I remember my first few months in Thailand. Having fallen in love with the culture, I was determined to steep myself in it as much as I could. I learned to enjoy a hot panang curry over rice for breakfast -- what a jolt to the system after a lifetime of cornflakes and toast and, upon entering adulthood, black coffee and a cigarette.
I also started learning the language, made lots of Thai friends, travelled all over the place. And … I learned to wai.
This is the traditional Thai greeting which requires bringing one's hands together in a prayer position. To this day I think it's a beautiful way to greet somebody, and back then I took to the new greeting like a fish to water.
Trouble is, I started to wai absolutely everybody.
I was yet to discover the nuances of the wai. It would be years before I would learn that the position of your fingertips to your face or chest belied any suggestion that Thailand was an egalitarian society. Like so many things in Thai culture, its beauty masked an undercurrent -- namely, asserting one's position in the hierarchy of Thai society. But that went right over my head. I was too busy wai-ing all and sundry.
The tuk-tuk driver. The lady who made my noodles at the market. The old Chinese guy who stacked cardboard onto his rickety bicycle. The drunken guys at the table next to mine at the makeshift bar who said hello because I was the only farang drinking Mekong whisky there. It took a learned Thai friend who ended up taking me aside, to put me on the right track. He explained that I should not wai such people as hired help and noodle vendors, especially from the forehead as I was doing, as it went against Thai culture.
I immediately saddled up my high horse and climbed on top of it with indignation.
"I'll have you know where I come from we're all equal!" I announced, probably slurring my words. I vaguely remember the gist of that monologue of mine, about how everybody should be treated equal in this world. It was the kind of speech that, had I been sitting at a nearby table quietly listening in to myself, I'd have cringed at for its critically high masturbatory factor.
What my learned Thai friend explained to me that night resonated. It is not good to wai the lower classes, or those beneath you in Thai society. Not for any egalitarian reasons (and since that night I have permanently deleted "where I come from" from my vocabulary). It's simply that the tuk-tuk driver or noodle vendor you wai feels extremely uncomfortable about the situation. They know their place. It's me who doesn't, and thus I upset the social applecart.
This revelation precipitated an intense personal study into the wai and all its nuances.
There is a reason I am bringing this up for you to read this bright Sunday morning, exactly halfway through the long weekend. There is another form of greeting that emanates from this part of the world. It is a greeting I have yet to master and, I confess, am not as in love with it as I am the wai.
There is no name for it, and nor should there be one. It is a weird cross-hand handshake, where one creates a chain, usually performed either with visiting politicians or when making business deals. It is allegedly a sign of friendship or joint co-operation, or something along those lines. It is also a sign of silliness.
The participating delegates stand in a line, then clasp hands. However they do not simply grab the hands of people next to them. That would look a little, well, girlie. Instead they cross arms and then grab hands next to them. The result? A long line of men in suits, arms skew-whiff, resembling geeks -- and I really don't know which is worse between girlie and geeky, though I veer towards the latter.
I had to do it once. It was at a press conference and there were six of us, seated in a row, on a raised podium. I was at the end. When it came time for photographs, the six of us stood up, and a photographer asked us to clasp hands in the cross-hand shuffle. Nobody caught me rolling my eyes for a split second.
Luckily I was at the very end, which required me to cross over just my left hand, rendering my right hand unusable. You had to be there, dear reader, and I am thrilled there are no surviving photographs that I know of.
It is always fun to watch unprepared participants when it comes to performing this ungainly gesture. Heads of state in this region know it well. The rest of the world doesn't.
Last November when Donald Trump visited the Asean-US 40th-anniversary summit in Manila, he was forced to participate in the hand clasp. With our PM Prayut two down on his right and Philippine President Duterte on the other side, he looked like a fish out of water.
At first he didn't get it, and used two hands to hold the hand of the Vietnamese prime minister. The photos of his grimace are priceless; he is literally asking himself: "What the hell do they want me to do?" It is the one, single moment that I have sympathised with Donald Trump, if only for a few brief seconds.
The worst part is, it is supposed to be a display of joint co-operation. Unless you are the lucky ones on the end, it instead makes you look like you are in prison -- or wearing a straight jacket.
Which brings us to this week's photo.
Last Tuesday, the Bangkok Post printed this photograph of executives of the Palang Pracharath and Bhumjaithai Parties. In case you have forgotten, on March 24 we had an election in Thailand for the first time in five years. That was two months ago and we have yet to see a government. The party that won the most seats, Pheu Thai, looks like it won't get the chance to form a government. Instead the losing party is creating a coalition with a couple of its friends.
This photograph comes from Monday's meeting between those two parties as they discussed the spoils of cabinet positions. In it, you can see party executives furtively reaching, grasping and clasping.
It may remind you of losing your virginity. There are hands going up and hands going down. There are smiles and frowns. It reeks of confusion and tension and humour, as hands try to find their right place.
The guy on the far left with the limp wrist looks reluctant. Next to him, the executive just can't seem to reach that wrist. Anutin looks like he's enjoying himself. On the right is an executive who seems to be vocal about the clasping; is he raising an objection? In short: it's a cacophony of movement and emotion.
Which pretty well sums it all up. Here in this age-old traditional society, which possesses an exquisite and delicate way of greeting via the wai, we choose instead to jostle, hustle and contort ourselves into unholy alliances. And this is just the greeting phase.