5. Myanmar, 2001, Barrage of Sensations in a Mish-mash of a city

Continued from 4. Myanmar 2001

Ferry crossing

Dressed like locals we walked along the Strand and found the queue to buy ferry tickets to cross the river. The first time we wet the uncle accompanied us, spoke in Myanmese and got us local tickets. We had to play dumb so that we did not give away the fact that we were foreigners and end up paying exorbitant fares. We boarded the ferry and went to the upper deck where we found the typical low plastic stools on which to sit sheltered by our umbrellas. 

On a subsequent trip(2016) we went on our own and got foreign tickets. This time we could go into a covered enclosure on the upper deck and sit on plastic chairs. We were not bothered by vendors. The other side of the river had a vibrant market and hence a colourful village. Walking down one of the back streets we came upon many indians some of whom spoke Tamil. Many of them were retired . One was looking after the temple and was active in a Tamil society. He invited us to his home where we met his wife. They had lots to say about the Hindu temple nearby since they were actively involved in it. We took leave of them and simply walked further to take in the village atmosphere, the houses with their fruit trees, vegetable gardens and poultry. 

Hospitality of a nanogenarian

An auto ride took us to a 90 year old who live on his own in his padi field. He did not keave the country futing the purge and we were familiar with some of his relatives. Anticipating our arrival he had prepared a typical sumptuous 3 course meal for us, on a wood burning stove, served on banana leaves. He had a Burmese family living in the premises to do his bidding and to till the fields. his relatives. He had cooked a three course meal for us on his wood burning stove and served us on banana leaves. We also had a plentiful helping of his daily routine. He had a Myanmese family working for him both in the house and in his fields.

Safety

Talking about safety, as we prepared to board the ferry we noticed a couple of soldiers supervising  three young men, chained to each other, also boarding. We were later told that the chained men could have been drug pushers. The military had its eyes everywhere. 

One of our acquaintances who took us on a walk along Mogul Street (now Shwe Bontha Street) carried diamonds in his shirt pocket. He traded in diamonds. Another friend walked around town with a huge bundle of notes. There was no danger of theft then (about 10 years ago).

In another of our visits we happened to see a borrower returning money to the lender. The bundles of notes came in sacks and the counting took the best part of the afternoon.

Knees-up Transport

We also tried taking the local buses. 10 years ago the seats were very close together, worse than budget seats in Asian flights. And you literally had to brace your legs against the front seat since the leg room was too narrow to plant your feet on the ground. 

Sharing the ride with market produce and fowl and quadrupeds

The Yangon Circle Line, the train, literally crawls 30 miles around the city and its suburbs and taking about 3 hours, passing through what feels like a whole echelon of Yangon society. Again foreigners pay more. Beside us sat people from all kinds of trades carrying their wares in baskets to be balanced on their heads. Some were bringing livestock to the market. We had chicken under our feet and even a goat. The odor of food from the snack vendor mingled with the odor of scented prayer flowers and the smell of animals. We didn't do the whole 30 mile loop. About half an hour was good enough to take us through the various neighbourhoods. Our sophisticated noses could tolerate so much.

Street life

The city is a  heaving jumble of dilapidated colonial buildings, hole in the wall shops, street markets,  noisy and congested alleys and streets, mosques, pagodas and roadside food stalls with their low tables and stools. 

To be continued in 6. Myanmar.

4. Myanmar: underlying compassion

Cont'd from 3. Myanmar

Keeping clear of riots

Then it was simply a long drive back home through teak forests and sugar cane fields. We must have made only one stop. Closer to Yangon we came across a village surrounded by sugar plantations. It was evening and the village folk were sitting on low stools at the palm-leaf roofed wooden tea stalls, enjoying the chai. What was noteworthy was they they were all dressed in Gujerati clothes, and spoke Gujerati. We could have been in India. Our driver did not encourage us to stop because he had heard that trouble was brewing in one of the other villages we would be passing by and he did not want us to be caught in the riots. So we literally sped through.

The final journey of an aunt

After a night's rest it was revealed that the uncle's wife's favourite aunt had passed on in Yangon while we were in Mandalay and that was one of the reasons we hastened back. So we went to the crematorium where the body. Many bodies, each laid out on a trolley and covered by an umbrella like mosquito net to keep flies away, filled up a large part of the covered shed. The aunt payed homage to the old hunched shrunken woman who would be cremated soon. There was a waiting line for the incinerator. We got back home and seven days afterwards a memorial feast was held.  Large amounts in mohinga noodles were cooked, under a makeshift marquee in the tiny backyard, for the continuous stream of relatives.

Yearly Monkhood

A two week monkhood, once a year, is encouraged for adults. The uncle has done it several times and he says the experience is humbling, and very good for anger management. As a monk you go out in the morning after payers, and walk down streets where almost every household reverently ladles food into the alms bowls which the monks carry back to the monastery and tip them all into a common pot. The food that is thus collected is doled out to every monk at 11:00 am, after which there is no other meal. Every household has an elaborate altar where the family's chosen monk arrives once every week to give his blessings and receive alms.

Safe distancing

Two of the uncle's daughters are University graduates. We asked to visit the University. It was now located a hour's drive from the city to prevent student agitation, like those at the time of the military coup. Most of the classrooms had long benches and desks. The teacher heard a blackboard. We met a Professor who spoke a smattering of English, dressed in a longyi, sporting stained teeth from chewing betel leaves. Secondary and tertiary education takes place at government schools. University comes directly after 10th grade. University buses pick up students from various pickup and drop off points in the city.

Vestiges of a glorious past

When Myanmar achieved independence in 1948 its schools were regarded as among the best in Asia, but over the next 50 years, being shut off from the world by the military junta, the quality of education declined. All said and done, the teacher is highly revered.

We also visited the repurposed (still dilapidated) school in Kanpai, once a very special boarding school for highly intelligent Indian students. Kanpai has a large Indian population, as evidenced by two well built and well maintained Hindu Temples. 

To be continued in 5.Myanmar.