This Thai idiom, nam lot to phut (น้ำลดตอผุด) literally means, "when the water recedes, stumps emerge."
It paints a picture of a river -- any kind of body of water -- at high tide when all you see is the surface of the water. You have no idea -- nor do you pay attention to -- what lurks beneath.
Alas, what goes up must come down. Soon the water recedes, exposing things which have previously been submerged. What appeared to be in order is now chaotic, messy, ... embarrassing.
This scenario is akin to how in good times, with everything in your life going your way, all your flaws, hidden misdeeds, etc., are well concealed. And all people see is how great things are going for you.
In bad times, when all the props and crutches in your life get stripped away, things that have been hidden start to emerge -- like dead tree stumps underneath the water surface at high tide. The chaos, the flaws, the scandals have always been there; they were simply concealed under the water.
What does this have anything to do with anything? Why all the details?
Well, please allow me to include some gratuitous information for today isn't just any day; it marks the one-year anniversary of the day I published the first post on this site.
August 26th, 2009, which was the day I'd just been describing to you, was when I decided to write a blog about linguistics and intercultural communications. The decision was made after that glorious lunch, when I was in a car, right in the heart of Bangkok's business district, on Rama IV Road heading towards Wittayu Road.
On my way back home, the car came to a long stand-still at an intersection. See the little green dot in the satellite shot above? That's where it happened. On my left was Lumpini Park, Bangkok's equivalent of New York City's Central Park. As I was minding my own business, the driver, who had been completely quiet up to that point, blurted out, "Hia!"
I looked at him. Without any body gestures or anything at all to let me know what he was referring to, the guy repeated the same monosyllabic, "Hia!" -- only more loudly. My mind was scrambling to figure out to or about whom he was talking, but then there wasn't anyone else around. Me? (Gasp.) Hia? Really? Why?
Then he said it the third time while looking at me through the rear view mirror, thus confirming what I was afraid would be the case: the guy was really talking to me.
I need to explain to you first that when someone calls you a "hia" (เหี้ย), they mean you're an a--hole. This Thai word is one of the classic insults -- very vulgar ones -- which have been around for as long as I remember. The word was in vogue when my grandparents were little; it still is today.
Nobody had ever called me a hia to my face before. And I used to think that if it ever happened, I would be able to come up with a quick come-back since I'm usually pretty darn good at repartee. In this case, though, I was too busy being in shock.
"Huh?" was the result of all the wit and eloquence I could muster.
That's when my driver pointed to the left.
Through the wrought-iron gate surrounding the lush Lumpini Park, just meters away, I could see this dark green, scaly creature on a tree. Then the driver and I uttered the word in unison -- his fourth time and my first -- "hia!"
I whipped out my phone, took the picture above, and spent the remainder of the trip home concocting this blog in my mind.
Hia literally means monitor lizard. That's the primary meaning. Then, apparently, at some point in history, hia, the animal, became hia, the vile insult. How? Why? I have no clue.
My only guess is that people in the old days considered the presence of a monitor lizard in their immediate surrounding a bad thing. Bangkok, formerly dubbed "Venice of the East," used to have lots of canals and fewer roads and buildings. Sounds like a perfect place for these huge lizards who thrive in damp areas to me. Now, take into consideration that people in the old days had small animals (e.g. chickens, ducks) in the area underneath their homes to which these carnivorous creatures had easy access. When a hia is spotted around your home, it is definitely not an auspicious occasion. [Plus, not to offend lizard lovers, these things are ugly as heck. To be honest, right after I took that picture, I could feel the crème anglaise coming back up, hibiscus and all.]
An encounter with a monitor lizard, therefore, is considered by the superstitious as bad luck. Even an attempt in recent times to refer to a hia with the euphemistic, "tua nguen tua thong" (ตัวเงินตัวทอง), which roughly means "that which brings in good luck in the form of silver and gold," hasn't done much in erasing the negative connotation associated with this animal.
Re-branding fail.
Anyway, at least I came to understand that the driver was trying to get me to take a look at that huge monitor lizard -- a rare sight in the concrete jungle of Bangkok in modern times; he wasn't calling me a hia. Whew.
That got me thinking. Are there other animals that carry positive and negative connotations in the Thai culture?
Water buffaloes represent "stupidity" and sometimes "bull-headedness" in the Thai culture. The history of it is just as dubious as the history of how hia (animal) became hia (insult).
Hyperactive, unruly kids are often likened to monkeys. But this one is almost self-explanatory. Ditto with ants and bees which represent industriousness.
Do you know which one stumps me big time? Turtle.
Turtle (เต่า) -- it makes no sense to me either -- is slang for body odor. How did that happen? Don't ask me. Culture is a curious thing. Sometimes you can explain it; sometimes you just have to accept it without understanding it.
And until you come to accept that a turtle represents stinky armpits, you would never understand this most popular Thai TV commercial, which debuted almost a decade ago, about an orphaned little turtle looking for his mother or why the Thai people find this deodorant commercial so hysterically funny.
My reader, Sam, has suggested that I start a series on Thai idioms, and immediately I:
Thought that was a brilliant idea.
Was a bit miffed by the fact that it was he who thought of it and not I around whom the universe should revolve if it hasn't already.
Thanks, Sam. To you I dedicate this first post in the series.
Our first Thai idiom has been around for as long as I remember. You know how many idioms have fallen out of use, right? Well, not this one. This is a timeless classic which is still actively used among modern Thai speakers in all generations. See-so*hai** kwai** fang*** (สีซอให้ควายฟัง) or, literally, to play a Thai fiddle*** to a water buffalo, is one of those idioms that are self-explanatory among the Thai. Never mind who the audience is. Never mind that the idiom refers to "so" (ซอ), an ancient string instrument which only a handful of people know how to play. Never mind that it also refers to -- cough -- a water buffalo, an animal that most Thais -- even rice farmers -- don't have much to do with these days.
You say it; the Thai immediately understand it.
Not so for non-Thais. In order to appreciate this idiom, you need to know first that a water buffalo represents stupidity in the Thai culture. Only then would you come to see that playing the Thai fiddle (so) to a water buffalo is very much similar to the English idiom, "to cast pearls before swine," i.e. to offer something of value to someone whose lack of understanding prevents them from being able to appreciate it.
The only difference, which is quite subtle, is that "playing a fiddle to a water buffalo" has a narrower application. While the "pearls" in "to cast pearls before swine" could refer to both tangible and abstract things, the "playing of a fiddle" according to this Thai idiom is connected to something that is verbally expressed or audible, e.g. an explanation, a speech, a lecture, a sermon.
Example: Tom finally came to realize that explaining the importance of social media to a company that doesn't even care to establish its own website is like playing a fiddle to a water buffalo.
If you're wondering how a water buffalo has come to be associated with dumbness in our culture, consider the fact that we're kind of confused about how a pig has come to represent negative things from bad behavior to filth or even bigotry in other cultures, perhaps including yours, too. You see, pigs are cute and delicious to us.
Different things mean, uh, different things to peoples of different cultures (see my past article on this).
*Written in accordance with the Thai-to-English transliteration rules. I could also write "saw" to make it easier for English speakers, but I passive-aggressively decided not to do so. Either way, it rhymes with "awe."
**Rhymes with "my;" just a bit shorter.
***Rhymes with "lung."
***Okay, so a "so/saw" isn't exactly like a fiddle or a violin. You have to sit down in order to play it properly, and the instrument stands perpendicular to the floor as you play it as opposed to being mounted on your shoulder.
On the one hand, I want to focus on just the food. On the other hand, I can't just turn a blind eye to linguistic (political, environmental, etc.) issues that have cropped up from time to time in the course of writing about food.
I recalled mulling over that issue a few years back.
It has been suggested that the kaffir in kaffir lime comes from the term كافر (kāfir), along with its plural form كفّار (kuffār) which features the reduplication of the second radical of the tri-literal root (hence the doubling of the f in kaffir, perhaps). Wiki has some information on this word.
Looking at a close relative of Arabic, while the cognate tri-literal root in Hebrew, כפר, primarily points to the idea of "to cover (one's sin)" or the propitiation of sin, it's been suggested that, at some point, the related form כופר has also come to be used to refer to those who have left the religion (source).
More lexical investigation is needed to establish firmly that the bumpy citrus fruit, heavily used in Thai cuisine, indeed comes from the derogatory kāfir. For now, let's assume that this is the case.
What am I supposed to do every time I write about dishes that contain that fruit? I certainly can't avoid it, especially when I write about Thai food. Do I always include a footnote? An apology? Do I, as has been suggested, refer to the fruit with its Thai name, makrut, and let folks figure out on their own what the heck I am talking about?
Do we go on calling the fruit "kaffir lime" as long as we use the term innocently?
Kaffir is far from being the only potentially racial slur in the culinary lexicon, though. Dig deeply enough and I'm sure you'll find a few -- if not a lot -- more. If we collectively change the way we refer to kaffir lime -- and I'm not saying we shouldn't -- we perhaps should also consider changing the names of many other things. Those who are offended by and campaigning against the use of the word "kaffir" in the context of "kaffir lime," -- and there's nothing wrong with that -- could be surprised that they, too, have been innocently using racial slurs to refer to other things.
As I'm composing this post, I have in the draft folder of my other blog a post on Thai fried bananas. This much-loved street food is commonly called in Thai, "kluai khaek" (กล้วยแขก). "Khaek"(แขก) is an old-fashioned catch-all Thai word for South Asian or Middle Eastern people. Sometimes, it even applies to fellow Southeast Asians of the Islamic faith. The term, "khaek dam" (แขกดำ), literally "black khaek," makes it more specific that the speaker is referring to certain sub-groups with darker skin color. Similarly, "khaek khao" (แขกขาว), literally "white khaek," refers to some sub-groups with fairer skin color. However you slice and dice it, we're tiptoeing in a very sensitive territory.
Personally, I have never sensed that it's being used by anyone I know as a racial slur, though. But that doesn't necessarily mean there will be people who find it derogatory or offensive.
Also, as any linguist/semanticist will tell you, meanings of words change over time. What wasn't derogatory (or used in an intentionally derogatory way) decades ago can become so in the current usage (based on this, it's not unfathomable that some words that are used derogatorily in the present were once completely benign (or even had positive meanings!).
So I am in a dilemma. Should I bring up the Thai name at all? Or do I pretend it doesn't exist?
The answer to my dilemma could be the use of the alternate term for these banana fritters, kluai tod (literally: fried bananas) which is more generic and politically correct. But it's not a common way to refer to this particular dish in Thailand and is quite inadequate as it fails to specify which of the various types of fried bananas is being referred to. Yet, even though I could manage to dodge the banana issue, more similar issues will soon crop up. For example, one of these days, I'm going to have to mention the Thai version of the Indonesian salad, gado-gado, salat khaek (literally: salad khaek-style) or a dish that has the Thai word for green beans, thua khaek (khaek's beans), to cite just a few examples.
And don't get me started on the term farang, used by the Thai to refer to Caucasian foreigners, (which could be derogatory or neutral, depending on whom you ask -- and, oh, this debate could go forever) and how often it is used in the culinary context.
Chewing gum (mak farang) = farang betel
Dill (phak chi farang) = farang coriander
Potato (man farang) = farang yam
Guava (farang) = just ... farang.
Etc.
Back to the "kaffir" issue: if we stop using "kaffir lime," must we also stop using other derogatory (or potentially derogatory) words currently in use? Maybe we should. Maybe we must. This, however, will involve analyzing a lot of things, linguistically, religiously, ethnically, historically, socially, politically, etc. It's no small task.
This Thai idiom, nam lot to phut (น้ำลดตอผุด) literally means, "when the water recedes, stumps emerge."
This scenario is akin to how in good times, with everything in your life going your way, all your flaws, hidden misdeeds, etc., are well concealed. And all people see is how great things are going for you.
