in surat thani , in the deep south , i remember at the age of four getting lost in mannequins in a department store ; out of a fear of being scolded , convincing my friend that we should wipe our muddy shoes on a neighbors doormat as that was what doormats were meant for , incurring the neighbor ladys wrath instead of that of our own respective families , or perhaps in addition to themi am really not sure ; playing alone in the street , nearly hit by a motorist screeching to a halt and the driver accosting my grandmother hurling his insults at her , which effected my banishment to her bedroom , crying on the white handmade blanket under the beds mantle with its radio playing the mellifluous sounds of traditional music , the legends of thai story and dance , which even now resonates in the same cognate sympathy and lugubriousness as it had back then ; my grandmother exercising to the instructions of a host to a television program ; the morning smells of fruit , coffee , and rice and curry ; my grandfathers yellow straw hat and gloves when going to the orchard , and my grandmother kissing him goodbye whenever he was about to go away ; hearing the inveigling music of the ice cream truck and running toward it with some coins my grandmother had given to me which i clutched tightly ; the smell of tar emanating from roads during the summer heat and of oil on telephone or electrical polesagain , i do not remember the specificity , but only those smells ; and the yellow bus that would take my cousin , donned in a raincoat to schoolshe who was also abandoned by her parents to their care , no doubt also due to the factors of poverty and desperation .