A time when stalking was normal...

'96 (Tamil,  2018)

Director: C. Prem Kumar

I remember a time in the 1980s when many Tamil movies had a particular storyline. A boy would fancy a girl, but circumstances would not allow them to fall in love. Most of the time, it would be because of different social and economic statuses, or they could be from feuding families, akin to Romeo and Juliet's story.

The Family would come to know. They would put up blockades, but against all odds, the boy would persist. He would look at his beau from afar, her every move, and she would fall flat for him. She thinks he loves her so much that he finds nothing more worthwhile in life than looking at her 24/7 like a lunatic. In most modern societies, that is called stalking.

In 1983, it was perfectly normal for Sting to watch his gal's every breath and every move. In the 2000s, however, that would warrant a police report and a restraining order.

Somehow, in this 2018 Tamil nostalgic movie, the girl regrets that she missed all the stalkings. She would have married him if only she knew he was there in every important moment of her life, spying on her. How bizarre. I do not think it would work on any millennial or Gen Z anywhere in the world. 

Ram, a travel photographer, takes his students on a field trip. After finishing the trip, he makes an unscheduled stop at the town where he used to stay until the 10th standard. He meets up with the school guard, the same person who used to work 22 years previously. Ram gets the contact of one of his classmates and gets himself included in a private WhatsApp chatgroup. That leads to a reunion.

Everyone is happily married with kids except for Ram. He leads life with a dark cloud shadowing over him. He had soft spots for his classmate, Janu, in 10th Standard. Family financial problems caused Ram's family to move suddenly in the dark of night without bidding her farewell. The crux of the story is about the Ram-Janu love story and to continue from where they left off. The problem is that Janu is also married with a preteen child.

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Syukur, our schools have no random shootings!

Tiger Stripes (2023)
Written and Directed by Amanda Nell Eu

This movie reminds me of P Ramlee's not-so-famous film, 'Sitora Harimau Jadian'. Sitora was 1964 Malaya's answer to the European folklore of werewolves. Instead of werewolves, he created a story about a were-tiger. Made in black and white with a limited budget for the make-up department, it failed both in awe and in its gore aspects.

'Tiger Stripes', on the other hand, is not much of a scary movie. It is more of a social commentary. It highlights bullying in schools, the confusing hormones-laden pubertal era, the uninspiring methods of teaching, and maybe many more.

International viewers will wonder why girls in that all-girls school suddenly go haywire, shrieking and falling down simultaneously with jerky hand and body movements like a person possessed. Yes, the film also showcases the problem of mass hysteria, a peculiar phenomenon that is seen in many all-female Malaysian schools and hostels.

Another glaring thing shown here is the dismal standard of English taught in Malaysian schools. Imagine 13-year-olds still struggling with grammar and tenses. That is not fiction, but very much a common site in many schools in the interior parts of the country and also in the poorer section of towns. My sister, who used to mark public examination papers, would be testimony to this. She could not believe what was written (or not written) on exam papers.

My beloved secondary school headmaster used to advocate that 'academic excellence is no substitute to poverty of character'. It may be true when academic achievements are par excellence. One can explore other avenues to mould a holistic student who can withstand the challenges of adult life. Here, what I see is another wrapped hollow package. The country values the presentation, not its content, quantity not quality, and racial aspirations, not national development.

Mass hysteria is a poorly understood collective psychogenic illness. It is not even listed in the DSM, the manual of all psychiatric and psychological ailments. South East Asia is labelled as the world capital for this illness. Many medical experts failed to identify a single cause for this condition. Stress has been suggested as the prominent cause. Most of the time, faith healers are called in, as is seen in this movie, with comical outcomes. In 2015, a local university in the state of Pahang came out with an anti-hysteria kit that was sold at a whopping RM 8,750. This kit, created after years of research, could allegedly ward off evil spirits. For that sum, the kit came with just chopsticks, salt, lime, vinegar, pepper spray and formic acid.

(P.S. Syukur (thank God), our schools have no random shootings!)

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For bringing the horse to water!

A lady, visibly struggling with her gravid tummy, was heard conversing with a fellow attendee at a maternity clinic. Excerpts from her conversing, which were anything but discrete, were soon made known to others. She was complaining about how she still had to go to school carrying a pair of twins in utero with just less than one month from her due date. This year alone, five teachers had gone on maternity leave, leaving a large vacuum for others to fill up. 

It does not help that her school had 80% of the teachers as ladies and that recently, maternity leaves had been extended from 60 days a few years previously to 98 days now. 

"I am just wasting my time teaching children who are not interested in learning, anyway," she was lamenting. 

Thanks, Mr Khoo!

I remember when a teacher motivated me to push my boundaries beyond my imagination, reaching for the unthinkable. I was just an average student trying to sponge whatever little knowledge my teachers were trying to impart. One thing I never did throughout my schooling life was to fail a test. Be it a public examination or a quiz, I may not excel, but I definitely will not falter. I did fail my motorbike licence test, though. I wanted to save the money spent on riding school but used my old bone shaker instead.

So, I was devastated when the monthly test result for physics was out. I found that I had scored 16%. I stared at big red-inked scribblings on the test paper with disbelief. I should not be surprised as the questions were based on the exact topics my Physics teacher had assured us we would not be drilled. Still, heartbreaking it sure was. 

Pensive mood, are we?

The subsequent examination would be the mid-term test, which would have some bearing on the school testimonials. This cannot be, I told myself. I had to pull myself with my own bootstraps. Frankly, I found it extremely difficult to understand what my Physics master was trying to teach. I felt we were in different lingos, like how a dog and a cat or a hen would talk to a duck. Sometimes, I thought he was the manifestation of an oracle of Delphi. He managed to create a sense of mysticism around the subject matter. At the end of the lesson, we, the students, will stay as ignorant as before. 

Penang Sunrise

The falter at the monthly test pushed me to learn everything covered in the syllabus. I burned the midnight oil in all barrels, leaving no stones unturned. So when the midterm examinations were out, not only did I come out with flying colours, but as the top scorer of the form, I went on to win a book prize. 

Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought of winning an academic award like that. If not for the direct or indirect prodding from my Physics teacher, Mr Khoo, I would have just been another student who passed through the school corridors, leaving nothing behind. Now, I have at least tasted the sweet, succulent taste of victory and personal satisfaction. 'Ain't no mountain high enough!' is no longer just a passing statement or a line in a song.

The recent secondary school reunion was a gesture to show our appreciation to our grand old school teachers who still remember us or at least put up a convincing front to tell us they do. Seriously, just as they made an impression on us, we did not know how much observation they made about us and live to tell us. 

Memorial for the founder, RS Hutchings

One for the album

N.B. Thank you, Teik Hock, Sow Wu, Guan Chiang, et al for the pictures.

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For how long?

Eva Mireles (victim)
4th-grade teacher

We all know the drill. Regular broadcasting will be rudely interrupted with news flashes of yet another senseless killing in public. All cable news network cameramen will run to the site hoping to catch a glimpse of yet another gore porn over prime time. They will appear empathetic, trying to blank out the faces of victims and underaged but secretly wish they could exhibit violence in its full glory.

Then for the next few hours will be reels over reels of footage of witnesses and victims relating their dastardly experiences. The police chief will come forward with a press release that they have identified the perpetrator. The chief will be flabbergasted how the aggressor managed to possess his firepower. A revealing loophole in the system would manifest - he is underaged, that he purchased his assault weapon at a mall, that he has mental issues, that he bought it in another state, yadda yadda. Then his social media would expose his screwed up ideology and true intentions that went below the radar, whilst others get barred by FB or Youtube for politically incorrect phrases!

Experts will be whisked in to opine their two cents worth - that the USA has got to get its act together. Politicians will cry for the victims and plead, "for how long do we have to endure this?" The gun lobbyist will saunter in to proclaim that 'guns do not kill people, people do!'; without a gun, an angry or deranged would have to run all the way to his intended target and lay a punch or beat the pulp out of his victim. And the damage is far less brutal.

Over the following days, the incident site would be revisited to show wreaths and cute figurines left by mourners. The frequency of the mention of the incident would dwindle. Pretty soon, another national crisis would loom. The shooting incident would be forgotten until another shooting in another vicinity. It is then another state or county's headache to sort out.

Anyone with half a brain will know that gun kills, and it does that much more at ease with the least effort. Experiences in countries that outlawed gun usage have drastically reduced gun-related crimes. One does not need guns to live in modern times. Easy access to guns just makes it necessary to possess bigger and more powerful firearms, even overpowering what the law enforcement officers have at their disposal.

It made sense to make it a person's right to own firearms to guard his land during the Wild West when the white men were snatching lands from the retaliating Native Americans. In the 21st century, when policing and protecting the citizens is outsourced to the State, can the Second Amendment still be relevant?

The country that considers itself the policeman of the world is impotent when it comes to protecting its own people. The nation that is telling the world how economies should be managed is finding itself dealing with homelessness and decimated family units. Still, people call going to America and living the American way an American dream!

Some victims of the recent Texas shooting. Too young to die.

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Beware what you catch!

I can hear her words still reverberating in my ears like she said it yesterday. To catch a  big fish, always put a small fry on the hook. All through my childhood, this is the mantra that Amma preached upon us. She was unapologetic about her views about the nuns in the convent school that my sisters went to. Even though she was the one who insisted that my sisters should go to a missionary school, she was always sceptical about their true intentions. She told my sisters to learn what the teachers taught but not what the nuns preached. She was clear about that. In her mind, the school gave good education, for the other stuff, thank you very much.

Whenever someone offers you a handout, be wary. Amma would always remind us that there is no such thing as a free lunch. Everything carries a piece of baggage. In simple terms, we grew up distrusting altruistic intention, minding only for ourselves. Maybe, these teachings helped us to pull ourselves by our bootstraps to greater heights.

As we matured and our inner eyes opened, we thought maybe the human race survive all this while because of our altruistic acts, not just each individual's zest to survive. The strong had to hold out a helping hand to guide the weak. For that, we have charity bodies, NGOs and religious institutions.  

All that Amma had said came echoing back to me after so many decades when Bill Gates, the once-richest man in the world, announced that he was donating half of his property to charity and was sacrificing his life and soul in solving Africa's food and health problems once and all.  

Soon enough, the truth was revealed. At the heights of the Wuhan virus pandemic and the desperate dearth of vaccines in everybody mind, someone suggested that the patency for vaccines should be lifted. It was thought more vaccine makers can increase production to make it available to the masses, the rich and poor alike. But, much to everybody's surprise, Mr Gates opposed the idea citing fear of a drop in the quality of vaccines produced. In my eyes, it sounds like a drop in income rather than quality control.

Even closer to home, our leaders are not at all interested in getting all its citizens vaccinated. The tussle is not in procuring vaccines, but which brand to use, whose proxy companies would get the lion's share of the bargain and what is it for them. Nobody is bothered about the lay people's welfare. Even individual states which procure vaccines via donations are restricted from using, citing licencing and legal mumbo jumbo as the issue. Again, the bottom line is ringgits and sens. If their intentions are so clear, are they worried? No, they are so thick-skinned that nothing can hurt them. Come next election, they would create another ruckus to garner sympathy votes.

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Just do it, whatever!

In the late 1970s, as my future laid bare before me, I found no time in anything but my books. I looked at watching movies as three hours of wasted time that could otherwise be spent on something more worthwhile, so I thought. At that age, everything was either black or white, factual and goal orientated. Watching the then Tamil movie which showcased hirsute stars in unkempt hair and their un-touched up face narrating mind-stupefying cheesy village stories was a turn-off. Its songs, despite be blared incessantly by my neighbours on their music devices, were just white noise. 

Actually, it was an annoyance, as something I had to run away from to find solace at the quiet corner of the cemetery or empty classroom in the school to jam-pack precious information into my grey cells. That was the time when SP Bala and Illayaraja were churning out hits after hit that just passed me by. Occasionally a song or two would come to my attention clamouring from my father rickety radio. I did not, however, give any two hoods to it till now. Deep within me, I thought they were doing just what I wanted to do; to find a footing in life, for fame and fortune and to leave our mark in the society.

S P Balasubramanyam

The recent passing of the legendary playback singer S P Balasubramanyam, and through all the postings dedicated to him, highlighted his groundbreaking feats. Having sung 40,000 songs in 16 languages must be an achievement by any standards. Many musical analysts have dissected his exploits and his collaborations with music directors to bring to the fore many of the efforts in exploring new frontiers in music-making, music compositions and voice modulations. And everyone is impressed.

                                                       

SPB was quite popular lending his voice to movie-stars as they belted their love and emotional messages in melodious tunes to plicate what could not be expressed in dialogues. And they had everlasting impressions on the minds of its audience. Sometimes the story is forgotten but not the songs.

Every single thing that we do it in life is a revolution in the making. A little experimentation here and a little pushing the borders there are all bold moves to make the frontier further. We think what we do is a mere waste of time; not going to have any effect on the evolution of mankind. Maybe not, but a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.

We do what we think is right. Let history decide its appropriateness. Generally, people are kind to the deceased.

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One life, a hundred desires!

Hindi Medium (2017)

The apparent difference in outlook in spirituality between the Western and Eastern philosophy is quite visible. The former revolves around its fixation on following preset rules to appease the Maker. In the case of the latter, it appears to be more like an eternal quest. It is a lifelong journey to hunt for the secrets of the Universe. The whole teachings in the Vedanta, Buddhism, Confucianism and the Tao scriptures are towards this end.

In simple terms, Eastern cultures are seekers of knowledge. Sometimes, this also became their own undoing. When the Western cultures first hit the Indian shores, the natives slowly neglected their age-old wisdom. They plunged head-long into their newfound obsession of acquiring erudition from the visitors, only to be led astray.

This hunger for knowledge has not been quenched after all these years. The world over, Asians, armed with their right discipline and dedication, are slowly but surely making their presence felt once again. In academic, artistic and scientific fields, they are redeeming their rightful places.

The movie, 'Hindi Medium' and its spiritual successor, 'Angrezi Medium' (English Medium) are evidence of the length Indian parents would go to ensure that their offspring will get a sound education.

In 'Hindi Medium', a nouveau riche couple move into posh housing estate to register their young daughter in a prestigious grammar school. When the daughter failed to make it into the school register, the parents realise that they could still qualify under the quota set aside for the underprivileged students. They move into the most impoverished side of the town masquerading as the urban poor. The unpleasant living conditions, the dodging from the school inspector and the overprotective nature of their neighbours form the basis of this comedic, yet thought-provoking presentation.
'Angrezi Medium' (2020) is Irrfan Khan's swansong. Here, he is a single parent of a bright teenage girl. Not wanting to repeat the same mistake of clipping his deceased wife's desire to study, he yearns for his daughter to win the scholarship to study in the UK. Khan also has a nagging legal battle with his family members over his small-time Indian sweets business. The court case goes against his favour. His bad luck, the presiding judge happened to be the husband of the principal of his daughter's school. The daughter's scholarship gets cancelled when Khan verbally abused the judge in a school function. The rest of the story is how Khan, against all the odds, although some of them are unbelievable, still manages to get his daughter enrolled in a university in the UK. 

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Not quite a flight by night!

The House of the Rising Tikam.
A ruin of many a poor boy.

It was 1972, and we were excited to be back in school. Unlike the previous years, our Standard Three class was in the afternoon session. But like the year before that, we also had a fierce-looking master as our class teacher. It was just the second day into the schooling year. Formal teaching had not started, and everyone was so excited about seeing each other after the long end-of-year break.

As in the previous year too, OBK seems to be the most popular student in the class. Like ants to sugar, everyone was pulled to his table between lessons. The loud conversations and the exclamatory remarks naturally drew me to OBK's corner. I was wondering what tall story was he up to this time.

There he was, collecting coins and returning the balance. Naturally, I was drawn in, curious in wanting to know what all that money translation was about. In between pocketing the money and answering to his 'clients', OBK briefly explained his proposal. He was to issue a piece of paper bearing his name and a promise. If one were to keep that paper till the beginning of the next school year, he could claim his dues. A piece worth 10 cents and would be worth 30 the following year. Wow, 200% returns!

His offer was being snapped up like hotcakes. The proposal appeared too simple. Just by tucking a piece of paper into my wallet and leaving it to rot would earn money. That sounded like a good deal. I paid my 10 cents and patted myself for being smart.

Time flew. Standard Three passed us by. Mr Beh, our class-master, proved to be a tyrant after all. He thought he was imparting wisdom to his students with his secret weapon of pinching the inner thigh, pulling the side-burns and public stripping of students. 

1973 came without much hoopla. I was excited thinking of the thirty cents that I was due to get, counting all the days for school to start. 

All the remunerations' joy came down to zilch when all of us arrived at school on that day. OBK was no more to be found. Maybe he may come the next day, we thought. Nothing. And the next day. And the next day. He had apparently changed school, away to another state. That was it. The promise of a 'windfall', by our own standards, came tumbling down. 

To this day, we were left wondering. Did he plan such an elaborate plan knowing quite well that he and his family were moving? Was it just a scam to get quick cash to finance whatever he was up to? 

Anyway, an experience like this in School of Hard Knocks built our mantle in dealing with the challenges in life as we eased ourselves into adulthood. Parents never knew about it. We just let it be and moved on with life. Smarter!

Come to think of it, Jho Low's modus operandi smells much like OBK's - promise the moons and the stars to clients whilst JL and MO1 have a whale of a time.

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

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First east of Suez!

Malaya had it better. Not that we were not colonised but because our colonial masters were much kinder than some that over neighbours got. Look at the Indochinese countries and the mess the French left behind. Their masters not only pilfered the region of its wealth but try to erase their advanced ancient culture. The Dutch left a bad aftertaste even long after their long departure. Belgians used their subjects as target practice to milk their dry of their diamonds, minerals, natural resources and even exotic fauna. Even the Land of the Free, the Thais, did not gain so much of order in their country. Elsewhere, the Spanish wiped out a civilisation with their carnage and smallpox.

Malaya was left by the captors a proper system of administration, legal and education systems when they finally gain independence. With this head start, they started their status as a new country with an advantageous jump-start. The euphoria of the new nation pushed it great heights producing new talents from the clan of natives.

The same thing happened in the field of education. We have Penang Free School, St Xavier's Institution, Andersons, Victoria Institution, St Paul's, St Francis Institute and many more. The products of these schools had served this country well all this while. Unfortunately, many turns of events after people of a particular vision of how our nation should be heading, took the helm, these godowns of knowledge have turned into just another certificate stomping factories churning out half-baked scholars dearth of scholastic and charismatic prowesses! They have become just another statistic in the list of schools providing basic literacy to the nation.

No doubt the upper crust of echelon are there yearning to serve the motherland, but like a stepchild, they are discriminated. Hence what do they become? They only provide a reservoir for the rest of the world with their level-headed leader to pinch our boys, give citizenship, to tie them down and prosper. 

This is the impression I got when I had the chance to meet many of my long lost school mates over the weekend in my alma mater's celebration of its 200th year of establishment. Many of classmates have been engulfed by the red dot at the southern tip of our country. Others have looked and moved westwards. It appears like this country has to make do with discards and half-boiled visions. Reaching excellence is nowhere on our agenda.

How one Malaysian school became a bright spot in colonialism’s dark legacy

http://m.scmp.com/comment/insight-opinion/article/2038580/how-one-malaysian-school-became-bright-spot-colonialisms

N. Balakrishnan celebrates the founding two centuries ago of Southeast Asia’s oldest English school, which gave generations of youth an education not just of the mind, but also of the heart. 

N. BALAKRISHNAN

PUBLISHED : Thursday, 20 October, 2016, 12:39pm

UPDATED : Thursday, 20 October, 2016, 12:39pm

The Penang Free School. Minority voices have been saying that the old school was a colonial relic best forgotten.
But while the school may have been “elitist” in one sense, it was also an avenue for social mobility for many.

Neither of my parents knew any English. The reason I can write passable English is down to the schools I attended in Penang, Malaysia. Penang Free School, my secondary school, celebrates its 200th anniversary on October 21. It was established three years before modern Singapore was “founded” by Stamford Raffles, and is the oldest English school in Southeast Asia.

The school’s storied history reminds me of the Janus-faced nature of British colonialism in this part of the world. One article of faith since my youngest days has been that colonialism is an evil system. Today, however, I realise colonialism has its merits; it moulded me and many generations in Malaysia in more ways, both positive and negative, than we would like to admit.

The founder of Penang Free School, English clergyman Robert Sparke Hutchings, who died of malaria in his 40s in Penang, proved that not all who worked for the East India Company were exploiters. He seemed a farsighted man, who wanted to ensure the school was free of religious control.

Malaysia’s first prime minister Tunku Abdul Rahman, and the nation’s best known actor P. Ramlee, were educated there, along with many academics and Dr Wu Lien Teh, the physician who was instrumental in fighting the plague in China by recommending the cremation of victims, a revolutionary idea at that time.

Minority voices have been saying that the old school was a colonial relic best forgotten. But while the school may have been “elitist” in one sense, it was also an avenue for social mobility for many. It also taught us the quaint notion that duty and team spirit are more important than “winner takes all” individualism. As one classmate and good friend said, the school was built to produce the self-sacrificing civil servants needed to keep the empire going, except that the empire it was meant to serve collapsed but the school kept churning out students with character anyway.

The result is that Free School boys, particularly the Chinese and Indian Malaysians among them, can be found scattered around the world, since opportunities became narrow in the modern Malaysia of ethnic preferences.

Both Abdul Rahman and P. Ramlee died poor. I cannot think of any Malaysian prime minister or famous actor today who will die in anything but extreme luxury. The values taught by the school may seem absurd in contemporary Malaysia. But looking at the greed and selfishness that is not only prevalent but admired today, I think maybe Reverend Hutchings should be seen as an inspiration. On October 21, for the first time in my life, I will be sincerely toasting the merits of colonialism.

N. Balakrishnan is a Hong Kong-based businessman.