This week’s purple phenomenon is a fairy tale befitting HRH Princess Maha Chakri Sirindhorn, as her life story seems to have come straight out of children’s bedtime publishing house.
The royal motorcade incident is one big irony happening to a royal family member who, in the words of a senior journalist following her to an Asean neighboring country decades ago, “walked like all of us oblivious to cats, dogs and chicken cutting in front of her.”
Had the 68-year-old princess been a “more serious” state guest, local officials responsible for her welcoming would have been punished. They must have thanked God for her free-spirited, unassuming and spontaneous personality.
It was debatable exactly why the motorcade incident happened, but if it was a political blunder, a far bigger one would be to assume that the purple campaign was staged because some groups conspired to hit back. “Phra Thep” is really loved, and people didn’t wear purple shirts just because it was a trend or fashion or because those around them were doing it.
They did it because their hearts told them to, like what they occasionally had done when marking her special birthday anniversaries. The purple phenomenon came about because she is a princess they have always adored and been proud of. They love the stories they hear about her. They share her poems, her normal writing, and her photos.
People celebrate or document high-level or political figures’ moments of modesty or simplicity because those moments are rare. As for Princess Sirindhorn, she does it for a living, without even knowing it touches others.
Seeing a cool motorbike on a royal visit, she grinned and, before anyone could stop her, climbed aboard for a photo. She used skytrain, often with a tiny entourage. She designed cute LINE stickers. Armed with a small camera, she snapped away like an excited kid when an enormous crowd gathered at the Royal Plaza to wish her late father a happy birthday.
According to reliable gossips, she turned up with just an aide or two at a khao tom (boiled rice) stall. And who says instant noodles are just for the poor or football gamblers after a match? She cooked them often, inviting her royal aides who were supposed to wait on her to eat along.
Everyone has a Phra Thep story to tell. Student peers during her study at Chulalongkorn University like to recall how she often reminded them – more through actions than words – that she was their friend and how she paid the utmost respect to those who taught her. A scholarship student could not believe it when the princess stopped in her tracks at Siam Paragon just to ask how she was doing.
A man related on Facebook how his legs almost gave way when the woman he offered his seat to on a subway train turned out to be her, who even offered to carry his bag.
They were fairy tales that took place in a metropolis. These different stories shared one common element _ the notion that the princess went about with just a little fanfare, that she was so down-to-earth and that she sincerely values other human beings.
One thing is glaring. Whenever there was a significant entourage, she never wanted it to get in the way. Those who happened to cross her paths and recognised her would often got an amused “shh!” signal from her aides or the princess herself that urged them to avoid alerting unaware others.
When she went to class as a Chulalongkorn student, her car was reportedly accompanied by just one other vehicle. Most probably at her orders, they never honked. They stopped at red lights.
She was her father’s good girl, too. Always on his side, her eagerness to learn new things and different cultures was evident every time. Phra Thep with a notebook in one hand and pen in the other became an image so familiar in King Rama IX photos.
Her father was a great musician, but she isn’t bad herself, although her expertise involves mainly local and traditional instruments.
To say that she never demanded recognition may be wrong, however, because there was at least one incident in which she apparently craved appreciation. Finishing a trumpet solo as a guest performer at a concert, she turned to an awkward, not-knowing-what-to-do crowd and muttered: “No shrieking, huh!”
By Tulsathit Taptim
