Where, what to eat?

No, they are not distributing free food.

It is the long queue outside a high-end 

South Indian restaurant in Kuala Lumpur.

The food is good but expensive and packed,

but that did not deter foodies near and far

from gathering in droves to satisfy their 

gastronomic desires.

Some Singaporean study determined that hardly anybody cook in Singapore anymore. Almost everyone has their meals at the many food outlets around the island. For the other privileged consumers, delivery services are willing to bring gourmet to the doorstep at a small fee.

Economic downturn or not, ever since the lockdown was lifted, people swarmed in droves to patronise the food outlets like there was no tomorrow. They have no qualms about waiting for hours, salivating, and standing in rows around the corner.

It does not matter if the quality of food is suspect. It is impossible for all foods ordered online to be monitored for hygiene as they mostly escape authority scrutiny. It is not possible to quantitate food that will be supplied beforehand. Estimates are estimates. If the food provided is too much, what does one do? Since it is politically incorrect to dispose of unwanted food, they may consume more than they require to survive.

There is no price control. It is the market forces that would determine the suitable price.

With their busy schedules, wearing multiple hats, and performing many roles, the present generation finds it impossible to incorporate cooking as one of their list of duties. Gendered assignment duties do not come into the equation.

If cooking is difficult, try choosing a food outlet to meet your constantly fickled appetite and craving for variety. And not to forget the partner who will accompany you for lunch, dinner or whatever. Worried about losing culinary art? Who cares? That stuff, one can pick it up right off Youtube!

Eating out is convenient, affordable, less time-consuming and offers many choices in food selection. 

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Listen, hear and sleep on it!

Good evening everybody. In case you are wondering, we are gathered today to commemorate the matrimony of our daughter Tania and the new addition to the family, our son-in-law, Durgesh. This sounds like the flight attendant announcing over the speaker that we are seated on flight so-and-so to wherever after the extensive checking at the counter, immigration, departure hall, blah, blah. I am waiting for someone, just one day, to jump out yelling, "damn, I'm on the wrong flight!"

Firstly I would like to extend a big welcome to the Ahirwar family from Jabalpur. Also to friends and relatives from near and far. Family members have no choice, there have to be present here today.

Life used to be much easier those days. Tarzan saw Jane, and he said, 'I, Tarzan, you Jane!' And they started a family. Then the young men had to kidnap their brides. They had to ride on horseback and kidnap a girl they fancied in the cloak of the dark and ride with their bride into the night. And now you have all these rituals and obligations to fulfil. Life becomes more and more complicated every day.

Someone mentioned during my wedding that a wedding celebration is a public declaration of one's private intent. Whatever the purpose of the celebration is, it is the upholding of the institution of marriage that matters at the end of the day.

I would like to tell a little secret to the newlyweds to maintain mental health. To Durgesh, hearing and listening are two different things. Sometimes you need to hear only, not listen, to have a peaceful sleep. However, the problem is, to reply, you need to listen. Think about it.
To Tania, whatever problems may crop up, just sleep on it. Things will usually appear clearer after a good night's sleep. Thinking becomes easier. And sometimes, problems have a funny way of solving themselves. But sometimes, not all the time.

To the newlyweds, a happy, fruitful married life. May you prosper and have all the nice things in life.

Thank you.

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Between 'slaying' and 'hacking'...

Vadh (Slay, Hindi; 2022)

Written and Directed by: Jaspal Singh Sandhu & Rajiv Barnwal

Whilst watching this film, I was curious about its title. I knew 'Vaada' in Hindi meant 'promise' and 'waqt' in Urdu meant 'time', but 'Vadh'...? So I asked my resource person. As her mother tongue is Hindi, she was quick to say 'chop', like chopping mutton! Only after watching the movie did it come to my collection that the correct word I was looking for was 'slay'. In my dictionary, 'slaying' is justifiable 'killing'. A saviour slays a demon. A mortal just 'kills' or 'hacks'.

This is a very interesting film without the usual flair and over-the-top hero-worshipping that is often found in most Bollywood movies. Unlike most movies too, the protagonists are no spring chickens. They are neither drop-dead gorgeous nor need to strut their sculptured six-pack torso to tell their story.

A retired teacher and his homemaker wife lead a lonely and miserly life after sending their only son off to the USA. It had been six years since he last visited them. Even their calls to him are often anything but cordial. They are still paying for the loans they took to send him, including one from the local loan shark. The debt collector becomes increasingly more menacing as he brings booze, meat and hookers to their vegetarian household. In one such intimidating visit, the debt collector actually threatened to rape the teacher's 12-year-old tuition student. One thing led to another, the old teacher jabbed a screwdriver into the gangster's neck. In an intelligent storytelling manner, but maybe too tall to be believable, the old teacher chops the victim's body into pieces and disposes them far away and makes any evidence disappear.

A corrupt local police officer is hot on the teacher's trail. So is the local godfather whose henchmen the teacher had slayed.

The question is when does one slay another person, and when does he kill, mutilate, hack or murder? When Krishna kills the Asuras, he does it to save mankind. He slays the demon, not murder them. When Rama kills Surpanakka or Ravana, he slays the evil in them. In the same vein, Nathuram Godse feels justified to gun down an individual he thought was instrumental in carving the nation into two. Godse exerted that he slayed the demon that broke up the Indian subcontinent.


So, if someone is so invincibly evil and cannot be defeated, can the murderer be reclused of all charges? The problem is that the common law is not applicable to the common man. Law is a weapon used by the powerful to suppress the powerless. The law makes the powerful more powerful and the powerless less so.

The ending of this film manages to tie all the loose ends and, in a way, makes the killing of the 'powerful' debt collector justified. In the end, the teacher and police officer end up in a 'win-win' situation as his death brings more 'Shanthi' to more people than otherwise.

.

Krishna Slays Bakasura, the Crane Demon sent by Vamsa.

Putana, a powerful witch, was summoned by Vamsa, Krishna's uncle who was told that a male child in that land would dethrone him. Putana manifested as a beautiful damsel to enter the house. Upon entering, she let Krishna suckle her poisoned nipple. Baby Krishna bit her so hard that he sucked the life out of her. 

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They can see clearly now that the rain is gone!

I am a jealous guy and a confused one at that. Jealous after my two recent observations and conversations with two seemingly mature men who seem so cocksure about everything happening in their lives. I am confused because I am still groping in the dark, trying to make sense of this chance of a lifetime handed to me - to live my life.

Specimen #1 is an octogenarian, a well-established academician whose mind is still as sharp as a man half his age. To top it up, he is still at it - supervising research papers and reading the latest in his field of interest. Naturally, I have a lot of admiration for his stature, his intellect and age. I tease some gems of wisdom from his experience for my consumption.

I was surprised when he attributed all his achievements to the Divine Powers. There was nothing that he did that was his. I asked him definitely he would reach crossroads and would have floundered or perplexed, not knowing which direction to go. It was about these moments that I was interested. Those moments where he was in a betwixt and between that a crucial decision had to be made, I wanted to desperately know how he made those decisions. Again, his answer was simple. He guides me; I do not make any decisions.

I knew he had a giant murthi erected in his prayer room. And he spent a good few hours sitting, praying, meditating and physically talking to the deity. I have been informed that He talks back.

Specimen #2 is another professional who went through a rough patch early in his life. That event left an indelible mark on him. Still, he has come out of it and found peace, so he says. Striking a conversation by chance, he narrated his life lessons. He found solace in solitaire, the company of himself. People are mostly sending negative vibes; stay away. Easily said, I thought. Whether he likes it or not, a professional has to rub paths with people with different dispositions in the scope of his work. Part of his challenges is to ward off these negativities and be professional. Somehow, my twisted mind, at that juncture, I visualised an image of an ostrich burying his head under the sand, refusing to appreciate the dangerous things around him.

My friend advocated activating the body's chakras and awake the kundalini to attain perfect health, which he had achieved. And he was willing to be my guru to pass that knowledge to me.

Being the eternal sceptic I am, I just took these as conversations one has with a fellow train passenger. Come to each other's destination, all the talks and advice given to each other are forgotten as each finds themselves back in the churn of life.

Meanwhile, I remain confused. But happy that, at least, these two specimens do not have to search. The mission in life is crystal clear. They can see clearly now that the rain is gone. Some would classify them as enlightened and have found the reason for their being. Sadly, it would be enough for a man of proof and science. In their interpretation, they are having hallucinations, the grandeur of reference or probably detached from reality!

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No milk today

Ma Ka Doodh (Mother's Milk)
Written, Produced and Directed: Dr Harsha Atmapuri

One of the important reasons for choosing breast milk over formula milk, which is formulated on cow's milk, is that cow's milk is for calves. Just like humans should be fed breast milk.

Calves drink milk when they are young. After a certain age, they start eating adult cow feed. And the mothers stop producing milk soon afterwards. Like calves, humans do not have to drink milk throughout their lives. But, no. We have been advised to include milk in our daily diet to ensure adequate calcium and other vitamins.

This documentary tries to convince us that the reality is far from this. The maker, a doctor turned animal activist, is trying to investigate the milk cattle industry around India on how it is run and how the cows are treated.

There is a concerted effort to criminally increase milk production manifold, much more than cows are actually able to produce in physiological situations. Profit is of paramount importance. It supersedes compassion and kindness. Everything is dollars and cents (or rupees and paise).

We tend to think that nothing can get purer than milk. Its pristine white hue gives it a special place in society that it is fit to be offered to the Gods. What the dairy industry does to cattle is more than cruel. During his lifetime, Gandhi made it a point never to consume cow milk due to the ill-treatment of cows. He only drank goat's milk throughout.

Firstly, only female calves are allowed to survive. Newborn male calves are just killed as they are useless in the cattle industry. Feeding them to adulthood for meat is just not economically viable. Nobody uses bulls for manual work. Tractors have taken over their place.

Cows grow up in restricted spaces, with no chance of roaming around to graze. They are fed in their sheds. Their sheds are poorly cleaned, and the animals live in deplorable conditions. By the way, they will never experience mating, as all procreations are via artificial insemination.

In the meantime, cattle owners sing praises of milk's nutritional and health values in cahoots with the media. As it stands now, milk plays such an essential role in our children's growth and adults' well-being that it is vital to survival. Interestingly, China has had similar benefits from soya milk. Plant milk is superior to cattle rearing from the perspective of leaving carbon footprints and greenhouse effects. Milk from soya, coconut, almond and oat are plant-based.

What happens to cows when they stop producing milk? The farmers would like to think that they are just sold off. In reality, the old cows are transported in the most inhumane manner across borders to states like Bengal and Kerala, where they are slaughtered, again in the most brutal ways, for their meat and leather. Intertwined in this imbroglio are buffaloes, their milk and meat.

There is enough legislation to curb all these issues. Unfortunately, the police and even cow vigilante groups are simply bought over by powerful cartels that control beef and leather production.

The maker of the documentary tells us that for a country that reveres cows and worships them, Indians are not doing enough. He suggests replacing cow milk with soya milk to allay cows' abuse and emotional torment. Unfortunately, the cow protection movement is intrinsically linked to Hindu-Muslim violence. People who oppose cow slaughter are erroneously assumed to be anti-Muslim. And Muslims purposely slay cows to trigger a negative response from the Hindus. 

Now we are in a predicament. We were told to refrain from consuming meat as the industry emits many noxious gases that damage the environment. Then they said, don't consume chicken and eggs as they were raised in battery coops. They had enough place to eat and shed, that's all. 

Then they told me to source organic food. Our vegetables were so tainted that if our coronary vessels do not clog up, the herbicides and pesticides sprayed liberally on the plants will kill us from cancer. 

Even if you opt for organic, we must worry about the seeds used. Generally, we are worried about GMOs, the genetically modified source. We are wary of whether these genetically modified seeds would alter our cell lines., turning us into monsters. 

They also tell us to consume less fish to keep overfishing under check. Increased demand leads to offshore fishing and the depletion of fish and sea life in our oceans. 

I have a funny feeling that all these are just Nature's way of fighting back. It wants to reclaim its territory and not surrender to the whims and fancies of mankind.  

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The better man?

Gunga Din (1939)

Director: George Steven

This Hollywood movie is based on a poem written by Rudyard Kipling. Kipling, as we know, is quite proud of his European heritage. He and the colonial masters of his era vehemently believed that it was the burden of the white race to civilise the natives. They, the native with their odd-looking physiques, their equally funny-looking attires (or lack of), peculiar living habits and bizarre mode of worship by European standards and Judeo-Christian point of reference, are their subject of mockery.

It is a light comedy detailing three disciplinarily-challenged army sergeants sent off to the late 19th century Northwest Frontier of Northern Punjab to check out some disturbances. They find a band of Kaali-worshipping ruthless 'terrorists' @ thugees taking over their post. The story is about how they defeat the thugs with the help of a naive local man named Gunga Din.

Before jumping onto the bandwagon of the woke to blame all our current pathetic state of affairs on the colonial masters, we should remember that Kipling and this movie were off at a time when only the victors could dictate how history should be written. The colonists, because of their native languages, are considered irrelevant, persona-non-grata.

We see the British slave-drilling their subjects on their high horses and looking down on Indians. The Indian collies seem to be bending behind backwards to kill their fellow Indians to earn extra brownie points. Their life ambition was to serve as a soldier to the Queen and the Empire.

The story is based on Kipling's poem about a 'useful' idiot named Gunga Din, a run-around water boy at the beck and call to squeeze some water from his goatskin bag. Despite all the heckling and shoving, Gunga Din's life ambition is to serve his Master and earn his validation. He hopes to be, one day, to be drafted into the British Army. Din does that in style by gunning down his own people and even taking a bullet for his Boss. He is enlisted posthumously and is conferred the rank of corporal. At the film's end, his bosses reminisce about the character running around with a water bag. They look into the horizon calling Din 'a better man' than anyone in the British Army can be.

"... though I've belted you and flayed you,

        by the livin' Gawd that made you,

you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!"

At the outset, from the time of opening credit, the filmmakers made a declaration. They specified that their depiction of Kali worship was based on historical facts. Their idea of facts is what eventually turned out as an 'eyeball delicacy' scene that was seen in 1984's 'Indiana Jones'. They took mugshots at Kali and her worshippers, making them look like buffoons. In actuality, they were merely defending their land. Gunga Din was no 'better man' but a traitor to his own people. It was the people like him who facilitated the 250,000-strong British East India Company soldiers to have control domination over 170 million Indians in 1857.

Much like the Spanish conquistadors swept the Aztec and Mayan temples clean of gold, the British in India also thought it was the birthright to usurp all the gold displayed in the Hindu temples without respect to local ownership. This was daylight robbery. I reckon this must have been no different from what the Muslim invaders did to India before them.

Gunga Din

BY RUDYARD KIPLING

You may talk o’ gin and beer   

When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,   

An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;

But when it comes to slaughter   

You will do your work on water,

An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.   

Now in Injia’s sunny clime,   

Where I used to spend my time   

A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,   

Of all them blackfaced crew   

The finest man I knew

Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,   

      He was ‘Din! Din! Din!

   ‘You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!

      ‘Hi! Slippy hitherao

      ‘Water, get it! Panee lao,

   ‘You squidgy-nosed old idols, Gunga Din.’

The uniform ’e wore

Was nothin’ much before,

An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,

For a piece o’ twisty rag   

An’ a goatskin water-bag

Was all the field-equipment ’e could find.

When the sweatin’ troop-train lay

In a sidin’ through the day,

Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,

We shouted ‘Harry By!’

Till our throats were bricky-dry,

Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.

      It was ‘Din! Din! Din!

   ‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?   

      ‘You put some juldee in it

      ‘Or I’ll marrow you this minute

   ‘If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!’

’E would dot an’ carry one

Till the longest day was done;

An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.

If we charged or broke or cut,

You could bet your bloomin’ nut,

’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.   

With ’is mussick on ’is back,

’E would skip with our attack,

An’ watch us till the bugles made 'Retire,’   

An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide

’E was white, clear white, inside

When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!   

      It was ‘Din! Din! Din!’

   With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.   

      When the cartridges ran out,

      You could hear the front-ranks shout,   

   ‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’

I shan’t forgit the night

When I dropped be’ind the fight

With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.   

I was chokin’ mad with thirst,

An’ the man that spied me first

Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.   

’E lifted up my ’ead,

An’ he plugged me where I bled,

An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.

It was crawlin’ and it stunk,

But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,

I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

      It was 'Din! Din! Din!

   ‘’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;   

   ‘’E's chawin’ up the ground,

      ‘An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:

   ‘For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!’

’E carried me away

To where a dooli lay,

An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.   

’E put me safe inside,

An’ just before ’e died,

'I ’ope you liked your drink,’ sez Gunga Din.   

So I’ll meet ’im later on

At the place where ’e is gone—

Where it’s always double drill and no canteen.   

’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals

Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,

An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!   

      Yes, Din! Din! Din!

   You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!   

   Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,   

      By the livin’ Gawd that made you,

   You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

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