Friday, 20 March 2015

What is it like to be a leader?

Selma (2014)

This movie did not garner much publicity even though it earned many accolades to its belt probably because it is a black movie made by blacks about something close to the blacks. 
It tells about a tumultuous time in America which they have not come in terms with. The relationship between the slaves and the slave-owners which had gone through many rough patches, again and again, all through the civil war, black rights movement and even to date with the rampant cases of police racial profiling as in Ferguson incident.

In 1964, the right to vote in the southern states was made extremely difficult by the Little Napoleons of the civil service.

Without the right to vote, the blacks do not get a right to stand as jury in court, and without that, a black convict is not deemed to get a fair trial.

Martin Luther King Jr, a Nobel prize winner in 1964 for Peace, argues with President LB Johnson and Governor Wallace of Louisiana towards this end. As a political statement, people organised a peaceful march from the town of Selma to Montgomery, the capital.

A touching movie which gives a 3-dimensional feel of a leader giving him the very qualities that make him a mortal. He too has his uncertainties of what to do when his helpless followers demand from his the next course of action when the plan is derailed. As if he has all the answers! And the leaders have to take all the brickbats for all his shortcomings.

There was a scene at Selma when things were getting ugly - the marchers and the hostile patrolmen and onlookers. As if to gain guidance from the divine forces, the good reverend knelt, prayed and commanded the marchers to retread much to the chagrin of the blacks. By doing so, he had, in fact, averted much bloodshed. Interestingly, up to a third of his marchers were whites and religious leaders of different faiths.

The actor who acted in the role of MLKJr, David Oyelowo, did an excellent job of mimicking MLKJr's style of speaking so well that the speeches sounded like voice-overs. The film ends with another one of his heart-wrenchingly and neatly crafted speech.

Critics of the film complained that LBJ had been painted as a conniving two-faced racist politician who made things difficult for MLKJr. Historically, LBJ, being a Southerner, had been praised for being a champion for civil rights' movement. However, in this film, he is portrayed as a reluctant leader who partnered FBI chief Hoover, to give hell to King, his family and his followers.


Wednesday, 18 March 2015

Repeat of history?

It is strange how history plays games with man. Many seemingly unrelated events actually follow a particular pattern. We would not know as it is unfolding only to realise it in hindsight.
I noticed a few patterns of late which is actually what had happened before, many years ago...
At the turn of the 20th century, the civilised colonial masters decided to civilise the natives making them a feel that the visitors with the purest intention at heart to make their land (the natives') as developed and cultured as theirs. They brought in plants that were foreign to this land and developed them to make its produce an irreplaceable and invaluable commodity in the world market. They discovered minerals that were sitting right under their feet all these while and brought it to greater heights. When labour was scarce and was needed for these labour intensive feats, the masters told the natives not to worry. The masters assured them that the natives' importance and well being would be taken care of. They would always be number one. In the sly, starving poverty-stricken foreign labourers were brought in to break their back to spearhead the new dawn of economy.
Fast forward, the natives soon realised that the guests had taken over the realm.
Pretty soon the offspring of the guests, after being flushed with comforts that their parents had sorely missed and did not want their descendants to be deprived of, grew up in padded environment. To be a helping hand, again foreign help was employed to replace the role of their effluent elders who by then were too posh to break their backs. Droves of help flew in to fill the gap, not minding their slave like working conditions.
Of course, these productive workers at the prime of their reproduction years do not just come in with their baggage of poverty alone. With them come social responsibility and their zest to alter their downline, their fate, their escape from poverty for the rest of their descendants.
 And the cycle would continue with the second generation offspring of the workers/guests/survivors repeating the same process all over again. Each would be citing their earlier arrival, the sweat that their ancestors had toiled to uplift the status of the only land that they know as home and their demand for equal slice in the economic pie and their place in the sun...


Tuesday, 17 March 2015

Too much of a good thing

Lucy (2014)
Even though the subject matter is of something quite profound, the film, in my view, did not live up to its name.
Scarlett Johansson assumes the role of a high invincible superhuman in one bizarre situation where she trapped to be a drug mule of a cartel to carry a bag of brain stimulant named CPH4. CPH4 is supposedly produced in minute amounts by pregnant mothers to aid the growth of foetuses. So when the package in Lucy's stomach (Scarlett Johansson) starts leaking after she is punched in the tummy, the drug stimulates her brain. The pharmacological effect of brain function is narrated cleverly by Prof Samuel Norman (Morgan Freeman).
Man, over the generations, have only been using less than 10% of his brain function. CPH4 gradually increases brain power till its use reaches 100%! With increasing use, man develop telekinetic power, extreme brute force and even travels time when it reaches 100%.
This film boasts of fantastic cinematographic prowess and awe but it did not impress me as the story appeared way too wishy-washy!

Monday, 16 March 2015

Glaring bias in history book

Published: Friday March 13, 2015 MYT 12:00:00 AM

I WOULD like to draw the attention of the Education Ministry to at least five factual errors in the current Standard Five History textbook first published in 2014 (See diagram).

What disturbs me most is the glaring bias towards glorifying one particular ethnic group and religion whilst downplaying the role of the other ethnic groups and religions, a continuing trend which started in the 1990s.

Our textbooks in the 1970s and 1980s used to have separate chapters on the impact of Indian civilisation (e.g. Hinduism and its Impact on Malaysian Society, and Buddhism and its Heritage in Malaysia).

The current Standard Five History textbook sums up the influence of Hinduism and Buddhism on local society in merely one sentence on page 14.

The textbook greatly downplays the role of Yap Ah Loy (not even mentioned in the main text) in developing Kuala Lumpur.

All historians worth their salt will admit that Yap Ah Loy was primarily responsible for rebuilding Kuala Lumpur after the Selangor Civil War.

According to J. Kennedy in his book (A History of Malaya), Yap Ah Loy “... did more than anyone to establish the little township destined to become Malaya’s capital”.

Kennedy’s views are shared by other historians. Margaret Shennan writes that “Kuala Lumpur was another town created by the enterprise of the Chinese”.

In the words of J. M. Gullick, “Down to 1879, Yap Ah Loy was Mr Kuala Lumpur.”

The Chinese played a significant role in the development of the tin mining industry in Malaya.

However, this fact is downplayed on page 42 of the Standard Five History Textbook. The textbook fails to mention that tin production in Malaya increased greatly with the involvement of the Chinese and their far superior mining methods (e.g. gravel pump and open cast mining) compared to the traditional Malay dulang washing method.

It appears to highlight the conflict between the Ghee Hin and the Hai San miners (with an illustration) and how it resulted in losses for the Straits Settlement investors.

The textbook conspicuously avoids stating that the Malay chiefs themselves took sides in the conflict between these two secret societies.

It is rather unfortunate that my repeated pleas since the 1990s to the Education Ministry to publish history textbooks which provide a balanced and an objective account of the origin and development of our beloved nation have fallen on deaf ears.

Malaysia’s history should be written on the premise that our nation today is the result of numerous sacri­fices and contributions by the various ethnic groups, and not just one ethnic group. Enough is enough!

Associate Professor Dr Sivachandralingam Sundara Raja, Emeritus Professor Dr Ahmat Adam and I (with Emeritus Professor Tan Sri Dr Khoo Kay Kim as the consulting editor) have agreed to undertake a four-year project beginning 2016 to write an authoritative, objective and balanced History of Malaysia and a Pictorial History of Malaysia which would be most useful for our students.

We sincerely hope that fellow Malaysians will contribute generously towards this worthwhile and long overdue project which involves extensive research and numerous foreign trips.

DR RANJIT SINGH MALHI

Kuala Lumpur

Saturday, 14 March 2015

The uncertain journey of life..



Time warps for a young surgeon with metastatic lung cancer

In residency, there’s a saying: The days are long, but the years are short. In neurosurgical training, the day usually began a little before 6 a.m., and lasted until the operating was done, which depended, in part, on how quick you were in the OR.

Photo of Paul Kalanithi
Paul Kalanithi
Time at home. Time well spent
A resident’s surgical skill is judged by his technique and his speed. You can’t be sloppy and you can’t be slow. From your first wound closure onward, spend too much time being precise and the scrub tech will announce, “Looks like we’ve got a plastic surgeon on our hands!” Or say: “I get your strategy — by the time you finish sewing the top half of the wound, the bottom will have healed on its own. Half the work — smart!” A chief resident will advise a junior: “Learn to be fast now — you can learn to be good later.” Everyone’s eyes are always on the clock. For the patient’s sake: How long has the patient been under anesthesia? During long procedures, nerves can get damaged, muscles can break down, even causing kidney failure. For everyone else’s sake: What time are we getting out of here tonight?
There are two strategies to cutting the time short, like the tortoise and the hare. The hare moves as fast as possible, hands a blur, instruments clattering, falling to the floor; the skin slips open like a curtain, the skull flap is on the tray before the bone dust settles. But the opening might need to be expanded a centimeter here or there because it’s not optimally placed. The tortoise proceeds deliberately, with no wasted movements, measuring twice, cutting once. No step of the operation needs revisiting; everything proceeds in orderly fashion. If the hare makes too many minor missteps and has to keep adjusting, the tortoise wins. If the tortoise spends too much time planning each step, the hare wins.
The funny thing about time in the OR, whether you frenetically race or steadily proceed, is that you have no sense of it passing. If boredom is, as Heidegger argued, the awareness of time passing, this is the opposite: The intense focus makes the arms of the clock seem arbitrarily placed. Two hours can feel like a minute. Once the final stitch is placed and the wound is dressed, normal time suddenly restarts. You can almost hear an audible whoosh. Then you start wondering: How long till the patient wakes up? How long till the next case gets started? How many patients do I need to see before then? What time will I get home tonight?
It’s not until the last case finishes that you feel the length of the day, the drag in your step. Those last few administrative tasks before leaving the hospital, however far post-meridian you stood, felt like anvils. Could they wait till tomorrow? No. A sigh, and Earth continued to rotate back toward the sun.
But the years did, as promised, fly by. Six years passed in a flash, but then, heading into chief residency, I developed a classic constellation of symptoms — weight loss, fevers, night sweats, unremitting back pain, cough — indicating a diagnosis quickly confirmed: metastatic lung cancer. The gears of time ground down. While able to limp through the end of residency on treatment, I relapsed, underwent chemo and endured a prolonged hospitalization.
I emerged from the hospital weakened, with thin limbs and thinned hair. Now unable to work, I was left at home to convalesce. Getting up from a chair or lifting a glass of water took concentration and effort. If time dilates when one moves at high speeds, does it contract when one moves barely at all? It must: The day shortened considerably. A full day’s activity might be a medical appointment, or a visit from a friend. The rest of the time was rest.
With little to distinguish one day from the next, time began to feel static. In English, we use the word time in different ways, “the time is 2:45” versus “I’m going through a tough time.” Time began to feel less like the ticking clock, and more like the state of being. Languor settled in. Focused in the OR, the position of the clock’s hands might seem arbitrary, but never meaningless. Now the time of day meant nothing, the day of the week scarcely more so.
Yet there is dynamism in our house. Our daughter was born days after I was released from the hospital. Week to week, she blossoms: a first grasp, a first smile, a first laugh. Her pediatrician regularly records her growth on charts, tick marks of her progress over time.


Paul Kalanithi savors moments with his daughter, Cady.
Verb conjugation became muddled. Which was correct? “I am a neurosurgeon,” “I was a neurosurgeon,” “I had been a neurosurgeon before and will be again”? Graham Greene felt life was lived in the first 20 years and the remainder was just reflection. What tense was I living in? Had I proceeded, like a burned-out Greene character, beyond the present tense and into the past perfect? The future tense seemed vacant and, on others’ lips, jarring. I recently celebrated my 15th college reunion; it seemed rude to respond to parting promises from old friends, “We’ll see you at the 25th!” with “Probably not!”
Yet there is dynamism in our house. Our daughter was born days after I was released from the hospital. Week to week, she blossoms: a first grasp, a first smile, a first laugh. Her pediatrician regularly records her growth on charts, tick marks of her progress over time. A brightening newness surrounds her. As she sits in my lap smiling, enthralled by my tuneless singing, an incandescence lights the room.
Time for me is double-edged: Every day brings me further from the low of my last cancer relapse, but every day also brings me closer to the next cancer recurrence — and eventually, death. Perhaps later than I think, but certainly sooner than I desire. There are, I imagine, two responses to that realization. The most obvious might be an impulse to frantic activity: to “live life to its fullest,” to travel, to dine, to achieve a host of neglected ambitions. Part of the cruelty of cancer, though, is not only that it limits your time, it also limits your energy, vastly reducing the amount you can squeeze into a day. It is a tired hare who now races. But even if I had the energy, I prefer a more tortoiselike approach. I plod, I ponder, some days I simply persist.
Everyone succumbs to finitude. I suspect I am not the only one who reaches this pluperfect state. Most ambitions are either achieved or abandoned; either way, they belong to the past. The future, instead of the ladder toward the goals of life, flattens out into a perpetual present. Money, status, all the vanities the preacher of Ecclesiastes described, hold so little interest: a chasing after wind, indeed.
Yet one thing cannot be robbed of her futurity: my daughter, Cady. I hope I’ll live long enough that she has some memory of me. Words have a longevity I do not. I had thought I could leave her a series of letters — but what would they really say? I don’t know what this girl will be like when she is 15; I don’t even know if she’ll take to the nickname we’ve given her. There is perhaps only one thing to say to this infant, who is all future, overlapping briefly with me, whose life, barring the improbable, is all but past.
That message is simple: When you come to one of the many moments in life when you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man’s days with a sated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more, but rests, satisfied. In this time, right now, that is an enormous thing.
[Editor's note: Paul Kalanithi died March 9, 2015, at age 37. Here is our obituary.]



DAYS ARE LONG, YEARS ARE SHORT
Paul Kalanithi opens up about his battle with advanced lung cancer and how he is facing his mortality. Photograph by Norbert von der Groeben 
01:19
44:08

Thursday, 12 March 2015

Another world famous Malaysian

http://livesonline.rcseng.ac.uk/biogs/E005466b.htm (A write-up on the College web page)

Balasegaram, Manickavasager (1929 - 2014)

MB BS King Edward VII College 1955; FRCS 1960; FRCS Edin 1960; FRACS 1968; FICS 1968; FACS 1969; Hon FPCS 1975; FIAP 1977; FCICD 1978.
Born
15 April 1929
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
Died
5 May 2014
Occupation
General surgeon and Liver surgeon

Details

Manickavasagar Balasegaram was a pioneering surgeon in Malaysia, who gained prominence for his anatomical studies of the liver and for his development of the 'Balasegaram clamp'. 'Bala' or 'Prof', as he was known, was renowned for taking on complex surgeries that few others did in the region. He was also highly respected as a teacher and mentor.
He was born on 15 April 1929 in colonial Malaya, the son of poor Ceylonese migrants. He had an unsettled childhood, living in boarding houses in order to go to school. At 15, after his father's arrest by the occupying Japanese Army, he had to take responsibility for his large family. He resolved early on to become a doctor. It was astonishing ambition: he had little money, influence or decent schooling (at one point he even taught himself), and in colonial Malaya Asian doctors were very rare. Yet he battled every barrier with dogged determination, won a state scholarship to study medicine at Singapore's King Edward VII College and qualified MB BS in 1955.
His surgical career began at Kuala Lumpur's General Hospital under Thomas Thornton, a towering, powerful Scotsman who was a fine craftsman in surgery. After training at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh, in 1960 he gained the FRCS from both the English and Edinburgh Royal Colleges.
As a young surgeon, he worked extremely hard. His drive and energy seemed limitless, and he had an insatiable hunger to operate. At one point, covering for a colleague away on training, he spent months sleeping a few hours a night in a hospital rest room. He would later tell his forgiving and supportive wife Jeyaletchimy: 'I have a mistress - her name is surgery and she is very demanding.' He became a consultant surgeon at the General Hospital, Kuala Lumpur, and subsequently head of the department of surgery.
He had confronted the challenge of the liver in the late 1960s in Seremban Hospital after seeing many road trauma cases die from liver injuries. Without seatbelts, drivers often suffered liver trauma when they hit their steering wheels. At that time, the anatomy of the liver was poorly understood, diagnostic procedures were limited and operating on this 'vascular sponge' risked uncontrollable bleeding. To study the liver's blood network, Bala injected coloured rubber latex into cadaveric livers: red latex revealed the intricate arterial system, blue the venous system and green the biliary network. He began liver resection, a procedure probably never done before in the country. It proved to be a marked improvement over the then standard procedure of packing gauze around the injury.
At that time, there were few instruments for the liver; he designed a clamp to control bleeding, manufactured by Down Brothers in London. He also designed other instruments, but never sought royalties.
Bala also took on oesophageal surgery, then rarely done. He had a unique method for resection of the oesophagus in cases of cancer or necrosis; he used the stomach or large intestine as a substitute, reconstructing the stomach as a conduit for food. This was often done on young Indian women from plantations who had ingested caustic agents in suicide attempts, then a common occurrence.
Bala also saw a need for better post-operative care, but he could not get government funds. Ever resourceful, he persuaded the Rotary Club to help fund an intensive care unit (ICU), the local public works department to build it and Siemens to donate instruments. The Rotary Club declared the ICU the 'first of its kind in south-east Asia'. The new unit also helped bring down tetanus mortality from 80% to 18%.
In 1967, Bala travelled around the United States, visiting surgeons to learn and share research. Many surgeons knew of his published papers and his clamp, but few knew of Malaysia. They were stunned to discover his research was done in a small-town hospital in a country that they could not place on a map. On his trip, he visited Thomas Starzl, a leading transplant surgeon. Bala was all set to do transplant surgery, but ran into legal and cultural obstacles in Malaysia.
In 1969, Bala set up the hepato-biliary centre in Kuala Lumpur Hospital: it was to become a referral centre not just for the country, but for the entire region. In the same year, race riots erupted in the country. On 13 May, an injured man rushed into Bala's operating theatre, clutching his bloodied intestines and screaming that he had been attacked. Soon, dozens of injured patients arrived. Bala quickly began triage, recalling what he had seen in a military hospital in Vietnam. When his team ran out of gloves and gowns, he operated with his bare hands. Amazingly, no patient suffered infection later. His unique experience led to many published papers. He later wrote an editorial on emergency procedures in the Journal of Trauma ('Editorial: Management of the critically injured following large-scale civil disturbances in major cities' J Trauma. 1974 Jul;14[7]:628-30).
As the head surgeon of Kuala Lumpur's General Hospital, he ran a tight ship. His training was excellent, but not for the fainthearted. He was a 'field commander' who demanded perfect discipline, rigour and order. At 8am sharp ward rounds began, starting with the third class ward for the poor. Cases awaiting surgery were rare; his junior surgeons usually finished all cases the previous night, no matter how late.
For his loyal troops, he offered much support. He arranged for senior surgeons to visit Malaysia to give coaching. Bala himself was an examiner for FRCS Edinburgh from 1972 to 2004 and for the Royal Australasian College for many years.
Bala was respected not only for his skill, but his daring in surgery. He took on complex operations (such as the Whipple procedure and other pancreatic surgeries) that probably only himself and G B Ong in Hong Kong were doing in the region. He was known for accepting 'salvage cases' that no-one else would touch. Remarkably, he had little to bank on in terms of facilities, tools, machines and resources; what he had was courage and conviction, and excellent clinical acumen.
In 1970, Bala won the Jacksonian prize from the Royal College of Surgeons, and in the same year was awarded the Hunterian professorship. In 1971 he gave the Chiene lecture at the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh on 'modern concepts in surgery of liver trauma', and in 1974 he delivered the Abraham Colles memorial lecture at the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland. He was an honorary fellow of the Philippine College of Surgeons (PCS), and a fellow of the American College of Surgeons (ACS), the International College of Surgeons (ICS), the International Academy of Proctology (IAP) and of the Collegium Internationale Chirurgiae Digestivae (CICD).
He published many peer-reviewed articles in journals, served on the editorial board of 15 international journals and travelled to more than 40 countries as an invited guest lecturer. He was a visiting professor for many universities. At home, he was given the honorary title 'Dato'. He also won the Rotary Club's gold medal for most outstanding research in 1987.
He retired from government service in 1983. Liberal use of painkillers for constant headaches led to kidney failure. By 1989, he needed regular haemodialysis. He refused to be defeated: he became probably the longest-surviving dialysis patient in the country, with a 25-year run. His nephrologist described him as an 'exemplary patient' who saw dialysis as 'an adjustment to lifestyle'.
At home, he pushed for excellence from his five daughters (Thiruchelvi, Mangai, Uthayasoori, Sauntheri and Gowri) and one son (Manica Vasagar). Two are doctors, one a public health specialist and one a biochemist; another has a PhD in education and one is an art historian. His son, a physician and tropical diseases specialist, is a director with Médecins Sans Frontières, and his eldest granddaughter, Anusha, is a medical student at University College, London.
Bala loved military history and admired the US General George Patton. He also loved ancient history and travel, combining both when he visited ruins in Mexico and Peru. His own history was described in his biography, written by his daughter From small town boy to world-class surgeon (Marshall Cavendish Editions, 2007).
On his 85th birthday party on 15 April 2014, Bala gave an emotional speech to his family, saying he had achieved every one of his goals, the last being to live to 85. It had seemed impossible in the early days of dialysis, but as he'd say, 'When there's a will, there's a way'. A few weeks later, on 5 May, he died peacefully in his sleep at home. He was survived by his wife, six children and 11 grandchildren. After his death, the Academy of Medicine of Malaysia established an annual memorial lecture in his honour.
Mangai Balasegaram
Sources used to compile this entry: [From small-town boy to world-class surgeon Mangai Balasegaram (Marshall Cavendish Editions, 2007); personal communication with family and former trainee surgeons; The Star 23 May 2014 www.thestar.com.my/Lifestyle/People/2014/05/23/A-tribute-to-my-father-Datuk-Dr-Manickavasagar-Balasegaram/ - accessed 15 September 2014; The Malay Mail 31 May 2014 http://manage.mmail.com.my/story/dr-bala-%E2%80%94-surgeon-par-excellence-80448 - accessed 15 September 2014].
THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS OF ENGLAND

Tuesday, 10 March 2015

What lies beneath?

Everyone thought he was just a loafer, a whiner, a sourpuss and a troublemaker. Being quite familiar with his unpredictable and labile temperament, people generally stayed away from his path. Friends, he had only a handful. Still, he volunteered himself to be active in the unrewarding job of the Resident Associations' committee member. Perhaps that was his only way to get back at his unforthcoming neighbours. People thought he found joy in pushing people to do things all in the name of authority bestowed upon him.
It was a frequent occurrence to see him at loggerheads and trying to prove his point at the top of his voice, sometimes in a thuggish manner. In short, he was no different from grumpy old Scrooge - a neighbour fron hell!
When Chinese New Year came around, everyone was expecting his home to be a drab devoid of pomp, hues, smell and merriment pathognomonic of the festivities. Surprise, surprise!
Everyone was pleasantly perplexed that Mr Gloom Doom also had a string of visitors. Not only was he carving his unseen smile, he was seen cracking chuckles with his nephews and nieces! We all wondered why he could not like this everyday! Even old Scrooge had his admirers and was a source of inspiration to his friends and relatives.He was a somebody's somebody.
When we see someone, we always form an opinion about him. He try to compartmentalise him into categories that we make ourselves. A person is either good or bad, sociable or recluse, warm or cold, period. Perhaps, these classifications eases us in our daily approach to an unfamiliar situations, preparing us for fight, flight, friendship or support
Unfortunately, many things are never all-or-none in rule. The fact that a human has to wear many hats makes him don many masks to play different characters in different life roles and duties. We can never know everything about everyone. What lies behind the exoskeleton is anybody's wild guess....

Acceptance or Tolerance?