The human cost

P was friendly with an elderly woman who used to sell shirts opposite Big C in Pattaya Second . He used to meet her on the Pattaya bus to the DMC temple in Bangkok. He was fond of Big C's Japanese restaurant (followed by a durian ice -cream in Swensen's- which I avoided) and he'd always buy a present for her in that Thai cultural shop at the entrance.

Three years ago, she was visibly unwell. Alarmingly thin. Apparently, she was awaiting an operation for a stomach condition.

P talked to her for a long time, ten minutes or more; compassionately, quietly, gently. I don't know what he said- probably something about meditation; the DMC TV Channel had helped him enormously in 2009 when he was seriously ill.

I was aware of the gratitude in her eyes and the kindness in his tone. And I understood, not for the first time, why I loved him.

The next trip we saw her again. That was eighteen months ago. She was much better. And she still got her present!

Today, P told me that she was a victim of Covid. Her last months had been poverty-stricken (she had always relied on a daughter; her stall had never been a success). And then, the virus struck.

When we see the statistics, whether they be Chonburi's or Thailand's, they are exactly that; numbers. P today reminded me of the individual tragedies which are now affecting people we know.