The other side of HIS-story!

My Side of History (@Chin Peng; 2003)

A few years ago when Chin Peng's application to return to Malaysia appeared in the local newspapers, I remember discussing with a close friend about the subject. Being a learnt chap who was fair and aged as he was, I was taken aback by his reaction. Hailing from the district of Tanjung Malim, an area listed as a red light for communists activities, he was quite emotional that Chin Peng should not be allowed back at any cost. He had first hand experience of experiencing the violence and atrocities at the hands of people who looked at communism as the saviour of our nation to escape colonisation of their European masters.
Now, the question is whether CP was a liberator or a CT (communist terrorist). The question is who decides which, is it the victors of ideology or the historians. The fall of communism just convinced the victors that they were right all along. As in all human endeavours, the fallen would always be suppressed by the strong and mighty. Like they say, when caught in a strong current, always hold on to the strong roots by the bank of the river not the dangling branches.

A War Hero

From our childhood, we had been inundated with the idea that communism is some kind of evil teaching that is out to pulverise all kind of successes and liberty that mankind had attained since the time of Adam and Eve. So when I saw it this book at the local shelf in 2009, I grabbed a copy but only got to read it of late.
Sometimes ignorance is bliss. Too much information can sometimes lead to more questions and confusions. This is what happened to a young Ong Boon Hua (a.k.a. Chin Peng), a veracious reader. At time when the feudal system was meeting its coup de grâce through much human suffering and rising of the workers' class, elitists and intellectuals tried to stir human emotions on equality and humanity. These ideas fascinated many young minds of the mid thirties in the hope of creating an utopia on Earth.
The 1937 Rape of Nanking by the Japanese soldiers left a deep scar on many Chinese all over the world including the first generation migrants. It was only natural that when the Japanese reached our shores in early 40sduring WW2, the Chinese here took up arms against their Eastern intruders. WW2, in a way, woke Malayans from their slumber of nationalistic apathy. The people were also divided into two factions; one who went underground to resist the invaders from the Land of the Rising Sun (MPAJA) and the other who were cooperative and gained from the cycling Hirakiri advocating invaders.

Public Enemy No. 1

The bumbling British tried to make a comeback with help of the underground army. This cooperation between Force 136 and MPAJA later won many praises when the war was over. The Communist Party which was hoping to liberate Malaya from their colonial masters were taken for a ride. The newer batch of English officers were gung ho and set to reap maximum benefits for their motherland which was in dire straits after the war.
On the Malayan side, poverty was the order of the day. All the three years hard earned savings through the war years came to naught when the returning masters deemed the banana currency non legal tender. The new changes in the British administration and the economy malaise added by hungry mouths became fertile ground for fascination with socialistic and communistic ideologies. These ideologies infiltrated trade unions.
After the war, many MPAJA soldiers were decorated. Chin Peng himself was conferred 2 honorary medals and OBE. Ironically, less than two years later, he became Public Enemy No. 1 with a price on his head!
Post World War 2 era marked the begin of the Cold War and both divides were not giving their territories to the other side so easily, hence the change of heart.
The frustrated guerrillas took matters to their own hands. With the dearth of communication means, the leaders of CPM never could hold a tight rein on their subordinates. On top of that all, it was rife with internal problems. Its early leader, Lai Te, turned out to be a turncoat who sold his comrades to the Japanese and also to the British! He later absconded with a princely sum of money.
Interestingly, CPM received support from sympathetic Malayans and through capitalistic means!
Subsequent shrewd planning and propaganda use of the media on the part of the British crippled CPM.
The crimes of the communists were highlighted making it justified in the public eyes for them to be labelled as 'terrorist'. On the other hand, nefarious acts by the armed forces were muffled. A picture of a British soldier holding 2 'trophy' heads of Chinese communists made it way to the Daily Mail in the UK. It earned a bad reputation for the Brits. The authorities justified their action by the need of identification and census. They argued that they did not have to follow the international set of rules of treating captives as the Emergency period (1948-1960) was not a war! Then there is the Batang Kali massacre where the accusing fingers still point to the English.
This book gives a deep insight into the happenings during the 1955 Baling talk like never seen before in any history textbook. Chin Peng and his men, by then weary of the jungle, wanted to come into the mainstream. They wanted recognition as an entity which fought for the nation and be allowed to operate as a political party. David Marshall, a roaring lawyer from Singapore with his own political ambitions, is seen here a loud steamrolling one sided negotiator who wrecked the peace talk. Tan Cheng Lock, is painted as a true capitalist who seem more interested in loss of business opportunities and monetary wastage rather than liberty and social justice. Political wrangling by the powers of the day forced them to go underground again.
Once again, as world reeled from the post war slump and economy was booming, communist sympathy dwindled. At the end of the day, it is money that talks - a hungry stomach raises the sickle but when hunger is fulfilled, he yearns for peace.
In its early days, CPM seem like a groping organization with no recognition from its well established peers like in Australia and India. It was not even invited for the Communist World Summit in 1960. The Australian delegate who was passing through filled in on the details and suggested the idea of killing strike breakers and traitors.
The damage of public property was supposed to hurt the colonial masters. The first brutal killing of a British planter in Sungai Siput over wage dispute herald the beginning of the Emergency period. Renegade members of CPM killed here and there without the blessings of the Central Committee, allegedly. The assassination of Sir Henry Gurney was apparently a wild shot, unplanned. Guerrillas who wanted food and money hijacked a VIP car by chance. Sir Gurney happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Grinning Royal Marine with his "trophies".

Briggs' plan of creating new villages overnight by forcibly mass transporting villagers unannounced and rationing their food supply may appear inhumane but it helped to fade the sympathy of the Malayan people. This, with the euphoria of a new independent nation and burgeoning prices of raw material in the world market sent the revolutionary ideas further back into the back burner.
A disappointed Chin Peng went into exile in the background, He was a guest of Thailand, Vietnam and China. He received financial support for China and telecommunication aid to transmit communist ideas to Malaysia.
Chin Peng's love affair with communism met more resistance as the days went by. Malaysia started diplomatic relationship with China. CPM in turn had to comply with certain requests made by Malaysia via China. Difference in thinking amongst the Soviet, the Chinese and true Marxists created various factions within CPM with many backstabbing with money as the primary gain. The tired old man called truce in the 80s with the then Inspector General of Police but failed to make it even as to the motherland that he fought for. Ironically, his last breath was on the day sanctioned as Malaysia Day, 16th September 2013 at the age of 88.

The Boy who cried wolf!

The Window (1949)
Another obscure film noir from the past. This time, it involves a child, a precocious child actor, Bobby Driscoll, who grew too big for his shoes too fast that he subsequently died a nobody by the street at the age of 31.
Normally, I do not really fancy child actors who are too smart alecs as it is reminded me of how Amma used to admonish us for not being assertive on our speech.
This film tells of a tween boy who is always full of tall stories that when he tells his parents that their seemingly nice neighbours actually killed a man, none of them believes this boy who cried wolf.
Of course, it is all true. Even the killers did not realise that their nefarious act had a witness. This blabber mouth boys acts of informing the police just made him a target for the killers to seal his fate.
On a fateful night when the father is out on night shift and mother is out of town to visit an ailing uncle, the killers have their chance. The boy's endeavour in dodging his assailants in a disused building forms the crux of the climax of the movie. Scenes which would normally frowned upon in today's standards made it here - like the hero dangling by the spike of the window and he jumping off three storeys to a mat.
At the time of release of this film, the concept of child witnessing a crime, being ridiculed and finally proving tp be true must have been new. This theme of story must have repeated again and again in many Disney. Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew shows!
Another interesting thing notable watching these classics are the evolution of how we lead our lives. In this movie, the children are wondering about at their free own will enjoying their childhood and learning as they go on. Adults, here, appear so hard working especially in the post WW2 era. The wife is so happy cooking, serving and appearing trim and proper. Drying clothes in the neighbourhood is on the clothes line hanging across buildings. Guess these buildings in New York would not be too friendly to their neighbourhood watchman, Spiderman!

Off beat theatrics

Rumble Fish (1983)
Director: Francis Ford Cappola
You can see many familiar faces in this 1983 film set in noir black and white setting. There is a theatrical feel to the movie that you feel like you are watching 'Westside Story' all over again, but of course, this is not a musical. Matt Dillon acts a troubled teenager, Mickey Rouke is a famed gangster and his brother. Others in the cast include the ever broody Nicholas Cage (also broody here) and Diane Lane.
Even though the theme of this flick is gangs and troubled teenagers, it also dwells into the subject of broken family, drunken father and brush with the law.
Rusty James (Matt Dillon) is high school delinquent who does everything but study. He fancies a school girl but is not strong enough to be faithful to her. And there is the drinking binge and the fights...
One day, he gets involved a gang fight only to be saved by his long lost brother, Motorcycle Boy (Mickey Rourke), one who is getting a particular cop hot under his collar due to his bad reputation.
Rusty survives the duel and builds bonding time his brother and both spend time with his drunk father. Their mother had left them and was happy with a new partner in Hollywood.
In the final scene, both brother break into a pet shop. They had earlier had a row with the owner of the shop when they were admiring some fighting fish (they call rumble fish, the title). Motorcycle Boy is shot dead when he tries to release the rumble fishes into the river. And Rusty James continues his brother's wish to reach the West Coast of USA. End.

This film did not really strike as a ground shattering effort but it is interesting, though, to watch these young stars at the infancy (more of adolescence) of their careers. The interesting part of the flick is when only coloured part of the frame is the fighting fish! 

A devilish comedy

The Devil's Eye (Djävulens öga, Swedish; 1960)
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Another one of  Ingmar Bergman's dry comedy where the audience is not expected to laugh his belly out. It is again a jibe at religion, his favorite topic, this time at Heaven and particularly Hell. It is presented in a play format with three acts and an epilogue.
Satan has a stye on his right eye and it could only be one thing. The vicar's daughter is to marry as a virgin.So Satan sends Don Juan, the master fornicator on a mission to seduce the 20 year old girl. In return, Don Juan's term in Hell would be reduced by 300 years!
Don has 24 hours to complete his mission and arrives on Earth with his faithful butler, Pablo.
After gaining entry to the Vicar's household after building a rapport after a staged car breakdown. Pablo, deprived by the pleasures of the flesh for so many years falls head over heels over the ailing and sexually neglected Vicar's wife.
The Vicar's daughter, Marie, is all smitten by her husband-to-be and is quite confident of her love that she flirts with Don.

Satan with a stye

By the turn of night, the Vicar's home goes into shambles - the wife is bedded by Pablo. Using the Vicar's earlier said promise that he would love her no matter what, she continues her life with her husband as a good wife in spite of the one time infidelity.
Marie mellows down to feel for Don but Don become a helpless romantic! He returns to Hell with  failed mission to deflower the maiden. Satan is furious but his stye is cured later when Marie lies to her husband!
A film with many punches against the institution of marriage. To quote: There is one which the reason Hell exists and it is due to marriage.

What maketh a human?

So it is yet another run, my personal competitive run #35 since I took the plunge into my first run in 2009. This time around it is the Adidas King of the Road 16.8km run, third time running. As  I was running along the mammoth monolithic man-made structures amidst the mixed affluent and the not so affluent part of the suburbia, I realized that nothing about the race had changed. The wannabe runners with their 'gaya muthusamy' way of branded dressing and gizmos filled to the brim, heart monitors, sweat head band, logo flashing florescent compression suits, Gel Kinsei (the Bentley of the running shoes) etcetera, etcetera. Even the loud mouthed hooligans with nonsensical hurls and catcalls at the the 15km mark were there this time around. Only this time around, they had gotten their stereophonic bass beating high trebled high fidelity systems to complement their rowdy act!

Also in saree

So there was nothing new, it was just same old, same old... And as I was running and thinking what to write about the run, it came to me. Why not write about the dressing of some of the participants, I asked myself?

In saree

Some dress to flaunt, some want to flaunt but cannot due to certain social and cultural restrictions. Some flaunt anyway (because they can and they want to) whilst others modify their dressing to flaunt the law to be acceptable and to cover the restricted taboo zones.
Like they say, sarees are worn by people like Mother Theresa and sarees are worn by sex workers in the most remote area of India. What may the difference, the modesty versus the alluring inner desires? It is the composite act of carrying oneself and speech that complement the whole package, is it not?
So, I chuckle to myself and ask myself why all the effort to colour code, to enhance the contour and leave none to imagination and let it all go to waste? Just a thought whilst I continue the run....

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!

They only want your money

I heard an advertisement over the radio the other day enticing its listeners to visit their medical centre which they boast of being a forerunner in the field of preventive medicine. The ad cajoled further by by highlighting the fact that prevention is better than cure. Yeah, sounds quite novel and logical but why am I not convinced?
You want to prevent lung cancer and other respiratory ailments, refrain from inhaling those noxious tobacco and industrial fumes. Afraid of looking like Sivaji in 'Vasantha Maaligai' , jaundiced and all, drink modestly to keep liver diseases at bay. Avert life style diseases, embrace healthy styles! Sound easy and logical enough.
But why is it that I am not convinced when a business person tells me that? Why do I feel that you just want to make a sick person out of me to tell me that I have this and that? I will be more worried of a disease that I may have a condition which may not bring me down and may earn me a label. Thanks to your zillion screening procedures that you extend to a zillion healthy individuals in the hope of finding a zillionth chance picking out an abnormality which is turn would demand more test and more test until you drain me dry financially and drive me blind flabbergasted with statistically bombastic jargon and predictive values. And put me at risk of risking my life through your tests but cover your posterior by asking me to agree to it anyway, under duress, by telling me that it is a simple procedure but I may die but I still want it and I know the complications and consequences. If you do not find me a physical ailment in my apparently care free life, I may need to congratulate you of your possible success of driving me into one but of the loony bin type!
You may tell me that the frequency of my nocturnal thrust which is no concern to you but to my loved one alone is insufficient. You may show me that my urges fall in dangerously low centile of healthy living based on some obscure Sunset Boulevard kind of celluloid living and prescribe me this and that. You will say that my medications may interact with the new medication that you are about to prescribe (which I may need in the first place), and tell me that I would need a more expensive medications.