Old Grouch Fable Collection pt2

The beginning of 1485 Italian edition of Aesopus Moralisatus (From wiki)

Note: Hopefully I can do more of this. The first part was written in 2011....a sequel 13 years in the making. You can find the first one here.   

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Tortoise and Hare 2: The Hare-y Vengeance.

Ever since he lost to a tortoise in a race, the hare was a broken...hare He vowed that he would have another race, correct the whole damn thing, and win this time like he should have in the first place.

Therefore, one day he went looking for the tortoise and found the later chewing on some garbage.

“Hey, tortoise,” he greeted the tortoise, who at this point had given up on swallowing a crumpled mineral water bottle.

Tortoise spat the crumpled plastic out and said, “I have a name, you son of a bitch. It’s Murray.”

At this point, this narrator is ashamed for not even checking up on those names. What’s yours, Hare, I asked.

“Harry,” said the Hare before adding the “duh!” and rolling its eyes.

Harry then confronted Murray and said, “Hey, how about another race?”.

Murray snickered and said, “You think you're gonna win this time?”

“Hell yeah,” said Harry. “I ain’t gonna do no sleeping no more.”

“That’s a shitload of double negatives,” said Murray. “Alright, let’s try it out.”

“Cool,” said Harry, looking at me. “Hey baldy, you wanna be the official; start the race off.”.

“Sure,” I said, producing a.44 magnum (the most powerful handgun in the world). Once they were in the starting line, I shot the monster of a revolver upwards, making the blast sound that deforested a few acres. Immediately, Murray, shocked by the explosive sound, jumped and turned over to his back. Harry, seeing that, laughed uncontrollably.

And it happened. The bullet I shot in the air returned, and the kinetic energy knocked the shit outta Harry, who didn’t die, but has enough brain damage that he thinks he is a gay dolphin.

As for me, I was arrested ala Alec Baldwin for the "accident.”

Moral: Always check the revolver chambers for live rounds.

 

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The Butt Ugly Duckling

Once upon a time, about 3 in the afternoon, a farmer had a duck. He had the same duck at 2.45 pm too, but what the hell?

The duck laid ten eggs; it was the quota at that time, apparently because the decimal system was just invented and implemented alongside the metric system; there was a strict regulation of laying eggs in tens. Any number lower or higher would result in well... crips braised duck legs with aromatic vegetables.

Soon all the eggs hatched; one by one the ducklings popped out and immediately started quacking incessantly till the mother smacked them with her wing. But wait a minute.

The tenth egg cracked, and out came one ugly mother of ducklings. It’s so ugly that the mother felt guilty about the secret rendezvous she had with the neighbour’s drake.

The other ducklings started laughing at this ugly duckling. So, did the farmer. They even had a sit-com laugh track to enhance the scene.

Unable to take it, the ugly duckling ran away and ended up in the city. It was adopted by a dude who turned out to be a plastic surgeon. He performed surgery on the ugly duckling, and voila! It still looked ugly. The surgeon, realising he had failed, became an alcoholic and sent the uglier duckling packing, and the duckling travelled, gathered experience and wisdom, and grew up to become an adult—still an ugly duck—with all that knowledge and world-wise insights, he became a highly sought-after guru, calling himself Swami Vaatthanandha, though he was later implicated in a sex scandal, but that’s a story for another day.

Moral: Don’t overcompensate and stay away from gals if you are a Swamiji.

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The Fisherman and the Fish.

There was once a fisherman whose whole livelihood currently depended on the investments in several companies's. All the companies folded because they were scams. So, the fisherman was back fishing anywhere he could—the sea, the river, the pond, the neighbour's  kitchen, anywhere.

One day, he caught a small fish. The fish….fearing for its life, yelled, “Please leave me, kind sir. I am, but too tiny; you can’t even make fish and chips outta me, let alone steamed Chinese style. Drop me back in the river. We can become Facebook friends. In fact, let me grow; I will become big and fat, and then you have something for the entire family. You can drop by this spot, say, in a year’s time. Let me go!”

The fisherman’s jaw dropped. A talking fish!

“Well, fish. You are talking about the future. I just lost shitloads of money on scam investments. You think I’m gonna listen to you giving me prospects, you son of a bitch?”

The stunned fish that really pleaded for its life, “Please, sir, let me go. I don’t even taste good; you can wiki my species.”

But the fisherman had an idea.

The next day, he set up a stall at a local market and brought the fish in a bowl and started yelling, “Come on over, come on over. A talking fish. For some measly sum, it will predict your future.”

The fish and the farmer lived happily ever after, prosperously…well, not actually. The fish, feeling miserable being used like that, one day jumped out of it’s bowl and into the toilet bowl to kill itself. Though the farmer who used the toilet, not noticing the small fish, had flushed and sent the fish straight to local sewage. The fish lived there henceforth and made friends with tubifex worms—or sludge worms, as they are popularly known.

Moral of the story: I just learnt there’s a creature called Tubifex worm...damn and eww….

Old Grouch Fable Part 1

Old Grouch Fable Part 3

Old Grouch Fable Part 4

Old Grouch Fable Part 5

 

 

PMX: Promises, Compromises And Ruffling Feathers.

A great promise. That's who Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim, the father of the Reformasi movement, was when he emerged with vows of change for the better for this nation. Finally achieving his ambition of becoming the premier of this country, reality smacked him like a wet towel. 

(This was written in August, so I missed out some updates)

The recent issue concerning Tesla has become a big eye-opener, especially for the supporters of Pakatan Harapan and the current (still is, I checked) prime minister, Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim, who is referred to by many adoringly as PMX. Not to be confused with the competitive bike.

You see, sometimes back, Anwar stated that after his discussion with Tesla’s founder, Elon Musk, that the latter’s investment in Malaysia will open the employment market for tens of thousands of skilled jobs. And it was not a face-to-face meeting, by the way; it was just a Zoom meeting. That should have been the indicator, but the media, hungry pack of newshounds they are, went straight for the jugular, and headlines splashed all over. Anwar was only past his first year, fresh, enthusiastic, excited, and still the media’s wet dream.

Then the truth reared its ugly face, as a Thai media outlet this time burst the bubble when it reported recently that Tesla ain’t makin ‘ it to the entire Southeast Asia, in fact. Malaysia got dumped even before the first date. 

No matter how finance minister Tengku Zafrul tried, explaining that Tesla never really had any such plan and not to believe in the media—the usual politicians favourite punching bag— after they use the fourth estate like a sex worker. Yet, let us not forget that it’s his own boss who bragged about “tens of thousands of skilled jobs” through the deal, which will bring forth the establishment of headquarters, service centres, and experience centres in Cyberjaya, Selangor, as well as collaborations in Petaling Jaya. 

Shuffle and Ruffle

If that is not enough to cause a dent in PMX’s intriguing reputation (yes, I know what you are thinking, you naughty readers), Anwar’s recent cabinet reshuffle was not received in well generally. First off, it caused uneasiness among many, as he who had himself championed a leaner-sized cabinet once, pulled the curtain this time, and voila! 31 ministers, supported by 29 deputy ministers, an increase from the previous 28 ministers and 27 deputy ministers.

This especially didn’t go down well with two parties:

1. Kedah Menteri Besar Datuk Seri Muhammad Sanusi Md Nor, who said the reshuffle is believed to have been driven by the demands of the coalition parties within the Unity Government,.

"This reshuffle seems more about appeasing coalition parties than boosting efficiency," Sanusi was quoted as saying in that report, suggesting that Anwar's position depended on party support, leading to the prioritisation of political considerations over competency.

2. The Malaysian Indians. Always in self-pity mode, crying victims (though it's not all untrue) Certainly, you can please everyone all of the time. Right? Wrong. The losers this time are the very group that, with the Bersih coalition, started the ball rolling, ending with the ousting of the Barisan government, the Malaysian Indians. Currently, there is one minister and three deputy ministers from that community. And despite the fact that the majority of the people of that denomination here are Tamils, the sole minister is from Punjabi background. Hare Anwar bhai!

Lessons for Indians and Hindus

So, the Malaysian Indians learnt a hard lesson, especially after dancing with Anwar for a Rajinikanth song. All that hip-shaking, then insulting the community with the K word, and bullying a student.

In addition to disappointing the Indian folks, resulting in a few of the politicians moving out of the parties in the PH coalition, he insulted the Indians with the dreaded K word sparking protests from many quarters. And also bullying an Indian student. And, oh, what about the time when he converted a Hindu student to Islam? The hardcore ultra Hindu actor Rajinikanth whose song he dance to, ain’t gonna to like that one for sure, let alone the Hindus here.

Speaking of which, he has recently returned after mollycoddling with the Indian prime minister, talking about cooperation and stuff. And the latter happened to belong to a Hindu based political party. Wow, just wow.

Stand on Palestine

While we are discussing overseas stuff, what about the flipping and flopping about his stand on the Israel/Hamas issue?

The Internet never forgets.

Remember back in 2012 when he told the Wall Street Journal that “I support all efforts to protect the security of the State of Israel,” ruffling many feathers here? Especially the Muslims.

So, there you have it. One moment saying that he is all for the efforts to protect the security of the State of Israel, and on another moment, now that is, he promoting himself as the number one fighter for Palestinians in Malaysian

This claim was fortified with his acceptance of injured Palestenians earlier this month, when a total of 127 Palestinians, including 41 who were injured, arrived in Malaysia in two Royal Malaysia Air Force (RMAF) A400 aircraft from Cairo, Egypt.

And what do you know? This again ruffled many feathers. The non-Muslims especially, most of whom I suspect, have since downgraded themselves from Anwaristas to just “former supporters” or “ready to jump ship” status.

One of the online users has this to say about this ordeal: “How much does it cost Malaysian taxpayers when the government uses military planes to fly these injured people more than 7,000 kilometres through dangerous territory? Who were these 127 people selected, and on what basis were they chosen to fly this distance? ...Are there Hamas operatives and families seeking to hide out here?”

Naturally, Anwar got defensive about it, because, why not? Humility hasn’t been the man’s major trait. He was especially disappointed that prominent human rights advocate Siti Kassim, in her rant, suggested he become the prime minister of Palestine. The comments in there are a sack filled with heftier ruffled feathers.

The fall

So, naturally, Anwar’s approval rating dropped to 50%, as opposed to 68% when he took on the premier’s job in December 2022. Ruffling feathers does that to you.

It’s also no secret that many are already frustrated with the other promises unfulfilled, like free education and a reduction in fuel prices. Slowly, the premise of Anwar banking on the traditional supporters may not be feasible for now. The grip is slipping.

Which is aligned with a comment by an analyst in this article: “Anwar’s decisions are not just purely driven by reality but also based on his calculation that his core supporters will stay with him and will tolerate whatever decision he makes. But this may not be true,” the analyst noted. “Even though they would not be able to turn around and support the opposition, they can always stay back at home and cause Anwar’s defeat in future elections.”

The world is observing what’s going on here, and even the international Human Rights Watch organisation, which once championed the former black-eyed prisoner who was ruffling the then prime minister’s feather, is now grumbling about his performance. “In his first year in office, Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim betrayed the reform pledges he made to Malaysian voters so he could hold his coalition together,” said Shayna Bauchner, Asia researcher of the organisation at that site. “The government should recommit to a rights-respecting agenda by turning its sidelined campaign promises into action.”

It looks like things are not looking nice and cosy ahead for Anwar. He is a reminder that not all great orators make great leaders. Not all survivors of brutal political regimes turn out to be guys in white hats. Not anyone who dances to Rajinikanth's song can be great, because Rajinikanth can't dance in the first place. Anwar only carried an ambition ever since he got off the prison. That’s it.

Many other countries made former prisoners as presidents and leaders, like Mandela who fought against apartheid. We all know why Mahathma Ghandhi was sent to gaol again and again. What was Anwar in for? We are such great voters, us Malaysians. We get our kain pelikat in knots when it comes to Singapore laksa being superior or when told that Thai durian is better. We wave our fists angrily when the Badminton team performs poorly again. We charge the atmosphere with electricity when Indonesian boats come cruising our waters intrusively. Every month of August we wave and stick our national flags everywhere except, perhaps, lavatory. But when it comes to choosing leaders...

Anyway, the analysts are watching. Anwar's opposition numbers are watching. The Indian community is watching. Indeed, the non-Muslim and non-Malay community overall is watching. Most importantly, the voters are watching, and there’s going to be a whole new generation of them for the next election, when the scenario may end up in such a manner that we may stop calling him PMX and refer to him as ex-PM instead.

 

This Headline Will Not Use “Thorny” Pun. Oh Well…

This news caught my fancy the other day. The obsession towards durian, and especially the goddamned Musang King, is going overboard, especially with our neighbouring country.

Back when I was working in Singapore, from 1995 to 2000, I was astounded to note the presence of Durian, the so-called king of fruits (that is stupid; I feel Jackfruit should be king, despite the Jack status), all year long.

Aside: Here we pronounce the fruit: Doo-ree-yahn. There, they pronounce it "dew-reehan." We are separated by just a tiny strait. I don’t know. End of aside.

You see, growing up, durian was a seasonal fruit. You have a durian season; only then will you see the fruits at the shops and passed around among friends and relatives. Talked about to death, and life strikes vicious reality, things get back to normal.

Now, my dad (traditionally referred to as Acha), who was a field conductor back in the plantations we grew up, used to get sacks of those sons of guns, courtesy of contractors who were either thankful for dad’s assistance or something, or was it a thorny bribe?

But here’s the damndest thing. I can’t eat durian, say, more than two pieces. This used to astound many. When I open up on my predicament on this, their jaw will drop, their voice going high, “Whaaaa...”. As if the Pope said he is allergic to white.

Here’s the deal. Growing up, I was just a regular kid, enjoying all sorts of fruit, and all of us loved durian, which was hard to come by because of the season issue. And when the season hits, those who have orchards will invite friends over to sit below the tree and wait for the heavy, thorny fruit to fall, crack open their heads... wait, though it may have happened. Anyway, when there’d be a “thud!” sound, they’d go looking for it, sit down there and there, crack it open, and eat the creamy inside pronto. And another durian will fall and crack open their head.

Now, I can’t quite recall when the seasons were, but upon heavy researching (Google), there were two a year; it looked like, as mentioned here:

“...Durian stalls can be found all throughout both Peninsular and Eastern Malaysia. Peninsular Malaysia’s durian season takes place from late May to early September, with a second season from December to January; East Malaysia’s durian season takes place from October to February, with a smaller season from May to June...”.

Back to the matter I wanted to talk about. Here’s what happened...

One day, as usual, a conductor gifted Acha with a sack of Durian. I am talking about the old school sack here, the kind that can shrinkwrap murder victims. It was kept in the third room (in our tiny estate quarter), which also doubled as a storage room.

That day, some relatives happened to drop by. and me—I must be nine or ten when my asthma is at its peak, and therefore I can’t play long with the other kids—decided to take a nap. The other rooms were filled with some beings or another. I was without choice. The storeroom it shall be.

Upon walking into it, the durian stench (aroma?) had already started wafting and filling up the cubic meter of space in the room. But I didn’t care. Why should I? There was a spare bed there. I crept up on it, sliding lazily towards the pillow, rested my head, and shut my eyes.

An hour later, I woke up. With high fever. The durian stench (yes, stench) filling up every cubic inch of my being. It was beyond atrocity that even nausea decided to take medical leave. It was horrid. It was one of the most unforgettable moments of my life.

Henceforth, I had forsaken durian. But I never badmouthed it, like those who would do about their ex-partners. I never treated it like the opposition party member. I never looked at it the same way cats look at onions.

Whenever these damn fruits appear in any family gatherings, the others will look at me as if I were an atheist at a temple kumbabishegam. I do step back cautiously, but dammit. I do steal a piece or two just to remember how reprehensive it was, just like how occasionally I go to temples.

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. 

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 Wawasan, 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.