There is a funeral being held on our street. They erected the tent yesterday morning with the customary white and black sashes and a white “ghost” figure hanging out the front. As you can see, the steel framed tent actually covers the street and when the ceremonies begin all traffic is blocked… only those daring enough to interrupt the mourning of others squeeze past the round tables with white rice bowls and ladle-like spoons.
I walked through there yesterday on the way to school and gave a sad nod to the old man with red watery eyes. The kids strained to get a peek at the deceased’s photo and 2 metre golden shrine (similar to what you might see in miniature in a Chinese restaurant in Australia) set up in the front room of their house. Throughout the day, close friends and relatives dressed in white shirts and dark pants / wrap skirts come to bid them farewell by praying, lighting incense sticks and eating a simple meal of rice porridge.
This particular funeral was Chinese-style with the decorated truck to carry the body to the temple, accompanied by men and boys dressed in yellow satin “pyjamas”. They loudly bang drums and cymbals to send off the spirit. These are interspersed throughout the day briefly interrupting the constant stream of traditional songs of mourning, chanting of monks and plinky plonky music played over loud speaker all designed to let the spirit know that they are being appropriately mourned and can leave in peace.
Ah, peace. The odd Australian unaccustomed to such “noise pollution” from neighbours relishes the brief pauses when the CD is changed. Still others have been known to entertain crazed thoughts of interrupting the power supply. Early in our time here, I tactlessly asked a Khmer friend if she was annoyed by the blaring music and unintelligible chanting. She replied surprised, “No. I pity the family.” Ouch.
Now when the music begins, I take a moment to mourn someone whom I never knew, who died without hope or certainty for what is ahead. And I pity the family who fruitlessly try to send them there.
However, at 5.30am this morning when drums the drums clashed for their final procession, my sympathy was a little difficult to find. Never mind.. I should locate it before the next stage of the grieving process begins in 6 days time.
I walked through there yesterday on the way to school and gave a sad nod to the old man with red watery eyes. The kids strained to get a peek at the deceased’s photo and 2 metre golden shrine (similar to what you might see in miniature in a Chinese restaurant in Australia) set up in the front room of their house. Throughout the day, close friends and relatives dressed in white shirts and dark pants / wrap skirts come to bid them farewell by praying, lighting incense sticks and eating a simple meal of rice porridge.
This particular funeral was Chinese-style with the decorated truck to carry the body to the temple, accompanied by men and boys dressed in yellow satin “pyjamas”. They loudly bang drums and cymbals to send off the spirit. These are interspersed throughout the day briefly interrupting the constant stream of traditional songs of mourning, chanting of monks and plinky plonky music played over loud speaker all designed to let the spirit know that they are being appropriately mourned and can leave in peace.
Ah, peace. The odd Australian unaccustomed to such “noise pollution” from neighbours relishes the brief pauses when the CD is changed. Still others have been known to entertain crazed thoughts of interrupting the power supply. Early in our time here, I tactlessly asked a Khmer friend if she was annoyed by the blaring music and unintelligible chanting. She replied surprised, “No. I pity the family.” Ouch.
Now when the music begins, I take a moment to mourn someone whom I never knew, who died without hope or certainty for what is ahead. And I pity the family who fruitlessly try to send them there.
However, at 5.30am this morning when drums the drums clashed for their final procession, my sympathy was a little difficult to find. Never mind.. I should locate it before the next stage of the grieving process begins in 6 days time.
No comments:
Post a Comment