Sunday 26 October 2008

Freedom I

We live for the pursuit of happiness. Freedom will bring happiness. Believe me. If you're free to work, to not work, to live, to speak, to love, to not love, to do; you will be happy.

Freedom has brought the world's economies to their knees, you would have read the headlines. But believe me, the lack of freedom has caused this.

to be continued...

Thursday 23 October 2008

The Stale Politics of Datuk H

*Disclaimer: Please read this (Politik Baru YB J) before reading the following entirely fictional short story.*

Datuk Halil cringed as he pulled his pants up, left leg first. The shirts he wore seemed smaller everyday, his toes would be out of sight by the time he reached his 60th birthday and the smoking had to stop. He had lost the vigour of his youth a long time ago, as he very well knew, and would tell his confidants the same about his wife. It was 7 in the morning, and since it was the weekend, he was headed for the hills, to catch up with his mates.
“Loga should have the car ready. He’s never late”, he muttered to Belenguviya, still in her towel brushing her straight jet black mane. She was Russian, and expensive, but that was irrelevant for YB Halil, who was well taken care of by his superiors. She put on her clothes and made for the door, private card-key in hand. She was a shadow, on paper she was in the country with her consultant husband for a week, in real terms she had been in service for four months now. She did not need any documents, all arrangements were in secrecy.
He was now fully dressed, and picked up his mobile phone to call the hotel reception. He needed another ride, no chances were ever taken. He poured himself a coffee and sat down with a copy of the party newsletter which he had been given the night before at a rally. Smiling at the headline in large bold type, Jangan Mencabar Kami , he felt pleased that his efforts over the past few weeks had been well received by the members. He was heading for a comfortable future with the party, one which would certainly bring rich rewards. The wife would have to be even more accommodating now, lest he entertain thoughts of wooing a pretty young thing, a minor local celebrity perhaps who would be regally accepted within social circles.

He made his way out of the room and headed to the lobby; warmly greeted as usual by the butlers and smiles all round from the pretty female front staff. The black BMW pulled up at the front of the main entrance to the hotel. The jockey got out of the driver’s seat and came round the back of the gleaming black car, his reflection bouncing off the shiny new dark-tinted glass. With a nod of mischievous respect at the good Datuk, he made his way to the front office. A tall well-built man with dark sunglasses showed up from the other side of the Datuk and made his way to the driver’s seat.
“Sila masuk, tuan”, came the voice of the hotel manager as he made his way past the Datuk and put out a hand to open the back door of the car.
“Siapa drebar ni, Man? Pasti dia ni OK ke? Datuk nak sampai selamat lepas ni, Man.”
The manager assured the Datuk about the safety of his chosen employee and eventually the Datuk made his labouring way into the car.
“Bukit Damansara, ya tuan?”, asked the driver.
“Ya, betul.”
Datuk Halil was surprised at the driver’s petulance at not addressing him ‘Datuk’, even more the fact that he actually was talking to him.
The ride was quiet and smooth from the city centre to the suburb thirty minutes away. The driver was evidently unaware of the unwritten rules against engaging the passenger, one as highly posted as the Datuk.
“That was a good speech yesterday. I see a lot of people supporting you.”
“Yes.”
“I have to say, I agree with your views.”
The Datuk refrained from responding.
“Those Hindraf buggers, who do they think they are? Ha, if you want to work, work. Don’t go blame people for this and that. Look at my family. I come from Sentul. My brother is a bloody labourer, and with the pittance he gets, he goes and drinks. Comes home smelling of cheap alcohol. The fella has a young wife and three young kids. And he was there marching for Hindraf. Almost got put in jail, should have been, in fact. Actually lucky he didn’t, my mother would have forced me to bail him out. Another brother of mine, he’s in jail. But that I don’t wanna talk so much.”
Datuk Halil did not want to say anything to this man, he considered him extremely uncouth. However, he was curious. “Tell me why he’s in jail.”
“Aarrhh, that one was a funny case, funny judge. He was fourteen. Went with a group of friends somewhere, somehow involved in a gang fight. The police said he was part of the gang, their word against his. Sickening. He’s in for something like 5-6 years. Good fellow, actually. Studies hard. Not that that matters very much, how to get university anyway, isn’t it. Wasted, lah.”
Datuk Halil felt his tongue roll back in his mouth. He didn’t need to listen to this.
“Anyway, the opportunities are there. Most of these fellas don’t listen to good advice. Just do what they want, follow their friends. Don’t want to get themselves out of what they are in. I tell you, my father was not there also, only my mother. Even with that at least I got a steady job now. No education, myself. Look at those Hindraf, they say got ethnic cleansing. Then they say they want to stand up for the Tamil schools.
My foot, la! Damn Tamil schools are the reason I am where I am, and where so many of these fellas are. Come out, join the secondary school, can’t speak the language properly, have to go remove, people look down on you. I cannot tahan-lah that time. After I failed PMR properly, I started working. Anyway, basically, had to do it for my family, anyway.”
Datuk Halil swallowed. He was only talking to his people in his speeches. The party elections were just weeks away. The nominations were very important, each vote carried his hopes. There were many things he knew, things he could not understand, things he believed in. But he knew of the fears his comrades were sowing in the minds of the party faithful. He had to compete, he had to show that he was on the same side. He could not be seen to be weak.
“If I was in your party, Datuk, I would be a strong supporter. Need someone tough talking like you. My fellas, hah, all got no shame, stay until they become stale. Basi, orang cakap. Maybe-lah, in the future, will come a time when we all become one party, isn’t it Datuk. I know got many people talking about that.”
He was surprised at the man’s startling view. He hadn’t expected it. He held all his meetings behind closed doors. The news that filtered out was mostly watered down by the media machinery his party held on to.
“But Datuk, that’s why. We still look at everything in colours. Must not mix. If one gets campur with another one, he will lose out, yes or not? We must make our people rich, educate our people, support our people. If we try and help anybody else, we will lose out. That’s the only thing I don’t agree so much with your gang-lah, Datuk. But that’s the reality, yes or not.”
He was indifferent at the man’s temerity to keep his monologue going. Maybe the driver saw through the rhetoric, seeing his true values beyond his words. He probably saw that he was not really one of the xenophobes who considered the people outside the party as just that, outsiders.

In thirty minutes, he had arrived at the café where his good friend was waiting with a cup of coffee. Dr. Kwan was a paediatrician; he had grown up with Datuk Halil in a small village outside Kangar. He was small, almost frail, and showed his age even more than the Datuk. Long hours were put in at the Chinese Maternity Hospital, near Puduraya. This plus the daily stress of commuting home in his 1995 Mercedes E-Class were clearly showing on him, and he was just counting down the months to retirement.
Kwan was a high achiever, and after high school had gone to Singapore on scholarship. At the time, he was angst-filled enough to think of not coming back. After again acing his pre-med, he was offered the chance to study in the U.K. It was here he had met Halil again who was on a government scholarship, and a long shelved friendship had been revived. It was Halil who convinced him that change could happen and as soon as his bond expired, he settled in Kuala Lumpur again. He had seen other places, and he knew this was his country. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here now.
“Good morning, Hal.”
“Yes, Kwan. How are you?”
“Well, there are a certain few things bothering me, but I’m alright. Yourself?”
“Haha, Kwan, you know things couldn’t look brighter. You might be looking at a new minister come December. Anyway, what are you worried about? You have a pretty comfy retirement coming up.”
“Yes, but no fun and being chauffeured around like you, Hal. Hey, that was quite a speech last night.”
“How would you know? You weren’t there.”
“A small article in the papers today. Says you really got the crowd going.”
“I suppose. I really need the support, Kwan, if I’m going to get there. Those people are quite an enigma, they show support in front of you, but when push comes to shove, you never know where the vote is going to go. I have to pull out all the stops. I’m putting a whole lot of my money on this.”
“Alright, Hal. Its good they didn’t know you in university, huh?”
“Yeah, right. What else did they say in the paper?”
“Nothing much. It focused on what you said on the protests; flavour of the month I suppose.”
“Yes, I had to get that in.”
Kwan paused for minute, pondering something.
“You know, Hal. My son can’t speak any Chinese.”
“OK. Why didn’t you teach him?”
“Well, I was barely home enough, and Karen doesn’t speak the language.”
“That’s alright. It’s not that important nowadays.”
“Makes it rather hard for him to go to China.”
“You want him to go to China? For business?”
“No. He says you wanted him to go there.”
“Excuse me, Kwan?”
“Look, Hal, all that you said is clear as day online. Just because there’s nothing in the papers doesn’t mean anything. Anyone can get anything online. You know what my son said last night? He said he’s sick of this. He loves this country, he loves his friends, people, he knows no other. But he’s seen and heard a lot and that makes him sick. What do I say to him, Hal? Look at Josephine. You know as well as I that she did not do anything wrong. You know she sees beyond race, she’s just not that kind of politician. But you don’t think things through, Hal, do you?”
“Kwan, I just need to say those things now. It’s the psyche battle, everyone may know better, but the herd decides. If you’re not running in the same direction, you’re out.”
“Don’t you have courage, Hal? I really thought you’d know better.”

Kwan left shortly after. Datuk Halil made his way home after paying the bill. He held on to his beliefs. When he gets into power, he will do what is right, but for now, he needs to do all he can. The rest of the day was filled up with golf with a group of party insiders. He was driven home at 9 pm that night, after drinks.

He received the news, and calls were coming in faster than he could answer them. He couldn’t think straight and was pondering turning off the phone. It was a repulsive feeling to have, after the confident past few weeks. He had never expected this.
The family were in front of the TV. The kids were out, probably partying, said his wife. Except Suhaila, she was in her room, and "upset over a guy".
He went upstairs, and decided to check in on her. Suhaila was a sixteen-year-old who he sent to a private school, as with all his children. He thought it was better for their development than national schools. There was a time when he pondered sending them to a vernacular school, but that would have looked bad, politically. She had her face in her hands and was sitting at her dressing table. As he approached, she looked up at him with red eyes;
“I wasn’t expecting to tell you this; I’m with this guy named Bryan. His mother just got shot. I suppose you already know.”

Monday 20 October 2008

its a who-i-am thing

My sister and I had dinner in our grandparent's house; and for the first time I asked my grandma where she was born. We speak in English, though my mother tongue is Malayalam, and she says she was born in India. I never knew, thought that she was born in Malaysia. Tonight, I officially declare myself a second-generation Malaysian-born Malaysian.

Apart from that, I found out that she arrived with her parents on 11 August 1957, the date on which I was born exactly 30 years later. She had come for a defined reason: to get married. My grandfather, she said, had come to Malaysia 10 years before, to work. He was a government servant, I recall from memory, last working in the agriculture department. He's a story on his own.

The next time I see her, I am gonna ask if its possible for us to go back to where we came from. I have read and heard in many places that that is exactly what I should do. A little hard, considering I embarrassingly can't speak my mother tongue, being bilingual, and the fact that I do not have an international passport; plus the fact that I truly have tertumpah darah di tanahairku.

I just watched a teen flick called Its a Boy-girl Thing.
I swear off mindless movies, and have had the misfortune of having to sit through quite a few stupid teen flicks since the last one I liked: 10 Things I Hate About You. But this was a good movie with a real sort of heartiness. And to think it was executive produced by Sir Elton John.

Saturday 4 October 2008

Black & White Fest at Annexe, CM

Seems like everything at the Annexe is now called a festival. :)

This one was not quite a festival, more a sombre ode to nice photos, preserved for austerity in monochrome.

In fact, the actual photo section was just one of three parts of the festival; Diversity, Constitutional Amendments and Wayang Kita-kita, respectively.

  • Diversity featured the work of 10 Malaysian photographers. The people who run the place, Lim Hock Seng and Pang Khee Teik, also featured in the exhibition, although one has to stretch to imagine them as photographers, per se, a bit like Bernice Chauly, who by most accounts is a writer-cum-poet. The 7 other names featured were rather unknown, therefore it was uncertain if they too were known as anything but photographers in a previous life.
    The images were quite esthetically pleasing, if not provocative, as festivals in the Annexe tend to be. The prices were not quite a bargain, RM 500 up to RM 4000, but the prints were one-off pieces. I quite liked one with a family road-trip theme and Khee Teik's print, displayed in the overhead platform.

  • Wayang Kita-kita seemed to be a pretty simplistic line-up of posters. On closer inspection, however, one could feel for the endeavour taken to source the stills from old Malay movies, some of which had been lost in time. Full marks for value.

  • The Constitutional Amendments section was a text installation, featuring some of the 600-700 changes in the Malaysian Constitution since independence. The feature was interactive in that it wanted the audience to post little green stickers on the parts they preferred, either the unamended or amended part. It was an imaginative little row, but smudged by misspelled words.
    A little feature in the corner was a quite nice touch, one that marks the Annexe as unique among its peers. The audience were encouraged to scribble their views with crayons and paste them on the wall. Nice to see the civilised and uncivilised side of people shining through.
Below are some shots I took at the festival, not withstanding copyright issues, the images aren't that clear so I don't think those will come up; interspersed with pictures I took on the way from the KL train station.