Book Review: Inside the Twisted Mind of Rifle Range Boy

http://literaryjournal.in/index.php/clri/article/view/297
CLRI

Contemporary Literary Review India

Brings articulate writings for articulate readers. eISSN 2394-6075 | Vol 6, No 1: CLRI February 2019 | p- 181-187

     

Book Review on Farouk Gulsara’s Inside the Twisted Mind of Rifle Range Boy

Prof Shiv Sethi

‘Inside the Twisted Mind of Rifle Range Boy’ is a melange of profound thoughts penned down by Farouk Gulsara. Hailing from a family where everybody perceives that there is only a single way to deal with the things either black or white whereas the writer is inclined to have an altogether contrary viewpoint. As he advances in the years and grows mature, he becomes aware of the harsh reality that the family of his parents has innumerable blood-curdling tales to narrate because they had witnessed the seamy side of life during the turbulent times of early Malaya.

Farouk Gulsara makes the most of that opportunity and begins to write his own blog known as �Rifle Range Boy�. There is no denying the fact that we the people very conveniently bend rules and regulations to cater to our own whims and fancies. Brahmins are normally considered as the propagators of vegetarianism, but the Brahmins dwelling around the Bay of Bengal and Kashmir have not set such prohibitions for them and they place fish on their platter as their staple diet. Thus, Man is basically a bundle of contradictions. The writer renders twelve years of his services as a Government employee. But he is badly disillusioned and thinks of himself as an idiot for his unwavering commitment to work when he observes that others are being paid lucratively without toiling hard. The varied cultures, diverse civilizations and religion have dovetailed with one another and everything has become a religious event. Indian mythology and festivals have been cherished with unshakable faith, but no one is keen to give heed to the similarities among these different fiesta.

The author appears to be deeply agitated at heart when people question him over his ethnicity or look upon him as an Indian Malaysian. His parents belonged to Malaysia and so does he. Though he has never even set a foot on the Indian soil and evidently specifies in the book that he has no intention to visit India. For he is least interested in beholding the spectacle of poverty ridden people for that he need not pay visit to india. He can have that repulsive glimpse in his own backyard. And a big No to temples , as God is omnipresent for him. Farouk Gulsara has his distinctive views about Hinduism, India, and Bollywood. He holds Late Shammi Kapoor in derision by equating him with a fat monkey, but makes frequent usage of Manoj Kumar’s dialogues for reference in another anecdote. He sheds light on the various cuisines of India, but he has no desire to try Indian food because the menu of Malaysia comprises a vast variety of umpteen delicacies and he is fully content with his life in his native land and its foods. The author poses to be a sentimental fool whereas a discerning reader will take this with a pinch of salt.

The downside with the book is that at some places it is marred with prolixity, superfluousness and repetition and one of chapters has been translated into French which is beyond the ken of most of the readers. Undoubtedly,we aspire for perfection in life contrary to that our life has many imperfection and some of which we can never do away with. We whine, we cringe, we fret and fume, we grumble, we demand and we assert our rights but eventually the reality dawns upon us and we come to terms with the fact that we are mere pawns in the hands of the mighty forces of destiny. Here I am aptly reminded of a famed Victorian writer Thomas Hardy who gives much credence to the philosophy of Determinism and Fatalism.
The writer of this book also throws a flood of light on the legal system of Malaysia and its economic state of affairs. Here we come across several stark similarities between India and Malaysia. In both the nations in the name of development poor people have to bear the brunt of displacement and are bound to lead nomadic existence. The education system is in a shambles and they still require interpreters just like their ancestors required some five decades ago. The so-called modern-day parents are shown dancing to the tune of the snake charmers' flute blinded with abominable superstitions.

They are unbothered for the dreams and aspirations of their children and in a way suffer from peter complex.
To lend a concrete shape to one's pent-up thoughts has not been very popular practice in literature with no specific genre. But soon the writer listens to his inner voice and gets convinced that many roads do indeed lead to Rome, and there is a divine power up there righting the wrong, but still, we have a host of instances of misdeeds committed by the Church and a long lost legacy of the renowned figures. We as humans are capable of inspiring a person to an extent only. Beyond that it is entirely up to his genes or nature whether he succeeds in reaching his place in space on time or not. If a person fails to measure up to certain expectations, it does not signify that he is a failure. We all have to be stretched in order to grow.
In our pursuit to growth and edification rigorous discipline is of paramount importance. Which caste one belongs to does not matter at all. As the author alludes that Hindus would resort to hard penance either through self-imposed starvation, self-flagellation, self-piercing, and observe countless other rituals and customs before Mahatma Gandhi proposed Satyagraha. It is all deeply ingrained in the Indian psyche. The author narrates different stories of the people who arrive in his life and to whom he is all available to lend a helping hand and offer his shoulder to cry on and achieve their Aristotelian cathartic bliss.
The writer is exasperated with the fact that the little cherubic children will be unable to fully bloom into the majestic swan that they always hanker to be. The Asian attitude to life believes in producing a generation of studious book worms only. Nobody bothers if the children have earned enough of life experiences and optimal professional qualifications coupled with the sufficient emotional maturity to match with. Once the formal degrees and material comforts begin to rolling, people here get a semblance of contentment and start believing that now everything will fall in place. Alack! the modern folk dwell in an illusion or a shambolic world. Much to the writer’s chagrin, they are heading towards a cultural bankruptcy as they have lost their connect with their moorings.

With great power comes great responsibility. Information is the power and the unquenchable thirst of mankind for knowledge seems insatiable. Some theories are accepted as pure Gospel; while others are debatable. The Government lies to people in the name of National Security, and it creates more curiosity and restrictions to self-expression. In our daily lives too, we see many able bodies leading miserable life.
The world is fraught with hatred and fissiparous tendencies around us. Even amongst apparently homogeneous societies, there is suspicion and desire to dominate over the other. There is West, East, North, and South, Hindus, Christian, and Muslims, the fair skinned and the dark-skinned, indigenous people and immigrants, moderates and conservatives, all exist with their dichotomous ideologies. The list goes on. But still, people flock together and put their resources during the disasters like earthquakes and tsunami. It reflects the humanity is not fully dead yet.

Farouk Gulsara makes use of the allusions of Arnold Schwarzenegger to Steve Jobs and Lord Shiva. Though he does not provide any solutions about the different worldly problem, but only offers his opinions, and twisted thoughts of his deviant mind. Therefore, this works emerges as a refreshing and eye-opening read. The language is lucid. The narration is flawless. The author also takes recourse to Hindi and Malay languages at many places in the book. . His spontaneous thoughts spread all over the canvas of the book. There's no dull moment and It is an unputdownable work.


Title: Inside the Twisted Mind of Rifle Range Boy Author: Farouk Gulsara
Publisher: Inside The Twisted Mind of Rifle Range Boy 
Available: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=MwxDDwAAQBAJ

Contemporary Literary Review India | eISSN 2394-6075 | Vol 6, No 1: CLRI February 2019 | Page 186

Book Review on Farouk Gulsara’s Inside the Twisted Mind of Rifle Range Boy Prof Shiv Sethi

Prof. Shiv Sethi (Reviewer)

Prof. Shiv (Ph D, M Phil, four times MA) is the Head of the Department of English language and Linguistics at Dev Samaj Post Graduate College For Women Ferozepur for the last 17 years.
His research articles have been published in various journals of international repute including The Tribune, The Hindu, The Hindustan Times, The New Indian Express, The Deccan Herald, The Hitavada, and The Daily post and in several newspapers of neighbouring countries like Nepal and Pakistan. He has presented his papers at various universities in India and abroad. He is a guide for research scholars for M Phil thesis.

Contemporary Literary Review India | eISSN 2394-6075 | Vol 6, No 1: CLRI February 2019 | Page 187

Rifle Range – Penang's colourful time capsule

http://www.thestar.com.my/metro/views/2017/04/25/highrise-heartland-of-local-chinese-a-visit-to-rifle-range-flats-is-an-eyeopening-and-humbling-exper/

Tuesday, 25 April 2017

BY ARNOLD LOH – PINANG POINTS

I WAS filled with anticipation when work took me to see some people in Rifle Range Flats, Penang, last week.

After the appointment, I wandered about and had the pleasure of chatting with a hawker about her grilled chicken backsides. That's bishop's nose, for you.

But not all pressmen relish visiting this place. And you can't blame them because during the 2013 General Election campaign someone in one of the flats filled a plastic bag with urine and threw it down at journalists and politicians walking below.

Thank goodness it did not land on anyone.

Two weeks ago, water rained down on journalists while they were photographing 14 motorcycles parked beside Block B that had been burned by arsonists. They saw soapy water gushing down from a washing machine outlet hose that jutted out of the rear balcony of a fifth-floor unit.

When these press corp shouted in revulsion, an elderly woman from that unit barked back in Hokkien.

“Ha mik? Mien sey, ah?” (What? No need to wash clothes, ah?)

Despite all this, I enjoy going to Rifle Range Flats when there’s a reason to do so.

The 3,699 flat units in nine blocks have 99-year leasehold titles. All are one-room affairs, except for four corner units per floor. The corner units have two rooms each.

Six blocks have 17 floors, while three blocks have 18. These nine blocks take up just 4ha, based on Google Earth Pro’s land measuring tool.

Between 8,000 and 10,000 people are estimated to live here, so the biological load is heavy and the place feels claustrophobic.

Boundary Road — the main traffic artery through here — is only 8m wide. The gap from one block to another is just 15m to 20m.

Yet going there feels like a socio-cultural exploration — an adventure — for me.

Rifle Range Flats is a living, functioning monument of humanity when it was not yet addicted to fossil fuel. It was built in 1969, the same year construction on the first Boon Siew Honda assembly plant started.

At the time, he kapcai (underbone) motorcycles were not yet the vogue, and cars were trophies of the rich.

Rifle Range Flats’ pioneers were cyclists. If you plan on exploring Rifle Range Flats, then carpool, or ride a bicycle or motorcycle. 

I froze wide-eyed upon seeing a tray of 24 skewers of richly marinated chicken backsides inside a glass display along the congested, haphazardly-placed hawker stalls below Blocks H and G.

The elderly lady sells it at RM1.30 a stick, grilled on the spot. Each skewer had five to six chicken backsides, depending on their sizes.

I tried to find out who loved to eat them, how many they might eat in one go, how she acquired so many chicken butts to sell, what the marinade was, how she cleaned them and so on. Journalists are hopeless busybodies.

She did not understand Cantonese or Mandarin, so I resorted to my broken Penang Hokkien – I am Cantonese Malaccan.

It dawned on me that Rifle Range Flats is the heartland of Penang’s Chinese folk, set back one generation. Their way of life has been preserved.

They are suffering.

Many of the lifts have broken down. The water pressure is horrendous because the pipes are clogged with rust. They do not have a multi-storey car park.

All these will cost tens of millions of ringgit to upgrade, so the state government has yet to get around to doing it.

But it is said that what cannot be changed must be endured, and if you can stop and observe, you will see patience on the faces of these Rifle Range folk.

I resolve to go back there later when I am not being chased by deadlines.

Go to their market and buy groceries. Order a coffee, sit among the aged population and hopefully gain some small talk.

I also need to steel my nerves and try those grilled chicken backsides.

I did not dare that day and have been kicking my rear end for being a gastronomic coward.

eat, live, philosophise!

We had a bad gene pool. On the maternal side, our grandfather single handedly in a single generation, brought his family to the streets through his liking for culinary excellence. He pawned and leased to his last piece of property to hold feasts to commemorate the flimsiest of occasion. He enjoyed being doused in merriment without a care in the world, living only for the day like there is no tomorrow. He lived to eat. His antics and penchant for gustatory gratification literally brought down a reputable and respectable upper middle class family to its knees spiralling the ladder of social class all within a decade of the demise of his old man.
On the paternal side, the extremely large family with 16 over offspring (give and take, that is excluding many stillbirths and children given up for adoption), food (lack of) was always an issue. They always seem to be drooling for food.
With this background, my mother took it upon herself to put things in perspective as far as her children were concern. Living in trying times, making ends meet with limited wages, she tried to save for a rainy day by inculcating upon us that food was for survival, not something to die for! Food never took centre stage in our day to day living. Mother's favourite quote was, "When you go for a job interview, the interviewer would be asking about your paper qualification, not about what luxurious food you had consumed."
We must have left an unenviable reputation amongst our relatives. In the later years into our childhood, we were sometimes feted to feasts by relatives whom we thought were telling us to enjoy the dishes like we had never enjoyed before! Was that a tongue-in-the cheek statement, we wondered!

The heights of melancholia and hopelessness...

Thulabaram (Sacrifice, Tamil; 1968)

I do not know why but I keep watching this movie over and over again over the years. Maybe because it draws me back to the time of RRF and the time that steamed with hopelessness and helplessness. At the same time, I do not agree with the melodrama and the self pity that is exhibited in full glory in this flick. So, psychoanalyse me!
This was one of the first movies that Amma took me to watch back in the days. Perhaps, she needed to reminisce her trying times of early adulthood.
Even after all these years, its songs, especially 'Kaathrinile Perum Kaathrinile' sang beautifully by K.J. Yesudass, still makes my hairs at the back of my neck stand.
This movie skyrocketed in popularity in the South that remakes were made in Tamil, Telegu and Hindi using the same main actress, Sharadha. The original film was made in Malayalam based on stage show. Sharadha went on to receive the National Film Award for that year.

Sharadha

Coming from a stronghold communist state, the story has all the hallmarks of capitalistic bashing. Bleak picture of the workers clan bullied by businessmen and crooked supposedly upholders of justice and liberty is evident here. Human values are replaced with the greed of profit and need to fatten one's wallet. In the charade of human greediness, the victims are the downtrodden working class who are not appreciated for their sacrifice but are scorned upon as an annoyance! Of course, the story takes it to the other extreme.
The story starts in a court-room. Vijaya (Sharadha) is in the dock for mercilessly poisoning her three kids. Keeping mum, the Public Prosecutor,Vatsala, (the ever beautiful Indian ex-stewardess turned actress and turned priestess, Kanjana) has an easy time proving her case. Vijaya is defended by a bumbling lawyer, Samanthan (the ever versatile TS Ballaiah) and his crook of a secretary (Nagesh).
As the case almost comes to an end, Vijaya finally breaks her silence. She narrates her side of the story. And the credits roll in as we are transported to a time when Vatsala and Vijaya are easy going bharathanatyam dancing university students pursuing BA.
Vatsala's father is a crooked lawyer (TS Balliah) who is not very bright but strikes rich with his client's ignorance and naivety. His assistant, Nagesh, uses his position to con the gullible for a little tips here and there. Looks like between of these Brahmins, they try to outdo each other in getting bribes! Their antics on-screen are great to watch. (A bashing of the upper caste of society)
Vijaya's father (Major Sunderajan) had seen better times. A disciplinarian and a stickler to time, order and natural justice, he had helped his relatives just to be left in a lurch with a lawsuit on his property and his factory for ownership. Hold behold his lawyer is the incompetent Samanthan!

Tragedy strikes when Vijaya's father loses his case and is thrown out his own house. Left as a pauper with no means to support himself and his daughter and shunned by friends and relatives, the trauma proved too heavy on his ailing heart. He succumbs to a massive heart attack. The only loyal worker who stood by Vijaya and her father is Ramu (the melodrama king of tragedy, AVM Rajan).
As the cash kitty gets smaller and the hostility of the Indian environment on seeing a helpless innocent young pretty girl proved too much, Ramu brings Vijaya to stay in his ramshackle hut of a factory worker. Ramu's household personifies the epitome of melancholia with bare necessities and a ever complaining mother who openly expresses her discontent of life and she imagines a comfortable life with her daughter and husband, which never materialises.
Back in university, Vijaya was chased around by a fun loving jovial fellow student, Muthuraman. Seeing her hopeless states of affairs in Vijaya, her beau decides to confess that their relationship was based on friendship love, not the lover's kind!
Left hanging on a thread, Vijaya takes the bold step to nosedive into the web of poverty, to marry the sad faced Ramu. They had bliss in their humble abode. Testimony of their happiness were the three kids and the song which showcases the joy of celebration in a poor man's home.' " Come ponggal or diwali, there are only tears in our home...!" How more pathetic can you sound?
As if not enough, tragedy strikes yet again. Due to management-workers' dispute, the factory is closed indefinitely and Ramu and his co-worker are left to starve. Union disputes becomes intense and Ramu is finally knifed down, leaving Vijaya and the kids hungry and penniless. If fate is cruel, the society is also unkind. Relatives and neighbours soon start hurling various unsavoury accusation against this young widow. Hunger drives the children to beg, enraging Vijaya. Soon they start to steal food. All these proved too much for someone who at one time had her future all paved ahead of her. She opts for mass suicide. Unfortunately, she survives and is put on the dock.... The storyteller tries to justify the protagonist's actions and inactions to the cruelty of society and fate. She does not admonish the lack of  her initiative to uproot herself from misery but instead look for self pity. Perhaps if we had walked a mile in their shoes..
A timeless classic with melodious melodies to match the path of nostalgia. A reminder though...
Now, if only the children knew a soup kitchen they could go to....

Life in Rifle Range Flats

Thanks to Valen Lim Illustration .

Dark but humorous look into our childhood

When I was a kid

Childhood stories by Boey

We all had our observations about our parents' idiosyncrasies and things we hated doing but we still did them because... we were kids. We all had our moment when we hated our parents and were ashamed of them. And the jealous moments when other people's parents were so cool. Not to forget those sibling rivalry. Now you have this book that spills out all those suppressed thoughts, written by a Malaysian animator stationed in US. It is a scarily honest light read that reminds us Malaysians of the nostalgic and troubled times of childhood. The best thing about the book is that it is more of a comic book rather a text rich prose. It narrates different scenarios in the life of the author (Cheeming Boey) and usually ends in one or two pages with outcomes that would curve a smile, every time! The stories are not overtly 'rolling-on-the-floor' type funny but cute nevertheless. Sure, we all have all gone through what he had gone through and relate very much to the same things. Growing up in Johor Bahru in the 90s, travelling to Singapore for studies and growing in a household of parents who go all out for the education, even it means getting up at 4am to cross the Causeway to Singapore is not alien to all us. We all can relate to that in different locations and different families.

Of foie gras, food and fond memories...

foie gras

I grew up amongst elders who always complained about the lack of taste in the food prepared by the then younger generation. The usual banter that they indulged whenever the elders meet is the reminiscence of the mouth-watering palatal stimulating dishes that their elders used to prepare back in the days. Sometimes I used to think that these people were indeed gluttons and lived to eat. One of them includes my father and my maternal grandfather. The latter literally sold off his ancestral property just to satisfy his taste buds and hypothalamic satiety centre. They used to recollect the times when the aroma of chicken curry cooked in one person's kitchen used to fill the whole neighbourhood and how simply-out-of-this food generally tasted.

I used to think that taste never changed. I thought their remote memory of input of olfactory nerve to the limbic system just reignited their nostalgic childhood memories. Until I heard the story of a man in Spain who reared geese to prepare them for foie gras, the natural way without the notorious force feeding which is often spoken about.

A journalist well versed with fine dining decided to trace this eccentric man, Eduardo, to his farm to interview and see for himself the truth of his claim. Eduardo has his own beliefs on ensuring succulent, juicy fat geese liver. The goslings are left to roam wild in an unfenced field exposed to variously selected grasses. Of course, security is a concern as he lost 20 to 30% of his flock to predators and wanderers. He does not touch the geese as it may lose its protective sebum. The herd is left to roam freely and happily.

Geese have an inborn ability to gorge themselves in preparation of winter. They eat and eat if they are happy.

At the end of the interview, the journalist had the chance to taste his product. To his astonishment, the dish did not need artificial flavouring. The foie gras did not require additional seasoning as all the various flavours were allegedly provided by the food that the geese fed on. According to Eduardo, modern farming had destroyed natural tastes in food.

I suppose there must be some truth in what the old folks were saying when we were growing up. To feed the ever-increasing population of the world, we managed to increase the production of food at the expense of taste.

https://asok22.wixsite.com/real-lesson 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

Rifle Range Flats

http://www.thestar.com.my/News/Community/2013/11/23/The-first-lowcost-highrise-flats-built-in-the-country-were-in-Penang.aspx

Community

Published: Saturday November 23, 2013 MYT 12:00:00 AM
Updated: Saturday November 23, 2013 MYT 12:01:14 PM

The first low-cost high-rise flats built in the country were in Penang

BY WONG CHUN WAI

Big complex: There are nine blocks spread over 16.7ha with 3,888 units

THE Rifle Range Flats is one of the most densely populated areas in Penang.
Penangites can tell you if you choose to park your car near the flats in the evening, the chances of your car being blocked by other cars is almost 100%.
The likelihood is that the unsuspecting motorist would never be able to get his stuck vehicle out.
The best way would be to return in the morning when the other cars have left.
That’s how sardine-packed the area is.
The almost non-existent parking bays at the flats is simply because the architects of the country’s first high-rise, low cost flats never imagined that the dwellers would be able to afford a car as low-wage earners.
They probably never believed that the living standards of Penangites living at the mostly single-room flats, would improve.

Close to the shops: There are a large number of hawkers, coffee shops and even a wet market on the ground floor of the flats.

According to blogger Lim Thian Leong, there are nine blocks of 17-storey buildings within an area of 16.7ha, with every floor consisting of 20 units of single bedrooms and four two bedroom units.
With a total of 3,888 units within the flats, the average size of a unit is merely 340 sq ft!
It is not unusual for the rest of the family members to sleep in the living room while the parents take up the only room in the flat.
Because of its high density, the flats remain a politician’s delight, or nightmare, depending on the crowds you can command come election time.
Almost all the big guns (pun intended) show up at Rifle Range during the last leg of the campaign.
Rifle Range Road or Jalan Padang Tembak is one of the main roads connecting Air Itam and George Town.
Popularly known as pak cheng poh, in Hokkein, is so named because the area used to be a shooting range, according to writer-photographer Timothy Lye.
“It was once an open space used as a shooting range by the police and the military.
“The namesake shooting range located next to the Batu Gantong Cemetery made way for the low-cost flats,” he wrote.
The flats were built by the late Tun Dr Lim Chong Eu when the then opposition Gerakan party swept into power in 1969.
Through the Penang Development Corporation, the Rifle Range flats, designed by a German firm, was built.
Faced with the problems of housing needs for the poor, more flats were then constructed in other areas.
When he took over Penang, unemployment was running at 16% but he created plenty of jobs through the setting up of the Penang Free Trade Zone in Bayan Lepas.

Taking a breather: A motorcyclist resting on his motorcycle on the ground floor of the flats.

But according to Farouk Gulsara, in his blog posting, in 1964, the national Ministry of Housing and Local Government had already identified two pilot projects in order to try out the industrialised building or prefabrication system (known as IBS).
The first of these projects was in Kuala Lumpur along Jalan Tun Razak (Jalan Pekeliling).
The second pilot project was set in Penang, consisting the construction of six blocks of 17-storey flats and three blocks of 18-storey flats comprising 3,699 units and 66 shop lots along Rifle Range Road.
“The project in Penang was awarded to Hochtief/Chee Seng using the French Estiot System and took 27 months to complete, inclusive of the time taken in setting up the precast factories.
“When Rifle Range Flats were completed in the early 1970s, they were the tallest buildings in Penang.
“None of the units were big ‑ on average they were approximately 36 sq m for intermediate one bedroom units and 38.7 sq m. for two bedroom end units.
“Nonetheless, they provided housing for many hardcore poor. “
The Rifle Range Flats area where Dr Lim chose as a site for the construction of the buildings was not the more preferred choice for residence.
Located next to the Batu Gantong cemetery, it is said that the ground where the flats now stands used to be the burial plot for the mass burying of those massacred by the Japanese during the Occupation.
As a child growing up in nearby Jalan Kampung Melayu, I used to cycle to the flats to meet up with friends.

Spot of colour: A resident walking by a unit where the owner decided to add some colour to the home.

Even in the late 1970s, there were still cow herds along Boundary Road, which I had to cycle past to reach Rifle Range.
News reports of residents jumping to their death, or more precisely, committing suicide, were regular and when I finally joined The Star as a reporter in the 1980s, the suicides still did not stop, with residents often bringing up stories of those who were buried underneath!
The suicides there were the subject of a book by anthropologist Jean Elizabeth De Bernardi The Way That Lives in the Hearts: Chinese Popular Spirits and Mediumswhere a medium purportedly claimed that the spirits had to take away 16 lives although at the time of research, there were already 20 victims.
Her cynical research assistant concluded that it was more likely that the victims had taken their lives because they had no work or money.
But less talked about is actually the large number of hawkers and coffeeshops, located at the ground floors of the flats.
There is also a wet market nearby.
As a child, my brother Wong Chun Fong, and I would to go the market every Saturday morning to buy the economy fried bee hoon and the Penang style pan cake, ban chang kuih, made from flour and sprinkled with sugar and groundnuts.
Nothing much has really changed in Rifle Range Flats today.
There would likely be new occupants, as those who have fared better in their lives moved out.
It has remained crowded with a host of social problems from drugs, thefts to gangsterism but the majority of the people are law-abiding, helpful and friendly people.
Despite the density of the area, Rifle Range has remained home to thousands and thousands of Penangites.

Blondie - Rifle Range 1977

Honestly, I have never heard this song in my entire life. I decided to add this to the blog obviously because of the title in spite of its lack of melody and its directionless arrangement of chords!

Now, for the real kind of Debbie Harry's Blondie music that was a hit during my coming of age and introduction to western music...

Terror at RRF!

Thursday July 12, 2012

Heartless passers-by

Reports by LOURDES CHARLES, CHRISTINA CHIN, STEVEN CHIEW, CHONG KAH YUAN and HAFIZ MARZUKHI

GEORGE TOWN: Seven people walked past snatch theft victim Tan Kim Chuan (pic), 60, without lifting a finger to help her as she lay unconscious on the road with a cracked skull at the Rifle Range flats.
CCTV footage showed her lying on the road for about seven minutes (see sequence of events on the right).
Kim Chuan, who fell and knocked her head on the road in the 6.02am incident on Tuesday, succumbed to her injuries nine hours later at the Penang Hospital.
Her sister Lay Yong, 63, wants the passers-by “to listen to their conscience”.
“Those who saw her should have done something the least they could have done was shout for help.
“How could they have just walked by? I am angry but what can I do?” Lay Yong said at the Penang Hospital mortuary yesterday.

Tears flow: Investigating officer Asst Supt Wong Yeut Oon sharing Lay Yong’s painful loss at the Penang Hospital mortuary.

She said Kim Chuan was on her way to the family-owned coffeeshop in Carnarvon Street.
She would take the bus every morning to help out at the coffeeshop.
“My sister was the sort of person who would not hesitate to help others. The snatch thief who did this to her was heartless,” she said.
Kim Chuan, a widow who had just moved into the Rifle Range flats two weeks ago, was walking alone near Block J of the flats when her handbag was snatched by a motorcyclist.
At about 6.10am, three good Samaritans lifted her to the side of the road and called for an ambulance.

Sequence of events.

Penang Hospital Department of Forensic Medicine head Datuk Dr Zahari Noor said the post-mortem showed the cause of death was multiple injuries to the head.
“She suffered internal bleeding in the head and the back of her skull cracked when she fell and hit the road the impact was strong,” he said.
The body will be cremated in Batu Gantong at 2pm today.
Meanwhile, George Town OCPD Asst Comm Gan Kong Meng urged the public to help police in catching the suspect.
“As we are unable to be everywhere at the same time, we value the information from the public, especially from those who may have witnessed the incident,” he told reporters after paying his last respects to Kim Chuan at the Mount Erskine funeral parlour.
He also advised the public to always offer help to those in need.
“A swifter response could have saved her life,” said ACP Gan