Her life story seems straight out of a children’s bedtime yarn. Fairy-tale princesses hate formality and they often sneak out to do what their hearts tell them. She’s just like those loveable characters, only she’s real, and Thais are lucky to have her.
Last week left no doubt about her place in Thai hearts. People everywhere wore purple shirts to mark her 60th birthday, and they didn’t do it just for the sake of appearances. They did it with spontaneous warmth, thinking of a Princess they have always loved and been proud of. They shared her stories. They inscribed her poems. Her photos, new and old, went viral.
High-level figures are often celebrated for their moments of modesty, because those moments are rare. As for the Princess, we simply don’t know where to begin. What other high-ranking personalities do once or twice in a decade, Princess Sirindhorn does on a daily basis. Encountering a powerful motorbike on a royal visit, she grinned and climbed aboard for a photo. She uses mass transit, often with a tiny entourage. She designs cute LINE stickers. Armed with a small camera, she snapped away like an excited kid when an enormous crowd gathered at the Royal Plaza to wish her father a happy birthday a few years ago. She turned up with just an aide or two at a khao tom stall. And who says instant noodles are just for the poor? She cooks them often, inviting her aides to “Mama” parties.
They say that important people draw polite laughter whether their jokes are funny or lame. When the Princess cracks a joke you can treat it at face value. She couldn’t care less if you laugh or not, and you know you don’t need to if they are not funny. When she makes you giggle, it’s spontaneous. And when something makes her giggle, it’s infectious.
On royal visits she takes everything in her stride, poised and at the same time attentive. A senior journalist once told me how her hosts on an overseas trip once let chicken and ducks loose on her path. It wasn’t a show of disrespect; it just demonstrated how her genuine warmth of personality is well known the world over.
Everyone has his or her favourite “Phra Thep” story. Student peers during her time at Chulalongkorn University like to recall how she often reminded them – more through actions than words – that she was their friend and how she paid the utmost respect to those who taught her. A scholarship student was overwhelmed when the Princess stopped in her tracks at Siam Paragon just to inquire how she was doing. A man described on Facebook how his legs almost gave way when the woman he offered his seat to on a subway train turned out to be her, and even offered to carry his bag.
Every story shares common elements, though. Wherever she pops up, there tend to be few followers in tow, and even when there’s a significant entourage, somehow it never gets in the way. Those who happen to cross her path and recognise her will often get an amused “shh!” signal, urging them to avoid alerting others in the crowd. During her commute to classes as a Chulalongkorn student, her car was accompanied by just one other vehicle. They never honked. They stopped at red lights.
There are plenty more stories of the Princess’s daily life that are less well known but equally heart-warming. Her delight in learning new things and experiencing different cultures is always there for all to see. Phra Thep with notebook in one hand and pen in the other has become an image so familiar it’s routine, but it reflects who she is and her undying curiosity over how the world works.
One day the subway, Skytrain, khao tom shop and Siam Paragon stories will become as familiar to us as the notebook-and-pen image (if they have not done so already). A Princess who does what her heart tells her may be greeted with open mouths and wide eyes at first, but even the noblest things can be treated as routine if done often enough. Love, however, can grow stronger even when the novelty dies down.
This Princess doesn’t need a magic mirror to tell her how she’s loved. (We doubt she would ever use it even if she had one.) There was at least one incident, though, in which she appeared to demand recognition. Finishing a trumpet solo as a guest performer at a concert, she said to an awkward, not-knowing-what-to-do crowd: “No shrieking, huh!”
Wanna know how the crowd responded? Well, cover up your ears!