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Pattara Danutra THE WANGLEE FAMILY : Now among the top-ranking families in Thai business circles, the Wanglees are descendants of Chinese traders who arrived by sea last century The family’s colourful and, at times, tragic past is brought to life in a book penned by one of the clan. A boat has always been a popular metaphor for a person’s life, its journey across the oceans likened to life’s ups and downs. For Chinese immigrants last century, though the metaphor had a particular poignancy as they came to Thailand by boat, often during a harrowing journey in their quest for a new homeland and prosperity. Among these immigrants in the 1870s were the pioneer generations of the Wanglee family. Now recognised as one of Thailand’s most successful merchant families of Chinese descent, the fortunes of the Wanglees over the years read like a boat’s journey, one in which the captain’s skill is not the only factor in ensuring smooth sailing, but also the weather and waves. However, the family’s colourful past and its capable captains and navigators may have remained simply family, Khunying Chamnongsri Rutnin (Hanchanlash) , who has the Wanglee blood from her mother’s side, has also brought it to the public in the form of an intriguing book. Duj Nava Klang Mahasamut (Like a Boat in Mid-Ocean), now stands on the bestseller shelves on major bookstores. After the initial public release of 5,000 copies a few days before January 1, the second edition is now planned. “Originally, the book came out 1994 as the commemoration book for the cremation of Mr. Suvil Wanglee , chairman of Nakornthon Bank and president of the Board of Trade , who died when the private plane he was piloting crashed.” Explains Khunying Charmnongsri, who as the only relative involved in the literary field, was given charge of the project. Soon after the book was distributed to those who attended the cremation rites, the family was overwhelmed by its reception, not only from serious sinologists, but also from general readers who found it highly enjoyable. Contributing to its success is the vivid narrative and colourful anecdotes spanning the 130 years of the Wanglees in Thailand and generations further back in China. Just as important is the personal approach and creative handing of family biographics by the writer, who is a recognized poet, writer and story-teller. “The reception by the readers was very good, I and Pimprapai Pisalbutr, the Wanglee niece who had helped me with the research, were contacted by readers who wanted to give me additional information – like leads to more research, related data, untold anecdotes – oh, all kinds. They became very useful for the present revised edition.” Though given free rein to write the history of her mother’s family, Khunying Chamnongsri was limited by the short period she had to complete the research and writing. The reason? At the cremation rites held seven days after Suvit Wanglee’ s body was recovered, guests were given cards stating that they would be able to pick up the commemoration book from all branches of Nakornthon Bank in four-months’ time. “Actually, I started out trying to do something much simpler than a family saga.” Khunying Chamnongsri explains. “I just planned to put together an extensive photo essay on the history and businesses of the family. When I got down to it, though, I found only few old photographs. In desperation, I turned to the family history.” At first, the imaginative author regarded the project as mainly a fact-gathering mission, and felt depressed. “Pi Suvit’s brothers and sister felt rather sorry for me. In fact, Supachai and Arunee Wanglee cooked me a lamb-chop dinner in an effort to cheer me up. At the dinner, another brother, Suthep , jokingly told me not to be so down-hearted and told me stories he heard from the Chinese grandmother who migrated to Hong Kong when Japanese were about the invade Kwangtung. “Like how the burial place of the great-grandfather and great-grandmothers – one Chinese, one Thai – were broken into and the bodies left on the hills twice – once by thieves, and years later by the Red Guards . Anyhow, when the coffin of our grand-father who died in Thailand was being carried in the night to his village in China, a mysterious band of armed men appeared and wordlessly accompanied the thoroughly scared cortege to its destination. They were actually bandits who wanted to guard the body from corpse-snatchers who took bodies for ransom. The Wanglees were well loved as philanthropists, you see. “That was encouraging and when asked if I would like to go to this tiny village to find out more, I jumped at the offer!” she recalls. A trip was made to the Tenghai districts in eastern China for the opening of a school building donated by descendants of local families who lived in Thailand . The site was not far from the Joykoy village, the hometown of the Wanglee family since the late-17th century. There she found a wealth of unexpected information including the name of an ancestor who appeared in the family tree as “the uncle whose head was lost.” “I followed that lead with some difficulty and finally learnt that the man was beheaded for his role in a farmers’ uprising against the Manchu Dynasty. The family reclaimed the body for burial, but the head was never found!” she says. Through an interpreter who accompanied her from Thailand, the writer interviewed people, visited ports, burial places and homes of earlier Wanglee generations. “Just about everyone in the village were relatives – they welcomed us as cousins through I couldn’t understand a word of Chinese and was wearing my usual Thai pha nung skirt. The emotion, warmth and excitement on both sides told me then and there that the book’s viewpoint would have to be personal as well as historical. “In the course of writing, my feelings and approach were strangely ambivalent – I was both an insider and an outside of the clan. The Chinese family biographers – a man and a woman in their 50s – treated me so warmly as a new found cousin, and yet my mother’s name wasn’t even in the official family tree which went back for generations. “Only sons were recorded. Strictly speaking. I was not a member of the family. But emotionally, I was.” Says Khunying Chamnongsri. Unlike other family history books, Like a Boat in Mid-Ocean does not portray only historical facts. The six centuries of history of the Wanglees which the writer was able to trace is interspersed with stories not directly relevant to the family. For example, there’s a chapter on rue hua daeng, or red-headed boat (a popular vessel for Taechiew migrants coming to Thailand before the advent of the steamship), Chinese goddesses who protect sea travellers, and the social context of immigrant Chinese merchants in Thailand. Apart from the author’s personal reflections interwoven into the narrative, the book has a substantial bibliography and appendix. As a result, what started out as a family history has tuned into a combination of quasi-social documentation and personal narration by a writer with a gift for storytelling and an elegant prose style. Two discoveries made during her research make an amateur historian like Khunying Chamnongsri feel especially proud. Both concern books The first was a set of more than 100 old Chinese books gathering dust on a family bookshelf. Nobody knew that they were, in fact, tomes on major classical Chinese literature and philosophy, collected by Tan Chue Huang the founder of the family who came in his merchant vessel to settle in Thailand 129 years ago. The philanthropist-cum-merchant was also a serious literary reader. The second set, and the most significant of the two discoveries, was the funeral book of Tan Siew Meng of the family’s third generation in Thailand. It reports on the meetings of the Sino-Thai Chamber of Commerce of which he was president before and during World War Two. It contained many messages from Thai dignitaries including the west-learning Kuang Abhaiwong, who took the helm of the government at the end of the war, confirming the patriotic acts of Tan Siew Meng during the Japanese occupation. The memory of the assassinated Tan Siew Meng, the second member of the Wanglee family to hold the position of president of the Chamber of Commerce, had always lain under the doubtful shadow of being a traitor to the Chinese community. It is because among other seeming acts of collaboration was the Chamber’s recruitment of Chinese labourers to support the Japanese military’s project of constructing the River Kwai railroad during World War Two. More evidence has surfaced since the distribution of the cremation commemoration edition of Like a Boat in Mid-Ocean and has been included in the revised edition. Such as the recollections of Police General Prasit Rakpracha, a Chinese-Thai patriot whose underground trip to China during the war was secretly supported by Ta Siew Meng. With more supporting evidence, Like a Boat in Mid-Ocean could finally prove that Tan Siew Meng , Suvit ’s father, was not a traitor to Chinese, but actually a patriot to both Thailand and Chinese immigrants. He collaborated with the Japanese due to the Thai government’s request, while he secretly helped the anti-Japanese Free Thai Movement. “The discloser of much of these hidden facts, Khun Udom Yenrudi, was the Thai secretary of the Sino-Thai Chamber of Commerce during the war. He told me that much of what he knew had not been disclosed for five decades due to the many conflicts and coups in Thai postwar politics, and the obliteration of passing time,” says Khunying Chamnongsri, who is a niece of Tan Siew Meng. She sees Tan Siew Meng, a third generation Thai, as a man who thought and chose to act from the Thai point of view rather than the strictly Chinese one at the time when Japanese power posed a great threat to Thailand. “Interestingly, it was Sulak Sivaraksa , who asked Pibhob Dhongchai to tell me to contract Khun Udom if I wanted facts about Tan Siew Meng ’s work during the Japanese occupation. “However, history is history. Each person had his or her own role and standpoint in each period. Tan Siew Meng would be viewed as a person taking the Thai government’s conciliatory stand, which was the opposite of most Chinese merchants who were first generation immigrants during that period. But those who did not co-operate with the Thai government in avoiding open conflict with the Japanese occupation troops would be heroes to their peers. Each is a hero for his side,” she says. A year has been spent revising the second edition. Apart from pictures of famous Wanglee ancestors in China, Like a Boat in Mid-Ocean also features pictures of old rice-mills and portraits of Wanglee family members. “For me writing has always been a journey of discovery. Tracing my own Chinese veins and arteries and writing about it is unbelievably enriching. A process of self-discovery and revelation rolled into one,” says Khunying Chamnongsri. “Decades ago we were reluctant to admit to Chinese ancestry. Now we have become more established and confident in our Thai identity – Thais with Chinese blood have become an inseparable component of the fabric of Thai society – so we are ready to face the facts of our Chinese origin.” The writer, who is also a devout Buddhist, also emphasized that her book portrays not only the success stories of the family, but also its failures and tragedies. The underlying theme is the universal law of transience that governs all things; also the basic loneliness of people in our life’s journey, the route of which lies on the ocean of time – like a boat in mid-ocean. .................................................................................................. From: Not all smooth sailing by PATTARA DANUTRA In Outlook, Bangkok Post . February 4,1999.

Self-help guide encourages you to lighten up Among a wide selection of self-help guides to a happy life, Vicha Tuabao (The Art of Being Lightweighted ) by Khunying Chamnongsri Hanchanlash is perhaps distinctive in style. A compilation of 34 well-being columns that have appeared in the monthly Health & Cuisine magazine, the book includes reflections on the author's life experiences both good and bad. With an unpretentious writing style, the author shows readers how she has applied a sense of humour, optimism and Buddhist teachings to solve the many problems in her life. The main gist of the book is that life is not perfect. But despite that, one can still live happily as long as one can reflect on their mistakes positively. Several interesting pieces in the book involve relationships. One example involves a grandmother who could not overcome her anger when she looks at her grandchild born out of her daughter-in-law's extramarital affair. Although the grand - mother forgave her daughter-in-law, she couldn't condone the child being raised as her grand-daughter. From this example, the author encouraged contemplation of two words: yok thod (to forgive) and hai apai (to condone) . These words have similar meanings and yet subtle differences that can have a huge impact. To forgive is much easier, since we can justify things by rationales and behaviour. But it is much harder to condone since our emotions and ways of thinking are deep-rooted, the author writes. Another touching example involves a runaway teenage girl and her strict mother. Instead of scolding her daughter for running away, the mother was asked to calm down and write about her feelings of love for her child. That love letter magically cured the broken relationship. In another delightful piece, the author shows how the vice of forgetfulness can be a blessing in disguise. While being forgetful can cause much annoyance, the author says it helps her to maintain her peaceful state. Poor memory, she writes, means she quickly forgets about anger inflicted upon her. Parts of the book read like the author's personal memoirs, as she recounts incidents from her father's death to her grandchild's birthday. This intimacy brings the reader closer to the author. By sharing her dilemmas, passions and grief, the reader follows her train of thought to her message of detachment. Following her positive outlook on life to the last page, those who feel the weight of their mental troubles can finish the book blissfully in a state of "light weightedness". From: Book Review, Bangkok Post Out look. Saturday, October 18, 2003

Jeffery Sng. The contribution to modern Thailand by Chinese immigrants of the last century is being celebrated in an exhibition that takes stock of the Sino-Siamese heritage, reports Jeffery Sng. Wanglee family house A timely exhibition on an oft-neglected period in our history opens on Wednesday at Central Chidlom . Exhibits at Sino-Siamese Heritage will include 19th-century Chinese ceramics, family photos, paintings, furniture, handicrafts, Chinese junk artifacts and other curiosities brought by early Chinese settlers to Siam. One of the highlights of this seven-day exhibition are priceless maps of old Siam from the collection of William Heinecke. The inspiration for Sino-Siamese Heritage came from an earlier plan by Khunying Chamnongsri Rutnin to hold a cocktail party for the launch of her Duj Nava Klang Maha Samut ("Like a Boat in Mid-ocean") . The book traces the origins of a Sino-Siamese family, latterly known as the Wanglees , to trading expeditions between Siam and China in the mid-18th century. It is a revised and much expanded version of a funeral book (nangsue ngaan-sop) Chamnongsri prepared for private circulation following the death in an air crash in 1994 of her first cousin, Suwit Wanglee. The history of the Wanglees in Siam began in the mid-1800s, when Suwit's ancestor made his first sea voyage to the Kingdom. Like many other successful Sino-Siamese emigrants, this man managed to build up a diversified business empire with interests in banking, insurance, trading, manufacturing and real estate. But the recent Asian economic crisis is the threatening to undo the vast commercial empires of embattled Sino-Siamese families, who are now being forced to seek foreign capital and public funds in order to recapitalise their battered business. Prof Ammar Siamwalla once remarked before a gathering of Cornell and Stanford alumni that the last Asian economic crisis of the millennium might see the passing of a dynamic Sino-Siamese entrepreneurial clads which traditionally took risks to invest and create wealth. And his prediction would seem to be coming true. For, as we approach the close of the century, we are witnessing the apparent decline of an overseas Chinese-driven Thai capitalism which appears to be retreating before the forces of globalisation and run-away financial markets. (And let us, at thus juncture, spare a thought for these self-made entrepreneurs. For who will replace them, and with what consequences, is less clear.) The story of these resourceful, hardworking emigrants, as told by this exhibition, is truly fascinating. "Many of the early Sino-Siamese traders were quasi-officials. In the early 1800s the rice trade was a royal monopoly and only those who obtained royal concessions could engage in it," said social critic Sulak Sivaraksa (whose Chinese family name was Seow Su-lak ). "The Bisalputra family was given a concession to trade in rice on behalf of King Mongkut (Rama IV) who bestowed upon my family the title Phraya Bisal Supaphon," said Thanit Bisalputra . "My ancestors shipped rice to China and brought back Chinese ceramic ware to sell in Siam." Many other prominent Chinese were given official titles during the reigns of Rama III and Rama IV . Sulak's maternal ancestors, the Goh family, migrated to Siam in the Third Reign III and became prominent in the reign of Rama IV . The most distinguished member of his family, Goh Mah Hua , was the first ethnic Chinese to buy a European rice mill. "After the Sino-Siamese acquired the technology of rice milling, they ran the Europeans out of the business altogether which henceforth was dominated by the Chinese," said Sulak . Goh Mah Hua , a major player, exported rice to China and brought back gold to Siam. His descendants are still prominent in Bangkok's gold business today. Chamnongsri 's ancestors came to Siam much later than Sulak's and Thanit's. "My great-great-grandfather, Tan Suang Ee , made his first trip to Siam sometime in the mid-1800s," she said. "Apparently, he made many voyages to Siam but never settled here (he died in China). The first Wnaglee to set up permanent residence in Siam was his son, Tan Shou-huang, who arrived here in 1871, three years after Rama V succeeded to the throne. "But it was not his decision; it was his father who decided that he should stay here," pointed out Chamnongsri, adding that Tan Suang Ee 's other son was sent to live in Singapore. "At that time the Wanglees ran trading posts in Singapore, Bangkok, Hong Kong and Saigon ." Her forefathers lived in a very different era to those of Thanit and Sulak . The Bowring Treaty of 1850 had opened up the rice trade to commoners and Europeans. Thus the first Wnaglee came to Siam as a merchant and was able to engage freely in this lucrative business without the need to seek a royal sponsor. In his Chinese Society in Thailand, GW Skinner points out that late-19th century Siam was a time of spectacular upward social mobility where rags-to-riches stories were more common among the Sino-Siamese than among European immigrants in America during the same period. Tan Shou-huang In her book, Chamnongsri describes her great- grandfather Tan Shou-huang as a wise, well-educated and polished man in contrast to his father, Tan Suang Ee , who was a rough, uneducated farmer and labourer. "Although, later in life he (Tan Suange Ee) came to own a shipping fleet it is unclear whether he first came to Thailand as a coolie or as a ship-owner." Chamnongsri says that Tan Shouhuang made the voyage to Siam in a Chinese junk. But perhaps she is being romantic; her theory is disputed by other members of her family. For by 1870 the picturesque Chinese junk had already been rendered obsolete by the much bigger and faster four-rigged European sailing ships. And steamships were already making an appearance in China's seas by that time. But she sticks to her guns: "He did not embark from the larger port of Swatow but from Changlin, a smaller but very active commercial port which was celebrated for its junks." Wanglee family house "The Chinese-style Wanglee family house was built with roof tiles imported from China on the Thon Buri bank of the Chao Phya across from where Chinatown is located today. It was built by Tan Shou-huang although the title deeds are in the name of his son, Tan Lip Boey ," said Chamnongsri. This apparent anomaly is explained by the fact that title deeds, as an instrument of property ownership, were only introduced here after Tan Shou-huang 's death. At the time Bangkok did not have a proper port (Klong Toey wasn't built until 1930) so merchants had to construct or rent jetties along the river for their ships. The Wanglees rented Huay Chun Long , a jetty owned by the Bisalputras who operated a large shipping fleet including a modern steamship. Huay Chun Long was conveniently located next to the Wanglee home so when the fortunes of the Bisalputras declined, the Wanglees took over the land. "When I was still a boy I remember my family transferring the title deeds to the Wanglees," said Thanit Bisalputra . The old Wanglee house is no longer lived in (it is only opened these days when the clan gathers to worship at the ancestral shire) but Chamnongsri still has many vivid memories of the childhood she spent there. "I remember walking to our temple behind the old house. It had beautiful murals. Many of the family retainers lived in wooden houses on both sides of the broad square paved with roughly hewn granite slabs which led from the river up to our house. "In 1995 I had the opportunity to visit the family's property in China when I was researching Suwit Wanglee's funeral book. The Wanglee houses in Choi Koi, near Changlin, were in a sad state of disrepair. The biggest one - the house of Tan Lip Thong - is so big that you could spend all day opening its many windows and still not be finished. It is a breathtakingly ambitious and beautiful piece of work. Everything was done by hand; each wooden step is a wood craving in itself. Even the roof tiles are ornate - they were hand - painted in Shanghai." For all the stupendous work and human sacrifice that went into building it, Tan Lip Thong , the house was never occupied. The project, started by his widow, took 10 years to complete. She was on the point of moving in when the Japanese occupied Nanking and the family had to flee. Today the house is used as a factory. Chamnongsri 's return to her ancestral village in China evoked a family tradition, discontinued only after World War II . Although Tan Shou-huang and his descendants settled in Siam, the connection with the Chinese fatherland was always maintained. But it was a male connection. "It was a tradition to send the sons back to be educated in China," Chamningsri said, "after which they would be married off before returning to take their place in the family set-up in Siam. Subsequently, they could take Siamese wives. The Chinese wife never visited Siam and the Siamese wife was not allowed to travel to China." Following the Chinese Revolution of 1911, women began to accompany their men to Siam, "The abolition of foot binding after 1911 had something to do with it," said Sulak. On direct result of this was that fewer Chinese men took Siamese wives. And the growing influence of the Chinese wife was reflected in the displacement of Siamese cultural practices, like death rites. Up to then, the Sino-Siamese tended to cremate their dead, henceforth they would bury them - hence the proliferation of ' hong suiz ' or Chinese graveyards in Siam. The participation of Chinese women coincided with the largest wave of Chinese migration to Siam between 1918 and 1930. Famine, war and social dislocation in China were the forces driving them to migrate. There was also a significantly higher proporting of peasants and labourers compared to the migratory pattern of the preceding century. "Whereas, the successful Sino-Siamese of the 19th century became tax farmers, titled aristocrats or named families, few of the Chinese migrants of this period became really prominent," said Sulak Until the Fifth Reign there had been a reciprocal affinity between Siamese royalty and Chinese emigrants. The 19th-century Sino-Siamese identified with the aristocracy who in turn lavished titles and honours upon prominent members of that community. Under this benevolent protection the Chinese prospered commercially and enriched the cultural life of the Kingdom. "The Chinese Pavilion presented to King Rama V for his summer palace at Bang Pa-in represents the highest cultural legacy of the Chinese community in Siam." said Sulak . Chinese literature has also enriched Siamese culture life. "The Chinese epic novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms (San Guo Yanyi) became part of Siamese heritage after its translation into Thai by a prominent Sino-Siamese poet, Chao Phraya Phra Klang Hon , who was also a statesman and minister of finance," said Sulak , adding, "Incidentally, all finance ministers during the reigns of Rama I, Rama II and Rama III were Chinese." The ascension of King Rama VI to the throne, coupled with a growing Chinese consciousness following the 1911 revolution, marked the end of the honeymoon between the Chinese and the Siamese royalty. An anti-Chinese backlash began. This lasted right through the first regime of Prime Minister Plaek Phibulsongkhram (1938-1944). Then came the 1949 Communist revolution in China which put an end to all further Chinese migration to Siam, as well as effectively severing the connection between the Sino-Siamese ceased to regard themselves as Chinese nationals and began reconciling themselves to being Thai. Thailand was to become the country with the most assimilated entrepreneurial Chinese community in Southeast Asia. However, the pendulum of Sino-Thai relations, in its most recent swing, is again tilting towards China with the signing on Friday of the Plan of Action for the 21st Century by Foreign Minister Surin Pitsuwan and his Chinese counterpart Tang Jiaxuan . Reminiscent era when the countries in China's sphere of influence paid tribute to her, the end of the millennium may find China attempting to reclaim her lost sphere of influence in Southeast Asia under the shadow of the devaluation of the yuan. From: Sunday Focus, The Nation,February 7, 1999

เรื่อง น้ำสาน (คุณหญิงจำนงศรี หาญเจนลักษณ์) แปล ศรวณีย์ สุขุมวาท ภาพ นันทวัน วาดะ เรื่องราวของกระต่ายต๊องและม้าม่ำเพื่อนรัก ผู้พยายามช่วยให้กระต่ายต๊องเจ้าปัญหาได้บ้านที่พอใจ สุดท้ายกระต่ายต๊องได้พบว่า ที่มาของความสุข อยู่ที่การสร้างความพอใจในสิ่งที่มีอยู่ แทนการมองหาสิ่งใหม่อยู่ตลอดเวลา จนไม่มีเวลาที่จะมีความสุข นิทานเล่มนี้เป็นหนึ่งในหนังสือ 15 เล่ม ที่จัดทำในโครงการวรรณกรรมเพื่อสร้างภูมิคุ้มกันใจเยาวชน เนื่องในวาระเฉลิมฉลองครบ 100 ปีชาตกาลของ ท่านพุทธทาสภิกขุ ในวันที่ 28 พฤษภาคม 2549 และในโอกาสที่ องค์การศึกษาวิทยาศาสตร์และวัฒนธรรมแห่งสหประชาชาติ(ยูเนสโก) ประกาศยกย่องให้ท่านเป็นบุคคลสำคัญของโลก New Hole for Hazy Hare Hazy Hare is not happy with her house . So, her friend, Hefty Horse helps Hazy Hare finds a happy home. Finally, Hazy Hare found that source of happiness It depends on being satisfied with what you have. Instead of constantly looking for new things until there is no time to be happy. This story is one of 15 books produced in the literature project to build youth mind immunity. On the occasion of celebrating the 100th anniversary of Buddhadasa Bhikkhu's birth on 28 May 2006 and on the occasion of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) proclaiming him an important person in the world. Publication Data Author : Chamnongsri (Rutnin) Hanchanlash Illustrator  : Nuntawan Wata Translation : Sarawanee Sukhumvada First Published : 2006 Amarin Baby&Kid

Author: Khunying Chamnongsri Rutnin Hanchanlash Illustrator: Samat Kumsuwan (Thai silk ikat artist) Once upon a time, there was a very, vary small spider. Though he was very tiny as a dew drop, you could spot him easily because his body was bright orange like the sun on winter mornings, He did not like to spin for insects but he loved to make beautiful webs. His name was ‘Orange-8-legs’ Khunying Chamnongsri wrote : "In a forest monastery in the South of Thailand, I once saw a tiny orange spider underneath a teak house at the rim of forest. The exquisite intricacy of its web made me marvel at the creative force with which Nature endowed living things regardless of size or hierarchy. I believe that the value of human life lies in channeling this force towards giving without expectations for reward. This was the source of Orange-8-Legs. ” The book is illustrated by Thai silk ikat artist, Samat Koomsuwan. “I was deeply impressed by the creativity of Khunying and the Children Foundation in initiating the use of silk weaving into a literary work… Once the work began, I found it to be very time-consuming and requiring so much collaboration of ideas. I had my mother as advisor… the weavers themselves become very involved – they were excited that their work was going to tell a story for children. Deep in my heart, I want children to have the chance to come in contact with the art of weaving – not necessarily to the point of actually weaving, but to be exposed to the feeling of it, the art in it, like my daughter. "After she heard this story, she started working on the weaving of one piece with the help of her grandma and nanny, and actually finished it. It was a very good feeling, this working together of grandmother, parents and daughter. I would very much like it to come through to the readers.” N.B. “Orange-8-Legs” is written in simple poetical prose to instill a love for the beauty language in young children. The stories have also proved to be widely popular with adults who enjoy the underlying concepts from Buddhist philosophy. Awards : Outstanding award in the category of beautiful books for young children 6-11 years and honorable mention in the category of fiction for young children 6-11 years, National Book Development Board, 2000. Publication Data Author : Chamnongsri (Rutnin) Hanchanlash Illustrator : Samat Koomsuwan First Published : October 1999 by Foundation for Children Publishing House. 2nd Published : 2006 by Amarin Baby&Kid Illustrator : Luck Maisalee

Author: Khunying Chamnongsri Rutnin Hanchanlash Illustrator: Thaiwijit Puangkasemsomboon The wind crab is sad because he is colourless Can the golden sun and the silver moon, the crystal sky and the emerald sea make him colorful and happy? A story for children from age 4 up to adults with illustrations by Thailand’s leading contemporary artist, Thaiwijit Puangkasemsomboon. The little crab was thoroughly unhappy with his gray shell and colorless name. His frantic search for color and brightness from the sun, the sea, the moon and the sky gave him the priceless understanding of the transient nature of outward things. Most importantly, he realized the value and happiness of being himself. The story is set against the background of a tropical beach with its powdery white sands and dancing ocean. N.B. “The Wind Crab” is written in simple poetical prose to instill a love for the beauty language in young children. The stories have also proved to be widely popular with adults who enjoy the underlying concepts from Buddhist philosophy. Publication Data Author’s Name : Chamnongsri (Rutnin) Hanchanlash Illustrator: Thaiwijit Puangkasemsomboon First Published : December 1994 by Foundation for Children Publishing House. 2nd Published : June 2009 by Foundation for Children Publishing House.

Author: Khunying Chamnongsri Rutnin Hanchanlash Illustrator: Nattawan Tangsajjapoj Gub the gecko longtime enjoyed being the center of attention. His skin’s vibrant colors arranged in beautiful patterns was the admiration of all. When several new-born geckoes arrived, however, these adorable little babies quickly became the focus. Sad and frustrated, Gub walked out of the house alone. Wandering amidst the vast garden Gub enjoyed sharing his colorful scales to his many friends. With time the patterns began to fade, but Gub soon discovered something new arising in himself. Everybody notices sparkles in his eyes, a wellspring of delight rising up from deep within his soul. He rarely becomes sad nor frustrated. Gub now understands that happiness comes from the heart, from sharing, not pretty pattern nor praises from others. Gecko Gub and his beautiful pattern received the Outstanding Book Award Type of book for young children, ages 3-5 years. From the Basic Education Commission Ministry of Education 2010 Publication Data Author : Chamnongsri (Rutnin) Hanchanlash Illustrator  : Nattawan Tangsajjapoj First Published : Gecko Gub and his beautiful pattern is one in The project ,The Beloved Stories from The Great Authors Series, Kiddy Kid Publication, PLAN FOR KIDS Co.,Ltd. 2009

Introduction by Khun Runjuan Indrakamhaeng Touched by Rain, Reached by Thunder  is an introspective memoir of poetry inviting deep contemplation. Boredom and loneliness are familiar feelings, yet few people explore them deeply, foregoing the opportunity to witness how they devour our purpose for living, constantly sucking the heart’s energy as they slip by unattended.   By undertaking a journey within one discovers how with little effort such processes reveal themselves naturally. But these contemplative adventures can be unpleasant, especially when one fears encountering something they are unwilling to admit exists—easier to allow the mind to stay a slave to boredom and loneliness. Ajarn Khun Runjuan and Khunying Chamnongsri Khunying Chamnongsri Rutnin’s poetry explains the wonders of grappling with the interplay of thoughts and feelings as they unfolded during a meditation retreat she undertook at Suan Mokkhabalarama. It is a captivating struggle of a Dhamma practitioner, who is also a public intellectual, writer and social organiser — personas all vying for attention in a seemingly unstoppable mind. Highly skilled in observation, analysis and criticism, it is a mind that allows no thoughts to pass unscrutinised, nor the resulting imbalances brought on by strong emotions that may trail in their wakes.   Such an outward-inclined mind, however, presents an obstacle to Dhamma practice, distracting it from venturing within where the fruits of practice await. Khunying Chamnongsri finds navigating this U-turn formidable, as it necessitates fighting an inertia her mind sought comfort from throughout her life.   The challenge is daunting. Knowing to peer inside is just the beginning, because once there, it can be an uneasy place to dwell. In contrast, remaining outside one finds an infinite array of characters and constructs to frame stories about, “…remarkable intelligence and sharp analysis. Yes, I’m truly brilliant, what an ego boost.”   Returning inward, there are no companions to join in the journey. There is neither praise nor admiration, only silence and noise alternating for attention. To observe and contemplate them is difficult. Where does the noise stop and the silence begin?   Across 40 brief passages, Khunying Chamnongsri chronicles the mishaps and marvels when witnessing all that emerges, lingers then exits the mind. It is a perpetual carousel ride that ceases only when practice leads to abandoning any quest to acquire, and the mind becomes calm, cool, clear and content.   Until that day arrives, the mind remains Touched by Rain, Reached by Thunder . But so long as one does not abandon the training, continues on the journey within and forgoes anticipation and expectation along the way, that day will come.   The melodic writing style is engaging, allowing readers to gather insight as they float along in the flow of thoughts and feelings. In sharing these personal experiences from her own Dhamma practice, Khunying Chamnongsri hopes they might aid others, an intention I trust she fulfils.   Runjuan Indrakamhaeng Suan Mokkhabalarama, Chaiya District 25 February 1992 (Translated by Nantiya Tangwisutijit) Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa and Khunying Chamnongsri Epilogue   “Touched by Rain, Reached by Thunder”  is a collection of writings selected from a daily journal I endeavoured not to keep  while abandoning the city for seven months in the countryside.   The Buddha teaches that the root of suffering resides in the mind. So too must the end of suffering be sought from the mind.  City life, however, with social opportunities  and material wealth lure one to rely on friends, money and things for life’s “solutions”. Unfortunately, grasping such solutions routinely lengthens the problems’ tail.   In 1989 I became entrapped by a conflagration of seemingly unsolvable problems burning inside me. Attempts to dampen the flames succeeded only in stranding my mind on an endless loop of entangled thoughts. The sole way off, I eventually concluded, was to step away from my family, my friends and the comforts of urbanity. I would seek refuge in a far-away forest monastery — a decision I remain thankful for to this day.   I was not running from my problems.  I was heading toward an opportunity to cultivate strength and understanding within my mind so that it could become calm and cool. Upon my return to the city, I would try to embrace my dilemmas with loving kindness to both myself and others.   The journey began when I committed to stay at Suan Mokkhabalarama (Wat Suan Mokkh) in Chaiya District, Surat Thani Province. When I arrived in October that year, Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa had been unwell for some time.   Initially, I took part in Anapanasati meditation training offered at   Wat Suan Mokkh International Dharma Hermitage.   Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa designated this hermitage to be a Dhamma meditation destination for people of all nationalities and faiths. The 150-rai hermitage was about two kilometres from the main monastery. It was surrounded by verdant hills. A natural hot spring fed a creek that meandered through the grounds, much of which was covered by a peaceful coconut grove. This provided habitat for a wide range of wildlife. Butterflies, ants, and frogs seemed ever-present, but all manner of birds, insects, amphibians and reptiles, particularly snakes, made themselves known.   The beauty and freshness of these surrounding combined with practice to understand the nature of body and mind nurtured a  greater friendship with these creatures.  They were here before us. For aeons they have gone through birth, reproduction and death. After all, we and they were not too different — swimming in circles full of suffering we want to avoid, pleasantries we try to cling to, and all the while generally oblivious to the ever-changing realities both inside and out.      The hermitage structured the trainings as 10-day residential retreat courses. They were offered twice per month, once in Thai and once in English.   Many mornings we were on the move by 4:30 a.m. We had to walk the two kilometres to the main monastery to hear sermons from Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa . He was punctual, starting his talks precisely at 5:00 a.m. He delivered them from what was called the Stone Bench Courtyard in front of his kuti. This name came from the polished concrete benches available for his audiences. I, however, quietly renamed this area Kanikar Clearing. I chose this because of a night blooming jasmine tree that produced beautiful, tiny white flowers with bright orange pistils. The blooms were wonderfully fragrant at dawn. Tan Ajarn explained how night blooming jasmine originated from India, and was the flower of the Buddha. I have always remembered this, and my mind returns to that clearing whenever someone mentions Kanikar.     Tan Ajarn’s sermons focussed on Paticca-samuppada (Dependent Origination). They went on for two hours. It generally took him three to five sermons to convey all he wanted to share on the topic, depending on his health and the language of the retreat attendees. For Thai participants, he usually covered the material over three days, but if translation into English by a western monk was required, five visits to the courtyard might be necessary.   In the beginning, as I was completely unaccustomed to rising before dawn, I could   not follow his talks. I was repeatedly dozing off, catching only bits and pieces of what he was saying. My alertness gradually improve though. And finally, with help from the dogs and chickens that were always on hand and messing about, I could remain awake and absorb every word.   After concluding six retreats, I felt I needed more specific guidance and practice. I asked my teacher, Ajarn Khun Runjuan Indrakamhaeng , if I could stay on for another month. Ajarn agreed, but advised me not to specify a timeframe, only to take things day by day.   Indeed, her advice led me to remain for three months instead of one. It would have been longer, but an obligation awaiting in Bangkok could not be ignored. Those months turned  out to be the most valuable educational experience of  my life — learning from inside myself,  not from what I was told .   Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa allowed me to stay in the upasaka section of Suan Mokkhabalarama, under Ajarn Khun Runjuan ’s   supervision. Ajarn recognised my intention to practice intensively so assigned me to an isolated cottage. She also instructed me to neither speak nor write. I was only to observe what happened to my own body and mind.   Keeping silence in speech was cr ucial to understanding the nature inside. It created  an atmosphere for continuous observation of the effects of thoughts and feelings.   The silence helped to reveal how extremely hard it could be to stop thinking. Even without anyone to speak with, the mind would churn out dialogue continuously. Day after day thoughts persisted to engage me in conversation. With no one to speak with I turned to writing . I would communicate on paper, and “ Touched by Rain, Reached by Thunder”  became an unplanned result.   My first month alone I stirred like a newly-captured wild animal, constantly pushing up against the walls of its cage. Gradually, a soothing energy I felt raining down on me from the tall trees above, tamed me.   Suan Mokkhabalarama’s ambience was even more enriching than what I experienced during meditation trainings at the hermitage. The canopies created by all the large trees engulfed the grounds in tranquil shade . Sounds of the wild were constant companions day and night. I saw the largest scorpion I had ever seen, as large as a man’s hand. I shared my cottage with a gigantic spider and a gecko almost a foot long. And I could never count the number of large rats that ran in and out at will.   I became acquainted with  many of the abandoned dogs and cats that found homes on the monastery grounds.   Their presence caused me to contemplate more intensively themes that I saw us sharing in our respective cycles of suffering and survival. As a result, things like birth, love, jealousy, striving, attachment, sickness and death all found a deeper place to rest near my heart thanks to these cast offs.    My life as a whole felt comparatively unimportant relative to my views about life when living in the city. I noticed the less important life felt, the lighter the load of suffering that accumulated atop my shoulders. This further helped to calm the mind, making mindfulness practice easier.   The first month in the cottage I had no desire to hold a pen. Perhaps the mind was too unsettled. But as the second month began, an urge to write arose, and it intensified the more I tried to suppress it. I began to feel destined to fail miserably in heeding Ajarn Khun Runjuan’s  repeated warnings about maintaining silence. She stressed that no writing was allowed either, since both speaking and writing sent the mind outside.   But I gave in. I began to chronicle my thoughts every day. Then after a month, this need to write suddenly vanished.   When Trasvin Jittidecharak from Silkworm Books became aware of this journal, she found it fitting for a book. She had the text rearranged into chapters, and published it in 1992 .   During the book’s preparation, I was repeatedly asked about its title by readers. At Suan Mokkh, Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa had a large pond dug. A small island was left in the middle for a solitary coconut tree. He called it the Nalikae Pond to draw attention to an old southern lullaby containing a profound Dhamma teaching.   “Dear Little One, There is the Nalikae coconut tree, Growing there in the sea of wax. Neither touched by rain, Nor reached by thunder. There, in the middle of the sea of wax, Reached only by the one who’s free.”   Nalikae is a coconut species cultivated in Southern Thailand. Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa explained that the Nalikae in the lullaby represents Nirvana. Nirvana  is not a place but a state of mind. It stands in the middle of a sea of wax — the nature of the mind that is ever-changing — liquid and impassable when hot , solid like a bridge  when cool.   But the lonely Nalikae tree standing tall amidst the sea of wax, remains unchanged — undisturbed by its environment. “Neither touched by rain, Nor reached by thunder” represents a state beyond merit — no attachment to anything even the “boon” or good merit many Buddhists aspire to accumulate. It symbolises one who lets go completely.   As a Dhamma practitioner still adrift in my own sea of wax, “Touched by Rain, Reached by Thunder”  seemed a fitting tribute to my time there.   Bhudthong Hill, which I mentioned in the Visaka Bucha chapter, was the ubosot of Suan Mokkhabalarama. Atop it sat a small, pure-white plaster Buddha image serving as the ubosot’s main feature. Boundary stones helped to demarcate a natural amphitheater facing the statue. There were   no other man-made structures. Tall trees surrounded everything, furthering an atmosphere harkening back to the time of the Buddha.   Prior to leaving Suan Mokkhabalarama for Bangkok, I planned to come back to the temple and further my training once my task in the city was completed. Ajarn Khun Runjuan , however, observed that I had begun to cling to the place: its routine, its atmosphere and its teachers. She felt that I created an illusion that this was my place to practice,  and I thought it was the best. Instead, she recommended that I continue my practice at a forest monastery in the Northeast so  that  I could gain perspective and further open up my mind.   When I went to pay respects and say good-bye to Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa , I informed him of my plan to take my practice to the Northeast. He proceeded to spend several hours lecturing me about Dhamma practice, and answering all of my questions in great detail. This experience differed immensely from our brief interactions when my training began months earlier. He repeatedly stressed that Dhamma learning must emphasise practice. Only after practicing could one develop sufficient grounding to put forth truly beneficial questions.   I returned to Suan Mokkhabalarama just a handful of times to pay respect to Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa before his passing. When I presented him “Touched by Rain, Reached by Thunder”  he complimented me on my writing, adding that it was useful. I felt tremendous relief.   My last opportunity to pay respect to Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa was when I said good-bye to him as his body lay atop his cremation pyre on Bhudthong Hill. The intense yellow flames flashing in front of me fought hard to push through the rain coming down from the sky. From a loudspeaker nearby, my ears heard a recording of Tan Ajarn Buddhadasa ’s own voice speaking of death, while my eyes witnessed his charred body turning to ash.   I will forever remember how Tan Ajarn taught us about awareness of death until his own last second.     Khunying Chamnongsri (Rutnin) Hanchanlash  (Translated by Nantiya Tangwisutijit) Publishcation Data Author : Chamnongsri (Rutnin) Hanchanlash 1st Published : 1992 , Silkworm Book 2nd Published : March 1996, Foundation for Children Publishing 3rd Published :December 2005 ,Tongplu Publishing 4th Published : January 2006 ,Tongplu Publishing 5th Published : October 2015 ,Paega Publishing

The Art of Lightness Rolling the Mortar Downhill Rolling the Mortar with Lightness The book series about art of life base on buddhism philosopher : The Art of Lightness, Rolling the Mortar Downhill and Rolling the Mortar with Lightness Khunying Chamnongsri‘s journey “inwards”  has been a long and arduous one. She has documented it in her book Vicha Tua Bao ( The Art of Lightness), which embraces a range of practical dharma tips for everyday use, and gives sensible and realistic advice for living happily, peacefully and harmoniously in society as we know it. “It’s a fun book of my own views of life and the experiences of others with whom I came in contact with. I find life such a rich material for writing and for discovery.” she said. "I did not intend to write about dharma. Rather, it’s about my discoveries and ways of looking at things. It is just natural that humour and fun are a part of the fabric and, I suppose, of the dharma too.” The value of dharma books aside, Khunying Chamnongsri said they cannot compare with the actual practice.  “Like a scientist, a true practitioner needs to do the ‘experiment’ him – or herself, to explore the nature of the mind first-hand.”   “Normally, we are too busy to see our real selves and to observe our own minds. But think of swimming: You have to keep practicing to improve your stokes and stamina so that if and when you find yourself in stormy waters, you will not drown.” From: In Spirit - A beautiful Mind .  by Krittiya Wongtavavimarn  In Outlook, Bangkok Post , March 26, 2006. Publication Data Vicha Tua Bao (The Art of Lightness) Author : Chamnongsri (Rutnin) Hanchanlash Editor: Yutthana Varunpitigul First Published : October 2003 by Amarin Printing and Publishing 13th Published : February 2009 by Amarin Printing and Publishing Khen Khrk long khao (Rolling the Mortar Downhill) Author : Chamnongsri (Rutnin) Hanchanlash Editor: Jairut Sombatpiboon First Published : October 2007 by Amarin Printing and Publishing 7th Published : February 2008 by Amarin Printing and Publishing Khen Khrk Tua Bao (Rolling the Mortar with Lightness) Author : Chamnongsri (Rutnin) Hanchanlash Editor: Pisit Pusri First Published (Hard Copy): 2015 by Tongplu Publishing 2nd Published : 2015 by and Tongplu Publishing

Thailand’s Bestseller in 1999 Boats in Mid-Ocean is a sensitive exploration into generations of the author’s maternal family in China and its mid-19th Century migration to Thailand. The vivid and often poignant narrative, draws readers into the Wanglee family’s struggles, successes and tragedies in its gradual assimilation into the Thai social fabric. At the dawn of the 20th Century, the family played multi-faceted pioneer roles in Thailand’s nascent but vitally important businesses - rice trade, shipping, banking, and insurance – and emerged as one of the prominent and elite business dynasties of the country. Among the more dramatic and tragic episodes are those of its entanglements with wartime politics during World War II when imperial Japan used Thailand as the springboard in the invasion plans of Burma via the infamous Death Railway. It was a time of conflicting loyalties when double-faced games of intrigues were played for variegated reasons - survival, patriotism, financial gains, political necessities, and even humanitarianism. As president of the Thai-Chinese Chamber of Commerce, the then scion of the family played a Schindler-like role when the Chamber was forced to ship rice to Japanese garrisons in Malaya and to recruit Sino-Thai to build the Death Railway. The mystery of his assassination at the end of the war remained unsolved. The portraits of the women, Thai and Chinese, are complex and filled with both humor and pathos. At least in the first three generations, the husbands traveled back and forth between Thailand and China, each had a set of wife and children ensconced in each of the two countries they called home. “…Apart from the author’s personal reflections interwoven into the narrative, the book has a substantial bibliography and appendix. As a result, what started out as a family history has turned into a combination of quasi-social documentation and personal narration by a writer with a gift for storytelling and an elegant prose style…” (Bangkok Post, February 4, 1999) The narrative is interspersed with colorful anecdotes and fascinating collection of maps and old photographs Publication Data Author’s Name : Chamnongsri (Rutnin) Hanchanlash Editor: Phimpraphai Phisanbut First Published in 1994 Cremation volume for Suwit Wanglee. 10th Published in August 2019 by Sino Port Company Limited. Excerpt From Chapter 1 Qianxi - The Sleeping Village The small rural village once known as Qianxi [1] breathed the air of a tranquil past encapsulated by the softly undulating horizon of hazy mountains that rose in all directions beyond the surrounding paddy fields. As I looked around at the bright fields and listened to the tongue of my forefathers without understanding a word, I felt the faint stirring of an unexpected sensation – an incipient and almost grudging sense of pride in that once-resented Chinese ancestral blood flowing in my Thai veins. Like other traditional Chinese villages, Qianxi had a square-shaped pond at its center. With all the houses built in the traditional Chinese style, it seemed as though this sleepy little village had been nodding dreamily for half a century. Only the outer edges had awakened to the calls of modern times – a shiny new school building at the fringe of the village, the joint outcome of Chinese government support and the financial donations of several Thai-Chinese families who had sprung from the seeds of Qianxi’s inhabitants of a bygone era. I had followed my Wanglee nephew to Qianxi for the official inauguration of the new school building in the month of September 1994. It was the very first time in my life to walk on Chinese soil. My mission was to gather whatever information I could in order to write what I had thought would be a brief and probably boring history of my maternal family for the cremation book of my cousin, Suvit Wanglee . A month earlier, Suvit had crashed his private plane into a northern Thai mountain range while traveling to a regional meeting in his role as chairman of the Thai Chamber of Commerce. Strangely, he was the third leader in three consecutive generations of the Wanglee clan to have died while chairman of the Chamber of Commerce and Thailand’s second oldest commercial bank – each in the month of August with decades in between. Qianxi is situated in Chenghai [2] District on the eastern part of Guangdong Province, which is on the coast of the South China Sea. In the old days, the Northern part of Guangdong was populated by the people of Chaozhou [3] . Due to frequent flooding, the inhabitants of this region faced great difficulties making a living, a condition greatly exacerbated by the bursting of the Hanjiang River’s dams which swept across farmland and took away countless lives. Frequent storms and earthquakes also wreaked havoc in this area. With a large deep-water bay, well protected from the wind, Chenghai was an important trading post linking Guangdong and Hokkian Provinces, as well as linking Southern China and the countries in Southeast Asia. Important ports in this district were Zhanglin and Shantou. From the middle of the 18th to the end of the 19th century, Zhanglin was the most important port. After 1900, the maritime center shifted to Shantou which was thirty kilometers away. The lives of the people of Chenghai were inseparable from the sea. They were skillful sea captains, always taking risks, going on dramatic seafaring adventures. The District of Chenghai boasts of a unique historical association with Siam [4] . One of its natives, named Zheng Yong , found a place for himself in the history of Thailand as the father of the warrior who freed Siam from her shackles within less than 10 months after her ignominious defeat and subjugation by the Burmese in 1767. In the first half of the 18th Century, this Zheng Yong, an adventurous ne’er-to-do-well son of a Chaozhou farmer in a Chenghai village, made his way across the seas from his poverty-ridden village to the golden-spired capital of the Kingdom of Siam, Ayuthaya (1350-1767). He married a local woman and rose from poverty through business – gambling, according to some. Whatever he did, Zheng Yong must have done it with considerable success and honesty, for he grew to be a well-respected citizen and earned the trust of the Siamese authorities who appointed him the holder of the government gambling monopoly. In 1764, the Burmese army besieged Ayuthaya and after three years broke the Siamese defenses and occupied the city, looting the magnificent capital of four centuries and reducing its fabled resplendence to ashes – it was said that death ravished Ayuthaya which went on burning for a full month. Zheng Yong’s son Taksin (Zheng Xin) , gathered groups of freedom fighters and set out to weaken the Burmese occupation forces with guerilla tactics before finally routing and pushing them back. Victorious, he ascended the throne in 1768, establishing a new capital in Thonburi on the left bank of the Chao Phraya River, ruled the shattered country, reviving its morale and unity and kept the Burmese at bay for 14 strenuous years before his tragic demise in 1782. Not surprisingly, many of King Taksin the Great’s soldiers who braved battles to win back Siam’s independence were Chinese Chaozhou immigrants from Chenghai. Any visitor to Chenghai today can visit a gravesite containing the royal attire of King Taksin, built in honor of the Siamese king in 1784, as well as a splendid statue of King Taksin himself. My ancestral village of Qianxi is situated across the river. The forefathers of my mother’s family have moved there from a village called Xi Wei [5] since the 17th Century. From the names of the two villages, we can safely deduce that the Chens moved from the lowlands or the often-flooded area of Xi Wei to the highlands of Qianxi. Almost all the Qianxi villagers considered themselves blood relatives. Understand- ably so, because it turned out that no less than eighty percent of the villagers still used the family name ‘Chen’ as had my great-grandfather who, with his Manchu-style pigtail and shaven forehead, had sailed his Chinese junk up the Chao Phraya River to Bangkok in 1781 to establish a Siamese base for the expanding shipping and rice trade which his father had begun in Chaozhou. Today, at the fringe of the village of Qianmei, there is the “Hamlet of the Chens of Qianxi”. Our interpreter has translated the name of the hamlet as “the Wanglee Hamlet”. Deservedly, for it is the product of the administration of Chen Cihong, Founding Father of the Wanglee Family. It was he who encouraged the purchase of land around the existing village so friends as well as retainers could build their houses. And it was his personal funds that went into the building of roads, bridges, schools, and pharmacies for public use. This was how Cihong was known to live his life and conduct his business – strictly based on the principles of Confucianism. [6] From the Hamlet of the Chens of Qianxi, I was taken to the former port known as Zhanglin which had been around from the time of the Ming Dynasty in the 15th Century – the port that had witnessed the laborious rise of the Wanglee forefathers from indigence to success. Prior to the opening of Shantou Port in 1860, Zhanglin was an important port from which the Chaozhou merchants set off their journeys. Trade activities increased during King Taksin’s reign accelerated during the first three reigns of the Rattana- kosin (Bangkok) Era which began after his death in 1782. During King Taksin’s days, Chaozhou traders and immigrants came to be known as “the Royal Chinese”. A researcher of Thai Khadi Institute, Thammasat University, has the following to say about this matter: “It was perhaps not King Taksin’s intention to favor the Chinese Chaozhous over the other Chinese as his partiality would cause a rift among the Chinese communities, especially when he depended on their support. The Chaozhous, inevitably, enjoyed a higher status than the rest as the king himself was half Thai and Chaozhou. Another point is the contribution of Chaozhou troops in King Taksin’s military initiatives against Burma in the towns along the East Coast. Furthermore, the King had maintained a strong relationship with the Chinese emperors in order to consolidate his authority in Siam. These political situations had turned the spotlight on the Chinese Chaozhous, thus attracting more and more immigrants to Siam.” The Chaozhous continued to set sail from Zhanglin until the popularity of the Chinese junks gradually faded. The opening of Shantou Port in 1860 marked the end of Zhanglin. Very close to the deserted old port lies “Xinxingjie”, a small village peppered with ghosts of inns, once filled with seafarers wanting a night’s rest before their voyages. The number of Thais of Chaozhou descent whose ancestors once stayed in these inns probably runs into tens of thousands including, of course, the Wanglee clan. When China was defeated in the second Opium War, the Treaty of Tiensin [7] was signed in 1858 whereby Western Imperialist powers designated Shantou as a free deep-sea port. Western steam-powered ships, whose greater efficiency of steam engine contributed to the rise of Shantou and the decline of Zhanglin, gradually replaced the Chinese junks. This process must have been gradual for I was told that Chen Cihong continued to operate his commercial ventures with Siam by Chinese junks from Zhanglin up to the 1870s. Changes had been wrought not only by human factors, but nature had also played a cruel role in the desolation of Zhanglin. The Hanjiang tributary that two hundred years ago used to flow into the ocean here had silted up over the years. Only a hundred years ago, the locals assured me, the depth of the river mouth was three times the height of a full-grown man. Now it is no more than a shallow blackened stream. As a testimony to the fact, they pointed to the observation tower from which the people could monitor harbor traffic in those proud departed days. Another testimony was a monument erected to mark the place where “hongtou chuan” or red-headed ships of the Chaozhou people departed for Siam. There the coastal area had over time become an inland one, the sea having receded as much as eight kilometers due to the tremendous amount of sand persistently brought in on the wind. The passage of time, the progress of man combined with the hand of nature, had transformed Zhanglin from a brisk, lively nucleus of import-export and merchandise distribution with hundreds of ships plying its harbor into a sad and time-worn village. The only signs indicating the arrival of the passing of the 20th century in Zhanglin were tangles of power lines along the alleys and the occasional television aerial on top of house roofs built over a hundred years ago. [1] When China adopted communism as its political ideology, the name Qianxi which means “higher part of the river” was changed to a more poetic name of Qianmei or “beautiful part of the river”. In this particular chronicle, I shall use the name Qianxi when speaking of the village in former times when it was known as such. [2] “clear water of the ocean” [3] The word Chaozhou or Tae Chew refers to a city in Southern China as well as an ethnic group of Chinese people in that region with their own distinct language and culture. [4] I shall use “Siam” and “Siamese” when speaking of my country in the pre-1939 days prior to its official name change to the present day Thailand. The name “Thailand” will be used when pertinent to the context of time. [5] “Lower end of the river”. Today, Xiwei is called Jumei which means “beautiful dwelling”. [6] Wealth accumulation, wealth management on the public’s behalf, wealth consumption and distribution. [7] Disputes over trade privileges continued between the Chinese authorities and Western powers although the treaty had already been signed. The treaty was therefore suspended and further conflicts and negotiations ensued. It was not until 1860 that the treaty actually became effective.

"Sometime I wish there were no words so that we could talk with our hearts translate thoughts to smiles and lite ballads with our eyes" (From: WORDS ) CURTAIN Is there really a curtain, a curtain not really there? A veil far finer than smoke, and far lighter than air? Are you beyond that curtain that screens your world from mine? Can we sense or touch or exchange a thought or a sign? I believe there is a moment a rare moment bright and frail hidden in the folds of time a magic chink in the veil. Ssh...the hours are dreaming; the minutes are wandering away; time is drifting and forgetting and turning to look another way... Now, we steal the fairy moment and let it shine soft and fair, we smile into each other's minds and whisper in voices of wind and air. ใยม่าน มีจริงหรือม่านนั่นน่ะ ม่านซึ่งที่แท้ก็ไม่เห็นมี ใยโปร่งใสกว่าละไอควัน เบาบางเหลือเกินกว่าอากาศธาตุ เธออยู่หลังม่านนั่นมิใช่หรือ ที่กันโลกเธอจากโลกฉัน ได้ไหม ที่เราจะสำนึกหรือสัมผัส แลกความคิดหรือส่งสัญญาณแก่กัน ฉันเชื่อนะว่ามีช่วงจังหวะ สุดประเสริฐสดใสและเปราะบาง เร้นอยู่ในหลืบแห่งเวลา เหมือนรอยปรุงแห่งมนตราในม่านนั้น จุ๊ๆ...โมงยามกำลังผัน นาทีเถลไถลห่างออกไป เวลากำลังเหม่อลอยและละลืม และหันมองไปมองไปทางอื่น... มาซิ ฉวยช่วงเวลา พราวพร่างดังนฤมิต ให้มันเปล่งแสงนวลงาม มายิ้มให้ห้วงคิดของกันและกัน และกระซิบด้วยสำเนียงของอากาศและสายลม” (Curtain หนึ่งในบทกวีในเล่มนี้ แปล โดยคุณหญิงจำนงศรี ) AESTHETICS OF RETICENCE : ON CHAMNONGSRI RUTNIN'S POETRY (Introduction to On The White Empty Page and More by critic and scholar Chetana Nagavajara ) To Introduce Chamnongsri Rutnin 's poetry is not an easy task. The first question that comes to mind is whether a Thai poet writing in English could ever hope to achieve something original. Chamnongsri's creative mode is not that of translating from Thai into English. She may be writing about things Thai, but she certainly thinks in English. The adoption of the medium of expression in this case does not necessarily mean total acceptance of the world-view of the originating culture. It may be futile to ask whether she is writing in a first, second or foreign language, and an analogy with, say, a Singaporean poet writing in English may not help either. One single reading of poems like PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN and OLD HOUSE BY THE KLONG can convince any Thai reader where Chamnongsri really belongs, for there is no trace of exoticism here. Those years in the West have not turned her into an outsider. Chamnongsri remains very much a Thai. imbibing the cultural riches of her native land and feeling herself very much at home. To say this is also to pay tribute to her English masters : they have given her a very good command of a new tongue without locking her up in a cultural prison-house. But it would be a total fallacy to claim that one can cleanse a language of its historical context or to neutralize it to the point where it becomes just a medium. Chamnongsri will be the last person to deny her debt to Western culture. A comparative study could be written on echoes of English Romanticism in her work (more of Keats than Byron ) or on the lure of "the empty page" known to Mallarme' a hundred years earlier. Certain lapses into stereotyped Western poetic modes crop up now and then, such as the lifeless abstraction of MY TIME and the exaggerated modernist conciseness of ON A CHIANGMAI DOI . To me Chamnongsri is at her best when she knows how to marry the best of both worlds, particularly when she immerses herself in the Thai way of life, only to emerge with felicitous expressions reflecting literary sophistication of the kind that she must have learned from the West. The suggestiveness and the freshness that inform a poem lik e BRIDAL GARLANDS owe much to this happy marriage, and a Thai born and bred in Thailand would probably not have achieved the noble simplicity of MY COUNTRY WOMEN - in my opinion the best poem of the collection - in which the expression of human warmth and compassion is borne out by a series of almost arbitrary images that lead on to the notions of 'femininity' and 'motherhood' no longer appearing as abstract concepts amidst the sensuousness of these images. One can no longer speak of East or West, Thai or English. This is just poetry. To talk of Chamnongsri's 'Thainess' is to plunge ourselves in an insoluble dilemma, for this characteristic trait of her poetic work accounts for both her strengths and weaknesses. Most of the poems in this volume are somehow or other marked by what I would call 'an aesthetics of reticence.' I shall clarify myself. A certain type of reservation, best expressed by the French word "pudeur" , pervades most of her poetry. A Thai lady of good breeding is traditionally schooled in this difficult art of "pudeur" whereby she shall not externalise her inner most sentiments in explicit form. This particular schooling in manners and emotions have gone to produce exquisite love-poetry, and even the classical Thai dance has created wonders with this! What Chamnongsri has done is to elevate a matter of manners and emotions to a philosophic stance. Even in a seemingly conventional poem like CURTAIN , "the minutes are wandering away" and "time is ... turning to look another way" . Unattainability and unfulfillment have as their allies uncertainty and indeterminacy. When the poet speaks of LONELINESS , no single answer is given as to what it is : we are offered as many as three alternatives to choose from. You must not give away what you really think. The constant use of the interrogative form is another discernible tactic. The entire poem TERRITORY OF ICE is carried through in a series of questions. Poetry is there to reflect the fleeting moment, the unfinished creation, the endless movement and the infinite longing for some distant ideal. Yet this is exactly where the charm of Chamnongsri's poetry lies. The "grey area" , so to speak, where the bliss of incompleteness and indeterminacy can take place has its irresistible attraction. In the case of TWILIGHT HOUR, the "soundless skysong...swells the void / then recedes...". Why must it be "soundless" and why must it "recede" so soon, one is tempted to ask! But how could it be otherwise, since the poet has opted for an aesthetics of unattainability? One has to admit that such aesthetic and poetic strategy may have excluded our poet from probing other types of human experience and thereby restricted her vision. But we must realize at the same time that this happens by design, and not by default. The poem A WOMAN TO HER DAUGHTER is quite explicit on this point. Being a mere woman, I can only ask you, a woman-to-be to softly sense and tenderly touch life's multi-textured realities and, with a woman's heart, try to feel and understand. Forever try to understand. This is indeed a significant passage, for it is a vivid statement of Chamnongsri's poetic mode. You need a certain self-discipline to be able to "softly sense and tenderly touch /life's multi-textured realities". The question remains whether the poet is prepared to go beyond trying "to feel and understand" She certainly knows of the tragedy of life, but she would rather leave it lurking behind somewhere instead of coming face to face with it. In DEATH OF A FRIENDSHIP she confesses : "I have seen its death / I have seen it fade / I have seen it die" , and goes on to qualify this confession with "Not burning with passion/not aching with love". Her treatment of "tragic" themes somehow lacks poignancy. In the poem entitled TRAGEDY , the use of imagery serving the purpose of a moral tale rather precludes real tragic feeling, and the re-telling of the traditional legend of Phra Lor in KALONG is too much in a conciliatory vein. The avoidance of tragedy is certainly in consonance with the poetics of reticence, which can also assume the form of a non-communication, such as in the case of the poem NON-EXISTENT DESTINATION. The fate of the "GARLAND BOY" must have moved the poet, but we are not allowed to probe deeper into her innermost feeling. Communication is disrupted : "the 3 M sunscreened glass / ... keeps out the speaking eyes". At one point the tragedy of the small man almost succeeds in creating a disturbing social awareness in her, for the poet becomes aware of what "separate(s) our worlds"! But she stops short at that. The aesthetics of unfulfillment thus becomes an aesthetics of social non-commitment. We have to go to the poem ON PEOPLE -AN ANSWER TO A QUESTION for a more explicit counsel. Here the poet admits : "Their arrogance / are sheets of pain / masking unquiet lakes / of fears and loneliness" . She is aware of the hidden force that could erupt at any moment. But poetry has a healing power that can counteract any potential violence, for, as we have seen earlier, the poet has mastered the art of "feeling and understanding" . The poem concludes in the following manner: Hear the dark waters whisper a voiceless song; listening makes it swell intoxicating the air with sweetness. "Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner" (To understand everything is to excuse everything), so goes the old French saying. This could apply to Chamnongsri's poetry as well. The avoidance of tragedy, of violence, of conflict lies at the cultural roots of the "land of smiles". In this sense, Chamnongsri is very much a Thai poet. I have dwelt at some length on Chamnongsri's aesthetics of reticence, for it is precisely this point that distinguishes her from many of her Thai contemporaries. In a sense, she is more 'traditional' than they are, inspite of her exposure to Western culture. The difference is not to be explained sociologically. She definitely has not turned a blind eye on social problems, but her aspiration is a philosophic one. She tries to transcend social awareness through philosophical awakening, this may not be a strategy that many of her contemporaries would choose to adopt. But she knows what she is doing. Even when she contemplates nature, she does so with a definite philosophical frame of mind. The poem HUA HIN is a case in point. Not that she is unaware of both "storms and changeabilities" , but "the lyrical sea and I" are tied in a friendship that has lasted from childhood till "these calmer days". There is something Wordsworthian in Chamnongsri's philosophy of nature. Her best poems can, in one way or the other, be classified as nature-poetry. The poems, modernized jataka-inspired didactic tales pioneered by the doyen of contemporary Thai poets, Angkarn Kalayanapong, are professions of faith in the ways of nature. On the one hand, nature offers its protective arms to all things, as in THE WINDCRAB , but on the other hand, nature too is subject to the law of transiency, as most succinctly suggested in RAINDROP AND LOTUS LEAF . But this acceptance of the impermanence of things does not give rise to any tragic sense, for nature is self-renewing and self-perpetuating. Endless messages of hope could be deciphered from nature, and "much more" can be culled from it than what the author of THE ANGRY EARTH AND THE TAMARIND SEED is prepared to offer. To follow nature's way is to follow the way of freedom, and the dichotomy between nature and artifice is vividly brought to the fore in THE BECKONING. It is to be expected that the poet's faith in nature must necessarily engender an aversion to things mechanized, stereo-typed of even regimental. IN A NEW YORK HOTEL is not merely an expression of a "culture shock". It is more of an indictment against de-humanized, mechanical way of life. Her derision of "high blown talk about style and technology / Pre and Post Hi-tech and all that jargon in ROBOT BUILDING ON SATHORN is carried through in a similar humanist vein, full of humour and without malignancy. We must not forget that in the lead poem ON THE WHITE EMPTY PAGE the poet sets out as her goal to "fill the blankness / with something / of man". That is why she condemns the doctrinaire regimentation of "I talk, you listen" IN TO A FRESHMAN CLASS. This refusal of the artificial, the rigid, the mechanical and the unnatural is not to be confused with the kind of sobriety, refinement and self-discipline that are the guiding principles of Chamnongsri's aesthetics of reticence. The particular kind of discipline acceptable to our poet is of a more rarefied nature. It is the code of conduct of highly cultivated people known in Thai as "pudee " turned into an artistic principle. And only a "pudee" could write a poem like PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN which we might as well call a poem to silence Karl Marx . Strictly speaking, the old class-consciousness and class-distinction are still there. But the human warmth that exudes from "the ruling class" and the sincerity that pervades the entire poem are so disarming that no-one would have a heart to talk about class-conflict and class-struggle any more. Chamnongsri's poetry is thus representative of the fate of modern Thailand. Acquiescence to the order of things may signify indifference or lethargy in some societies, but here it becomes a profession of faith in human kindness, peaceful co-existence and mutual respect. The aesthetics of reticence is not to be taken as a poetic strategy. It is a way of life. One may argue about the merits and demerits of Chamnongsri's poetry, but one can hardly argue about her integrity. She is true to herself and to her people. That our bard can sing so well with a borrowed tongue must remain a marvel. Chetana Nagavajara New Year 1988 Publication Data Author : Chamnongsri L. Rutnin (Hanchanlash) First Published in 1988 by Pleasant Media Ltd.Part. 2nd Published in 2001 by >> หนังสือรวมบทกวี และบทร้อยแก้ว รวมถึงนิทาน ที่คุณหญิงจำนงศรีได้เขียนไว้ ในช่วงเวลาหลายสิบปี ข้อมูลหนังสือ ผู้เขียน: คุณหญิงจำนงศรี รัตนิน (หาญเจนลักษณ์) พิมพ์ครั้งที่ 1 Pleasant Media Ltd.Part. 2531 พิมพ์ครั้งที่ 2 2544

By Chamnongsri Hanchanlash Chumsai's painting , Photo from https://web.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=2653766624753291&set=pcb.2653766694753284 Remarkable show unites SeaWrite poetry winner and artist Saksiri Meesomsueb with-of all people- his mother An artist left his tubes of acrylic colours lying around. His mother, aged 69, picked them up and amused herself by daubing them on pieces of white paper to create pictures of flowers and landscapes. The son, seeing the mother systematically squeezing the tubes as flat as if rolled over by a ten-wheel truck, decided to buy more paint and paper to keep her entertained, taking care not to instruct or to criticize. That was how it all began. Some three years later, an art exhibition with an unpretentious charm opened at Suan Pakkard Palace last Saturday, February 12, under the name A Poet and His Mother . That is because the son, Saksiri Meesomsueb , happens to be the well-loved rural schoolteacher whose collection of short poems, That Hand is White , won the prestigious SEA (Southeast Asian) Write Award for Poetry in 1992. That Hand is White's cover I can well remember being drawn to the vivacity of the covers of that award-winning volume enliven as they were by the poet-artist’s visual expression of the poetry that filled the pages inside. The substance of “That Hand is White” is the eye view of the rural, and in some cases exploited, children of the northern central plain as they look at the world around them. Saksiri ’s gentle sense of humor combined with his use of childlike words in lyrical but convention-defying verses gave the poems a quality of freshness that conveyed hidden questions and, now and then, a nagging social guilt to jaded adults who had somewhere mislaid the lucidity of a child’s vision. No longer a school teacher, the slight-framed, waif-like bachelor happens also to be a composer of children-oriented songs. He lives a simple life in a modest house-on-stilts which he built with his own hands on a flood-prone river bank in rural Chumsaeng, a yet-unsophisticated district of Nakorn Sawan Province that lies some 250 kilometers north of Bangkok. His mother, Chumsai Meesomsueb , also a former schoolteacher, often visited him here, travelling from her own home in nearby Chainat. It was on one of her longer stays with Saksiri , the second of her four children, that she took up the new hobby which she found to be as pleasant as the tranquil river that flowed by her son’s house and fed all the shady trees. The mother-and-son exhibition was the son’s idea upon seeing that the she had produced more than a hundred acrylic paintings. Chumsai and Saksiri , Photo from https://www.bloggang.com/m/viewdiary.php?id=porpayia&month=03-2008&date=19&group=7&gblog=39 I found Saksiri to be unashamedly proud of his mother’s blossoming into the world of art. In my short conversation with him about the exhibition, he said almost nothing about his own paintings but kept talking about hers with unmistakable smiles of pride in his voice. His new poem “Parp Kong Mae” (Mother’s Pictures) began with a description his struggles to put the boundless realities of what he saw on the limited space inside the frames of his canvass, also the frustrations of mental questionings and technical analysis as to why he could not harness the nuances of shadows and light. Exhausted he carried his equipment back to his house to find his mother serenely painting away on the shaded bench outside the front door. Unlike him, she simply filled her paper with whatever she wanted to put on it at that particular time. Chumsai's paintings Photo from https://www.bloggang.com/m/viewdiary.php?id=porpayia&month=03-2008&date=19&group=7&gblog=39 Chumsai ’s exhibited works are all the same in size, all acrylic, all rendered on white paper. They betray her lack of expertise as well as technique - she is obviously not too familiar with the rules of perspectives that are taught in art schools. But, somewhat like the self-taught French artist douanier Henri Rousseau who discovered his art in his forties, Chumsai’s shortcomings brought with it a sense of immobility that invites the beholders’ eyes to rest on the whole work a long moment or so before absorbing details that seem to sink softly into an almost dreamlike stillness. There the similarity ends. While Rousseau ’s surrealism touches hidden cords in which fascination is edged with an elusive fear of the unexplored, the Thai septuagenarian’s serene attempts at realism are far less psychologically complicated because they simply communicate her own peace of mind and her acceptance of the natural orders of things. Hers is an acceptance that has nothing to do with resignation but enriched with kindness together with a paradoxical blend of innocence and maturity. I confess to being captivated by the serenity of her works when my eyes took in the violets, greens, yellows of her landscapes where roads pushed up into the blue skies, where unruffled rivers laze between kindly rocks and lush green banks on which campers put up their red, orange and purple tents, and where straight-gazing ducks hung in the totally transparent air. Chumsai and Saksiri , Photo from https://www.bloggang.com/m/viewdiary.php?id=porpayia&month=03-2008&date=19&group=7&gblog=39 Chumsai ’s flowers are bright and colorful with the same simplicity, freshness and placid immobility as those of her landscapes – it doesn’t matter whether they are in the grassy fields or staring at us from invisible vases. They probably bear some resemblance to the artificial flowers that she used to teach her students to make at a woman’s vocational college where she spent a few years in the course of her teaching career, or to those real ones that she used to help arrange for funeral rite at temples in Chumsaeng and Chainat. Though the flowers charm me less than the landscapes, I could not pass them without giving them a grin like one sometimes does to happy children playing at being serious. Far more vivid and vivacious are the works of her son. Where the mother’s paintings are characterized by their untroubled clarity, her son’s veritable plays of tropical light and bright shadows. Where hers are placid and immobile with smooth unhurried lines, Saksiri ’s is filled with movement – his strokes are spirited almost to the point of impatience. One can feel Saksiri ’s fascination with the strong scintillating light of the tropical sun which he communicates through burning shades of red, orange and yellow which are at their most dramatic when biting into shadows of purple, indigo and black. Light for him is a challenge to be grappled with and captured with the pigments on his canvas – captured but far from tamed. Not so for his mother, for her light is there to bathe and illumine the sky, the trees, mountains, flowers and, of course, those rivers and roads, a few of which looked like a smooth branch growing down from the sky. A sizeable number of Saksiri ’s canvasses feature tree-lined country roads or pathways through leafy woods. One can almost feel underfoot the rough uneven surface of these sun-speckled unpaved ways that lead, one feels, to somewhere positive though the destinations lie somewhat beyond the canvass. This artist’s paintings, like his poetry and his songs, are artistic channels for his unfeigned optimism and salubrious love of life that make any roughness experienced on the chosen roads worthwhile. Even the leafy shadows on the paths are bright and full of life, and the scarlet heat of the sun seems somehow to hold hope for a cooler dusk. The poet is, without doubt, a skilful artist with a passionate love for his local environment. His mother is a technically naïve artist and a lovable person who has come to terms with life possibly through the serenity and the wisdom gained from her years of daily Buddhist meditation practice. Both have more than physical eyes for colors. Sophisticated art connoisseurs who visit “A Poet and His Mother” may find faults where technical ingenuity and innovations are concerned, but it would be hard to come away from it without a comfortable feeling of warmth and love in their hearts. Saksiri Meesomseub :Poet Born September 23, 1957 Chainat Province north of the Central Plain, Saksir i spent his childhood and completed his secondary education in the neighboring Nakorn Sawan Province. From1972 to 1977 he studied at the famous Poh Chang School of Art and had the opportunity to study art, literature and philosophy from Chang Sae Tang , one of Thailand’s most significant poet-artists. In 1978 Saksiri became a teacher in the Ministry of Education, and in 1981, he graduated with a Bacholor Degree in Art Education from Phra Nakorn Teachers College . While teaching in a rural school in Nakorn Sawan , three books of poetry – Tukata Roi Sai (Doll-Print in the Sand), Kon Soi Dao (The Man Who Plucks Stars) and Mue Nan Si Kao (That Hand is Whites) were published in 1983, 1985 and 1988 respectively. In 1992, his song album “Kiew Koi” (Linking Little Fingers) appeared . One year after receiving the 1992 S.E.A. WRITE AWARD for poetry, he resigned from government service to pursue his three loves - Art, Literature and Music. Exhibition of Saksiri ’s paintings, “Changed Perspectives”, was held at Na Bangkok Gallery in 1995, the same year as his first collection of short stories “Ta Tung Ta Terng” . A new collection of poetry “Kor Por Jai Yak Ja Hai Rak Nak Na” (Happy to be Very Much Loved) followed in 1998. At present, he lives, writes, paints and composes songs at 39 Mu 5, Tambon Tha Mai, Ampur Chumsaeng, Nakorn Sawan Province in a little house which he named “Kiew Koy Hut by River Yom” . His hobbies including reading while lying on a homemade hammock and sweeping leaves. Awards: In1992, “ Mue Nan Si Khao “ won the acclaimed S.E.A. WRITE AWARD . In 1999, Saksiri ’s songs for the children television series, “Thung Tharn Tawan” (Sunflower Meadow) won the Golden Pikanetr Award. The most prized memory from his younger days is the “Kru Paoe” Prize for elementary teachers for his “Bot Glon Rueng Nok” ( A Verse On Birds). The most prized art award was the box of colors he received from his secondary school art teacher. Chumsai Meemomseub : Mother Chumsai Meesomseub was born April 5, 1929 in Chainat province. Married to Boonlue Meesomseub , she is a mother of four children, of whom Saksiri is the second. This exhibition marks Chumsai official debut as an artist-at the age of 71. A graduate of Woman ???? College in Chainat, She began teaching at an elementary school, Chainat Five years later, together with her husband and brother, she founded Nimit Suksa School, small school in a temple compound for village children in Nakorn Sawan in 1961. She left her teaching career in 1977, aged 48. Chumsai has always enjoyed drawing and painting, and has, at times, taught art to children during her years as teacher. From: Bangkok Post . Saturday, February 19, 2000.