Fat Buddha's Smile

As my distended belly ached and I rubbed it to soothe the pain, I began to think about the two distinct images of Buddha; the chubby jubilant one, and the thin stoic one. I wondered why there were two separate images of this being and why some countries preferred one to the other. I thought about different offshoots of the religion, I questioned the symbolism with its people, but then it hit me almost as hard as the next spasm in my own gut.

It is all about the food, specifically the rice. While travelling in Thailand and parts of Malaysia(both countries that prefer the thin stoic image of Buddha), I recalled the beautiful dishes of rice; fluffy, soft, light rice. Rice cooked with coconut cream or saffron. Rice served with beautiful-looking and tasting curries.

As for the fat buddha, well he seems to reside in the countries that serve sticky rice. Sticky rice dumplings, adhesive rice wrapped in seaweed, gluey rice made into bread, globby rice with some BBQ meat or kimchi on top. Either way it is served, it is sticky and clumpy. Hell, some people have been known to choke and die on a variety of the sticky rice dishes which has prompted governments to send out public warnings to its citizens.

The fat buddha isn't fat because of his gluttonous consumption of rice, but rather his consumption of glutinous rice. His belly isn't round with fat, but is distended, like mine, as I look down and see the havoc rice is playing with my tummy. Inside, rice is adhering to every inch of Buddha's intestines and every centimetre of his bowels. Nothing else is being digested and nothing else can pass through the globs of cemented rice. With no way down, his belly expands outward; my belly expands outward.

But the question is why is Buddha smiling? I am bloody miserable that some simple grain has barricaded and bunged up my gut. I groan with the discomfort and cringe when a flash of cramps invades. Why the smile?

After 4 days of pushing on my gut, massaging it, using a hot water bottle, drinking over 4 litres of water a day with at least 1 more in juice, twisting and turning my body into some acts of contortion that I read on the internet, I had had just about enough and I was prepared for battle. Prunes were on the agenda, but of course, this is a country where prunes aren't available...perhaps pickled or soaked in kimchi, but nothing in its natural state. I marched up and down the aisles, swearing under my breath. My blockage was aggitating me but the inability to ask for what I needed infuriated me even more. I scoured the shelves, eye squinting to focus on the task at hand and not get distracted by the pushy housewives in their own pursuits.

I needed an accomplice. I couldn't do this mission solo. And after babbling like a fool in English to a collection of employees, I was passed off to the English-speaking manager. Together, we paraded down the aisles into the fruit section and before us appeared 500g tubs of dried fruit--apricots, raisins, blueberries and any other fruit that could be dried. I grabbed my fruit and dragged the manager to the cereal aisle. I wanted the highest fibre cereal possible. We found the box. With 2 thumbs up and a punch into the air, we succeeded.

I bee-lined it home, tore open the package of apricots and within minutes they were gone. I drank a litre of water to wash them down and then another litre more for good measure. I waited. I wanted my bloated Buddha belly gone. I dare not leave the apartment. Within minutes of consuming the fruit my tummy gurgled and sprang to life--war erupted in my gut and the apricots were kicking ass with the rice. I waited a bit more and after a quick sprint to the the loo, I learned why the fat Buddha smiles.