15 June 2010

Selling the Buddha

Masala tea, - love it ! :-)

The rain is bucketing down. You would be soaked in 5 steps if you went out.
I didn't.
I had time.
When was the last time I didn't mind being delayed by nature ?
A while ago.
Everyone is waiting under shopfronts.
This is Kuala Lumpur, Brickfields, the Tamil/Indian center next to the huge Central station complex.
 
To use the waiting time, I decided to have my hair cut, back to a number #1.
Lest I forget.
It's amazing how many guys have shaved heads. I see them everywhere.
Never noticed it before.
Back in 1977 my mates and me almost were expelled from High School for doing that. Talk about being ahead of the times ;-)

After the haircut, the rain continues.
I order a Masala Tea in a restaurant and sit up near the entrance.
Going to wait it out.
A guy inside the restaurant waves at me and grins as though I was his best mate and he was happy to see me.
Never met the dude.
'Bit sus' I think, smile back and shake my head. I'll stay where I am.

 
I drink my masala tea. My eyes stray in his direction and he's smiling and motioning for me to join him.
No.
But I wonder, am I passing up one of the amazing travel stories, by being overly anally retentively cautious ?
'Whatever. I stay put.'
 
The rain stops, I pay and wander outside.
Mr Smiley pops up next to me, "I like English speaking people, they helped me for seven years when I had a hard time."
The bait dangles between us, waiting for me to ask him how and what.
It's too obvious so I don't.
But I am curious if my first gut reaction was accurate. So I let him walk beside me as we head for Central station.
"Where are you from ?"
"Australia, Melbourne."
"How long you been here ?"
'Too many questions, too fast,' I think.
"Arrive today." Not good policy to be that honest but I don't mind.    
"How long you stay ?"
'Definitely too many questions,' he's not a real pro,' but let me see where this is going.' 
"Oh a week or so, not sure," by now my Moroccan lessons have kicked in and I'm giving fuzzy and vague answers.
"Which hotel you say at ?"
'Ok that's way over the limit. No way am I going to tell you that.'
"Oh I forgot, have to check the itinerary..." I mumble.
A normal conversation would not accept such evasion. He accepts the vagueness. That's another sign he's after something else.

Time to go on the offensive.
"Where do you work, what do you do ?" I ask him.
"I work in the market. Morning market."
"What do you do there ?"
"I sell Buddha statues, little ones. I have small stall there."
"Really ? You sell Buddhas ? But you are... not Buddhist."
"Anyone can sell," he tells me.
"I like little Buddha statues. I have a few in my house." I tell him.
"Yes, people buy, I tell them to put flower to them. Bring luck."
Allright, I've figured out where he is coming from. I want to have it out and in the open.
I decide to grab the bull by the horns, save him time and effort to find some complicated way to try and sell me one. 
"Show me. You got some ?" I ask.
He's a bit surprised, but he opens a bag he's been carrying and pulls out a fat laughing Buddha, Chinese style.
It's nice. A good souvenir.
I'm tired of playing a lonwinded game.
The Buddha at home
"I'll give you 10 Ringgit," I tell him. I surprise myself, that I have a clear and reasonable figure in mind, and that I push the whole transaction.
"Can't," he says,"it's good quality. Blessed by the temple."
'Yea, sure,' I think, but I say nothing.
He pulls out another two.
"Take a set, is very lucky."
"Its resin," I tell him, "it's injected plastic. Here look, you can see the marks of the file."
"Its specially blessed plastic."
I laugh. It's too funny.  
"No, just one," I tell him, "ten Ringgit."
He realizes I'm not going to take more than one, and that the talk of blessedness is not making an impression.
"Fiveteen."
"Ok, fiveteen."
'What's five Ringgit ?' I think.
I pull out two ten Ringgit notes, but hold them.
"You got five ?" I ask him. Basic training says to see the change first.
He hasn't got five Ringgit.
I thought so. Bangkok taxi drivers never have correct change either. He reminds me of them.
"Fourteen." he tells me and shows me four one Ringgit notes.
I understand that he really means sixteen, not fourteen, can't be bothered telling him.
"Ok." I give him another ten Ringgit and take his four one Ringgit notes.
Deal is done.  
 
He murmurs about "change money".
I had asked him about money changing earlier on, to sus him out.
'Time to get out of here,'
I tell myself.
No point to pursue that one now.
It would not be a good exchange rate.
"I'm off to Central," I tell him and motion across the road.
He's happy enough.
His white smile is enormous. Very intense.
He looks genuinely happy and smiling.
"See ya," I call out as I cross the road to the median strip, "may the Buddha bless you,"I call out over my shoulder.
We both laugh, he walks off down the road and I change money at Central.
Best rate I found in KL. 
 
So, I was right.
My first gut reaction about him was correct.
But it was fun and a good lesson.
Worth the 15 Ringgit and I got to keep the little Buddha as well.
It's a real souvenir now, something to remember.

He was just a guy making a living.
There are worse ways and and there are better ways.
Who's to say ?
 
 

1 comment:

  1. Carol MiddletonJune 17, 2010 10:41 am

    Good telling of an oh-so-familiar encounter. Carol

    ReplyDelete


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