murderous activities. You’ll see,” Dimitri said.

“Is that a theory or a fact?”

“I think fact, but let’s hope we meet people who know more than us on this trip.”

“I thought you didn't know we were coming to Cambodia.”

“I didn’t. But none of us slept last night. We were researching places to see.”

I looked at Genie. He looked fresh. I doubt any loud fracas in the fish tank would have woken him.

“What about you, Donny? Anything you want to see in particular?” I turned to my little friend.

“The temples. A local market maybe. I want to try the local food... and maybe one of those fried insects.”

Genie stood up. I shoved a biscuit into my mouth, swallowed my tea and followed him out.

                                             ******

(This is a fictional series surrounding the narrator, a single woman living in a distant suburb of Mumbai, Genie, her former manservant, previously a thug and now a world traveller, a group of Fish, who formerly lived with the narrator, and Donny, a visiting elf.

They are travelling through Cambodia, a place very close to Genie's heart.)

                                             ****** 

“What are we looking for?” I asked Genie. I was whispering because I was mesmerized by the sunrise unfolding in front of me. The truck had stopped and I didn’t want the truck driver to feel offended, or know that I didn’t know where we were going. Finally the driver turned the truck around and went back to a small side road.

When we left the hotel, I asked Genie why we were racing in the pre-dawn dark in a rackety truck. There was a short grunt. It was clear Genie was still making up his mind about what to tell me. Or he was playing me. Probably the latter.

When the morning began to shine bright Genie put a cap on my head even though we were sitting inside the truck. “It will turn hot soon.”

He gave us all water and we bumped along at a steady clip by a greyish river. The red road ahead looked dusty and men stood by the side, near the water, swimming, throwing nets in, or just looking about.

“What’s this place, Genie? And if you stay silent I may murder you!”

Genie laughed. He took my hand and tucked it under his arm. “Sorry for that, my dear. The river is Kampong Phluk and further ahead is the Tonlé Sap lake. Most of these guys are fishing. And those boats take you around the villages.” He pointed at some small blue boats, that looked like the ferries bobbing on the water near the Gateway of India.

Scenes near Kampong Phluk.
(Photos: A. Peter)

Last night I trawled the net for information. I knew there was a village on stilts on this river. At first the river and road seemed empty but further down the dirt road Genie waved.

“You know those people?” I turned to look at him.

“Yes.”

“How come?”

“I lived near here for some time.”

A 1,000 questions gathered in my gullet. “Er, what? How come?” I said.

“I was a conduit... of sorts. I did a lot of business here. Not a good idea for you to know more.”

“Why not?”

“You won’t be able to sleep at night.”

“Bullshit.”

Genie laughed. I ploughed on. “Your past is unlikely to come back and bite you in the bum.”

I shouldn’t have said that. Genie’s face closed immediately and he turned to look out of the window.

I stayed silent too. Why was I so curious about Genie's past. Why couldn’t he tell me. We were good friends, shared a home – platonically – yet I felt pushed away.

Suddenly I screamed in fright. The truck had run over a deep crater and I had almost hit the windshield. I felt a pain in my chest and some softer body parts because Genie's muscular arm had stopped me from sailing through the windshield. Fish swore and poor Donny was on the floor. I picked him up and ran my hands over his frail, small body.

“I’m fine,” he said weakly. “Just a little winded.” I glared at the driver, Dara, who chewed a piece of gum and then looked away.

“Dara didn’t see the crater.” Genie said. He leaned out of the window and looked behind the truck. “There were stones and dried leaves on the pothole. Strange.”

We slowed and stopped near the side of the road and suddenly there were a number of men surrounding the truck. The sense of fear I felt evaporated when Genie jumped off and hugged some of them. A small child was thrust at him and it turned away, reaching out to its father and wailing. Genie laughed and handed back the child. He spoke to the men but gestured at me to stay in the truck.

A while later, we watched the men take away the boxes from the back of the truck. There was another round of handshakes and Genie got in.

Further along we stopped and climbed into a large multi-coloured boat swaying reluctantly at the side of the river, tethered to a boat whose nose was wedged into the soft river earth. Genie helped me in. He handed me the children and he and several others slowly filled the capacious boat with the rest of the boxes.

As soon as we were on our way, I flopped into the seat next to him. “What’s in the boxes, Genie?”

“Provisions.”

“For what?”

“For whom. It’s for the villagers.”

“Er, friends of yours?”

“Yes.”

I wanted to ask more, but I started taking photographs and videos. Genie plucked my phone from my hand and tucked it into his pants and grinned. I glared at his bulging pocket – it was a place my hand was unlikely to go. Once, he had grabbed my phone, because I hadn’t been listening to him, and put it into his jeans pocket. In a furious rage I had made a grab for it. The matter did not end well. I still blush at the memory.

“Sweetheart, you're missing out. Just watch and take it all in,” Genie said. “Be Fish today.” Indeed, Fish were quiet and rapt.

“Do you think we should let them into the water?”

Fish looked at Genie hopefully. “No. They’d never be able to keep up.”

Looking at the water threshing past our motor boat, I was inclined to agree.

Wooden shacks on very tall stilts soon loomed into view. They looked dank, grubby and basic. There were clotheslines hung across their ceilings and I saw one fan spin slowly. I saw people looking at us from above. There was no curiosity. Just a kind of resignation. Some were cooking and others looking after fishing nets. There seemed to be groups that were either scavengers or transporting things for sale. It seemed they were all ekeing a precarious living.

“You lived here?” I asked Genie.

“Yes.”

“Do you mean you hid here?”

Silence.

‘You were a fugitive here?’ might have sounded better. I tried again, “What are we doing here, Genie?”

“I’m showing you around the floating village. You’ll meet some of my friends. Their English is basic, so smile and nod and be friendly. They’re poor and marginalised. Have a good look around. But stay near me, all of you, okay?”

We soon stopped at a large structure on stilts. It was a restaurant with a thatched roof, but no walls. Many foreign tourists were already sitting at its tables. Below, in the water, were ladies manning large canoes. They were taking tourists deeper into the river. They paddled slowly between the tall water-resistant river trees.

“How deep is the water, Genie? And where are those women taking the tourists?”

“That’s about six feet deep or more. They’ll take you through a submerged forest. Come on. Get in.”

I squeaked in shock when he lifted me and dangled me into the canoe below. He handed the menagerie to me and the lady of the canoe, wearing a wide straw hat and flower-print pink blouse and long meklah-looking skirt, slowly used her long pole to jettison us through the spaces between the trees.

Navigating the floating forest. Tourists ahoy!
(Photos: A. Peter)

I turned to see G already seated at a table with several men, sipping a beer. He raised his glass at us and smiled.

I turned to look around at the trees and foliage that was half in and out of the water. I heard frogs, birds and other species rustling in the trees. I looked up at the sky through the canopy of treetops and branches. This was amazing. I leaned to run my hand in the water and the boat tilted precariously to my right.

“Stop that! Sit straight!” Gregory ordered, suddenly anxious.

“If you fell in, you’d be able to swim!” I said, my fear overcome by my surprise.

“Yes, but we don’t know what’s lurking in the water!” Penaaz said.

“Didn’t you see the crocodile in the cage at the restaurant?” Pervez said.

“I thought it was dead!” There had been a toddler playing next to the large cage, standing up, its fingers looped into the cage's wire mesh to help it keep its balance.

“Silly woman. Crocodiles just lie that way to conserve energy or catch prey off guard.”

“Shhhhhhh! You're killing the experience!”

We continued through the forest and I shook the boat every now and then for fun. It left Fish frustrated, and close to biting me.

We passed other tourists and each time the lady canoe paddlers neared each other, they conversed until the canoe passed them by. Mostly it was a joke, because they usually smiled or laughed once and sustained the smile.

Canoe lady gives Genie a gift.
(Photo: A. Peter)

They gently shoved at the sides of the trees to move their boats along. We moved through the submerged forest for about an hour. It was the longest ever I’d heard the Fish being silent. I had to change that. It was unnatural.

“Do you think you'd ever want to return to Mumbai after this?” Donny said in a whisper in the marshy silence. His mouth was half open and he was staring around him in wonder.

“When I need to poop, I’ll know for sure,” I chuckled.

There were groans from Fish and I heard, among other things, “disgusting”, “juvenile”, “childish”, “undergrown adult”, “mumble, mumble person.” I lived for these moments. It surprised me that Fish couldn’t take a joke.

We were jolted back to the present. No! The boat ride on the cool, sheltered water was over. Genie was standing above us, watching, a smile on his face, his hands in his pockets, oblivious to his friends standing behind him or their conversation.

He helped us out of the canoe, folded his hands and thanked, in Cambodian, our lady captain and hustled us into our boat, which was now emptied of its cargo.

But we didn’t go back from where we came. “We’re going to the lake now. Just watch," he said.

Pretty soon it came into view. It felt like the sea. Almost like the Brahmaputra, but with no land in sight. Or rather a thin sliver of it in the distance.

I held out my hand and Genie reluctantly returned my phone. I tried to get shots of the sunlight shimmering on the water. We moved at a steady clip and at some meaningless point turned around and made our way back.

There was no conversation on our return. It had been, in a way, a profound experience. But when we hit the main road, I could see Dimitri trying to make eye contact. I nodded. I’d check with the hotel staff about the markets and come to an arrangement with Genie.

We had 10 days. Day 1 had been super. I hadn’t thought of the past or the future. I’d thoroughly enjoyed the moment.
                                             ******

No Rhyme, No Reason. US Bound - 1

Last April I packed my bags and went off to the US.

It was not a destination I quite expected to go to, previously perceiving it as a cold, expensive place that an obvious foreigner might have no business traipsing.

But traipse I did. And how.

If the US visa might have been an issue, it wasn't. I had needlessly stressed. And by the time I returned home, I had a more enthusiastic view of the country.

I did go at an awkward time for most of my friends and family - school was still on, and it wasn't quite summer. But I love the cold, like someone who knows the heat year round. And with a borrowed everything, I rambled through.

Sharing some pictures as they are the only things that will adequately express that journey.

And big hugs to the friends and family who hosted me, took me around and made it all a wonderful experience.

These are pictures from my stay in Washington DC.

At the National Museum of African American History and Culture. I deleted many photographs to create space in my phone and these are what's left. A must-visit museum. Among other details of African-American history and culture, it tracks their obsession over colouring -- a trait they share with Indians.

For instance, the paper bag test - are you fairer or darker than a brown paper bag. I saw Fair & Lovely, the fairness cream, exhibited there. An obsession with fairness products. Most distressing were the lot of the slaves and the civil rights movement. Zero rights, a life of oppression.
The Point of Pines Cabin is an entire log cabin transported and exhibited at the Museum. There are doorways and no doors and masters could enter at will. Imagine your home with no doors, and open to all sorts of tyranny.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

This is Ben's Chilli Bowl. My friend told me it appeared in many movies and serials and she hoped there was someone famous about. We looked carefully at the walls - of framed photos of celebrities who visited or had a meal there. And we met the owner, the delightful Virginia Ali, who with her husband Ben started the place. It's right next to the Lincoln Theatre.
When she realised I was visiting from Mumbai, she was excited. Her husband was an Indian from a village that is now in Pakistan. She said she had visited India many times and even told us about her sons. Imagine a mixed-race couple in the late 1950s on the brink of the civil rights movement. She has lots of fans in DC. One of them took this photo.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

National Mall. The Presidential helicopter. We didn't know it then but French President Emmanuel Macron and his wife were visiting President Donald Trump. We hung around, but didn't see the President.
With the boundary around the White House extended outwards, I didn't attempt to see the White House. Besides, getting a ticket takes months. For Indians, it means applying through your embassy months in advance. Locals can make a request, for their visiting friends, through their representatives. My friend felt her application to let me visit the WH was rejected because she was a Democrat. But apparently it's quid pro quo even if a Democrat is ruling. I found it all hilarious. Maybe another time. Maybe with a Democrat in place.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

The Washington Monument in the distance, taken from the Lincoln Memorial. If you stand closer to Washington Monument, you'll see three colours in its brickwork. Apparently the structure was built over three phases and something about not having the same kinds of bricks.
The Korean War Memorial at bottom right.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

Breakfast at Ted's Bulletin. People shared meals here. One thing I realised about the US, portions are enormous. Best to travel as a twosome. Later in my trip I started asking for child portions. But what you want to eat doesn't come in child portions. Only ice creams.
The milkshake was thick and massive and was accompanied by an even larger metal glass. After a long time I had to ask the waiter what it was. He said that it was the rest of my milkshake. Most of the guys/ladies serving at all the restaurants were so good.
I tried a food truck only once, in New York, and I was not happy. I had hoped to eat Arab food but didn't. I hoped for shawarma but settled for felafel that tasted like nothing I'd ever eaten before. My tastebuds felt messed around with. Gyro is not the original felafel!!!!
Why this obsession with Arab food you may ask. I lived in Kuwait as a child and now live in Mumbai. Even the Arab food festivals here can't get the taste right.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

Washington DC. Street scenes. (Pictures: A. Peter)

Newseum. It details the evolution of news. And the earliest newspapers displayed there dated back to the early 1600s... or earlier. It was interesting, especially for an ex journalist. The colourful wall is part of the Berlin Wall. The broken bust is Lenin's headless torso. (Pictures: A. Peter)

The red portions on the world map show how muzzled the world's press is. Green indicates free press. Yellow indicates partial freedom. The large board contains photographs of murdered journalists. Frightening.
The last two photos are of the photojournalist Bill Riggart who was first on the scene of 9/11. He didn't survive. (Pictures: A. Peter)

At Paul's, a trendy French restaurant in DC.
By the end of my trip I yearned for Indian cutting chai and normal instant coffee. And now I truly understand what jetlag is.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

Arlington Cemetery. When people die together on a mission, they share a grave because their remains can't be identified. There were so many of these graves at AC. All someone's loved ones.
Top left are the graves of JFK and his family. I don't understand why people tossed coins on their graves.
Why do people throw coins on graves? I didn't see coins on other AC graves.
People throw coins at water bodies too. They missed - going by the coins sitting on the sides of the jetty leading up to the ferries on Liberty Island.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

The very pretty town of Alexandria. George Washington lived here in his early years. It's now a very upmarket residential area.
I bought souvenirs from The Old Town Shop, which sells locally-sourced crockery, essential products, tea, honey, paintings, etc.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

Excellent food here. Tried tapas and paella. The paella was better than I thought it would be. I've seen it prepared on TV and my worry was a fishy taste coming through. The Sangria is the best I've tried so far.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

The Supreme Court. Do attend the lecture. Very illuminating. I hoped to run into Anthony Kennedy. No luck.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

Top left, the train station. United States Capitol. And the US Library of Congress.
Since I had a passport on me, we were able to attend a Senate vote meeting. What an incredible experience. Saw Senators I'd only previously seen on TV.
(Pictures: A. Peter)

An interesting mix of pulses, cereals and greens from a restaurant at the train station in DC.
I found I like ginger ale. This one is a pomegranate ginger ale. Full of sugar, I was told. I know.
I got a crash course on how to give harried commuters right of way on an escalator. Just like Mumbaikers, DC commuters run on them. I stepped on one woman's foot during peak hour. I imagine she didn't swear at me out of politeness, my profuse apologies and because, clearly, I was a tourist. All three perhaps.
In New Jersey my friends took me past a street in a hamlet called Edison (thanks for this info, Varsha) which they said had Pakistanis on one side of the road and Indians on the other. Indians and Pakistanis will know what this means. And my friends desperately wanted to eat Indian food. So we stopped at a South Indian restaurant. Most of the names on the menu seemed alien, the food looked familiar - like Tamilian marries Kannada food. Whatever it was, it was good. I couldn't recognise the vegetables in the katoris. And to finish it off, we had kapi, good old South Indian filter coffee. At this point the owner rushed out to ask how the food was and rushed back in again. Looked like the South Indian restaurants in Mumbai, except for the tables. It's usually sunmica on top in India.
(Pictures: A. Peter)