The boat left when we were busy squabbling!

Perjuangan Politik Komuniti India dan Kempimpinan Malaysia Indian Congress 1946-2020
(Indian Community Political Struggle and the Leadership of Malaysian Indian Congress 1946-2020)(Malaysian Language; 2023)

Author: Periasamy Muthan, M.A.

The story of Indians sojourning in the Malayan peninsula goes way back to a time before any form of Malay influence was seen here. Traces of its Swarnabhumi history, which is really the root of the cultural civilisation of this region, were systemically hushed by the ruling class to put their version of Malaya where it sprung out of nothing to be civilised by Muslim traders and thinkers.

After the first wave of Indian settlers, who came in around the time of the Malacca sultanate, the second wave arrived at the end of the nineteenth century with the British clerical team. The bulk of Indians, however, were brought in to work in the sugarcane, coffee, and later rubber plantations in the early 20th century. Working under slave-like conditions, the natural leaders amongst them started voicing their dissent.

Even as early as 1923, MIA (Malayan Indian Association) was started, mainly to echo the sentiments of their brethren back home in India against the British colonial powers. They were not really interested in local politics initially. Later, blatant discriminatory wages between the Chinese and Indians spurred demand for rights. In the 1930s, workers got a pittance even when the world rubber price was high. Indian groups soon picked up this issue. Also, by that time, colonist-sanctioned toddy drinking had become a significant social problem. MIA morphed into CIAM (Central Indian Association of Malaya). MIC (Malayan Indian Congress) came to being in 1946. Toddy abuse became a national issue by 1947. Easy access to the vile concoction was blamed.

Living conditions took a turn for the worse during the Japanese occupation. When the British returned after the Second World War, they proposed changes in the country's administration. The Malayan Union stirred strong opposition from the Malays, who considered themselves the land's indigenous people. The Straits Settlements were essentially carved off as British colonies, and the powers of the Malay royalties were clipped.

Funny, the royalties did not raise an eyebrow; they were just ready to ink their signatures on the dotted lines. It was really the educated Malays and political parties who raised hell. The non-Malay groups took interest when the issue of citizenship came up.

By the 1940s, soon after Nehru's and E.V. Periyar's visits, Indians in Malaya started looking at Malaysia as their nation rather than India. India soon became to be seen as Siberia for ethnic Indian wrongdoers who were exiled to India.

In the post-WW2 era, when the British Malaya Administration took charge, many political groups had been established. Some of them were race-based, while others were workers union-based. Communist Party Malaysia was also active in fighting for workers' rights. A truly multiethnic Malayan party was formed with the collaboration of MPAJA, Workers Party, and PUTERA many….. with CPM also giving its input. Guess what? MIC, at its infancy, was a firebrand party led by many professionals who were more interested in fighting the colonial masters rather than playing ball with the colonial master to usurp goodies. MCA and UMNO did just that, to earn business contracts and political favours.

The Malay loyalists, Chinese businessmen, and Indians of Ceylonese descent were quite content with British control of Malaya. They benefitted from their close association and could see no need for self-rule. So when the British finally decided to dispose of their cumbersome colonies after milking them out for decades, they chose to pass the baton to the moderate multiethnic party of the UMNO-MCA alliance rather than to the MPAJA-PUTERA coalition because of its leftist and communist link to it.

The early MIC (morphed from MIA) was a firebrand party that opposed many colonists' ideas. MIC was seen as the spokesperson for the oppressed working-class Indians. With frequent changes in its leadership, MIC evolved to become a Tamil-centric party acting as a voice for estranged estate workers. The earlier leaders were comprised of Punjabis and other North Indians. By 1955, with VT Sambanthan at the helm, the focus was enriching the poor Indians. He proposed a plan to make them landowners.

Cooperating with the majority and going all out to maintain peace and harmony has drawbacks. The top leadership took them as pushovers. It has been mentioned elsewhere that Tunku's top brass leadership sometimes bypassed Sambanthan's input. Tunku is heard to have said, "Sambanthan will agree!"

Sambanthan and many of its subsequent MIC leaders faced stiff criticism from its members. New leaders often came up with ideas that achieved little success. By the 1980s, MIC had gained a dubious reputation for being a loud, argumentative, and political party with chair-hurling members. Many private halls denied renting their premises for MIC functions. MIC finally had to build its own headquarters.

Over time, caste politics crept in. Different factions tried to change the party's direction and how it wanted to improve Malaysian Indians' well-being. Many of its projects could have flourished to their full potential, but sadly, they did not. The later leaders were accused of being autocratic. 

Malaysian society under Mahathir's leadership underwent cataclysmic changes. In his rapaciousness in churning out Malay millionaires overnight, he made significant policy changes. He introduced novel ideas like privatisation and established statutory bodies to improve Malay participation in the nation's economy. Many rubber and palm oil estates were cleared for development. Due to the dearth of adequate vocational skills or academic brilliance, the poor Indians were stuck in the lower rung of the chain and plunged even further down.

MIC and its leaders will claim how successful they have been over the years. The proof of the pudding is in the eating. Unlike other countries in the world where Indians are seen holding important professional and academic posts, the situation here is different. Over the years, Indians' economic grip has obviously dwindled. Members of this ethnic group have acquired the unenviable reputation of comprising gangsters and blue-coloured workers. Our prisons have a disproportionately high percentage of Indians. Death of Indians in prison is an accepted norm, indicating how bad their reputation is. Entrance to institutions of higher learning is depressingly low. The civil service, which was at one time reaming with Indians, now is clearly low.

The Hindraf rally in 2007 was the turning point that brought to the fore the ruling government's overtly systemic discriminatory, racist policies. The hegemony of MIC as the sole representative of Indians in the country was shaken. Even after many elections since then, nothing much has actually changed.

I once asked a senior doyen of an observer of Malaysian Indian politics about their discordant improvement of the ethnic group in the country. Look around the world. The Indian diaspora has been labelled as a go-getter able to pull themselves by their bootstraps in no time. Testimonies of these are aplenty - the U.K., Fiji, Uganda, the USA, Trinidad and Tobago, Surinam, Guyana, South Africa and even Tanzania. Who should carry the burden of messing up? Without batting an eyelid, he uttered, ""he leadership"" As we have heard many times before, people are very fickle. They need to figure out what they want. The natural leader amongst them (like a Moses or a Gilgamesh) would rise to show new horizons. Sadly, the boat left while we were still donning our socks.

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'OnlyFans' of Tamil politics!

Kidugu (Cover, Tamil, 2023)
Director: V Veera Murugan

This is an all-out political bashing movie. In a state where the silver screen and political stage are closely intertwined, the ruling parties have used cinema to spread their brand of politics for years.

The story goes back to the pre-independence era. The Justice Party (JP), the biggest party representing a large chunk of South India, parted ways from the Indian Congress Party (INC). JP felt INC was too Hindu in its outlook. JP claimed to be the sole representative of the downtrodden, and INC needed to do more. At the same time, JP was selling the idea that Hinduism and Lord Rama were just Northern India's subtle way of subjugating the Southerners.

In a bizarre twist of events, JP's leaders, at one time, did not want to join the Union of India but rather become part of Pakistan. Its founder, EV Ramasamy, lamented that the 15th of August 1947 was a day of mourning, not a celebration. In 1972, Ramasamy was accused of disrespecting Lord Rama on Ram Jayanthi by garlanding Him with a garland of slippers.

JP and subsequent offshoots of parties that followed, like DK, DMK and AIADMK, were not only unabashed atheists but anti-Hindus.

Many scriptwriters of the Tamil cinema of the late 1940s and 50s had politics on their minds when they released film after film that reflected their brand of politics - atheism, anti-Hindu and Dravidaism. Dravidaism probably is the remnant of Max Müller's now-defunct 'Aryan Migration Theory'. The theory posits that the original inhabitants of Mahenjo Daro and Harappa were herded away by galloping horsemen from the steppes of the North, bringing with them knowledge, civilisation and Hinduism. The persecuted people came to occupy the Southern part of India and were named Dravidaians. Hogwash, say modern scholars. Dravida means someone from the South, that is all. In anything, mitochondrial studies of ancient corpses suggest an 'Out of India' kind of migration to Persia and beyond

Since 2014, a wave of change has hit India, Tamil Nadu included. Ironically, the state boasting many mind-boggling places that honour various Hindu representations could stay anti-Hindu forever. BJP, the most prominent Hindu nationalistic party, made its move to Tamil Nadu in a big way.

DMK controls Kollywood and the mass media. Its cronies also usurp the chain of film distribution. This film rebuts all the messages subliminally imparted in Chennai mainstream movies. It is a hit-back film against decades of Dravidian propaganda. As none of the theatres in Tamil Nadu was willing to screen this film, the makers decided to screen it free on YouTube and hoped to reimburse production costs by crowdfunding.

A viewer well-versed in local TN politics will be familiar with its storyline. It is hard-hitting against politicians and Dravidian parties at large. The police department, which appears to be working in cahoots, is shown as spineless as leaders and their lackeys control the man in blue via remote control. Joe Public is given the runaround as politicians, businessmen, and gangsters have a field day.

Five friends go on a killing spree to avenge two people who were killed for demanding justice. Their father was falsely accused of stealing temple jewellery and was cheated of the temple land.

It is not a high-quality production, but its dialogues are explicit and hard-hitting on the parties referred to in real life. The film will only excite keen followers of Tamil Nadu's local politics.

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It does not matter...

This weekend would see meaningless parties and stupifying merrymaking in the name of a monarch who is synonymous with opulence and redundancy. There cannot be a worse time to glorify a family when the rest of the world looks at entitlement as a bad word. The idea of a person, by his birth, being feted up to high heavens despite all the scandals that have linked with the royal family does not make any sense. It is worse when the ruling monarch takes the helm as the head of the Church of England.

Nothing looks pretty when we talk about their predecessors' curriculum vitae or past glory. Her laurels include legitimisation of robbing non-British merchant ships of their gold and silver, giving a royal seal to pirates to loot the Spanish royal armada of their wealth,  allowing famine deaths in their subjects (just because they are brown) to feed their soldiers and brutally murdering millions in the name of civilising the natives. Yes, the Platinum Jubilee of the longest-reigning British monarch is here. 

  

Completed 1903 to mark Queen Victoria's
Diamond Jubilee (1897). At 60 ft tall, it
commemorates each year of her reign.

When the wokes are up in arms questioning the privileged, the errors and omission of the generation past, as well as the blatant widening of the gap between the haves and have not, this is in bad taste. There is no reason for the royal family to flaunt the wealth that they acquired by birth and force others to revel in jubilance. If anything, it only rekindles old festering wounds and re-emphasises the extent of the limit humans are able to dehumanise each other. 

To the aristocrats and plutocrats, it is an opportune time to reinforce their loyalty. In return, the tongue-hanging loyalist would pounce upon the mittens shrewn to them as picturised in the children's folklore 'This Old Man' - give a dog a bone!

In my school days, I remember walking past a clock tower in Penang, erected in honour of Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee. Then from pictures in magazines and museum documents, I realised that Penangites were having a whale of a time during Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee and King George V's coronation. The million-dollar question is whether the colonial subjects really share the sentiments of their Masters, or there are they there just for the party?

Like the Tamil proverb that says, ராமே ஆண்டாளும் ராவனே ஆண்டாளும் (Whether Rama rules or Ravanaa rules), it does not matter to the Average Joe. The life of the ordinary man hardly changes for the better. Still, like Sisyphus, Average Joe tries to find contentment via these meaningless celebrations despite his seemingly hopeless life. He can pack his troubles and seek a release from his bottled-up emotions for one evening. But come tomorrow, it is back to the same grind mill.

(N.B. The idea of celebrating a Jubilee goes back to the time of the Old Testament. A Jubilee is celebrated in a kingdom every 50 years. At this time, debts are written off, enslaved people are freed, and people take a full year of a break from work. It is a kind of reboot. The land is not planted, and people were expected to fete in ecstasy for the ruler.)

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The face behind the mask!

Party (Hindi; 1984)
Director: Govind Nihalani

This film remains relevant even when we have ventured into the 21st century. The issues highlighted in this movie are not only confined to Indian society but can be applicable the world over. In fact, if activism and washing of dirty linen used to be restricted to exclusive cocktail parties those days, now it is party-time anytime. At the tip of the finger, with the clattering of keyboards, people can broadcast their views to the world.

Many things are going on in the lives of the attendees of this private party. The party was held to fete a celebrated playwright, Diwakar, who was recently conferred a national award. The host, Damayanthi, a widow, is rumoured to have an illicit relationship with Diwakar. Divakar's wife, Mohini, is a much younger person than him, an actor who stopped acting after marriage is a frustrated woman. Away from the limelight, she yearns for and reminisces about the centre of attraction she used to be. Others think she was not much of an actress anyway. This is made worse by her current state, a hopeless drunk.

Damayanthi's daughter is a frustrated unwed mother. She has her own issues with her determination not to conform to societal pressures. Amrit, a talented poet, is mentioned in absentia every now and then. He had apparently left the art scene to serve the underprivileged.

As the story unfolds, we, the viewers, are shown the behaviours of some members of that performing artists' circle. Social hypocrisy is apparent. They do not preach what they represent on stage -upholding Indian culture. The demeanour does not imply such. They, as actors, put up a front of having social consciousness, but in reality, it is just the next job that they worried about, not changing the world. Everyone put up a front to maintain an image. They do not say what they mean and certainly do not mean what they say. Portraying their involvement in activism for social justice is an exercise in public relations and image building to remind fans of their existence when they are not working. 

Many of them carry a load of psychological baggage. This popularity contest takes out a lot of juices from its members. Art seems to glorify body image. Time and biology are not kind to these. There is a constant need to reinvent themselves to stay relevant. 

An exciting offering from India's parallel cinema. It is not the usual fare that one associates with an Indian movie.

(P.S. While mainstream cinema seems to portray a seemingly fair view of an issue, in reality, the real message is cryptically hidden and woven to satisfy the demands of their financiers or powers-that-be.) 

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On the other side of the Iron Curtain...

The Mitrokhin Archive II (2005)

It all sounds like a plot of an espionage paperback set in the Cold War era. The only thing that makes it interesting is that it is said to have happened in the real world - that a KGB employee, disillusioned with the direction that Communist Russia was taking, should decide to painstakingly make short notes, via his handwriting, of secret documents as the KGB headquarters was relocated and the archives, in the pre-internet days, were transferred. Vasili Mitrokhin, the low-level official, after the collapse of Soviet Union, in 1992, decided to take his 10 years worth of handwritten documents and to defect to the West. He had apparently shown up at the American Embassy in Latvia with his papers but was turned down. At the British Embassy, however, he was cordially offered a cup of tea and the rest, as they say, is history.

   

The papers were a damning account of the clandestine activities of Soviet Russia in many countries of the world.  In simple words, the archives were accusing Russia of spying many countries around the globe whilst influencing their leadership. From bugging of Henry Kissinger's office to forged documents in promoting false narratives to placing informants amongst leaders in South America and the Middle East, assassination plots of some world leaders and even literally putting heads of India in the KGB payroll. 

Christopher Andrew, an MI5 historian, released two books based on the records- The Sword and the Shield (1999) and The World Was Going Our Way: The KGB and the Battle for the Third World (2005). Almost immediately after the release of the first book, select committees were set up in many countries to investigate its allegations, namely the UK, Italy and India.

With the heat and adrenaline associated with the ongoing India Elections, one by one, KGB's involvement in the administration of newly independent Congress ruled India is coming to fore. Call it sensationalisation, call it political slandering. The documents are freely available on the public domain for scrutiny.

It was no secret that Nehru had reverence to the Soviet Union and the course of socialism. Maybe deep inside, he was a closet Communist. Russia took notice of him after the Bandung Conference in 1955 and his involvement in the Non-Alignment Movement. The largest democracy, India, became KGB's most concentrated operation. India was regarded as an imperialist puppet. At one time, the Soviet Union had such a free hand in running the country. Its money ran the Congress Party, and they had a firm grip on the succession of leaders. Indian Embassy in Moscow was infiltrated by the KGB. Even though the Communist Party of India was funded by Russia, it also had access to India's Intelligence Bureau's knowledge of the activities of the party. 

Krishna Menon, the Defence Minister, was earmarked to be Nehru's successor. Menon was instrumental in sourcing for Russian weapons to arm itself, instead of Westen ones. Unfortunately, his nonchalant outlook of the 1961 Chinese invasion of India brought him into disrepute. Lal Bahadur Shastri took the realm after Nehru's demise even though Gulzarilal Nanda was their man. Shastri mysteriously died one and a half years into the tenure in Tashkent. There is another conspiracy theory behind that one.

Vasili Mitrokhin

The KGB had their eyes all set on young Indira Gandhi even as a young girl. She was viewed as a possible popular figurehead whom they could manipulate. The last thing that the Russians wanted was for Morarji Desai, the right Hindu traditionalist to lead.

Indra, with her trusted advisor, Parameshwar Narain Haksar, was accused of selling of India to the Soviet Union. She, with her codename, Maimoona Begum was on KGB's payroll. Russia's involvement was there in 1971 war in defence of East Pakistan and throughout the Indian Government -intelligence, counter-intelligence, Defense and Foreign Ministries and police. 

Mrs Gandhi became increasingly unpopular as an obscene amount of money started flowing into the politician's coffers. It seems that Mrs Gandhi did not care if the money to run her party came from the KGB. Neither did she care that in return the communists virtually made a coup of the entire nation and occupied every vital position in all political, academic, judicial, executive and media institutions of the country. The whole country was up for sale, and Indira Gandhi sold it to the communists.

KGB also had an influence on the Indian press. The published materials are often said to be favourable to Russia's image. Soviet active measures manufactured unfounded evidence against the CIA and the unsubstantiated Pakistani intelligence behind the Sikh separatism.

As the Gandhi dynasty came crumbling and the Soviet bloc was beginning to disintegrate, the Indo-Soviet relationship, to which the KGB had devoted much of its energies, came to an inglorious end.

https://www.thestar.com/news/world/2014/07/06/kgb_papers_kept_in_secret_since_1992_released_by_british_archive.html

https://mitrokhinarchiveii.blogspot.com/2005

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mitrokhin_Archive

https://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/collection/52/mitrokhin-archive

http://indiafacts.org/indira-gandhi-soviet-agent/

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Perks at a cost?

Heard an interview with Malaysia's premier cartoonist, Lat, recently. I was fascinated with the part of the interview when he was doing a cartoon strip in a national daily many years ago. He was doing a strip which ran daily on weekdays, and it was a continuing story. One Friday, he was stuck. He did not know how to continue with his narration, and he had until Sunday evening to submit his work.

He had a kind of writer's block, not knowing how to proceed. Rather than staring blankly at his wall, he thought a little unwinding would help. Downing one or two of his favourite beverages and whipping up a conversation with a couple of his occasional acquaintances, it suddenly dawned upon him. Inspiration sprang from everywhere, and he went on to complete his story to become everybody's satirist.

That is what my friends in the creative field tell me. Whenever they hit a brick wall, ideas come sprawling down when they go out and mingle with people. It seems people-gazing or just talking to them may stimulate the grey cells of the creative hemisphere of your brain to produce your next masterpiece.

Wait. Barristers are not called to the bar for nothing. The Bar is where they eel their way to find or create clients. A few drinks would make one philosophical and ponder about old age. Your friendly insurance agents will always hang around the bar to cook up a plan and pave the way for an affordable retirement plan!

Not so smooth sailing for the self-sacrificing practitioners of the profession of health.
You go to the house of ruins to unwind or you faithfully fulfil your duties as a son to attend some old auntie's grandchild's fifth birthday party and what you get? While you land your bite on your spicy pakora, an old uncle will start describing to you in minute details his abnormal bowel opening and his eternal struggle with haemorrhoids. Just as you politely ease your way by concocting a tale that somebody is calling you, another Auntie catches to illustrate in near demonstrative ways her distress with urinary incontinence. That is when you gaze your golden juice and wonder if you would ever look at fermented hop in the same way ever again. So much for a stimulating conversation and the unwinding needed for a soul exhausted caring for the sick.

To the people who recognise you, they would always see you as the man with the stethoscope, even if you are down to your swimming trunk. That is why many choose to remain incognito under the disguise of anonymity when travelling or appearing in social media interphases! To give peace of mind a chance to the soul...

The widening gap...

I remember long ago when Penang was still very colonial in its outlook. Celebrations which were considered Western in nature were still much in vogue as late as late 60s and early 70s - street celebratory parades, chingay, flower arrangements, processions with local beauties and firework display during New Year.
Appa has taken the whole family for such celebrations many times when I was a kid, before RRF days and life was happy. I vividly remember watching the fire works from the streets along Duke Streets back in 1970. Of course, as in our dreams, memories of fireworks are in monochromatic hues. I do not remember any other colour appearing in that pitch black sky except for white but in various shapes and patterns.
After the show, the crowd, all watching from the streets slowly sauntered towards the bus stop to head home. Some, obviously dissatisfied with wasting the night away which was just beginning, would instead start their stuporous march towards their favourite hideout den to drink their night away. That was then, everybody watching the display from the same stand wishing each other in the spirit of the new year and singing 'Auld Lang Syne'.

Fast forward 2015... Dateline: Kuala Lumpur, areas surrounding the vicinity of Petronas Twin Towers. People of all walks of life gather around to usher in the new year amidst the maladies that had struck the nation - the downing of its third plane from the nation's associate carrier and the immersion of half of its country by floods, hoping that the new year will symbol a new dawn.
Unlike my experience in Penang some 40 odd years ago, this time around, there was an apparent divide of its spectators.
Just like how John Lennon, while performing in Royal Albert Hall in front of the Queen and her royal entourage had said, "For the next number I need your help. People from the cheaper seat, clap your hands. And the rest of you just rattle your jewellery!"
People were all watching the same fireworks but the division of classes ensured that they were put amongst their own kind. The upper crust of the society had the privilege of viewing it in the comforts of a lazy chair perched at the edge of an infinity pool, sipping the favourite alcoholic beverage after being immersed in rendition of nostalgic retro music by the performing band to set the mood and a sumptuous new year meal. The commoners, on the other hand, had to satisfy themselves by shoving and scampering for a nice spot to view the extravaganza. That too, after braving the inclement weather and the stuffy unreliable public transport. Their misery does not end too. After all that revelling, they had to get back to life to meet the challenges of the new year in a two hour traffic kerfuffle. Do not even mention about the pick pockets and pranksters.
The haves, have to just move their bodies in the stuporous gait to the hotel room and enjoy the seed of their labour in the comforts of their plush beds in their hotel suites.

Chicken's Invite? (Ajak-ajak ayam)

In the Malay lingo, the phrase 'ajak-ajak ayam' refers to an insincere invitation. Of course, many of us invite for courtesy's sake, but then the invitee may think that the invitation is for real! How does anyone know? Inviters and invitees must be smart enough to take the cue that one party may have gatecrashed with ulterior motives, or the other may not want him to join in the first place!

Easily twenty years ago, my family was invited to a toddler's birthday party. As my children were toddlers, too, we were requested to come early so that my kids could run around and play in their big compound. And that the host said she would arrange a series of games for them to enjoy.

So there we were in the early evening at a house that resembled very little of one immersed in joy and celebration. Instead, we were greeted by a house devoid of activities and no guests. The host was still out shopping her last-minute list, and her helper was knee-deep in her preparations to clean up the premises. Time dragged on so so slowly.

The host sauntered in, smiling as if she had struck the lottery and asked us to look around as if nothing was the matter. Guests (younger kids only) were sent by parents to run around the compound. Children, being children, were running around in circles in the humid tropical evening like a dog would be trying to catch its own tail. Unlike a pig, they were all sweating and clammy. And the host was still lost in her work as the dusky sky was slowly engulfed by the twilight of darkness. Feeling thirsty and hungry (did I mention no food or beverages were served?), we politely informed the host that it was time for us to leave. I was taken aback when she curtly said, "OK then, see you around!". No, hang on there, Just a minute. We'll start when more guests arrive, nothing.

And we headed to the nearest food court for our own party! It was a memorable party, no doubt, as we still laugh about it and tell ourselves how to be a gracious host. Lessons in life...

Then there is another story... I do not know why I befriend these people. Maybe I am too kind or just too gullible! So, this guy persistently kept on insisting that we should all go out as a family for a meal together as he and this family had been to my humble abode many a time for dinners.

After many clashes of dates, my wife finally managed to arrange a dinner at a nice Chinese restaurant. The day came, and there we were, my family only. My friend, the supposed host, dragged himself in almost an hour later, in piecemeal.- first, his wife, his kids and finally the man, complaining "traffic jam' traffic jam"!

After the cursory pleasantries, we dug deep into the chow.
As the curtain call rolled in, the talk became redundant, laboured with many draggy sentences. I thought it was customary for the host (my friend) to call it a day or ask whether there was a need to order more desserts. But hell no, he and his wife just got up and thanked us heartily for the meal; good luck, good health, blah, blah.

And guess who took the tab?
It was not even a chicken's invite (ajak-ajak ayam) as the restaurant served seafood only!

Memories are made of these...

Suckling piglet, anyone?

Just the other day, yours truly happened to gate crash into my cousin's friends' farewell party. The crowd had known each other for, like forever, ever since they were siphoned to a foreign land at an impressionable age to do good with their future. Just out of the confusing age of teenage years, shuffled into the turmoil era of the twenties, they had the scary sight of their whole future laid bare for them to mold. With the grace of the divine powers and help from some friends of the same boat, they sailed the rough seas. Amid the choppy waters and howling winds, they got across in one piece, shaken but not beaten. And boy, did they have heap of tall tales to tell of the journey.
I came to understand that that is what apparently happened every time they meet up. All their university days' stories will be told and re-told and they would have a good laugh at it as if they are hearing it for the first time. And the free flow of booze helped in the process of loosening up the heavy burden and the inhibitions that wear them down.
After the jam session of the same story, the similar minded comrades would go on to their respective lives, do their day-time jobs that they endeavoured so hard for with the belief that the gang would meet up again to laugh at their antics of a time of innocence when the world was the oyster when they were kings.
This is how brotherly bonds stronger than Spiderman's web shooters are made!

It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to...

14.3.2010

It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to...

What a stupid blog! That’s what Danny said when I coaxed him at gunpoint to peruse this blog.

I do not profess to know it all. I do not proclaim to be a guru or someone who has been enlightened by hiding in some caves in Kashmir or the desert. I have not found the elixir of youth or crystal ball to the answers of mankind’s problems. I am neither a religious nor a charismatic person oozing with charm. I am just your plain Joe with a wee bit of inferior complex and a perpetual whiner!

We all get a little philosophical with age and I am just jotting my two cents worth (if it is worth at all) of experiences to the junior citizen as history has the uncanny habit of repeating its ugly self. As they say in various cultures and civilizations, one who does not know where he came from will not reach where he is heading to.

This is not a literary exercise, hence do not expect high flowery bombastic standard of Shakespearean poetic English. It is not a theological thesis; you can expect things that may border on blasphemy. There may be tinge of sarcasm, loads of arrogance, political incorrectness and self glorification. Hey, it is my blog after all – I can and will write what I want to bearing in mind the priorities of starting the blog in the first place.

&xLike the 1963 song by Lesley Gore, it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to…x&B