Hungry Ghost Month

August is Hungry Ghost Month in
Singapore. The legend is that every
year at this time, the Gates of Hell are
flung open and the spirits of the
underworld are let loose to party and
cause mischief.
   The Singaporeans burn ritual
money and incense to appease these
potential poltergeists, and outdoor
festivals and barbeques parties spring
up all over.
   It is not uncommon to see a large
party, with lots of tables and chairs,
food and drink, laughter and music,
but one table will be different. It will be
set, with a tablecloth and chopsticks
and plates and glasses of wine, and a
roasted pig’s head in the middle of it,
but no one sitting at it. That’s because
it’s reserved. For the ghosts.
   Last year during Hungry Ghost
Month, there was a big party outside
my guest house and I went to check it
out. Lots of people, well over 200,
were at this evening event. There was
a huge auction. Also, some kind of
ceremony. Several priests dressed in
white chanted and banged on gongs,
cymbals, and drums.
   I hung around for a while and then
this 25-year-old Chinese man came up
and asked me if I wanted anything to
drink. I said no, and about five
minutes later he came up and asked
me again. I said, “Uh, sure, tea,” and
he said, "We don't have any hot tea,"
he said. "We have iced tea." I said,
"Oh, that's okay." Then he said, "Do
you know what's happening?" and I
said, "This is a Hungry Ghost festival,
right?" and he said, "No, it's my father-
in-law's funeral," and he pointed to the
open casket of his dead father-in-law,
which I hadn’t noticed up to this point
because it was partially obscured
behind a parted curtain. I stammered
my apologies and left.
   Nice, huh? Nothing like being a
tourist at a funeral.
   I told my Singapore friend Shari Fah
about this, and she was confused.
He'd offered me tea. Why didn't I stay
and drink it? Leaving so abruptly was
very rude. And in retrospect, I can see
that it was.
   Moral of the story: When you
stumble on a funeral, and somebody
offers you tea? Drink it. Don't freak
out about somebody being dead.
In Asia, death follows life like night
follows day. It's not embarrassing. It's
fact.
   It reminds me of the time when I was
in a taxi in Nepal. The taxi driver spoke
English really well. He'd been laid off
from his job and was driving a taxi to
support his family. He had a Kali
emblem hanging off his rear-view
mirror.
   I said, "Can I ask you a personal
question?"
   He said, "Yes."
   "Why do you pray to Kali? She's the
goddess of death. She's so hideous
and ugly and scary looking.
And she's death! I mean, why would
you pray to death?"
    "You Westerners have a different
way of looking at it than we do," he
said. "You look at death like it's the
end of something. We don't. We look
at it like it's the continuation of
something."
   Next time, I'll stay for the tea.