Chennai to Bangkok
EASTERN PROMISES
MAR 14, 2008 – WHEN THEY TALK ABOUT THE MAKINGS OF A GOOD JOURNALIST, the qualities that usually come up are resourcefulness or interpersonal skills or a burning desire to dig into the bottom of things. But on a recent trip to Thailand, I had to draw from my wellspring of that other quality that defines a journalist: complete and utter shamelessness. You see, it was not just another journalist junket – the sort of freebie that the keeper of the cosmic balance throws your way in order to compensate for the weird hours and the abuse from interviewees you’ve painted not-so-flattering pictures of and the IT-sized money you’re not getting paid.
This was a junket-cum-tagalong, for we – the appropriately gender-neutral newspaperpeople (the gender-neutrality applying, of course, to the term and not the people) – were part of a group that was being shown the sights of Pattaya and Bangkok as reward for their consumerism. The others had spent some thirty thousand each at the SKC store – in other words, they had earned the trip by spending – while we had guiltlessly hopped on for the ride, simply because we were who we were.
Accounts of travel always seem to include an itinerary, so here’s what happened: a couple of us first met up at the airport and walked in with our luggage and sat around waiting for the rest, while wondering if we had time for a cup of coffee or even a light breakfast, of idlis perhaps… Right, you don’t want that level of detail. So off we were at the beach in Pattaya – parasailing, walking undersea, and otherwise generally lazing on the sand warmed over just so by an obliging sun overhead. And that’s when a Caucasian man walked past us, his hand entwined in a Thai woman’s.
Oh, so nice, we thought, smiling inwardly about the goodness still left in the world amidst all the racial hatred – here was a couple that was living proof that human-hood is all that mattered. Then another Caucasian man walked past, his hand entwined in another Thai woman’s. Nice, very nice. But the third such instance, and our radars went up. Surely it can’t be that half the female population of this beautiful resort town is wedded to Americans and Germans and other Europeans of indeterminate accents. And then our guide told us. These were escorts. Ah – so that’s what Nagesh Kukunoor was trying to tell us in Bombay to Bangkok. Clearly, “No Money, No Honey!”
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