Anniversary of my father Sithu U Kaung's death.

Anniversary of my father Sithu U Kaung’s death

I could not find a direct reference, but only this, written by my brother, who was also awarded the "Sithu" title, at first confusing me. http://203.131.219.180/km/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Experiences-Myanmar-Librarian.pdf He did put together a collection of essays in English and Burmese by our father's colleagues and friends in 2004. That was a good thing. Our father was DPI or Director of Public Instruction, and also (first) Chairman of the Burma Historical Commission. He died in Calcutta where he was sent by (democratically elected) PM U Nu, on what I consider one of the world's useless missions. I checked with a friend who is about 7 years older than I, and she said yes, the student who died Harry Tan (was shot) when the students rioted due to leaked exam questions on the 7th standard (grade) exams. I only remember this hazily, as I was taking the exam myself, and my father and the driver came to fetch me at (one of the exam centers), after U Nu made the announcement that all would be passed. Of course my father as an Education Ministry official had nothing to do with the security forces. A few days before, I remember him telling us he could not leave his office near Jubilee Hall because the students surrounded them. Burmese call this the soon gyi laung, or "big feast charity." In any case, U Nu sent my father to Calcutta to have the exam questions printed there. He/they chose Calcutta because my father had had his poetry anthology, Poetry for Pleasure published there, and he knew the editor. Incidentally, Poetry for Pleasure was used for some time in Indian schools as a text book, and my mother always spoke of the royalities she received. Of course now the English poetry sounds very dated. My father was sitting in the passenger seat and his UN friend (name expunged from our collective memory) was driving. Dr. Everton, former US Ambassador to Burma during the JFK presidency, told me that it was "really dark" driving in Calcutta during a black out during World War II It was late at night and they may have been out--and it was before seat belts. The driver was held back by the steering wheel, but my father went through the windscreen and they were discovered in the morning, and my father was hospitalized. The driver, a white man, walked away from the scene. Father survived about one week, during which my mother and his (step) nephew U Ba Aye were able to go to Calcutta. In 2014 I briefly "met" on Facebook, one of the sons of the Burmese embassy official in Calcutta who helped her/them. This was before the 1962 Ne Win coup, so the officials helped rather than harassed. U Nu sent a special plane to bring home the remains. My cousin Mongoose told me in 2016 that he remembered the Yawngwe Sawbwa coming to the funeral. It was my mother's strange "luck" that 2 of her loved ones, father and husband, died away from home, in strange cities and she was helped by friends. After the funeral, I remember going with my mother to thank the embassy family. When I was taking creative writing courses at Bethesda Writers Center a few years ago, well known writing teacher Robert Bausch said "writing requires a heavy dose of irony" and I can't think of anything more ironic than a pointless and premature death like that. I'm glad I am writing this now, as I could not find a wiki article. I started writing and talking about my father about 10 years ago when someone asked (maybe on Facebook 5 years ago) if he was the fish sauce millionaire, U Pwint Kaung. My mother was also asked this in the 1960s, and she was quite annoyed. So there you have it. I also came by my command of English and love of reading, painting and music, through my father. Around 2003, NLD Daw San San came to DC from Thailand, and she asked for 2 books. Poetry for Pleasure and Maurice Collis' She was a Queen, set in 10th century Bagan. I could only take her in the rain on a cold day to see the cherry blossoms and treat her to coffee. She said she'd lived with her brother Thakin Tha Khin in the house next door (I remember that) and she insisted she heard loud crying when my father died. I told her "There's no one in my family who would cry out loud like that," though I do remember when someone brought the bad news and my brother and I opened the front door. Our sister was only 10 then and I was 13 and my elder brother was 19 or 20. My father's friends such as the Gore-Booths arranged for a scholarship for him to study librarianship in England. I'll post this on my blog, https://kyimaykaung.blogspot.com For the rest, you have to wait for my autobiographical novel Once, or a memoir if I get around to it. Once starts with my parents (fictional versions) waiting out the war in the Shan States, where the Yawngwe Sawbwa looked after them and about 40 other families. It is in The White Umbrella by Patricia Elliot. I ended it before my father’s death, as it got too painful to write. Here is a review I just wrote for The White Umbrella--look for it on Amazon. Review: https://www.amazon.com/White-Umbrella-Patricia-Elliott/dp/9742020469 KMK 2-19-2019