The Motorcycle Dialogues

I ride motorcycles every day of the week. No, I don’t drive the darn things; I’ve never driven a motorcycle in my life and I don’t think the traffic-clogged streets of Bangkok are the ideal venue to initiate such an experience. For now, I’m content to be a passenger on the back of one, letting a motosai taxi driver takes me to my destination. The beauty of taking a motorcycle in Bangkok is that they are nimble enough to weave through the lanes of idling cars, stalled in traffic, getting you to your destination in a fraction of the time it would take by conventional auto options. The downside, of course, is that the distinct odor of exhaust fumes clings to your clothing long after you have reached the end of the journey.

 

Earlier this week, I took a motosai from Thonglor to the Foodland on New Petchburi Road. Virtually the whole way there, the driver engaged me in conversation. Taxi drivers can be very chatty, but I rarely get a motosai driver who strikes up quite such an extended conversation, and indeed, I felt like I was in the back of a regular taxi, the way this guy bombarded me with so many questions. All the way down the street, other motorcycles are whizzing by us, we’re passing buses and cars, the wind is blowing through my hair, and in general it’s pretty damn noisy, but I’m leaning closer, straining to hear the guy, and trying not to fall off the damn motorcycle. All in all, not exactly conducive to smooth conversation. But still, it was a memorable experience, and this guy was very polite and inquisitive. When he dropped me off at Foodland, I paid him the normal fare, smiled and waved goodbye, wishing him good luck. Who knows, I may run into him again next week.

I’ve become pretty good friends with a couple of motosai drivers from my neighborhood in the past year. I always go to the same motorcycle stand near my apartment, where about ten drivers (a lot fewer than the throng who work at the busy end of Thonglor) sit and wait for passengers. Two of the drivers, May and Team, will drop by my apartment, maybe two or three times each month, after they get off work. For an hour or two we’ll sit around drinking beer, chatting, watching videos on YouTube (football/soccer tricks and drag racing seem to be their favorites), and listening to music. Pongsit Kampee, a popular Thai folk singer-guitarist in the Pleng Puea Cheewit style, is always the music of choice. But I especially enjoy the conversations. It helps me practice my Thai, but I also learn more about the lives and work routine of these drivers. Most of them come from provinces in the north or northeast of the country; May and Team are both from Nakhon Ratchasima. They often work long days in the heat and sun, or nights in the driving rain; no air conditioned lounges or comfy sofas for these guys to sit and relax. If they stay fairly busy, and don’t have too many debts to pay (motorcycle payments, “taxes” to neighborhood “bosses” who regulate the taxi services, petrol costs, etc.), they might clear 10,000 baht per month (about $330). And of course they always have to worry about the possibility of accidents, or being stopped by the police and forced to pay fines for sometimes non-existent violations. It may be a nice, independent lifestyle, but these motosai drivers aren’t getting rich in the process.

 

May and his other friend, Ben, came by my apartment one night last week. I asked May if he was free the following day. I needed to leave work early, drop by my doctor to pick up a prescription, and then go to the Air Asia booth at the Tesco Lotus store on Onnut to change a ticket. Having a single motosai driver to take me to those places, and wait for me, would be much easier than having to arrange transport at each point. May was pretty sure that he could do it, but asked me to call him the following afternoon to make sure he was free, which is what I did. After calling him shortly after four o’clock, he was parked outside my bookshop and waiting less than ten minutes later. He took me on my appointed rounds and when it was all over, as I reached in my pocket to pay him, he waved off the money. “Not necessary,” he said. I tried again, but he still refused to take the money, leaving with a big smile on his face. Maybe that’s payment for all the beer that he and his buddies have been drinking, but I’d like to think it’s also because that he and the other Thai motosai drivers are simply nice people, kind folks just looking to survive the rat race in this crazy concrete jungle.

Kampee for Chai

Feeling a bit physically and emotionally drained after work last Sunday night, rather than walking most of the way home as I have been doing lately, I opted for the comfort of a taxi ride. Once I was seated inside, I told the driver where I wanted to go, speaking in Thai. I couldn’t help but notice the familiar music the driver was playing. “Is that Pongsit Kampee?” I asked, knowing the answer already, but wondering what sort of reaction that my recognition of the music would get from the driver.

He flashed a big smile. “Yes, that’s Kampee.”

I offered a grin of my own. “I like his music very much,” I said.

The driver turned up the volume, the grin still on his face. We were rolling.

Pongsit Kampee is one of the more popular practitioners of a Thai music style known as Pleng Puea Cheewit, or “Songs for Life,” and it’s pretty common to hear his music played, especially in taxis, here in Thailand. Pleng Puea Cheewit is a type of folk music, sometimes acoustic and sometimes electric, but almost always with political or socially conscious lyrical content. I love all of Pongsit Kampee’s albums, but my absolute favorite — and one of my most treasured in any genre — is Plug Loot (literally “Unplugged”), an acoustic set of songs that he recorded with Lek Carabao (yes, from the band of the same name, but don’t get him confused with band leader Ad Carabao) back in the early 1990s. That album was a masterpiece of acoustic perfection, the two guitarists performing some of their strongest songs, all garnished with Pongsit’s sweet vocals. Even if you can’t understand everything — or anything — that Pongsit is singing in Thai, you can’t help but fall under the spell of that beautiful, soothing voice. And if you ARE able to understand the lyrics, you will agree with my friend Chai, who once told me: “His songs have very good meaning.”

And that brings me around to the topic of Chai, who is one of the reasons for my recent fatigue. For the past three weeks I have been visiting Chai in the hospital ward where he is currently bedridden. He’s been there for over a month now, the result of head injuries he suffered in a motorcycle accident. For the first week he was in a coma in ICU, and things were touch and go. He is now awake but doesn’t appear to recognize anyone. Because of a lung infection he still has to use a breathing tube and is being fed intravenously.

I’ve been going to the hospital twice a week. I leave work each Monday and Thursday afternoon, taking the Skytrain to the Saphan Taksin station and then walking the rest of the way to the public hospital on Silom Road. I take the elevator up the 15th floor, say hello to the cleaning lady (she seems to be the friendliest and most attentive person on the whole floor) and walk over to Chai’s bed, situated in a huge ward along with dozens of other patients. His mother is there at his bedside every day during visiting hours, from noon till nine at night, massaging Chai’s legs and arms, and speaking to him encouragingly. To see Chai in such a condition must be agonizing for her, but it’s clear she loves her oldest son and will do anything she can to help his recovery. I make my own unskilled attempts at massage and speak to Chai, telling him how much that I and his other friends have missed him, and urging him to get better soon. I tease him not to be lazy, not to give the nurses a hard time, and to obey his mother. But I have no idea if he understands any of my babbling or not. Chai stares at me with his one undamaged eye, but there are no obvious signs of recognition, and he doesn’t speak.

You always hear that listening to music can be productive therapy for people with head injuries, so I went out and bought an MP4 player for Chai, and then loaded it up with lots of tunes that I know that he likes; music from Thai artists such as Pongsit Kampee, Carabao, and Body Slam, along with some upcountry Morlam and Luk Thung songs. In addition to that, I added a bunch of instrumental music, ranging from Ennio Morricone and Jean Michel Jarre, to Grant Green and Love Tractor. Now, whenever I drop by to visit, unless he is sleeping or has just woken, the ear buds are in place and Chai is listening to music. Or at least the device is playing. I’m not sure if his mother is humoring me or if she believes in the power of song too. I asked her the other day what Chai was listening to, and she replied with a smile: “Kampee.”

Even if this music does nothing to assist in Chai’s rehabilitation, at least it may help to relieve any boredom he feels from being confined to bed all day. Hell, maybe he’ll end up becoming a big fan of Morricone’s film scores. At this point, though, I’ll just settle for a normal conversation with him. But that day is still a long way off, or I fear, may never happen again. I have to be realistic. We’re not talking about broken bones and bruises. Head injuries are very serious, unpredictable things, and one can’t make accurate predictions about the prognosis for a person who has suffered such severe trauma. In most cases like this, there is no such thing as a complete recovery. But can we at least hope for some slight return to normal? Will Chai be able to walk again? Will he talk again? Will he laugh and sing songs again? Will he even be able to feed himself or use the toilet unassisted? His mother tells me that he’s getting better, that he understands what’s going on, but honestly, except for the swelling around eyes dissipating, I don’t see much improvement yet.

All I can do for now is to wait patiently for any incremental signs of progress, visit him often, keep chatting and smiling, and hope he’ll get better. And let the music play.