she floats like a lotus. she offers contentment.

On that afternoon when it drizzled and the town folks were shooed away as wet puppies, I heaved aboard a van-like taxi. It was far better than sitting in a comfortable hotel room doing uninspiring things. As I was still getting wet (the windowless taxi was not much of a shelter), I made it clear to the driver that floating market was my intention. Obviously the communication was a flop because he dropped me at a wet market instead. With the help of the locals and my co-travellers, we stressed to him one more time our destination and this round he was crystal clear. The bumpy road was hammering me and once in a while I popped my head out of the pane like a snake from the charmer’s basket. It was still drizzling. You are fortunate to catch the freshness in your nose when the crumbs of rain and breeze sprinkled on your face. We tottered all the way.

The entrance of the floating market was a temple with its walls craved with Thai Gods with chadas. Poor Thai’s befuddled minds are made of a terrible amalgam of religions, mainly Hinduism and Buddhism. Why should I even bother debating? When they subsisted with this perplexity for centuries. Within the walls they built for themselves.

A big crowd was heading towards the other bank of the river, crossing a strong bridge with a long stretch of stalls appeared to me like a Malaysian pasar malam. The river was beautiful, only until a heavy rain came by to turn it into the colour of dirt as quick as a chameleon. Business was still as usual, with the flaming woks sizzled every time the last drips from the exasperated sky touched. The shopkeepers, mmm the boatkeepers with straw hats were still indefatigable and untouchable.