http://aravind-autograph.blogspot.com

A Day to Remember

2012-01-17T22:54:00.001-04:00

Bersih Rally 2011

2012-01-15T22:25:00.001-04:00

This is a good read

2011-12-21T20:48:00.000-04:00

Open Letter from India to Mahathir and UMNO

December 20, 2011

Open Letter from India to Mahathir and UMNO
By Siddharthya Roy (12-14-11)
14 December, 2011

Dear Mr Mahathir,

A couple of days back I woke up to Indian newspaper reports which quoted you as saying that India's democracy is a hindrance to its development and if we did away with the nuisance of democracy we will be become developed (1).

Well Sir, it is heartening to see your concern about India's future. Especially now that our own elected government has orphaned us, someone from the outside caring about our development sounds so very nice. But you see Sir, your (apparently) good intentions notwithstanding, your advice to Indians is, well how should I put it...ill-advised. I'm not really sure if you know much about the history of our nation. Don't get me wrong.

Know Your Facts

Going by facts like the general absence of news from Malaysia's newspapers; the absence of anything but song and dance in your electronic media; the absence of bookstores that sell knowledgeable books (for example, the ones from which you can learn about history and not how to get rich in six steps); the abundance of malls and the stark absence of libraries; the abundance of coaching centers that can make masseurs, air hostesses and a host of quick fix technicians and the relative absence of centres of higher learning especially in the social sciences; and above all the fact that this insanely consumerist and hedonist Malaysia was made under your tutelage, makes me doubt your knowledge of the history of India or any nation for that matter.

Understand the Story of Indian Independence

So allow me to apprise you of the story of our Independence. We won Independence from colonial rulers waging a long and torturous battle. A battle that sought to replace a discriminatory, unjust and violent regime that had enslaved huge populations with one which was based on the principles of liberty, equality and fraternity.

India was home then, as is now and as will always be, to an immense diversity of people who spoke different tongues, prayed to different Gods, wore different clothes and had different political beliefs. These diverse people said to each other that - we, despite our differences, will strive to live and flourish together and make a sovereign nation which will be democratic, socialist and secular. We did not anywhere say that we want to be Malaysia or for that matter China or the USA.

India treats all its citizen as equal

We want to become a nation with a system that treats all its citizens as equal unlike your country that officially accords special rights to Malay Muslims calling them first class citizens while relegating thousands of people of Tamil, Chinese and other ethnic origins. Despite the fact that they have known no other land other than Malaysia as their own, you denigrate them with the tag of being second class citizens.

We try to work towards having a system wherein a person will grow according to his merit and hard work earning what he has rightfully earned. You may be surprised to know that here in India making cartels based on identity, even if under the name of bumiputra or son-of-the-soil, is called cartelisation and is looked down upon by most of us. Here promoting the selective interests of one's self or that of his kin is called corruption and nepotism and not, as you call it, development. We are in fact fighting tooth and nail to arrest the scourge of corruption and (you'll be shocked to know) get the guilty punished.

In India No One is Above the Law

Here in India no one is above the law and many a times powerful public figures go to jail for being corrupt or subverting the law. Now that we are at it, Sir, I'm sure it would be interesting to know what the minorities of you countries have to say - especially the jailed and beaten ones - about the development-democracy debate.

In fact Sir, your idea of development is largely at odds with many of us here. What you did to the tropical forests and water-bodies of Malaysia (that is raze vast acres of them into oblivion making way for big bucks palm oil plantations and piggeries and so on) would cause huge outrage amongst many of us who are looking for sustainable development.

We are yet to be unanimously convinced that making cemented roads - however broad, lining them with buildings - even if glass covered and glossy, putting cars on them - however fast they are-- is a substitute for our valued bio-diversity. Many of us are very convinced that displacing huge populations of native people for useless things like racing tracks is a blot on the word 'development'.

There are many of us who find it a shameful and cruel hypocrisy that in your country can have abundant openly advertised sex tourism and still whip women for being licentious! Thanks to the culture of reading here, many of us know of your penchant for cruelty in your personal career. A career during which you enacted despotic and violent acts at times in the name of (your contorted version of Islam) and at times in the name of security and national interest.

Malaysia's Internal Security Act, 1960

We could recount how you rose to power annihilating huge numbers of your opponents and stayed there for over two decades continuing yourdevious rule using tactics and schemes which are far beyond Machiavelli. Many of us know about your vile Internal Security Act 1960, which you used to crush political opposition jailing and killing them with impunity and putting in place a frail and near sham democracy placing the entire nation under a one man rule of the UNMO for over two decades.

You will note that in the essay above I have used words like "most of us" "many of us" and have tried to stay away form absolute claims. Besides the age old Indian practice of accommodating different opinions, it is meant to recognise that there are people in this country too who think like you and will have applauded you for saying what you did.

They too think that roads are all that are important and not the humans which walk on them or the ones that sleep beside them. They have misconstrued the word development as development of personal wealth and that this 'development' is a holy cow and everything including the rights and lives of fellow humans is a lesser priority. Their money power helps them buy a lot of print space and electronic bandwidth so they may appear like the majority, but thankfully the truth is they aren't.

The majority of us recognise and are willing to admit - and even discuss at length - that there are problems in our nation - including bad roads. But they'll quickly add that we intend to solve those not by lessening democracy but by increasing it.

1. Speech on December 2 Hindustan Times Leadership Summit in New Delhi

The author is a freelance writer and activist based in Maharashtra. siddharthyaroy@gmail.com

Kabhie Kabhie

2011-11-21T20:02:00.005-04:00

My alltime favourite.....brings back fond memories of a wonderful teenage life, spent together with my friend Sargu. The year was 1976 and I was just 19 then. This is the famous Amitabh Bachan's monologue that I memorized then and still use it to entertain friends....usually over a few beers when my voice turns somewhat husky and hoarse as I try to mimic Big B. (Switch ON your speakers).

Classmates meet

2011-09-21T22:01:00.002-04:00

Mokhtiar Singh was down from Gold Coast again. So Jalil, Imbaraj and I decided to meet up for dinner last night. It had been about a year since Singh last came back. Initially we were to meet up in Penang where a couple of our other classmates lived. But due to some pressing engagement, Mokh couldn’t afford the time. In fact Jalil had already booked the accommodation at Batu Feringgi for our rendezvous. Unfortunately, he had to cancel it due to change in plans.
So on Wednesday 14th Sept.2011, we ended up at the same restaurant beside Vistana Hotel in KL where we met the last time around. I parked my CRV in Brickfields and hopped into Imbaraj’s Camry. The rain was beating mercilessly as we made our way to Hokkaido. They sell good food here and the service level is also not too bad. Jalil and Mokh were already waiting for us when we reached for our 8.00 o/clock appointment at 7.45pm. While catching up with some old stories as usual, Jalil broke the news that Seck Hock, another one of our classmates would also be joining us tonight. Seck Hock is now a prominent lawyer in KL. I had spoken over the phone a couple of times but had not had the opportunity to meet all these years. Singh had met him when they were studying in UK during their prime. Jalil too had met up with him some years back over some legal issues. But Imbaraj and I had never met him since we left school in 1973. He was a rich kid even way back then. His family probably owned half of BM town and he lived in a huge mansion just beside the District Officer’s house. But what was of particular interest to us was the theatre that belonged to him……to his grand-dad actually, the famous Cheok Sah theatre. Imbaraj and I exploited the friendship to the maximum after school, going for every other movie that was played…even the Chinese movies. It was then that I became familiar with the famous Chinese actors then like Wang Yu, Ti Lung, Chen Kuan Tai and the likes. And much later, Bruce Lee who went on to revolutionize the Chinese film industry. I remember Seck Hock confidently guiding us past the Usherers until we were comfortably seated. Then he would take leave for us to enjoy the movie by ourselves. We were in our teens then. And free movies meant a lot. We felt ‘big’ at the thought of having influential ‘contacts’ at ‘key places’.
Seck Hock arrived after about half an hour or so. We didn’t have much difficulty in recognizing him. He looked the same, just aged a little but it didn’t show anyway. He was his usual bubbly self laughing out loudly at the slightest provocation. We reminisced about school life. He was good in English and we often competed with each other for top spot.
After spending some good 4 hours or so over some good food, we decided to call it a day. It was when we called for the bill that we realized Seck Hock had quietly settled it all.
In retrospect, judging from his demeanour and body language tonight, it appeared that Seck Hock didn’t realize that the relationship nurtured during school days can be continued. He probably believed that everything ends when school life ends.

Ms. Adventurer's misadventure

2011-08-18T00:13:00.007-04:00

Saturday 30th July 2011 started out like any other day. My wife had already left on her holidays to Australia and I was looking forward to joining her in a week or so. Without her, I had to make do with meals outside for a while as I didn’t cook. Don’t know how to actually. So on this day, I started out early by about 6am and proceeded to the only restaurant in Rawang selling decent Indian food for my breakfast. As I still had a lot of time in my hands, I flipped through the morning papers for a while before paying up and shooting off to work.
As I passed the railway station in Rawang, I noticed a fairly new but badly dented car along the left side of the road that was surely not there a while ago when I was heading towards town earlier. I noticed that the lamp-post that the car had ploughed into was so inconspicuously located at the very edge of the road that even if a seasoned driver were to aim to knock against it just for kicks, chances are that he would miss it! That was how far away the lamp-post was placed at the road shoulder that when placing it there, the authorities must have been convinced that there was no way any one could knock against it. In fact I was convinced that some drunken driver must have dozed off or in his inebriated state probably lost control of his vehicle before knocking against it and had come to an abrupt halt while doing about 50kmph……. I however simply brushed it aside and continued with my journey to office. Later that same afternoon, through a strange coincidence, I met up with the driver of the ill fated vehicle and was somehow relieved that the person had miraculously not sustained any serious injuries although I was told that the vehicle had to be written off.

This post is dedicated to my neighbor Bouncy Cat who complains that they don't teach multi-tasking at driving school….……like how to hold your hot coffee and move your phone to a safe distance from the coffee especially when negotiating a sharp bend, while steering with one hand...........!

New Zealand

2011-08-15T00:49:00.007-04:00

When the idea of visiting New Zealand was first mooted by my wife sometime last year, my initial reaction was nonchalance. The main reason for my disinterest was that it was a long haul flight and I wouldn’t be able to smoke in the aircraft during the entire 10 or 11 hours journey. My recent trip to Nepal changed all that. I realized that abstaining from smoking for a while was no big deal and that I’d be able to endure it.
So off I went to NZ on 5th August. My wife had left a week earlier to Australia where she was to meet her elder brother Mano who lives there with his family. From there, she was due to meet me in NZ where her younger brother Rajah has made home, having emigrated about 10 years ago.
The flight itself was eventless. AirAsia flights are pre-booked months ahead; so there were a lot of no-shows. I got a row of 3 seats all for myself; so in that sense, it was comfortable. Decided in having light meals during the flight so I settled for sandwitches. Hem Raj had recorded some movies on my mobile phone to keep company. I managed to watch only one movie and realized that the battery was nearly drained! When I landed at Christchurch at about 11.30pm (NZ time), I was virtually dying for a fag. Walking out of the airport building, I stood at the designated smoking zone, delighted at the prospect of eventually being able to ‘quench’ the crave as chilly winds smothered me all over from all directions. It was a sensation that I had never felt in my life ………ever. Temperatures were below 7 degrees so you can imagine the ice-cold effect the winds caused on the body. I spent the next 5 hours or so in the warm main terminal before catching my connecting flight to Auckland where my wife and brother-in-law were waiting for me.
From Auckland, it was a one hour’s drive to Hamilton where Rajah lives. But I had one thing to do in Auckland and that was to meet up with my childhood buddy Lalitha who has settled down there. We had communicated prior to my trip so she was expecting us. Initially we were to meet for dinner but since I was on a lightning trip, she settled to play host over breakfast. This was the first time I was meeting her husband Navin who hails from Seremban. They live in an effluent part of Auckland in a well appointed neighbourhood with their daughter and 2 cats. We caught up with so many things past and present and spent about an hour and a half before bidding goodbye. In the excitement of the much anticipated reunion, I had totally forgotten to take any snaps with her. What a waste!
The next couple of days were spent at Rajah’s place in Hamilton who also took us to show the outskirts of North Island. The rolling hills and blue sky was picture perfect. The clarity of the scene made you feel as if you were not short-sighted anymore. Sheep, cows and horses grazing on the hills completed the magnificence of the picture. We made a quick stop at the mouth of the longest river in NZ at its source where the water flowed from a massive lake formed by the melting snow from the surrounding hills. It was a beautiful sight, with columns of fog and clouds shrouding the background like a backdrop. We made it up all the way to the snow-fields and saw people skiing down the slopes. My wife and I had to wear 2 winter jackets each to endure the cold. While my wife could afford to play snowball with her brother, I chose to return to the comfort of the car as I could not stand the cold any further. My hands were beginning to feel numb. But it was an experience that I had never imagined I would experience in my life. Given a chance I would probably have chosen to get a feel of winter in some theme park some place, just for the experience. Never in a real snow covered country. But it was all well worth it. The snow flakes steadily floating down to rest on your jacket was simply exhilarating. After spending a good hour or so at the snow-fields, we had difficulty maneuvering the car out of the snow covered road down the slippery slopes. But we managed to drive out slowly without incident.
The people in NZ are so approachable and friendly. It’s a completely different culture actually. It was so refreshing to see cars stop for you when they notice that you want to cross the road, people don’t honk at you on the roads, they adhere strictly to speed limits and road signs, they overtake only at designated areas on the highways, they don’t litter and they appear to have the greatest respect for the human race. This has been such a short vacation but I vowed to return next year to see the rest of the country. Rajah of course is hoping that we would seriously consider emigrating, a prospect that I have kept at the back of mind for now.
During my return flight, I couldn’t help reflecting on all the areas that we have had to compromise by choosing to live in Malaysia.
Thank you Rajah & family for the wonderful time that we had in NZ.

The Charm of Nepal

2011-07-28T21:59:00.004-04:00

It was my first trip to Nepal last week on 19th July. In fact it was my first trip to anywhere out of the country by flight. Until then I had only ventured out to Singapore and Thailand. Although I was excited about the journey, I was apprehensive at first about the prospect of not being able to smoke during the entire flight. Way back in the 70s as well as the early 80s, people were not so health conscious as yet. The awareness and their rights had not been cultivated yet. As soon as the ‘no smoking’ light went off after take-off, I would immediately light up a cigarette. And no one bothered about it. Back then it was an acceptable part of co-existence. But not anymore! So the fact that I would have to refrain from smoking gave me sleepless nights preceding the trip.
It was a transit flight on Thai Airways to Kathmandu via Bangkok. I have had much experience in flying, so the journey itself was sort of predictable. I sort of knew what to expect. All went well until we were nearing Kathmandu when all of a sudden, the aircraft went into free-fall for at least a good 4 seconds or so. It seemed so long though. And not once but twice. The Captain came on the air saying “we are facing air turbulence!” I thought then that he could have done a better job in pacifying the passengers, many of whom I noticed appeared to have gone into a state of shock, including my colleague seated next to me. My age didn’t afford me the luxury of displaying fright, at least not to my colleague. So I simply forged on a brave front, comforting him that it was just ‘airpockets’ that had created vacuum in the atmosphere. I still wonder if he saw through me to notice that my heart was by then somewhere between my navel and my lower belly!
We finally reached the airport in Nepal where my Nepali agent was waiting for us who took us straight to Annapurna Hotel that we called home for the next 4 days. I had not looked up the net for details on Kathmandu, so apart from the fact that Everest lurked somewhere near, I didn’t know much of the city. The temperature was like Camerons and therefore bearable but I was told that November to February are very cold as it snowed around the mountains. Couldn’t get a view of Everest though due to the heavy clouds.
What greeted me during our drive-around was a bit unsettling. This was a city without any form of traffic control. Cars, lorries, buses, taxis, vans, bicycles, motorbikes and every form of other vehicles that come in odd shape and sizes, fight for space on the narrow roads, probably originally intended only for 2 vehicles. I would not be far from wrong if I add that they very nearly ‘nudge’ each other as they pass, so to speak. I particularly found the deafening sound of horns blaring for the slightest of reasons, often for no reason at all, annoying and amusing at the same time. The only traffic light I came across near the former King’s palace was on permanent red mode. Traffic police standing on elevated platform at road inter-sections appeared more ‘ornamental’ than to serve any real purpose. I didn’t wait long enough to notice if motorists paid any attention to them.
The next morning I awoke at about 7am as I usually do back home in Rawang and noticed that it had already dawned. The 2 hours and 15 minutes time difference meant that it was only 4.45am in Nepal. After freshening up, I walked out to the main road outside the hotel hoping to see a tea stall like what they show in Indian movies. Not one soul was in sight……just an occasional lorry passing by. Returned to the hotel and was told that breakfast would be served in 2 hours time. It was then that I realized that although it had dawned, people don’t start work until it is about 8.00am in Nepal. And the shops would open only at 10.00am (12.15pm in Malaysia).
Later after completing some tasks at the agent’s office, I went out with Sumon (agent’s driver) to look for interesting things to buy. Looked around for some nice belts for myself but couldn’t find any with my waist size. It is interesting that Nepalese are generally not fat and most of them are just the correct weight and size. The people manning the shops along the road didn’t speak any language that I could understand but Sumon was there to help out. So that didn’t pose any problem. Through him, I managed to get some nice clothes for my family at reasonable rates.
Evening was interesting. The agent (Mr. Rudhra) told me that he wanted to take me to some watering hole to chill out. What greeted me was beyond my wildest expectation. Walking in, we were ‘namaste”d by extremely beautiful saree clad Nepalese damsels. They had a stage at one end of the hall where about 15 artistes were seated with their musical instruments. Each one then took turns to render a Nepalese number that was accompanied by lovely Nepali dancers performing their traditional dance. It looked like a slightly faster version of our own joget. But it was soothing and immensely relaxing. The pretty girls waited on you while you enjoyed your drink. The language they speak in Nepal is a corrupted version of Hindi……..at that moment, I regretted not knowing Hindi.
Requested for a couple of Hindi songs that the singer obliged. He sang very well. I joined him during his rendition of Kabhie-Kabhie, a 70’s song, punctuating it with Amitabh Bachan’s dialogue that I had memorized during my younger days, being an ardent fan of the legendary actor. It was well received. This was live music at its best unlike in Malaysia where they use pre-recorded music from keyboard for the main instruments. I truly enjoyed the night and made sure that I went back the next day to continue with the fun and festivity. On my last day, a deep sense of melancholy seized me when I realized that I wouldn’t be able to see them anymore and worse, that I would not even be able to communicate with any one of the lasses over the phone because of the language barrier.
On the last day of our stay, we took a trip to the largest and most significant Sivan temple in the world that was constructed sometime around 400 a.d. It was a spectacular sight to behold, I must admit. Walking in, you get goose pimples just looking at the place. But of course I didn’t realize the significance of the river that meandered alongside the temple as I nonchalantly flicked my cigarette butt into it only to learn upon my return that this was the Bagmati River that eventually flowed into the Ganges! What a pity that I didn’t snap any photos of it.
After spending a couple of hours, we were chauffeured to the airport for our flight back. As I turned to say goodbye to my host Rudhra and his driver Sumon, I vowed that I will surely return for another visit of this only Hindu Kingdom (now Republic) in the world. My wife would love this place.

54 long years...!

2011-07-16T00:54:00.002-04:00

(Granddaughter is similar attire)

In retrospect, it has been a long and arduous journey this life, and I’ve just reached the 54th milestone today. There were more downs than ups so to speak but the joy in the ups sort of overshadowed the regrets in the downs. But it had been indeed a long, long journey. No one told me it would be this long……..though I hadn’t expected a bed of roses either. But nevertheless when I look back, I can’t help but wonder how I succeeded in managing it all along.
The happy moments I cherish and rejoice at the joy and fun that accompanied each of those moments. The friends I kept, many of whom are still with me….and time passed.
The not-so-good memories and the sadness and sorrow that I suffered with no one to care or console….and you realize you have to go it alone……but time still passed to heal those wounds though some scars do remain that don’t hurt as much anymore.
Priorities changed when situations changed. Things considered important then are not so anymore. And I still wonder why or how it is so. They tell you that you are wiser for the experience but continue in the very next breath that wisdom is relative. So I can’t tell what is real and what is not anymore.
I do not crave for a long life like some people do. I just want to be around during my healthy years to be able to enjoy it all in the company of those I love dearly who mean everything to me at this point in life. In that context, my family beats them all.
My darling Kalavitha takes the icing providing me with the much needed joy to go on for now, giving me new reasons to continue looking forward to each new day.
Its one more year to retirement………….and the counting starts now!

Good Bye Mum!

2011-05-24T21:52:00.005-04:00

From left to right : Standing around Mum are daughter Priyanka, wife Prema, sister Susi, daughter Praveena carrying my grand-daughter Kalavitha)

I still remember when Mum was first diagnosed with having diabetes. It was in the year 1969 and I was about 12 then; being 12 didn’t afford me much information of what the disease was all about. I used to see Dad checking out her sugar level every other day with litmus paper dipped in Benedict’s solution (I think). But she took it all in good stead and survived intact for another 42 years. Of course, along the way about 18 years ago, she suffered her first stroke that left her partially paralyzed.
Ever since then, she had been dependant on Dad who would religiously attend to her every need. It would have been difficult for both of them especially since they were both past their prime. But somehow, they managed…….
Then when Dad passed away 1 ½ years ago, I suppose my Mum lost her will to go through life. She must have felt extremely lonely as she was living with my sister in Kulim while the rest of us were all scattered all around the country. She has become so frail that we didn’t even disclose to her of my brother’s death early this year, afraid that it might worsen her condition.
Two weeks ago, I visited her when she was admitted to the BM Hospital for some complications. The deadly disease had taken its toll. It was heart wrenching to realize that she had suffered total memory loss and could only stare blankly at me when I spoke to her at her bedside. I knew then that the worst was in store.
So as all good things must end someday, she breathed her last on the morning of Thursday 12th May 2011 at the ripe old age of 80.
Good bye Mum! May your soul rest in peace!

My Cutie-pie

2011-04-01T21:35:00.003-04:00

My cutie-pie is 2 ½ now and dominates our lives in more ways than one, entertaining us with her antics, giving us new hope and joy in our twilight years.
Life has suddenly become worth living.....again!

Heaven & Hell

2011-03-16T20:20:00.005-04:00

I reproduce below an excellent piece from one named Shanker that appeared in The Malaysian Insider that I found both amusing and thought provoking. Enjoy it.
Parable of the man who chose hell – by Shanker March 16, 2011
MARCH 16 – Once upon a time, a man died and was met at the Pearly Gates by an angel. The angel then explained that the man had arrived on a day of special offers: today, he gets to choose whether he wishes to spend eternity in heaven or hell.
“We’re going to let you have a day in hell and a day in heaven and then you can choose whichever one you want to spend eternity in.” The man then replied, “Why not? Ok, I’ll take the offer.”
And with that the angel put the man in an elevator and it went down straight to hell. The doors opened and the man found himself stepping out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course.
In the distance was a country club and standing in front of him were all his friends – they were all dressed in splendid evening attire and cheering for him.
They ran up to him and they talked about old times. They played an excellent round of golf and at night went to the country club where they enjoyed an excellent steak and lobster dinner.
He also met the devil who was, surprisingly, a really nice guy and he had a great time telling jokes and dancing.
The man was extremely excited! He was having such a good time that before he knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook his hand and waved goodbye as he got on the elevator. It went up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates and he found the first angel waiting for him.
“Now it’s time to spend a day in heaven.” So the man spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds and playing the harp and singing. He had a great time and before he knew it, his 24 hours were up. The first angel came up to him.
“So, you’ve spent a day in hell and you’ve spent a day in heaven. Now you must choose your eternity.” The man paused for a second and then replied, “Well, I never thought I’d say this, I mean, heaven has been really great and all, but I think I had a better time in hell.”
So the angel escorted him to the elevator and the man went down back to hell. When the doors of the elevator opened, he found himself standing in a desolate and dark wasteland covered in garbage and filth. He saw his friends were dressed in rags and screaming in pain. There were hot flames all around and it felt slimy and the smell was awful.
The devil then came up to him and put his arm around him. “Wait a minute! I don’t understand,” stammered the man. “Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster and we danced and had a great time. Now what I see instead is a dark wasteland and all my friends are in misery.”
The Devil looked at him and smiled, and then he explained: “That’s because yesterday, you met our marketing team.”
Moral of the story?
Well, I heard that the detained Bibles have been ordered for release.
Hmmm. Makes you wanna go “whoopee” and kiss a 1Malaysia logo.
Or the hand of the DPM.
Whatever.
So, now you can’t wait to rush in and deliver your votes to BN, right? (I can almost hear the SUPP President go, “phew!”)
But then again, for the past 30 over years, we have been hearing the BN marketing team give their pitch to us… No …?
They promised us “Bersih, Cekap Dan Amanah”; but what we get instead is a languid civil service mired in corruption and wastage.
They promised us “Bangsa Malaysia”; but what we get instead is Perkasa.
They inspired us to “work with me”; but what we got instead was someone who slept on the job.
They promised us an efficient system from privatization endeavors; but what we get instead are traffic jams, and a mess of a public transport system. Not to mention that our utility and toll bills keep going up.
They promised us that the new MACC will be modeled after the reputable ICAC of Hong Kong; but what we get instead is a dead body, an unsolved “mystery” involving the death of a fine young man, and an agency that attracts more ridicule than its predecessor.
They promised us that they would get to the bottom of the VK Lingam “correct, correct, correct” saga and take action if there is sufficient evidence; but what we get instead is a file which is rubber stamped, “No Further Action”.
So my dear friends, you decide whether you still want to buy what Barisan sells.

Farewell Ashok!

2011-02-28T22:52:00.006-04:00

And so it was that in mid December 2010, my brother Ashok had a stroke while at home. He had called me to say that his hands were numb and I had asked him to rush to the hospital which he did. He was quickly attended to at the hospital in SP where he remained for the next 2 days until his discharge.
Back at home he was quietly recovering…or so I was told. Little did I realize that he had not cut down on his favourite food and continued reaching out for high cholesterol stuff….. he especially loved nasi kandar and they serve good nasi kandar at SP.
He had often asked to see me and I assured him that I will be coming over during CNY in early February to spend a few days with him. But it was never meant to happen…..
On 25th February 2011 I decided to rush down when his daughter called the night before to say that he had taken ill again. Just as I was passing Tapah, I received word that he had breathed his last! I had least expected it so it came as a shock to me. My sister from Klang, my wife and daughter Priyanka were also with me when the call came through!
Endured the rest of the journey before finally reaching his house at about 7.00pm by which time they had brought back his body from the hospital. It was sad to see his family grieving beside the coffin. A feeling of guilt and sorrow seized me when I approached him to pay my last respects. Had I only known that the end was so near, I would have made the trip much earlier. Afterall, 58 is too young an age to go. But it was so sudden that none of us had expected.
The funeral was held the next day on 26-2-11 and was attended by the rest of my remaining siblings as well as a host of other relatives. We have not disclosed anything to my mum who is old and frail, for fear that the news might have a tragic effect on her. She still does not know that my brother has left us all. With his demise, I remain as the only surviving son having lost my eldest brother much earlier. I have of course three sisters who are hale and hearty!
Till we meet again wherever you are, may your soul rest in peace Ashok!

BM High School Reunion Dinner 2011

2011-02-12T00:50:00.007-04:00

(From L to R : Teck Aun, Boon Kheng,Kalai, his wife, Zuriah, Imbaraj, Radzi, Aravind & Jalil)

I had never attended any reunion dinners of my alma-mater, the famous BM High School. I know that the BMHS Alumni Club has been having this annual do at some posh hotel in KL ever since I left school in 1973 but it never interested me previously although on some occasions, the guest of honour had been ex-PM Abdullah Badawi (an old boy himself). I remember my classmate Jalil inviting me about 6 or 7 years ago to attend one when it was held at Sunway but I turned it down politely although I knew my other classmate Farid (the ‘F’ from JACHFRINS fame and now demised) would also be attending and I had not met him in a long time. Somehow the idea of celebrating a school function away from the school didn’t quite appeal to me.
So when Jalil called to inform me that this year’s function was being held at the school grounds in BM itself for the very first time. I was elated! I quickly spread the word around my other classmates whom I was in touch with and managed to gather the numbers for a table of 10. Nazir declined the invitation saying he had some other engagement on the same day. I called up Boon Kheng (who was in China at the time) who quickly reserved 2 seats, the other for Teck Aun. Imbaraj wanted in but Seck Hock, a successful lawyer in KL turned down for some reason. Imbaraj managed to contact Radzi who also agreed to join in.
So on the day of the function, off we went, all excited about being able to meet some old friends and teachers who we had not met since we left school 38 years ago. Imbaraj picked me up at about 10 in the morning from the Rawang Rest Area that I can actually access via a back route from my house in Rawang without having to hit the highway. I packed enough beers in my bag for the 3 hours or so journey. Once we passed Tapah, we started on the beers that had been chilled in a cooler bag that Imbaraj had brought along. We recalled so many incidents from the past as we took a slow drive, finally reaching BM at about 2 in the afternoon. After checking into Summit Hotel, we decided to go for a walkabout around town to get a feel of the place that we had traversed in during our younger days. Most of the shops were still around but some new buildings have sprung up. And the roads have been made one-way to ease the congestion. Found a nice cozy corner in an old chinaman stall and continued having a couple of beers more before we advanced to Ali Nasi Kandar nearby that had been in existence since our school days and which Imbaraj vouches to sell THE best Nasi Kandar in the country! After a sumptuous meal of chicken, with a dash of karuvadu curry and sotong, we retired to our room for a much needed short nap. We couldn’t have slept for more than an hour when Boon Kheng called to inquire our whereabouts. It was about 5 then and he wanted us to join him for some beers nearby. We quickly washed up and went to meet up with him. I had been in touch with him often especially during my Kulim days since he too lived there but Imbaraj was meeting him after 38 years. We had some more beers with him and Teck Aun over much fun and laughter before finally adjourning to the school for the reunion. Met up with Jalil at the school hall where he was having some light snack with his wife Zuriah (an ex-student herself from High School). Abdullah Badawi came with Jeanne a while later as the band started to belt out some old numbers. Interestingly the band was made up of school teachers from nearby schools.
We reminisced of our bygone days as we walked through the school corridor, stopping by at the very classroom that we studied in, taking a snap inside it at the very spot where we had been seated. Nothing much had changed except that the chairs that were either made of metal or wooden then had been replaced with plastic ones now.
We looked out hoping to be able to meet up with some of our old teachers but were disappointed when none of them had turned up. They must have retired obviously but efforts must have been made to invite them for the function which naturally isn’t complete without them around. I have since pointed this out to the organizer who promised to address the issue in the next event that will be held on 20-1-2012 (as Abdullah Badawi had insisted in his speech that all future reunions must be held at the school grounds).
When it was close to about 11, we decided to leave as Boon Kheng had invited us to Kulim Club where we went on to continue with our session until the wee hours of the morning. Returning to the hotel at about 3, we slept through the morning, waking up in time for lunch at Ali’s again before embarking on the arduous journey back home.
Thank you guys…….for the wonderful memories.

The 4 from JACHFRINS

2011-02-11T04:33:00.003-04:00

Sometime in early January this year, Imbaraj called me up and said that Mokhtiar Singh was down from Australia where he calls home these days. The last I met him was about 4 or 5 years ago when we had met up to visit an ailing Farid in Damansara Specialist (but that is another story and will be told another day). So this time around, we planned to meet up for dinner on 7th Jan. at Hokkaido Restaurant near Vistana Hotel. Jalil had recommended the place for its good food.
So on the day that we planned, Imbaraj and I met up at KTM Club in Brickfields where we were to wait for Singh to arrive. We had some drinks while waiting catching up on old stories. Jalil was to head straight to the restaurant as being muslim, he was naturally a teetotaler. After Singh arrived, we shot off in Imbaraj’s car. Not realizing that roads in Brickfields have been made one-way streets, we got caught up in a traffic snarl and had to make Jalil wait a while.
The food in Hokkaido was good. But the company of the 4 of us chatting away was even better. It was a wonderful session. We caught up on all the happenings since we last met…..at least the events that we could remember. It is heartening to note that the 4 of us from our secondary school JACHFRINS group fame are still in touch after 38 long years!

An Evening In Dinty's

2011-02-10T03:03:00.004-04:00

Seated from L to R: Meena, Thilaga, Agnes and Shyla (office staff)enjoying the songs after their lunch.

Rajini impersonator from India (perfect match if not for his size).

One day in the year 2002, I decided to organize a lunch function for my office staff who until then never had the pleasure of attending one as the Company didn’t believe in having annual dinners. Annual dinners create an avenue not only to be able to show our appreciation to the employees for a job well done, it also provides a platform for them to mix and mingle with the management staff in an informal backdrop. It is envisaged that such interaction will help foster relationship and comradeship. It helps build a positive work environment that would in turn improve productivity levels in the long run. This is something that most large conglomerates practice. But not this Company that I work in. My numerous attempts to enlighten them on the intangible rewards of having this kind of functions fell into deaf ears. It was then that I thought I will organize a small do for at least the office staff.
I used to patronize the Dinty’s Pub in Brickfields then that only opens at 6.00 in the evening. As the Manager was a good friend of mine, I proposed the idea of having a lunch function on one of the Saturdays. She was receptive to the idea and allowed me exclusive usage of the premises from 1.00pm onwards to 6.00pm. Food was catered from a nearby restaurant and beer was free flowing for the guys who paid RM50.00 each while the ladies paid just RM15.00. There was also a band in attendance to entertain us during the 3 hours or so of merry-making. To add to the festivity, the Pub owner had also negotiated with some impersonators from India to do a Rajini, Kamal & Chandrababu acts. We had some staffs rendering a number or two while I was the MC for the evening and also sang a couple of songs. Towards the tail end of the show, the crowd became so immersed and ecstatic that they took to the floor. It was revelry at its finest!
On the whole, it turned out to be a grand success with each staff thanking me for a really enjoyable evening. It was a fantastic event, well received by all of them.

Cheng & I

2011-02-07T22:41:00.004-04:00

It was the year 1973 and I was doing my Form 5. My Dad had arranged for me to take tuition for Mathematics as I was kind of weak in the subject. For a while, I was attending and all was ok. Then I got bored and on certain days, I played truant.

It was during one of those days when I had skipped tuition that I met Cheng at the Butterworth beach at about 7.30 in the evening. This was the beginning of my smoking days and I had gone by the beach area where it was dark and lonely with only courting couples in their cars for company. Cheng was there too. His father runs a sundry shop near my house and I had seen him quite often whenever I went over to buy something but we never got to strike a conversation as he was always busy in the shop. So when I met him tonight, he greeted me as I formally introduced myself. He was doing his Form 5 too but in Penang Island while I was on the mainland. I got to know him a fair bit more but what sealed the relationship was when I noticed that he smoked too. That made 2 of us. While I was just learning the ropes, so to speak, I noticed that he was seasoned. From then on, we met up often and went on to become close buddies. Every time he had some errands to run, he would always pick me up as my house was situated in his “drive path”. In fact during my sister’s wedding that year, he volunteered to drive and came with his family car and spent the entire time with us. The difference in ethnicity didn’t divide us. Far from it, in fact it was not a factor at all in the 70s. Together we joined the Bahai centre and used to attend prayer sessions. And those days, I would always claim that I was a Christian. I don’t know why but I never said that I was a Hindu. It was probably because I had so many Christian friends then…Raymond…. Andrew….. Victor ….. Ruban…..and many more. In fact, I had a Christian name too. I used to call myself John. That was until my sister pointed out one day that we had had a dog named ‘John’ in the house when I was a kid. Then I dropped it and changed my name to Steven for a while.

In this Bahai group, we would sometimes visit fellow Bahais in neighbouring towns. I remember those days when I mentioned that I was a Christian to anyone, their first reaction would be “ Ohhh…….so which church do you go to? And my standard answer had always been “There’s one near my school”. It was only much later that I learnt that the answer should have been either “Roman Catholic” or “Protestant” or one of those! Until today when I think of it, I feel stupid! Wonder what would have run through their minds!

Cheng featured prominently in my life then. He loved Hindi movies and Hindi songs. There had been many occasions when we went for movies together. In fact, I went for Bombay to Goa, my first Amitabh movie with him. His performance was impressive to say the least. Throughout the movie I was wondering who this new hero was as until then it had been Rajesh Khanna who was creating the waves. We now know how all that changed after Amitabh entered the movie scene.

Once he showed me a book titled ‘Hindi in 30 days’ that he was reading. I’m not sure if he made any gains by reading it but later in life after I had started working in KL, he went to Rajasthan in India to pursue a course in Agriculture.

I last met him in 1985 when he returned to Butterworth for a short break. He was working as a Planter in some plantation in Sabah then. We spent quite some time together to the extent that once when I went to visit him, I heard his mum telling him in Hokkien not to follow me out if I asked him to, while in the next breath, greeting me in Malay. I marveled at the level of hypocrisy that some people have but in retrospect, it was perhaps the family had wanted to spend more time with him and I happen to be depriving them of it. It was during this time that technology gradually advanced many fold……unnoticed (to me at least)! I realized one day a few months ago that the world has actually shrunk and distance was not a barrier anymore in communication. With that in mind, my wife and I made a trip to the old sundry shop in Butterworth where Cheng’s parents lived with the hope that I can revive the channels of communications with him. I was pleasantly surprised when his brother, mum and his dad could still recognize me as they welcomed me by my home name (Ravi). They were extremely delighted to see me. After a short tete-a-tete, I got Cheng’s phone number in Sabah and left, assuring them that I will drop in again.

I spoke to Cheng last night and he was indeed surprised to hear my voice. We spoke a lot of our present as well as our old times. I realize that a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since we last met but it is never too late to revive the relationship. He had been a part of my life at a certain point in time and it had been impactful. I could very nearly “sniff” his love and sincerity when he started enquiring of my family. He has promised to visit his parents during the next Chinese New Year. I am looking forward to catching up with this dear friend of mine whom I have not seen for 24 years!

(the above was written a month ago........now back to the present!)

And so it was on the 2nd day of CNY that I took a slow drive to his house in the kampong in Butterworth to meet up with him. I had learnt from his wife that morning that Cheng was indeed back home. He was pleasantly surprised to meet me and my wife. We spoke at length of events past and present. A strange sense of nostalgia crept by as we recalled some friends but had difficulty putting a face to those names. Time had taken a toll on our memory. He hadn’t changed a bit….being his usual congenial self and ever so courteous, factors that had played a crucial part in bringing us close during those early years. His parents were also pleased to see me and were in fact surprised that I had taken the trouble to keep in touch.

He said that he had turned down a promotion as it meant that he was to have been transferred to the interiors of Sabah. He has thus retired from the estates and was now running a food-stall in Sandakan where he has made base. His 3 bright kids are all government sponsored and 2 of them are pursuing medicine. His anxiety showed through when he spoke of Egypt where one of his daughters were and was due to be evacuated anytime even as we spoke. This time around, he had come alone, leaving his wife and kids back in Sabah but he assured however that we will meet again the next time when he comes sometime in June this year with his whole family.

Chaudhary & I

2010-11-19T01:11:00.002-04:00

Chaudhary & I go a long way back. I had just been transferred to Seremban then while working for Rothmans in 1979. Didn’t know anyone there except for my classmate Raymond with whom I stayed for the first 3 months or so. I later moved in with my working colleagues who were renting a house in Jalan Templer.
I used to patronize The Pearls, an up-market restaurant along Birch Street that was run by one Mr. Arjunan. My then new love interest was also working upstairs next door so it was sort of a convenient meeting place for us after work. I would spend hours on end chatting away, downing my favourite beer till its time to call it a day, usually in one of the private rooms in the restaurant that Mr. Arjunan had.
It was on one of those days that I met Chaudhary otherwise known as Roton to his family. (I especially liked the name Chaudhary as it reminded me of the Sivaji starrer of the 70’s where the hero excels in his role as a policeman). He worked in the estates in nearby Pedas town and was a football referee, often refereeing the game for the Indian Association team players in the town padang just opposite Pearls Restaurant. I was having my usual pint when we struck up a conversation. Upon learning that I was an out-of-towner, he was more than nice towards me. We soon developed a close friendship………. and I got to know his family too when he invited me to his parent’s house in Bahau one day. I have spent so much time with him in his estate bungalow that it was more like my second home. His sister (Lolo) also stayed with him so sometimes when I am rushing back to work the next morning, I would drop her off at her work-place in Senawang that was along the way. He even gave me a spare key which meant that I could access his house during the times when he and his sister weren’t there.
After I left Seremban in the early 80’s, we still kept in touch. I would visit him once or twice and learnt that he had grown career-wise, having left his Pedas job to take up a posting in another estate in Labu, closer to town. He was married by then to someone from India with whom he was communicating back in the 70’s while I was still in Seremban.
We lost touch for a while after that until about 25 years later when I somehow managed to get his phone number through another one of our common friends. Made contact with him and visited him a couple of years back. He had bought a beautiful house in Seremban 2 with a large garden and had a gardener to tender to his plants when I dropped in……reminding me of his estate life back then.
We spoke for quite a while catching up on old stories. He mentioned that he was retired and was looking forward to taking up an offer from Sabah or Sarawak (can’t quite remember). After having lunch, I left promising that we’d meet again. I later invited him for my daughter’s wedding but it was unfortunate that he couldn’t attend. From then on, I would always tell myself that I should visit him when I get a chance to drop by at Seremban but somehow never got down to fulfilling that wish. Spoke to him over the phone though……the last being about 6 months back.
As such it was a real shocker to see his photograph in the obituary section of the papers on 22nd November 2010! I called up his sister and was told that he had had a massive heart attack the previous evening and had passed away.
It is so sad that unlike in a race, life does not offer a finish-line. It just ends…..and so abruptly at that……! Thus ends another chapter in my life leaving behind only fond memories.
Rest in peace Roton. God bless you.

My Early Years - part 2

2010-08-26T00:30:00.001-04:00

Although there were 3 of us from the same school living together in the house (in different classes), somehow I felt alienated when it came to matters of the school. And it was not the studies that I’m talking about. It was about what to do and what not to do. There were many occasions when I had gone to school with a bag-load of books only to discover that I needn’t have to as it was ‘prize giving day’…. Or it was ‘exhibition day’ or ‘school concert’. Until today I still wonder how the information didn’t flow to me or was it because I was a dreamer. I remember going to year 2 in 1965 in the morning only to be told that I had to come back in the afternoon as they had placed me in ‘express class’. I didn’t have any inkling on what it was all about but went along anyway. Unlike other kids my age, I didn’t have anyone to chaperone me to school or seek clarification from the teachers. My folks were far, far away in a God forsaken estate, working hard to put food on the table for 6 kids. With my Dad’s meager income as Hospital Attendant cum Dispenser and my Mum as a Ward Maid cum midwife, it must have been financially tight to cater to my needs too since I was living away from home and I am sure they had to pay something for my board and lodging. But they never once complained. My orthodox parents always gave priority to education at any cost.
I went on to spend another 3 years in Butterworth with my uncle’s family before finally being transferred back to a school in Kulim after my Standard 5 in 1967 having gone through Standard 3 and 4 in the same year in 1966. Doing 2 standards in one year might have been a novel idea catering for bright kids but it didn’t quite work out for me as I struggled through Standard 5 as the express class syllabus of year 3 and 4 didn’t quite cover many of the subjects leaving me sort of lost and confused the following year. But after Standard 6, I was ok though. In later years, I would return to this place where I spent my early school years namely to my Uncle’s house at No. 88 Kampung Bengali many a time to relive fond memories of my childhood.
Back in the estates after that, I was enrolled at St. Patrick’s primary during the last quarter of my Standard 5. It was a missionary school and I found it strange having to address the Principal as ‘Brother’. Once again I didn’t expect this as my brothers who had studied in the same school hadn’t mentioned about it before……or maybe they had but it hadn’t quite register in my mind since as a kid, I was always preoccupied and drowned in my own thoughts (we know it as ‘day dreaming’ now). And there were a lot of Christian boys in my class too. There were Raymond, Ruban James, Andrew, Victor, Peter S, Albons and a few more who I cannot recall. From this list, only Raymond and I went on to foster a close relationship…… (He has been mentioned in many of my other stories). Although he has since settled down in Norway, we still keep in touch.
After the December holidays, I prepared to start my Standard 6 and as usual found a seat beside Raymond until an hour or so later when the Principal appeared in the class, said something to the class teacher (Mr. Chinniah) and soon led me away to his office where he informed me that he had not received the green light as yet from the Ministry on whether I could go to Standard 6 as being younger by a year, I was under-aged to be in Standard 6. Disheartened and disappointed, I was sent back to Standard 5 again where I remained for another month until I was cleared by the Ministry to continue in year 6. Wow! What a relief that was!

My early years - part 1

2010-08-21T00:32:00.000-04:00

The year 1964 was the only year when all 6 of us (siblings) were still in school, with me starting in Standard 1 and my eldest sister completing her Form 5. There were no English schools at the estate where my parents lived; the nearest one was about 20 miles away through laterite roads in Kulim, so my Dad had put us all up at my Aunty’s place in Butterworth to get through our education. Like all orthodox families, Dad was steadfast in his belief that a good education was the only key to success.
After my sister finished her Form 5, it was felt that we should all return to live in the estate as we were big enough to endure the 35 km travel to school. The estate provided 2 school buses leaving each morning catering to the needs of the more than70 students studying in the town. It meant that we had to wake up by 5 each morning to catch the 6 o’clock for the journey that would usually take about an hour. There were not many vehicles on the roads then to compete for space, so the travel was hassle-free except that the white uniforms turned beige by the time we reached school. But I didn’t have to go through all these then……not for the next 3 years at least. The reason was that my folks felt that waking up early to make the arduous journey to school would be too much for me to bear at that age. Moreover I was one of those selected to go through “express” class….meaning, I get to complete the next 4 years of classes in 3 years. And schools in Kulim didn’t practice the express class system then.
So in 1965 when the rest of my siblings moved back to study in Kulim, I had to stay back to continue my education in Butterworth. They put me up at one of my uncle’s place where there were a host of other school going kids too with whom I soon bonded and blended in to become one of their own, travelling back to the estates only during school holidays. Initially I felt lonely….. extremely lonely, especially each time I came back after the holidays. There had been moments when I’d just bury my face in the pillow and cry my heart out. Although I was surrounded by so many of my relatives here, it was never the same. I missed my mum especially.
So it was here in Butterworth where I grew up the next 3 years until I completed my Standard 5 in 1967. My uncle was a tailor. He starts early usually by 8 or 9am and I have only seen him working through the day without any real breaks in between, often rushing to complete his orders. I remember doing errands for him once or twice, running over to the shops nearby to get him his favourite ‘rough-rider’ cigarettes……..not much of a smoker though as he only smoked about 4 or 5 sticks a day. Such was his discipline. I remember him as a mild mannered person and had never ever seen him admonishing his kids in any way…not once! Disciplining was the forte of my aunt (his wife).
There were many of us in the same age group including the neighbourhood boys. Vidya, being the last son, was naturally the blue-eyed boy in the family. He seldom joined us in our activities preferring to stay back with the family. The other cousin Ravi (often referred to as Big Ravi as we both shared the same name) was the head of our pack. Together we engaged in all kinds of games….kite, tops, marbles, police & thief, rounders etc……games that have almost disappeared from this part of the world now. Many of the neighbours were muslim boys. But back then friendship was not built along racial or religious preference. We were just harmless young kids who happened to get along well with no such inhibitions whatsoever. There were the bad guys in the group too (Gabriel and his Donald) who fortunately, we avoided mixing with after being advised not to by the elders. Later in life, Gabriel & Donald went on to become wanted criminals in the country. I didn’t keep track of what happened to them after that but with no news of them in the tabloids these past 20 or 30 years, they must have met their Maker, like everyone else like them.
The girls in the house treated me well……Chandrika, Subathra, Sumathi and their cousins Thangam and Uma (or Parija as she was called). They had a large room upstairs for themselves while the boys slept in the other smaller room. The blue-eyed boy, of course, slept with his parents. I went on to spend the next 3 years here during which time I missed home dearly but seldom spoke of it to anyone. I missed being with my siblings who I got to see only during school breaks.
(….to be continued)

Hem Raj's graduation

2010-08-20T23:19:00.003-04:00

Finally, Hem Raj has graduated with a degree in Mechanical Engineering. The challenges of life will begin from now on for him. But I'm sure he will be able to endure them all in his stride.

Congratulations Hem Raj!

The smile...to have it her way!

2010-05-05T21:26:00.002-04:00

She is nearly a year and a half now and has learnt to walk and 'baby'talk. Her teeth makes her cute when she smiles....and she smiles most of the time.

Lesson in History

2010-03-23T00:17:00.004-04:00

(Click on image for enlarged view)
This is an extract of part of Lord Macaulay's address to the British Parliament on 2nd February 1835 that I received in my mail recently. It bears an interesting observation of the Indians in India then. Note the proposal to replace the education system to break the Indians forever and to make them feel inferior, thereby losing their self-esteem and in the process allow themselves to be dominated. How conniving and cunning!
(search for Lord Macaulay in the web for more)

Cutie Pie

2010-03-17T02:34:00.001-04:00

This picture was taken during Thaipusam this year in Butterworth. We were all in a restaurant having lunch when we placed my grand-daughter Kalavitha in the baby’s chair. What you see of her is she screaming her head out that she wants to come out of it. Holding her is my last daughter Priyanka, named so as she was born in the same year that Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated. His daughter is also named Priyanka.

Thaipusam at the Sunset Bistro

2010-02-25T04:27:00.004-04:00

It was a reunion of sorts during the last Thaipusam holidays. My nephew had booked the Flamingo suites in Penang and we decided to make it into a small family get-together of sorts. Took leave on Friday and started on the journey from Rawang at about 10.30 in the morning. Traffic wasn’t heavy and I made it to Kulim by mid afternoon where I picked up my mum, sister and my brother. I decided to cross over to Penang by ferry as it had been a long time since I travelled this way, always preferring to take the bridge. We got a place on the upper deck of the vehicular ferry. The ride was really nice and brought back old memories when we lived in Butterworth and it was the only way to cross over…….way back in the 80s….
We reached the hotel close to 6 in the evening and were assigned to our rooms. It was a tastefully furnished 3 room suite with 2 balconies along the beach in Tanjung Bungah overlooking the sea. Unfortunately, the sun sets over the hills at Balik Pulau, the other side of the island, so we had to make do with just the sight of darkening of the skies as the sun called it a day.
Later that night, my nephews and I together with Ragu (from Australia) then adjourned to the bistro on the first floor where we started on the beers. It was nice and cozy with a full view of the pool. My brother joined in too. After a full session, Ragu and I took a drive to Gurney Drive and met up with Imbaraj, Sargu, Murali and their families who were spending the holidays in Penang too. After chatting for close to an hour and downing a few more within the same space of time, we moved on to Penang Road to meet up another one of my second cousins Vasu who had been waiting there for a while. He wasn’t alone though….introducing us to a Ms. Banu who was with him. She provided the needed companionship without commitment this evening. The night ended close to 2 am. Its rare for me to hit the bed at such unearthly hours……… but what the hell? Its not often that I get to let my hair down.
Although I slept late, I was up early the next morning….in time for breakfast at the hotel anyway. My son and son-in-law were seen playing snooker outside the lobby area while Mohanan and I quietly planned to sneak out for some nice beer. The mid afternoon sun was blazing down by then and what better way to cool down than a couple of nice cool ice-cold Danish delight by the sea. We adjourned to the sunset bistro off Tanjung Bungah town. It’s actually a very private joint away from the bustling tourist spots nearby and has a cozy long bar just along the edge of the beach where we perched ourselves for the next few hours. The huge trees provided natural protection from the sun’s rays with its large canopy of leaves leaving just enough opening for us to take in the lovely sight of the beachfront with seemingly energized waves of the incoming tide rushing in as if in a race among them only to dissipate as they swept across the shore…..and recede to pick up the pieces for another round of unending action. A while later, Alicia dropped in to provide the much needed relief support with her partner tagging along, having parked his recently purchased Beamer at the distance but within view. It was a wonderful respite from the everyday routine and a much needed one too. To understand the feeling, you have to close your eyes and take away all thoughts of everything from your mind……….blanko it! You become completely free then ……….free from life’s daily demands, chores, the obligations, compulsion……from everything. It lasts only for the moment and you are aware of it but it’s a beautiful feeling……….. even if only for the moment.
Thaipusam in Penang is a must-see event. I know because I have been there so many times, especially when we lived in Butterworth. It is much better than Batu Caves where the crowd is contained just below the Temple. In Penang, it takes a carnival atmosphere of sorts with the crowd milling around “all over Georgetown” so to speak. I make it a point to advise all and sundry that they must make it a point to visit Penang during Thaipusam to experience the difference.
..............unfortunately, this time around……….I didn’t make it to the temple……..!

......long overdue!

2010-01-22T03:23:00.001-04:00

This is long overdue. My sincere apologies……..
Yes…it has been a while since I posted anything…..excuses aplenty of course. For one, I have been tasked with neutralizing a situation in my plant where a group of disgruntled workers are in the process of establishing a union. It has befallen on me to use my influence to talk them out of it, an arduous task that I have undertaken as a project. Whether I succeed in my attempts or not, only time will tell. But from the looks of it, it appears they are not making much headway, not without the support from a vast majority of them….or so it seems.
And to add to this added workload, my key assistant has gone on his annual pilgrimage to India…..to Swammi Ayappan. So that means that since the birth of the new year, I have had to oversee everything here in office, something that this star player would usually take care of.
Then they have given me a new PC….which is good considering that I have been using the old one for such a long time……since 2001 when I joined, I think. But the trouble with this new PC is that there are so many new features in it. And the e-mail screen comes with so many other options in it that I don’t feel comfortable using it anymore. Or maybe it’s just a matter of getting used to it which surely I will…over time. But for now, I don’t feel comfortable…not yet. And that’s also one of the reasons that had kept me away from writing. …..honest! You see, I have been reluctantly pushed to live life in this age of I.T……something that I didn’t have to in the first 40 years of my life. But that’s the order of things these days, so what’s my alternative? It has become a matter of survival…..or becoming irrelevant and ‘obsolete’! What a choice really?
Anyway there have been a lot of things happening around me that I will have to write about. For one, I made contact with my old friend Praba from the hospital days who is now in Sabah and who will be down sometime early next month…….I have also made contact with some cousins of mine from India with whom I have started communicating in the hope that we can built a foundation first before we get to meet, that has been planned for mid-year. On the local front, this year is also the year when my remaining old classmates plan to have a reunion. It’s in the pipeline but we are sure it will materialize. To make the event all the more exciting, we want to meet up in Penang and pay a visit to our alma-mater in BM…..just for old time’s sake.
Thank you for joining me. I will be up and running in due course. Until then please bear with me especially Mr. Suresh Nair and Tok Jack.
Chao……

Cheng & I

2009-12-31T03:05:00.002-04:00

It was the year 1973 and I was doing my Form 5. My Dad had arranged for me to take tuition for Mathematics as I was kind of weak in the subject. For a while, I was attending and all was ok. Then I got bored and on certain days, I played truant.

It was during one of those days when I had skipped tuition that I met Cheng at the Butterworth beach at about 7.30 in the evening. This was the beginning of my smoking days and I had gone by the beach area where it was dark and lonely with only courting couples in their cars for company. Cheng was there too. His father runs a sundry shop near my house and I had seen him quite often whenever I went over to buy something but we never got to strike a conversation as he was always busy in the shop. So when I met him tonight, he greeted me as I formally introduced myself. He was doing his Form 5 too but in Penang Island while I was on the mainland. I got to know him a fair bit more but what sealed the relationship was when I noticed that he smoked too. That made 2 of us. While I was just learning the ropes, so to speak, I noticed that he was seasoned. From then on, we met up often and went on to become close buddies. Every time he had some errands to run, he would always pick me up as my house was situated in his “drive path”. In fact during my sister’s wedding that year, he volunteered to drive and came with his family car and spent the entire time with us. The difference in ethnicity didn’t divide us. Far from it, in fact it was not a factor at all in the 70s. Together we joined the Bahai centre and used to attend prayer sessions. And those days, I would always claim that I was a Christian. I don’t know why but I never said that I was a Hindu. It was probably because I had so many Christian friends then…Raymond…. Andrew….. Victor ….. Ruban…..and many more. In fact, I had a Christian name too. I used to call myself John. That was until my sister pointed out one day that we had had a dog named ‘John’ in the house when I was a kid. Then I dropped it and changed my name to Steven for a while.

In this Bahai group, we would sometimes visit fellow Bahais in neighbouring towns. I remember those days when I mentioned that I was a Christian to anyone, their first reaction would be “ Ohhh…….so which church do you go to? And my standard answer had always been “There’s one near my school”. It was only much later that I learnt that the answer should have been either “Roman Catholic” or “Protestant” or one of those! Until today when I think of it, I feel stupid! Wonder what would have run through their minds!

Cheng featured prominently in my life then. He loved Hindi movies and Hindi songs. There had been many occasions when we went for movies together. In fact, I went for Bombay to Goa, my first Amitabh movie with him. His performance was impressive to say the least. Throughout the movie I was wondering who this new hero was as until then it had been Rajesh Khanna who was creating the waves. We now know how all that changed after Amitabh entered the movie scene.

Once he showed me a book titled ‘Hindi in 30 days’ that he was reading. I’m not sure if he made any gains by reading it but later in life after I had started working in KL, he went to Rajasthan in India to pursue a course in Agriculture.

I last met him in 1985 when he returned to Butterworth for a short break. He was working as a Planter in some plantation in Sabah then. We spent quite some time together to the extent that once when I went to visit him, I heard his mum telling him in Hokkien not to follow me out if I asked him to, while in the next breath, greeting me in Malay. I marveled at the level of hypocrisy that some people have but in retrospect, it was perhaps the family had wanted to spend more time with him and I happen to be depriving them of it. It was during this time that technology gradually advanced many fold……unnoticed (to me at least)! I realized one day a few months ago that the world has actually shrunk and distance was not a barrier anymore in communication. With that in mind, my wife and I made a trip to the old sundry shop in Butterworth where Cheng’s parents lived with the hope that I can revive the channels of communications with him. I was pleasantly surprised when his brother, mum and his dad could still recognize me as they welcomed me by my home name (Ravi). They were extremely delighted to see me. After a short tete-a-tete, I got Cheng’s phone number in Sabah and left, assuring them that I will drop in again.

I spoke to Cheng last night and he was indeed surprised to hear my voice. We spoke a lot of our present as well as our old times. I realize that a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since we last met but it is never too late to revive the relationship. He had been a part of my life at a certain point in time and it had been impactful. I could very nearly “smell” his love and sincerity when he started enquiring of my family. He has promised to visit his parents during the next Chinese New Year. I am looking forward to catching up with this dear friend of mine whom I have not seen for 24 years!

(FYI, in spite of playing truant, it may interest you to note that I still managed a strong credit in my Maths).

Happy New Year!

Singh is King (continued)

2009-12-27T23:14:00.002-04:00

(Click on image for enlarged view).
This is the picture taken with Murali during the trip to PD. Managed to retrieve it from an old album of mine. I’m seated in back row, third from left (or third from right, whichever you prefer). Murali is the one seated in front of me in blue T shirt wearing watch on right hand. The others in the picture are all his friends but I have no clue if he kept in touch with them.

I recently recalled an incident that took place in the 70s. My classmate Jalil was a Police Inspector whom Murali had also met before. One day Jalil had gone to Brickfields to do some chores when from a distance, Murali had seen him parking his car. He approached Jalil and had struck up a conversation in full view of his friends, not so much as to build on the relationship with Jalil but more to impress his friends that he had police connections since Jalil was on duty and in full uniform on that day. However the plot backfired! Jalil saw through his intentions when he noticed his friends watching him and without warning, quickly handcuffed him to the steering wheel and left him there while he went about his chores returning only after a good half an hour or so. It was a real embarrassment for Murali that he had least expected. Later that weekend when Jalil dropped by at Happy Mansions and related the incident to us, we all had a good laugh.

Happy Birthday Praveena

2009-12-23T19:59:00.000-04:00

No…this is not my grand-daughter Kalavitha although she looks very much like her. This is a picture of my daughter as a child. I am reproducing it here because today happens to be Ms. Big Eyes’ 27th birthday and as much as I love my grand-daughter, I love my daughter too.

Happy Birthday Praveena!

Publicity & Fame

2009-12-23T02:12:00.007-04:00

(Picture shows Mr. Bhagwan Das (left) handing me the track-suits).

It is always nice to be ‘featured’ in a local daily or to appear on TV….for the right reasons of course You get a sense of pride especially when you are young and just about coming into the real world. It creates a false sense of achievement and you tend to believe that the whole world would have seen it…..and it kind of makes you feel all the more so important……..at least that’s what it did to me. I had often been full of admiration and envy when I used to see my friend Imbaraj being featured ever so often in the papers but then he was a Penang State badminton player and back in the early 70s, he was the player to watch, so said a leading English daily. He earned those accolades and rightly deserved to be featured. But I wasn’t much of a sports person so I couldn’t even imagine being focused on for such reasons, or for any other reason whatsoever for that matter.

So in 1982, when my photograph appeared for the very first time in the Malay Mail, pictured receiving some goodies on behalf of my employers, from the proprietor of Ashrock Sportswear for the Malay Mail Big Walk, I was ecstatic. I remember getting hold of about 5 or 6 copies of the newspapers that day just so that I can cut out the article and post it to my nephews and niece back north and to show my family and friends, just in case they missed it. I couldn’t afford to allow them to miss it as it was not often that your picture gets to appear in the newspapers. The joy lasted a long time.

The other occasion was when I appeared together with Datuk Mahalingam (now Tan Sri) on National TV and that too, on primetime news. And it was big news back in Kulim where I lived then. As a Deputy Minister, Datuk Mahalingam was visiting the factory that I worked in and I was tasked with showing him around the plant. The next evening, the snippet appeared in the news segment. For the next couple of days, I remember being inundated with calls to the house as well as to the office, from friends and relatives alike asking if it was indeed me with the Minister as if it was the greatest thing that could happen to a person. But this was way back in 1993…..in a God forsaken laid back town up-country in a suburban part of under developed Kedah that I used to call home but from where I have since vacated and have no regrets for having done so, except for some fond memories of my childhood since ironically it was here, amidst the remoteness that I was born!

So you cannot really blame me for craving for such publicity, can you?

Singh is King!

2009-12-21T19:48:00.006-04:00

This photograph of Murali and I was taken on 27th November 2009 during Rashna’s wedding. Attired in full Punjabi 'regalia', I was just flattering him that he looked very much like a typical Punjabi when another fellow Punjabi couple walked in and greeted him, enquiring in Punjabi on the whereabouts of the wedding ceremony. Murali had to apologize that he was not one of them but that he was from the groom’s side. Taken aback and probably feeling slightly embarrassed, they then spoke in English and we guided them in to the adjoining hall where the ceremony was taking place.

Murali and I go back a long way. I have known him since I was about 18. Being Imbaraj’s cousin, it was easier to break the ice. When I was working in KL in the
70’s, he was still studying at FIT and used to call himself Don Raj, the “Don” adopted perhaps from the Globe Silk Store’s house brand as he was fond of wearing their clothes. It was one of the more stylish brands those days that didn’t leave a hole in your pocket. Word has it that on one occasion his father had gone to his college looking for him but when he asked around, no one seemed to know him until some college-mates advised his father to ask for “Don Raj” to make any headway! Boy…….! Was he furious!

Sometimes on weekends he’d drop by at Happy Mansions in Section 17 where I stayed with Sargu. And when he does, we used to chat for hours on end. I can still remember one particular Saturday afternoon when I had just returned from work and I noticed that he appeared troubled. He explained that he had been tasked with chartering a bus for a trip to PD that weekend with his school friends but in spite of trying everywhere, he had been unsuccessful. He appeared totally lost not knowing what to do next. I immediately swung into action and together, we approached a school bus driver from the nearby flats who was willing to oblige, albeit not before some tedious and tactical negotiations. What a relieve it was for him. So the next morning I joined in the trip together with the rest of his college-mates. And we had some good fun.

Later in life, in 1988 when I took up appointment in Alor Setar, he was kind enough to offer me board and lodging at no cost at all, allowing me the exclusive use of an air-conditioned room with attached bathroom. Truly speaking, it was luxury living then, so to speak. An incident I cannot forget was when on one occasion, he had forgotten to take his house keys when he went out and I had slept off by 10 that night. When he returned close to midnight, he approached the window to my room and called out my name. Unable to recognize his voice in my half dazed state, I asked him who it was and he answered “Thief! Thief! I opened the door for him and we had a good laugh.

There was another instance when I was forced to drive back all the way from Gurun to Alor Setar with a flat tyre. I had had a puncture on my right rear tyre when I passed the toll in Gurun. No sooner had I replaced with my spare tyre to continue my journey when to my utter disbelief, the spare went flat too. My choice was either to wait for a tow-truck or to continue driving with a flat tyre. I decided on the latter. By the time I reached my Taman in Alor Setar where I stayed, the rubber from the tyre had all been shredded and had fallen off and I was driving on just the rim; the grinding noise was so loud that the neighbours' children actually came out of their houses curious to find the source. But before I woke up the next morning, Murali had already replaced the tyre. That's how efficient he is when it comes to obliging friends.

Passage of Time

2009-12-16T00:25:00.007-04:00

These are pictures taken with my brother Ashok who lives in Butterworth. One was taken in November 1976 while the other was in October 2009, 33 years later. I wouldn't refer to the changes in our features as transformation....more so they are the damages caused to the human body due to the realities of life as we traversed through the passage of time! (Notice the bell-bottoms. It was the fashion of the day then. You could even attach stilts to your shoes to appear taller and no one would have noticed).

As we pass through this life
At an early stage we often wonder
If the world will be what
We perceive it to be

As we grow older
We change those perceptions
But the world stays
As true as it ought to be

When time stood still....!

2009-12-15T20:17:00.002-04:00

It was the year 2003 and I had been working in KL for about 2 years then. I had left my family behind in Ipoh though preferring to travel back to be with them every weekend. And I always took the bus back as it was too tiring to drive. I didn’t like the fast paced life in KL and didn’t want my family to endure the challenges that came with living life on the fast lane in the city. Ipoh was a total contrast compared to KL, with idyllic settings and a place where you dictate the pace of events. I looked forward to each weekend to spend with my family and always went back after a good rest feeling rejuvenated. I dreaded every moment that I had to be in KL feeling lonely and ……..depressed even. But I was left without much of a choice as I had to fend for me and my family and the job paid well, though I wouldn’t say much about the working conditions then. For a start I was branded anti-establishment for championing employee rights. Actually I wasn’t…..I was just ensuring that employees’ were not bullied for their ignorance which was rampant in the plant. My employers were also violating local statutes at every turn and I took it upon myself to right the wrongs regardless of the dip in my popularity with the management. I was here for a purpose and surely not for any popularity contest. When I decided to travel the path of righteousness, I threw caution to the wind with little regard to consequences or personal glory. But I must admit, it was indeed stressful. Added to my dilemma was having to juggle my life shuttling between Ipoh and KL. (It may be comforting to note that I have since succeeded in most of my initiatives).

It was on the 13th of May 2003 that the stress took a nasty toll on my health. I suffered my first heart attack and was warded at Ipoh Specialist where I got the angioplasty done. I remained warded for about 5 more days before being discharged with a month of medical leave. Frankly, it was a good break and a much deserved one at that. After I returned to work, I stayed with my sister in Klang for a while before returning to my rented apartment near my workplace. And the boredom returned……..!

One Saturday afternoon not long after I had returned to work, I was as usual at Pudu Raya waiting to catch the Express bus to Ipoh. I had felt alright the whole time and didn’t suspect anything amiss about me. I reached the platform and was waiting at the place where the bus was supposed to arrive. All of a sudden I felt dizzy and I could see the world spinning around me. Before I could find something to hold on to, I fell flat on my back and took a hard knock to my head in the process! I must have remained there for a good minute or two before 2 good Samaritans splashed cold water on my face and helped me up. I was still in a state of daze as they pulled me up and made me sit up along the pavement. After I regained consciousness and my composure, I continued with my journey back home.

I can only remember the 2 guys’ faces vaguely now as soon after they made me comfortable they disappeared in the maddening Saturday afternoon crowd perhaps to catch their own transport back to their home-state. But what I do know is that one of them was a Malay gentleman while the other was an Indian, both were in their late 20s or early 30s. From the innermost depths of my heart, thank you gentleman wherever you may be!

I was later to learn that the cause of my blackout was that at that precise moment, for some strange reason, my heart had actually stopped beating! But the impact of the fall had helped to revive the heartbeat and resuscitate me. God works in mysterious way…..? Indeed He does!

I have not suffered any more of such bouts after that one freakish incident…………… and I hope it stays that way for some time to come.

Catching up.......!

2009-12-13T22:36:00.003-04:00

(From left to right: Sethu, Aravind, Ragu & Jeevan)

Jeevan had been the catalyst for this whole reunion thingy. He had been in the US since the 90s and had returned after a lapse of 12 years. I suppose he had been the live wire among his cousins for them to organize this gathering. He was in the same age group as my nephews but I had the opportunity to play host to him once or twice in the early 90s when I was in Kulim and he would drop by often to visit my nephew. I had wanted to visit him for the past 2 weeks but somehow I just couldn’t find the time. I had been told that he was on a short visit but when I heard that he was due to return the next morning, I realized how fast time flies. It was an anti-climax of sorts when he came up to greet me; I couldn’t quite place him. For one, he spotted the bald look now and he has grown taller too with a much more robust figure then 20 years ago. I felt a little embarrassed at not being able to recognize him initially. We spoke of his younger days and his jaunts for a while.

His uncle Ragu who had recently returned from Australia that he now calls home, was also there. I’m not too sure what the trick is but he looks exactly how he was the last time I saw him in 1982. Could it be the not so punishing climate there…….I wonder? Surprisingly, he doesn’t appear to have aged one bit. Having lived down under for such a long time, I would have expected him to speak with the now all too familiar Aussie slang but no……he doesn’t have that either. Understandably, his kids speak that way having been raised in the foreign land for most of their lives but not him. He is still as modest as he was when he lived here and has not adopted any of those objectionable and sometimes even annoying traits or characteristics whatsoever. What a relieve! We spoke at length of our present and even had time to catch up with some of our past, promising to meet up again sometime soon.

Sethu was the other person I caught up with during the party. No…he is not from overseas. He lives in KL and we have known each other since I was 14. I tried many a time to meet up with him but somehow we couldn’t. On each of the occasions when I tried on almost all my visits to JB where he was working in the 90s, he had been busy and unable to make it. Being 3 years older to me, I learnt a lot about the birds and the bees during my transition to adulthood. He just about knew of all those things and I used to hang around with him often, once personally becoming a witness to his exploits or escapade. But we owe no one any apology as we were young then and ………….being young I suppose entitled us to be experimental. How else are we to learn or for that matter even grow, in the truest sense of the word? It had been 28 years since I last met him. He had lost much of his boyish looks and now projects an intellectual appearance with gold-rimmed glasses to match. We caught up with some old stories over a couple of pegs. Although the session was tempting, I couldn’t stay longer and left by 11 that night as I was working the next morning.

Only Family Photo

2009-12-07T04:20:00.003-04:00

On the left in order of height are Praba (eldest brother), Ashok (second), and me. On the right are Susilah (eldest sister), Sumathi (second) and Vanaja (third). Parents are seated. Dad (Velayuthum s/o Unneroo) is 1st generation Keralite but Mum (Leela d/o Kunjambu) was born here in then Malaya, making her 2nd generation. Her parents were from India though.

This family photograph was taken circa 1959 when I was about 2 years old. It’s the only one taken with my whole family. Fate and circumstances would dictate events from then on to ensure that we never get to take another group photograph together with the whole family again……. ever! I managed to retrieve what’s probably the last remaining copy from my sister Sumathi in Klang when I visited her over the weekend. It is being posted here for the benefit of my future generations who might be interested in unearthing their ancestral roots......that is, if the world doesn't end on 21-12-2012!

Our Paths Crossed...!

2009-12-06T22:51:00.003-04:00

It was the CNY holidays in 1980 and I had planned an outing with Imbaraj and Shareen, my new friend. Shareen came into my life in the first week that I got transferred to Seremban when I was attached to Rothmans. She was introduced to me by another friend whom I had also just befriended. They worked in United Oriental Assurance that was located just above Pearls Restaurant along Birch Road that I used to frequent for my regular pints. I remember we hit it off from our first meeting and soon after she had asked if I could chaperone her to her office dinner that weekend in KL to which I readily agreed. We became close friends from then on. It was unfortunate that I had to make it clear that there were to be no strings attached in the relationship as I was already committed to my girlfriend from Ipoh then (now my wife). It was a perfect arrangement for us as being a Punjabi, it would have been difficult to make any headway although in retrospect, I realise I later went on to be well received by her family as well. She was an interesting character and being a good conversationalist, she made an excellent companion to me since I socialized on most evenings. Petite and pretty, she could get along well with all my friends and would often join me during my drinking sprees, soon becoming my drinking partner as well. Although she drank and smoked, she always carried herself with grace and etiquette. The Bhais in town would always stare whenever they saw us together but I couldn’t care less for them and was never at anytime intimidated.

Back to the main story, my boss had other plans. He insisted that the non-Chinese staff had to continue working to help service outlets as stocks were expected to be depleted during the long CNY holidays that fell just before a weekend. I was fuming when I heard this as I had already made plans to go on a holiday. Back then, I was a bit rebellious and kind of anti-management most of the time, especially when certain decisions didn’t favour me. Realising the hopelessness of the situation, I went about working around it for a solution and eventually got one of my distributor’s Malay salesman to cancel his leave and stand in for me to do my tidings during the shut-down. With that, Imbaraj, Shareen and I went off to Cameron Highlands for a 2 night 3 day trip.

Leaving Seremban early on the 1st day, we reached Camerons by lunch and checked into the Rose Garden Hotel. It was a decent 3 star hotel where I had often stayed when I was based at Ipoh previously. Most of the time that we stayed there was spent either chatting, playing tennis, swimming in a small waterfall deep inside the jungle or just drinking away in the room while playing cards. The weather was extremely cold then unlike how it is these days. It was fun….just the 3 of us. After having a good time, we left Camerons on the 3rd day making our way down the winding road to Tapah from where instead of heading back South, we decided to drive to Ipoh to visit my future in-laws who lived there. It had been some time since I last met them and I was eager to see my girl-friend anyway, even if only for a while. The traffic from the opposite direction was heavy with the holiday crowd returning after the long CNY break. I had hardly travelled about 1 km after turning towards Ipoh from the junction of the Camerons road when I noticed what looked like my boss’ car on the opposite direction heading back towards KL. By the time I got a closer look, it was too late! It was indeed my Area Manager who recognized me at once as we were driving branded cars then with mine having the Rothmans insignia all over. At that exact moment, my heart sank as I was supposed to be working on that day back in Seremban. Pretending that everything was normal, I just waved at him nonchalantly and continued my journey. But deep within me, I knew the trouble I had got into! On the way to Ipoh we stopped by at Malim Nawar to pick up Regu, another relative of mine. Regu was related to me after my sister married into his family. I was about 12 when I first met him and since we fell within the same age bracket, we became good friends.

My in-laws were of course happy to see us; and so was my girlfriend. After spending about an hour or so, we bid them farewell and adjourned to a nearby pub for our regular shots. Half way through our session, we realized that Regu had been competing with Shareen with the beers little realizing that she actually drank like a goldfish and could still hold her drinks! But it was a little too late when we realized it….Regu was already on the brink of intoxication!. It was about 11pm then and our plans was to drive back the same night as I had to return to work the next day, since my boss had already seen me earlier in the day. Imbaraj and Shareen however were still on leave though. Not knowing what to do, we decided that we will send Regu back to Malim Nawar on our way back. These were the days when we didn’t have the Plus highway and had to make do with the old trunk road.

Upon reaching his house, we noticed that everyone had already slept. Regu was by now completely knocked out! Assessing the situation, I carried him and put him over my shoulders and knocked on the door. I felt a lot of guilt doing this but I had no choice at that moment as I had to return back. His brother opened the door expressing shock and outrage seeing him in a drunken stupor. I carried him inside and placed him on the couch, apologetically explaining that he had had a bit too much to drink………. and hurriedly left the place.

I drove all the way reaching Seremban at about 3 or 4am, sleeping only for the next 3 hours or so after that before getting up to report to work. At about 10am that morning, a warning letter from my boss came through the telex machine for "dereliction of duties".

Since then, Imbaraj and I continued to keep in touch but Regu migrated to New Zealand sometime in the early 80s from where I later learnt that he moved to Australia where he has since settled down. I received a call from him last week saying that he was down in Malaysia visiting his folks. We re-lived some of the moments that we spent together in our younger days promising to meet up sometime soon. I am excited and looking forward to seeing him again after all these years.... I wonder what has changed....!

As for Shareen, after I got married in 1981, she went on to continue her tertiary education and soon after, settled down with one of her college heart-throb. She is now a full fledged lawyer and lives with her husband and son in Subang Jaya…….but that was in 1998 when I last bumped into her. Our paths have not crossed after that meeting and I have lost all forms of contact with this dear friend of mine.

Stage experience

2009-12-02T00:03:00.010-04:00

The 1st time I went up on stage was when I was 13. It was a school concert in St. Patricks, Kulim and I went up to render a Hindi number from the movie Humraaz. My classmates liked it and I felt thrilled after that……and proud too. I realized that I liked being in the lime-light and was not afraid of crowds. When I was 14, I won the school elocution contest, beating even the 5th Formers. I represented the school debating team as their 1st Speaker while still in Form 3. Then I moved to BM High School where the Debating Society was not active. I tried reviving it by speaking to the seniors but no one showed any interest. They just held regular meetings with little follow up. We only had inter-class debates and I was placed as the 3rd Speaker. The famous sixth former MPL Vengadasalam used to be the 1st. Thereafter I was selected to represent the class once while doing my Form 6 in JB.

I realised that I had a penchant for such pursuits......a kind of a passion even. I thrived in such matters. I was not loud but controlled and I knew exactly when to pause and when to thunder. Breathing techniques helped me do that. And the crowd loved it. Their constant applause sometimes didn’t give me enough time to present my whole text. The times I checked back with the judges to see how I scored, I found that I was always the highest scorer in style and delivery. All these public speaking helped me in my career. I remember when I was in Rothmans I was asked to give an impromptu speech in front of all the trainees in my batch as well as the sales force…about 200 of them. And my bosses were impressed. They admitted that they had underestimated me. Another time was when I was in NST and it was my turn to do a presentation in front of the whole marketing team. Once again I did extremely well. From then on, I was ‘noticed’ by the top guns, so to speak.

There was an incident once in Ipoh when I was with RCI, a manufacturer of white cement. The company was bought over by a Danish firm and as the HR Manager, I was appointed as the MC during the signing ceremony. My new bosses had actually thought that I was an external professional. The new Chairman of the company approached me later and congratulated me for a job well done. During dinner that night, I was quietly piling my plate with some bites, intending to sneak away to some obscure corner to enjoy my beers when the same Chairman sought me out and made sure I sat beside him throughout the night. The GM (Chinaman), with whom I had had a fallout then, was not too happy about it. I further rubbed it in by engaging the Chairman in a lengthy conversation, completely sidelining the GM in the process. I was really elated to see the reaction on his face…….it made my day.

While working in Kedah, I used to organize their annual dinners and as usual I was the MC. I remember once when I organized the whole function for the 1200 employees single handedly! The MD was all praise for a job well done as we had 100 % attendance, excluding gate-crashing by ex-employees. What I had done was unconventional. It was a habit of these multinationals in Kulim to hold their annual dinners at some posh hotel in Penang. They would then ferry their workers to the venue and return after the function late at night. But the next day would be a working day. So usually many employees kept away from attending resulting in only about 60% attendance. When I took over, I changed all that, preferring to do it right adjacent to the factory itself where we had a large piece of empty land. I transformed the whole place into a carnival atmosphere. Leveled the ground and put up a large tent to sit 1200 people. I lit up the whole area and put up a huge stage. I engaged 2 live bands; one to play English and Malay numbers and the other for Tamil and Hindi selection. It went well with the crowd. And I had also slotted in employee performance ……..singing, dancing etc. The crowd just loved it. At the end of the day, I saved about 50 % of the cost as compared to previous years. For my efforts, I was selected as the Best Employee of the year, earning a promotion along the way.

In spite of all these experience behind me, I still have butterflies in my stomach before I take to the stage. I am not sure of the others but I still feel a little nervous before I step onto the stage. No one notices it as outwardly I strike a confident pose. But once I start, then I’m in control. Thereafter the feeling just wanes away. So it was no different when I addressed the crowd last Saturday during Rashnaraj’s (Sargu’s son) wedding dinner. It was a massive crowd and the drinks were free flowing. I volunteered the arduous task of subduing them and bringing them to focus in the 3 or 4 minutes of my opening address before I hand over the mike to Theishini (Imbaraj’s daughter). And from the accolades that I received after I stepped down, especially from Dato Kanda who is generally a man of few words, I realize I must have done fairly well. Even my wife and kids couldn't hide their approval over my performance. This was also Theishini’s debut exposure in front of such a huge crowd but she did well. I’m quite certain that she would have had butterflies in her stomach too before taking the mike. No one noticed though……as she bottled up all signs of stage fright and went about her job like a pro.

The Wonder of Life

2009-11-23T03:41:00.004-04:00

(I couldnt have written it better)
I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.

I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4.00 am and sleep till noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60s & 70s, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ... I will.

I will walk on the beach in a swim-suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the crowd around.

They, too, will get old....
I know I am sometimes forgetful.
But then again, some of life is just as well forgotten....and I eventually will remember only the ones that matter.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face.....
So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore.
I've even earned the right to be wrong.

I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be.

Happy Anniversary Darling!

2009-11-17T03:30:00.007-04:00

14th November came and went. Like in all years, it came this year too……and went…..just like that. It would have remained inconspicuous as in most of those previous years if not for the event that took place on that fateful date some 28 years ago. I didn’t think that I should upgrade the day and accord it “celebration status” thereby creating a cause-célèbre situation of sorts this time around. After all we already have so many other functions to celebrate all year round so I didn’t think anyone would mind if I didn’t upgrade the occasion. I failed to realize the good tidings that this date had brought with it into my life. I mean, I knew it but probably had been a little careless not to have accorded it the recognition it deserved. I thought being together on the day would have been thoughtful enough………!

But no, it was not enough! So says my wife! And rightly so too! She pointed out that it’s a day to be remembered and celebrated for the rest of our lives. How come it didn’t cross my mind all these while, I wonder. It is not that it wasn’t important. In fact it was….and to a large extent, it still is. And will be….. forever. It ought to be anyway. And no!..... I didn’t forget the day. Just that I didn’t think it was a day that should be openly declared as a significant milestone in my life. How wrong of me!

Happy Anniversary Darling! Thank you for all the good things that have happened since we tied the nuptial knot. We will spend next year in Bali together….that’s a promise.

The Cop and The Judge

2009-11-12T02:44:00.011-04:00

(This story is inspired by actual events. Names of the main characters however have either been changed or intentionally omitted so as to maintain anonymity due to the sensitivities and protocol involved).

One of my functions as a HR Officer in the company that I worked for in Kulim way back in 1993 was to ensure that the caterers we hire for the factory canteen meet the standards set by the company. There were 2 canteens, one was manned by a Malay caterer and the other had recently fell vacant when the previous caterer, an Indian, absconded. We had to urgently appoint another suitable person as we had to cater to over 1200 employees, half of whom were Indians. This was when Raja (not his real name) walked into my life. He had heard of our search for a suitable canteen operator in the grape vine and approached me to voice his interest in the business. After the usual process of screening, he was successfully appointed.

Raja was a Police Inspector who had recently been indicted and suspended from duty for abuse of authority and there was an on-going court case looming over his head. He made quite an impression with me on the first day that I met him. I was impressed with a certain style that he had and the way he carried himself. Importantly, our chemistry matched in more ways than one. Within a short period of time, we managed to forge a close relationship that many in the plant were envious of, including my boss. But there was nothing ulterior in the friendship and I certainly didn’t extend him any favouritism or grant him any special favours. He still had to comply with the requirements of the company especially in the pricing of the food in the canteen. After about a year or so, one day during our usual tete-a-tete session over some beers, he confided in me of his anxiety over the outcome of his court case that was nearing completion and that if he were to be convicted, it would mean having to give up the business as the offence attracted a mandatory prison sentence. He indicated that he was unsure of what the verdict was going to be as there had been compelling evidence from witnesses who had testified against him.

On the penultimate day of his case in Butterworth Sessions Court, I decided to take a day off to attend the hearing. There were not many people there on that day, just a handful of relatives who had come to give him moral support. The hearing itself was boring and slow with the judge writing down every sentence that was spoken as is the standard practice in courts. I sat quietly in the gallery listening to the proceedings when after a while it struck me that the judge looked familiar. After taking a good hard look at him, it dawned on me that this judge who was presiding over my friend’s case happened to be my housemate in Bangsar when I was working in KL about 12 years back in 1981!

After I got married that year, I had moved out and that was the last I heard of him. Moreover my roommate then by the name of P.K. Ramani who was close to this judge had emigrated to US in the same year so I had failed to keep in touch with the group. (Incidentally P.K.Ramani now heads a large conglomerate in New York where he has since settled down. Forbes magazine lists him as a much sought-after corporate executive in US. His story will be told another day). Added to this was the fact that I had got married and I had my wife for companionship; so everything and everyone else became secondary and kind of unimportant in my life at that point in time. When the excitement of having recognized him slowly tapered, I had mixed feelings at the thought that I never kept in touch with him after our Bangsar days when he was a DPP and later went on to become a magistrate. Even then I knew him as a balanced and industrious person; so his elevation as a judge now came as no surprise to me. It was close to 1 pm when he adjourned the case and exited into his chambers.

I came out of the court room and decided for once that I will have to say hello to this old friend of mine, if only to rekindle old memories. He was just removing his robe as I knocked on the door and entered his chambers. As I grinned from ear to ear, I greeted him saying “Selamat Petang Tuan Hakim”. When he reciprocated with a blank look, I continued “Tuan Hakim tak kenal saya lagi Tuan?” He gazed at me trying to figure out who I was or where he had met me as I walked closer. It had been such a long time since we last met. Then after a good minute or so, he blurted out “Hey Ravi! What are you doing here?”

I was happy he could place me after all these years. “I live in Kulim now Tuan” I said to which he asked almost immediately, with a smirk on his face, “Ok….so you live in Kulim now….but what brings you to MY court?” he demanded.

“Tuan, the guy who is on trial happens to be a good friend of mine” I explained, nevertheless trying to camouflage my discomfort at the statement. Wiping away his initial surprised reaction, we switched topics and discussed on our other common friends, ‘exchanging notes’ on their whereabouts and went on chatting away for a good 20 minutes or so during which time he had already asked me to drop the formality and to address him by his name. I had however exercised extreme restraint by avoiding any comments on the on-going court case. I didn’t think it was right or proper to go into the merits or mechanics of the case and thereby risk being cited for contempt for infringing into his jurisdiction or jurisprudence. After promising to meet up again soon, I shook hands with him and left.

Then a few days later was the day of reckoning. It was judgment day. I rose early that morning so I could get a place in the gallery. Some relatives of Raja had come ready with the cash in case it was necessary to raise the bail money. After a while the judge entered and after adjusting himself comfortably in his seat, started reading out his findings. After about an hour of pin drop silence in the packed courtroom, the crowd broke out in loud applause when he finally announced that “dengan ini saya perintah bahawa En. Raja dibebaskan!” From where I was seated I could see him in astonished disbelief! It took him a while to digest the reality of the situation. His legs actually failed him for a moment as he took his first step to hug his solicitors. Regaining his balance, he smiled to his host of friends and relatives who were all equally overjoyed as he walked out of the courtroom a free man, wiping away the tears rolling down as the hitherto enthralled crowd made way for him. Well wishes hijacked his attention thereafter.

After the standard formalities, Raja was fully reinstated in the police force without loss in salaries or seniority and since then has gone on to earn 3 more promotions along the way. He now serves in East Malaysia as a DSP. We still keep in touch.

Kerala beckons...!

2009-11-06T02:38:00.002-04:00

This is an old photograph that I retrieved from my Dad’s belongings. He had been holding on dearly to it together with a few more since I was a kid. The people in the picture must be all old by now and the older ones may have probably passed away. I have no idea who they are except that they are all my paternal relatives from India whom I have never met before but who I hope to meet up soon when I visit Kerala.

All these years, I knew that I had paternal relatives in India since Dad originated from there. There is not a soul in Malaysia (other than from my Mum’s side). My sisters had been in touch with them and had even visited them a couple of times but not me. I knew all along that they were there but somehow I didn’t follow up on the lead. My Dad was eldest in a family of 5 consisting of 3 sisters and a youngest brother. They have all passed away now though. And I do know now that I have a host of uncles, aunties, cousins, nephews and nieces there. I am not too sure of their feelings towards me but I am basically all excited and looking forward to the day when I get to meet them in person. I cannot understand why this eagerness was not in me while Dad was alive. I suppose everything was taken for granted then and you tend not to give much thought to those you have not met. But it’s different now that Dad is no more. You want his memories to remain and what better way to relive those moments than being with his own people.

I cannot quite describe the feeling that I felt when I made that call to India 2 days back……to my cousin in Mumbai. First his son Rajan answered (my nephew). Then I got to speak to Mr. Raman, my paternal cousin brother. I didn’t know where to start or what to ask so I just spoke generally for a while and hung up, after getting his son’s email address so that I can communicate more often. But after I hung up, a lot of thoughts raced through my mind…….for one, I felt disturbed that I had neglected them for so long and failed to establish any meaningful relationship. I felt closeness in the connection…. something that I had not felt before……and a lot of guilt too….!

But why…? I don’t have the answers to the question. I suppose it’s the need to trigger back Dad’s memories and allow it to linger on……!

Man in White

2009-10-31T00:15:00.004-04:00

Back in 1980, Seremban was a sleepy hollow. There was zero development then, no Seremban 2………. or Seremban 3 or whatever. It was just that…….a sleepy hollow. I was based here, having been transferred to serve here after a one year stint in Ipoh where I worked for a cigarette company. I didn’t have any friends in Seremban then except my classmate Raymond who had moved here with his family. So when I got news that I was to be moved out of Ipoh, I called him and told him when exactly to expect me. This was the handphone-less era; so you have to make do with public phones or telegrams well in advance. He was waiting when I reached his house on the predetermined date and I went on to stay at his place until I managed to find accommodation elsewhere after a couple of months.

There were no decent drinking holes here in Seremban except for a couple of Chinese joints that I was not particularly keen on. I loved the ones with western décor. They were more appealing to me. And I also detested loud music as well as those outlets that use women to lure in their customers. All these were unimportant. I preferred the ones that played soft sentimental music in the background, with a conducive and pleasant ambience where I could spend a couple of hours downing my favourite brew. There were many of such joints in PJ and KL but not in Seremban..

So on most weekends, I’ll just take a drive in my company car to PJ for my pints. The Seremban-KL highway was convenient. It had just been completed and commissioned then and tolls had not been imposed as yet. It used to take me only 30 minutes to reach Jalan Gasing in PJ to my favourite getaway called Woodlands, managed by one Mr. Bala. I’d usually go alone, sometimes with Raymond. At other times, Shereen my new found good friend will be in tow. Otherwise I’m usually alone. I’d have some nice beers up until they close the pub and drive back after that, the return journey lasting even lesser than 30 minutes. This was routine and the regulars at Woodlands know that. Bala, who sometimes joined me for a drink, had often advised me not to drive back after the binge……but I wouldn’t listen. I always drove back.

During one of those days when I was returning well past midnight, as I entered the Seremban exit from the highway and was headed towards the town, I noticed a white figure, waiting at the junction, waving at me to stop! The exit was not like how it is today. There was no toll to start with; so once you reach the point along the KL-Seremban highway where it shows ‘Seremban exit’, you just drive out of the highway and head towards the town that was located about 3 or 4 km away, lined all the way with rubber trees.

For a moment, I was stunned cold! I revved up and disappeared from the scene as fast as I could, not even looking into my rear view mirror. The next day, I discussed this with some colleagues but no one seemed to have had any similar experience so I left it at that and went about my life. After this incident, on another night when I was returning from my drinking spree in PJ, I saw this figure along the exit again. This time I noticed clearly that it actually seemed to be smiling at me, waving at me to stop! Cold sweat gushed down as once again I sped away! Thereafter, for a while, I took the old road back to Seremban to avoid the bizarre encounter.

A couple of months later, one day I had had one too many and summoning up as much courage as my youthful spirit allowed (pardon the pun), I decided that I’d return via the Seremban highway again. I was still fully conscious of what to expect as I got off at the highway. I looked at the clock on my dashboard and noticed that it was well past midnight! As I made that dreaded final turn, sure enough there was this same figure in white waving at me. This time, in my state of inebriation, I threw caution to the wind and decided that I will stop to check and “shame the devil” in the process (pardon the pun again). I was sick of this constant harassment! I screeched to a halt and looked in the rear view mirror. The angle at which the car came to a stop didn’t allow me a good view of its legs to see if it was floating towards me or was in fact walking, since they say spirits don’t have legs, but I noticed that it was fast approaching me. At that second, I was terrified and froze! Realizing the foolhardiness of my decision, I slammed down the accelerator but……….Holy cow! The bloody car wouldn’t move! It was then that I noticed the engine had died. The timing had been giving me problems for sometime now but “what a time to die off on me” I cursed. Just as I attempted to turn the key to the ignition again, the figure had reached the side of the passenger door and was tapping on the window gesturing for me to wind down. I pretended not to notice and ignored it when all of a sudden, it opened the door! I shut my eyes tight as my heart missed a few beats, holding my breath……overcome by fear! “Can you give me a lift to town please” it asked.

I peeked through my fingers while slowly opening my eyes and noticed it appeared to have dark features. I tried discretely to look down at its feet to ascertain if there were legs, when the voice continued “I just got a lift from an Express Bus headed to JB and got off at the junction. I work as a Band-boy in KL, you see….and there is no other transport back after work at this hour. That’s why I take the bus and get off at the highway". I gave him a blank look, bewildered and half dazed, totally terrified when he continued, “Hi! I’m Edmond by the way......May I.....?”.

“Ohhhh!.....” I exclaimed! “Ya! Ya! Come in!…Come in! My name is Ravi! Nice to meet you. Come in…..No problem…..What are friends for anyway!” I blabbered, trying to conceal my embarrassment in misunderstanding the whole situation.

During the drive back into town as we exchanged pleasantries, I couldn’t help but muse to myself at the thoughts of this 'Bandboy in the dark.………. attired fully in white', as I quietly took out my handkerchief to wipe the cold sweat off my neck!

The Hitch Hiker

2009-10-29T04:20:00.003-04:00

It was during the 2nd term school holidays in the year 1974 when I was doing my Form 6 in JB. Having been away from my family in Butterworth for a while now, I was feeling homesick and wanted to make a trip back. Managing on a tight budget did not accord me the luxury of normal travel so I decided that I will hitchhike back. Once the plan was hatched, Frederick another one of my friend’s cousin who was to return to his hometown in Seremban, agreed to join me. I had only met Frederick once or twice before but he was a pleasant kid in his lower secondary.

We met up quite early on the day of the trip and took a bus out to Kulai town as hitching a ride from JB wouldn’t have been possible with its heavy traffic. Moreover, people wouldn’t know where you were headed to. Once we reached Kulai, we walked a short distance until we were away from the town proper en-route north. Kulai was undeveloped then with only a row of pre-war buildings forming the main township surrounded by rubber plantations. There were not many housing estates fringing the town like how it is now. From there, we waited under some rubber trees with our thumb sticking out, waving to passing vehicles, with a confident look and an artificial smile. We had to look pleasant and decent as those were the days of wayside robberies and there had indeed been such incidents, though more rampant overseas than here. We had hardly waited for half an hour when a 10 ton lorry pulled up. The Indian driver asked where we were headed to and offered to give us a lift, asking us to climb onto the back into the cargo section. The tarpaulin had been rolled up so it made the ride breezy and exciting with a full view of the surroundings as the vehicle made its way north through traffic along the only trunk road then. Along the way, I got to improve on the acquaintance with Frederick. He brought along a periscope that we used to view distant objects and smiled at people in over-taking vehicles as they passed us. The blistering afternoon sun didn’t discourage us from proudly giving clearance when the coast was clear by gesturing to tailing vehicles to overtake. It was immensely satisfying especially when some drivers acknowledged by waving back at us when they overtook. After a while, we just sat down in the empty carriage and spoke of anything that came to mind. Frederick was young…….younger than me at least and I remember he asked a lot of questions. I answered every one of them with what little I knew but I think he got the answers he wanted.

After travelling for about 4 hours or so, we finally reached the Seremban Railway Station. The initial plan was for Frederick to get off and I was to continue to KL where the lorry was headed to but Frederick encouraged me to spend a day or two at his place to which I agreed. We got off and thanked the driver before walking towards the Lake Gardens where he said his house was. I was still wondering what kind of a house it would be…..was it a terrace or a kampong styled house or what? I didn’t have that much exposure with people living in bigger houses. As we made our way up a meandering slope, there was a sign along the road that read “X.A.Nicholas”. Frederick said that it was his Dad’s name and challenged me to guess what “X.A” stood for. Coincidentally, I guessed it correctly in my first attempt as “Xavier” and…………. “Alexander”. He was astonished and asked if I had heard of his Dad before to which I replied in the negative. He said his Dad was with the police. The only other policeman whom I had ever met in my lifetime until then was a police inspector who lived next door to my rented house (room) in JB who had helped me once in an incident. Other than him, I didn’t know anyone else. So when I was told that his Dad was from the police, I really couldn’t imagine anything extraordinary. Once we reached his house, that I noticed was a palatial government bungalow, he introduced me to his brother and his mum who offered me a drink and in no time, made me comfortable. I looked around the house and was impressed with the range of branded up-market electrical gadgets……a tape recorder playing songs from a oversized reel impressed me. It’s not the type that you find in an ordinary household.

Soon after when I was seated in the hall, I heard sirens screaming from police vehicles and looked out to see a couple of patrol cars approaching the house, flanked by out-riders. I didn’t have the slightest inkling of what to expect. Upon reaching the porch, a policeman got out from the front seat and opened the back door for someone in full police regalia, to alight, as the cops gave him a stiff salute. As he entered the hall, he smiled and gave Frederick a hug, who then introduced me to him saying, “Appa, this is my friend Ravi from JB with whom I hitchhiked up”. His dad shook hands with me, enquiring briefly about me before walking in. It was then that Frederick’s brother told me that he was the number one Cop in Negeri Sembilan, the Chief Police Officer (CPO) to be exact! Wow! Never had I before the opportunity to even say hello to people from high places so naturally I felt intimidated for a while until Fred’s brother took me up to his room and made me feel at ease. I went on to stay another 2 days here during which time I forged a close relationship with Fred and his brother who would drive me around in his dad’s Jaguar Sovereign, making me sit in front while Fred sat behind. During those moments, I felt really proud. A couple of times we stopped by at the Lake Gardens and he would buy me beer. As I was not much of a drinker then, I usually stopped after just one. I slept with him in his room while Fred slept with his parents. I guessed as he was the youngest, he still got to enjoy all the pampering. It was the first time I has come across a digital watch. This was the beginning of the digital era. Until then I had seen only analogue watches. So I was fascinated when Fred’s brother showed me his new digital watch and demonstrated how the alarm worked, after I wondered albeit a bit too loudly if it was capable of fulfilling its purpose of waking people up. I then realized that although the sound of the alarm was faint, it was actually shrill and of high pitch that was capable of waking anybody up.

On the 3rd day, it was time to bid farewell to Fred and his lovely family and managed to get a ride from another one of their friends who was headed to KL who had dropped by for breakfast that morning. I then got off at Jalan Pudu where I met my brother-in-law in his office who eventually gave me a lift back to my hometown where I spent the next 2 weeks before returning to JB by train.

I had not met Frederick again after the hitch-hiking trip as, soon after my return to JB, I had to pack up and leave town once again to return to my hometown after my brother’s untimely demise. So that was the end of Fred and I…..or so I thought.

One hot Sunday afternoon in the year 2002, 28 years later to be precise, I was in FMS Coffee House in Ipoh seated at the long bar enjoying a nice chilled beer while chatting with the owner who goes by the name of ‘Nephew’ (his uncle started the place during colonial days when he was a kid and he was often referred to then as the uncle’s ‘nephew’. The name stuck since then). There was a boisterous group of three seated at the other side of the bar and I have this habit of avoiding eye contact especially with other drinkers so as not to be accused of ‘staring’, an excuse that is often enough for uncouth characters in their inebriated state to start arguments. But it turned out something different today. While engaged in the conversation with ‘nephew’, I couldn’t help listening to and thereupon recognizing a particular voice from the group; so I turned to see if it was indeed the person I thought who it was. And sure enough it was Lingam, a friend from Butterworth whom I had lost contact for over 30 years. We exchanged pleasantries and he introduced me to his 2 other friends seated with him after which I too joined in their conversation. Earlier when he introduced me, I didn’t quite get their names but during the session, I heard one of them referring to the other as “Fred” once too often and began to wonder if this could in fact be the same person from JB. He appeared much older now with a receding hairline and I could not make him out at all. In fact I had shrugged off the very thought of clearing my doubt as being wishful and too far fetched. “Meeting 2 long lost friends in 1 day only happens in movies” I thought. But after a while just to quench my curiosity, I looked at him in his eyes and asked “Would you by any chance happen to be Fred Nicholas?” He gave me a surprised look trying to figure who I was, before blurting out, “As a matter of fact, I am! I am Frederick Nicholas!” he said.

I simply couldn’t believe it! It was too good to be true! After a few anxious moments, I gathered myself and introduced myself to him again, recalling the days in JB and about the hitch-hiking trip. He was lost for words…..especially when I spoke of the trip. As he got up and gave me a long hug, I thought that time stood still for a while. Excitement was written all over his face as he related to his friends of how immensely he had enjoyed the trip…..of how his somewhat ‘aristocratic’ upbringing had deprived him of such worldly teenage pursuits…and how I had been instrumental in providing him with the adventure of his lifetime! He said that many a time, he had thought about me but didn’t know that I had left town and surely didn’t know how to contact me……and had slowly resigned to the fact that he was not going to be able to meet me again. Tonight, after so long, I made his day as he vehemently invited me over to the Royal Ipoh Club located just adjacent to FMS where he insisted that I must meet up with his wife and all his other friends who were there that night. Once there, he introduced me and in fact, short of parading me, narrated to his friends about his hitch-hiking experience. I could see that they were all very happy for him. I later learnt that he had related to them about the experience previously and had often fondly spoken of the role that I had played and about being unable to locate me. It was a joyous atmosphere in the club that night. They were all in a celebrative mood. As far as Frederick was concerned, it had been the greatest adventure of his youth……! He had never once forgotten about it and it had been at the back of his mind for so long. That night…..I was happy to realize that I had been part of his unforgettable experience……for having been able to touch his life……..and thereby add some colour!

Mr. Frederick was a successful lawyer in Ipoh when I bumped into him in 2002 but has since been accorded due recognition and elevated as an Industrial Court President in KL. We still keep in touch.

Penang Hill Bungalow Camp 1975

2009-10-26T04:35:00.007-04:00

(Back row from Left to Right: Jalil, Sargu, Imbaraj, Aravind, Akbar, Hari. Front row from Left to Right : Zuriah, Catherine, Muna,Ismail's gf, Amitha, Mala.
Pls click on picture for enlarged version).

The year was 1975 and I was working as a Trainee HA in Kedah. I had known Ismail, a mamak teacher for a couple of months by then. One day he dropped by and in the midst of our conversation, he mentioned that he had a contact through whom it would be possible to book the Raj Bhagwan bungalow located up in Penang Hill belonging to the philanthropist Mr. Arumugam Pillai. On learning of this, I immediately told him to go ahead and make the application while I swung into action in organizing my friends and classmates who were to join me. These were the days when we didn’t have mobile phones or e-mails so I couldn’t get in touch with many of the JACHFRINS boys except those who were in regular contact then.

On the day of the trip, Jalil came with his childhood heart-throb Zuriah (they have since married and now have a happy family), Hari brought Mala who he was mentoring as her athletic coach, the flamboyant Imbaraj brought not only Catherine, the lass from the Batu Ferringhi trip but also another one of his girlfriend Amita, Akbar showed up, so did Muna; and then there were the rest of us namely Sargu, Singh and I. Ismail of course brought along his girlfriend. It was to be a 3 days / 2 nights trip. We gathered in BM and made our way to Air Itam from where we had to catch the funicular train to Penang Hill. Some of us had been up the hill on numerous occasions; in fact we had even hiked up a couple of times. The scene as the train lazily drags itself up the steep slope is spectacular……simply breathtaking. The tracks are built on deep ravines but should any cable snap for any reason whatsoever, they have a safety latch that is immediately triggered that would prevent the tram from rolling down. The air gets steadily cooler as you gradually climb higher, finally reaching the top station after about 30 minutes or so. From there we asked around and took a short walk to the magnificent bungalow, situated on a small hillock with wide acres of greens dotted with rows of flower plants that is unique to the highlands. It really looked majestic!

Upon reaching the front door, we were told by the gardener that the caretaker had gone out for a while and was expected back at any time. Hearing this, I thought I will just scout around the nearby places and got Mala, with whom I had already become close during the journey from BM, to follow me. It was just a short walk and when we reached a small park, we sat down and engaged in a lengthy conversation. I cannot remember what we spoke about but I suppose it must have been interesting as we lost track of time and only returned to the bungalow after close to an hour. Hari who was instrumental in getting her parents approval to allow her to come was naturally displeased with me. In fact he was so upset that he punched and broke the cupboard in one of the rooms. I later learnt that Sargu and Singh were the ones who had provoked him by planting unsavory thoughts into him while we were away. Any doubt as to who was Mala’s preferred candidate was soon settled when she outwardly displayed her allegiance and affection towards me thereby ending all ambiguity. Hari, though disappointed, relented in good faith.

Later in the evening Singh and Sargu had run through Hari’s bag and found a condom in it. Hari had come prepared for such eventualities in case he got lucky with someone, little realizing his limitations in that area of expertise. Singh filled up the condom with water until it formed the shape of a large brinjal and put it back in his bag. Later as we were discussing something else, Singh asked him what he will do if he succeeded with one of the girls. He proudly claimed that he had come prepared for such developments and immediately went to his bag to show the condom that he had brought along. Unzipping the bag, he put his hand in but being unable to find it, he started to take out the clothing one by one and put them outside including the bloated condom without realizing what it was……still searching in the bag! We all burst out laughing!

We had a party that night on the first floor. I remember the lights were switched off to create and encourage a romantic feeling………. only to be switched on again……and again…… to catch the smoochers off-guard! I remember Imbaraj kept coming back to me because one of the girls was trying to get fresh with him and he didn’t know the art of kissing. I articulated to him with hand gestures……I think. That night after the party while the rest of the group occupied the many rooms upstairs, Imbaraj and I decided to sleep in the large hall downstairs with 2 of the girls for company. We used the extreme cold as an excuse to huddle together. Except for the glow from the heated up coils of the electric radiator, everything else was pitch dark, opening up new horizons of opportunity for us to explore (pun intended). We were young…naïve….curious…..at an experimental stage of life. And being such, it felt nice ‘falling’ in love, being able to call someone your ‘own’. And to be able to improve on your otherwise underutilized sense……the sense of touch. Being in love is not just a feeling….its a state of being…..there is a difference between just ‘feeling’ the feeling and being actively involved in the dimension. It’s a fantastic feeling.

As fatigue engulfed us midway through this rare ‘mystical’ night, we decided that it was time to call it a day when out of the blues….with no prior warning, we heard footsteps of someone walking down…..slowly, step by step….stopping right at our door. We cuddled up tightly together, quite certain that everyone else were asleep. There was something spooky about the whole thing and I was beginning to sweat in that cold night with my imagination playing havoc. But I couldn’t outwardly display such emotions…not tonight with a damsel in tow. I probably would have screamed if the door had opened but fortunately it did not. We found out the next morning that no one had walked down the stairs at that hour. There was no reason to. A creepy feeling overwhelmed us……!

The next morning understandably we woke up late and were all having our breakfast when the caretaker came running to break the news of the impending and untimely arrival of the owner Mr. Arumugam Pillai who was headed to the bungalow for an unscheduled weekend retreat. It broke our hearts but we rejoiced at the wonderful time that we had during the relatively short space of time…..and still cherish those moments to this day.

Batu Ferringhi Bungalow Camp 1973

2009-10-23T04:43:00.002-04:00

I remember we were very excited about the bungalow camp especially since it was to be a farewell of sorts after our MCE exams. Mr. Vasu about whom I had mentioned in my earlier post had arranged not only the bungalow but he had also arranged for the caretaker to cook the meals for us that evening. Imbaraj had estimated that it will cost about RM15.00 per head in expenses so we managed to come up with it and passed it to him to manage. It was only much later after the trip that he let us in into a secret……..that he and his brother didn’t have to pay a single cent! Jalil, Singh, Chan, his girlfriend Catherine, Nazir, Hari, Imbaraj and I made it for the trip. Later at night Sargu and Thillai joined us. Hari’s brother Karthik dropped by for a while. The other two members of the JACHFRINS fame namely Farid and Radzi didn’t join us and I really cannot recall why.

When we arrived at the bungalow, we found that it was a three roomed stand alone unit with a large compound fronting the sea at Batu Feringghi, Penang with the privilege of private access to the beach providing an expansive view of the Indian ocean. There were not many bungalows along the stretch then and the area was a paradise with its natural landscape of swaying palms fringing the virgin coastline, clear and untouched with the waters crystal clear and pristine adding a touch of romance to its beauty. Except for the occasional hoot of a distant boat or the rare rev from an unseen passing vehicle snaking through the winding roads through unspoilt forest-reserve, the atmosphere was otherwise exceptionally quiet, soothing, admirably silent…….peaceful…..rejuvenating even. This was my first experience out with friends on an overnight stay and I cherished every moment of my new found freedom. We were young then…..and carefree, not a care for the real world out there. We didn’t have to. During this occasion at least, our world revolved only around the 9 or 10 of us. That was all that mattered. We lived for the day……..one at a time…unhurried…..at our own pace…..as if everything else can wait.

We did engage in some basic cooking but my memory fails me as to who steered it after the caretaker, on the 1st night……it could have been either Jalil, Nazir or Hari……or was it Catherine? It surely couldn’t have been Imbaraj or Singh as the kitchen is the last place you can expect to find them in. I’m not too sure of who exactly did the cooking after the 1st day but faint images of freshly cooked salt-less sardines, roughly cut sandwiches, overcooked eggs and burnt sausages seem to linger past my memory archive. We spent the 1st night sitting in the hall and with only 1 girl in tow, that too as Chan’s girlfriend, I remember we were all trying to impress her. Those sharing the same couch with her told ghost stories in the hope that they might get to cuddle her if they could succeed in scaring her, foolishly disregarding the fact that Chan was always by her side. When none of it worked, we retired to our rooms sometime in the early hours past midnight. (It will be interesting to note that this lass went on to later join us on our 2nd bungalow trip 2 years later ….and this time not with Chan but as one of the other JACHFRIN member’s new love interest about which I shall not divulge much……….. except perhaps to say that his name starts with a vowel and it surely wasn’t me! Some secrets must be kept. After all that’s what friendship is all about.......No?).

After allowing Chan and Catherine the privacy of a room all to themselves, the rest of us went to our room to play strip poker among us….conspiring to play a prank on Hari. We manipulated from start to finish and made him lose every game that in no time saw him reduced to his tattered briefs whereupon we made him roll on the icy floor. He virtually squirmed and growled while he rolled in the by-now chilled room and we wouldn’t allow him to get up until he reached the end of the room……..it might have been 'sadistic' but Hari was always a sport……he didn’t complain and we ended up with a good laugh!

It was unfortunate that I could not stay the full 2 nights as when I woke up, I had to bid goodbye to my still half-asleep friends as I was to follow my sister and family on a holiday to JB. I took the bus back, reaching my house in Butterworth by about 10, only to be told that the trip had been postponed to the next day. Hearing this, I was at first disappointed...... but it slowly turned to joy when I realized that I could go back and spend one more day with my friends. I really wanted to. But I didn’t have enough money for the fare to reach Batu Feringghi. Then I remembered the ferry fare by bicycle costs only 50 cents! I hurriedly gathered the required change from various points in the house and started my trip to the bungalow. I roughly knew its location and the distance from the mainland but I was determined to join my friends. It took me about 2 hours of cycling to reach the bungalow through winding and narrow roads in the midday sun. But I finally made it! My friends who had not expected me back were naturally surprised and overjoyed to see me…….and so we continued with the merriment. We spent some time playing in the sand and sea in the evening, then watched the sun slowly fade away lazily into the horizon. It was a sight to behold.

Once again I had to leave early the next morning and I cycled all the way back to Butterworth and reached just in time to join my sister for the trip to JB, a story that will be told another day.

(This story is dedicated to my friend (and relative) Mr. Vasu who made the adventure possible with his kind gesture of obtaining the holiday bungalow for us….….and who unfortunately now lies bed-ridden as a result of a recent stroke).

Values of Yesteryears

2009-10-21T21:49:00.001-04:00

It was the year 1965 and I was in Standard 2 in St. Marks Primary in Butterworth in the afternoon session. After walking for about a mile from my house in Jalan Kampung Bengali, I finally reached the school. Then even the midday sun wasn’t as hot as it is these days. I had just about entered the school compound when I found a 20 cents coin on the ground. Twenty cents those days was big money for a kid. It could buy him “4 ice-kapai” or 2 coned ice cream and things like that. My pocket money was only 5 cents then so twenty cents would have made a significant difference to my life in the school that fateful day.

However, I have been indoctrinated from an early age that you should not retain anything that is not yours. With that in mind, I went over to the office and handed over the shilling to a teacher who was there who then recorded my details before accepting the coin. I then went back to my class.

After a while, the school office-boy came with a note apparently from the Head-Master Mr. Robert David that I later learnt was addressed to the class teachers asking each of them to make an announcement to the class to find out if anyone had lost any money that day. When no one in my class admitted to having lost anything, he went on his way to the next class….and the one after until he had covered all the classes. The answer he had received in each class was the standard “No. No one had lost any money”. So imagine my surprise when towards the end of school the same day, Mr. Robert David came over to my class and handed the 20 cents coin back to me saying that I could keep it as it didn’t appear to belong to anyone from the school. I was elated and treated myself to ice-cream and some tidbits on the way back from school.

Look at the values we had then……about a school that made a concerted effort to return a twenty cents coin to its rightful owner…….and about the HM who took the trouble to return it to the finder. Do these values still exist in us today?

These were the kind of values that kids usually grow up with but sadly along the way to adulthood, much of it is lost in many of them through influence or emulation and they often end up compromised.

Tragic Tales Unveiled During Diwali part 1

2009-10-20T02:55:00.001-04:00

It was Diwali eve and I went over to Kulim to my sister’s place this year to spend the holidays since we were not celebrating. In the evening I went to the pharmacy to get some medicine when I came across Mary, a girl who worked as a QC Inspector in the company that I worked with way back in the early 90s. She didn’t see me as she was walking in front of me. I had noticed her getting off a car parked nearby so I thought I might as well say hello to her husband Mariappan who happened to work in the same factory. Theirs had been a love affair that started at the working place. When it came to my attention, I had actually encouraged it. Concerns were raised as to their different religious background. I had in fact advised them that when two hearts have already come together, everything else is secondary. I had once found them both missing from their work stations only to later find them quietly tucked away between the packed cartons in the warehouse enjoying their hour of solitude. They were especially gratefully when I didn’t make an issue out of their secret jaunt and had just let them off after advising them. After a couple of years of courting, by which time I had already left the company, I remember both of them came to see me one day to invite me for their wedding. Unfortunately work commitments had kept me from attending. Now after almost 15 years, our paths crossed again. From a distance, I noticed a lady at the steering and someone who I thought looked like Mariappan in the front passenger seat. When I went near, they wound down the window for me and as I peered in, I noticed the passenger seating in front looked different. He appeared to be handicapped with saliva drooling and he had little control of his rolling eyes. From his features, I thought he was probably Mariappan’s brother. After introducing myself and confirming with the lady driver if it was indeed Mary whom I had seen earlier, I asked where Mariappan was. I was shocked when she pointed to the guy in the front passenger seat. When I looked at him in his eyes, I was in fact surprised when he stuttered “Mr. Aravindan”…….he could still remember my name! I was told by the driver (who I later learnt was his sister) that he had met with a nasty accident and that he has lost much of his memories due to head injuries. I spent the next few minutes trying to come to terms with the reality that I was faced with and left after a while. Back in my car, it took me a while regaining my composure as I sat quietly relating to my wife of what had happened.

Tragic Tales Unveiled During Diwali part 2

2009-10-20T02:54:00.000-04:00

Jega was one of my close friends in Kulim. He was a bachelor when we first met and lived alone then in his own house. Many a time I had spent my time in his house where we had partied till the wee hours of the night. He was fun. When he got his first promotion, I still remember he took me and another friend to Penang to celebrate at Kashmir Restaurant which was famous for their authentic north Indian cuisine as well as the soft Sitar music by the renowned Mr. Hamid Khan. I had once met this music lecturer by day during a cultural function in Sg. Petani where I had rendered a song with his band providing me the chorus support. The crowd was thrilled and ecstatic. Tonight when I proposed to render the same number, he immediately obliged with his keyboard. The song “puthu maapillaiku” from the blockbuster Kamal movie Aboorva Sahothargal was an instant hit with the mostly Indian diners that night. When he suggested that I do one more number, I had to graciously decline due to a weakness that I had………..after a few beers, I usually cannot remember the lyrics to most songs. Back at the table, not only did we have a good time, we ended up putting up the night at one of the hotels in Penang and continued with our celebration until the next evening. Our friendship flourished over the years. Jega went on to get married and now has 2 children We were working together until the dreaded VSS after which we went our separate paths. But we still kept in touch. Whenever he came to KL or when I went to Kulim, we would almost always look each other up. So it came to me as more than a shock when I learnt that Jega has been undergoing chemotherapy having been diagnosed recently with cancer! I was told he has lost much weight and now spots a thinning scalp! I spoke to him over the phone but since he was away in the estates, we were not able to meet up. I will make it a point to look him up the next time I drop by in Kulim. I don’t want to make the same mistake that I made with Helma, my classmate and dear friend from JB who I couldn’t bring myself to visit when told by her sisters that she was in her death-bed, being stricken with cancer, as I stubbornly made a stupid stand to myself that I always wanted to remember her as the petite and bubbly person whom I had known all these years. But after she passed away, I harbour deep regrets to this day for my selfishness and lack of humanity and compassion.

Tragic Tales Unveiled During Diwali part 3

2009-10-20T02:53:00.000-04:00

I got to know Mr. Vasu during my sister Vanaja’s wedding in the early 70s. He was related through her husband. I was doing my Form 5 then and although Mr. Vasu was twice my age, we got along quite well. He was attached to LLN (now TNB) and based in Butterworth where we lived. During some of the conversations that we had, I was particularly impressed that LLN provided their staff with holiday bungalows as an employment perk. I thus approached him one day and requested him to help get us a couple of nights stay at one of the bungalows in Batu Feringgi during the December holidays so that my classmates and I could have a farewell party after end of school year. He readily obliged. I was excited when he came over to my house one day just before the holidays began to hand me a letter from LLN approving his application for a 3 days / 2 nights stay. It cost only RM8 per day that he insisted in paying. My friends were thrilled when I broke the news to them and we quickly made preparations for the trip. Once there we had such a good time. The fully air-conditioned bungalow with a private sea front had a gate in the large compound that gave us direct access to the beach. We cherished the private moments that we spent there especially since we realized that we were destined to go our separate ways having completed our fifth form. Then getting into form 6 was a big hurdle unless you obtained excellent results and many of us were skeptical if we could do that. Chan Keng San, the C in the acronym JACHFRINS about which I had featured in an earlier article, was the only one to bring his girlfriend along and I remember we told her ghost stories one night to scare her. This was also my first bungalow stay and I relished every moment away from my orthodox upbringing. It was like being let lose and the new found freedom, although I realized it was temporary, was something to savour forever. It was the beginning of everything else that was to follow later in life. Indeed it was a farewell party as a few months after the stay when the results came out we all went our separate ways except Jalil (the J) who remained to continue with his form 6. (This story of the Bungalow Stay will be told another day)

After this, I had met Mr. Vasu many a time especially during weddings and some other functions since he was a relative and although we went on to become close friends, I am actually guilty of not keeping in touch with him. We bumped into each other 2 years ago when I was distributing my daughter’s wedding card. Although he was already into his 60s, he appeared fine with no sign of any illness whatsoever. That was the last time I met him. So it came to me as a shock when I learnt that Mr. Vasu had recently suffered a stroke and that he had since been paralyzed!

Jest......for laughs!

2009-10-14T03:45:00.002-04:00

I first read this in someone's blog and thought it fit to reproduce here....a good one to laugh out loud.

Samy Vellu and his driver, Muniandy, were cruising along a Sungai Siput country road one evening when an old dog loomed in front of the car. Muniandy tried to avoid it but couldn't - the old dog was killed. Samy Vellu told Muniandy to go up to the farmhouse and explain to the owners what had happened.

About an hour later, Muniandy staggered back to the car with his clothes in disarray. He was holding a bottle of expensive wine in one hand, an expensive Cuban cigar in the other and was smiling happily, smeared with lipstick.

"What happened?" asked Samy Vellu.

"Well," Muniandy replied, "the farmer gave me the wine, his wife gave me the cigar, and their beautiful twin daughters were so happy they kept kissing me!"

"My God, what did you tell them?" asked Samy Vellu.

"I said I'm Samy Vellu's driver and I just killed the old dog".

The Void I Feel

2009-10-12T04:27:00.008-04:00

(This is an interesting piece of document that I retrieved from Dad's belongings. Its a copy of a testimonial to him from a Visiting Medical Officer that he held on dearly to. Click on the image to get a magnified view and you will see that it was dated 1948. Also notice the 2 digit telephone numbers then. We have gone into 7 digits now. 8 digits in KL).

In a few days time, it will be Diwali again. Unlike previous years, we will not be celebrating this time around due to Dad’s demise. But I will surely be returning to Kulim with my family to be with my mum and sister who live there.

Dad had been a strict man all his life. I still remember we had to be seen with books in front of us by 7.00 each evening if you don’t want to earn his wrath. We will be happily playing and running about in the house until just before 7 when Dad would return. Our house in the estate was located on a small hillock and it was quite a distance from the nearest quarters. Dad had a habit of clearing his throat in a peculiar manner every time he nears the house perhaps to ward off spirits as the area was secluded. We could hear him from the distance as being isolated the place becomes extremely quiet especially in the evenings. And when we do, we would all run helter-skelter, grab our school books and practically jump to our specific studying spot. Some of us used the dining table to study. Some of us sat down in the hall. It didn’t matter if we were panting or sweating. Dad wouldn’t take notice. Till his end, Dad didn’t realize that his cough was what gave away his otherwise stealthy return. Mum wouldn’t tell either.

Dad was so strict when it came to studies. He was steadfast in his belief that only a proper education can take you anywhere. I don’t remember a day when I felt unwell or skipped school when in the estates……didn’t dare to. We had to wake up at 5 to catch the 6 o’clock bus. The journey through meandering gravel roads usually took about an hour. It was always late lunch for me as the bus reaches back after school only by about 3 pm each day, having to wait to pick up a couple of convent girls who finish only at 2. I used to go through severe hunger pangs initially but eventually got used to it. Dad was also particular about the grades that we got. I usually made good grades in my early years so much so that I was selected to go through Express Class where I completed Standard 3 and Standard 4 in the same year. So when I was 10 years old, I was already in Standard 5. It didn’t work out well for me after that as I had difficulty coping with my studies from then on until I was in Form 3. My grades fell badly and Dad wasn’t happy at all. But what could I do? It was the system that failed me and back in the estate, there were no tuition classes that I could attend. Dad didn’t realize that I was an average kid. And average kids made do with 60 or 70 marks. But he wanted high marks in all the subjects that I took. And Art was my worst subject. I used to get about 9 or 10 marks only. I just couldn’t draw. If you made a man stand in front of me and ask me to sketch him, I would probably end up producing an image of a cow! I was that bad. But Dad wouldn’t have any of it. Low grade was not an option. So I did the next best thing. I created my own report card to please Dad. I had 2 sets then, one was the official one given by the school that contained my actual results and another was my own creation. The one from the school, I signed myself and fortunately my teachers never suspected anything amiss till the end. To my Dad, I showed the duplicate one that contained only high marks in all the subjects. Dad would be satisfied only with 90 marks and above. Even 89 was not acceptable to him So I showed all the subjects as having obtained above 90. And he was happy. I never felt guilty doing this and don’t look at it as cheating….it was win-win for both of us anyway ……….anything to make him happy. And that is the reason why when my own kids bring in their report cards these days, I scrutinize them thoroughly. I don’t want my genes in them to make them adventurous in this area.

My brother Ashok had a habit of collecting pictures of film-stars that he would paste in an exercise book and write a caption underneath the pictures. That was his hobby. His favorite actor then used to be MGR. And he was not alone in such pursuits. I knew that many of my cousins and his friends were followers of the movie icon too. The patriotism that they displayed transcends all logic. Theirs was a passion by itself. I still remember when MGR was shot in the neck by another actor M.R. Radha back in the 60s due to some political difference, many of them couldn’t bring themselves to accept it….some wouldn’t even eat until he regained consciousness a day or two later. Such was their reverence towards their idol. Coming back to my brother, he would cut out his idol’s pictures from any available source, usually from magazines and newspapers. One morning Dad went to town and bought back the Sunday Tamil newspapers and had left it in the hall while he went to bathe. A while later after lunch, relaxing on his easy-chair, he opened the spreadsheet wanting to catch up on the news when he found a gaping hole in the centre-spread; they had featured some scenes from an MGR movie and my brother had cut them out without realizing that Dad hadn’t read the papers yet. Dad was furious seeing this! The rest of us had a good laugh seeing Dad chasing him around the house!

My maternal Grandmother reared cows. Each of her herd had a name. I remember her calling out their names during feeding time…..Letchumy…Radha and the likes of it that I cannot recall now. I used to cycle to the estate quarters where she lived to collect yogurt during weekends. Meals were never complete without them and I used to savor the taste especially when Mum made chicken curry. I still enjoy the habit of mixing rice with yogurt to this day.

And talking of that, when Mum gives word that it’s going to be chicken curry for lunch, my brothers and I will be tasked with catching one. We had a large chicken coop in our sprawling compound where Dad reared chicken…..at one time even turkeys. It was not easy catching chicken because of their sheer speed. After mum identifies which one to catch, we will carefully ‘guide’ it out from the coop. Then we will chase it from all directions until it tires out. Then holding it by its neck, we will proudly give it to mum to cook. Dad would do the cleaning.

Estate bungalows those days were built without being restricted by perimeter fencing. This meant that we could run and play as far as we wanted to. The estate maintained the lawn to golf course standards. The nearest house was about 500 meters away so we had a large area to call our own. We had all sorts of matured fruit trees in our compound. My favorite was the cashew nut tree. We would pluck the fruits when they are ripe enough and throw the seeds into a fire like how Dad taught us to. Once it’s burnt, we would prise open the seed to get to the cashew nut inside it. The taste was simply tantalizing but it was never possible to satisfy our craving palates as we got only about 4 or 5 fruits at any one time much unlike rambutans that ripen as a bunch. Today’s children are so lucky as roasted cashew nuts are so easily available in the markets.

This trip back I am hoping that my other siblings would also be able to join me. I know I will feel the vacuum without Dad. We will have to make do with Mum and pretend that all is well….at least for her sake. Life has to go on.

Happy Birthday Hem Raj

2009-10-09T04:40:00.005-04:00

(Hem Raj, as he was, at 2 years old)

“Time and tide waits for no man” an old adage goes. They also say that “time flies”. And so it has been with me. It feels so recent when my son was born. I still vividly remember our first encounter when I went to cradle him at the old Butterworth hospital where he was born. It also seems fairly recent when he completed his primary, went on to secondary and is now in varsity doing his tertiary. And when you flash back on all these events, you suddenly realize how long it has been since his birth……….. as he celebrates his 24th birthday today.

It is either that time appears to be flying by………….. or I am trying to delay my aging process by imagining that it isn’t.

Happy Birthday Hem Raj.

Priyanka's Childhood Friend

2009-10-08T05:04:00.006-04:00

It was in the early 90s and I had just bought a house in Taman Bersatu Kulim having disposed off my previous one in Taman Bayam as the area, being located just next to an industrial estate, was getting ‘infested’ with foreigners. Being surrounded by so many of these foreign factory workers, I had started to feel alien in my own land. The government had just opened up their entry and their influx transformed the landscape of the area that I had been living in until then; hence my decision to move out. I didn’t mind having to travel the 10 km to work and incurring additional fuel cost so long as I can enjoy some peace and quiet in my new abode.

My last daughter Priyanka was about 2 plus then. Bubbly as she was, she would often spend her time with our neighbour’s son Balbir Singh who was quite fond of her. He was a turbaned Sikh with a good disposition and well mannered. He was doing his Form 4 then but the age gap was not an issue. He treated her as a good friend and she in turn would often hop over to his house with milk bottle in hand to watch TV or to chat with him. Whenever she saw him passing the house, she would call out his name and he would smile and wave back at her. She was proud to have a 16 year old as a friend. We went on to spend about 2 more years there until we moved to Taiping after I secured a job there having opted for VSS at my previous place. With the decision to shift, we found it practical to sell off the house too as we knew that we may not return to live in Kulim again. We thus lost touch with the Singh family although my daughter had often mentioned his name and reminisced of him many a time since then.

Last weekend when we were in Kulim, my daughter reminded me and asked if I would take her to look up her long lost friend. I was initially skeptical whether he was still living in the same house as it had been such a long time since we left. I drove over to the house in Taman Bersatu where he lived back then and noticed that they had a Sikh insignia on the gate. Convinced that it was still occupied by a Punjabi family, my daughter alighted and approached the gate. Calling out his name, she waited anxiously for someone to appear.

A man in his mid 30s appeared. Priyanka could still make him out as Balbir Singh but he was totally at a loss as to who she was as she was still a 3 year old kid when we parted ways. When she introduced herself to him, what a shock he had! I could see his eyes brightening up as he asked “You are Mr. Aravind’s daughter ah?” I could see excitement written all over him as he called out to his mum who was inside, explaining who we were. When I realized that she remembered us too, I got down to greet them. He kept insisting that we should all come in. I explained that we were there to attend to my Dad’s final rites and that it may not be appropriate to do house calls. I promised however that we would surely drop by again during our next visit.

Balbir Singh is now in his mid 30s and is married to a Kaur from Punjab. He has a 1 year old child. Priyanka on the other hand is doing her Lower 6. They had not met in 15 years and his last memory of her was as a toddler clutching her milk bottle.

Strange Coincidence

2009-09-30T02:50:00.003-04:00

It is not often that strange coincidences occur in one’s life. Just as we were preparing to offer our annual prayers for my brother who demised 35 years ago on 23rd September, my Dad breathed his last on the same day last week.

I had just returned to work after the Hari Raya holidays when the dreaded call came in via my mobile. He had passed away at 8.15 that morning! My wife who got the message first had left her office immediately and was on her way to break the news to me in person as she wasn’t sure as to how I would react. Unfortunately, one of my nephews had called me by then and beat her to it. Although naturally I was a bit startled initially, I kept my composure intact and together with my wife, left on the arduous journey back to Kulim with 52 years of sporadic memories of my Dad flashing past.

I learnt that he had been quite normal that morning when he awoke. After a bath and a shave, he had gone into his room to lie down for a while. And never woke up again. My mum had been beside him when he passed away. I guess that he must have remembered that it was my brother's death anniversary and was probably overwhelmed with grief as I know that both my Mum and Dad never really recovered from the shock of having lost him in spite of the passage of time. In this instance alone I can say with certainty that time failed to heal their wound or lessen their pain.

The pragmatist in me however allowed me to accept the fact that we are mere mortals. And being mortals, we are all destined to meet fate in the end. The solace in this episode is that there was nothing tragic about it. He lived a contended and complete life, blessed with children, grandchildren as well as great grandchildren. Although of late senility reared its head off and on, he was quite independent until his last day, needing only his walking stick to move about. He tended to all his needs himself. Unfortunately time ran out on him. He was 98.

We kept vigil the whole night as relatives and friends arrived. And come they surely did…..in droves at that. Dad had been a very lovable person and they had all come to pay their last respects. The funeral was held on 24-09-09 and his ashes released into the sea off Bagan Ajam on the morning of 25th September 2009.

With that, ends the travails of a great man, one who hailed from Kerala at the tender age of 18 in search of a livelihood in this country that would eventually become his home and where he raised a family of six in the process (now 5) who would forever mourn his loss. May his soul rest in eternal peace.

IN MEMORIAM

2009-09-23T01:00:00.008-04:00

Name : Prabakaran a/l Velayuthum
Relationship : Brother
Date of Birth : 11-02-1949
Marital Status : Single
Date of Demise : 23-09-1974
Leaving behind, among others
Parents : Velayuthum & Leela
Sisters : Susi, Sumathi & Vanaja
Brothers : Ashok & Aravind

LONELINESS
When you were here
Loneliness was just a fairytale to me
And how I laughed when people
Tell me they are lonely
Because I never thought
Loneliness was something
A human heart could feel…….

……..but loneliness
Was what you left me when you were gone
And loneliness turned out to be
A thing too real and hard to believe
And every dream I dream of you
Tells me……
Loneliness is the hardest thing to go through…….
……what more without you.

(He is the object of my article titled "The Turning Point" published on 30-7-09)

Rice Bowl

2009-09-18T23:33:00.001-04:00

It has been a while since I posted anything and my friends are curious to know why. There is no particular reason actually except that this is the festive season with Hari Raya this week and Diwali just around the corner. During this period, I usually spend a lot of time with the employees at all the company’s branches located in every State in the country to hype them up with a pep talk to keep them motivated as their workload would be especially high with increased product demand. So I really couldn’t find time to put my thoughts into paper. The rate of shelf off-take is amazing during this season. People buy up our muruku mix and cake flour like there is no tomorrow. It is a story worth telling……the story of Babas, the curry king where I head the human resource division.

The art of good eating is seldom perfected without the right use of curry powder. Baba Products shows how curry is king when it comes to breaking gastronomic frontiers.

Success may not have a surefire recipe but some of its ingredients would no doubt include copious amounts of hard-work, patience and a high premium on value. The last one is defining. Successful men know it. After all not for nothing did Albert Einstein famously say that it was prudent to try and not become a man of success. Instead it was worth becoming a man of value. What the great man meant was probably that success would follow.

In their own recipe for success, the owner of Baba Products has put a high priority on value. Some 32 years ago when the company started to manufacture a variety of curry powder, the owner had to go door to door to sell and popularize his stuff. It wouldn’t have been easy especially since he came from humble beginnings. The fear of mediocrity remained a constant companion which is the reason why through all these years of initial struggle and hardship, the quality of the end-product has never been compromised. That one value more than anything else helped build his customer base, brick by brick, and shaped the reputation of the company. It also helped position Babas as a top product in the spice genre in Malaysia.

Established in 1976, Baba Products currently successfully markets 33 different products to most parts of the world. I am proud to be a part of this home grown brand that in many ways is still in its infancy and is slated for even greater growth…….so long as people don’t stop eating!

Life's Virtues

2009-09-08T04:05:00.004-04:00

First Story
Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago. Capone wasn’t famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.

Capone had a lawyer named “Easy Eddie.” He was Capone’s lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was very good. In fact Eddie’s skill at legal maneuvering kept Capone out of jail for a long time.

To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends as well. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block. Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocities that went around him.

Eddie did have one soft spot however. He had a son whom he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had everything that he wanted…..clothes, cars and a good education. Nothing was held back. Price was not an issue. And despite Eddie’s involvement with organized crime, he taught his son right from wrong. He wanted his son to be a better man than he was. Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn’t give his son; he couldn’t pass on a good name or a good example.

One day, Easy Eddie made a difficult decision. He wanted to make amends and rectify the wrongs that he had done. He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al Capone, clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he had to testify against Capone and The Mob, and he knew the cost would be great. But he testified!

Within the year, Easy Eddie’s life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes he had given his son the greatest gift he could offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay. From the dead man’s pocket, police removed a rosary, crucifix, a religious medallion and a poem clipped from a magazine.

Second Story
World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O’Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier in the South Pacific.

One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to fill up his fuel tank. With not enough fuel, he knew he would not be able to get back to his ship after completing his mission.

When his flight leader heard this piece of news, he immediately ordered him to return. Reluctantly, O’Hare dropped out of formation and headed back to the carrier. As he was returning to the mother-ship, he saw something that made his blood cold; a squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way through the clouds towards the American Fleet!

He couldn’t reach his squadron in time or bring them back to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do; he must somehow divert the Japanese aircrafts from the fleet.

Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove directly into the formation of the Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50-calibres blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane after the other. O’Hare wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until he ran out of all his ammunition! Undaunted, he continued his assault, diving at the planes, hoping to clip a wing or a tail to cause as much damage as possible, and render them unfit to fly.

Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron retreated and took off in another direction. Deeply relieved, O’Hare and his battled scarred aircraft flew back to the carrier. Upon arrival, he reported in and related the drama surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of O’Hare’s daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had in fact destroyed 5 enemy aircrafts.

This incident took place on 20th February 1942. For his bravery, Butch O’Hare was recognized as the American Navy’s first Ace Pilot of World War II. He was also the first Naval Aviator to earn the Congressional Medal of Honour.

A year later at the age of 29, O’Hare was killed in an aerial combat. His hometown would not allow the memory of the World War II hero to simply fade away. Today, O’Hare International Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.

In case you are wondering what these 2 stories have to do with each other………… Butch O’Hare was ‘Easy’ Eddie’s son.

.....nothing happens by chance.

2009-09-05T00:13:00.005-04:00

It was supposed to be the mother of all reunions, so to speak. Having my sisters, brother, brother-in-law, cousins, my parents and nephew in the same platform is no easy feat. Work commitments had kept us from fulfilling this wish many a time….’political’ connotations played a part too. We are all different in many ways; the only similarity is perhaps the size of our shadows. So it was a happy setting at my eldest sister's house in Kulim where we met last weekend and engaged in merriment in the evening with my Klang sister’s chicken briyani that superbly complemented the scotch that I had taken along to celebrate the occasion. My ever so curious Dad would peek out from his room to see the goings-on in the dining every few minutes. We had been conditioned from a young age that drinking or smoking in front of parents was disrespectful. So to keep him happy as well as to safeguard the principle of respect that we had been indoctrined with, we served him a couple of 'fixes', thereby removing his 'intrusions' from then on.

Conversation with my cousin Suba picked up momentum after we started on the scotch, peg by peg. We were the only 2 active participators, the others preferring to just listen. We go back a long long way. We virtually grew up together during our formative years. We reminisced of our past and the various stages of life that we had spent together. He lived close to 'civilization' in Perai while I grew up in the estates. He would spend every school holiday with us and I used to look forward to it. He was the only cousin who was in my age group. Only 26 days separated us in age, he being the elder. I recalled all those moments that we spent together…….. helping him ride the bicycle the first time…..waking up early each morning to pick a type of large white roses from a tree in our compound that we tied together to kick-about sepak raga style…..played with home made kites that somehow never got off the ground however hard we tried……..played with Tops and found immense pleasure in destroying each other’s when one lost……….played for hours with rubber-bands with one person throwing and the other trying to overlap the distant band with another. And when you manage to do it, you get to keep both. Otherwise you restart the throw to a distance again, repeating the process until one runs out of rubber-bands. We played with marbles, coming up with all kinds of games. We collected rubber seeds to play with, climbed hills and trees. All these and more……….. just between the two of us. Once in a while Ashok and Vanaja (my brother and sister) would join in. Otherwise we were left to our own until it was time for lunch or dinner, depending on the time of the day. We never had any other friends to play with. The boys from the estate seldom joined us. And Dad made sure that we too didn’t join them. I suppose he considered them too rough to play with and was perhaps concerned that we might get hurt. I’m not suggesting that we were timid in any way; we had our own robust moments too when we would engage in wrestling with each other, usually at the conniving urgings of my brothers. But it was all in good fun. Of course at the end of the wrestling matches, regardless of who won or lost, we still would not talk to each other for a few hours or even a few days but we got back together somehow. There was no malice, no grievance, no grudge…nothing! It was all part of growing up.

He was known as a quiet guy among my family members. But tonight, he was monopolizing the conversation. He had so much of stories to tell; each with its own punch-line. And I could see that the rest were all laughing away at his recollections and ideology. He kept insisting that “nothing happens by chance. Every occurrence has a specific purpose in life”. When you reflect on that statement, you tend to agree.

On the whole I felt happy for being able to bring the family together again…...if not all, at least part of the family…….. and hope that it stays that way. Whatever differences we had were swept aside on this occasion for goodwill to prevail. There were no issues to contend with tonight like there were none to contend with during our growing up process. The drift-apart probably happened without anyone realizing it especially after our perspectives in life changed…..after we had families of our own and our focus in life narrowed. It appears to have been some sort of a ‘trade-off’ when it should have been the last thing on anyone’s mind. I personally believe that relationships formed during your youth should be maintained at any cost….nurtured even. To conveniently disregard it and moving on with new found pleasures and priorities is indeed a compromise. I’m not too sure of how the others handle such emotional issues but I for one have difficulties digesting such truths and realities. Once the bondage has been established, it should stay that way, regardless of our commitments.

After a wonderful evening, the party finally came to an end close to midnight with renewed plans made, albeit in the brink of inebriation, to hold another in the not too distant future.

Happy Birthday

2009-09-04T00:23:00.004-04:00

4th September had always been a special day for me ....a day that I have everything to thank for. Its my wife's birthday. In more ways than one, it may not be far fetched to state that she is the reason why I'm still around and kicking. She is probably the only correct decision that I had made independently in my life.
Thank you Darling & Happy Birthday!

Little Things That Matter

2009-09-03T04:27:00.005-04:00

As you might remember, the head of a company survived 9/11
because he had to send his son to kindergarten that he just started.

Another fellow was alive because it was
His turn to buy doughnuts for his colleagues.

One woman was late because her
Alarm clock didn't go off on time.

Another one was late because of being stuck
On the Highway because of an auto accident.

One of them missed his bus.

One spilled food on her clothes and had to take
Time to change.

One person's car wouldn't start.

One more couldn't get a taxi.

The one that struck me was the man
Who put on a new pair of shoes that morning,
Took the various means to get to work
But before he got there, he developed
A blister on his foot.
He stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid.
That is why he is alive today..

Now when I am stuck in traffic,
Miss an elevator,or
Turn back to answer a ringing telephone ...

All the little things that annoy me.
I think to myself,
This is exactly where
God wants me to be
At this very moment..

Next time your morning seems to be
Going wrong,
The children are slow getting dressed,
You can't seem to find the car keys,
You hit every traffic light.......,
Don't get mad or frustrated;
It may just be that
God is at work
........watching over you.

May God continue to bless you
With all those annoying little things
And may you remember their possible purpose.

Pass this on to someone else, if you like.
There is NO LUCK attached.
If you delete this, it's okay:
God's Love Is Not Dependent On E-Mail!!

Management Lesson

2009-09-01T02:28:00.002-04:00

I read this somewhere so I thought it might be of interest to you too......

A lesson on how consultants can make a difference in an organization.
Last week, we took some friends to a new restaurant, 'Steve's Place,' and noticed that the waiter who took our order carried a spoon in his shirt pocket.

It seemed a little strange.

When the busboy brought our water and utensils, I observed that he also had a spoon in his shirt pocket.

Then I looked around and saw that all the staff had spoons in their pockets.

When the waiter came back to serve our soup I inquired, 'Why the spoon?'

'Well', he explained, 'the restaurant's owner hired Andersen Consulting to revamp all of our processes.

After several months of analysis, they concluded that the spoon was the most frequently dropped utensil. It represents a drop frequency of approximately 3 spoons per table per hour.

If our personnel are better prepared, we can reduce the number of trips back to the kitchen and save 15 man-hours per shift.'

As luck would have it, I dropped my spoon and he immediately replaced it with his spare.

'I'll get another spoon next time I go to the kitchen instead of making an extra trip to get it right now.'

I was impressed.

I also noticed that there was a string hanging out of the waiter's fly.

Looking around, I saw that all of the waiters had a similar string hanging from their flies.
So, before he walked off, I asked the waiter, 'Excuse me, but can you tell me why you have that string right there?'

'Oh, certainly!' he said.

Then he lowered his voice.
'Not everyone is so observant.
That consulting firm I mentioned also recommended how we can save time in the restroom.

By tying this string to the tip of our you-know-what, we can pull it out without touching it and eliminate the need to wash our hands, shortening the time spent in the restroom by 76.39%.'

I asked quietly, 'After you get it out, how do you put it back?'

'Well,' he whispered, 'I don't know about the others, but I use the spoon.'

Kalavitha - 8 months old

2009-08-26T00:46:00.002-04:00

My grand-daughter is 8 months old now. What makes her all the more adorable is her smile. She smiles all the time and is seldom moody except when she is hungry. It was wonderful having her the last 2 weeks with us when my daughter visited us. Now we are looking forward to seeing her again.

I suppose its a feeling that only grandparents will understand.

Cranks & Pranks - continuation

2009-08-21T04:16:00.008-04:00

Some of my class mates had contacted me after the last article and have fed me with new materials to be posted. To be able to fully appreciate the jest, it would be prudent to put yourself in the shoes of a 17 year old lad of the 70s and not to make comparison with the teenagers of today who are far different from what we were then. I also regret for not being able to consider reproducing some of the repartee that I received as I find that the presentation is better when spoken as compared to its print version where the impact is diminished and the effect lost. The following are some of the recollections.

1. Nazir was late to school one morning and the new mathematics teacher (her first day in school) had already started her class after introducing herself. He stood outside for a while, blocked from the teacher's view by the door and although he was making funny faces at us, we could see that he was nervously preparing himself on what excuse to give. After a while, he knocked on the door and the teacher nodded him in. He entered with a heavy limp, with his right hand stretching down to hold his knees for support and kicking his leg forward before initiating his next stride, appearing to require great effort to enable his movement. As he came in, he slurred as he wished the teacher ‘good morning’ to make it look like he was really handicapped. The teacher believed his stance, took pity on him and guided him in to his chair without asking any questions on his lateness. We were all very tickled by his antics but nevertheless controlled bursting out. It was only a day later that the teacher realized she had been taken in when she saw him in the field…….. playing football.

2. Cikgu Bakar, the BM teacher was asking questions one by one, starting from the left row, front to back, then the next row etc. When it came to Singh’s turn, instead of answering the question, he said ‘pass’. The Cikgu, tickled by what he heard, just said “Singh, ini bukan Scrabble, Singh.

3. Cikgu Bakar had asked the class to come up with a simpulan bahasa each that started with the word ‘batu’. I was seated somewhere in the middle of the class and when it came to my turn, I couldn’t think of any more of it that started with ‘batu’. So I said ‘Batu Pahat’. When the Cikgu said there was no such simpulan bahasa, I continued……..’Batu Ferringhi?……. bolih kah Cikgu?’, appearing ignorant. “Sudah! Duduk!” he said.

4. Then there was another incident in class when the Literature teacher got irritated with my constant distractions as I was chatting away with Imbaraj while the class was in session. Instead of reprimanding me, she looked at the mild mannered Imbaraj and advised “Imbaraj I know you are a nice guy. You should stop mixing with Aravindan. He is a bad influence on you. It won’t do you any good if you continue with him. It might even affect your performance in the exam”. Like a humble and innocent victim of circumstances, he nodded his head in agreement. Later the same day, as we were making our way to the canteen during recess, we saw the same teacher coming our way from another class. We quickly embraced ourselves in a hug and continued walking, to show that we were actually thick friends and nothing could break us. We could see her looking down and controlling her laughter and heading to the staff room. We later learnt from other teachers that she was laughing in the staff room for a long time while relating to them about the incident.
5. One day after school, Imbaraj and I were on our way to BM town to have ice-kacang. On our way to the shop, we had to pass Singh’s house who we knew very well was still in school attending the Historical Society meeting in which he was the secretary. He lived with his parents on the upper portion of a double storey shop-house. When we called for him from the bottom of the stairs, his father peered down and answered “Dia pigi skohlah!” Hearing this, we said “Tada uncle! Dia tada mari pun. Kita datang terus dari sekolah! Dia tada mari ini hari”. Seeing the father in a confused state of mind, we went off to have our ice-kacang. We were laughing along the way because we knew that his father had believed us as we were still in school uniform.
The next morning as usual we had all gathered at the school assembly point and I was as usual busy chatting with Imbaraj when we saw Singh coming. We pretended we didn’t know anything and went about talking to ourselves. He came near and kept staring at us without saying a word. He was quite sure that it must have been the 2 of us as his father, who had never met us before, had described that 2 Indian boys had come by that afternoon ‘looking’ for him. Singh was certain that we were the only friends he had who were capable of pulling off such nonsense. But we kept our cool and pretended through the whole day. Later towards the end of school, he became convinced that it was probably not us and started relating to us about the incident and how his father had scolded and slapped him for skipping school. It was then that we couldn’t control ourselves anymore and burst out laughing! He became so angry that he chased us round the school and didn’t talk to us for 2 days after that.

6. During the first term exam, Singh got only 9 1/2 marks for maths. As usual on our way for ice kacang after school, Imbaraj and I stopped at a wooden shed just before the railway station (a route taken by most students to school) and, using a chalk, wrote in block letters the following:

BM High School Mid Term Results
Mokhtiar Singh - Form 5A
Mathematics - 9 1/2 marks over 100.

Singh takes another route to school and back home everyday, over the railway tracks and doesn't pass this shed. So he had not seen the writings. But most of the other students had seen the message. The next morning as Singh, Imbaraj and I were chatting at the assembly point waiting for the bell to ring, one by one the students approached him asking about his maths results. Initially he didn't feel something was wrong. But as more and more of them came asking and making fun in the process, he asked us "How all these buggers know eh?" We answered in tandem "How we know Singh? You think we got time to tell all of them ah? We got no other work ah?" Only after about 2 days did someone tell him about it and he went with a wet cloth to rub it off. We had a good laugh. He, of course was not amused.

These incidences are recollected to jog the memory of the 5 remaining living members of JACHFRINS to the manifestation of the camaraderie and commonality that existed between us in the past…… in the hope that it may inspire a reunion sometime, while still alive, to capture those lovely moments again. Jalil, Imbaraj and I are still in touch and we have also reestablished contact with Nazir who is in Penang. Singh has settled down in NZ and returns regularly to visit his folks. I have lost touch with Radzi since school days. As for the C-H-F in the acronym…..Chan, Hari and Farid……we have lost them forever under various circumstances. May their soul rest in peace……..at least in the other world!

Cranks & Pranks

2009-08-18T02:57:00.003-04:00

This is a recollection of my childhood pranks and experience.

In the year 1972, our informal group The JACHFRINS comprising the 9 members had not been formed yet. The reason for this was because in Form 4, we were all fragmented, scattered in three different classes although we were all in the Arts Stream. And for some strange reason, all of us hated ‘art’ as a subject. None of us could draw or paint or do anything that would remotely qualify us as an ‘artist’. (We all knew each other well though as we were quite active in various activities representing either the school or our individual ‘houses’). Whenever time permitted, we used to share our frustrations about this subject. We realized at some point that there was something common in us that helped forge this rapport in the relationship. During such moments when we met, we would also invariably share the pranks that we played in each of our class and end up having a hearty laugh. Once we recalled the day when the Art teacher had asked the class to draw a visual image of the hand in whatever pose we could imagine. I ended up colouring my full palm and imprinting the impression onto the art paper before submitting it. If you think that was bad, Imbaraj’s work was a master-piece...........he submitted a drawing of a clenched fist with the thumb in between the index and middle fingers. It was just our way of expressing our distaste for the subject. But of course the teacher didn’t take it kindly. He put us both through detention class that Saturday. But the rest of the class found it funny and that was what mattered to us then. We could laugh at others’ faults as well as our own.

So imagine our surprise when the following year, all 9 of us ended up in the same class….. From 5A. It was through sheer coincidence that owing to our reasonably good command of the English Language, we had all decided to drop art as a subject and had opted to do English Literature instead; hence we ended up being grouped together. It was fun from then on. As I said in my blog on Life’s Realities (posted on 23-06-09), by using the first letter from our names, we became known as The JACHFRINS. Or to be more precise, that’s what WE called ourselves. No one else did because apart from the 9 of us, no one else knew. (One of my classmates Nazir who is himself a Cikgu now and who blogs under katataknak.blogpost.com had written an excellent piece about this comradeship in his 24/9/08 post titled 5A BMHS 1973). I had been instrumental in coining the acronym having nothing better to do one silent night when I was supposed to be studying but had been reminiscing about the day’s events at home after everyone had slept. My parents liked it when I stayed awake at night with a book in front of me. The longer I stayed awake, the more they appreciated the ‘hard-work’ I was putting in. Little did they know that on most nights, I had no control of my hyperactive straying mind that indulged in these wasteful (but joyous) pursuits. The following are some of my recollections from my student days.

One day during our mathematics class, the teacher was covering the subject on navigation. As he recited the question, we were told to plot on our exercise book the route taken by an airplane from point A to point B, then to point C. We were later to discuss the mechanics on how we had arrived at our answers. Although I don’t remember the exact question, it went something like this:-

“An airplane leaves point A and flies 315 nautical miles in the direction of N15 degrees 18 minutes East to point B”.

I was ok with maths so I went about plotting the route and as I did so, from the corner of my ears, I could hear a faint voice going “oooooonnnnnnnnnnn”. I quickly finished plotting, turned and saw that Jalil, who was seated one row in front to my right, was busy charting something while at the same time making that offensive sound. Imbaraj, who was seated beside him struck a serious pose with folded arms, staring blankly in front, not doing anything. He had apparently forgotten his exercise book but we later learnt that Singh had taken and hidden it to sabotage him.

The teacher then continued. “From point B, the plane turns and flies 296 nautical miles in the direction S74 degrees 42 minutes East towards point C. The question is……. how far and in what direction should the plane fly to return to the airport?”

As soon as the question was over, Jalil resumed his histrionics and again went “ooooooonnnnnnnnn”. I could roughly make out that it sounded like the whirl of an airplane engine and smiled to myself. I found it funny having to attempt a question on navigation with the sound of aircraft engine in the background. Unfortunately, the teacher had heard the sound too!

Before I could finish my plotting, he had quickly walked up unnoticed to where Jalil was seated who was still focused on what he was doing. When Imbaraj discretely nudged to alert him, he looked up shyly, very much embarrassed by the whole episode. The teacher peered into his exercise book and gave him a long hard stare. From where I was seated, I could see the teacher’s expression turning from disappointment to utter disgust. Without saying a word, he slowly turned his attention to Imbaraj who was seated beside Jalil, with his arms still folded, appearing to look as cool as ever, and asked “And Imbaraj, what do you think you are doing?”

Without an iota of hesitation, “I am waiting for him to finish, sir”, was his reply! The teacher heaved a sigh, shook his head in disbelief and returned to the front to continue with the lessons.

After the teacher had left, we gathered around to find out what actually happened. What we found was truly hilarious. Following the teacher’s recital of the question, Jalil, who had a poor comprehension of the subject, had not been able to follow a word of what the teacher was saying. To appear busy, he had drawn a small aeroplane with the letter ‘A’ beside it. Then he drew dotted lines to indicate the path of travel. The sound we heard was supposed to denote that the plane was flying towards point B. At the end of the route, he had drawn another small plane with the letter ‘B’. It was during the plane’s continued journey to point ‘C that the teacher had interrupted him because we could only see a diagram of a half-completed plane. We all had a good laugh.

Then another incident I remember was during our Bahasa Malaysia class where the Cikgu was explaining to us the words PM and MP. He said that the direct translation of Prime Minister (PM) was actually Menteri Perdana which would make him an “MP” and as such unsuitable since the letters MP already stood for a Member of Parliament. There was therefore a dire need to retain the letters PM as an identity for the Prime Minister in its Malay translation, hence the words Perdana Menteri. We were all half asleep during this uninteresting explanation. Politics were the least of our concern. We were more into fun and games. Although uninterested, we pretended to be listening intently and even asked some related questions, just to make it look like we were paying attention.

Seeing this, the Cikgu continued with the subject. He then asked if anyone knew what the Malay translation was for Deputy Prime Minister. We were in the English medium then and there had been some students in the other classes who had been ignorant, being poor in the Malay language. I obviously knew what the answer was and immediately put up my hand. When he failed to take notice of my persistent screams of “Cikgu! Cikgu! Cikgu!” but was instead still looking around to pick on someone else, I quickly stood up on my chair to gain his attention, still screaming “Cikgu! Cikgu! Cikgu!”

He was probably a bit irritated by my overzealous action and reluctantly allowed me to answer. I knew what the answer was but just to add some humour to the otherwise mundane session, looked at him straight into his eyes and said “Naib Johan Perdana Menteri, Cikgu”.

“Kepala Otak Hang!” he retorted and made me stand on the chair for the rest of the session. The rest of the class roared in laughter.

These are but some of the many episodes that had taken place in my life. I shall reproduce more of such in later posts.

Life in MAS - part 2

2009-08-14T04:23:00.004-04:00

After some time, I kind of accepted life in KL. Being young I liked the fast pace unlike the conditions back home. About 3 months later, it was Deepavali festival. I made sure that I bought something for everyone at home, a lighter for Dad who smoked and some clothing material for my sisters and Mum. Did the shopping along Foch Avenue and Petaling Street (in case you are wondering where in the world is Foch Avenue, it is the stretch between Pudu Raya and the Klang Bus Station). This trip back would also be my first experience on an airplane. With a 75% rebate, the ticket cost only RM18 one way. I took the KL – Butterworth flight on a Boeing 707 that landed in Butterworth and not in Penang as Penang Airport had not been designed to cater for large aircrafts then. Since the Australian Air Force base in Butterworth had a longer runway, all large aircrafts were diverted there. It was also convenient for me as it was only about 5 km to my house. There were another 2 workmates travelling with me who actually saved me the embarrassment on the checking-in and boarding procedures that I was ignorant of. As the engines revved up and the plane took off, I was pushed tightly back into my seat by the sheer force that was exerted by the speed. I had not anticipated this and naturally became quite nervous. It was only after it stabilized and started cruising that my breath returned. I immediately lighted up a cigarette to ease the tension and reduce the anxiety (we were allowed to smoke during flights then).

There were no pomp and fanfare when I arrived in Butterworth airbase. It was not like in the movies where you had people waiting to receive you regardless of your age. No one in my family had a car. None of my friends were even working then. So after disembarking I quietly walked up to the main road beside and took a bus back. My parents were looking forward and were very happy to see me as this was my first trip back since I started work. I spent many hours in the next couple of days excitedly relating my experiences to my family. To live in KL was a big thing those days. People look up to you. You are supposed to be the ‘happening’ guy. In later years I had seen such scenes in P.Ramli movies. Lat had also depicted similar scenes a couple of times in his comics. I suppose everyone who leaves his kampong to work in KL would have a similar story to tell.

Back at the office, one day when my boss wanted to go back to his home country for his annual 1 month holiday, he casually asked me if I would mind staying at his place during his absence. I was delighted at the idea. I had always been fascinated with big houses and wanted to experience what it would be like to live life in a bungalow, even if it was only for a while. I had been to his fully air-conditioned house once before in Section 7 PJ, behind the Civic Centre for a function. On the evening after he left, I went over to his place straight from work. An Alsatian sniffed me at the gate before the maid came to let me in. I found that it was luxury living, at least to me it appeared so. It had five rooms with 4 bathrooms, two of them with long bath and equipped with hot water shower. The large hall was tastefully decorated. I later found out that MAS rented these houses fully furnished for their expatriate staff. So the furniture and fittings came with the house, none of it was his own. The maid had her own room at the back behind the kitchen. For the next 4 weeks, I didn’t have to worry about contemplating where to go for dinner as my boss had already instructed the maid to prepare something for me everyday. I also saved on laundry as she would wash and iron all my clothes.

Those were the days when I could stay in solitude and enjoy every moment of it. (I don’t seem to be able to do it nowadays for longer than a day or two without feeling depressed). Although I was alone then all by myself, I didn’t feel lonely at all. During weekends, some friends would drop by for a chat. Otherwise I was alone. There was a car in the house at my disposal but since I didn’t have a driving license then, it was of no use to me. At night I’d often doze off listening to some of his Hindi melodies on his long-play. He had a good collection of the vinyl. I still remember enjoying the hot baths especially in the evenings when I’d fill up the long bath and sit in it for hours. And allow my mind to drift off, dreaming about nothing and everything. It was a make-belief scenario ……not real. I knew I didn’t belong here and certainly was living on borrowed standards, so to speak. But I didn’t care. I savoured every moment of it. At least, it presented me with a first hand inside look into the live of rich people and gave me an idea of their lifestyle. I didn’t feel deprived at any point in time, just that my time probably had not arrived to indulge in such worldly comfort or bask in such glory.

Eventually, when word got out that I provided this free stay-in ‘social’ service, I had other expatriates requesting me to 'take care' of their property (as they called it) while they were away. And help I certainly did. For me it was a win-win situation. I didn’t have to pay rental during the months when I was ‘away’ and I was surprised that my landlord didn’t mind it, or so I thought. (I found out much later that my room-mate had been paying my portion of the rental on my behalf). And my meals and laundry were taken care of. I also got to live and sleep in style on hotel standards. At least two of the few other houses that I was asked to ‘live-in’ came with their own swimming pool! Being a non swimmer, I would just wade around a little on weekends while my friends who dropped by enjoyed their cool dip. On some nights when I go into my melancholic moods, I would start playing the piano as if I knew how to. Music from pianos are always soothing to the ears especially when played in quiet settings. There were no one around to tell me I was doing it all wrong. And the Indonesian maid appeared impressed anyway. I was especially fascinated with one of the houses that I stayed in...it had a concealed built-in bed in the hall. I used to just pull down the bed every night while watching TV with the air-cond. running and sleep off with the TV still on (these were the days when remote control gadgets were not available). In the mornings when I awoke, I only had to push back the bed and it would snug right back to form part of the wall. I continued with this ‘service’ for the duration of my 3 ½ years of working life in MAS.

After the 1st year of service, I became eligible for a free flight to any destination that the airline flew to. This benefit was transferable to my parents as I was single then. I persuaded my Dad to make a trip back to Kerala to visit his folks whom he had not seen for some 40 years. He had however maintained contact with them through the regular exchange of letters. As the days drew nearer for his flight, he became more and more excited. It showed on his face. Although he was to be away for only a short period, I distinctly remember Mum becoming worried that he might not want to return after seeing his folks there, now that he had already retired and we the children had all grown up so he didn’t have any more commitments to continue living in Malaysia. But all that turned out to be a fallacy when Dad returned after about 3 months, thoroughly enjoying himself and feeling completely ‘rejuvenated’ after his ‘reunion’. Thereafter he went on another two more trips while I was still at MAS. From the stories he told, I realized that I had close first cousins and relatives back in India whom I had not heard of until then and have indeed never met.

It will be nice if I can make a trip down with Dad but at 98, he has become too weak and will not be able to endure the travel. I therefore intend to meet them up on my own sometime soon and hope that Dad lives on to hear the stories I have to tell.

Footprints in the sand

2009-08-11T04:05:00.002-04:00

One night
A man had a dream.
He dreamt he was walking
Along the beach with the Lord.

Across the sky flashed
Scenes from his life.
For each scene, he noticed
Two sets of footprints in the sand;
One belonging to him
And the other to the Lord.

When the last scene of his life
Flashed before him,
He looked back
At the footprints in the sand.

He noticed that many times
Along the path of his life
There was only one set of footprints
He also noticed that it happened
At the very lowest
And saddest times of his life.

This really bothered him
And he questioned the Lord about it.

“Lord you said that
Once I decided to follow you,
You’d walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during
The most troublesome times
of my life,
There is only one set of footprints.
I don’t understand why when
I needed you most, you would leave me.”

The Lord replied:

“My son, my precious child
I love you
And I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
When you see only one set of footprints,
It was then that I carried you.”

(Carolyn Joyce Carty)

Life in MAS - part 1

2009-08-10T02:45:00.002-04:00

After all the euphoria of having landed an airline job had waned off, I finally reported to the HR office in MAS located in the UMBC building in KL. After the orientation, they arranged for a company van to send me to Subang Airport where I was to be based. I was attached to the Quality Control Section in the Engineering Dept. I had not expected to see this many foreigners in the company. In fact I noticed that about 90% of the engineers were expatriates. I was to later find out that MAS had just been formed about 6 or 7 years earlier after their breakaway from Malaysia Singapore Airways (MSA) and local aeronautical engineers were not available to that extent to run an airline, hence the retention of all the qualified foreigners. My immediate boss (Mr. John Kurian) was an Indian engineer from Kerala who came to work in Malaysia after having served in Beirut. He in turn reported to Mr. Bax, an Australian who was the QC Superintendant. On my first day at work, I was impressed by the way they treated me, they were very personable and took away the feeling of unease in me. One of the first things that Mr. Bax did was to personally show me where the restrooms were located on our way to meet Mr. Gordon, the QC Manager, an American. (This was the time when Quality Assurance standards were not in the picture yet. We were still in the age of Quality Control).

As this was my first real job, it took me a while settling down. My job was to transfer the data from worksheets of flight engineers onto small cards that were to be displayed on a rack after the problems have been categorized into their related fields for the QC engineers to troubleshoot. Not a difficult job. Later, it was made even easier when the boss kept encouraging me to put aside the work that I was doing and go for short walks around the other departments to take your mind off the monotony of the job and feel reenergized again in the process. I have worked in many other companies since then but I have never come across anyone else telling me anything similar.

My cousin put me up at his place in 3rd mile Ipoh Road which was actually quite a distance to my workplace. I had to wake up very early for work since I had to take 2 buses to reach the airport. I shared the room with Mike, a burly Eurasian in his early 40s formerly from the British Army. I found him good company. He would soon become my alarm clock nudging me up from my sleep each morning.

He was a regular drinker who, having travelled far & wide, had lots and lots of stories to tell and since I was a good listener, he developed an instant liking for me and would take me along wherever he went. I enjoyed his company too. When one day he suggested that he wanted to take me to a pub during the weekend, I agreed, pretending that I knew what he was referring to. I had never been to a pub before and surely didn’t know what it was. From where I had come, we only had a couple of coffee houses and a snack bar that I used to pass by, never having the opportunity to patronize any of them. That weekend he took me to The Barn, a fun pub in University Gardens, PJ. And Boy! Was I impressed…? I loved the soft music that was playing and more, the western décor. I was only 19 then but the setting made me feel ‘adult’ like as he introduced me to his friends. I saw people enjoying themselves, laughing, dancing, playing snooker at one end, darts at the other. They were all having such a good time. I sat at the bar with my beer, preferring the conversations with the Indian waitresses. I was beginning to love the ‘bright lights’. I have only seen such scenes in movies and this was my first experience which was truly exhilarating. As this joint was located quite close to the airport, I was later to come back to this place a few more times after work on my own for a couple of drafts and a piece of the excitement before heading home.

One night Mike didn’t return home. I waited up till midnight before I went to bed but he didn’t show up. The following morning my biological rhythm woke me up. I didn’t have a watch and there was no clock in the house so I didn’t know what time it was and Mike was not in. My cousin was asleep in his room. Thinking that I was late, I quickly got up, freshened up and rushed out to catch the 6.00am bus. When I reached the bus-stop, I noticed that Madras Café (now Madras Restaurant at the 3rd mile) had not even opened yet. They were usually open when I arrived at that time to wait for the bus. Then after a long while, as they pulled up their shutters, I peeked into the shop and from the clock hanging on the wall inside, I saw that it was 6.00am. It was then that I realized I must have reached the place around 5 plus!

As days passed I soon found a place with some friends in Sg. Way new village as it was closer to my workplace. It was rather noisy and densely populated with the houses built close to each other so much so that you could probably put your hand out through your window and adjust the volume in your neighbour’s radio. It was that close. It was a three room house so we occupied two to each room, all MAS staff. It was a nice place otherwise especially as we had friends to talk to and pass the time. The main tenant had introduced house rules where each of us was supposed to take turns on Sundays to clean the drains outside. Being the last in my family, I had never done such chores before. My sisters would usually do all such work. So on the days when it was my turn, I would pretend that I had overtime and leave the house early and come back in the evening after going for a movie or visiting some friends, just to avoid house work. One day the main tenant, an Apprentice Aircraft Engineer confronted me and took me to task. I snapped at him by saying that if he was not used to staying in an unclean environment, he should probably find another place. He was not happy with me from then on but as the rest of the tenants overlooked such small faults in me and accepted me as one of them, there was nothing much he could do. The incident was soon forgotten and I was exempted from doing house work from then on but I had to pay RM10 extra towards my rental. We became a close knit family once again.

Life at MAS was beautiful. This was the place where I nurtured my self esteem. You tend to feel proud and think highly of yourself from the treatment and respect you get from all those expatriates and staff. Their working style was different. They made you feel really important. You could even address them by their first names. It sort of takes away the formality and bonds the relationship. Many of them stayed around the SS3 area. This was the closest residential area to the airport then which had bungalows that they could rent. Subang Jaya was just being developed then. But people avoided staying in Subang Jaya classifying it as a high risk area as they complained that it was situated right under the flight path of aircrafts. You can see their fallacy now. From Sg. Way where I stayed which was just nearby to SS3, I would walk out to the main road and wait along the route that these expatriates took and they would gladly give me a lift to office. We often took a shortcut to reach the airport road where we would pass an estate and the children would wait to wave at us as we passed. Well…not at me actually. It was to wave at the Mat Sallehs behind the wheel who often just smiled and waved back at them……always! These were simple gestures that cost nothing but they meant so much to these children who would then run away into their houses having made their day. This estate that we used to pass through then is where Kelana Jaya now stands.
(…….the story continues in Part 2)

If It Is To Be, Its Up To Me

2009-08-05T00:35:00.005-04:00

After responding to so many advertisements, one of them finally replied. I felt extremely elated when I got the letter from MAS. The interview had been scheduled just 2 days away and here I was stuck at the hospital where I worked as a Probationery HA, wondering how I was going to make it with so little money on me. I broke the news to my colleagues and I could see envy written on their faces. I knew that at least 2 of them in the group detested life in the estates and wanted to get away from it all but they had been pressured by their parents to stay put and complete the course. In 1975, industrialization had not started in a big way in Malaysia and jobs were scarce in other sectors. So people just hung on to whatever job that they could land. As for me, nothing was certain anyway. It was just an interview and I still had to land the job. With that I made my way to Chenderoh, off Kuala Kangsar where my eldest sister worked. I knew I could depend on her. Moreover my Dad had retired years ago and it would hardly be reasonable to trouble him for any money for the trip.

Chenderoh is a very scenic place with a beautiful man-made lake created by the State government’s construction of a dam to produce electricity through hydro power. Many a time I had spent my school holidays there. Serene, laid back….this is the perfect place for relaxation. It has a picturesque view of the rolling hills as the backdrop behind the pristine waters of the lake. It’s a self contained place with about 500 to 600 residents, all of them employees of Perak Hydro and their families. A lot of emphasis is given to landscaping with the lawn maintained to the standards of a golf course. The place is serviced by public transport only twice a day………one at 9 am and the other at 3pm from Kuala Kangsar.

I managed to catch the afternoon bus and reached Chenderoh by 4.00pm, a 35 km ride through winding roads that takes about an hour, the last 10 km of which is narrow as well. After negotiating with my sister for some money, I managed to hitch a ride out of the place from someone who happened to be leaving to town. It was sheer luck but I had to leave the same evening as the interview had been scheduled for the next morning. I then headed to Malim Nawar to get to another one of my relative's house that was next to a train station from where I could catch the night mail that usually arrived there in the wee hours of the morning.

The running around was indeed hectic and tiring but the thoughts of being able to work in an airline pushed me on. It was already nightfall when I reached the place. Back then, we seldom used the phone to announce of our impending arrival at anybody’s house. Not that it was against any culture, just that the trend had not 'caught up' as only those in the upper echelons of society could afford phones in their house. And we were not anywhere near that stratum yet. My Uncle and his family were of course surprised to see me and made me feel welcome. After exchanging the usual pleasantries, we spoke for a while and as it was already quite late, one by one they all hit the bed. I kept awake that night, afraid that I might sleep off and miss out on an opportunity that would change my lifestyle forever. I relished that thought and looked forward to the day when I no longer had to go back to live life in an estate. My cousin kept me company until it was time for me to leave. I bid him goodbye and walked over to the station to wait for the train which surprisingly, came on time.

This was my first trip to KL proper. Prior to this I had only passed through while travelling to JB. So I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t even know where the MAS office was located. After sneaking into the washroom at the Station Hotel located at the KL Railway Station (now known as The Heritage), I freshened up and changed into my formal wear. Found out from some taxi drivers waiting outside that the UMBC Building where the MAS office was housed was in fact just a short walk across the road. Managed a quick breakfast before heading for the much anticipated interview. Upon entering the office, I realized that I was not the only one or even one of the select few who had been shortlisted……. the room was teeming with at least another 50 others, all earnestly waiting to be called in. I didn’t feel intimidated. My self confidence was at an all time high. I kept psyching myself up and spurred on.

After a long wait of over 2 hours, I was finally called in. There were 3 of them in the interview board. They just asked simple questions perhaps acknowledging that I was a freshie in the employment market and it would be pointless asking me anything more. It was for a junior administrative position anyway. At the end of the half hour session, when I left the room, a feeling of elation engulfed me. At the back of my mind, I somehow knew that I would be selected. I could sense it from their expression. But until I receive the appointment letter, I also knew that nothing was certain. These thoughts kept playing havoc on my mind during the more than 7 hours that I had to spend waiting in the Railway Station for the night mail train that was due to leave only at 8.00pm. I couldn’t venture out anywhere far from the station for 2 reasons. Firstly I didn’t know where to go and I was afraid that I might not be able to find my way back. And secondly, I didn’t have the money to spend on anything more. I had just enough to pay for the ticket for the trip back……..or so I thought! After a long ‘nap’ on one of the benches in the station, I woke up in the evening to the noise of people walking up and down and realized that a queue was quickly forming. I joined the back of the queue and started digging into my pockets to prepare the correct change for the ticket. Upon nearing the counters, what greeted me from the fare table on display shook me up! It turned out that the fare was RM11.80 and I had only RM10.80 with me…... a dollar short! I didn’t know what to do next. I was young, a green horn without much exposure, just about starting out on my own in life and already all kinds of unthinkable obstacles were being placed in my path. O! God! Where art thou?

But being the ever self confident person that I was, I didn’t waver. Nor was I discouraged. I knew that if it is to be, it was up to me. There were no one else to whom I could turn to. I was alone……. and I had to find the answers……by myself. I moved out of the queue and looked around and noticed a guy sitting all by himself, possibly about my age, engrossed with the papers, probably waiting for the train too. At first I hesitated but what choice did I have? “Its better to try and get a no for an answer than never to have tried at all” I thought to myself as I summoned enough courage to approach him. I related to him about how I had come for the interview and about my predicament of ending up with RM1 less for the trip back. I even offered my identity card as collateral if that is what would take to convince him of my sincerity, promising him that I would return the dollar as soon as I reached home. (A dollar was big money back then. A packet of Dunhill 20s cost only 65 cents. So you work out the rest). He obliged but not before accepting my identity card. After I had bought my ticket, we sat down together again where I got the opportunity to improve on our acquaintance. He introduced himself as Ravi Menon from Ipoh and was on his way back after visiting some friends in KL. Having just left school like me, he was also looking for a job. After a while, I managed to get his telephone number and address before we went our separate ways when the train arrived as he held a second class ticket while I was happy to have ‘scraped’ through into 3rd class. With an empty stomach, and a wallet to match, I could hardly sleep a wink during the entire journey. But it was not only the rumblings in my stomach that kept me awake that night. It was also the excitement of landing an airline job and the many features that came with it, the most attractive being the annual free travel to any destination where they flew to and the chance of a 75% rebate on domestic travel at any other time. And of course, the salary which was about three times more than what I was being paid as a Trainee HA.

Once I reached home the next morning, I broke the news to my parents and siblings. They were all very excited as well especially my Dad who, having originated from India to work in Malaya (then) in 1935, had not been able to go back even once due to financial constraints and commitments. Whatever he earned had been just sufficient to feed and fend for the six of us. His inability to afford a trip back must have been especially painful when during his absence, his mum had passed away. I knew from the many letters that we received from the folks in India that her dying wish was to see him just one more time. Unfortunately fate would have it otherwise. So now upon hearing of the benefits that came with the job, I could see that he was extremely happy. The radiance reflected on his face said it all. It was an expression that we seldom got to see.

I went back to the estate the next day and endured the next one week dwelling in hope and uncertainly at the same time. During that time I mailed back the RM1 to the good samaritan who reciprocated with the return of my identity card, apologizing in the process for having stooped to such levels for a pittance. For me, it was noble of him to have helped me, a total stranger and that was all that mattered. Everything else was secondary.

My long wait finally ended after about a week. Sure enough, when I saw the thick envelope with a MAS logo on it, I knew at once that I had been successful. After the excitement had subdued, it was time to face my colleagues at the hospital to say goodbye. They had by now kind of accepted the inevitable reality of my separation. Although on one hand I felt a tinge of sadness leaving them……deserting them midway as they preferred to describe it, I knew it was in my long term interest that I moved on to greener pastures.

Readers' Comments & Feedback

2009-07-31T22:03:00.000-04:00

I have reconfigured the settings pursuant to readers' concerns that they are not able to publish their comments. With that, I trust that there will not be any more glitches in your attempts. However in case you continue to face any further difficulty, I would appreciate if you could kindly forward your complains to me at hrm@babas.com.my

Thank you.

To caption as "The Child?" or "The Vulture?"

2009-07-31T19:51:00.000-04:00

This emaciated child is crawling towards a United Nations food camp, located a kilometer away. The vulture is waiting for the child to die so that it can eat her. The picture was taken in 1993 in Sudan, which won the photographer Kevin Carter the Pulitzer Prize. But, Kevin was so much traumatized by this horrific image that he committed suicide in 1994 soon after receiving the award. 15 years have passed since then, but the scene is still the same (worse in fact) - in war torn countries around the world...........just the characters are different.

"Poverty is the worst form of violence." - Mahatma Gandhi

The Turning Point

2009-07-30T00:33:00.000-04:00

(This is the prelude to the earlier article on ‘The Paramedic in Me’)

The journey was long and tedious. The train left the Butterworth station at 8.00pm and we (my brother Praba and I) were due to arrive in KL at 7 the next morning enroute to JB. From there we were to catch another train at 8.00am that would eventually reach JB at about 7 in the evening. This was 1974 with Razak at the helm. Mahathir was not in the scene yet, not due for another 7 years for things to change. Sixteen years after independence and the main mode of transportation was still the trusted train service. It was slow but there was not much of a choice then. We didn’t have that many bus services as we have now. To kill the time and to contain the boredom, you just have to get hold of a book or some reading material to pass your next almost 24 hours before you reach your destination. During peak seasons, they sold as many tickets as they possible could because the seats in 3rd Class (as they referred to it then) were not numbered. Without air-conditioning, you have to really sweat it out. Much later when I traveled back to Butterworth during holidays while working in KL, the coaches used to be filled to capacity with even very limited standing space available. With sleep deprivation, the need to find any place to rest would become paramount in your thoughts especially in the wee hours of the night. During those occasions, I remember having slept in nearly every part of the train…..on the wooden luggage racks, along the walkway, in the 2nd class toilet, in the cargo coach….any place would do. It was only after Mahathir took over did some decorum, decency and comfort return to train travel.

Back to the main story, my parents had finally consented to allow me to continue my education at Cambridge College in JB since my brother was working there and he had agreed to provide support. Incidentally I was equally interested to go because one of my friends, Raymond was also there doing his Form 6.

After reaching JB, we went over to my Aunt’s place where I stayed the next couple of days until Raymond managed to find a room for me near the college. My brother had gone off to the jungles of Pengerang, an undeveloped remote part of eastern Johore where he worked as a Land Surveyor in the construction of a link road to ‘civilization’.

College was fun. Raymond, having started much earlier knew most of the other guys. The first person he introduced me to was Helma, a cute, petite and shy girl with whom I became quite close during my short stay. Lincoln was a stand-up artiste who provided much of the fun with his company. He, together with his brother Andrew and Sigamoney (later my room-mate) hailed from a little known obscure place called Cha’ah in northern Johore. Later in the week, I got to know the other classmates Helen and the Mohans, among a host of others. We quickly forged a close relationship. Being local, everyone was especially nice to us since Raymond and I were the only 2 from out of town. In fact many a time, they had gone out of their way to make our stay comfortable. Hospitality at its best I could say and we relished every moment of it. In time, the lonesome feeling of being away from my family disappeared. My brother would visit me once every month and we would spend a day or two together usually going for movies or we would just walk along the brightly lit water-front after dinner, listening to soft music coming from the speakers attached to the trees, talking about almost everything there is to talk about. And on the days when he visited, I used to put up with him at the hotel where he stayed. He was 8 years older than me and a very affable person. We enjoyed a strong cordial relationship. I could discuss or confide anything with him and he would gladly oblige with his opinions. In fact among my siblings, I was very attached to him.

Then one day about 5 months into my Form 6, when I was attending a Literature class, the Principal sent word that he wanted to see me in his office. I excused myself and proceeded to his office wondering what could be the urgency. It’s not often that a Principal would want to see a student in the middle of a session. He told me about a phone call that he had received, something about my brother being ill and admitted to the hospital. He couldn’t remember from whom or why he had been admitted. “Could he have met with an accident” I thought as I rushed to the GH with Raymond tagging along and found my way to his ward. His colleagues were at his bedside when I reached there. They briefed me that he had had a black-out the night before and of late had been constantly complaining of splitting headaches. He had self prescribed some analgesics to subdue and contain the pain. I spent the next couple of hours with him where I noticed that he had become kind of disorientated. He was unusual. I didn’t know how serious his condition was and the nurses and doctors couldn’t tell me anything either. Later on the way back, I composed myself and stopped at the Post Office to send out a telegram to my parents. We didn’t have a phone at home so this was the only option. Telegrams are supposed to be short and precise. It is charged according to the number of words used. I still remember how I worded it. “PRABA AETEN HOSPITALISED. START IMMEDIATELY” (we address brothers as ‘Aeten’ in Malayalam). After that I went back to my rented room and went about my normal chores without the slightest hint of what was in store. I assumed that it was a normal ailment and that he will recover after a few days.

My parents had got the telegram and had already arrived at the hospital when I went to see him after skipping class the next day. Raymond followed me again. Noticed that my brother had been transferred to a different ward. When I enquired, I was told that he had gone berserk during the night, taken a fall and gone into a coma. It had all happened so fast. If I had only known that it was going to be this bad, I would have stayed back to look after him. A feeling of guilt seized me. But I honestly didn’t know. The next four nights, Raymond and I alternated the vigil at his bedside. My parents stayed at my Aunt’s place. Then on the 5th day just as we thought that he was showing some signs of any recovery, he passed away! My Dad and I were at his bedside when he heaved his last breath. It took me a while to absorb and digest the shock that came with it! And when I finally came to my senses, I broke down…..uncontrollably!

My world crashed on me! All kind of thoughts crossed my mind. The person who meant everything to me had been cruelly snatched away from me. He was the sole bread-winner after Dad retired and he was financing my studies. More than anything else, I lost a close confidant. It was as if the rug had been pulled from under my feet. I lost all sense of directions at that point in time. And my world had been turned inside out!

The funeral was held the next day in my Aunt’s house in JB attended by friends and relatives, near and far. Dad decided against bringing the body back due mainly to the distance. No amount of solace could console or comfort me. I was a total wreck. I pulled myself together the following day and prepared for the long arduous journey back. My other siblings and parents had already left the same night after the funeral.

There was a huge crowd gathered at the railway station when I reached. Raymond had already sent the word around that I was due to return to my hometown that night. Apart from my friends from college, even those who did not know me personally came to say goodbye. They had been touched by my plight. Some extended their condolences while others brought books for me to keep my mind occupied during the journey. As the train sounded the whistle, the group comprising Raymond, Sigamoney and Lincoln among others gave me a hug each, one after the other, wishing me well, asking me to take care and to keep in touch. Quietly tucked away in one corner of the station, I could see Helma putting up a brave front while wiping away her tears and waving at the same time as the train slowly pulled away into the darkness. Seated beside the window looking out into the wilderness, I broke down and cried to myself……….almost throughout the return journey. I came to this town with my brother with a lot of hope and aspirations. Now, after losing him, I was returning home with shattered dreams…….. into uncharted territories of my life!

The Conviction

2009-07-28T05:01:00.000-04:00

Except for brief bouts of escapism that I enjoyed in my youth, nothing much happened during the first 15 years of my life. It was plain routine otherwise. Going to school, coming back, homework. That was about all there was to it. Once in a while the monotony was broken by punctuations of a game of badminton with neighbours.

All these changed during my Upper Secondary when Imbaraj joined my class. My initial reaction to his demeanour was one of surprise. For a start, it was difficult to read him, much less to understand him. Being quiet and aloof most of the time, it took him a long time before he opened up. Once we passed that stage, it was fun all the way. Being a son of a Station Master and the Station being just across the road, his house was located immediately outside the school perimeter fencing. In spite of the proximity to school, he was a regular late-comer. And having become close to him, I would often stop by at his house for breakfast together before jumping over the perimeter fencing to get to class, avoiding the ever vigilant school traffic wardens in the process.

He gained prominence in school one day when the NST reported him as a ‘player to watch!’ It was then that everyone took notice of this demure character……he was actually representing Penang State in badminton. This was big-time news those days. To be featured in the papers was glamorous. I knew about it all along as I was his self appointed manager. Being reserved, he rejected the many advances of the fairer sex during the tournaments that he played in. To capitalize on the glamour that he enjoyed, I became the go-between for them. And it ended in many an exploit thanks to my relentless energy and imagination in such pursuits. We were teenagers. And as teenagers, we were going through what everyone else went through during that experimental phase of life.

From then on, the relationship gained momentum. There were very few occasions when we weren’t together. We did everything, or at least most of it together. To the extent that when I joined a cigarette company one day, he too gainfully secured employment with one….but with my competitor. Nevertheless, the job was similar and although we were based at 2 different locations, we still found time to meet up to spend time together. During one of those meetings, we had vowed to each other that to seal the bondage and to give a meaning to the friendship, we will adopt each others names in naming our own children. It was not a promise made at the spur of the moment but one that was made with deep and strong beliefs based on the strength of our relationship. Such was our rapport that we were often the envy of friends and relatives.

And true to our conviction, we have it that after my son was born, I used the phonetics of his name to name him as Hem Raj. And he went on to name his son as Kelvesh.

In case you are wondering how on earth could Kelvesh be in anyway linked to or even remotely sound like 'Aravind', please be enlightened that Kelvesh is a lose but stylized adaptation of my family name………Kalveshwara Namboothiri! (I was born a Malayalee Brahmin).

The Paramedic in me (part 2)

2009-07-25T01:04:00.000-04:00

And Yes! I finally met up with that long lost friend whom I mentioned in part 1 of the story. After close to 35 years, I finally met up with him. I had a lot of excitement and anticipation prior to the meet. I must admit that I had been guilty of clinging on to the memories of the past.

But the reality is that people change. Due to the paths that he had chosen and the different knocks that he had probably taken, I found in him someone with whom I could not relate anymore. He has become materialistic and had at some point in time stopped growing. It was like he was trapped in a time-zone. Yes, he could continue the relationship exactly where we left off 35 years ago. But that was all there was to it. He still works in the estates and admittedly he has progressed to a higher position but that’s mainly due to his experience in doing the same thing that he did all those years . Nothing more. There was nothing different in terms of his perception towards life. His views were still the shallow reflections that he had in his youth. And he still has not even ‘experimented’ with computers and avoids the topic as if it was a bad word. I normally have only kind words for people especially of friends but I was especially disappointed that this guy refuses to acknowledge the actual world. He had shut himself off from the real world preferring to just work and earn money so that his children can become doctors and lawyers. And he subtly tries to measure me by asking how many houses I have, how much I have amassed and what car I drive. He appeared uncomfortable when I mentioned about my bungalow and my CRV because having started out together, he sort of expected me to be somewhere within his ‘range’. But hei! Does it matter? Are you to be concerned with such things? What is it to you where I live and what I own? Who are you to be judgmental? What happened to the innocence of youth?....of friendship?........the time you took me at face value?.....when it didn’t matter to you my origin or background?

Anyway I realized that it’s his perception of success………. at the expense of his very existence and all the niceness of this world that comes with it which unfortunately he doesn’t see and has decided to forego. People don’t just grow over time…..they are supposed to evolve in every sense of the word. If we are intended to just grow, then we would have been probably created static!

Is this the intention of our being……the purpose of our creation? Without appearing to sound philosophical about it, I personally believe that life is not only to be lived but to a large extent, in the process of living, it is to be enjoyed too. Of course, there must be limits and clear lines drawn lest you get carried away. But that’s how you are supposed to discipline yourself…..no? To do it any other way is like shunning kitchen knives because they can injure you. Absurdity at its heights! Anyway, it was good that at least now I knew. I don’t feel sad or anything but happy for the experience and the enlightenment, And if you think that he might feel offended if he read this, I’m quite confident that with his lack of exposure, he probably is still living under the notion that the keyboard is actually an electronic typewriter attached to a television screen.

The Paramedic in me

2009-07-23T05:01:00.000-04:00

1974 was an eventful year. After getting my MCE results, I went over to JB to continue my Form 6. Then when my studies were cut short by the untimely demise of my brother who was supporting me, I had to pack my bags and return to my hometown. Almost as soon as I returned, Dad fixed me up with the estates to be trained as a Hospital Assistant (HA). In retrospect, I think he probably did it to keep my mind occupied as I had just gone through a traumatic experience of losing a loved one and my life had been turned inside out (that story will be told another day).

And so I reported to Serdang Group Hospital in Kedah, a small hospital that catered to the dwellers from surrounding estates. There were 2 of us scheduled to undergo this 3 years of training, the other was Rao who happened to grow up in the same estate as me and who had once taken tuition classes from my sister. This was comforting as otherwise, I would have been without friends and being fresh out of a tragic experience, it would have been tormenting to spend my time. The hospital was manned by 2 qualified HAs and was serviced by a visiting doctor who came once every week from another group hospital in Kedah where he was based. Observing that I appeared interested and very much involved in the daily chores of providing care to the in-patients, he suggested one day that I should continue the training at the other hospital where there were more trainees. I readily agreed and off I went to Kuala Ketil.

Here, the hospital was situated in a small town and also catered to surrounding estates but these were large estates with a bigger population so we were kept busy with more patients coming in daily. I was put in charge of the female ward together with a midwife and another probationer. The male ward was manned by 2 other probationers. We had another trainee at the dispensary that was managed by 2 qualified HAs. The doctor was stationed here except on his visiting days. The 5 of us who were undergoing training were housed in a hostel that was located within the hospital compound.

With 5 rooms in the hostel for the 5 of us, it was single occupancy much to my delight. Never had such luxury back at home where I had to share rooms with my parents and siblings in my kampong house where we settled down after dad retired.

Kasiappan was the most senior. He was already into his second year. Being senior, he often guided us whenever we consulted him on things we were not sure of especially on prescriptions. He later went on to complete the programme and got a job at a nearby estate.

Ganesan was the quiet type and hailed from Taiping. Being the only son, his mum would pack biscuits and other cookies for him whenever he returned from his visits. Since he always kept his room door locked, I used to climb onto the attic before descending into his room to steal some of those cookies. I was to meet him later in life when he was the HA in Serdang hospital where I had spent the early days of my training. He had converted to Islam and had changed his name to Ghani.

Praba was from Kulim. Left on his own, he was quiet but being a fun loving guy, he stuck with me like a leech and would follow me wherever I went. He was later in life to marry my cousin but the marriage was short-lived and they separated soon after. I recently learnt that he had settled down in Indonesia and had married a local girl there.

Krishnasamy was the last guy. He joined the training when I was already into my third month of training. He was a pious person and had a serious perception of life. Whenever Praba and I came back from one of our ‘exploits’, he would lecture us at length about karma and the harm that would befall us in our later life as the Man up there was supposedly watching our every deed and movement (as if the Man didn’t have anything better to do than watch over us). His intentions could have been noble but at that age, we couldn’t understand a word of what he preached…...or more accurately, we didn’t want to.

At the hospital, in no time I became quite familiar and adept with the various medications as I was put in-charge of patients in the female ward and had to attend to calls at night. Usually night calls would involve someone complaining of some light ailment like stomach ache or vomiting and the likes. Had to just dispense them with some appropriate medication and all would be fine. During my stint I also learnt how to administer injections and had also assisted the doctor in performing some minor surgeries. My daily routine involved taking the patients’ temperature, blood pressure and pulse rates every morning which I religiously carried out without fail. After their breakfast is served, I dispensed them their medication. That is about all there is to it unless some emergency occurs where I have to call in the ‘quaified’ HAs to attend. Otherwise I usually spend my free time on something to read to while away the hours.

I dreaded every day of my life that I spent there. Having grown up in the estates myself where my dad also worked in the hospital, I found life monotonous as the scenes seemed to be repeating. Letters from my classmates in JB helped keep my spirits high. I would especially wait for letters from Helen, Helma, Sigamani (who happened to be my room-mate while I was there), Lincoln, Raymond etc. I would keep myself occupied during the nights by replying to them…..pages and pages of things that were happening to me and projected an impression as if these were the most exciting events that could happen to anyone. In reality, it was just the opposite. Wanted them to think that I was already ‘on my way’ in life, in a ‘high profile’ job. I also kept myself entertained by venturing out to the nearby town just for the kicks with Praba tagging along. And no….we didn’t have to spend on bus-fare as I just had to stand along the road to hitch-hike. On every one of those occasions, some one stopped to give us a lift. Never failed….not once. We returned the same manner by which we went. These are not adventures or events to evoke excitement in any way by today’s standards. But these were events that unfolded in a God forsaken semi-urban laidback territory in the interiors of Kedah in the year 1974……35 years ago to be exact when the parents of many of you who are reading this article had probably not even met……… for you to be even conceived!

I went on to spend another 10 months there while all the time applying for jobs elsewhere. I knew that it was a matter of time before some prospective employer would read my resume and be interested in hiring me. Then one day, my dreams were answered. I received a letter from MAS calling me for an interview. After the interview and medical check-up, I was asked to start in a week’s time. When I broke the news to my colleagues, I could sense a feeling of ‘betrayal’ enveloping them. They felt that I was deserting them halfway through the journey. I was their life-wire….the fun guy, the one who had answers to everything…..the ‘urbanite’ so to speak who created all the excitement. They said it in no uncertain terms that they would miss me once I left. But we promised to keep in touch.

But that was 1974. Unfortunately, the comradeship was not maintained or followed through. Priorities changed. The foundation fragmented and sadly, circumstances dictated the directions we took from then on and we all ended up going our own way.

This memory from my past was revived when I recently ‘bumped’ into another friend who knows Krishnasamy and was told that Krishnasamy now happens to work just about 40km from where I live. I got his contact number and spoke to him over the phone but have not met up yet. During the conversation, we flipped through some pages from our past and vowed to meet up soon. I’m looking forward to the reunion.

I wonder if he is as excited as I am.....?

Rest In Peace, Beng Hock!

2009-07-20T22:48:00.000-04:00

Teoh Beng Hock, your name came into prominence only after your death. I am not a politician. I do not know you and I haven’t met you or even seen you. But the manner by which your life has been extinguished is heart wrenching. I am touched....deeply touched! We don’t have the answers…..yet. And we don’t know if the truth will ever come to light. But one thing is for sure, your death will not be in vain.

My deepest condolences to your wife, family and unborn child. May your soul rest in eternal peace.

R.I.P
"Oh! Dear Teoh Beng Hock
I have never met you before
News of you came as a shock
On that fateful day after your fall

I share the grief of your friends, family and wife
By the premature end of your precious life
Was it a jump, push or a throw
The truth I guess we may never know
But rest my friend, for gone is your pain
Rest assured that your death will not be in vain"

Outward Bound School......towards self discovery!

2009-07-20T00:51:00.000-04:00

Alone……. along the beach
Watching….
The waves gushing
Rushing
Against the shore
An occasional hoot
From a distant boat
To break the silence…..
….As the sun wanes
out of eye’s reach.

Expeditions are over
Activities have ended
How I completed them
I ponder…even wonder
The agony…. toughness
The near torture….the sadness
…Madness
And then I realize
That man discovers himself
Only when put to test
Under stress
And duress.

And I muse to myself
Because amidst all the pain
After all the strain
You finally realise
That if mind and heart are set
There will be no regret
...but only gain.

Determination, willingness
Confidence, sacrifice
Tolerance
And a little ability to lead
Are all one needs
To compete....
And complete the course
Yet it takes man 25 days
With merit in hand
A smile on the face
To discover
Himself!

16th July

2009-07-16T03:05:00.000-04:00

July 16th has always been the best day in my life. It’s the day that lets you know who remembers you and who doesn’t. I started celebrating this day only after my wife came into my life. It was not a ‘culture’ in my family when I was young. It was not on the priority list anyway. Putting food on the table was more important with Dad’s meager income with 7 mouths to feed. When I was a kid, birthdays just came and went…no big deal…..just another day. There had even been occasions when the day simply slipped by and no one remembered until someone blurts out “Oh! It was Ravi’s birthday 2 days ago”. I remember being moved to tears then. Not that we were going to cut a cake and sing and party and all that .…..but at that age, to miss such an important day was heart-breaking.

All that changed after I got married. Prema had been pampered with the belief that her ‘new’ year doesn’t start if a cake had not been cut. So she had been doing it all her life. She just incorporated her ‘culture’ into ours when she joined my family. And from then on, we used to celebrate everyone’s birthday…..my dad, mum, sister, brother, the kids…all. Found that the camaraderie sort of helped keep the family happy and together.

And so it went until 1991 when my last daughter was born…on July 17th! From then on, we have been celebrating only hers. Perhaps at my age, I feel I’m kind of a tad too old to celebrate birthdays anymore.

Anyway, the heat generated from 52 candles waiting to be blown may not be good for the air-conditioners in the house.

Guys' Day Out

2009-07-13T04:09:00.000-04:00

Last weekend, Imbaraj had invited me to join his badminton club’s get-together function to be held at PD. As I didn’t have any engagements for the weekend, I decided to join in and took the Komuter to Seremban on Saturday evening. I had attended a similar function some time last year that was organized by his Seremban team and they held it then at the Cobra club in PJ. It was a wonderful party and I had a lot of fun that night. So I had expected this event to be about the same although this time around, it was being hosted by the Kajang team and I was told that they had booked a bungalow in PD for the purpose. “A private party in a sea-facing bungalow, with the wind blowing against your face as if dancing to the rhythmic sound of the waves”. Wow! What a feeling it conjures…just the thought of it! “And with the free flowing chilled beers, what could be better than this? It was going to even outdo the Cobra club function. This was supposed to be the party that anyone would imagine”. These thoughts kept playing overtime in my mind.

Imbaraj was waiting for me at the Seremban train station and after picking up Siva, Selvam and Vasu (his badminton buddies), we were on our way. I was already feeling rather ‘thirsty’ by then as it was about 7.30pm when we left Seremban. Without any inkling as to the whereabouts of this ‘dream’ bungalow, we had trouble locating it. The only clues provided by the hosts were that it was somewhere in the area where the Maybank bungalows were and there was supposedly a Pajero parked outside. What a fantastic direction provider! As darkness had already set in, we virtually had to ‘feel’ our way in the housing estate to find the unit. Siva’s boisterous ramblings that he knew this place to be ‘Pantai Dickson’ as if to impress us that he was a regular to this part of the country was of no help whatsoever. It only added to the already fraying nerves as it was not only getting late but Pantai Dickson or not Pantai Dickson, we were not getting anywhere. After traversing the landscape a good couple of circles, we finally found it.

But what an anti-climax it turned out to be. It was actually one of the rows of bungalows in a housing estate…….tucked neatly away far from the beach. It was non air-conditioned and the furniture appeared to have been brought in from another era. In fact if I hadn’t known that this was PD, I would have probably assumed that we were somewhere in a relative’s house between Kajang and Seremban. Undeterred, I strained my ears in the quietness of the night hoping to be able to at least hear some distant sound of gushing waves to appease my yearning spirit. But no…….we were probably far away from the coastline to hear any of those!

The Kajang guys were in various state of dress-down as they had started on the beers much earlier. They had chilled it to perfection. They had also prepared dinner for the whole group. I must admit that the food was excellent, what with the spicy mutton, chicken, crabs, fish etc. Just the right kind of stuff to go with beer. But that was all there was to it. It surely didn’t turn out to be a party in the true sense of the word. No activities had been lined up, nothing interactive had been planned in particular. It was just eating, drinking and chatting. The speeches that were given to create an air of formality appeared to be an afterthought. It didn’t help the cause and didn’t quite blend into the scene. On the whole, the function betrayed my expectation. I then realized that perhaps the Kajang boys understanding of fun simply meant a day away from their families….any day! Just that! Nothing else mattered. Away from families meant wholesome fun to them. 'Guys Day Out' sort of thing. It didn’t matter if it catered to the needs or expectations of the rest of the guests. The setting.…the ambiance…. the mood….nothing was important. Just a day out, away from their families and it turns out into paradise for them! It provided me with an insight of how different minds worked. Interesting escapade.

Anyway, after spending the next 3 hours there, we decided to call it a day and left for home. Dropping off his buddies, I went back to Imbaraj’s house to put up the night. Before hitting the bed, we spent the next hour or so catching up on so many stories including a post-mortem of the evening’s affairs with a couple of ice-chilled scotch from his cache that he has carefully exhibited in his whiskey cabinet, perhaps under lock and key lest, unbeknown to him, some adventurous guest decides to pursue his worldly pleasures in his house at his expense. It was tempting but as it was rather late, we called it a day at about 2.30am and hit the sack.

Woke up late the next morning and realized that his wife had already bought breakfast. After having breakfast with him, I left at about noon. The return journey back to Rawang by Komuter was another disaster. As if the ‘party’ the night before was not punishing enough, the train that was due to arrive at 12.30 noon was cancelled for some reason. So ended up having to take the 1.00pm train. Half an hour into the journey, the air-conditioning system mysteriously failed. And the coach was already filled to capacity. I was sweating profusely and there was nothing I could do about it. Getting off at any of the stations along the way to continue my journey in a later train was not an option because that would mean that I would probably have to wait for another hour or so. And given that reliability was least of the service provider’s concern, I opted to just grin and bear it.

As the train finally pulled into Rawang station at about 3.30pm, I felt relieved that I was finally back. The ordeal was over. An eventful weekend to remember for a long time to come. Will I attend another one of the badminton club functions again in future?

You bet I will……….I still enjoy cold beers.

Rendezvous.........with Sargu

2009-07-08T22:01:00.000-04:00

It was the 55th birthday celebrations of Sargu whom I hold close to my heart. The getting-to-know-you stages passed in the late 70s. We were both working in KL and decided one day to stay together. He found a place in PJ and I moved in with him. I had been staying in the Sg. Way New Village area until then. It was not a slum in that sense but it was high density where the houses were so clustered together that the noise and din created on some days can get to you. Houses were built so close together that if you find the music from your neighbour’s house too loud to bear, you can virtually open your window, stretch your hand out and reduce the volume on his radio or TV.

Being 3 years older than me, he had a head-start in life. And his experiences were insightful in many ways. Learnt the virtues of life from him. Through him I realized that drinking and smoking are a way of releasing stress build-up. “All working people do it. Ok….maybe not all. But most fun loving guys do”. And to compound the fact, we had a ‘beverage’ ad. those days that said “it puts back in you what the day takes out”.
And so the relationship flourished….both with him and the beer!

He always had a way with life. An extrovert in nature, always looking at things positively. His perception of things that happened around him was always different. Many a time, I had to abandon my own deep-rooted beliefs because he convinced me so. And sure enough, more often than not, he was right. Although not flamboyant, he was charismatic, a characteristic that he exploited to the utmost in wooing the belles around town. Must be the head-start that gave him that edge.

To follow in my mentor’s footsteps, I had even had a career change midway so that I may also enjoy the excitement that came with the job. I was later to learn that excitement doesn’t just happen and surely doesn’t come with the job. You have to create it. It’s a life style.

At long last, he attained 55 last Monday. When I arrived at the venue with my family friend Ahsha, as my wife could not attend, a host of relatives and friends had already gathered there with Imbaraj(his brother)sharing some light moments with them. Noticed that the scotch was already half empty....and Imbaraj's eyes were turning red already. I asked him why and he answered "I like mine coloured". His wit has not changed a bit.

I felt honoured to be part of the celebration. It was an excellent get-together and I say this not so much because of the free flow of beer and liquor but because of the opportunity to catch up with old times. So much of memories flashed past from my younger days spent with him. Kabie Kabie, Prem Kahani, Deewar were some of the midnight movies that we had gone to together. It was our Saturday night pastime. Where once we were the youngsters, now we had his son filling the bill….and later footing it too. Rashna is a grown man now, and awaiting to tie the nuptial knot sometime later this year….which will be another occasion for merry making. That story will be told another day.

Really enjoyed the night and returned sometime after midnight. Thank you Sargu....for the memories.

Kalavitha

2009-07-08T22:00:00.000-04:00

This is a pix of my grand-daughter born to Praveena and Prakash on 29-12-08.

Just as we were resigning to the daily demands of life, along came Kalavitha to provide us with the much needed excitement, injecting new doses of zest into our otherwise mundane routines.

She has now taken over our lives providing us with new reasons to look forward to each day.

Life's Choices

2009-07-07T03:18:00.000-04:00

Sometimes in life
You come to crossroads
And you are caught in a dilemma
As to which way to go

But as life is a journey
And not a destination
You are left to choose the path
That would bring you joy & jubilation

In doing so
You leave behind a past
A past often filled with fond memories
Sometimes tinged with misery

But as always, the future holds
As the future should....
Promises of a blissful life
All of our own making and choice

When you reach there, you will realize
That the path you chose
At the crossroads
Was the correct one after all

Divine Intervention?

2009-07-03T23:00:00.000-04:00

(Inspired by actual events that took place in the year 1999. Names of persons and places have been changed to maintain anonymity)

The call came through on the cell phone that Raj was holding. It was from his old friend, Sargu.

“What’s up?” I heard him asking. Then there was a hushed silence as he listened intently to what the other party was saying. I couldn’t figure out what the conversation was about, so I went about with my task at the government office where I was trying to get some land titles stamped.

I had recently lost my job with a reputable firm where I worked as a HR Practitioner. Being without a job for about 2 months now, it provided me with a lot of time to reflect on the events that had culminated in my loss of job. While waiting to land another one soon, at least it has given me an opportunity to spend more time with my family, I consoled myself. To sustain during this interim period however, I did light errands for a couple of legal practitioners, which was what had brought me to this government office.

“Ravi, we must go now! Something terrible has happened!” Raj said to me.

What could be so important that it has to cut short my assignment here, I thought.

“You remember Subash, the guy who works in Sargu’s office?……. who recently met with an accident?,” he asked me. “Well Sargu just called to say that the hospital where he had been admitted had given up any hope for a recovery and have in fact recommended that he be removed from life support!”

“Oh! My God!” I exclaimed!

I have only seen Subash once. That too after he had met with the accident. He had already gone into a coma when brought into the hospital after a lorry had ploughed through the motorbike that he was riding one morning about 4 weeks ago. I can still remember his wife and only daughter crying uncontrollably when they entered the ward. I had consoled myself that this comatose situation after an accident was usually only temporary and that after a few days he would recover and all would be well again. After all, accidents do happen.

But never in my wildest dreams had it occurred to me that he had been in a life- threatening situation all along. My suspicious mind began probing within me………. Had his condition indeed been so critical? Or is the private hospital trying to end his trauma due to the hefty bill that he has already chalked up? Or could it be a case of incompetence on the part of the attending medical practitioners?…….. There were no immediate answers to these questions. But deep within me, something told me that he must live. “32 is definitely too young an age to die!” I thought.

With that in mind, we quickly called Sargu on his mobile number, telling him to do
everything possible to stop the doctors from disconnecting Subash from the life support system and to retract the consent letter that his wife had already signed, that had given the hospital the liberty to remove him from the system. We told him that we were on the way!

Our immediate concern was to find a way to keep him alive………... while we think of what to do next. We knew that the treatment cost at the specialist center was extremely high, so the next best thing to do would be to transfer him to a government hospital. At least there, the bills would be manageable. But there was another problem. We knew that government hospitals don’t accept cases such as this where one party has given up hope, as they don’t want the statistics to fall under them.

“Ravi, why don’t we speak to the Director at the General Hospital and see if they can accept this case. I have met the Deputy Director once before at a Lions Club Dinner and I think he is approachable” said Raj.

Our drive to the GH was a mad rush. Within half an hour, we were already at the GH compound, asking for directions to the Director’s office.

“Yes Gentleman” came a voice as we were ushered into the waiting area by the Secretary. We turned around and saw an affable middle-aged man greeting us. After exchanging the usual formalities, we went straight to the point. His answer initially was expectedly in the negative, stressing that if they were to accept a no-hope case such as this, and if anything were to happen after the patient had been transferred and put under their care, the statistics will appear as another black mark in their record. After a much heart wrenching persuasion session, he agreed, albeit reluctantly.

The trip to the hospital where Subash was warded took us more than an hour. The first to greet us were a host of relatives at the car-park who, after being told that Subash was to be removed from the life-support system, had come prepared to actually carry out the final rites before taking the body back for burial. Meanwhile, Sargu had already retracted the consent form and informed the hospital authorities not to do anything until we arrived. So when we reached there, the atmosphere was of high expectation and anticipation. Without saying a word to anyone, we proceeded straight to the ward.

“Hello Uncle” said a young voice as we entered. I was later to know that this was Ahsha, the cute and only daughter of Subash, who was playing around at the corridor, without the slightest knowledge that her father was in such a critical state and that probably, she was going to lose him forever. I carried her in my arms and as I did so, my eyes welled to its brim, without me realizing it. I too have a daughter who was about her age and it saddened me to realize that this young girl was going to have to part with her father.

Wiping my eyes, I met Nirmala, Subash’s wife who had been standing next to his bed. After enquiring about his condition, I explained what we had decided to do and asked to see the eldest relative of Subash to explain the situation. An elderly lady was ushered in….. Subash’s mother, who was weeping uncontrollably as she came, and without warning, fell on Raj’s feet, pleading that we do something to save her son. We consoled her by saying that we should all have faith on the Almighty for it is He who ultimately decides who should stay and who should go. With that, we impatiently looked around for the doctors who had arbitrarily decided that this man could not be treated.

“What gives you the right to decide to end this man’s life?” I retorted when I met the first doctor who entered the ward.

“May I know what your relationship is with the patient”, snapped the Doctor, visibly annoyed but pretending to answer rather calmly.

“Well, I am his cousin” I lied, “and I want to know under what circumstances you have recommended that he be removed from the life support system?”

He explained that it has already been about a month since the accident and there has been no improvement and that in spite of doing everything that they possibly could, he is still in a coma with no signs of recovery. The costs have risen to an exorbitant level and keeping him under treatment would be purely academic as his vital organs have started to fail one after the other “There has not been a single case in the country that survived under such circumstances” he concluded.

“Maybe your hospital lacks experience to treat complicated cases such as this! Or maybe the expertise is not available here. Then probably we should refer him to another place where it is available,” I said sarcastically, all worked up.

After much heated arguments, he finally relented, especially when we pointed out that it was our prerogative to seek second opinion from whoever we wanted. The Doctor opined however, that the decision to transfer a patient under such critical conditions would be highly risky and life threatening and advised that we should exercise extreme caution.

“The worst that could happen is what you had ironically, already recommended. So, we prefer to take our chances with him,” I said as we walked away to break the news to the wife and the host of relatives eagerly waiting outside the corridor.

We explained that the worst thing that could happen when we move him to another hospital was that we might lose him! But that is going to happen anyway even if we don’t move him. They readily agreed that under the circumstances, there is really no harm in taking our chances.

We called the receiving hospital to make arrangements and spoke to the ambulance driver to drive slowly and carefully, as any unnecessary rough movement could be fatal to the patient.

By about 3.00pm that day, the comatose Subash was on his way to the new hospital, but not before we got one of his relatives to accompany him in the ambulance itself, just in case ‘something untoward’ was to happen during the journey. Once again my suspicious mind wouldn’t allow him to be transported unaccompanied.

“Raj, we must talk to the wife. I think she is really broken down,” I said.

During moments such as this, I can understand how tough it will be on the loved ones who often keep vigil all day and night, hoping against all hope for nothing else but the safe return of the person whom they love. I had myself lost my brother during my younger days under similar circumstances and I can empathize with these people because I know the kind of pain that one has to go through.

“Nirmala,” I began. “I know how tough it is on you during moments such as this. But you must not give up hope under any circumstances. Pray to God that all will be well and he will answer your prayers…..pray hard. Be brave and strong. If not for anything, Ahsha needs you and the support that you can give.” It was the best advice that I had given to anyone in years.

“Everyday, when you are with him, talk to him”, I continued. “Whisper to him words of encouragement. Tell him that he must fight this battle from within and not to give up the fight. He may be in a coma but I am sure he can still hear you, though he may not be able to respond”, I said relying on my knowledge obtained years ago that the last sense to fail in a dying person is his sense of hearing. Whether it was true or not, I had no way of verifying. A video that I had watched during a motivational seminar that I had attended some time back also came in handy. It was the story of a man who survived a plane crash even though all the odds were stacked heavily against him. I told her the story of the “Miracle Man!” That evening as I turned to say goodbye, Nirmala cried openly, hugging her daughter, as she did.

Having made all the arrangements thus far, we decided to call it a day after each of us made a commitment that we will help in our own way everyday until he recovers. Sargu was to talk to his Management to persuade them as the employer to absorb the bill at the specialist center, Raj was to approach the Press the next day to see if they can help raise any form of donations and I was entrusted with the task of surfing the Net to see if similar predicaments had occurred elsewhere in the world and how they had overcome it. As we stayed quite far from the hospital, we decided that we should visit according to our convenience.

“I will try to visit every day,” promised Raj who was staying about 5 km away from the hospital.

At that point in time, we were not sure if we had made the right decision. We wondered if we had in fact prolonged his suffering, in which case, the whole family would have to suffer the long agony together. It was a noble effort on our part to do some good, no doubt, and wished that something would happen to save Subash’s life. He was far too young to die. But for a person whose vital organs were failing one after the other, the chances to pull through, we knew, were extremely slim. “It will have to take a miracle,” we thought.

Life after that incident went on as normal for me and I was back in my hunt for a job. Searching far and wide, I finally landed a job in Kuala Lumpur. As the position needed to be filled quite urgently, I had to leave town at short notice, leaving me little time to say good-bye to friends, especially to Raj with whom I had spend a whole childhood together. Our chemistry matched in many ways, so we had become quite attached to each other. Separation as usual, was always a difficult pill to swallow. The last I spoke to him was when I phoned him at his house to enquire of Subash. But the reply had become predictable by then…”no improvement” was the standard reply that I got. But he assured me that Nirmala had not given up hope or neglected on her promise to reassure her husband every day without fail.

And so with that, I left for Kuala Lumpur. It took me some time to settle in at my new job, not so much because of the demands of the job itself but more so due to the totally different culture that I had to adopt myself to. Life in KL was so fast moving and everyone whom I met was in a rush. I somehow felt that people in smaller towns were warmer and much more personal and made you feel welcome. Here in KL, people didn’t have time to get to know you. Either that or it was not a priority to them. I was left to spend more time with my family and slowly cut down on my social life, something that I held quite passionately in my life before.

From my phone conversations with Raj, I learnt that the vernacular newspapers did indeed highlight the plight of Subash, appealing for donations but somehow the response had not been very encouraging. Meanwhile, Sargu had succeeded in getting his management to foot the bill at the specialist center that had by then come up to over 40K. My attempts at surfing the net to yield any form of help proved futile, probably because I was then not really adept in the field of surfing.

Then one day about 2 months later, when I returned from a Management meeting, there was a message on my voicemail. It was from Raj. On listening to it, it sent a chill down my spine. “ Ravi, this is Raj,” he said, in his usual husky voice. “This may come as a surprise to you but our Subash......, he has come out of his coma. Call me back!”

The term ‘shocking’ does not quite describe the immense adrenalin rush that I felt upon hearing the words. It was much more than that. Feeling extremely elated, I immediately returned his call.

He told me how the doctors at the government hospital had steadfastly carried out tests after tests and a few operations on Subash and how when all hope was fading, out of the blues, he had just woken up one day. The doctors too had been completely perplexed! But after carrying out further tests, they were convinced that Subash had passed the worst stage and was now indeed on the road to recovery!

To me it was the greatest news that one can get. All the trouble that had been taken for him by all concerned parties had been worth the effort. I started to think that if not for our timely intervention on that fateful day, today he would have been long dead and gone…..Ahsha would have been without a father. And Nirmala…..a young widow! It is then that you realize that nothing is in your hands…not even your own life! It is all predestined. “God works in mysterious ways,” I thought. How true!

Two weekends later, I learnt that Subash had already been transferred to the normal ward from intensive care. I decided to take a slow drive back to the hospital to pay him and his family a visit. The journey took me about 5 hours as it was a Saturday and traffic was heavy. Once I reached the hospital, I parked under a shady tree and had a cigarette, reflecting back at the events. A feeling of satisfaction and pride overwhelmed me as I walked up to the general ward after enquiring at the front desk.

I took the lift to the 3rd floor and slowly made my way towards his bed. I could see a frail figure sitting up on his bed. This time, there was no crowd around him except, from a distance, what appeared to be someone feeding him since there was still a network of tubes criss-crossing his person.

His eyes locked with mine as I neared him but as I smiled, he did not reciprocate. He kept staring at me without a blink……just a blank look. I noticed that he was being fed by his wife but she couldn’t see me as she was facing the opposite direction. After a few anxious moments of quietness, it was the daughter who ran in from outside the verandah, to break the endured silence. “Hello Uncle…” she virtually screamed in the excitement of seeing me. “Amma, Uncle Ravi is here!” she announced to her mother.

It was then that Nirmala turned around and upon seeing me, she couldn’t conceal her excitement either. She got up immediately still holding the meal tray and gave me a warm smile as if to express her appreciation and gratitude. She then introduced me to Subash. “Darling, this is Mr. Ravi I was telling you about????…….your colleague Mr. Sargu’s friend???? ……….who helped us at the hospital………????!

You see…Subash had been in comatose when I saw him ….he had never met me before!

The Adventures of Raymond & I

2009-07-02T05:10:00.000-04:00

Raymond and I go back a long way. We were classmates from St. Patricks in Kulim where I studied from Standard 6 to Form 3 before moving on to do my Form 4 at BM High. We struck it off from the 1st day onwards. Through Raymond, I got to know the other of his friends in the class….Ruban James, Victor, Andrew Sivam, Peter S etc. There was a catholic church just beside the school that I started going to just because Raymond goes there. Unlike the temples, this church was colourful...it had coloured glass finishings. And during the sermon or prayers, the sound reverberated throughout the building. It was pleasing to the ears and sort of made me feel ‘religious’. I was not a Christian but many a time I wished I were. Not because of any anti-religious feeling towards my own. It was sheer ignorance and the need of becoming one in the group. Peer pressure I suppose.

I can recall many memorable moments with Raymond that were ‘firsts’ for me……. like the first time we cycled together 18km from Kulim to Serdang, getting excited waving at the army trucks that passed by, especially when they waved back. It made me feel like a ‘big boy’ although I was only 14. And I learnt the ropes of adventure from him. It was fun. And it was all the more exciting because I had to do all these without my parents knowledge. The excuse I usually gave was that I had a science project in school, extra classes or that I wanted to go to the library. Being orthodox, they wouldn't allow such exploits otherwise. I remember we once cycled all the way to Penang Island. That was the day he allowed me to taste my first cigarette. Of course I coughed on that inaugural attempt but I found out then how it tasted. It gave a ‘bnnng’ in your head and I liked it although it was not until about 4 years later that I had my next fix and slowly went on to become addicted to it.

Raymond was a good badminton player. We used to call our team some funny name that I cannot recall and often competed against other teams from the neighbouring schools. He played 1st singles, Andrew was second and I played 3rd. Won some, lost some. But it was the comradeship and solidarity that these events helped foster. These were the formative years and we were still growing…learning new things….adventurous. I still feel the jitters when I recollect the moments when we ventured into a mining pool opposite my school one mid afternoon after class and nearly drowned if not for the heroism of Peter (another schoolmate) who daringly came to my rescue. I was so shaken up that I actually cried.

We kept in touch infrequently after I changed school as there were no e-mails or mobile phones back then. We would meet whenever opportunities allowed. Much later, I was to join him to do my Form 6 in JB where he had a sister who was willing to support him and coincidentally, where I had a brother who also agreed to support me. (But that story will be told another day).

After completing my studies, I was once posted to Seremban in the late 70s. And Lo! And Behold! Who do we have there? There was Raymond again who had moved there a couple of years earlier and he took me in to stay at his mum’s house for a couple of months until I found my own board. Apart from these fond memories, we have also had our fair share of petty squabbles although they were never serious in any way. In the early 80s after I got married and returned to settle down in Butterworth, I learnt that he had emigrated to Norway to join his brother who lived there. I thought I won’t be able to see him again……!

……But one day in 1991, eleven years later by which time I had moved back to Kulim after securing a job there, I got a call from Andrew, my other classmate saying that Raymond had just arrived and that he was with him! Since Andrew hadn’t moved house and had been living in the same place since the 70s, it had been easy for Raymond to look him up. He was surprised when told that I was also there. And so we reunited again and spent the next few days together before he returned to Norway. From then on, we met whenever he returned to Malaysia. He has gone into art these days and refers to himself as a painter. Painters in Malaysia sometimes double-up as masons who build and paint houses. Raymond is into painting….painting as in art and acrylics. He holds exhibitions and I am told he is renowned in his country, projecting an innate image all of its own. How many of us get the chance to transform leisurely pursuits into a career…..and in the process get to relish every moment of it? Destiny has its ways.

The last when I met him, he promised that on his next trip, he will bring along his family……wife and 4 daughters. He is married to a Norwegian belle. He has already arrived and we have plans to meet up soon………..Raymond, the man whose name is synonymous with “adventurer”.
(the saga continues…………….)

Trip to Port Dickson

2009-07-01T03:29:00.000-04:00

My family and I spent the last weekend in Port Dickson. Actually it was organized by my neighbour Bouncy Cat who wanted to treat us to a bungalow stay since she got a promotion at her workplace. And since she ‘owns’ TNB, we could book into one of their condos at the 16th km. This is the second time that we got to stay at the condo, the first being about 3 years ago. And no! It was not for a promotion then. Just a holiday away from home.

The intention of TNB in setting up this holiday retreat is indeed noble and should be appreciated. It gives an opportunity for employees to enjoy themselves in a resort setting at an affordable cost. I am sure the man who mooted the idea had good intentions at least as far as employee welfare is concerned. However I must mention that the up-keeping of the place do not seem to have the same priorities that were there when it was first set-up. For one, the air-conditioners in the hall were faulty and had not been repaired. Not that the caretakers were not aware. In fact we were alerted to their status when we checked in. So ignorance is not a factor here. I also noticed that the toilet cover in one of the toilets was cracked at one point. Interestingly, the maintenance crew had meticulously jotted down the date beside the crack on the cover indicating that the crack had occurred on 9th January 2009. It’s probably for their internal knowledge and control. Six months on and it’s status quo. So that means the defect is going to be there for some time, probably until another crack appears before they decide to replace it. Or they would probably also jot down the date at the cracked part of the cover for ’internal control’. It defeats the intention of pampering the employees when their comfort in this area is somewhat compromised with. Other than these ‘petty’ issues, it was an excellent place to spend the weekend because primarily, it was cheap….very cheap. In fact, this time it was free as it was paid for by the ‘owner’ of TNB…….and it was comfortable in many ways too. Employee benefit for Bouncy Cat anyway. Not many companies provide such facility. So a big thank you Cat.

It was already 9.00pm on Friday when we arrived at the venue. So no activity. We just sat around while my wife prepared dinner. Cooking is not allowed. No stoves provided. So we had to do the cooking hush! hush! Since we took along our electric steam boat cooker and all the kind of edibles that go with it, we had steam boat for dinner.

Woke up to the sound of waves gushing against the shore and the chirping of birds. The view from our 4th floor unit was magnificent. There were even a couple of squirrels running around on the swaying palms. Noticed that the landscaping of the lawn had been accorded the attention it requires. And the empty pool filled to its brim with still water only added character to the ambience of the surrounding.

Took a short walk along the beach that was ebbing. The feeling of being away from the hustle and bustle of the city was wonderful. It was relaxing….rejuvenating. It was just what we needed to release the stress buildup.

As my wife is undoubtedly an excellent cook, we decided to buy mutton from the wet market in town to cook for lunch. My physique is testimony to the above claim. She cooks well. And I eat well. Dangling on hooks at the mutton seller’s stall in the market was a range of meat, supposedly from the different variety of goats. I’m not much of a connoisseur in meat so I just asked for a kg of local mutton. When I saw him chopping away, it struck me that this guy must have either worked at a wood cutting factory before taking up this business…… or he was a vegetarian with no inkling whatsoever of how meat is to be handled.! Ended up with the bones being sorely fragmented and chipped! Chopping mutton is an art. You are supposed to chop the mutton such that the bones are retained in one piece. Only then do you get to ‘suck’ out the bone marrow from the bones when you eat. That’s the best part of eating mutton. Decided that I will never ever patronize this shop anymore when I visit PD next. Back at the unit, while my wife prepared lunch, the kids were outside probably at the pool or some other place. After lunch we just lazed around in front of the TV till the evening.

When evening came, went to the beach to start a make shift BBQ pit with some bricks and the wire-mesh that we had bought earlier. The kids and my wife went for a ride in the caterpillar…..the one where you sit on the inflated caterpillar and it gets towed out to sea by a speedboat. They found it exciting. I didn’t go as I was busy starting the fire for the BBQ. But more importantly, I stayed back because I wanted to catch the view of the sunset especially the scene where it slowly ‘drowns’ in the distant horizon. In Penang you get a lovely view of this from the fishing villages off Balik Pulau on the opposite side of the island. You can’t get this view from along the Batu Feringgi shoreline as it is impeded by the mountains.

But as luck would have it, the view was blocked as the sun descended from the 5 o’clock position onwards by the voluminous clouds. It was a major disappointment for me as I had been looking forward to it. In retrospect, I faced the same situation when I took a drive down to PD about 2 years back just to catch the view of the sun-set . So I think it’s a regular phenomenon…..you can’t see the sun setting over the horizon from PD. Disappointed, I ‘drowned’ myself instead……with the beers that is. It was a good excuse anyway. Back in the condo after the BBQ, we just chatted for a while before calling it a day.

Woke up early the next morning and went for a workout at the gym before going to the sauna with my wife while the kids were out at the beach collecting sea shells and taking snap-shots of them selves. In no time, as how all good things must end, it was time to check-out. We packed up and left just a little before 12 noon.

Like I said earlier, this trip has rejuvenated me and made life worth living again. So I am now waiting for Bouncy’s next promotion so that she will sponsor us on another trip again….this time maybe to Phuket….Oops! Sorry! TNB doesn’t cover Phuket.

Aboard the ill fated flight

2009-06-29T03:31:00.000-04:00

(Event is real. Story a stretch of my imagination)

Except for the chillness of the air around me
except for the eerieness of the surrounding
all was quiet, everything silent
the rain was beating
the night was still....
motionless!

And as I wearilly regained consciousness
from out of the quietness
to break the endured silence
I hear a voice amidst sobs
that of a heart broken mother
crying over her deceased child
....how pathetic!

Out of the darkness
under the dimly moonlit night
I could see a bare breasted woman
weeping....kissing her lovable husband
knowing not for one moment
that he had long been dead and gone
....how touching!

I close my eyes and I could still remember
the last few moments of my beloved daughter
who as I stooped to gather
my dying child in my arms together
her groans sank, her eyes shut, her head dropped
she had left without another word forever
....how very painful!

I wipe the tears that trickle
and my mind strayed off
to bring back with it the vision
of how it had all happened....
and I could see myself seated by the rear cabin window
viewing the beautiful landscape below.

All of a sudden streaks of lightning flashed
followed by rumbles of thunder
and as I felt the aircraft descending
I patted my daughter saying "Girl we are going in for landing"
Then came the fatal blow
that brought with it only a bleak tomorrow

The plane tossed and turned
glasses shattered into little smithereens
seats toppled, luggages swung lose
wildly...dangerously
And all the time I consoled myself by saying
"This must be a rough landing"

Alas! It was only when my chin
from a stray seat got a painful bash
that I realised this was no rough landing
It was a tragic crash!
Thrown out away from the wreckage half baffled half dazed
I watched as the cockpit and wings went up in blaze

It was not the screams of the other passengers
that from my state of shock awoke me
It was the groan of my little daughter
gasping for breath beside me
who as I turned to gather
had left without another word forever

She had fallen into a deep sleep
from which no man could awake
Engulfing her was this dark night
a night that no morning could break
My pulse accelerated, down my spine ran a chill
My heart missed a beat, as time stood still

From the place where I lay
bruised, burnt, wounded, smeared with dirty clay
amidst ache and pain, no matter how hard I strive
this memory in me I know will be there to survive
and I solemnly wait for the rescue team to come to my aid
I, one of the few survivors of the ill-fated JAL DC8

Father's Day Out

2009-06-25T01:51:00.000-04:00

Father’s day is the time of the year when I get to replenish my wardrobe. It’s the day when my wife, kids and some friends express how much I mean to them with the gifts. This has been happening for some years now. Previously it was different. The day just comes and goes…..no big deal. Unlike Mother’s day that is usually celebrated with so much pomp and gaiety, Father’s day used to be like any other day. That was until I ranted and raved about it one day about the double standards. After all Fathers do form part of the same equation….No? So why the discrimination? From then on, things changed. So now I earnestly look forward to Father’s day each year. It also offers an opportunity to celebrate with some chilled beers or scotch without having my wife breathing down my neck. But I actually wish there were more such days in a year so I can celebrate throughout the year for 365 days without finding for an excuse to enjoy the beers. We should perhaps have Aunty’s day, Uncle’s day, Bosses day, ex-Bosses day (of which I will have plenty), ex-Girlfriend’s day etc.

This year on Father’s day, I wanted to make a difference to another Father’s life……my Father. I wanted to take him to the estate where it all began. So I took the long drive up-country to a God forsaken town called Kulim where my parents now live with my sister. They were with me until recently. But since there were no one in the house when we leave for work, my sister volunteered to care for them. After picking them up, I drove for another 35 km into the interior of Kedah to the estate where my dad used to work at the Group Hospital. This was home to us until he retired in the late sixties.

I still recall waking up at 5am to catch the 6 o’clock bus to school that was located 35 km away. By the time I reached school, my white uniform would have turned beige with the dust from the laterite road. I had even been hauled up once by my discipline teacher for ‘defying’ the school dress code. It was only after I shook the dust off and the white in the uniform returned that he let me off. But I had to endure all this because Dad wanted to provide me with English education that was not available in the estate. Far sighted indeed.

The hospital was situated on a small hillock and our house was located about 50 metres away. It used to be full of activity then with patients coming and going, in-patients chatting away with new found friends in the wards, kids crying or running around or playing. It used to be so noisy then.

But now when we reached the hospital, we found it had been abandoned. The wards had been demolished. The house that we once called home was in a dilapidated state, the compound overgrown with weeds. And the place was extremely quiet. The silence was almost deafening. Except for an occasional crackle of a rubber seed in the distance, or the cry of a cricket in the woods, all was quiet and serene. What a contrast! The estate doesn’t maintain a hospital anymore preferring to send their workers to the government clinic. This was the place where I was born, where I was raised, where I learnt how to cycle, where I burnt my fingers playing firecrackers, where I climbed a jambu tree and fell and fractured my hand, ....there are just so many memories. It’s overwhelming!

My wife held my Dad’s hand and guided him up the steps on the hillock to the side of the office building where he used to work. He just kept looking without uttering any words. After much deep thoughts, he looked up at me…then turned and smiled to himself as if to say “Yes!....... Those were the good old days”. We spent the next half an hour or so walking around the place as I related to my wife about my experience of growing up in the estate. Dad just sat there in the bench outside his old office. After a while, we decided that it was time to leave.

During the drive back, I stopped in a sundry shop in the estate . I noticed that the proprietor was an old man but I couldn’t place him (I was only 12 when I left the estate). I asked him how long he has been operating the shop. “Oh……for over 50 years now”, he said. “Then you must remember me. Or maybe my father”, I asked excitedly while telling him who my father was. He replied with a glint in his eyes that he knew my Dad very well and that Dad used to spend his after office hours in his shop most of the days…….. just to chat and while away the evenings He said both of them used to be quite close but that he had lost touch after my father left the estate after his retirement. “Well, he is here with me. He is in the car” I said. His face brightened up as I said that and he called on his wife to man the shop for a while. He then immediately came out of the counter and approached the car. Seeing him approaching with me behind trying to keep up, my wife opened the door. When he saw my Dad, he extended his hands for a handshake. I could see his excitement as he spoke of how long it had been since Dad left the estate and how long he had been enquiring from some other friends about Dad’s whereabouts and that all his attempts had been in vain. He talked and talked and talked. All these while, Dad just looked at him, a bit puzzled and confused…..but just smiled. After exchanging pleasantries, we continued with our journey back home to Kulim.

I wonder if I will be able to repeat this ‘pilgrimage’ again next year to the land of memories. I wonder if Dad will still be around at that time. You see, Dad is already 98………and has become senile!

LIFE'S REALITIES!

2009-06-23T02:40:00.000-04:00

It is sometimes nice to reminisce over the good things that had happened to you at an early stage of your life. And as you do, your thoughts are inevitably transported back to the time when those events had unfolded....events that have embedded so deeply as memories within you.

It was the year 1973. Like everyone else my age, I was still studying...doing my Form 5 at BM High School. It was not so much the education that I choose to remember although I was a high achiever in class like everyone else in my group, if you can pardon the immodesty. It was the sheer joy of being with a group of friends who shared a special bondage with each other. The friendship was so exciting in many ways that we looked forward to each day in class....simply to be able to enjoy the pranks that we play or the jokes that we create. It was so much fun and laughter. We were not naughty...just plain witty and slightly mischievous.The teachers did not mind it and sometimes they too enjoyed the pranks that we played.

There was Jalil, the assistant monitor of the class who was more into slapstick. He went on to join the police force and ended up marrying his childhood heartthrob, the girl who swept him off his feet while still in school.

There was Singh, the class monitor who didnt like childish jokes but all the same, he usually ended up the brunt of our jokes. He was later to emigrate to Australia where he settled down.

Hari was the school sports captain. His 400 metres record was not broken until about 10 years ago.A tough guy with body-builder physique, he was one who could be relied upon to in fact virtualy protect you , if such a situation were to arise. He later went on to become an elite commando.

Imbaraj was the one person in the group who made a deep impression in me. He was a quick tempered guy who initially did not succeed in maintaining long term relationships with his friends. But those who could understand the man behind the mask found everlasting and true friendship with him. He gives a new meaning to the word friendship if you get past the many hurdles along the way. I was later in life to adopt the phonetics of his name in naming my son.

The other mischief makers were Chan (Keng San), Radzi, Farid and of course Nazir
(a teacher by prefession now who now blogs under KATA TAK NAK). Together we called ourselves JACHFRINS, a letter taken from each name to form the accronym. (Chegu Nazir had written an excellent piece about this in his blog sometime last year).

When we were together, there was never a dull moment. We always tried to play out one another although we were such thick friends. I wonder if the present school going kids are capable of engaging in such relationships.

Fast Forward 2003......30 years later!

Unfortunately, the friendship that was nurtured and cultivated so tediously during those early years was not sustained after that. At least, we failed to keep in touch. Contact was lost with most of them. It was only Imbaraj and I who continued growing up together, so to speak. But whenever we met, we never failed to recall those school years and the fond memories of Hari, Singh, Jalil, Nazir,Radzi and the rest. And it always ended in the resolution that we will do this and do that to reestablish contact and hold a reunion. The excitement lasts for that day only. The next day, we went back to life's mundane tasks with the so-called resolution taking a back seat.

Then one morning in the year 2003 as I was flipping through the morning papers while having breakfast before starting the day, I was jolted out of my seat by what I saw next....for there smiling back at me from the obituary column was our dear friend Hari!

I frantically called up some common friends that we have to find out the circumstances behind the tragedy and soon learnt the truth.....that Hari had been involved in a road accident about two weeks back and had succumbed to his injuries. I still could not believe it, or accept the fact of his death. I felt extremely guilty that I had taken things for granted for far too long.

When the reality of the situation sank in, I realised how much time we had wasted in pursuit of our goals and dreams and had actually neglected on friends that we made, who had been part of us during our formative years...how selfish! There was a time when they meant so much to us but along the way of growing up, we have had a change in priorities and had pawned away the relationship. Is this the price that one pays for pursuing his goals?

I immediately called up Imbaraj to break the news. I told him to look up the obituary column himself as I could not bring myself to tell him about it.....for I knew that Imbaraj was closer to Hari than I was!

Tragedy aboard MH653

2009-06-19T23:40:00.000-04:00

In the wake of dawn
as I rise with routines to perform
the whole nation is shocked
expressing grief and sympathy
at the grim ending
of the innocent passengers
who needlessly perished
in the tragic air disaster!

Penang Airport
MH653
4th December 1977
splendour and spree
flooded with friends
relatives, well-wishers all the same
kisses, hugs, embraces
a journey to her, a parting for him

Had they at that moment only known
friends, relatives, well-wishers all
that this parting alone
was to be no simple one.....
for it was to be this flight
with all 100 aboard
that was enroute to a gruesome destiny
to end in a dramatic air tragedy.
Existence of a lax in security
threatens and demands the authorities scrutiny
But why scrutinise now and not then?
Why wait till this bitter incident?

I close my eyes and I can vividly imagine
the last few terror filled moments
of the helpless passengers
at the mercy of the heartless hijackers....
a deep depression seizes me as my mind strays off
....to the site of the disaster
to its marshy swampy turf
where strewn over wide acres
lay the charred remains
scattered in shattered smithereens
torn to pieces...heads..bodies...limbs!

With tear moistened eyes
heart filled with agony
pity
misery...sympathy
no matter how hard I strive
this memory in me I know is there to survive
...of the passengers plight
aboard the ill fated flight.
It keeps coming back to me
moving me deeply, touching me hard
to the innermost depths
of my wounded heart

The Air Hostess

2009-06-18T21:51:00.000-04:00

I turned and from across the aisle
I could see her warm face
As she walked towards me, masking a smile
With ease and steady pace
Past the evening rays of sunshine
That stole through the blind
It was a graceful figure O! yes it was
The sway of her hips, the twitch of her lips
"She must be competent" I had even thought

Afterall it had only been an accident
The meal tray that she was holding
That slipped when I knocked against her
Off her hands, spilling its contents
Soaking the gentleman's pants
before dropping to the ground to shatter!

She walked....She came....She stopped right beside me
As I looked up into her eyes
Ashamed and embarassed
But this pretty young hostess
Between twitching lips a smile to play
Charmingly shy
Without fuss but tolerance
Without fury but patience
"Let me help you Sir" was her reassuring reply.

When hearts cared during the heart-scare!

2009-06-17T02:30:00.001-04:00

It was a wet and cold morning
When the pain came with no prior warning
Down my neck cold sweat gushed
As for emergency care I was rushed.
My initial thoughts as to its cause, as Doctors tried to detect
Was that it must have been a heart attack!

The treatment after the ordeal
Upon admission to the Intensive Care Unit
Though not the most ideal
Was indeed comfortable I must admit.

But it weren't so much the post-operative equipment
Or the variety of prescriptions
That from my near vegetative state
Nursed me back so soon with a clean slate;
It was more the care and the concern
and the unflinching devotion
Extended by my family on 'duty'
That brought me back and altered my fate.

To my children Praveena, Priyanka and Hem Raj,
You were there when I needed you, thank you very much.
What could I say to Prema, my doting wife?
Who went the length to give me back my life?
In your efforts to mend my 'broken' heart,
You had put together your very own hearts.
And to the doctors involved in my angioplasty
Thank you again for the early recovery!

Starting up

2009-06-16T04:21:00.000-04:00

It kind of feels euphoric to be able to just start this damn thing. I suppose when you are not quite IT savvy, all these seems so alien. The purpose of this blog is just so that I may relive some far away moments in my life and flash back some distant places that I had passed through at some point in my life.......lest I forget them all in my old age.

Like I said, this whole blogging thingy is kind of alien to me and it may take a while for me to get on top of things. For those of you who may have intentionally or unwittingly visited this blog, though I realise its a tall expectation right now, pls note that should you leave your footprints behind in the form of comments, they will not be moderated......at least not for now! The reason for this is because my Bouncy Cat who created this blog for me, has not taught me how to do that yet.

Ok. More next time. I want to see how this appears on the page.

bye.