To Hambantota & Back: Retracing the roots (Part III)

The final morning brought about a sense of gloom, with a force withholding one from leaving this blessed place. I enjoyed the last glimpses of a splendid morning as the day before, and then got ready to move. We made our way to another Malay colony of Bolana (Bo-la-na), west of Hambantota towards Colombo. The colony was situated off the town of Ambalantota (Am-ba-lan-to-ta) needing about 11km interior towards land. Folk in this colony were mostly farmers and cultivators of many produce. I saw guava the size of my palm, not to mention various other types of fruits planted in their gardens. Gardens today are very hard to come across in suburban areas, let alone those bountiful as this. Sunlight trickling through the canopy of trees creates numerous shapes begging ones attention.

The village school was our centre for meeting the youth, and we were not disappointed. A significant number of people were present making discussion interesting. Sudden power cuts are a norm as I found out when visiting the computer centre, thus these students also had a separate interactive session with a few ABIM reps. Results of this school for O/L’s are better (50 percent pass rate) than Kirinda in spite of lesser facilities. Students should travel to Hambantota to follows A/L’s like mentioned before.

On our way back to Colombo, the most stimulating endeavour would be climbing the Dondra lighthouse- situated at the southern most tip of lanka- before the town of Matara (Ma-ta-ra). A spiralling staircase gets you going a bit hazy, but nothing like the 333 steps to the top. The pics are on facebook, do check it out. The plan was to visit other lighthouses along the coast, but due to the lack of time it was not possible. Ending to this trip could not have been any better. Fishing boats riding out to sea, people swimming in the sea and playing on the beach, visibility of both sea and land for miles and miles cannot be bought for any price.

I realised something on my journey, and that is the Malay language is alive in the village, still breathing strong, very much alive. There is hope still for reviving the language that lay in ruins. Small ones are able to converse in Malay leaving city folk to shame. A mere flicker of hope, which someday I hope would shine vibrantly as the sun. Malays of this area are very tough, both physically and mentally. Having undergone much trauma at the hands of the tsunami; now they are once again looking towards the future, towards brighter days under God’s great skies. Their struggle for survival is definitely epic, worthy of mention in the annals of lanka’s history, or even that of a race rising from the ashes.

My deepest wish is that these folk are able to rise from the gravities of life. I pray for a better day for them, a better standard of living and guidance to follow the righteous path, strength to withstand hardship, and of course, God’s constant blessing upon them.

To Hambantota & Back: Retracing the roots (Part II)

Morning dew drops gleamed in the morning sun on a glorious Saturday morning. Birds were trying their best to out do each other; singing many notes and pitching them to great lengths. Rays of the sun spread far and wide throughout the countryside. The rays pierced my skin and spread all over my body, while the cool morning breeze wrapped itself on me like a blanket. The fresh air revitalises your spirits, and these are the stuff a wonderful morning is made of. I wish mornings such as this would be there forever.

Itinerary for Saturday included a visit to Kirinda- the only Malay village in the island, inhabitants all of whom use Malay in their day to day activities. It is located north-west of Hambantota needing an hours drive. Being a coastal village, Kirinda is very much exposed to the sea, and to any manner of austerity it has to offer. The sand dunes in the beach are a reminder of the tsunami’s immense power that stands at 20 ft high. Such a force was unleashed at this small village even bringing ashore a dredging machine having been constructed of pure steel.

An eye witness narrated the fateful day in which he witnessed waves about 40 ft high. The waves black as night were making for land, while the waves were creating an effect similar to that of rolling a mat. He knew that this kind of a situation would be impossible to swim out of, thus ran for his life. As the waves reached land, it hit hard with all its force and receded back to the sea. After the waves had gone, his house and those belonging to a few others had been taken away to sea not leaving behind any trace.

The village school had been developed from foreign aid. I remember earlier that it was only two separate buildings of single storeys. Now, they had given way to four gigantic buildings each comprising 3 storeys. Unfortunately, the pass rate from O/Levels is very poor- only 25 percent. Those who pass out must travel Hambantota in order to pursue A/Levels due to insufficient facilities at the school here. I wish there is something that I could do to make things alright, but reality made me realise otherwise.

Lunch, if I were to say in my own words, would be ‘mind blowing.’ Fresh catch from the sea along with a variety of other vegetables made a hearty meal, and not to mention the mango chutney. I even took seconds of rice, which I seldom do nowadays. These foods are devoid of pesticides and other chemicals used for cultivation. Desert was curd with honey. I must say what a life!!

Later, we climbed a temple on a huge rock, which happens to be the highest point in Kirinda. Steps to the top have been carved into the rock, and are very steep needing the help of a railing to avoid falling. The temple provides a stage that opens up to the vast expansion of sea. Sitting on top of a rock, one could view the endless sea for hours shimmering in the sun’s rays. Beyond the shore, an off shore lighthouse could be seen as a while speck on a blue canvas. By God, this is truly paradise, and I’m glad of my visit to this beautiful place.

To Hambantota & Back: Retracing the roots (Part I)

Twenty-first day of November emerged as a day with a lot of excitement. I awoke due to the efforts of emak, if not punctuality would have had to a back seat. We commenced our journey, along with the representatives of ABIM, having to complete a distance of approx 300km. Given the dilapidated conditions of the local roads covering that distance would take about 6 hours. The route taken towards H’tota snaked through the foothills of Ratnapura- a land held in high esteem for extracting gemstones of all types. Ratnapura is not situated on a very high altitude, but having said that, one can witness mountain ranges in the distance. Rubber plantations and low-grown tea estates can be seen within close proximity to each other. Most were started during the colonial occupation of lanka, while recent plantations too can be found. Travelling was interesting through half-way when a sing-song erupted by request of the M’sians. I entered the foray with some songs of local baila, the M’sians came out with songs in the likes of ‘rasa sayang’ etc.

H’tota is a city situated south-west of the island famous for its fresh fish, curd, and of course, dodol. Geographically, H’tota is in the low lands, thus mostly a dry area dotted with fishing boats and vast expansion of land. Majority of the residents comprise of Malays (mostly of middle and lower-income segments), and during the fateful tsunami of 2004 many were taken away to sea never to be seen again. Tales of woes are endless with everyone here having a story of their own to tell. During January 2005, when I went there with an aid convoy, I met a man who had lost his wife and children to the killer waves. That man hardly spoke a whole sentence with bapa; he was in another dimension, still not being able to grasp the fate that had befallen him. I must say, 4 years on, the entire landscape of H’tota looked alien to me. A lot of development has taken place in this district beckoning the change it longed for.

Our places of lodging were two cottages constructed for those who had lost their homes in the tsunami. I saw many housing schemes of this sort, which had been funded by NGOs jogging my memory of how bankrupt lanka truly is, or the fact that administrators even pocketed tsunami aid money. I ask you how sad is that? The two cottages comprised of the basic amenities needed for a simple life. One thing I envy about life here is its simplicity. People seem to have ample time to sit around and enjoy the finer aspects of life without the constant worry of city folk. Life here flows smoothly like water coursing its way through a stream. I really want that kind of life!!

Lights out at 10pm to me is unheard of, but the journey was quite tiring. Travelling along the winding, bumpy, and not to mention zero-patience roads of lanka bestows one fatigue in great proportions. Driving skills are quite exemplary of the local cum dare-devil chauffeurs having to manoeuvre pot-holes, sharp turns, narrow passages, and overtaking other slow drivers. It got me thinking that if a person can prove himself on local roads, driving anywhere else in the world would be a piece of cake.

Here onwards, the tale starts of the only Malay colonies still in existence and their grappling problems and challenges in conserving the Malay identity, its language, culture, and heritage.

Hello..... I'm your liaison

Let's make a long thing short now shall we because time is of the utmost essence. A groups of six members (two boys and four girls) from ABIM are here in lanka to learn more about the Malays and all aspects regarding their existence. All of the members are from UIA, and I had a chance to meet them in M'sia before their departure for a briefing about the island. Having landed on the 15 of this month, the tour will wind-up at the end of November.

Tomorrow, the group will be taken to Hambantota (Ham-ban-to-ta) since it's a predominantly Malay area, and one of the earliest Malay colonies in the island. I'm to accompany them to help in certain circumstances, and also bapa is organising everything. During their stay in H'tota, until Sunday, we hope to give them an insight into the Malays of the south. H'tota is located in a coastal area in the south-west of the island. The name is coined from two separate words fused into one; 'sampan' meaning boat, and 'tota' meaning port. It should be an interesting trip for them as well as for myself. The last time I visited that area was after the devastation caused by the tsunami in January 2005.

After typing this entry, I will have less than 5 hours to get some much needed sleep. My time of departure is 5.30 am from home. A van will come to pick me up and the last stop would be the group. I'm sure that your curiosity is at a very high point, wanting to know what these people encountered. Do check out their blog for interesting aspects of their tour- http://gptd-srilanka.blogspot.com/

Be assured of a detailed report after I return to Colombo on Sunday evening. I have no doubt that there will be a lot stories and exciting incidents to unwrap on this virtual portal. Until then, ciao!!!

Tuk-tuk, 8 ball pool with hidden skills

I stepped out of the house to meet up with a few close friends. It's the first time since I came back home because most of these chaps are busy with work and what not. A time and place was set with the boys meeting me after work. As I left the house it was drizzling, and the sky dark as if it was in mourning. A black veil shrouded the evening sky prematurely giving birth to night. I boarded a tuk-tuk, while directing the driver to take me to the junction from where expecting to board a bus. Riding a tuk-tuk (known here as a tri-shaw) is an experience in itself. Due to its miniature size creeping in and out through the busy traffic is one attribute many commuters appreciate. Given the haphazard construction of the roads, resulting in many potholes, the ride is quite bumpy. If the driver is really impatient to finish the journey, you will even be lucky enough to fly off the seat.

As I approached the destination, my mates were already waiting for me, and the usual welcome ensued. A hearty welcome is something as the follows

"hello, you bugger!! good to see you, so what did you get for me?"

"machan, did you know that this bugger had been dating on the sly??"

"guess what? D is still a bit queer!! hahaha"

Many a comments after, we decided to indulge in a game of pool. The pool table is smaller than a billiards table and has 8 balls per player inclusive of the all important black. Pool is a very popular past time of the young adult crowd as well as teens. I played the first game and surprisingly won to my amazement. I hadn't held a stick in years, but bloody hell, I was whooping my friend to smithereens. He got all hot and bothered about the whole situation, but was a good sport. During the many matches we played there were many antics, theatrics, and our 'what if' situations. The guys just went on and on about all the hypothetical things conjuring up insane notions over and over again.

During this time, I felt back at home. It was like I had never left, and the feeling, priceless!!

Chatting about our current lives brought about many interesting aspects worth notice. One had been chosen as the 'customer service executive of the year.' It was like he had won the award and bragging rights along with it. A treat is definitely in order, and we shall have it one way or the other! I was the only one wearing jeans and t-shirt, while the rest cut a pretty good picture with their office attire. Smart office shirts, trousers, and ties to match, any lady would have got hot under the collar. When we get together we are somewhat a merry bunch of friends, or comrades. Time spent is always lively, and never a sombre moment. There is ALWAYS something to talk about.

We're hatching a plan for a phenomenal get-together of most the chaps consisting our inner circle. An outing to the hills because most of the guys are coming to lanka. We want to make it a time to remember, a gathering for all time!! Wheels are in motion, while the ground work having entered the preliminary stage. This is so so exciting!!

City of Colombo

Being jobless at home means you have to pitch in when there are things to be done. I, in my usual capacity run errands for both emak and bapa. I don't mind it the least bit, since before going to M'sia it was my usual job scope. Being the eldest in the family means exposing oneself to quite a lot of responsibilities early in your life. I had to pay some bills today, thus off I went went.

As usual, my modus vivendi consists of public transport, which mostly includes buses and the local favourite tuk-tuk. One cannot dismiss the thought of a terrorist attack in any of the buses because it has occurred in previous occasions. Emak always tells me to be careful when I'm leaving the house; people who leave sometimes never return, forever!! I hate terrorism in all its forms, and more on that later. After paying the bills I thought of exploring my city, which I had not set sights upon for over a year. Best thing about using public transport is that you are vulnerable to stimuli of varying degrees, but mainly of 3 types- the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Many are the aspects remaining to be desired in comparison to other nations. Colombo is heavily fortified with many checkpoints along the busy streets. Army personnel man these posts, and guns are at the ready for any sign of trouble. Intelligence reports state of an imminent terrorist attack to vital government and corporate establishments within the city. God only knows if the threat is real or not- I hope not. Walking along some of the roads, I noticed that little has changed. A few buildings, here and there, have received a face lift, and that's pretty much it.

Lee Kuan Yew looked at Colombo, and thought it worthy of emulation. This was after S'pore was independent and eager to rebuild itself as a sovereign nation. And yet, after more than half a decade of independence, we are stuck in the same bog. A bog that has been made deeper and deeper due to a civil war, incompetent rulers who think of their personal gain, racial tensions and many other issues that are too shameful to mention. S'pore today shines like a beacon of a well organised city, and managed by capable people who put the interest of the country before theirs. This does not go to say that S'pore is a perfect country because there is none of that calibre.

I feel like like burying my head like an ostrich!! Oh tha shame of emulating S'pore now.

Where did we go wrong? What were the errors that caused such a calamity to befall this nation? Why are we killing our own brothers and sisters in a war spanning 25 years? Will this war ever end? Can the people of lanka wake up to a day of peace devoid of hostility?

The answer is aptly said by Bob Dylan, "The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind..... the answer is blowing in the wind."

The Silver Badge

One of the things that bapa and I have in common is our Alma mater. My family has a legacy running deep along the annals of history of Royal College, Colombo. I recently got to know that a few of my nephews have entered Royal; a proud third generation. A matter of pride, but nonetheless, a criteria or level of expectation to be surpassed looms ahead. Imagine your father playing rugby, secretary and chairman of the Islamic society (in successive years), captain of the debating team, chairman of the English literary association, and college prefect in his final year. Mind you, I only mentioned a few of his career highlights. The aim is to meet your father's standard or better it, and falling short is not an option. Those whose fathers were not old boys of Royal, thus were spared in having a yard of measurement.

One fine day, bapa took me to the main building of college; my age about 8 years at that time. A building constructed during the British era that stands out in all its splendour reminiscent of its colonial beginnings. The college hall is situated in this building, and along the walls of the hall are portraits hung of previous principals since 1835. Records of various individuals are written above the portraits in terms of prizes won for academic achievements. Along the hallowed portals leading to the college hall one can see portraits of schools teams hung in every possible column. Some of these portraits date back to the early 1950s or even earlier to the era of 19oo. Looking at them filled me with pride all those years in college, and made me feel proud of my schools role in the history of lanka. At the landing, before the pricipal's office there was a board nailed to the wall with the signage 'College Prefects', and bapa pointed to his name on it. Ever since that day, I too wanted my name to to be on par with bapa's or exceed it.

I realised a dream in the final year of my school career. I remember vividly, that day, when the master-in-charge of prefects called out my name as 'Deputy Head Prefect' in the general assembly (a gathering of all students). A very proud moment for me in my life, but nothing was more resounding than bapa shaking my hand and saying "congratulations.....well done." Insignia worn by a Royal prefect is unique, as in the badge is made of silver. No other prefect in the entire island except our wears such a badge. Egoistic as this may sound, it makes ones appointment unique.

I searched for my old badge after returning home. I openend the box and there it was. I took it out of the box and held it in my left hand, and traced the surface from my right. Memories came back in the form of a flash flood, or maybe in the likes of a tidal wave. I looked at it long and hard for a very long time reminding myself of the good times and bad. Gosh!! Those were the day; the best days of my life. Do imagine how the crest would look in silver, ya!!

At that point, it dawned to me that there are only memories for me to hold on to, and sometimes tangible bits and pieces.

A run by the sea & King Coconuts

After a few days apart with our respective families MB and I got back together. Please, its not what you folks think. Then again, I can't stop what's going on inside your little teeny tiny brains. The first sentence sounds all too common in the form of a boy-meet-girl situation, no??

The plan was to continue our fitness routine, no matter how difficult it would be. So, MB picked me up from my house and we went to Marine Drive- a road that stretches a good extent along the seaside starting from MB's house about 4km in length. We jogged a good distance, but there was certainly no incentive to carry on. We were wondering why there are so many uncles and aunties; is there a shortage of young ladies' over here?? After about 2km we stopped, and had made the distance in 7 minutes, impressive no?? Marine Drive seriously needs to get some pretty ladies to run over there on weekends. If not, I'm thinking of changing location. The golden rule of going jogging is location, location, location!! We turned around and headed back to MB's house, which was followed by a routine of push-ups, squats, pull-ups and many more.

While chilling down we got to talking and a very burning issue came up. I asked MB if was easy to adjust to the local situation being a bit removed from it all. He said it was ok, and nothing to worry about. What hit the both of us was one aspect, which I thought faced only me. Upon asking if he feels somewhat empty inside, he said 'yes.' Bingo!! Then we deliberated the whole scenario in detail. We were in the motherland; there are all the people we dearly love, and not to mention the friends; so whats the problem?? Both us brought forth notions from our thinking hats, but they hardly seemed to fit the situation at hand. We just couldn't put our finger on it. There is an element that seems to be missing, which is essential for our psychological state of well being. On the other hand, both of are not remotely disappointed in any manner either. The missing aspect eluded both MB and I, thus we decided to ask others who have come from abroad if they feel the same way too. Too bad Sigmund Freud is six feet under, damn it!!

On my way back home, we stopped at a stall to drink king coconut; a member of the coconut family, orange in colour, containing the sweetest liquid inside its shell. Firstly, you drink the liquid inside the shell and later eat its contents. While trying to scrape the coconut's contents, and failing at it, it showed how out of touch both of us were. The only things I said was 'God, this is so embarrassing. Since when did we become so incompetent? Guess we are a higher breed of city boys, eh!!'

Tune in for more adventures of MB and I in the following days. Cheers and have a coconut!!

Kapangnye datang??

Sri Lankan Malay holds more in common to Javanese in its vocabulary and pronunciation. One aspect of Sri Lankan Malay is that it is not standardized, and has adopted many words from other languages. Dilemma facing the Malays today is losing our language. It is because many have diverted from the mother tongue and have adopted other languages. I'm fortunate enough to know the local lingo because my father was particular that we hold on to our identity. There are many in my generation who cannot converse in the mother tongue, but can comprehend what is being said. 'Kapang' means and is related to the term 'when'; the term 'datang' is the same when used in BM. So, the topic asks the question "when did you come or arrive?"

A lot of people have been asking me the above question. It's because most of them know that I'm abroad, and for the most part in the land of our forefathers. I must say that the Malays here have amalgamated into the local culture, thus culturally are a bit different with the rest of the Malay world. This can also be seen in the Arabs, who have merged into the society in M'sia. Rejuvenating a dying language is no easy task, and neither can it be done given a certain time frame. It has taken years since a new approach was taken to revive the local Malay language. By looking at how its going, it may take a few generations.

One aspect common to the Malays is that they are a proud race. Wherever Malays may be, they are proud of their history, culture, cuisine and any aspect that is related to them. I am definitely proud of my lineage in spite of what others may have to say about it. I may be descendant of the Malays who were brought to lanka to fortify the English occupation, and keep order and peace. They were enlisted into regiments by the British who were very impressed with their fighting prowess. I may even be a descendant of the princes or kings exiled to lanka who revolted against British occupation. The real answer I don't know exactly, but that is not important.

I hope the rest of the Malay world would not be so ignorant. One thing I have observed is that Malays share a similar mentality despite geographically distant locations. A change in mentality would do our race some good without being complacent. A look to the future is necessary as an entire race and not just being individualistic. The journey is long and very arduous with many challenges ahead. I hope we make it, Insha Allah.

The Bald Chef

I got to thinking that if there was a cookery show to be hosted by me, not that I'm planning on doing one, what kind of a name would be really catchy. Then it just hit me, and that's what you see as the title. My attributes personified in culinary terms.

I've always loved to eat so learning about it came naturally as well, I think. I have seen some great cooks in my day and almost all of them are women. Ok.....kinda all of them are women. I must say my paternal grand mother stands out. She looked after me as a child and fed me a lot of lovely things. The memories never seem to fade, do they!! Many people say that men are the best cooks, but I say there is nothing like a woman's touch. I believe all the ladies' reading this must be jumping for joy. Do be careful as to not fall off your chair, LOL!!

I started being my mums apprentice and finished my first task. Yes folks, I made roti all by myself. At first, mum had to explain what to do and did all the supervision. No one wants to waste flour in inflation riddled circumstances now, do we?? I did roti the old fashioned way. Measured the flour by a cup, but before that I had to sieve it. Then you add an egg, but my mum told to only use the egg white. She has declared war on the egg yolk because it leads to high cholesterol. Also don't forget the salt, and I used a palm full of salt liquid. The trick to making a good dough rests on how one adds water to it. Too much will spoil it, while too little is not enough. As mum started to knead the dough with her hands, I poured the water, little by little. I told her that I wanted to do it, so there I went. As she taught me the technique, my fingers got accustomed to the routine. Kneading the dough is the most important part from what I learnt. When the dough is soft break it into small balls. Then flatten it by using a rolling a pin. We had a good conversation too.

I: Ma, you remember the time I told you that I wanted to become a chef??

Mum: Yes, of course (laughs). That is not for you.

I: Why??

Mum: There's no prospect except cooking. Even I do that here (note the generation gap). It's good as hobby for men to know cooking. If I get sick or maybe if your wife falls ill you can cook without a problem.

(Inside my head- Don't try to smile too much because if you do the jig is up!! She might know something is up)

If you and your brother learn how to cook, I will not be disappointed that I have no daughter.

Yes sir, that is the motivation this time; to learn how to cook and show mum that we can be equivalent to a non-existent daughter. After rolling out the dough I put each roti in a pan and burnt it. Remember to use a wooden spoon as to not scratch the pan. The entire endeavour was a success. All those folks who haven't made home made roti, eat your heart out!!! As for the roti, I definitely turned and dropped it like its HOT!!

Ayubowan

The above Sinhalese word is pronounced in the following: Ayu-bo-wan. It has two meanings depending on the manner of its use. The first is welcome, while the second is wishing a person long life. As I boarded the plane at 2.40 pm M'sian time it was the first thing I heard. I simply replied with an excited 'Ayubowan.' It would take only 3 hours from now to reach the motherland.

As MB and I boarded the plane we couldn't but help get the feeling we were in the wrong flight. I mean, the majority of the people were Indians. They might as well change the name to AirIndia inside the airplane. Also I started remembering all of the comedy shows that I had watched of Russel Peters. The ride home was going to be quite different this time. Just before take off an entire family of Sikhs entered my part of the cabin. Both MB and I were seated together near a window. As the plane started taxiing, the members of the family were trying to figure out their seats. There were quite a number of empty seats around, but despite that, these people seemed awfully seat-number conscious. I was like 'for God sake just sit somewhere because you don't want to fall over in a few minutes.' The cabin crew got involved and it was settled.

Halfway through the flight some guy either in the front or back of my seat farted!! Yep, that was quite a nose-full, if you ask me. I bore the full brunt of that attack. But never fear, I retaliated after they served lunch on the plane with an 'F' bomb. I'm pretty sure it was the guy at the back. The guys at the back were not at all very good companions to be with. In spite of the fact these dudes were Muslims, they started ordering beer. It got out of hand when they requested one too many. Both of then looked a bit whizzed. On the other hand, one of the cabin crew offered us wine, which we had to decline. He asked out of turn because we spoke to him about the bad passengers behind us, and empathised. Not having wine didn't ruin a thing for MB and I. Instead, we made a toast with apple and mango juice at 40,000 ft followed by a 'fist 5' (its like you knock each others fists head-on). We were in agreement that nothing can beat a toast at such an altitude.

We landed exactly after 3 hours flying time, and waited until all of the 'Indians' got out. We even got complimentary gifts from the cabin crew. Who said flying didn't have extra benefits?? If my other friends had been on the plane they would have milked this opportunity to greater heights.

Today, I went to buy bread, something I started doing since I could be trusted with money. That was from the age of 8 yrs or so, I think. The feeling felt almost the same. I believe mum has a lot of stories to tell. She finished one as I finished typing this halfway. It was just a neighbour issue, and how they keep prying on us. One thing about being a sponge is that you get real good soaking things up over time.

Later people, got to make some calls to a few pals and plan the festivities. Peace!!

I want to fly... soar free through the sky

As I write this, my day has been full of cardboard boxes, sellotape, and endless hours of packing. To make things more explicit, the whole thing started in the afternoon. I wonder why the authorities decided to change the furniture in the hostel 5 months before we're going to leave?? Hmm, I must say these guys are a funny lot. I have managed to carry all the belonging, which I wont be using to the store room. I must admit this took most of day. I have not got to packing for the actual jouney just yet. I'll surely make my mum jump because of my new hairdo, meaning going bald.

Yesterday, MB and I, went shopping to buy things for our families. The things we bought were mostly for the womenfolk. I realised something very important yesterday. It was that men are not at all built for this kind of activity. We seriously lack the skills and not to mention the stamina. One incident that I find quite amusing is both of us choosing scarves for our ladies. I had absolutely no clue as to what I should do. Both of us relied on each other for better judgement. Last thing you want to find out is mum not being happy with the things bought. Brooches were another challenging area. I must say women are living in a very colourful world. A typical guy only lives with the colours blue, black, green, brown, and a few others. I being colour blind is a serious disability, thus leaving all the responsibility in the hands of MB. I found out that there is a colour called magenta!! Neither of us knew how it looked like. Did you know that Mydin has a Muslimin section?? Way to go, Mydin!! Hearing this made both of us giggle.

I can just visualise myself 30,000 ft in the air dancing with the clouds. The rays of the sun streaming through my window. It's going to be one hell of a ride back. Apprently, there are a lot people from UIA going in the same flight. To all those in M'sia happy holidays. To all my dudes in lanka, let's get the party started. Last but not least, Miss. X, I shall return after 40 days to restrat my chase. Au revoir, cheri!!

Impossible is nothing

The words of "Yes we can" still resonate in my ears. History has a very remarkable way of making people rise to the occasion. Who would have thought that an African American would be elected to the oval house. The speech made moved millions of people who listened to it. It was frank and straight to the point with no beating behind the bush. One thing that captured me is the hope espoused by the new president, and by God he will need every ounce of it in the time to come. This gets me thinking, if other nationals will also change their outlook on their leaders? Will the majority of a country be willing to let someone from a minority be its leader?

I'm all too familiar with the dynamics of a multi-cultural community, and I hold a minority perspective. Understanding the majority outlook does not warrant much effort. Its pretty simple from my point of view; that is majority gets a higher priority. Discrimination is prevalent in every nation and none can deny this fact. But why is it not possible to give people what they are due?? Demanding of rights by various groups of people around the world is now quite over-rated. What they fail to realise is that for one to demand their rights, they should also fulfill their duties. Rights and duties go hand in hand, and cannot be realised independently.

A journey of a thousand miles starts with just a step. As the number of steps keep on accumulating, the objective would be to complete ones journey. A new dawn has broken, and lets hope the impetus derived from it can be sustained while spreading its radiance to other parts of the world. In the end, the world should converge their ideals to a single cause, and that is the cause of equity. Equity is the need of the hour and let all those people who are in slumber be awoken to its call. Let it pierce their hearts, and bring about a new world renaissance.

Yes, people the world is changing, and the human race still has hope. Reach, sky is the limit.

Drop it like its HOT

I have become to feel very nervous after my previous post. Nothing to be overly worried about except for the mounting expectations for my 'next episode.' Looking back on it, the reviews were certainly mad!! Absolutely insane, I tell you. One thing being, I was not expecting it to be so hilarious. I guess there is a funny bone that brings out the best in me, even at my own expense. Miss. X has made a lot of ripples, and became a celebrity overnight. There is no looking back now.

Meeting a friend after 3 long years is really a very happy and emotional moment (in a guys emotional way, and no tears). When this chap is the top seeded tennis player back home it adds more weight to the whole thing. The only tennis player from Sri Lanka to play at international tourneys. That's got to count for something in it?? Yea people, eat your heart out!! I know the top dog of Sri Lankan tennis and he's one of my good mates. It was certainly nice to catch up on old times. Meeting him was only possible because he is playing a tourney in KL. It felt like ages, but nothing has changed. I must say the last time I met him my head had more hair than it does now. So, while going to his room he just said "so, the hair is not on you huh??" After the tourney he is back in the homeland, an we are going to go wild. It's going to be just like old times, and we're kicking it our style.

Insomnia is your worst enemy at this point. I have bags under my eyes as a result of sleep deprivation. I look like a freakin zombie, but only funnier due to my never ending supply of rhetorics. There is this slight black veil under my eyes. Yes, a first to my final exam torture in a long time. A few semesters back I had all of my papers one after the other. Just imagine five exams in 5 days. By the time I was through, I had a blot clot in my left eye.

So, for all those reading this I got only one this to say. Drop it like its HOT!!! Anyway you know how to do it is ok with me. You can take this literally or even metaphorically. If you dont know how to do it metaphorically, then dammit drop the frying pan!!! I, of course will stick to the literal version for safety. Now, where's my bloody kettle?!?