The Stinky Selangor: Water W(H)oes.

Yesterday morning, I woke up to the news that my cat had run away with my neighbour’s dog. It was depressing; I was in despair.

Then, to my surprise, I realised I was dreaming. Nay, it was a nightmare. I don’t even have a cat. It was those half-asleep dreams after you shut the alarm on your phone up and decided to just shut the eyes for about three seconds. which usually translates to lots of muscle cramps because you end up racing to work on time and you were sprightly 20 years old three decades ago.

Anyway, during my train ride, I made the usual mistake—the mistake that is poised to ruin the entire day—swipe the phone while reading news. And these came up:

I might as well be even more masochistic and scroll through TikTok suggestions.

The reason cited was “odour” pollution. No kidding.

Anyway, look at this. It’s happening to the richest state in the country. Oh wait. Is it still the richest state? Let me check again, with  my pal Chad G. Petey.

The vibrant business environment has definitely had to be sarcasm, right, Petey?

Because the vibrant business scene has to face these goddamned scenes in 2020 alone. Look.

February 7: A burst pipe in Gombak led to a water disruption, which was resolved within 24 hours.

March 17: Odour pollution at Sungai Selangor affected water treatment plants and was restored the next day.

April 16: Another odour pollution incident disrupted the water supply for 1.2 million users.

June 11: A burst water pipe near Jalan Langat in Klang affected specific areas and was resolved within a day.

July 14: Scheduled disruption due to plant repair affected nearly 300 areas, resolved by July 171.

August 11: Upgrading work caused a water disruption in Gombak, which was restored by the next day.

September 3: Unscheduled disruption affected over 1,200 areas due to odour pollution from a factory in Rawang.

We can only come to one conclusion: Boy, has the state been stinking, especially ever since Pakatan took over? What with all those odour pollutions? From the year 2019 until now, every year there has been this issue. Check out the stories for 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, and 2023. It’s the sort of stinky consistency that can only be seen in the sty of certain hoofed animals.

While the state government and Air Selangor just kept using the same template and modifying the wording, date, and locations for their announcements, they have not said anything about a master plan to deal with the whole goddamned thing. Perhaps waiting for the next round of campaigning for the 16^th General Election—making empty promises—won Pakatan Rakyat big time the last time. It won’t hurt this time either. The voters are like frat boys who love ‘em sexy chicks despite later having the brains of barnyard livestock.

Anyway, the stage government and its sidechick, I mean, sidekick, Air Selangor, have not discussed openly about a permanent solution. Others did suggest solutions.

Malaysian Chinese Association’s (remember them?) vice president, Datuk Ir Lawrence Low, is the MCA vice president, and the MCA Selangor state liaison committee chairman has contributed an op-ed here. The IR is for engineer, by the way, unlike current Menteri Besar, a former football coach who has whatchamacallit…social science degree.

With some strong suggestions, Low noted yesterday’s dry taps affected more than 1,100 areas in the Klang Valley, including 280 in Petaling, 107 in Klang, 60 in Shah Alam, 175 in Gombak, 165 in Kuala Lumpur, and 325 in Hulu Selangor.

He also talked about the effect on KL, which I would call "Tempias.”

Tempias is a beautiful Bahasa Malaysia word that does not have an exact translation in English; it means droplets that sprinkle out of a splash elsewhere and hit someone or something else.

“KL residents might not vote in Selangor, but through no fault of theirs, they have to endure the identical predicament as their Selangor counterparts as the water channels are derived from the same sources by Air Selangor,” he wrote in there.

He had listed some ideas that may work, but hang on... politics, right? No way, the Pakatan government is going to listen to some MCA guy. Pakatan has DAP, which hates MCA’s guts.

If they are going to let this be a regular event like shopping mall sales, they are only going to cripple the economy of the state.

In fact, six years ago, fretting over the disruption, an associate professor had this to say:

“In general, the Klang Valley accounted for about 38 percent of Malaysia's gross domestic product (GDP) value in 2016, totaling RM1.23 trillion.

Based on estimates, if the issue lasts for a month, it is estimated that economic losses can reach over RM2 billion due to reduced productivity and the impact on other sectors.”

So, basically, Selangor State is committing an investment hara-kiri by leaving the water disruption issue unresolved if they keep not doing anything about the frequent dry taps until the next election. Folks, especially those who had high hopes (ini kalilah), are now exposed to the whole set of empty promises, starting from the federal to the indifferent state governments.  They are disgusted.

Can you fellas smell that odour?

Step Down, US of A. You Ain’t The Greatest Nation In The World No More.

 

We are the greatest nation in the world, says the leaders in the United States all the time. But is it for real?

Mohandas Karamchand Ghandhi once said, “A nation’s greatness is measured by how it treats its weakest members.”. Let’s turn it around, and we get, “A nation’s awfulness is measured by how much its own citizen wants to kill its president.”.

With the recent assassination attempt against former US president Donald Trump, we can surmise one thing: the United States of America is not the greatest nation, as it always beats its bullet-riddled chest and proclaims. I agree that it had the world’s greatest screen actor (one; the rest are from England and other parts of Europe), most gorgeous actresses (classic), and the greatest range of ice cream flavours (or flavors). That’s it.

We Are The Champions

Of course, there are other ways of measuring the USA's greatness, like its performances in sports, for example. But there is more mess there than you can shake your baseball bat at. Check these guys out, for instance. Known as the 1919 Black Sox Scandal, eight players from the Chicago White Sox team conspired to throw the World Series for money (the World here consists of the USA and Canada, by the way). Then, there are doping scandals, especially in the swimming category—occurrences as regular as pickles in their hamburgers—with swimmers failing the tests again and again at international events. And you thought they were bright.

They are so enmeshed with dope that the co-founder of Pay Pal, Peter Thiel (an American, duh! ), proposed Enhanced Games. What is it? Well, this one is the Olympics for athletes who use performance-enhancing drugs. How about that?

Dead Presidents.

Coming back to Trump, let's face the facts; no country has blood thirst against the head of state (or former) like this country does. Allow the facts and figures to speak for themselves.

According to this report (dated 2009, so you hafta add the Donald in on your own; don’t be lazy): Direct assaults against presidents, presidents-elect, and candidates have occurred on 15 separate occasions, with five resulting in death. Ten incumbents (about 23% of the 43 individuals to serve in the office), including four of the seven most recent presidents, have been victims or targets. Four of the 10 (and one candidate) died as a result of the attacks.

If you look at that site, you will notice that one of the assassins is a gal, looking like a 1950s TV housewife straight out of a washing machine commercial. Talk about equal opportunity.

Now, look at this chronology chart, courtesy of Al Jazeera:

A Nation Of Killers. 

Gosh, they really hate their presidents, whom they voted democratically for. Sure, it has become—ever since the country’s inception in 1777—a breeding ground for president killers, but while underground, it distils chambers filled with serial killers.

Here, just take a look at the difference between the first entry and the second on the nation with the highest number of serial killers taken from Data Panda.

 

Based on that I asked Chatgpt as to why US is holding the flag to having most number of the worst human beings on earth. The response:

The prevalence of serial killers in the United States can be attributed to several factors. While it’s a complex issue, here are some contributing factors:

1. Population Size: The U.S. has a large population, which naturally increases the likelihood of having more criminals, including serial killers.

2. Media Influence: American culture places significant emphasis on crime and violence. Movies, TV shows, and news coverage often sensationalize serial killers, creating a sort of “infamy” that may attract disturbed individuals.

3. Mobility and Urbanization: The U.S. has a highly mobile population, with people moving across states and cities. This mobility makes it easier for serial killers to operate without detection.

4. Access to Weapons: The availability of firearms and other weapons makes it easier for individuals to commit violent acts.

5. Historical Context: The U.S. has a history of notorious serial killers, such as Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, and John Wayne Gacy. These cases have left a lasting impact on public consciousness.

6. Cultural Anonymity: In large cities, people can remain relatively anonymous, allowing serial killers to blend in and avoid suspicion.

Remember, though, that this is a multifaceted issue, and no single explanation can fully account for the phenomenon. 😊🔍

 

Yeah, in the last line, basically, the AI is throwing its artificial hands up.

The Uninhabitable 

Therefore, it comes as no surprise that the US has also been frequently rated as the worst country to live in. According to this report, safety is the biggest concern. …About 69 percent of expats reported feeling safe in the U.S., but that number is far less than the 81 percent average worldwide.”

Even Forbes says that the country is uninhabitable.

Point four is especially the most off-putting factor. You have an organisation like the National Riffle Association that is still fighting for gun rights despite the frequency of school shootings that killed many innocent kids.

Just to give you an idea of where this so-called advanced, developed nation stands, check out these 2024 statistics on gun violence by the World Population Review site.

Country	Total Gun Deaths 2019	Homicides	Suicides	Unintentional
Brazil	49,437	47,510	1,259	668
United States	37,040	13,001	23,365	674
Mexico	22,119	20,509	914	696
India	14,711	7,977	6,145	589
Colombia	13,171	12,596	478	97
Venezuela	10,599	9,338	702	559
Philippines	9,268	9,028	110	130
Guatemala	5,981	5,165	64	752
Nigeria	5,103	3,482	458	1,163
Iraq	4,424	2,649	428	1,347

The higher number of suicides compared to homicide surely lets us non-Americans know that we do not have to hate that country; there’s enough self-loathing. Speaking of which, it has often been recorded that more soldiers in that country died of suicide than in actual combat, with the rate going up to 127 per day. Dig this chart taken from its veteran affairs site. 

 

Then there’s the friendly fire—yeah, accidentally shooting your own team members. According to the report here (I couldn’t get the latest) during the Gulf War (part one, not the sequel), 35 Americans and nine British soldiers lost their lives due to friendly fire, accounting for nearly one-quarter of the total 148 combat deaths.

Dodging Racism Bullets

Now, leave all that aside. If you can live there dodging bullets and blindsiding, you have to face another bigger obstacle: racism.

Right now, forget about the African Americans there; they are destined to experience racism in that country for the rest of its existence. It’s the Muslims who are the new blacks. The PEW research in 2021 found out that ever since the 9/11 incident (or tragedy) and with the increase in the population in the country, “Muslims have reported encountering more discrimination. In 2017, during the first few months of the Trump administration, about half of Muslim American adults (48%) said they had personally experienced some form of discrimination because of their religion in the previous year. This included a range of experiences, from people acting suspicious of them to being physically threatened or attacked. In 2011, by comparison, 43% of Muslim adults said they had at least one of these experiences, and 40% said this in 2007.

Let’s face it, the Americans and United States of America are in a mess. They voted in an orange guy with a gift for foot-in-mouth disease and then a zombie as their presidents. The orange is poising for a comeback (the walking dead’s ain’t gonna return, as mentioned in the same story in the link). It must be the beaming Trump and that sunny glare from the follicular creature on top of his head that had the assassin missed the aorta and gave Trump free ear piercing.

You gotta admit, America is ailing. The sad truth is, with trash piling up in its own gutter, it wanted to clean other homes, sometimes out of the neighbourhood. I am reminded of the rock band Led Zeppelin’s song lines: “If it keeps on rainin', the levee's goin' to break; when the levee breaks, I'll have no place to stay.”.

So, who wants to live in the US?

Women Drivers? Oh Yeah, Baby

The other day, I was talking to an old pal about driving—I no longer drive, for now, having just rebooted my life—and as we went on, that old cliché, ugly as it was, cropped up. Women drivers!

I know there are lots of men reading this who might shrink into an embryonic position or frown, cringing till the eyeballs drop out. Some might even crawl under the table, but they probably need to go home because they have had one too many.

Over-reaction aside, yes, there is common knowledge that women are bad drivers. I have long disputed that, because, to be honest, I feel safer when a gal is behind the wheel than men, who tend to be a lot more reckless. Especially in our country, most of them have seen Formula One, aspire to be one, and end up treating their vehicles like their bitches, ultimately enriching many mechanics.

I like being driven by a gal (in a car, that is). The gal would also feel safer because I am not going to be funny with her, or we will end up being scraped from the mangled metal pieces later.

But is it actually the reality that women are terrible drivers? I first realised the existence of this preconception from one of my favourite authors, Ian Fleming, the creator of James Bond, in the Thunderball novel. Thankfully, that passage is available online, which I reproduce here.

“Women are often meticulous and safe drivers, but they are very seldom first-class. In general, Bond regarded them as a mild hazard, and he always gave them plenty of road and was ready for the unpredictable. Four women in a car he regarded as the highest potential danger, and two women nearly as lethal. Women together cannot keep silent in a car, and when women talk, they have to look into each other’s faces. An exchange of words is not enough. They have to see the other person’s expression, perhaps to read behind the others’ words or analyse the reaction to their own. So two women in the front seat of a car constantly distract each other’s attention from the road ahead, and four women are more than doubly dangerous, for the driver not only has to hear and see what her companion is saying but also, for women are like that, what the two behind are talking about.”

Well, I leave it to you to judge. But Fleming is old-school. His Bond sleeps with women, including others’ wives (just like Fleming himself, as I read this memoir written by his colleague, where they both shamelessly wrote about the romps with wives of some VIPs). Misogynistic as Fleming and Bond were, they were products of their time.

Time has changed since then. Heck, a lot has changed too, like my hairline. It is too obvious that men are the most reckless of the two. Take this article, for instance:

“Compared with women, male drivers of cars and vans had twice the rate of fatal accidents per mile driven. Male truck drivers had about four times the rate of women truckers, and men driving motorcycles had almost 12 times the rate of women motorcyclists. For bus drivers and bicycle riders, there was little difference between the sexes.”

As a matter of fact, very recently, the French government—of all folks—actually encouraged men to drive like women to reduce traffic deaths. “Drawing on data from France's National Interministerial Road Safety Observatory 2022-2023, the campaign noted that 84% of fatal accidents are caused by men,” that article noted.

In fact, in terms of death on the road, the difference between men and women is very apparent. In this research, it says that “despite women’s and children’s physical vulnerabilities during a crash, three times more men than women die in road crashes globally. Men die on the roads mainly as car drivers and motorcycle riders, while women are killed mainly as pedestrians and car passengers.”

See what I’m saying here? It mentioned motorcycles there. Let me not get into that. We all know that in our country, motorcycles are suicide machines that men grip between their thighs in many positions, manoeuvres, and moves until you see them climaxing by lying stiff on the road with newspaper covering their respective faces.

They Scratched Me: A Writer’s Long Strained Relationship With Cats.

An acquaintance of mine sent me this through WhatsApp:

I don’t know what she had in mind when she sent that—probably nothing, probably grilled cheese sandwiches. But I hadda respond (always the last word, guy, like any doofus). I sent this to match the above:

Yet, it sent me on a trip about my relationship with cats, so in my What’s App Status today, I posted the following:

The difference between dog and cat relationship with human:

- Dog lovers have harmonious, symbiotic, and even almost blood-like relationship, immersed in loyalty, and devotion to each other.

- Cat lovers has one way street to deal with a sour-faced furball who don't give a rat's ass until you feed 'em, and still are in the "royalty" "godly" realm of the ancient Egyptian empire, even if Islam has long came over ankicked [sic] Athe pussies off the pedestal. Sonovaguns still thinks they are kings, queens and gods. Yet, we still want to be nice to them, and please them despite the centuries old toxicity they have been emitting in the name of relationship.

But before I go further into that, in a way, I need to let you know that I owe cats my career. Here’s why.

I was working in Singapore for the last three years at HSBC, doing boring admin jobs, when too much reading and dreaming made me wanna become a writer. But I felt I should come back to Malaysia and be a writer—you know, like how the teen Clark Kent went to the Fortress of Sollitute and returned to Metropolis as Full-Fledged Superman, complete with red boots and underwear outside the body suit?

I was like that. I went to Singapore and came back to Malaysia with a scriptwriting certificate in hand and red underwear. Inside. I think my memory’s a bit hazy.

Being a writer was a career switch move, having worked at HSBC Singapore in the late 90s and then coming to Malaysia to become a scribe. Coming back here, I sent a small piece of article to the New Straits Times on Cat, and they actually published it. I reproduced it here back then (2002).

I clipped the article, made copies of it, and used it for my job applications and interviews, and I actually managed to score my first writing position. I continued to use them in my other job interviews to show my... writing prowess. So, in a way, I owe those felines my career.

My relationship with them has always been outdoors. From the time I was a kid, I was told not to spend too much time with them because of my asthma (mine was pretty bad when I was a kid), and those suffering from it are allergic to cats, which later I found is attributable to felines’s dead skin cells.

So, I never kept them. But I would pick them up wherever I see them and scratch them, or sometimes, as mentioned in that article, they scratch me back with claws, Wolverine-like, and take a flight without wings.

If not for the scratching contest, I would actually talk to them, mostly in Malayalam. Strangely, I was convinced that they too share the same mother tongue as mine. Also, the “meow” sounds like Malayalam-ish, with that soft nasal undertone, because those who speak proper Malayalam always sound like they have implanted cotton balls in their mouths.

But cats are the ones with the most the most attitude issues when it comes to pet-type animals. I agree to that. All dogs go to heaven. But cats will give hell to even Satan, so the red dude will send the furballs to God, and God will send them back to earth another eight times. Maximum. See?

I got to trying to figure out actually why I like cats despite them treating me like a leper or a politician. Is it because they are cute? So are dogs. Is it because they are expert predators? Their bigger cousins, well, you know...

I suppose one of the reasons why I am always drawn to cats, apart from the aloofness and loving being alone, among others, is that both cats and I have big attitude problems. I suppose it takes one to appreciate the other.

Happy Birthday, Sith Lord Magatheer...

 

As the former premier, Tun Dr. Mahathir ends his ninth decade on earth, with almost one third of his life being this country’s prime minister, this writer looks back both fondly and regretfully at the last few years of his public life, the period where usually legacies are forged or thrown down the garbage chute. 

As the former premier, Tun Dr. Mahathir ends his ninth decade on earth, with almost one third of his life being this country’s prime minister, this writer looks back both fondly and regretfully at the last few years of his public life, the period where usually legacies are forged or thrown down the garbage chute. 

Today, one of the most well-known public figures in Malaysia, Tun Dr. Mahathir Mohamed, celebrates his 99th birthday. 99 years on earth, even surpassing some of the long-life-spanned tortoises that haven’t gotten trapped in some fishing net. The similarities are that the tortoises were harmless creatures with a hard shell protecting their bodies, while Mahathir is about as harmless as an arsenic-laced vanilla ice cream with a hard ego protecting his actions.

A New Hope

Years before, during his first round of premiership, before he turned to the dark side and became the Sith Lord of the Opposition, Dr. Mahathir was generally well liked by all Malaysians, admired grudgingly by his then foes, for his vision, his wit, and his general love for the progress of the country. My late brother was fond of him, in fact, having met the former PM several times, but that was Dr. M Part One, A New Hope.

Then, all hell broke loose... Well, the damn first burst during his premiership when his then deputy, Anwar Ibrahim, was put behind the slammer for, of all things, what the latter was doing to his biological instrument.

Mahathir is known as the father of development (Bapa Pembangunan Malaysia); oh, wait no, that is Tun Abdul Razak, our second premier. I checked, and it says that 

Dr. M is bapa wavawan, which is referring to Vision 2020. The bespectacled premier launched this vision in 1991, whereby there was all sorts of idealistic stuff that he hoped Malaysia would achieve. It was a vision after all. Something former drug addicts would gladfully share in rehab centres. I know some.

But you have to give him credit, though. When he became the prime minister through a different political party in 2020, he announced that the Vision 2020 had failed, blaming his successors Pak Lah and Najib. Because, why the hell not?  

Resignation Strikes Back

Since he resigned for the second time—yes, very few people resign from the same position in the same office twice—he has been in a couple of other parties, swinging like an octogenarian Tarzan from one political tree to another.

While the swinging 80 then 90 something was doing the, err, swinging, he continued with his bitching, whining, and moaning, most of which entered whichever leader at the helm of the country’s administration’s left ear and squeezed out of the right one.

Which now brings us to the question of legacy. One day or another, his time to leave the earthly abode will come, and how will folks remember him? Yes….

The legacy. You see, his first successor, Abdullah Badawi, may not have been the greatest prime minister, but after his passing, he is remembered fondly as a, well, nice guy. Genial, a gentleman who had never ruffled anyone’s feathers, kept his head down and just did his job. We remember him fondly as that Songkok-wearing, pleasant man who was genuine and a great diplomat during his foreign minister days.

When Dr. M is no longer around, we will just remember him as a cynical, bitter person who couldn’t let go of his power and had to resign twice—after humiliations—and yet didn’t want to leave the stage like an ageing thespian who spends more time with make-up than actually performing.

Return Of The Sith

It is not that he has not done anything. Yes, bringing Malaysia out of the agricultural era is one, but what I love the most about him is his guts whenever he treats the United States like a b***tch. Even the French was not spared. There is a Samson vs. Goliath feel to the whole stance of his, always smacking the American image around like a dwarf in a wrestling ring. It’s satisfying.

I view him more as an anti-hero than either side of the character axis. He is sort of the Dirty Harry of Malaysian politics, where the movie cop was once seen as heroic, but in retrospect, Harry is dismissed as a fascist cop by critics, who criticised and noted that Harry’s unsound methods would have long sent him into an asylum.

Not that I suggest they do the same to Tun Dr. Mahathir. Being still active in Malaysian politics, he is in a bloody asylum, especially as he lived through the craziness that ensued after Datuk Seri Najib was ousted by the now regretting voters who are still waiting for either an ideal prime minister or the drop in fuel prices, both of which were empty promises.

In any case, Dr. Mahathir’s contributions would not be forgotten, just as we won’t forget some of the darker deeds. Happy birthday (as we Indians pronounce his name), Dr. Magatheer. May the force be with you.

 

Some Shit About Ilaiyaraaja’s Detractors, Haters, Enviers, and other knuckleheads

Warning: This was written angrily, but as cautiously as I could, and finally, I didn’t feel like strangling a very small animal. So there are lotsa curse words there. Also, I don’t write formally to introduce who’s who, what, and all that. This is for those who know that industry. So, bear with this shit.

Today, I was incensed (nothing to do with the fact that I am staying right above a shop selling incense sticks) when I saw a TikTok clip of small and medium-sized music composer James Vasanthan berrating Ilayaraja, calling him "muttAL." That’s “idiot” for the uninitiated. Raaja fans must be aware that a shitload of attacks have occurred, especially after the sexual harasser referred to as the Emperor of Poetry has been making attacks on Ilayaraja.

Spiritualism shit.

Here’s the TikTok clip in which James Vasantham (Vasanthan? F*** I care) calls Raaja “Muttal” (idiot) for not recognising Jesus Christ because Raja believed that Ramana Maharishi went through the same die/resurrection grind that the Christian’s Lord supposedly went through. Raja didn’t believe in Christ. So were billions of others on earth, dude. And a great many percentages spend their lifetime ridiculing the Son of God, and even a bigger percentage of them are academics and scientists. James may call them idiots too.

But the point Vasanthi was making was more on spiritualism, and Raja spoke highly of the live, die, and resurrection shtick. There is a second part where he is praising Raja’s music and how much he was influenced by it, but he is angry with the religious comment Raja made in one event about the only person, according to the Maestro, who was resurrected being Ramana Maharishi. Waste-anthan felt this was insulting the Christian community.

Raja is hated for that.

Killing MSV market shit

Then, this Instagram (yes, I am all over social media), S.J. Suriya accuses Raja of crippling MSV’s market. I like S.J. Suriya as an actor only. Now, he should know that the man who introduced Raaja to the film world, Panju Arunachalam, is the right-hand man of Kannadhasan, who was like the blood brother of MSV, and Kannadhasan himself gave full backing to Raaja, who was scorned upon by the other snobbish (from high caste) composers, especially as Raaja hails from what they called the “backward community.”.

That didn’t stop the future Maestro. Raaja complemented the industry that’s filled with hate, bigotry, prejudice, sexism, and really, really poor taste with his low-key sound, mostly folksy delights from earlier years. Now, MSV, who was working on the Big Hero projects at the same time (circa mid-70s), namely Sivaji and the other guy, produced bombastic sounds, brassy, loud, and pleading for attention. Only when the budget is smaller, he'll pipe down and produce gems, especially for the likes of K. Balachander and Sridhar.

I used to have NO favourite Tamil film composer. I love most of the pre-90s dudes, and I listen to Raaja more because he had the most output out there and came with the films we were watching growing up. But I adore MSV’s composition. I am amazed with KV Mahadevan’s very carnatic-based stuff. There were earlier guys like Ramanathan and many others who produced timeless gems. And I don’t go around spewing character assasinating shit like what these guys are doing nowadays to Raaja. Who they are is their business. What they come up with is the transaction I am interested in. To reiterate, Raja never killed MSV’s market. MSV just faded out. But…Raja collaborated with MSV in 4 films: Mella Thiranthathu Kathathavu', 'Senthamizh Paatu' 'Vishwa Thulsi' and 'Senthamizh Selvan'.

Raja is hated for that.

Arrogance shit

Then comes the arrogance factor. Because he is being himself and not letting anyone walk all over him. Try being humble in real life, like really humble, and especially amongst the Indians; you never know when you either feel cold steel or leathery rod up your ass. That’s why Nadigar Thilagam held his head high, never letting those motherf**kers push him off the cliff, and Kamal Haasan knew it too well, because he has seen them all from the age of 5. They say he is arrogant too. In that case, Raaja is in great company.

His time is literally money. He keeps working, praying, meditating, eating whatever crumble he feasts on, and moving on to the next schedule. He has no time for pleasantries, sucking up, and all that crap. Say what you want, take it if it is offered, and scram.

Raja is hated for that.

Sings his own songs, one too many shit

During the day, Raaja composes up to three, four, and five. I don’t know how many films. It’s too demanding for the musicians and the singers when this man is ready with the notes to be handed. But in his studio, stuff works like clockwork; discipline is the thang there. I suppose you may even need to apply in advance, in writing, to go to the bathroom. It’s that tight a ship he was running.

He would first sing a demo track, pass it on to the singers when they arrived, and then look at the other work. But if the singer is gonna be late or not even turn up, he will sing the song himself in a proper take and move on to the next one. Why? Because fuck that shit, that’s why. He is committed to many producers, all of whom would literally be queueing outside his house, and he has to deliver or it will jeopardise the release date. Capish?

He is difficult to approach shit.

See above.

Rude shit

See arrogant shit.

The current composers shit

Each time Anirudh or GVP farts out a synth-based chewing guy, they get passed around like party marijuana till all have had their fill and are immediately forgotten. Those tunes don’t have legs to stand on, mostly wobble and hit their noses first on the floor. These synthesiser straddlers could only dream of achieving what Raaja achieved.

And we Raaja fans are only amused when the dwarfs start kicking our shins. To use the spiritual analogy, followers of big ass swamijis like Vivekananda or Ramakrishna should not be pissed when a temple priest bitches about those gurus. Just pat their backs and say, “pO, pOyee mani adi” (go and ring your bells, to paraphrase Anita Ward).

So far, Raaja has never responded to all this crap. He knows how to shut the eff up and attend to his job, which these morons don’t because they are not as busy as him anyway. But his cryptic lines on stage or during interviews reveals why he doesn’t have to respond to all that. He left the street pavement long ago and runs a corporation. He could only smile and wave emphatically at the roadside buskers from atop his suite floor.

And he’s hated for that?

Final shit

Look, he composed for thousands of films, working with thousands of musicians, technicians, artists, film crews, and hundreds of filmakers, producers, tea makers, and those who sweep and mop the studio. If he is the kind of person that some of these wonderful barrel scrapers claimed to be, he should not have had all those folks around him. They would have abandoned him at an orphanage.

Because they really would have hated him for all that.

Matt the Cat And The Vet

 

Note:;The poem is my own... the picture, though, was AI prompted.

There was once a cat

Whose name Matthew or Matt

He went to see a vet

Coz Matt has been rather sad.

But the vet said

"I can’t do ain’t no nothin’

For I just medicate

But can’t stop your sulkin’.."

And the Matt the cat

Was angry, pissed and mad

“what do you mean

Can’t do ain’t no nothin’?”

“It means what it is”

said the vet, getting pissed.

“…you either ain’t gettin’ it

Or just lackin' some wit”.

Unperturbed Matt the cat said

“The language is poor and bad

Filled with quadruple negatives.

For I can be very attentive”

And that was when 

Both realized, that 

Sad Matt is sad no longer

For he was now in anger

“Hey, you’ve been cured”

Said the vet, enthused.

Matt’s gloominess was gone

He will no longer mourn.

He thanked the vet

Said that it was a bet

That his friends had already paid

That Matt, instead, might be spayed 

RKP – 09/04/2025

Gals and Moon

It took me more than two decades to feel secure with my writing skills. There was, however, when I first started out with this profession, the cockiness set in, and I told myself that I could write about anything (non-fiction, in a magazine feature article-length piece). With a bit of research, I was ready to go.

Then, the food poisoning happened. Yes, I was hired to write reviews on food, and after a trip to a few places, I had diarrhea so intense that the darkest region in my posterior still quivers in fear just thinking about it.

The confidence (not the arrogance) has somewhat returned, especially after I started contributing to an online portal, because the subjects had been pretty varied, and even recently, I attempted writing about politics in the country. My late brother, Balan, who first encouraged the writer in me, would be proud.

So, imagine my surprise, strangely, that on the very same day, two ladies—one my editor at NMH and another, someone whom I consider an intellectual sparring partner—challenged me into writing something about their own chosen subject.

I accepted both, having now written the piece for NMH. Now, what was my beloved frenemy (I am a cat, she’s into dogs) wanting me to write about?

Women and the moon cycle. She may as well ask me to write about nuclear fission.

After cracking my head, I thought, How would AI respond to that? And I asked ChatGPT the same. The sonovabitch gleefully rattled a piece; here’s the screen cap.

It is still enthusiastically writing... until I shut the browser on its face. Yeah, I can be mean to technology.

Anyway, while I was in deep thought on this subject, something occurred to me about the effect of the moon on living beings. Werewolves!

As everyone knows, legend has it that some normal guys and gals who have been attacked by werewolves themselves will turn into one—on full moon night. They could be anyone you know, from your school bus driver to your grandma’s sex therapist.

So, what does that tell you about women’s monthly predicament and the effect of the moon on both gals and wolves? They are both immensely angry. Werewolves will kill you. Girls having periods will tear you from limb to limb if you accidentally walk into their brooding moments. Be careful!

And what are the connections between werewolves and women? Actually nothing. I just tried to link 'em up.

Anyway, back to the given topic, I did learn that over the centuries, womenkind found a close link between the moon and their own period cycles. The article here says: “Traditionally, women bleed with the new moon and ovulate with the full moon. This assumption has been built into work with moon phases.”

Also, after telling us (thank you) that during the ovulation period, gals bodies are most fertile, Then, moving on, the goddamned articles started giving colours to the periods! White moon, pink moon, mauve moon, whatever. I am colour blind.

Which means I have a perfect excuse for me to no longer research this stuff. If it involves colour, it ain’t my gig.

Writing about Writing

Not a random Internet pix. That's my horrendous handwriting alright.

Since I have been doing this for sometimes ( two decades plus), I feel comfortable now sharing some of my views, experiences, or knowledge - if at all they are of any value - in writing. I shall disseminate some, hopefully, useful pointers from time to time. No plans. Just by whim. Instinct. I started writing out some pointers last year and have pointedly abandoned it. Let’s restart it. Here you go.

Writing about writing #01

Long Sentences.

If you are writing long sentences, use commas adequately, and if it necessitates, use them generously, as is demonstrated in the very sentence you are reading. A lack of commas in a very long sentence will put the reader in a coma.

You see, punctuation gives a reader breathing space. Which, in turn, allows her a fraction of time to think, process, and figure out what the hell was that had to be read in a long stretch. Putting a comma before “and” is referred to as an Oxford comma. You can avoid it. It's pure snobbery at best. So, to summarise:

Write short sentences.

Like this.

Ciao – RKP 27/4/23

Writing about writing: #02

Using abbreviations

Or short form. Chat speak, that is. 2moro, stf lk tat.

Fine, I am okay with that. Having crossed the bridge from the analogue to the digital age, I am sort of able to adapt and understand, but at the same time, I am fond of the languages enough to not have to read them—by looking at what appears to look like pigeon’s diarrhea on screen—and I have to spend additional time deciphering them like bloody wartime code.

But it's okay to use them. Only be prepared to be misunderstood. It needed to be translated to whichever language the reader has in her head, from the chat language to the proper sentence, back to the mother tongue—not to mention the state of mind the person is in. A lot, I mean, shitload can be lost in that translation after translation, which leads to...

….misunderstanding. No? Think. Switch that flashback button. More on this later... RKP 28/4/23

Writing about writing: #03

Thoughts on why writing and speaking are different.

Those who speak well may not write just as well. Likewise, you would find great writers who are not quite as “flowing” and “flowery” when they talk. Some are just as gifted as both. When you write, you have the freedom of pausing, formulating thoughts, and kneading them into a fresh sentence. The best part is that you can correct, or even better, delete, the whole damn thing. Try that when having a conversation. You can go back, saying, “Oh, wait, erase what I said just now." Life doesn’t work that way because you are also erasing some of the better reputation you have been saving up until then. The media guys, though—the reporters on any platform—are fast. So, you will find them to be good conversationalists too. They can talk as they go. They appear on talk shows and dominate the proceedings. But you will still notice the difference in the way they write and talk. Choices of vocabulary are more apt and functioning in writing, not so when they are talking. This is especially true in a country like ours, where most of us have different mother tongues and learn another dominant language in school.

When talking in conversation, the audience varies. In writing, the group is larger, so you may be able to throw gravel and hit some of the right targets. Many would be clueless and would never be able to discern what you are trying to convey. Worse, they may not get your joke. But who knows? Slowly,  the masses may gather at your beckoning.

More, some other day, perhaps... RKP 14/2/2024

Lal Salaam (2024)

I have two issues with this film, and the fault lies with the director, Aishwarya Rajinikanth. One, the incessant to and fro flashback (I call it flashbackitis, a disease that has long afflicted Tamil films) that at times you are not even sure which part of the narration you are in. 

Two, the voice over narration. It was not necessary (she did it herself, I could hear her dad's rhythm in her voice) as the audiences seemed to be able to understand what's going on. But then, considering the flashbacks can send you into a narrative spiral, it may be useful after all.

Otherwise, I loved the film. It's a decent, watchable and, at times, exciting. Rajinikanth is the third character, sort of important supporting role, but you know he is the hero despite his lesser screen time this time around. 

In fact, he is not new in playing cameo roles, and appearing as a guest start in the past, and in almost all of them, he stole the show right under the leads respective noses. He is dangerous that way. Kamal Haasan knows that. 

Speaking of which, I actually caught the glimpse of that naughty, free-for-all Rajini of Ninathale Inikkum (1979) in a scene here where he is joyously flinging the murukkus and palagarams. Really, if you are a long time fan, take a look.

Coming back to the flick, Aishwarya Rajinikanth manages to ride the slippery slope of having the audience investing emotionally on the characters – not on the faction, i.e, religion. It doesn't go on Ram Rahim Robert path of elementary  level national unity preaches. It says things as it is. It doesn't take side. 

Following 3 (Moonu), her directorial debut, Aishwarya should have named this 2. Because it involves two main leads, two religions, Islam and Hindu, and two villages. The friction that starts from cricket matches, leads straight to religious fracas,  and it is good to know that none of the factions are cast in bad light. Well, I would say the rotten ones are the Hindus here. The muslims are borderline stereotypes you see in most Tamil films, with those cotton beards and headwear. But they had characters.

In fact, during the opening fight sequence, Rajini's Moideen Bhai lets his right hand man to do the brawling – an older, kain pelikat and Kopiah wearing big guys who just flattened the opponents like Incredible Hulk. I really enjoyed that sequence.

And the riot scenes. Aishwarya captured them well, without having us lost geographically, and knowing well the fates of the characters at that moment. They are perhaps best shot sequences showcasing riots in that industry, which often tried to portray chaos but often lose out to low budget and poor planning. They look good here. Convincing. 

Speaking of convincing... everyone, I mean, everyone, even those lesser characters performed well. It's not easy and I am glad that whichever plot holes, or ridiculous narration (it's Tamil film, after all) notwithstanding, good performances from the actors can pull you into their world. And she even got the semi-retired comedian Senthil to give a strong, emotional performance. Bravo!!

The leads, Vikranth and Vishnu Vishal are believable, and is present throughout dividing the audiences in loyalty. Damn, that Vikranth guys is a much better actor than...oh, I better shut up.

The other thing which disappointed me was the background score. I refuse to believe that A.R. Rahman himself worked on that. The songs were strong, apt, and really were powerful, enhancing some of the scenes. But when it time for background score, the Rahman energy seemed to have petered out. 

Now, the man of the hour. One scene. One scene. He made me cry. Yeah. That's the power of Rajinikanth the actor, as opposed to the superstar. I am glad that in his twilight year, he is going back to his root and explore that original fire, the actual Rajinikanth – a powerful character actor. It's all over here. This is not a cameo or guest role, it is a lead role. You may not see him in many scenes, but his presence can be felt. 

I was prepared to be disappointed, thus lowering my expectations, But what the hell, I got involved. It's a good film. I know many will dis it, especially as the promotions and PR were pretty low-key, if you put aside the audio launch. But I love it. It's good. There are powerful moments, very consistent performance among the players and it didn't feel like the work of a director early in her career. Even if this flops, I know Aishwarya is ready to roll with the big guns. 

Additional note: I shared this as What's App status on 13/2/24: Most of the reviews of Lal Salaam are bad. Okay, I read them to find out what's the issues. It's the same issue that's rotting many Tamil films, nothing new. Then it struck me.  Of course! Rajini plays a Muslim leader, and the Muslims in the film are portrayed virtuously. Most of the f***ers who reviewed it are Hindu p****s. Ass that to a woman directing a film amidst toxic male worshipping industry. Of course, they wouldn't like the film. F**ktards! AthigamAna Asterisks payanpaduthalukku manikkavum.

The Art of Correspondence In The Age of Emojis.

“It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn’t give it up because by that time I was too famous.”

The above was attributed to many writers; some say it was by humorist (one of my major inspirations) Robert Benchley, and some quarters say that it was by Mark “the Mustache” Twain.

After almost two decades of writing, only now do I have an itsy bitsy of confidence in my writing and have actually started liking some of it, especially at this blog site. A bit. Therefore, I feel safer now to disseminate some tips, advice, or guides on the craft of writing. Also, I suck at everything else, including admin, accounts, and missile gyroscope settings.

I was prompted to write this when, just now, my colleague asked how he would write something to tell off the other party, but diplomatically.

That brought up the question: How do you deal with thorny issues in email or other forms of social media correspondence? Emailing is still prevalent in the corporate world, though other social media apps are taking over, making conversations more and more informal and requiring much time spent decoding the gibberish sent. Okay, not all have this issue, but I do. I write with long hands and often grapple with messages that look more like broken, pre-cooked instant noodles.

Let’s take this scenario. Your client says he or she is canceling the previous order because someone snitched on you and told them that you sniffed glue or something. How do you respond to that? Fret not, here’s a sample:

Dear Ms. or Mr. (whatever you use to address LGBTQrstuvwxyz),

I humbly accept your cancellation of the order. I understand very well that you did that in opposition to my personal habit of involving the respiratory system and squeezable stationery.

But I beseech you: please do not let the wonderful service provider/client relationship hit the iceberg of cancellation. We had a great time together, with you supplying the product and you paying through both of your nostrils (note the preoccupation with sniffing here).

Indeed, I am now on both knees, typing on the laptop on the floor, begging you not to let go of our services. A lot can be done for you while I am on my knees.

Note that you have humbled yourself to the point where your client starts feeling guilty and decides that the only act of repentance is to forgive you and continue the business relationship. Also, he or she might take it the wrong way, especially the last sentence, and would reciprocate with a sexual harassment lawsuit.

In any way, you have been diplomatic despite the severity of the issue. But what if you want to tell off your client in the nicest possible way, not to hurt him or provoke him into using a voodoo doll against you? Diplomacy, tact, and loads of humility come to play again.

Dear Mr. XXX (not Vin Diesel, but you can imagine him here),

Allow me to first inform you that I am of the lowest creature, even less than Spirulina, a consumable bacterium with a girl name. It is not my place to find fault in you or your organisation.

However, and pardon my tenacity in doing this, we found that you owe us several months of payment, which is up to RM 767.85 to be paid one cent coins as promised.

This showed that despite our kindness, you treat us like an aging cow, milking us our products and services till we bled from our t_, err. You get what I am saying.

Despite indulgence in fantasies involving the wringing of your neck, we still have hopes of feeling Rm 767.85 in coins in our pockets. But now, we can only feel a bunch of organic stuff there. Hence, we would truly appreciate it if you could settle the outstanding amount immediately, or we shall activate the bomb planted at your office’s underground parking during lunch time in kind consideration of others.

I'm awaiting your response.

Yours humbly.

See, it’s not difficult. We Malaysians follow the Budi Bahasa concept, as taught in primary school. Of course, Malaysians become nasty as they grow older and nastier netizens, but in real life, we are just chickens and have to resort to being tactful and diplomatic.

But what if things have gone south, milk has turned sour, grapes have become raisins, and goats have become mutton varuval? What are you to do? What if the client slaps you with a lawsuit? Can you slap him back with your hand on the account that's cheaper?

No, it’s time for another tactful, diplomatic, very PRish piece of content:

Dear YYYY,

I have received the notice from your side and found many grammatical and spelling errors. Therefore, I don’t understand jackshit. I don’t know what you are saying. I saw some courts, suits, and all that. All I can say is that I don’t wear suits to basketball courts. Forget it, man, whatever you want to tell me. I don’t know.

Yours brilliantly.

What if the client himself turns up with a briefcase and a rat poison-carrying lawyer (his sustenance)? What do you do?

You can go back and pen another query letter as to their sudden presence.

Dear YYYY,

Imagine my surprise when, this morning, I opened the door and there you were. This was without warning, and in as much as a notice ahead of your visit. The guy next to you must be a lawyer, as I judged by the forked tongue he used to lick a fly off his face.

At this stage, I will pray for you.