Dale Pobega's SE Asian Micro Blog

BUT SUDOKU REIGNS SUPREME

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 6 February, 2010

Temper your judgement of me by considering the photo above. My obsession with blogging and need of a constant WiFi fix is nothing compared to her Sudoku addiction. Here she is in the airless box of our room in KL bent over the netbook drawing up Sudoku grids by hand! (Maybe we need a travel printer?) Lyn needs to complete at least four or five puzzles a day —- nothing below “Insane” level thank you very much!

She is, I must admit, a great travelling partner. I’d have to say that wouldn’t I, otherwise who’s going to cook my meals for me when I get home?

As a very young man (don’t ask how young) she promised to show me the world, and she has done just that. Mind you, I replied I would only shack up with her if she guaranteed that she could keep up and walk to Everest Base Camp regardless of how old or infirm she might become. Well, the Everest Base Camp Challenge is still on and it remains to be seen if she’ll go in the legs or not.

In any case, she was smart enough to lie in order to get her wicked way with me, so I’ve got no one else to blame except myself for this predicament.

Actually, I can’t imagine not travelling with Lyn. She is fearless and never bores me. Give me long enough with other people and I quickly begin to glaze over —- a cruel thing to say, I know, but sadly true!

I think I mentioned in a former post that her skills as a raconteuse are unsurpassed - and that’s the honest truth. We both like taking risks so it is surprising that it only took us 25 years to get married.

So where to next? She has already started planning a bicycle trip through East and West Timor staying in grass huts along the way (what about the WiFi?) and camping along the DMZ between North and South Korea (that’ll be a hoot!) …

One thing is for sure though … she’ll be travelling till she drops!

NOW WE HAVE WIFI

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 6 February, 2010

A treat for my reader(s) … a guest appearance by my wife, Lyn Daws on the trials and tribulations of travelling with yours truly …

Last moments of my travels in Malaysia, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia with Dale.

Reflects … we have just dismounted from “King of Bus”. It was a scenic, gut wrenching 10 hour ride made enjoyable by the sight of backpackers coming in the other direction bent double vomiting over the side of the mountain - luckily we rejected the minibus option. There are no vacancies at our proposed destination in Vang Vieng but a jovial fellow leaning on a bridge gazing at a mosquito infested, emerald green moat has vacancies in bamboo huts. A mattress on the floor, thin walls, mosquito net, great views of the $200 pads across the river - and it’s $$2 a night. Dale’s question : have you got Wifi? Yes, that is what it was like. The camera was always important but now he has his netbook as well plus a craving for WiFi.

Although the time spent writing, uploading and scrutinising his blogs as well as checking if anyone is reading them makes me somewhat of a grass widow, it does focus my mind on the bizarre aspects of travel we both enjoy. Food - everything from ice cream, cafe lattes from the Espressemente Illy to observing repulsive culinry items. Those spiders from the wok at the roadside cafe in Cambodia came back to haunt us. They resurfaced on a rack drying on the edge of the swimming pool at our hotel in Siem Reap.

He wakes me up. He can’t sleep. Those backpackers next door won’t stop talking. It’s midnight, he’s very distressed. “I wouldn’t mind if it were deep and meaninful but they are talking drivel - like where you can buy the best thongs in South East Asia and whether the Landlord is a blood sucking leech.”

After that fateful night, he developed a pathological aversion to backpackers or ferals as he started calling them. This along with the aversion to rats, cockroaches, mosquitoes, bed bugs, windowless rooms, hard mattresses - and of course, lack of Wifi - meant that the search for bargain accommodation became increasingly desperate. After 25 years of travelling we’ve been compelled to move into the “flashpacker” category it seems. Consequently, we have stayed in some memorable places involving French colonial architecture, hotels with pools and guesthouses with mahogany floorboards and lots of antiques - all with great views.

The best thing about travelling with Dale is that he is interested in language and politics. He deeply engages everyone including tuk tuk drivers, waiters and shop keepers in dialogue about learning English, government corruption, the recent history of the country and their knowledge of Hinduism or other esoterica.

Since this sort of communication is essential to my enjoyment of a foreign place, Dale is an essential item in my backpack!

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 5 February, 2010

We have just been to worship at the shrine of Espressamente Illy - the Roman (or more precisely, Triestino) God of Coffee - imported to attract converts to stylish - expensive - Italian Cafe culture. We have partaken of its mouth watering Focaccia Americana (smoked beef with baby spinach and mozzarella) washed down with libations of Cafe Frappe Coco e Mandorlo, followed by Torta Mousse Cioccolata and umpteen Lattes!

The import of this divinity is accompanied by Roman prices (well, not quite … but comparable to those in Australia).

Frugality? Ha! We dismiss that consideration without a second thought, go change a few more handfuls of George Washingtons and plastic $AUSsies into Ringgit and rush back into the Mall. The Gods of Glamour are demanding and we must keep the flow of tributes headed in their direction via seductive cafes, bistros, cinemas and boutiques as our last days in SE Asia draw nigh!

You’d think we were on death row, wouldn’t you? Pity us, two lonesome pilgrims about to head back into the Godlessness of suburbia downunder. Lyn tells me to “cool it” at this point - “you might alienate the last remaining reader of your blog!” Madonna Mia! Why is she always stomping all over my muse?

DISCOVERING NEW GODS

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, February 3, 2510 AD

The pantheon in ruins which once rose high into the heavens comprised six massive terraces. On each of the six circular levels of this ziggurat our archaeologists found alcoves dedicated to each deity where worshippers once flocked to pay tribute in droves. The Gods were displayed in all their pomp and finery. There was Lady Prada and Lord Armani, their sons Gucci and Ermenegildo Zegna, Salvatore Ferragamo and an exotic water Goddess who went by the name of Shinju Pearls. The God Versace and his consort Rolex seem to have been exceedingly popular.

Perhaps the most ingenious aspect of the floor plan of the temple complex was the way in which pilgrims were basically forced to proceed along a single, predetermined route up and down the 6 circular levels, filing past and paying homage to a variety of deities along the way.

The individual chapels themselves seem to have been lavishly decorated and seductively lit, placed behind glass and displayed a number of ornaments and statuary.

We came across some beautifully crafted life-size figures made of some hardened polyurethane material and have ascertained that these sculptures - or what we think they called mannequins or dummies, appear to be divine temple guards of some sort created in the likeness of humans but sporting the heads of an animal which is now long extinct, its name and association lost in the mists of time. The figures (shown in the holograph above) stood at the entrance of a temple dedicated to the God, Calvin Klein.

Hail TAG Huer Full of Grace, Bless Us Lord Sony Ericsson, Deliver Us from Evil O Mighty Nike! The glyphs we have recently uncovered have thrown up their secrets revealing a vibrant religious culture centred on this 500 year old site which the people called, “Pavilion” located at the heart of a great city once called “Kuala Lumpur”.

Evidence of indecent rites - the act of ”Lambo Rectum Iri ” or “arse licking” in the vernacular - was also performed in the niches dedicated to the worship of “minor Gods”, Addidas, Quicksilver, Illy Coffee, L’ Occitane, DKNY and Levi Strauss to name but a few. Apparently the followers dressed in, covered and coated themselves as well as imbibed materials and liquids which induced trance like states, turning some into zombies. These mesmerized individuals were able to do little more than chant the names of their beloved deities and make ever larger offerings of mysterious paper tokens and silver nickel disks at the various alters.

Why did this highly advanced society of god fearing people perish? How could a people with such technology, creativity and abundant energy suddenly disappear? Our experts are still investigating but we feel it may have something to do with a global practice of human and environmental sacrifice to strange and occult “market forces” expediting total economic and societal collapse. Archaeologists working on a number of other sites across the world have found evidence of the same practices.

We continue our work which will hopefully one day provide us with a clearer picture …

THE FRENCH IN INDOCHINA (Les Français à Indochine)

Siem Reap, Cambodia, 2 February, 2010

I sent out a Tweet not long ago which was cruel but true:

French tourists non plussed that no one here over the age of 60 can or wants to speak to them in Frog.

Now don”t get me wrong. I consider myself pretty much a Francophile. I’ve studied “Frog” since I was twelve years old – all the way to University in fact – and have visited metropolitan France three or four times as well as a few of her départements d’outre-mer (read: colonies). I’m a keen consumer of French literature, film and art. And of course I am crazy about la cuisine – as my expanding waistline after this trip will verify.

So why the jibe?

The French are terribly nostalgic for “Indochine”– as illustrated by the huge success (in France) of the plodding and tedious film of the same name. Laos, Cambodians and Vietnamese, however, do not seem to have any substantial connection to, and certainly no nostalgic hankering for, this period in their past.

How come?

One of the gratifying aspects of travelling in this part of the world are the conversations Laos and Cambodians are willing to have about their history – especially as a means to squeezing in some English language practice which they consider (rightly or wrongly) as a passport to future success and prosperity.

Of course some of the most illuminating exchanges you can have are with those who are relatively well educated and I have asked them their opinions about how they view the influence of outsiders on their culture and society.

The responses may differ according to age and political affiliation but when the conversation gets around to discussing the French there’s a weird kind of blankness – total indifference.

French colonial rule across the region basically collapsed in the early 1950s and my own impression – and that of many of the people I spoke to – is that there is not much of great value that the French left the people of Indochina. For sure, the Vietnamese make the best Croque Monsieur in the world, the croissants in Vientiane are comparable as those in Paris, there are a few helpful suspension bridges built in these parts facilitating the crossing of murky, fast moving rivers and Phnom Penh, Kampot and Luang Prahbang sport a number of gorgeous French villas – but is that it?

Although a fiction and written by an Englishman, the sentiment felt by the people is comically encapsulated in what Colin Cotterill writes in The Coroner’s Lunch, the kick-off in a series of historically illuminating detective novels set in Communist Laos of the 1970s.

The people of Vientiane were indifferent. They’d lived through the heady days of dollars and corruption and ribaldry, and benefited little from the American presence. Those who got rich during that period didn’t share their ill-gotten wealth with the common folk. Before the Americans had been the French, and the general feeling was: the less said about them the better.

(By the way, take a look at Cotteril’s brilliant website - http://www.colincotterill.com/)

Love ‘em or hate ‘em – the Cambodians, Laos and the Vietnamese are in fact not indifferent to the Americans – they are on the contrary very vocal about the US and its place in the history of their nations. (Welcome to the club!)

So too the British in a country like India, for which I would argue, the legacy is (unlike the French in Indochina) very significant. India’s current economic emergence owes a great deal to what might have once been considered a negative – the central importance of English. They have turned the language of the colonizers around very successfully indeed to their own market advantage. No one anywhere is in doubt about this global linguistic significance which underscores economic opportunity.

Maybe that’s it in a nutshell – the inability of the French to face historical reality? Noone wants to speak French – a cruel but true fact.

Indochine has been swept away by the forces of history and the Indochinese peoples who impress me as being wonderfully forward looking and loathe to dwell on their tragic pasts – a lesson to us all – are just interested in getting on with the business of living.

Bravo mes amis – quelle courage!Je vous souhaite la bonne chance

WHEN NATURE TAKES OVER

Angkor, Cambodia, 1 February, 2010

There’s a hauntingly beautiful and enigmatic passage at the end of Cormac McCarthy’s novel, The Road, describing trout swimming upstream in “deep glens where all things were older than man.” Sorry to say I can’t remember every word but that particular phrase – “where all things were older than man” – coupled with the image of the fish thrashing their way upstream is stuck in my memory.

Nature was here before us, and it will emerge again once we have gone. It’s a sad but oddly consoling thought.

The ruins at Ta Prohm speak to you in the same silent, reassuring way – or rather, Nature, which has taken over, does. The jungle has strangled the site, emerald-green lichen forms a patina through the cloisters once walked by Brahmins and monks of this once great monastery, roots twist their way through towers and over walls, in some instances destroying and in others supporting the structures.

For both Lyn and I this was the most beautiful site at Angkor. Sitting in a quiet courtyard surrounded by stunning examples of architectural and artistic brilliance all traces of human control and dominance are undermined.

I have raved and raved about the awesome, man-made achievements while here at Angkor. But what of the wonder of Nature so magnificently apparent at these ruins?

There is a delicate carving on a particular shrine to Vishnu which shows the God surrounded by his celestial entourage, holding in his four outstretched hands the conch, the ball, the club and the discuss – but his head has been totally covered by a wasps nest.

A tympanum on a shrine to Shiva shows four cross legged rishis deep in meditation – it has newly formed shoots of a fig sprouting from the sandstone from which it has been fashioned, obscuring the very sight of the holy men’s other worldly trance.

Here there is a mesmerizing sense in which Nature constantly takes root, transforming monuments of stone into living, vibrant organisms, shutting humans out of the picture all together.

The complex is vast and thankfully it is easy to find sanctuary from other visitors. Unlike other sites at Angkor insects hum. Only bird calls break the silence. And there I am alone thinking about those river trout wending their way upstream in deep, primeval glens.

SNAP HAPPY

ANGKOR, CAMBODIA, 31 JANUARY, 2010

When I started this journey I thought I’d simply use Tumblr for hosting a few photos with a short caption or two so that friends could keep a tab on our movements. Curiously the writing seems to have grown longer with each post – and for me at least – the images have become a lot less important.

It’s strange that we privilege recording what we see so much more than telling a story. My wife, Lyn, as many of you know, is a great story teller and she says it has never really occurred to her to take photos when travelling. Her experience is committed to memory, processed through her colourful imagination, picked over for its funny or poignant elements and flawlessly related back with her inimitable style and panache. When it comes to cameras, however, she’s all thumbs!

We’re unalike in this respect. I’ve got to mull over the experiences for much longer, struggle to find the words, wrestle with every phrase, to get a grip on what I’ve seen or done. I also find it hard not to go “snap happy” even though I know I will only save, use or value a fraction of the photos I take.

We’ve just come back from Banteay Serai, a set of ruins 40 kms from Siem Reap. We expected (well, at least hoped) to have the site more or less to ourselves as we had set off at sunrise with our tuk tuk driver, bumping and swaying along the badly maintained road for a good hour.

Wow! Were we in for a shock. The tourist buses of Chinese, Japanese and Italians – the most snap happy peoples on Earth – were there in full force. I of course don’t deny anyone the right to visit places and take photos – and I am happy to see people having fun – but this was about the most riotous experience I have ever had – quite literally.

In my guidebook, Banteay Serai is described as the “jewel-box of Angkor”. It is extremely well preserved and very compact being surrounded on all four sides by a moat with its outer and inner courtyards enclosed by walls. The procession and passage ways are narrow and I immediately starting wondering how so many people were going to conceivably fit into this “jewel box”.

There were a few narrative panels on at least three tympanums which interested us – and obviously many other people as well – including The Death of Varin (pictured above), Shiva Nataraja (Lord of the Dance – Shiva in this particular pose rarely depicted in Cambodia) and a scene showing the Lankan monster-king, Ravanna, shaking the Himalayan mountain on which Shiva and Parvati live.

The Chinese were screaming and elbowing other tourists aside trying to ensure they could get their loved ones into the desired frame of their view finders. The Italians were going troppo over “the Buddha” alto voce (even though we were in a 10^th century Hindu temple complex with no Buddha anywhere as far as I could see). And last but not least, the Japanese were posing for shots all over the place, some on each others shoulders, clicking away from every conceivable angle.

I could see what was coming. Combine several bus loads of these package pilgrims in a confined space and you’ve got a riot … and there was one!

Suddenly there was a scream and then another shriek. Scuffling had broken out between members of the Chinese and Italian delegations. Some French people outraged by the brouhaha were weighing in with many Gallic admonitions …. Shush! Shush! Shush! (or whatever the French version is) C’est sacré! C’est sacré! The Japanese just kept clicking on in an unstoppable frenzy of digital photographic madness.

More screams, scuffling – had a punch been thrown? Had someone been trampled? Curses and obscenities were being fired back and forth! Things were getting out of hand. It reminded me of a battle from the Ramayana or the Khmer and Cham armies on the walls at Bayon or Angkor Wat converging toward a major conflagration. On the other hand, it was as tawdry as the rough and tumble of a dirty rugby match.

I understood the Italian curses (which I won’t repeat here) except to say they contained several references to bodily orifices and the Virgin Mary. Unfortunately I couldn’t make out a word of the Mandarin equivalents which were delivered with much more virulence and gusto.

Lyn and I manged to squeeze our way out of the inner sanctum (the scrum?) at this point. We had managed to admire what we had come to see but knew it was wise to beat a quick retreat.

Lyn was mumbling something from Sarte about “other people being hell”. I wasn’t about to disagree.

We climbed back into our tuk tuk and set off post haste for Banteay Samre, another significant temple complex. We were worried that we would find ourselves in the same situation we had just escaped. There seemed to be no tourist buses barrelling along the road behind us. We kept our fingers crossed.

Praise Shiva! Not a soul. At Banteay Samre I was able to snap away to my heart’s content uninterrupted while Lyn sat happily on a piece of fallen masonry eavesdropping on a fascinating (albeit typically garbled) story being told by a Cambodian guide about the origins of the Naga and its central significance to Cambodian life and culture.

The lesson to be learnt about our morning at the Khmer “jewel box” (according to Lyn) is that no matter how lovely the temple, count on other people spoiling your impression if they’re swarming over everything and making noise.

I think she may be right.

For our final day here in Cambodia we thought it would be romantic to look out over the ruins of Angkor at sunset from the elevated position of the Wat at Phnom Bakeng. We’ve decided against it based on intelligence we have that a whole “united nations” of tour buses will probably be there as well.

What the hell! We’ll probably end up going for the photo opportunity - and the story - if nothing else.

DEATH OF A MONKEY

ANGKOR, CAMBODIA, 29 JANUARY, 2010

Monkeys. They’re everywhere around Angkor. They sit on the roadside with their young waiting for some gift of food from tourists passing on tuk tuks or bicycles. Today at Preah Khan (The Temple of the Sacred Sword) we saw a primate with her baby begging a fruit seller for a banana. I could tell it wasn’t a selfish request. The mother had her baby’s welfare at heart and I have no doubt she would, at the very least, have shared the fruit with her offspring. Alas, she did not have the requisite $US1 and was chased off in no uncertain terms! The look on that monkey’s face and her body language - she didn’t need words to communicate. It was apparent what she wanted. She stretched out her hand looking up imploringly with big, sad eyes which she then cast toward her little one snuggled up against her breast.

Monkeys of course figure very significantly in the art and literature of the Khmers via The Reamker, the Cambodian version of The Ramayana, which is well known by millions of people across India, Indochina and Indonesia —- but barely known in the West.

The monkey and her baby got me thinking not just about some of the scenes beautifully rendered on the sandstone walls of Angkor Wat or carved into central tower at Preah Bakong (above photo) but about our shared and extreme natures - the love, devotion and wonderful altruism of which we are capable (embodied in Rama’s monkey-god general, Hanuman) contrasted against terrifying displays of gratuitous cruelty and incomprehensible viciousness.

At Angkor Wat, the South and North West corners of the collonaded galleries contain bas-reliefs of scenes from the Ramayana illustrating those extremes.

There is a wonderful rendering of the death of Valin, brother of the monkey king, Sugriva which caught my eye amongst the water damaged reliefs. The siblings are locked into a fight over who should control their kingdom which might be interpreted as a fairly typical domestic squabble over territory. Rama sides with Sugriva dispatching Valin with a single shot of his bow. Valin lays dying in the arms of his grieving wife and his monkey comrades cry over his death. It’s a remarkably moving scene and the expression of total desolation on the face of Valin’s wife is unmistakable. How awful and unnecessary, I thought, that a dispute over property should lead to fratricide and so much pain for others.

You find that kind of surprising detail in other places as well. At Angkor Thom, best known for its 200 mysterious faces carved into soaring towers of Bayon - think Tomb Raider, Indiana Jones - you find stark war scenes between the Khmer and Cham armies in which identical soldiers (on both sides) march towards one another trampling anyone who comes across their paths. The scene comes to a mighty crescendo when the armies clash somewhere in the middle of the ancient wall. Interestingly, the relentless cruelty of the soldiers (on both sides) trampling all in their wake is punctuated by scenes of great tenderness in which inconsolable and desolate civilians are shown bent over the bodies of loved ones.

The horror of war jumps out at you. Regardless of what side you are on, that of Valin or that of Sugriva, that of the Khmer or that of the Cham, war destroys the lives of the innocent, men, women and children along the way. I am not a pacifist but am reminded by the masterful artists of Angkor War —- and the ancient story tellers of India —- that war always ends in unnecessary tragedy for innocent bystanders —- for the ”collateral damage” of warring tribes.

KHMER ROADSIDE FARE

Highway No.1 Phnom Penh to Siem Riep, 23 January, 2010

Why would you bring anything as boring as a baguette on a 6 hour bus trip when you can enjoy crispy, fried Tarantula at one of the many roadside restaurants? These tasty arachnids are dropped in a deep vat of oil —- live —- squirming and attempting to claw their way out of the wok to avoid their grisly culinary fates.

The tarantulas provide the Cambodian and foreigner passengers alike with some fascinating, albeit gruesome, entertainment. We gave the spiders a miss and searched around for some other cooked fare. In a rush to catch the bus we had only managed a croissant and a coffee back in Phnom Penh so we were starving.

So how about a serve of sticky, yellow crickets which were selling fast a few stalls down from the tarantulas? Or headless, desiccated duck carcasses that looked as if they had been sitting out in the sun for a week served in a milky broth?

A crowd was quickly gathering elsewhere around a huge steaming saucepan which has just been lugged out of the kitchen by two weedy cooks.

With great fanfare and flourish the contents are revealed to the crowd … there’s oooing and ahhhing amongst the Cambodians as expressions of horror fall over the faces of the tourists … It’s that old Khmer favourite … tortoise farci!

The creatures are stacked on their backs with their soft, black underbellies showing … you can make out the shape of their shriveled heads and squat legs poking out of their shells if you look closely enough. And what are the yellow baubles attached to their bellies —- it’s their unborn young, a garnish of the poor animals’ own golden eggs! Pregnant tortoise farci! Oo, la, la!

So much for the notion that you can “dine out for a cause” in Cambodia!

It’s funny how your appetite can disappear as quickly as it can be stimulated in this country.

ANGKOR #2: VISHNU’S LETTER OF COMPLAINT

HRH Vishnu, The Preserver
#1 Celestial Drive
Mount Meru (Home of the Gods)
Angkor Wat

Kingdom of Cambodia

25 January, 2010

Dear Mr. Pobega,

I am writing to complain about your musings (24 January, 2010) regarding the significance of both myself and my colleage, Brahma, God of Creation, and your contention that our off-sider, Shiva, God of Death and Destruction (retailed by you as God of Transformation!) cannot be matched in “looks, size or power” as far as deities - and virility - are concerned.

I would like to point out to you that the popularity of our esteemed partner is a relatively recent phenomenon (no more than a few thousand years at most) and that the cult surrounding this divine personnage is at best a shallow “cult of celebrity”.  Your comparison of Shiva to a fairly good-looking but mediocre American movie-star is in that respect quite apt.

Master Shiva’s self conscious, Hollywood good looks, rather questionable fashion sense – leopard skins are rather passe, don’t you think? – as well as the questionable comportment of his devotees whipping themselves up into a frenzy at the sight of the God’s virile member (much to the God’s delight I might add), impresses me as being a tad vulgar.

Today you visited Angkor Wat – the “big kahuna” as you described it.  As far as artistic and architectural achievement is concerned you would surely agree that the inspiration I have provided has led to the construction of perhaps the finest religious edifice on Earth? Of course Bakong is minor in comparison!  Where else would you find a replica of the cosmos on this scale?

As you saw for yourself, every last detail at Angkor Wat has been laid out with mathematical precision and the galleries have had one hell of an interior designer job done on them.  Comparing the ruins at Roluos to Angkor Wat is like comparing Vogue Interior with the latest Ikea catalogue.

Did you notice that the galleries in the East are illuminated with the rising of the sun and those to the West are similarly highlighted as the sun sets?  The bas-reliefs on the Inner Eastern galleries tell timeless stories about creation, birth and beginnings whereas those in the West speak to the viewer of war, death and endings.  It’s not as if we had one of those embarrassingly vulgar, slapdash jobs done by the amateurs from Burke’s Back Yard or Total Makeover when it came to our temple patios – decades of work went into the planning and execution of the carvings which are like no other.

I’d also like to remind you that it is I, Vishnu, who is actually responsible for the creation of the world.  Good manners and respect for the former reverential position of my partner, Brahma, who  seems to have lost currency in the popular imagination precludes me from being too vocal about this.  As my title of Preserver suggests, I am the one who keeps the whole shebang ticking over!

The most famous panel at Angkor shows me urging on my fellow deities in the task of churning the cosmic ocean of milk – a photo of which I include for your perusal.

Unlike Shiva, I pride myself on being a team player.  With the help of Hanuman – and Shiva himself at one point – we churned the sea back and forth for a thousand years managing to distill Amrita (like a good Malt, notoriously difficult to produce) and make ourselves immortal and incorruptible  into the bargain.

Our colossal effort was not without difficulties or obstacles and at one point the whole project of creating heaven and earth looked as if it would come undone.

Poor Vasuki, the unsuspecting serpent we used as a churning rope. We didn’t anticipate the oversized reptile’s lactose intolerance and the poor sod vomited up poisonous slime that looked as if it would destroy the whole pantheon of deities and the demons I had dragooned into service.

I will, however, give Shiva his dues.  Ever the bad boy he volunteered to skol the slime to save us and the universe from oblivion.  He was left with a shocking hang-over and a blue throat for his deeds. Do you believe it – pretty boy is still bragging about the one honorable thing he has done for the Gods and mankind to this very day. What immodesty!

Anyway, the whole pile of Amrita looked like going rotten and the mountains that had risen out of the sludge started to subside like a bodgy slab made by an Italian builder.   I stepped in at the last moment by reincarnating myself into a tortoise and using my shell to prop up the febrile structure saved the world.  Somebody’s gotta do the dirty work!

I guess I’m generally miffed that others less talented and dedicated to the cause of protecting life seem to take credit for my mythical achievements.  I feel a like a volunteer or teacher in the community sector who provide their services free of charge or very cheaply and receives little or recognition for it.

I have descended to Earth on several occasions over the last 10 000 years or so whenever the world is threatened by evil.  And yet my deeds are forgotten and pretenders such as Krishna, Rama and Buddha – the very avataras I have assumed – seem to be the one’s left standing in the lime light.  I rarely earn a mention.

As for the “Buddha” whose whole mythical history of incarnations is but a thin copy of my own – what can I say? Let’s face it – Siddhartha was just an upstart newcomer flogging a brand of watered down Hinduism which decimating millions of our followers across the empire!

To add insult to injury, did you notice that someone had decapitated a gorgeous statue of me in the entrance hall to Angkor Wat and placed the head of the Buddha on my body which is still sporting my trade-mark four arms?  I ought to sue!  But this is another story and I do not wish to gripe any further.  All I desire is to set a few misconceptions straight.

Excuse me for this long letter of complaint which may be of little or no other interest to your readers.  I do have faith, however, that you personally have a special interest in providing some perspective on this unjust and corrupt image making exercise which has been perpetrated for millenia and gone on for too long.

Yours most sincerely

Lord Vishnu