Slumdog Millionaire

Film: Slumdog Millionaire

Director: Danny Boyle
Co-director (India): Loveleen Tandan
Screenplay: Simon Beaufoy
Novel: Vikas Swarup
Music: A. R. Rahaman
Child actors: vivacious and natural and endearing

A tragi-comedy of three orphaned children, Salim, (Madhur Mittal), Jamal, (Dev Patel) and Latika (Freida Pinto), growing up in the slums of Mumbai. A tale of human capacity to seek every measure of survival through hardship and endurance. The older brother Salim, driven by desire for power and money, chooses the wrong path. Jamal seeks love, his destiny, his Latika and it is love that endures.

The film begins with a teenage Jamal, a tea-boy – a chai-walla, from the slums, answering questions on a TV programme: Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire. He is on a winning streak. Is he a Cheat, is he Lucky, is he a Genius or is it Destiny. Jamal thinks it’s destiny but the host assumes Jamal is a cheat, and before the end of the game the man gets police to kidnap him. He is taken into custody and questioned. When Jamal has no satisfactory answer for the authorities he is tortured. Finally the officer sits him down and questions him again.

Jamal relates how he came about the answers to questions in the quiz. It unfolds the answer to each question came from his life experience and the story is told in flashes of question in the studio and flash-back of his life in the slums.

The street-smart innocence of the children is touching and vibrant. It is an incredibly inspiring tale of survival, children coping and dealing with unscrupulous adults many of whom were slum children themselves.

Scenes of torture and beatings, of violence, of setting the Muslim quarter on fire, of blinding a child are not graphic but drawn with subtlety and quite clearly portray the cruelty and evil of human beings.

The film is very funny and vivacious in spite of misery and filth. It is also awash with energy, colour and fast paced music.

In one scene the two teenage brothers are on a high floor of an unfinished building and Salim points out to his brother where their shantytown home once was, and now in its place is a complex of multi-storey high-rise towers.

The film is also a small and touching glimpse of a large and complicated real India treated with sensibility. A glimpse of an incredible Mumbai, an Indian city of today.

Before the start of the Oscars Dev Patel, the teenage Jamal, said to an interviewer: “It is a small film with a big heart.” But it has evolved into a big film with a big heart.

P.S.
Kowloon Walled City

The start of the film panning through the slums and shots of milling humans toiling reminded me of Kowloon Walled City of Hong Kong before it was torn down in 1993. My scary trip into this vast tangle of energy where very human was engaged in doing something to earn a living, and miles of snarled electric cables and dark dank lanes, and narrow alley sewers and large rats was not only eye-opening but left me quite enlightened and breathless.

Dodo San

Nestled in a columbarium, plumage strewn, avian virus, contagious. I thought feathered friends bird brained, chickened out when I saw a yellow canary in a cage walk a man by. They thought me extinct and now think me a magic magpie. A peacock strutted head high. A gullible jay glanced my way, friendly. No, surely not a dodo, thought he. Maybe a crestfallen cock, a sitting duck. Pigeons came to roost in my cote, and bulbuls in love. I rousted, they scattered. A sparrow, a blackbird, and a crow, eyed each other and on the ground the half-eaten chicken wing.

Valentine

Wo ai ni is what you hear in China. Mahal kita, say the smiling, cheerful people of the Philippines. The multi-national Malaysians wish you, Pada chinta mu. Cultures of Asia and the rest of the world have universally accepted February 14th as Lovers’ Day, and say I love yous in all their many languages.

The celebration of Valentine’s Day goes back to Rome when in 260 A.D. Claudius — known as “Claudius the Cruel” — found it difficult to recruit soldiers for his army. The men of Rome preferred staying home with their wives and children rather than embarking on the emperor’s expeditions, lasting years, to conquer new lands for him, and perhaps never return. Failing to come up with a good recruitment campaign, Claudius decided to forbid all marriages and engagements. If men couldn’t marry, he reasoned, they wouldn’t have families they’d want to stay with.

His citizens, however, were in no mood to obey this new law, and especially the Christians who were more reluctant than the rest to join the army. They preferred to follow their own trades and to stay home. They ignored his edict and carried on getting engaged and getting married. Most flagrant among them was a priest named Valentine who flouted the new law and continued to perform marriages.

When Claudius learned that Valentine was disobeying his edict, he was furious. He threw the priest in prison to await his punishment — death by clubbing, before being beheaded.

While Valentine awaited execution, a blind girl, the daughter of one of the prison guards, visited him frequently, bringing him gifts and keeping him company. It is said his love for her was so powerful that it restored her sight. His last note to the girl was signed, “From your Valentine.”

The death of Valentine fell on the eve of Lupercalia, a Roman festival honouring Juno, the goddess of women and marriage. It was also the start of spring and one of the customs was to put names of marriageable girls into urns for boys to draw from. Each boy would draw a name and wear it on his sleeve before pairing off with the girl — hence, our expression to wear your heart on your sleeve.

It wasn’t until 496 A.D. that Pope Gelasius fixed February 14th as the date to honour the priest, and it officially became known as St. Valentine’s Day.

In the early 14th century, to avoid association with the pagan customs and rites of early Rome, people in England celebrated February 14th as the official day of spring; the day when plants started to sprout and birds began to mate and “love was in the air.”

Geoffrey Chaucer (1300) says in his Parliament of Fowls:
“For this was on St. Valentine’s Day
When every fowl cometh there to choose his mate.”

In the 16th century, men in Wales carved wooden spoons with hearts or locks and keys on the handles. The message was, “You have the ability to unlock my heart.” When a Welshman came to woo his lady, he presented her with the love-spoon he had carved for her — and courting soon became known as spooning.

In 1603, Shakespeare recorded the significance of the start of Spring as the 14th day of February when a character in A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream discovers two lovers in the woods and says:

“St. Valentine is past
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?”

As it was with the beginning of Valentine prison seems to be a place of inspiration for lovers. In 1415, Charles, Duke of Orleans, defeated in the Battle of Agincourt by the English, was imprisoned at the Tower of London. This well-known poet turned to love, writing romantic verses for his wife and he sent her a Valentine card.

The earliest Valentine cards were handcrafted — painted and decorated with colourful beads, feathers, and ribbons; trimmed with lace and gold and silver filigree. Cards portrayed hearts and angelic Cupid, son of Venus, the goddess of love, with his quiver full of love-tipped arrows for the ladies. These cards portraying sentiments of affection and deep love were delivered personally.

The introduction of the penny-post (the postal service in 1680) besides having introduced the sending of cards by post also started a card culture, featuring most famously the “Penny Dreadfuls” and “Vinegar Valentines.” These funny Valentine cards carried naughty or insulting messages and could be sent anonymously, teasing lovers or keeping them guessing.

Valentine’s Day is now celebrated with great enthusiasm the world over. Only Christmas cards surpass Valentine cards in number, and commercialism is as rampant as love on this special day, with romantic dinners and gifts of diamonds, flowers, chocolates and perfume.

Love still reigns supreme. Citizens of countries transcend cultures and religions to send out greetings in many languages.

Ultimately, it is the universal language of love that binds the human race as well as the hearts of people. Every year there is hope that this will be the Valentine’s Day that brings the force of love to our universe — not just for a day but for always.

Hamas Israel – the balance

I appreciate the heartfelt defense and the passionate plea of Amikam Levy, consul general of Israel (2 January, Israel has a right to protect its own citizens). It is horrific that an endless number of mortar shells and rockets are launched into Israel where the citizens live in terror and uncertainty. But I find the letter intended to enlighten Hong Kong people seriously flawed, unbalanced and simplistic.

Over years Israel has split and driven Palestinian families out of their homes and farms. Numbers killed, maimed, and men and women and boys imprisoned is huge in comparison to those killed or harmed by the Palestinian movements or Hamas. Israel and countries flaunting democracy refuse to recognize Hamas, a legally elected body. Severe sanctions have been placed on the people. A different result to the elections could have taken place had not the Israeli government curtailed the election process by closing checkpoints. The Palestinians are only allowed access and exit though Israel controlled check-points at which Palestinians spend hours queuing up with passes. The Palestinians have become a society dependent on aid and outside help which in turn is dependent on Israel’s whims to close borders and checkpoints whenever it suspects smuggling of weapons could be taking place under the ever watchful detection of control masters. Access to power, fuel, food, water and medicine and even education are in the hands of the Israelis. Is it any wonder illegal tunnels have cropped up connecting Gaza to the Egyptian border? Endless numbers of embargos have deprived the people of all basic needs and have left them without self-reliance and dignity.

United Nations General Assembly on November 29, 1947, divided the region into two states, one Arab and one Jewish, a national home for the Jewish people created. Jerusalem was to be designated an international city. On May 14, 1948 the state of Israel declared independence and this was followed by a war with the surrounding Arab states, which refused to accept the plan foisted on them. Since then the region has seen nothing but this dance of war in which Israel was able to continuously expand Jewish borders beyond those in the UN Partition Plan. These wars have resulted in decades of severe poverty and unemployment and violence for the Palestinian people.

It was very kind of Israel to return Gaza to its people after 40 years of occupation in which time they did little to improve the lives of the people. The Gazans have been prisoners in their own land with Israel controlling all exit and entrance points: sea, land and air. For the last two years Palestinians in the Gaza Strip have endured daily crises over shortages of everything especially when food when aid is held up and not allowed in.

In November 2008 Ismail Haniyah said that Hamas was willing to accept a Israel long-term hudna, or truce requesting Israel recognize the Palestinians’ national rights, recognize the 1949 armistice lines and withdraw itself from all Palestinian territories including the West Bank and East Jerusalem. Israel illegally occupied and has settled the West Bank and Gaza Strip (Palestinian territories) for years driving away families and destroying their livelihood. This long-term displeasure of Palestinians about their land donated by outside forces so the Israel can be born is not going to be wiped out with weapons.

Might of military power is on the side of Israel. Israel has the third or forth most powerful army in the world. Israel has Satellite control and GSP systems to check on movements of all Palestinians helping it pinpoint its targets. Israel is a nuclear power but refuses to sign the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty or allow inspection of its nuclear facilities. U.S. is its largest aid provider and also gives billions of dollars worth of military aid. It receives help from the US in the way military technology know how. Air fire power of F-16 fighter jets, Apache helicopter gunships, Arrow missile tanks and other weaponry are supplied and subsidized by the U.S., funded by US taxpayers who unknowingly help an illegal occupation, expansion of settlement projects, and gross human rights violations against the Palestinian civilian population. Financial aid from U.S. Foreign Assistance Act specifies that all receivers must account on how the money is spent but the only country that does not do so is Israel. U.S. closes a blind eye and funds this brutal repression and colonization to maintain its imperialism in the region.

Against the military might and precision targeted attacks of the Israelis the Palestinians throw stones against tanks and launch primitive and short-range rockets from back yards. If this is not so tragic it could be hilarious.

Israelis seeks peace, no peace can come about if Israel refuses to sit down with Hamas leaders to discuss it. It is true Hamas refused to recognize Israel as a sovereign nation at one time. Not surprising knowing what has gone on. Hamas and the rest of the Palestinians know that their land was negotiated away by outsiders and handed over to Israelis to make a homeland for the Jews who instead of showing a little gratitude have become aggressive oppressors.

Poverty fear and hatred is rife in the hearts of the Palestinians many of whom have known no lives except as refugees. The young see no future; they do not even have a present. What kind peace does arrogant Israel backed by America and its allies expect after what we have seen in this ‘let’s-wipe-them-out” war. The Gazans have had their life sucked out. The horror of current war will have an immense impact on the psychology of Gazan families.

If Israel can stop the Hamas rockets after this current slaughter of the Palestinian people I hope Israel has the decency to rebuild the country and give them back their lives and their freedom and their dignity.

To the new President

SCMP winning essay:

To the new President

How the US can improve its standing in the international community.

The US has the biggest influence in the world. It leads in many fields: invention, science, education, music, films, and others. Much of the world desires to ape the American life style.

By electing a black president, a man not from an elite dynasty family, the US has already improved its standing in the international community. US has made a big leap towards coming down from its pedestal to equate to the majority of not only the Americans but the rest of the world.

Much of the angst created abroad in the past years has to be erased. A new respect needs be created. In healing itself the US will begin to help the world to look up to it as the big brother.

A financial crisis is now staring the world in the face. Recession can be shortened if America gets back on track and comes up with solutions to reduce its ten trillion debt. It needs to save some of the large industries from going under and check the money guzzling stock market and property market and look for ways to reform. It has to create jobs that will in turn increase spending to benefit world trade. Until America’s problems are sorted out the poorer countries will find it very difficult to get bank loans. From America came the global financial crisis and it has to solve its own problems before the rest of the world to start to move to put their banks and business and property in order.

The world needs to reverse the effects of climate change. It hardly needs reminding how the last US government had scoffed at the idea the planet is dangerously heating up. Melting icecaps increase flooding and lead to loss of low-lying regions and islands around the world, reduce the world’s greenery and endanger animals in the wild and cause migration of people and animals from deserts formed by dried up lakes and rivers. America’s refusal to join the rest of the world to help reduce greenhouse gas emissions and its refusal to sign agreements, and walking away from debates on climate change has set a bad example to China and India and other countries and has put the world in jeopardy. But it’s hugely encouraging too, that the biggest defender of climate change has come from the US. Al Gore has given concrete proof that the world is in dire straits. It hardly bears repeating now, with how much urgency, the US has to become the leader in helping to arrest, reduce, and maybe even reverse the disasters created by climate change.

Being the largest consumer of world’s resources the US has to lead in change, not continue as a throwaway society pandering to waste, but change its ways and set an example. The world has to see that this developed country uses less — uses less fuel, wastes less energy, consume less food, packages less and enjoys fewer must haves.

US has been the leader in science, research, invention, space exploration and health studies. Many projects for betterment of life and health were either held up or stopped by the former government. It is time to change, to continue the advancement. US government needs to be firm about showing the world it is secular and remove religion from interfering with science as in the case of the origin of species. Groups at home and abroad that provide advice on abortion should lift bans on family planning. Aid and help should not come with conditions like insistence on celibacy before marriage. If the ban on abortion is lifted in the US many other countries will follow suit enabling a healthy legal alternative. The number of single mothers out-weigh single fathers, and whether they are divorced or never married majority of them live in great poverty or are unable to care for their children.

US is a generous country when it comes to aid to the world. But aid should not come with unreasonable or unworkable pre conditions, with strings attached. Often aid is tied up with having to give the largest contracts to US companies. This practice of giving on the one hand and taking away on the other, siphoning back much from the country’s wealth to which aid is given does not help country’s poor from whom land is often taken. Placing American contractors and businesses in lucrative positions in these countries should be changed to training people to run their own businesses. The US should also look into the companies that are on the continent of Africa, companies, that are involved in the extraction of oil, diamond and copper, that give little care for the people of the land and companies that use the land carelessly. These companies, having offered bribes to local heads of states, fleece the locals of their natural resources, pollute and poison their land and give very little in return to the poor.

Though the US touts free trade it does not in realty practice it. Trade is much tilted in America’s favour. The world now hopes and expects US as a more balanced trading partner. It has to ease some of the trade restrictions imposed on the so called third world countries, especially when it comes cultural imports of movies, dance, and music.

Terror is foremost in the American psyche since the attacks of 9/11. This has given the US government an excuse to attack sovereign nations. It should not take upon itself to interfere in other governments whether they are perceived to be lame or otherwise. Terror of the unknown has reduced America to place its justice system on suspicion, to imprison foreign nationals as terrorists without trial. It has shamelessly allowed helpless prisoners to be tortured and treated inhumanely. Terrorism has increased in the last seven years and the Afghanistan Pakistan border has become a hot bed of terrorist training. This can only be reduced if the US seriously considers increasing the standard of living of the people in this region. In most cases acts of terrorism is carried out in foreign countries where there is a big American military presence. Now the US is seen as an unjust and cruel government, an aggressor equal to the terrorist. The new government has much to accomplish to get back the world’s respect. Direct dialogue and diplomacy and tact is needed and the US must prepare to listen to advisers and co-operate to reduce imperious confrontation, sit down with no preconditions and talk to Iran and other so called enemies or axis of evil.

A change is needed in the foreign policy of the US. It must recognise democracies though they may not be solely in American style of democracy as in case of Hamas. It has to give less support to and be firmer with Israel to reduce the humanitarian catastrophe affecting the Palestinians. It needs to be more diplomatic with Russia and work closely with the South American countries and reduce its bullying tactics. It blatantly flaunts its relationship with China and yet punishes Cuba. It needs to show some fairness and accept Cuba as a communist country and lift sanctions. Promises made to North Korea need be carried out promptly. In the Iraq and Afghanistan the US needs to work harder to train the locals and withdraw its military presence. Military might, the greed to have a military foot in every country, creates military competition around the world. There has to be an arms reduction. The divide and rule policy in the name of defence has everyone on the edge of uncertainty. This policy has to go.

It is indeed a tall order for the US to improve its standing in the international community but the world looks forward to the new government with a wave of optimism and trust.

Let the healing begin and as Mr. Gordon Brown said let the US be “guided by truth.”

Sir Jeffrey Archer

A magical event at the Foreign Correspondents’ Club with Lord Jeffrey Archer – a story teller, a politician, an orator and a phoenix that keeps resurrecting. I first met Mr. Jeffrey Archer at a book-signing event, next to the Prince of Wales Pub, at Sung Hung Kai Centre, Hong Kong in September 1994; and he has hardly changed physically since then. He is just as sprightly and open and vocal.

This time he’d arrived at end of March in Hong Kong soon after his exhaustive travelling, book signing and talks in Canada and the United States.

The latest of his 14 books, A Prisoner of Birth, another prison caper, rose to No.1 and became a bester-seller in 3 days, became also No. 1 in SCMP. The inspiration for his title and the book is based on the convicts he met in prison. A Prisoner of Birth is a story about a man who is wrongly accused for the murder of his best friend and is sent to a high-security prison-Belmarsh in south-east London, the same prison where Lord Archer convicted of perjury in 2001 spent the first three weeks of his two years behind bars.

He guessed many of us assembled there were writers and as such were possibly interested in how and when he writes. When writing he goes to his holiday home in Spain (and this is only for millionaire writers amongst us). The place affords him quiet space for writing, his needs are well met, and not having to cook and clean and look after children affords him the peace he seeks. He wakes at five am, and starts writing at five thirty. He uses a felt tipped pen and writes in batches of two hours with two hour breaks in between. It is not unusual for writer to go through his draft 17 to 20 or more times, he said. He always believed he could not write without absolute silence and mostly manages 100,000 words a year.

But while in prison he wrote a million words. He was constantly bombarded with ear-splitting noise from both sides of his prison room, loud reggae music from boom boxes; and endless swearing. He came up with three volumes named after Dante’s Divine Comedy, Belmarsh: Hell, Wayland: Purgatory, and North Sea Camp: Heaven. All three published to critical acclaim. He said he never swore in prison, and within three months, 95% of the prisoners, maybe more, never swore when they were with him.

He spoke fluidly. Q&A mainly focused on politics of Britain and USA. He answered questions candidly with a huge sense of humour. Questions were good too; nobody made long speeches before asking convoluted questions.

Lord Archer is a great admirer of Blair and Obama. Blair, he said, was one of Britain’s great prime ministers with flair and charisma. He referred to Obama’s speech on race relations and compared it with Lincoln’s on slavery and Kennedy’s on segregation.

One questioner wanted to know if Britain had forgotten Hong Kong. He said Britain had not. Britain was not interfering but giving Hong Kong plenty of leeway and watching it very carefully. He also said he was surprised by the amount of love and respect Hong Kong had for Britain, and especially for our last governor, Chris Patten.

He ended his talk by saying there are many very good writers but for every thousand good writers there is only one story teller. With this he asked to be excused to read a piece of writing. No, he did not read from his book but read an anonymous piece. First author, I have known, who read but not from his book! No self promotion here, none needed.

A Somerset Maugham’s retelling of an old story, anonymous, which appeared as an epigraph to John O’Hara’s book…

Appointment in Samarra

A merchant in Baghdad sends his servant to the marketplace for provisions. Shortly, the servant comes home white and trembling and tells him that in the marketplace he was jostled by a woman, whom he recognized as Death, and she made a threatening gesture. Borrowing the merchant’s horse, he flees at top speed to Samarra, a distance of about 75 miles (125 km), where he believes Death will not find him. The merchant then goes to the marketplace and finds Death, and asks why she made the threatening gesture. She replies, “That was not a threatening gesture, it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.”

A Lamma Book Signing

Sunday. Ferry arrives and a mass of people emerges, fans out from Yung Shue Wan pier. Human tentacles spread, move into main street, slide up side streets and paths and into hives of homes, exploring. The more vigorous, armed with sticks and water bottles and hatted, veer off. They strip outer layers of clothing, too hot for December sun on their backs. They hike across the island, over the hump and head to Sok Kwu Wan, focused on seafood lunch. Fish, prawns, crabs, lobsters and sea creatures frantically wait, swimming in no-escape aquariums.

Overnighters study holiday chalet window vacancy notices.

City people seeking crucial country experience photograph dogs with their mobile phones. Many stop to admire and pat them. Free and business-like dusty dogs are everywhere: in the streets, in the alleys, in the restaurants, running back and forth quenching their thirst from plastic bowls set out by dog-loving shop owners. Other dogs, lap dogs, sophisticated and on expensive leashes, heads held high, lead owners through the crowd. The dogs, those island dogs, they have seen it all before.

Bicyclists, Lamma belongers, impatiently ringing bells, pedal past, avoid hitting the throng. Narrow trucks, on roads narrow, carry stone cement and steel rods to pile more homes upon homes. Mini-ambulances and mini-fire trucks pass by, keep watch. Policemen on bicycles greet Kailash Vernon, Gung the Zine, and Nick the Bookman, long beard lifted by breeze.

Trendy artists, photographers, writers and Da-da duos frequent bars, restaurants, craft shops and pavement cafes. Spicy Island, Deli Lamma, Island Bar, Banyan Bay, Bookworm and Just Green.

Shopkeepers wait, try on ideas, catch browsers with attitude, talk them into buying nothing needed – clothes on racks, casual and neglected chic, organic foods, potpourri, handicraft, candles and oils essential.

Town dwellers seek an alternate style, connect to their soul.

End of day. Visitors, having found themselves, leave. They thread their tired way like a sad song towards the pier and home. The last ferry moves away, diminished enthusiasm.

Lammaites, islanders who stayed solid, pulsing, dreading, waiting, through the day, now affectionately settle back, their lives returned.

Sun sets.

High tide rhythmic, no stars, was there a moon?

Old friendships renewed, new island friends made, Floating Petals signed.

Thank you, Sharon and Dan.

Soul Spirit Gone North

Shangri-la suite 1911. I meet Marjorie. High tea at Horizon, reserved for exclusive clientele. Large goblets of Red Cabernet sipped. Harbour channel busy with water traffic. A pleasantly peopled walk along Hong Kong Avenue of Stars, honoured handprints. We dine at Don Juan along the waterfront. Filipino waitress courteous, recommends exotic ‘Mojito’, drink of rum, lime, mint. Handsome Argentinean chef, ‘Are you ladies all right?’ Recommends spinach burritos, vegetarian, beef stock hidden in rice. We delay our good-bye. Chat of this and that, of immigrant horrors, Chicago slaughter houses. A red sailing junk floats by. Marjie soon leaves for Quanzhou.

The Chair

I stood on four straight legs , offered my seat. Unobtrusive, but always noticed. Had they not brought in the new dog I’d still be there. Locked me up with the lonely dog when they left. First he pulled down the plastic tablecloth, then he tore up the calico sofa. Then he remembered my vinyl seat. Angry, he bit into me, shredded my seat, pulled out my foam. They came home, kept the dog, threw me out. I stood in the cold and drizzle for two days. A waiting seed saw my leg, germinated and quickly climbed up. Happy now.

One Leg

One Leg

Left jeans leg ironed flat, held up by nappy pins. No bulge below hip. DHL shoulder bag, yellow cap on head. Denim jacketed he walks blue socked, on one sandal and two crutches wood and rubber tipped. Gauze cloth pads under arm-pits . Comfortable. Not a challenge. Not fragile. Mobile. Makes steady pace. Chiselled face calm. No amputation pain lingers. Branches smile, brave grass whisper underfoot. No curious eyes, he’s known in these parts. Cleaning lady, “Hey, jo san.” He nods. With sturdy square shoulders he approaches apartment block. Woman, with two shopping bags, rushes, opens glass door. He disappears.

Fitted Furniture

I love Ikea. Flat shoes, backpack, Ikea strut. A true follower of fashion, of stylish home decor. A catalogue student, a regular furniture addict. Carry-home affordable, neat flat-packs. Puzzle out at home, fix four-legged chair as three-legged. Left over screws and screwdriver in plastic bag, spare leg? One bed, two headboards, and one sunken mattress. Bent bookshelves, warped cabinet doors, and peeling tabletop. Velcro curtain, cheerful quilt, and tinted glassware. Favourite perfumed candles, vibrant house plants. Toys, no children to buy for. Tight furniture for tight homes, fresh white or warm wood hue. One size fits all. Way of life.

Visit

Margaret visits. City unhinged behind us. Moet glasses filled, long noon crsip. Autumn light filters in. Talked of this and that, destruction of universe, reckless fundamentalists, climate change. Burning joss-sticks, paper money for hungry ghosts pollute. Believe in God? I said no, pursued it no further. End life when terminal, agreed. Donate body parts, I said. She said, no, we disagreed. Judge not your fellow beings, Deepak Chopra. Photography is good, says so much. Why do we write? We have something to say. The day moves on, out through the sliding doors into the garden. Good bye. Keep in touch.

Bus Stop

Petals float down in rhythm to the morning haze, fall at my feet. iPod Tibetan chant soothe into the curves of my body. The wooded slope behind me encourages last night‘s rain into rivulets. Downhill, on the horizon, the sea sparkles silver blue. Safe. A distant memory of grey wave frothing up a tsunami. The 103m mini bus nearly screeches past. I climb on, press my octopus card. $92 balance it indicates. The woman waves, throws plastic bags of rubbish into green trundle bin. The driver takes off, one ear plugged into his mobile phone. The woman misses the bus.

The Exchange

One soldier captured one wounded by Hamaz in return for Palestinian men, women and children in Israeli jails.

By any stretch of imagination a most disproportionate exchange. So who are these men and women in the Israeli prisons?

Most of them are those who have been dragged out by the Israeli soldiers from homes in the middle of the night or before dawn, or by surprise raids on farms and refugee camps on mere suspicion of wrong doing. Israeli armies enter Palestinian cities, towns, villages and refugee camps and carry out their atrocities killing and arresting.

Military power in the hands of the mighty made even mightier with the help of Bush and his government aided by the American Zionist Christians.

The children in Israeli prisons:

“Rakan Ayad Nasrat was arrested by Israeli forces one September on his way home to Jericho from Bethlehem.

“While in Israeli custody, Rakan has been sexually assaulted by a soldier, severely beaten by prison guards, threatened with electric shocks and subjected to long periods of solitary confinement.

“He has also tried to commit suicide four times.

“Rakan is 12 years old, and a prisoner in Israel.”

More than 95% of Palestinian child prisoners have no special facilities, or special treatment or privacy. Contrary to all international regulations the children are tortured, treated with inhumanity, and exposed to degradation and sexual abuse.

The Israeli youth is a minor until he reaches 18, the Palestinian youth in Israel is a minor until he is 16. When the Palestinian child prisoner reaches 16 he is tried as an adult prisoner.

Since the new Al Aqsa Intifada of September 2000 more than a 1,000 detained while they were children now continue to serve prison terms. About 90% of these children are guilty of THROWING STONES and therefore considered dangerous. They pose “Security Threats.”

More than 2,200 minors, guilty of security threats mainly have been imprisoned since the start of the Intifada.

Footnote:

Intifada literally means “shaking off,, to set free from Israeli oppression. The first Intifada started on 8th Dec 1987 when four Palestinian men queuing at a checkpoint into Gaza were crushed to death by an Israeli army transporter. The second Intifada started in Sept 2000 when Sharon with over 2,000 Israeli soldiers desecrated the Al Aqsa Mosque and killed 4 people.

Destruction of a Nation

The world watches as a humanitarian crisis escalates by the hour in Lebanon. For more than two weeks we have stood by as the country has been plunged into death and destruction. First the power plant destroyed cutting off electric supply, leaving civilians with no lighting, air-conditioners, power for water and sewage plants, no communication, and food rotting in fridges. From then on horror upon horror has befallen the innocent.

The Israelis, with full fire power backing from the US, have savagely destroyed the country and its people with the excuse of seeking out Hezbollah. The aerial bombardment has paralysed the country, airport disabled, roads destroyed, bridges blown and sea access has blocked by the Israeli navy. No escape for thousands, so escape for the poor, the old, the children and the disabled. Wounded cannot be moved and food and aid cannot be brought in. Even those who had the means to get out could not. Foreign governments managed to airlift and ship out those with foreign passports many of whom will be displaced persons in their own countries. Those who have fled have left behind families and friends.

The ones who have sought shelter in bunkers or refugee camps are not safe. Targeted bombing they call it. But the targets have been “miss-targets” or have these mistakes have been carried out purposely. Even when the targets were accurate more civilians were in line of fire than the Hezbollah. More than 700,000 civilians have been made homeless, thousands maimed and injured and close to 700 killed, not counting bodies under rubble in areas unsafe to get to. More than one third of the dead and injured are children.

And all this now for two kidnapped Israeli soldiers. Two men in exchange for Lebanese prisoners languishing in Israeli jails.

Surely there are other ways of negotiating.

Monk

A monk I saw this morning, not far from me, in grey, happy, sacred. We connected. He smiled a living smile, a transforming smile. His joy beautiful stirred me, brought a tear. A deep smile emanated within me too and stayed. A taxi driver cut across my road dangerously close, I smiled, waved him on. He waved back, apologetic. I see the monk’s face in other faces, not old, not young but in widely wrinkled smiles. This monk, his joy and his smile will remain with me. We will meet again, and connect a kind face, a small brass bowl.

And Let There Be No Light

And Let There Be No Light.

City of Lights, a name we have claimed for ourselves in a region of power shortages, outages and brown-outs. Hong Kong has the highest number of neon lights in the region.

It is said August 8, the double 8s, of 2006 has been slated for light-out.

City of Darkness. Let’s do it.

Switch off all the lights except the essential ones, those needed for hospitals, traffic, air-control. Turn off the “neons.” Off with the lights in restaurants, offices, and homes. Yes, let’s plunge this polluted island into darkness for 5 to 10 minutes at sunset.

Drastic measure, drastic situation.

Yesterday, late afternoon, a huge pall of fog came up from the sea and obliterated the mountains of New Territory before moving in to blot out Central, Wan Chai, and Causeway Bay, bringing dusk too early, causing alarm.

People walk around wearing masks or with hands over their noses and mouths. News readers tell us not to our allow children out of class rooms, and the elderly and the sick are told not to go out of their homes. Hospitals fully occupied, doctors overworked, waiting rooms overflow. Children, lethargic, sit around in adult clinics, no room at the paediatrician. Sounds like science fiction, but science fiction it is not. It is Hong Kong in the throes of unprecedented pollution.

“Oh, what can we do,” say the politicians, wringing their manicured hands.
“The tourists won’t be coming to fill our coffers.” How illogical, how thoughtless! Can we first make sure our citizens are healthy before worrying about the tourists? Dead citizens cannot be there to receive them when the tourists decide to come.

Let us not take heart in the fact that other cities of the world are more polluted. Neither does it help us when we lie to ourselves by setting standards different from international ones, to measure low when moderate, moderate when high or severe.

Hong Kong is an island but pollution is not. Improving our air quality lies not only with us but also with our neighbours. Our own pollution constitutes about 30 % and the rest, that affects us, is from our immediate neighbours. To the north of us lies the vast continent, our mother-land. The regional air now is so heavy with pollutants that prevailing winds do not disperse our emissions any more. Let us not waste time and energy in blame. The authorities of all neighbouring regions must get together and sort this out, and now.

Let the silent and dark protest begin. Let us switch off the lights on August 8.

Remembering Hiroshima

Sasaki Sadako was given only twelve years on the wings of a thousand cranes.

Today on the wings of every child’s crane let there be this request:

“Please bequeath the universe to us intact, in peace, and in love. Let us live.”

Pet Dogs and Strays

Hong Kongers are great dog lovers. To many, dogs are nearly human, they love them and care for them and spend much time with them. There are also others who want to own pets and so choose to reside in the country side; that is in villages in the New Territories. They have exacting careers and put in long working hours with little time for themselves or their pets. Love and passion come in small doses mainly on week ends. Often their dogs are left in the care of maids who are employed to do household chores; and not to take dogs for long walks, bath and feed them and pick up poo after them.

Some dogs are left unattended either inside the homes, in balconies, or on roof tops. In the village where we live one neighbour left their five dogs on small balcony while they went to work, and overwork, and often came home close to midnight. The dogs barked all day. Most dog owners or their maids pay no attention when their dogs bark incessantly day and night.

There are also many inconsiderate neighbours who walk their dogs. They carry newspapers and plastic bags and look as if they are intent on cleaning up after their dogs. These pet lovers are happy to keep their homes and gardens clean and walk their dogs to someone else’s gate or path or parking lot and allow their pets to urinate and defecate. When their dogs have done their business the owners or maids delicately walk away with their precious pets and their newspapers and plastic bags.

Some dogs are left loose and vicious day and night. They spend their day having much fun attacking passers by and by night running wild with packs.

The problem of stray dogs is further aggravated by people who believe they are doing good, getting merit points in dog heaven, by going round their villages leaving large amounts of food for dogs. This practice not only feeds the dogs, tame and wild, but also encourages a large population of well fed rats.

Calling the Agricultural and Fisheries department to alert them of wild dog situation is a fun process; one is sent from one department to another until one comes back to the first person spoken to. One fine day the dog catchers did arrive in our village. Since I called them and they had my address they came, in their van, to a screeching halt outside my home, several men jumped out exceedingly noisily. One pulled out a large butterfly net while the others whipped out their mobile phones to check out the autheticity of the report made and the exact location. The three wild dogs that were resting outside my gate slunk away from right under their noses and right before their eyes. I admire the men’s style but not their dog-catching skills.

We still have a huge nuisance of barking dogs, dog poo in our parking lot, and the wild pack has now increased to seven.

Audio Books

I am a huge audio books fan, make them unabridged, please. It is the tradition of listening to a wandering minstrel, listening to the story teller syndrome.

“Deep reading really demands the inner ear as well as the outer ear,” said Harold Bloom, the literary critic. “You need the whole cognitive process, that part of you which is open to wisdom. You need the text in front of you.”

Very true, I do smell, touch, wipe off the dust and read the book. Then I listen to the audio version except for John Grisham. I do not read him. I listen to him when I jog, having run the same route 10 times I stop listening to the birds and the bees and to switch John G.

When it comes to readers I prefer experienced trained voices. One has to be careful about writers reading their own work. With the exception of a few writers most tend to drone on a bit. Why spoil a good book just because the author thinks he or she can read.

Listen to Patrick Suskind’s Perfume read by Sean Barrett. Jeremy Irons is brilliant with his rendition of “Lolita”. You don’t have to worry about trying to pronounce those wonderful Russian names in “Crime and Punishment”. Let someone else read to you.

Writers who can write well and read to you with an inner passion are rare. Amongst those who can do this is Toni Morrison. She reads her work with passion and colour, so beautifully African-American. Listen to John le Carre read his “The Tailor of Panama”; so Latin- American, so English, and so Scottish. You can’t but be transported to his places and intrigues.
I fell in love again with Wales and the Welsh with Dylan Thomas’ reading of his “A Child’s Christmas in Wales”.

Don’t listen to Dean Koontz’s “Intensity” when you are alone at night. You just might end up with cardiac arrest when a mosquito buzzes by, the merest disturbance will make you jump out of your skin.

It is indeed relaxing to listen to audio books when going to bed. I listen to Sogyal Rinpoche’s “The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying” in bed. Not only am I relaxed, but I am also ready in case I wake up the next morning and find I am dead.

Now I am off to buy that Ipod. I hear there are some free downloads of audio books. Right now it is a little cumbersome changing the batteries of that CD walkman strapped to my hips. Those dish washing rubber gloves get in the way.

PS: I am a frequent visitor to the HK Central Library and it gives me much pleasure to see young children walking out loaded with audio books. Years ago I used to read and tape stories for my daughter when I could not be with her at bed times.

From Jane Cooper:

My four children regularly listen to books while they are playing with Lego or dolls, or painting. I think that hearing complex words rather than just seeing them on the page is wonderful, and have noticed enrichment in their vocabularies as they incorporate these new words and concepts into their everyday lives. They read massively as well, besides the additional opportunity for them to gain exposure to story telling.

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Death of a Travellin’ Man

PP is not the People’s Princess this time, it’s the People’s Pope.

The people they came from far and wide, they crossed countries, they crossed continents. They waited, they vigilled, they prayed, they paid their respects. Catholics and others of religions not recognized, wanted him to stay a little longer, but unfortunately the prayers of millions could not be answered. The time had come and Pope Paul ll was called back to the Kingdom of God.

Being the top guy in the Catholic Church, the true church, he went straight to heaven. Even more of a guarantee of a direct route is the fact he died within eight days of Easter.

The Catholic Church is pretty flexible. In ancient times creating saints took centuries, and then it was reduced to decades. Pope John Paul II speeded up the sainthood process even more, and helped Mother Teresa along the fast track. And for Pope Paul ll let’s make it instant. We do not need the Devil’s Advocate this time. There have been enough miracles.

The Catholic Church, God’s elite club, moves with the times. These are modern times; the Church has revolutionized itself to fit the modern world.

On 16 October 1978, a non-Italian, a Polish pontiff, was elected for the first time in 450 years. The death of this Pope was announced by mobile phone text message at 9.37pm, just minutes after his death. Moving with the times.

For the Pope-a-rama funeral the international media shut down on other news for days. The world media gathered in the Holy See to give us minute-by-minute news of the proceedings and the vigil.

Not for the Catholic Church sackcloth and grass sandals. It is garments gilded and purple and scarlet. It is pomp and ceremony and tradition. Give the ordinary members and others a chance to take part in the Church’s rich heritage. Give the people a chance to add to their wealth, a wealth of memorabilia: commemorative T shirts and stamps, religious icons and rosaries, coins, souvenirs, trinkets and curios.

Catholicism is not just a religion. It is a country, one of the richest. It is the Vatican, the Holy See, all of 44 square km. Accumulation of priceless treasures makes up for the lack of natural resources.

The People’s Pope was a liberal pope. His concern for human rights, his stance against war and poverty, his willingness to meet with Islamic leaders, his desire to visit Communist countries and his love for humanity is globally recognized. But he has also left behind gargantuan challenges for the newly elected Pope.

Pope Benedict XVI has promised to be the “Listening Pope.” He will also have to look, look within the church.

He has to sort out the problems of gay priests and sex scandals and child molestation. He cannot set aside “the sins of some of our brothers.” Neither does the solution lie in millions of dollars paid out in settlements. Serious thought has to be given to celibacy, ordination of women priests, gay marriage, contraception, abortion, divorce, and remarriage of divorced church members. He has to rethink the Church’s views of Eastern Christian religions as not being Christian. He has to decide why his church is against Eastern mediation and yoga, both of which are older than the Catholic Church and now practiced by increasing numbers of Catholics.

But most serious of all is the church’s opposition to condoms. The solutions offered by the church for the prevention of AIDS are not practical. Millions of Christians die of AIDS in Africa, leaving behind millions of orphans. Catholic-dominated Brazil and the Philippines, where abortion is rampant, where birth control is archaic, where divorce is not officially recognized, are sinking deeper into poverty. They need immediate help.

Jesus was a great liberator. Let’s hope Pope Ratzinger Benedict XVI will follow suit and make a quick and sensitive shift in the Elite Club.

“Is truth determined by a majority vote, only for a new ‘truth’ to be ‘discovered’ by a new majority tomorrow?” Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI, asked in an interview in 1996.

Sir, truth has been determined by a majority vote and discovered anew. You and your team please think well, think fast and come up with solutions.

These new challenges are the old ones.

History has its versions

The destructive protests and vandalism against Japanese property in China certainly seem to have had some go-head from the authorities. Correspondents say the scale of the disturbances is unusual for China, and indicates tacit official support for the protesters. A country that suppresses every little whisper of protest has allowed thousands to gather, scream their heads off, vandalise property and be seen having fun doing it all before the cameras; and all in the name of patriotism. One should now seriously wonder if a wasps’ nest has not been disturbed. The crazed behaviour of thousands of people this month will surely come back to haunt China in the future in one form or another. The masses have tasted “protest freedom.”

Facts seen by the “patriotic” doer and the facts seen by the ones done by vary. The “invaders” of Americas have their version and the native North and South Americans have their version. Australians have their version and the Aborigines theirs. Invaders and colonists in Africa have done their bit. America and Agent Orange have done it to Vietnam. Have Hiroshima and Nagasaki been forgotten, or the Khmer Rouge and the killing fields Cambodia? How accurately are these portrayed in the history books? Every warring and colonising power has committed atrocities and certainly glossed over or omitted the truth. The ones who suffered and the ones who died know the truth.

A few thousand of the Chinese protestors know the war atrocities, fewer have read the “history books” they are going hoarse about, and even fewer know what Japan is all about except for the Japanese technology and culture and the nouvelle cuisine they enjoy. Boycotting Japanese goods in any country is merely a matter of cutting one’s nose off to spite one’s face. And where else but in he East do we know more about “saving face”?

China’s mantra to criticisms or comments by anyone outside China is: “Don’t interfere in our internal affairs.” But it only applies to China. She is allowed to voice her opinion of other countries and governments and tell them what to do and not do and in many cases even bully neutral countries to turn against others who do not kowtow to her.

Visits by politicians to the Yasukuni Shrine have been condemned by China and its neighbours. Built in 1879 during the Meiji period, the shrine houses more than two and half million memorial tablets of revered samurai and soldiers who gave their lives to social freedom, democracy, and human rights. The sacrifices show the love for their families, their race and their nation. The Shinto religion is very complex. Shinto Kami pays a great deal of reverence to the dead and its edict does not allow tablets to be moved. According to Shinto there is not a single existence that serves no purpose and considers the work of all things spiritual.

Comfort women! Having experienced so much pain and shame in this matter, the energy vented in what happened in the past could be put to better use. Help with the current situation, prevent the kidnapping of thousands of girls the world over, especially in Africa, for the sex trade and to “comfort” the soldiers in many wars around the world.

Has China written its new history books? Think of the thousands who were “gloriously made to sacrifice” their lives to famine during the Mao era. The Cultural Revolution and culture cleansing by the Communists deprived China of philosophers, authors, poets, artists and teachers. They and their families were made to go through much degradation and suffering. They were tortured and killed. Historical sites were completely destroyed. And then there was the Tiananmen “incident.”

What are the Chinese history books saying about the horrors committed by the PLA soldiers in Tibet? They imprisoned and tortured Buddhist nuns and monks. They defaced and desecrated sacred relics and ancient tankas. They tore down monasteries. Confused peasants were locked up and tortured for displaying pictures of the Dalai Lama in their homes which were no more than shacks.

I guess we can now look forward to apologies and large compensations from China for these atrocities. It may have to be after this current cleansed generation relearns and pieces together its past and earns the tourist dollar. Get on with that “peace study” so that the future generation will never repeat the same mistake the old Japan made 60 years ago. Waste no time looking for revenge and compensation. The present is the future.

Japanese soldiers carried out inhumane acts and killed and maimed millions in their misguided faith in uniting the East against the West. There is no doubt in anyone’s mind, not even the present Japanese population. that Japan continues to make more formal apologies, give financial aid, and compensation. And why should Japan not have a place in the UN security council? She is the second largest financial contributor. It is time now, as Tokyo said, to sit down, study the joint history and come to a reasonable compromise. Both Japan and China, the two rising powers, need each other as good neighbours and trade partners and for the stability of the rest of Asia.

The Chinese character for “human being ” is composed of two strokes. “Ren” cannot exist with one stroke, it needs the other.

Tsunami Soul Search

Geologic plates pressing against each other slipped violently, created the bulge on the bottom that could be as high as 10 metres and hundreds of kilometres long. A column of water of billions of tons moved. The reaction caused waves equal in power to a million atomic bombs. Having started more than 10 km beneath the sea floor close to Sumatra, Indonesia, the waves crashed into the Indian Ocean coasts on Sunday.

It is said that this undersea earth quake, that caused the tsunami on the 26 Dec. 2004, was so powerful that it even disturbed the earth’s rotation.

Within 15 minutes of the earthquake, scientists running the tsunami warning system for the Pacific had issued a cautionary report from their Honolulu hub, to 26 participating countries. India was not among them. It would seem no one communicated with those oceans away, with those who could be directly hit. Why was the information not relayed?

The waves took four hours to reach the east coast of Africa and in all that time no mention had been made of the possibility of unusual wave occurrences and no serious warning was issued. It is amazing that no monitors and satellites picked up anything unusual about the sea surface.

Go digital! We went digital. Communication is the buzz word of the 21 century. We email, fax, we SMS. We video conference, check baby’s movements in the womb. We give electronic instructions to robots to perform surgery. From the moon we talk to earth.

In Hong Kong a weather picture via satellite picks up a man getting his bike from a grid on the banks of a canal in Amsterdam. I have been told that information on the number-plate of a car can be spotted by a satellite.

Night-vision goggles cut through darkness. We can track nuclear bombs being detonated anywhere in the world.

How tragic then is that no one saw, felt or heard to give warning. How tragic then is the fact that no one talked about the possibility of a tsunami. How tragic then is this statement: “I did not know who to contact” from a man at one of the stations set up to check ocean movements. We are told that many tracking and monitoring stations were not manned because it was a holiday.

Yes, it would have been a monumental task to warn all, it would have created panic and hysteria, it would have been unbelievable. It would have saved thousands of lives.

Where were those weather stations and tidal gauges? Were there no ships at sea? No high tech navy, no super submarines? No low flying planes? Where were the Coast Guards? And where were the fishermen with their electronic equipment?

Was no one concerned enough with the irregular wave movements and tides prior to the tsunami arriving at the various shores?

We talk of what could have been in place to monitor the Indian Ocean Region. We hear of costs and priorities. It only happens very rarely, perhaps once every two centuries. Many questions arise about the mysterious ways in which Gods work. Religious leaders have different answers. We can blame it global warming and President Bush for not wanting to sign the Kyoto protocol.

The most provocative question however is “What is this failure of communication?”

Mr. Murthy, a tsunami expert, says “the waves are totally predictable. We have travel time charts of waves that cover all the Indian Ocean. There is no reason for a single individual to get killed in a tsunami.”

No, not a single, but hundreds of thousands of singles.

One Month On

We have lost it.

A pall of mist covers this valley. Nature is in mourning on this full moon night, 25th. Jan 2005. The white crests of the shushing small waves move back and forth and disappear, hardly visible. A month ago, on another shore, a sharp, cold full moon, unnaturally bright, looked down. The deep velvet sky was clear. It was a cool night.

Everyone is still overwhelmed with the enormity of that day of survival and destruction. It brings to mind unbearable grief, remembrance of what took place 26th December 2004. What unfolded that day and since is deeply etched in all of us.

We have evolved. We are not able to sense, see or detect the danger? Our instincts are blunt now.

Why did we not know ? The animals did. Story after story has come to light of dogs, cats, and other domestic animals that saved themselves. Birds and bees escaped. In the ravaged southeast the waves washed floodwaters up to 3 km (2 miles) inland at Yala National Park, Sri Lanka’s biggest wildlife reserve and home to hundreds of wild animals.

Elephants, leopards, deer, jackals, crocodiles were safe. “There is not even a dead hare or rabbit” say the authorities. “I think animals can sense disaster. They have a sixth sense. They know when things are happening,” H.D. Ratnayake, deputy director of Sri Lanka’s Wildlife Department, has said.

Yes, we have lost it, we have lost our finer sense. Primitive men and women sensed danger before it came. They were in tune with earth and themselves. We have lost our acute hearing, our sharp sense of smell. Our psychic abilities have left us. Our feet are not firmly planted in the ground or perhaps we should have four feet each firmly placed on earth.

Elephants to ants knew the danger. They still possess their fine acoustic sense. They can still pick up the vibrations and infrasound, changes in the air pressure.

In Khao Lak elephants knew the tsunami was coming. The animals at the elephant parks started trumpeting when the earthquake took place near Sumatra. Dang and his wife Kulada had never heard them do this. They managed to quieten them down. But they started wailing again about an hour later and this time they could not be quietened. Some charged up the hill, others that were chained broke their hefty manacles and ran up the hill.

Those on the beach picked up children and adults with their trunks and threw them over their backs and ran away from the beach about a kilometre away and the tsunami came right up to them and stopped.

A woman who could not save her children trusted her twins to another. This woman followed the wake of an enormous snake and found land and safety for the twins and herself.

We have lost our 6th sense.

Sudan

Fiction?

I pile the fire wood neatly by the side our hut. The older children laugh playing some secret game. My three old clings to me. My husband rests in the hut. He tilled all morning. Hard work in an unyielding ground.

I stand up brushing the sweat from face. I stretch my aching back. I am with child, but only a few months gone. I squeeze a splinter in my palm. I hear a rumble, and a quiet pud-pud. I shade my eyes. I look into the distance from where the sound comes. The sound has stirred up the hot dust.

A different sweat pricks my scalp. I shout to the children: Run, run. They stop their game and look me alert like deer. I scream, “Junjaweed!” They run. The oldest holds her sister’s hand and runs one way, the boy the other. He turns back and runs to catch up with his sisters. I stand paralyzed watching them.

Soon the dust cloud arrives, camel riders and jeeps. Shooting starts. Flaming torches fly into thatch huts. The torrid air is filled with fatal screams.

I shout for my husband. My husband in sleep haze, not understanding, comes to the door. A car, covered in red dust glides towards me. The car stops. A well uniformed man steps out of the car. His hand goes to his hip. The man draws out his gun and shoots. I kneel by my husband cradling his bloodied head. The man picks up my three year old by one arm. I do not hear my plea. He walks with the wriggling child and throws him into my neighbour’s burning home.

I almost throw myself into the fire to get my son. Two men, black with white teeth, laughing, grab me. Another pulls me back by my hair and throws me on the ground. The three tear my clothes off me. They take turns to hold me and rape me. I feel waves of the hot rippling air of the fires around us.

Soon, it is all over. The invaders are gone, our village is burnt. Our men are dead. I run about searching for my other children. I turn over child corpses. Some speared, some shot, and others still burning.

Perhaps they did escape, my three children.

I find them, one by one — dead.

Fiction — no. Fact — Dafur.

Peace

Thailand

The Land of Smiles,

A country of grace and beauty.

On a bright clear Sunday, 5 Jan of 2004, a hundred million paper cranes drifted down gently from the sky, cranes of peace and harmony.

Sixty three million people, minus perhaps 5 million disgruntled Muslims, “origamied” paper cranes of all sizes. 100 million carefully folded cranes with peace messages written in them. One special crane had Mr. Thaksin Shinawatra’s signature. Children and adults scrambled for them as the finder of this crane would enjoy a scholarship. It was also King Bhumiphol Adulyadez’s 77th birthday.

But the critics called the gesture a gimmick. The Muslims of the Southern Provinces called it an un-Muslin act. The media had their choice of words for it — they called it “50 military planes bombarded the provinces with paper cranes.”

Various ethnic groups — Malays, Chinese, Laotians, Cambodians, Indonesians, and Sri Lankans — have lived here over many years overlapping each others customs and cultures. Various religions are practised — Buddhism, Islam, Christianity, Hinduim, and Taoism with a generous splash of Animism. They have all live here in relative peace with the majority Muslim population.

Now religious harmony has been disrupted, it is not to come easy in this border region of Thailand and Malaysia.

So what is the problem? Insurgents they say — Afghani Jihads, Al Qaedas, Jamiaah Islamiahs, multiple Malaysian Islamic radical groups, and, for good measure, Tamil Tigers could be the cause, some think. A quiet and peaceful juncture for the training of terrorists perhaps, quiet provinces providing a trading post for smuggling drugs and arms in and out of the country.

Bombings of police stations, drive-by shootings of politicians, and arson has resulted in the deaths of more than 500 in recent years. Violence for violence in the burning of mosques is not the answer. Violence against the police and soldiers, security, politicians and Buddhist monks has escalated. The misguided act of security officials in piling of protesters into trucks and suffocating more than 80 has incensed the situation further.

A new awareness is needed, all is not well in this southern melting pot. The concentration of five million Muslims is not getting enough attention from the central government.

Steps more concrete than paper are needed in Southern Thailand.

Death at Ramadan

End of an enigma, end of a puzzle but still a man of many lives. Having cheated death several times; surviving a plane crash, several assassination attempts by the Israeli Intelligence Agents and a serious stroke, Yasser Arafat decided to call it quits on 11 November 04. Prior to his death it was a week of much sadness and waiting for good news in the Muslim world. Even after death the fight continues. One is not allowed to die of old age any more, it’s a mystery death. The cause of death is to be investigated.

Timing became a big issue. With only days to go before the celebration Eid, Yasser Arafat’s serious illness was in the balance for Palestinians and Muslim sympathizers. The question was whether they would celebrate Eid, the end of the fasting month or would they end up mourning the loss of Yasser Arafat. They waited for good news. Should shops stop bringing in stock for the festivities and expect the celebration flurry of buying or should they expect a shut down? Would the month long fasting end in mourning instead of celebrating? But it all ended on a sad note.

Yasser Arafat had been confined to his quarters in Palestine, under house-arrest for more than two and a half years He doggedly refused to leave the country and his first trip out was one from which he was not to return alive. Even in death he is dangerous man. It was his wish to be buried in West Jerusalem. The occupying Israelis would not permit it. Earth had to be brought from the al-Asqa Mosque to line the tomb for burial. Mourners were not allowed free movement either. Thousands in parts of Gaza and the west bank had to stay put and mourn at home.

One had to admire the speed with which his body was taken from Paris to Cairo for a public mourning and then to Palestine to be buried there according to Muslim tradition. The vast wrecked grounds of Yasser Arafat’s last abode was cleared out for the tomb and for the helicopter pads that were to bring his body and the dignitaries. Space was made for the invited guests, red carpet was laid out, and flags and bunting strung out. The burial was to be attended only by invited dignitaries. But no sooner the body arrived all plans were changed by the people. Authorities had not foreseen the loyalty and determination. Barriers could not stop them. They surged through the gates and over the walls of the large compound. Hundreds climbed up the nearby trees and higher buildings. The people of Yasser Arafat grew to an unstoppable mass.

Now the big question is who will take his place. Yasser Arafat had not trained a successor.

Election has to take place within 60 days.

But how? The nation is spread out under Israeli occupation, by Israeli security and check-point controls. There is no freedom of movement in the Gaza strip and West Bank to organize an election.

Checkmate!

Time to reassemble the pieces on the chess board. Palestinians, and Israelis, and Peace-makers are to come together. Time to put in an extra piece on the board, a jail beside the castle. Mr. Bargouti who is in an Israeli prison serving five consecutive life sentences is also a candidate.

The Memoirist

“Why don’t you write your memoir?” say my friends. “You’ve led such an interesting life.” There is only one deduction from this. It is presumed that I am now a fully paid up member of the international SSG, the Senior Silver-haired Gang. I have history or am I history? I have a past. I am at the memoir stage, the old body might be at the breaking down stage, or the old memory might be going stage. But did not a pop star of 24 recently do her memoir?

Well, I must agree I have enjoyed a longer stretch than 24 years. My contention is never write a memoir until you know you have reached the end, make sure you have lived your last adventure. Unless of course you have a terminal illness and your reliable doctor has given you the required three months to live.

If I decide to heed my friends, my dilemma is how to approach this “putting down of my past.” Confessional? No, that won’t do, too juicy, what will my relatives say. Throw in an abused childhood? Though this is much in vogue, won’t do as it won’t be true. How about drugs, booze and sex? I was there in the sixties but I don’t remember any of that. How about The Leela Diaries? But then I never kept a diary.

I see two choices of recollection. Someone will have to throw me a surprise birthday party. A “This Is Your Life” birthday party, where all my relatives and friends and party-crashers gather at a 5-star hotel, where the walls are lined with larger-than-life pictures of me (digitally enhanced), then lights are dimmed, video clips unroll my past — the one I cannot remember — with my mother proudly cooing at a dark item in a fluffy pink bundle that is me, the ugliest baby.

Then on screen comes a picture of me at four, sitting on the toilet with my knickers around my ankles, sipping Coke through a straw. Then me as a teenager, skinny as a rake, masses of black hair, thick unruly eyebrows and my mother says something cute on the screen, my Dad reveals something embarrassing.

The clips roll on, showing a couple of my school chums, whom I had forgotten and now remember that I never liked, relate a few teenage adventures, a couple of ex-boyfriends elicit laughs from the audience at my expense.

Then the professional video of me and my man on our wedding day, the best man mouthing inanities, and then finally my ex-husband (who invited him?) appears. At least he has something tasteful to say. Guess he still misses me. I wonder who put all this together. Yes, it will prove a good memory jogger and will recall those interesting adventures my friends were referring to.

Or I could go for my second choice. BALEK KAMPONG, yes, RETURN to the VILLAGE in Penang where I began.

I think I will balek kampong for my mystery monologue, but not yet.. there is more history to live, more adventures to come.

A Celebration

Outside, the tropical evening cast a purple twilight under a blue dome of sky. The setting sun was an orb of orange. Hong Kong’s lights twinkled in profusion across the channel in the Kowloon metropolis. The buildings turned a deep blue velvet.

Inside, the restaurant was softly lit. Elegant ladies and men in quiet attire drifted in to the sound of ragas from a harmonium and tabla. The air was rich not with perfumes but with the aroma of fennel, coriander, anise and mint.

Don and I were the guests of Raju and Egon at the Viceroy. We were offered drinks in tequila shots glasses — Sounfiya and Kanjee and Pudina. And summer coolers — exotic mixes of juices of beetroot, carrot, fennel, mint, mixed with rose water, and flavoured with cumin and salt.

We adjourned from the main bar to the banquet room. Tables were laid out exquisitely, tablecloths sprinkled with fresh red rose petals.

The speaker began with Kapha, Pita, Vita — Greek to some of us. Mr. Vinod Sharma explained the Sanskrit words, the various doshas we all are. He talked of the elements of space, air, fire, water and earth influencing everyone of us.

It was an Ayurvedic Celebration. Ayurveda, the science of life, taken from the Rig Vedas, written 6,000 thousand years ago: Ayu life and Veda knowledge. After the talk we enjoyed a vegetarian meal of exotic, tasty dishes in proper holistic Ayurvedic style.

Nature has created man and animals and plants all well balanced and living in harmony. But we have created imbalance and destruction. We need to remove the Ama, the stress from our lives. We need to return to peace and tranquility; we have a big job before us. But with attention to our mental and physical health with Ayurveda, Yoga and Meditation we can achieve both.

A beautiful reminder of the spiritual and physical side of my life on the eve of my birthday.