An attempt at British glory?

One of the many books I bought during the 'Big Bad Wolf' warehouse sale includes Jeffrey Archer's Path of Glory. Being the nationalistic British leader he is, he decided to claim his British mark on the alleged achievement his countryman on the the highest peak on planet Earth, Mount Everest.
A little bit of background for the uninitiated, Jeffrey Archer is an English politician and author who did time for his wrongful involvement with the law and money issues. Good for him and us that he stuck on his daytime jobs. And writes well he does.
I bought this copy off the shelf during the Big Bad Wolf warehouse sales, not because I was dying to read this book but rather because it was going cheap and had heard that he was a prolific writer but never had the chance to read his books.
I thought to myself that it must slow paced and draggy as most books on drama-in-real-life are, furthermore it was set at the early of the 20th century. How wrong I was! It turned out to be all the things I did not expect it be. It can be said to be one of the books that you buy at the airport and finish reading before you board the flight. It is that engaging and fast paced.
The Englishman is trying to relive the nostalgic good old days when they were king and ruled the world at the name of their country.
George Mallory, son of a pastor, fearless even as a child, makes a grand entrance to an interview at Cambridge by scaling the wall as he was late and the intervi ewer, morbidly particular about punctuality, had locked the entrance. His passion for climbing found its place when he was indicted into the mountaineering club.
A history teacher by profession, married to a socialite's daughter with a fat bank account, he continued his passion. Even though exempted by law, he enlisted himself to serve his country during World War I. His tour of duty to an end when a bullet grazed his foot. Reading through the alleged conversations that took place between soldiers, we come to know that the abbreviations to the word 'Fornication Under the Consent of the King' is not a recent invention. Soldier in World War I were using the catch phrase to emphasis their dismay at the progression of war and the Germans.
His calling to scale higher heights was met when his circle of friends in higher places suggested him on an expedition to tame Mother Chomolungma, the guardian of Mount Everest, 29000 ft above sea level.
His first visit to India described aptly the behaviors of subservient Indians who would literally prostrate in front of their colonial masters for some crumbs. Paying peanuts, they still managed with climb in style with mammoth supplies, donkeys and Sherpa at their disposal (as if the whitemen knew best)- they still managed to have a lavish outing with English tea and all. The locals respected the sanctity of the mountains and did not want to disturb her guardian Goddess .
Unfortunately, Chomolungma decided not to take it lying down. She decided to manifest her displeasure by ticking an avalanche. This took away the living daylights of the zest of our hero's desire to conquer Everest at least for sometime and also the lives of some climbers including George's favourite and skilful Sherpa assistant.
The author brought in some interesting characters including a conceited Australian, Finch, a  fellow member of the first expedition but fell in dispute after his ungentlemanly conduct with the wife of the Governor General of India, his advocacy on usage of oxygen and that the mere fact that he was Australian, not British! Due to politics of this nature, Finch was voted out of the second expedition in spite of his climbing skills. During his trips (WWI, American and Everest trips), George had faithfully written romantic letters to his wife without fail.
Returning home, George found himself jobless but a timely shot in the arm was a job offer to narrate his Herculean endeavor to an audience in the US.
Americans here are described an uncouthed enterprising mavericks devoid of the gentlemanly traits of the Englishmen despite their almost common mother tongue! After a lukewarm reception which drew little money for his sponsors, the Royal Geographical Society, he returned home. Even the ladies are painted in a bad light. George, being true to his one love, scaled down a building to escape the advances of a philanthropic widow and her dangling carrot of a fat cheque with lure of sexual services!

Final ascent: George Mallory (L) and Andrew Irvine (R) preparing to leave their camp on the north col, 1924. Photograph: AP/John Noel Collection.

Final ascent: George Mallory (L) and Andrew
Irvine (R) preparing to leave their camp on
the north col, 1924. Photograph: AP/John
Noel Collection.

It was during this trip that George Mallory is famously quoted as having replied to the question "Why do you want to climb Mount Everest?" with the retort "Because it's there", which has been called "the most famous three words in mountaineering"!
The lure back to the mountains was rekindled after a big contribution from the proceeds of a movie based on their early expedition. In spite of George's insistence of Finch to be included in the second attempt at Everest, the team had to go with George as the leader after royal interference!
The novel is supposed to be based on a real events. The catch phrase is based on, not the real quotation of a journal, masala must have been spiced up along the way to make it sell-able or like the people in media would say 'sexed up'!

George H.L. Mallory

(June 18, 1886 – June 9, 1924)

It had to be to boost the British pride and joy. The book ends with George Mallory and Andrew Irvine scaling down the treacherous slopes of the range. The rest of the team who saw them scaling up Everest failed to spot them leaving with the million pound question -did they make it to the top?
Like a suitable ending to this saga, after the funeral (without a body), George's widow receives another mushy love letter sent before the last ascent! And the epilogue ends with George Leigh Mallory II (his grandson) placing a photo of his grandparents on the summit of Everest in 1995.....

N.B. In real life, however, his quest for the summit unanswered. His body was found in 1999. In his wallet, his wife's photograph was missing meaning that he could have left it in the summit. Oxygen cylinders indicated partial usage (used during ascent) and goggles were in the pocket as their descent were made after sunset. The camera which may hold the secret of their endeavour is sadly missing. If he and Irvine did reach the summit, they would have preceded Edmund Hillary and Tensing Norgay by a good 29 years. Whether Mallory et al will ultimately be proven to have reached the top or not, the team certainly are to be commended for had climbed to an altitude of at least 28,000 feet in 1924 with clothing and equipment far inferior to what is available today – a remarkable feat.

from http://malloryexpedition.com/george.htm

Images of the Everest expedition of 1922 (Everest Base Camp). From the Hidden Histories of Exploration exhibition at the Royal Geographical Society

Images of the Everest expedition of 1922 (Everest Base Camp). From

the Hidden Histories of Exploration exhibition at the Royal Geographical Society  

Going down south...

We are going on a summer holiday, no more work for a week or two... 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jmj5Yz0PvY

That must have how we felt when we were decided to go down south from Penang to Seremban to visit Mama. Probably not the adults, i.e. Appa and Amma, who were more worried about the dollars (it was still known as Malaysian dollars, not Ringgit Malaysia) and cents (not sen).

My most vivid recollection of my trips down south with my family are the first trip (circa 1973-74) to Seremban and Malacca and the family trip to Kuala Lumpur in 1977.Each trip had its own talking points and adventures to boast about. Thankfully, there were no misadventures. The second trip was essentially a mission to locate a Mrs Booram Shariff (a.k.a. Saroja Devi s/o. S.M.Muthu)!
The unique thing about the 73-74 trip that makes it memorable and different from travels usually done is that the whole family actually travelled in a lorry from Penang to Kuala Lumpur! As it costs the family (2 adults and 3 children) more than $50 one way train ticket to KL, my family decided to jump on a New Strait Times lorry that travelled empty to KL after transporting newspapers to Penang. This was before the printing plant at Perai was operational. Anyway, the driver only took $15 for his kind deed. Of course, it was illegal as the lorries were only meant for transportation of own goods, not passengers! (RTD 'C' type licence).
 If you think that sitting in a KTM mail train is torture, with its constant wobbling and bone shaking, you have not seen anything yet. Travelling in one of these lorries is a million times worse. No thanks to the poor maintenance and cheap shock absorbers!
We were all ashamed to have travelled in such transportation that we made a solemn pledge amongst the family members (especially the younger ones) not to let the cat out of the bag and inadvertently blurt it out to our relatives down south!
We finally reached our destination in one piece. On our way back, Mama was sending us back to KL in his Volvo 121. As luck had it, we happened to be trailing a NST lorry and Sheila excitedly blurted, "Hey, there is the paper lorry!" All of us were caught with our pants down. After a few hard stares, the topic was quashed immediately, The trip back by train as the NST lorries from KL were stacked to the brim with newspapers.
The second trip was a fact finding mercy mission, much like the unmanned robotic space mission to Venus! From Amma's correspondence with Mama, it came to her knowledge that her long lost sister Saroja Devi - no, not the Saroja Devi, MGR's constant companion in his 1960s feel good politically motivated movies - was well and running around the kampung roads of Kampong Baru in Kuala Lumpur!
In 1976, the Shams were affluent enough to purchase a second hand 1966 Austin Mini 850. Naturally, a trip down south was inevitable after persistent and consistent insistence of Amma. Armed with road maps, automatic camera that Amma purchased on her trip to Singapore with her friends and home cooked nasi lemak (to ease on the budget to relieve unnecessary wastage on buying meals), we set out on our mission during the school holidays of December 1977. Reminiscing the journey which involved threading through the wavy road of the old North South federal road, listening to reruns of songs from the cartridge playing car radio, it is indeed a nostalgic trip into my adolescence. I remember the songs 'Renge Enge Sheela' (Hindi) which Sheila hated, KJ Jesudas' songs,TMS' songs [esp. Manithan maari vitaan, maraatil erivitaan (not marathil erivitaan)] and Moonram Mudichi songs.

    

After what seemed like eternity, the faithful BP6162 finally took us to Kepong. Our contact in Kepong was Mr Narasimman, our old tenant in Brown Garden. Wow! This is sounding like a war-espionage novel. Using Kepong as our base, we ventured into the concrete jungle of KL in search of Booram Shariff of in the squatter area of Kampong Baru. After many dead ends and run-arounds, we finally located her after almost throwing in the towel.
After the emotional tearing and hugging and chit-chatting of the old times, Mr Booram Shariff finally arrived late that night after fulfilling a long day job of a bread vendor. He was a nice guy after all but a bit hard of hearing. He asked me what my name was to which I replied that it was ‘Asokan’. He excitedly blurted, “Hah? Hassan Gani?” It was a talking point among our family members for quite a while. Amma reiterated the importance of speaking clearly and succinctly.
He single handedly cooked us a mouth-watering meal of chicken curry after slaughtering his chicken cooped just below his Malay-styled stilted house. Whilst engaged in a conversation with my parents, he de-feathered and sliced the meat right in front of us using a single bowl of water! You will appreciate the value of water when you depend on wells for water.

All good things must come to an end. The trip ended the following day. As we bid our farewells and was about to leave, good old BP6162 refused to start. Everybody in the kampong was there to witness the ‘event’ and give their two cents worth of opinion on automobile maintenance, however, contributing little to our desperate situation. Alas, out of the blues appeared a young gentleman who started fiddling a few knobs and managed to start the engine in no time, much our relief. We all had a good exposure to kampong brand of hospitality. We thanked him incessantly in Malay and gave him a small token to which he politely refused and wished us a safe journey home in fluent Tamil! And all the while we thought that he was a Malay chap. Now, that is the new Malaysia to you. He was a Chindian (of Sino-Indo parentage). The return was marred by heavy thunderstorm and extremely poor visibility on the roads. This was worsened by our late start, as it was night by the time we passed Ipoh. We had a near miss situation somewhere before Taiping when the car swerved uncontrollably due to poor road conditions and just missed plunging into a ravine! Our prayers were finally answered when we all reached the safe arms of RRF way past midnight, shaken, stirred and exhausted but thankfully in one piece.

Another trip worth mentioning, even though it is not a family trip, is my trip with Sheila (I was 13 years) on the then (1976) newly launched ‘Ekspres Rakyat’ trains that travelled from Butterworth to Singapore in 12 hours. We were left to travel on our own as part of training on being independent. The train left promptly at 8.30am as per schedule and was supposed to reach Seremban at 4.15pm. The seats were numbered and my classmate Tan Hock Hin (now a dentist in JB) was in the same coach. His father was amazed at seeing us travel alone.
The journey proceeded smoothly till Ipoh. After that the whole plan went into disarray. We had to disembark, travel via bus to Kampar and continue the rest of the journey to KL on a local train all on own with me leading my sister by hand. After another train change in KL, we finally reached Seremban station at about 8.15pm – 4 hours late – much to the relief of Mama and Atteh.
KTM, with its lethargic, lacksadical staff with their pre-colonial mentality has not changed much since those days. Even though they have had many cosmetic changes with the introduction of Komuter services and double tracking system, it is just the same old clowns donning a new outfit doing the same outdated tricks to which we can laugh at, not laugh with! Shobha has also a bone to pick with KTM. During one of her night mail train trip when she was in varsity, her train was derailed and she and the other victims had to walk aimlessly in the pitch darkness of Malaysian wilderness along the railway track till they saw an illuminating light from a passing car on a road near the track.