Yesterday was the first time I attended a Thai, or to be exact, a Thai-Chinese funeral. It was the passing of P’ Lek’s dad (P’ Lek was mr;p’s ex-boss). I decided to tag along and pay my respect since the wake was at the nearby Wat Yang on On Nut Road and I’d met P’ Lek a couple of times. Besides, I was curious and thought this funeral would be another good opportunity to learn more about Thai culture.
As with all major events, whether it concerns life or death, Thais tend to dress up more formally than Singaporeans (whose dressing can get sloppy at times). When we turned up at the wake, everyone was in black. Families and relatives of the deceased were the most respectfully attired – men were in suits and women in dress – whereas friends dressed up a notch less formal. There were Chinese funeral lanterns and words such as 白事无忌 pasted on the walls, but it didn’t have the usual noise and clamour associated with Chinese rituals. P’ Lek informed us that ‘gong teck’, or 功德, already took place the night before. A Thai style coffin, white with gold trimmings, were placed on a high platform surrounded by garlands with the dad’s picture in front.
When it was time for the cremation, a monk appeared and tied a thread to the coffin. The pall bearers hoisted the coffin down from the platform and carried it to the crematorium (maen). We followed the procession to the maen where we circled it three times. The coffin was placed in front and Thai funeral music with sounds of the xylophone and gamelan was played. At this point, mr;p turned to me and said, “If you hear this kind of music in the middle of the night, the Thais believe that there are ghosts nearby.” Each of us was then given a beige paper flower (dok mai jan) and we ascended the platform with it. Mr;p motioned for me to walk behind him and followed his actions. Everyone dropped some money, mostly coins, into a bowl beside the coffin. According to Thai customs, this money is for the deceased to use on his/her next journey. I noticed many people tapping the coffin as a symbolic gesture of offering last words and assurance to the deceased. We placed the dok mai jan below the coffin and everything would be burned together. When we stepped down from the platform, we were each given a book and a sealed packet of sweets, small hand towel and red string.
Returning to our seats, I took a closer inspection of the souvenirs. The small book was commemorative of the life of P’ Lek’s father and this is a common and highly valued practice in Thai funerals. Besides words of Buddhist wisdom from Thailand’s most revered monk, the book also contained the biography of P’ Lek’s father, detailing his birth date, date and time of death, as well as the major events in his life, e.g. marriage, no. of children and companies set up. I flipped to the following pages and read the personal eulogy written by P’ Lek in honor of her father. It was all in Thai but the language was simple so I could read and understand 90% of it with some explanation from mr;p. P’ Lek wrote mainly about her dad’s fight against cancer and his strength in face of his illness before ending with a ‘I would still like to be your daughter in our next lives’.
This funeral was a simple and sombre affair, more Thai than Chinese. Another Thai friend, P’ Nop, once told me that Thai funerals are not sad affairs. Although some of the older relatives (whom I assumed to be the dad’s siblings) shed tears, none of the grown-up children cried. I thought of how some people dislike the Chinese Taoist funeral because it seems somewhat pagan to them. However, to me, these are customs and part of my Chinese heritage. I don’t care which style my funeral is when I depart, as long as my body parts are recycled, i.e. if they can still be used.
Heaven, hell, reincarnation or oblivion, what matters most is how we live our lives when we are living.
