RIFLE RANGE BOY

This newspaper cutting has been making its rounds in many social media groups, especially amongst the senior section of our society. Understandably they embrace the silver hair stage of their lives with much trepidation. It is anybody’s guess what the future holds for each of us. We try, however, to patch up all possibilities and pave all roads for a smooth transition to the other side. As mischievous as it always is, Nature will inevitably come up with some loophole that we never expected and, thus, are ill-prepared. The generation before us, facing an uncertain future, seeing a world war and migrating for survival, saw education and wealth as a foolproof way to prosperity. Having hardly seen anyone pass their sixth decade of life, everything was done in a hurry. They needed to educate their kids, make a territory their legacy, and save for rainy days as they slowly rode into the sunset after having the pleasure of seeing their offsprings produce offspring. However, they should have c...

Nothing seems like what we hear, read or see. We will never know what is real from fake. We can surely, learn from the experience of others.  People are left in high esteem when they leave the building sooner than expected. On the other end, if they linger longer than their shelf-life, the legacy they leave behind is not entirely pleasant. The sorry state of the flailing body and declining function of the body is all that is remembered. If all else does not fail, the mental capacity eventually would, and the elder will go by many titles; screwball being one. That brings us to the case above. Samy Vellu used to be the de facto head of Indian community in Malaysia. Passionately referred to as 'Uncle Sam', he was the darling of the Malaysian media of the 1990s and the butt of many of the political jokes of the day. His awkward pronunciations and his recurrent attributing many of his department's follies to 'act of God' still rings a bell. He had also sarcastic...

Radiopetti (Radio Box, Tamil; 2015) I used to wonder why the humming of the radio was the constant background of my home as I was growing up. At the first break of dawn, if Appa had the choice and not for Amma's nagging, it would start with the early morning chanting of Subrapaatham and just breeze through the day and night until transmissions ended. Yes, there used to be a time when even broadcasters called it a day,  mostly at the stroke of midnight. At that time, the radio announcers' songs and rants sounded more like a nuisance, as my sisters and I were busily cramping our cranial vaults with facts and notes to regurgitate in the next tests. Nobody could understand Appa's fixation with his cranky radio box, which he later graduated to a transistor radio. It was not that the devices were manufacturing Top 40 hits. Sometimes, only white noise or high-pitched zapping sounds emanate when he tunes in to the short-wave bands from Kuala Lumpur or Singapore.  But he cont...

Uncle Hooi at his best © The Star I remember the barrages of concerned pep talks from my family members when they discovered that I, at the tender age of 43, slowly started indulging in competitive distance running. In not so many words, they were obviously trying to tell me that I would just drop dead by the roadside to be found by passersby as if I were just roadkill. Another old friend, obviously overweight and looking much like Peter Griffin of the 'Family Guy' fame was even generous enough to offer free anaesthetic services as and when I need a knee replacement.  As a last resort, my family went ahead and gave me a 'stress test - CT angio' combo as a birthday present on my 50th birthday. When the cardiologists gave a clean bill of health after silently cursing under his breath for wasting his precious time from his more deserving patients, they essentially gave up and let Nature take its course.  This must have been what Fauja Singh must hav...