A Halloween Tale

The Singeing Shadow

The kerosene lamp almost out of oil. The children gone to bed. The animals shut away.

Ah Chai surveyed the shadows outside. It was late; no light appeared from the neighbouring huts. The rain had passed leaving the air moist and the trees heavy, wet in the dark night. There was no sign of their two dogs. ‘On the prowl again, fine guard dogs they make,’ he said.  He was surprised there was no barking from the village dogs either. It was too quiet except for a faint strain of Peking Opera from someone’s radio. He tossed his cigarette stub out, a neat smouldering arc. He spat, warm, smoky. He checked the door was properly fastened for the night.

He was about to secure the tin sheet that served as the door when he felt a presence. … Continue Reading

WE ARE STILL EVOLVING

Recently, at a luncheon with some close friends, our cheerful conversation took a wrong turn and some rather staunch Christians began to talk about the atrocities of Muslim fundamentalists. Torture, stonings, mutilations and beheadings were brought up, just before my favourite dessert, Kuih Talam was brought in.

I tried with a little timid interruption to mention that religious zealots, and armies in times of war, were equally brutal, if not more so. There were a few loud dissenters. I mentioned the War of the Roses and Joan of Arc and treatment of bonded labourers and slaves who were given the task of building the Great Wall of China and the Pyramids, in quick succession. One person at the table looked at me like he could be agreeing but the rest grew even more vociferous.

I tried to recollect a few more facts on torture and terror used for displaying and maintaining power, horror that men could inflict on fellow humans, but little support came my way.

A few days later in one of my readings I came across some of the ancient atrocities that were committed.

… Continue Reading

A Nuclear Weapons–Free World

On this memorable day, 5 August, the 70th anniversary of Hiroshima’s devastation, death and suffering, let our plea be a nuclear weapons–free world.

10 years ago, on 5 August, I posted this message:

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.”

Are we naive to think we are closer to this request?

WE ARE PENANG PEOPLE

Don, Spooks and I have moved to Penang. We absolutely love it. We have acquired our selves a lovely and decrepit old bungalow with a garden. Quality of life is great. People here are kind and friendly and smile a lot. Weather is pleasant except between noon to 3pm when it is too hot to be walking about. Food, selection of different regions and fusion, is excellent, and is most reasonably priced.

We had always thought of of ourselves as Hong Kong people, had never thought we would ever leave our lovely home and garden in Ha Yeung, but pollution — air, noise, light, and tourist — has forced us to make this decision. We love this new paradise. All the same we miss you, Hong Kong.

Now where could they have hidden my village?

But we’re Penang people now.

2004 TSUNAMI REMEMBERED

Today, 26 December, Don and I send our love to all those who lost family and friends in the tsunami ten years ago. We share their pain; remember the day that brought so much destruction to the regions in the Indian Ocean. From our breakfast table on the beach we saw the giant wave approach. We had an easy escape.

Death Mattress

A floating mattress from a bed in our hotel, Le Meridien Khao Lak, Thailand. Bright sun and sharp shadow deceive us. The mattress is floating on a 4- or 5-metre wave of muddy water and debris that drowned all those on the ground level and level one of the hotel, all those who were having a relaxing morning in their beds after a wild and joyous Christmas party at our hotel the night before.

Our diaries of the event – 2004 Tsunami

Don: http://www.kleptography.com/gallery-tsunami.htm

Leela: http://www.leela.net/tsunami.htm

BLOOM READY FOR BLOODSHED

Imagine a Boy

Bloom ready for Bloodshed

Imagine a child, a boy 3 or 4 years old, from a family of six to ten children, too poor to give him a full meal, a proper home or education. Or imagine an orphan with no one to care for him. This boy will be taken on by a Madrasa run by fundamentalists. They will feed him and clothe him and educate him. He will spend his growing up years in the company of boys and men.

He will not learn anything but Koran related and religious matters, and of the might that once was held by the Muslims. He will learn of the suppression of the Muslims, according to the fundamentalists. He will learn of the atrocities and  the decadence of the West, the evil and sinful ways of the rest of the world. He will only get to know the harm done to the fundamentalists. He will read no newspapers or watch television.

He will grow up never ever having played with a girl, or ever having known the love of a girl or woman. He would never have been hugged by a female. As a teenager it is possible he may not know what a woman looks like except for a face or a pair of eyes. But there is a much promise for this young man: Virgins in paradise.

This parallel world produces the fundamentalists.

HARUKI MURAKAMI SPEAKS

Aurhor Haruki Murakami

Encouragement from a great source for the Hong Kong Occupy Youth.

“Accepting the award on Friday, he spoke of his own memories of the Berlin Wall prior to its fall 25 years ago this weekend, and attributed ongoing conflicts throughout the world to a system of walls that drive people apart based on intolerance, greed and fear.

Murakami said it is the task of novelists to help readers penetrate these walls, and that harnessing the power of each person’s imagination “could be the starting point of something.”

A world without walls can be created “in the quiet but sustained effort to keep on singing, to keep on telling stories, stories about a better and freer world to come, without losing heart,” he said. “We can see (a world without walls) with our own eyes, we can even touch it with our own hands if we try hard.

“I’d like to send this message to the young people in Hong Kong who are struggling against their wall right now at this moment.”

Student led peaceful protests in Hong Kong began on 28 Sept 2014 and is still going strong.

“Student-led blockades of major roads in Hong Kong have continued since Sept. 28 (2014) in response to an Aug. 31 decision by authorities in Beijing to restrict candidates for the territory’s 2017 leadership election to those vetted by a committee.

Six weeks into its struggle for democracy, the once-carefully planned Occupy movement has grown and shifted in ways beyond the imagination of organisers. And that raises a question: is the protest still a civil disobedience campaign?

More than a year before Occupy kicked off, its founders discussed their plans, organised meetings and wrote articles on their thoughts for a civil disobedience campaign. They published a detailed “manual of disobedience” for protesters to follow.

The ultimate aim of the campaign is to establish a society embracing equality, tolerance, love and care. We fight against the unjust system, not individuals. We are not to destroy or humiliate law enforcers, rather we are to win over their understanding and respect. We need to avoid physical confrontation, and also avoid developing hatred in our hearts.”

Book Review: THE GUEST

By Suneetha Balakrishnan

In this novella ‘The Guest’ author Suneetha Balan gives us an unusual take on a mother-in-law. Mothers-in-law are a much-maligned tribe. We hear endless seedy jokes about them, and often the jokes are unkind and cruel. We hear of horror stories of how they ill-treat their daughters-in-law often siding with their spoilt sons. We hear of them wrecking marriages. But in ‘The Guest’ we come across a different kind of mother-in-law. Here we come across the mother of a young man who falls in love with her son’s the bride to be. After their marriage the couple move in to live with the widowed mother. We follow this story of love in which the mother-in-law treats the wife of her selfish and often inconsiderate son with much attention and precious care. Together, the mother and the wife manage to convert the young man into a caring and family orientated person. Read this unusual tale, follow the twists and turns, enjoy.

100 HOURS AND MORE IN HONG KONG

In Thunder, Lightning, and Storm

Today, 1^st October 2014, is an auspicious day, People’s Liberation Day.

Ironically, Hong Kong is seeking liberation too, liberation of another kind.

This cosmopolitan place where people come and go has been built by the hard work of all who live here. Hong Kongers are here to stay. The majority of Hong Kong people do not hold foreign passports and they will not up and leave when things don’t suit them.

The Occupy Central protest is a demonstration requesting choice. It is for the rightful selection of representation for our government, for a majority say — a free, transparent and open election. The protest is asking for freedom, for our country to be governed by democracy now and for generations to come. Those who oppose have a choice too; they may prefer communism, they could apply to be accepted by the liberated People’s Republic.

I fully support and greatly respect these young people of peace. I admire their persistence, their strong stance and their patriotism. They’re standing up for their future. It does not mean they disrespect the motherland. There is much talk of the motherland by the opposition. Does a mother not want her sons and daughters to progress, to move forward? Why is there only talk of gloom and damnation and punishment?

Mainland China, having destroyed its tradition, its art and culture, having murdered its writers and artists, having stamped on individuality, has still not learned an iron fist does not rule the world.

Under a Storm
Photo Felix Wong

I cannot be there but I feel myself in the midst of the protesters. They have been bombarded by tear gas, squirted in the face with pepper spray. They have endured extreme heat and humidity, and they’ve been hungry and thirsty. They have gone without beds to sleep in, they have had no shelter during lightning, thunder and downpour. This shows determination and strength of character. The rest of us have a right to hear them out.

Photo Sam Tsang

It is possible it will end in checkmate, in which case Hong Kong may have to back down. Our motherland may not relent but she’ll be a little more careful in future, withdraw her iron iron fist a little, knowing how our youth can rear their heads again. And next time be even stronger.

The world will remember. There will be support.

HARD WORK PLUCKING STORIES

OUT OF ONE’S IMAGINATION…

But the pay off is great for for authors who make it. A recent short chat about my demise of interest in the Hong Kong International Literary Festival and it’s dearth of well-known authors has brought to light that we in Hong Kong need sponsors, big ones at that if the HK International LitFest is to survive. We have enough number of millionaires here, it is time to get them interested in improving the Hong Kong culture of books and authors.

I read with some interest that  investors of start-ups in Bangalore are backing  literary culture in India’s technology capital. The Bangalore Literary Festival is getting a big boost, big sponsorships from the business sector.

And here in Hong Kong the festival has had yet another change at the top. We now have a new manager, 26-year-old Jessie Cammack. Her SCMP profile says she “has lived in Hong Kong little more than a year” and has “spent the first four months doing an intensive Cantonese course”. Here’s wishing her and the festival the best of luck.

Our festival runs from October 31 to November 9, 2014.

Become an award winning writer if you want to travel first class, live in mansions and get rich.

It is unfortunate that Sir Naipaul’s agents did not state upfront what fees are expected for his showing up.

And now to who is invited and how it works.

An extract from a longer article in the Sydney Morning Herald:

“The late cancellation of Nobel laureate V.S. Naipaul from next month’s Ubud Writers and Readers Festival has exposed the fierce competition and delicate negotiations behind the flourishing international festival scene.

Since Janet DeNeefe founded the festival 11 years ago as a healing response to the Bali bombings, the Australian-born restaurateur and writer has built a successful annual event that attracts almost 26,000 visitors to enjoy talks, performances and food amid Ubud’s hillside rice paddies, art galleries, temples and resorts.

While her main mission is to showcase Indonesian culture and social-political issues, DeNeefe knows she needs big names to appeal to the foreigners – mostly Australians – who make up half the audience. She has just signed the musician-writer Nick Cave – a guest in 2012 – as an international festival patron.”

V. S. Naipaul

Lost headliner: V.S. Naipaul was let go after a fee demand.

“For this year’s festival from October 1-5, she invited the American writer Paul Theroux, who had expressed interest after eating at her Ubud restaurant Indus. When she rejected his request for a fee for which, she says, “I could have got David Attenborough”, Theroux agreed instead to appear at the Singapore Writers Festival in November.

DeNeefe then invited V.S. Naipaul, the distinguished but difficult 82-year-old Trinidad-born British writer, who recently ended a long feud with Theroux. To her amazement the Wylie Agency accepted, with the promise of first- and business-class travel and a luxurious villa.

The festival program was launched on August 1, headlined by “a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to meet a literary legend of the 20th century”. But this month the Wylie Agency contacted DeNeefe again, demanding a $20,000 fee, and after agonised consultation she decided to let Naipaul go.

As she announced his withdrawal on Friday, “the result of us being unable to accommodate Sir V.S. Naipaul’s 11th-hour requests”, he and Theroux were named as guests of India’s Jaipur Literature Festival in January.

“To be told about a week ago is pretty atrocious,” DeNeefe said. “When we did our sums we realised we would not be able to pay wages post-festival or move premises when we lose our donated space post-festival.

“Our cash sponsorship so far this year is less than $100,000, so we can’t spend 50K of that on him. I actually rejected some Indonesian musicians because we can’t afford them.”

Like DeNeefe, Australian writers’ festival directors resist appearance fees, and writers are generally content with travel expenses, a modest honorarium, publicity, book sales and a pleasant trip. Sydney Writers’ Festival brought Vince Gilligan, Alice Walker and Dave Eggers this year for no extra payment.

However, Perth Writers’ Festival is understood to have paid Martin Amis between $30,000 and $50,000 for exclusivity this year, perhaps to counter its isolation. The Sydney Opera House commonly offers $10,000 and paid more to bring Salman Rushdie to last month’s Festival of Dangerous Ideas. Melbourne’s Wheeler Centre pays some speakers on its year-round program.

While pressure is building to pay popular writers for their time on the road, most festivals run on tight non-profit budgets (though Singapore’s, for example, receives generous government funding – $A1.2 million in 2012).”

MID-AUTUMN IN STANLEY

Harvest moon or mid-autumn moon, celebrated universally is also our Lantern Festival. This year 2014 it fell on the 8^th September and with threats of partial eclipse.

In Hong Kong the autumn festival is a romantic one. On the night of the full moon adults and children make their way, with lit lanterns, to the mountain peaks or to the beaches to watch the full moon rise.

Mid-autumn Sunrise

Twin Rocks Stanley

Mid-Autumn Moon

Moon Play

Reflection in the Bay

Hot Night BBQ

Midnight Cleanup

Land and Sea of Blood

“Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red”

888,246 red ceramic poppies are displayed in Britain on 100th anniversary of World War I. Reminding us of lives lost for peace. But peace we have not achieved.

Since then we have managed a Second World War. Battles and killings still rage all around us. Governments pushed by greed for power to occupy and control thrive on more and more powerful weaponry and send out able-bodied men and women to kill fellow humans.

We have come across epic battles of bloodshed and horror in verses of the Hindu Ramayana and Mahabharata and the poetry Homer’s Iliad.

We did not learn.

We are incapable of learning it would seem.

And here the magnificent and dramatic display poppies showing blood shed – Gannon Burgett

Poppies Tower of London

http://petapixel.com/2014/08/02/breathtaking-photos-tower-london-adorned-888246-ceramic-poppies-commemorate-wwi/

The poppy as a symbol of the fallen soldiers of World War I comes from

In Flanders Fields and Other Poems from John McCrae’s collection of 1919

‘In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,’

About 10 million soldiers and seven million civilians were killed in World War I. Writers; and poets like Thomas Hardy, Rupert Brooke, Siegfried Sassoon, William Butler Yeats, Robert Graves, and Wilfred Owen responded writing about the great tragedy, the loss, the horror and the brutalities.

From one of my favourite poets: Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)

“This book is not about heroes. English Poetry is not yet fit to speak of them. Nor is it about deeds, or lands, nor anything about glory, honour, might, majesty, dominion, or power, except War. Above all I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War.”

And the poem he wrote just months before his death in 1918.

Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling,

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under I green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, –

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

[it is sweet and right to die for your country]

THE ISRAEL/GAZA DEBACLE

They Are Not Our Children

The Israel/Gaza debacle. I have the solution but only for one year.

Read on.

Sympathy of the world would, no doubt, be with a country that is constantly attacked by rockets, and the phrase is ‘unprovoked attacks’. But what kind of provoking is called for when the attacker in question is imprisoned in his country?

Gazan lives are completely controlled by Israel.

The Gaza strip is an area of 365 sq. km (141 sq. mi). It supports 1.82 million Palestinians whose lives are completely controlled by the Israelis. Gaza is locked in the south by Egypt. And the rest of the country, North and East is controlled by Israel, and bordered by a 3 km buffer zone. The 42 km long waterfront too is under Israeli control, no fishing and no shipping allowed, and recently children playing on the beach were killed by Israeli attacks.

Anything you can do we can do better is Israel’s policy and they can too. Hamas’s home-grown rockets and Palestinian boys’ sticks and stones against a Goliath. Israel fire power helped by US technologically advanced power of fighter jets, bombers, and tanks is no match for a defenseless Gaza.

Israel has accused Hamas of hiding weaponry in homes, schools, and mosques. Israel say their attacks are are pinpointed and target military installations, weapons cache and terrorists in Gaza. How is anyone able to pinpoint anything in a confined overcrowded place without killing and wounding civilians? There is nowhere for the civilians to escape to.

The most recent pinpoint has been a UN-run school, a place where civilians were sheltering. An attack was carried out even though the UN authorities had given the exact co-ordinates to Israeli authorities. More than 15 killed and 200 injured in this safe haven.

‘Chris Gunness, a spokesman for the UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestine refugees (Unrwa), also said the Israeli army had been formally given the co-ordinates of the shelter in Beit Hanoun.’ BBC.

And pin-pointed it is too when Flechette shells are used. These are illegal under international law and are not to be fired at civilians.

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/jul/20/israel-using-flechette-shells-in-gaza

Flachette Shell Darts

This image provided by the Palestinian Centre for Human Rights of darts from a flechette shell it says the Israeli military fired in Gaza last week.

‘The shells release thousands of 37.5mm metal darts that embed mini arrow in the body. Does Israel care for international law or common humanity?’

Come to the negotiating table but with no preconditions. Why would this be possible? Why would the Gazans want to continue to be blocked and live as they do, imprisoned in their own country?

The United States seems ready to step in and help resolve the problem each time there is a flare up. But U.S. shows no balance.

Good to hear the US has promised a $47 million aid to the Palestinians.

US aid to Israel amounts to billions. (US$130 million per year on going) Israel has been the largest annual recipient of U.S. foreign assistance for some time and much of this aid goes to help develop Israeli military power. Since 1976, millions have been given to develop their anti-missile system. U.S is the chief supplier of arms and military technology to Israel. Through the Excess Defense Article Israel also receives free rifles, grenade launchers and machines guns.

And all this to be used against whom?

The world watches this unbalanced debacle – the Palestinians imprisoned and killed and wounded in their own country for choosing to their own government and to live as they want.

I have a solution.

Role reversal. Let the 2million Israelis move into Gaza for a year under the same conditions that exist now, let them enjoy the restrictions. And the Gazans move into the border regions in Israel and enjoy what the Israelis have: freedom of movement, and basic necessities like medical attention, good water supply, constant electricity, fresh food.

And the Israelis in Gaza please don’t send off any rockets, for this is what you have been asking Gaza not to do.

JULY 1 PROTEST MARCH

Protest March, 1st. July 2014

Hong Kong

Tuesday 1 July 2014 will go down in the history as the day the people of Hong Kong spoke for Democracy.

Whichever way we look at it, whether half a million or a quarter million that turned out on the protest march, the number is huge.

Photo credit:
Brandon Cheung

The logistics of organising such a gathering is enormously mind-boggling. The march portrays tremendous stamina and patience and focus of the thousands that waited and marched for hours on a summer’s day of sun and downpours. Humidity was high and temperatures topped 33c. There were an array of small demands but two key points are what got our protest going: universal suffrage and one country two systems. We will not take this lightly.

Hong Kong has flourished for 17 years with no misunderstanding about the basic law: One Country, Two Systems. Hong Kong has vastly contributed to China in the way of trade and charity. And now Beijing warns that it holds the ultimate authority over our financial centre. The call for democracy by the majority for the seven million of Hong Kong is causing stirrings of great fear in the giant heart of the mainland, the Central Government.

Beijing feels that the high autonomy of jurisdiction enjoyed by Hong Kong has been due to an ‘oversight’ on its part and in trying to set us straight the Central Government came out with a White Paper explaining to us what our separate system is. In doing so the Central Government has shot itself in the foot. Hong Kongers are horrified, justifiably so and more determined for democracy.

The White Paper projects Hong Kong’s future in a different light. Hong Kongers realize they have to stand firmer. We will accept no new jurisdiction over us. The call for democracy is nothing new. Our determination is clear, 800,000 voted in the referendum, we want to elect our chief executive.

Since 1997 Hong Kong, the miniscule dot on the vast China continent, has contributed to the mainland’s economy. We are the largest offshore renminbi market. We have no desire not to prosper and when we do so does China. There is no doubt about co-operation. Love and loyalty come naturally.

The world is watching.

Listen to the people; it’s the people that make the country.

Hong Kong belongs to the Hong Kong people.

MY BIRTHDAY

On this my birthday

I wish all my family and friends safe and peaceful lives. The world is shrinking with hate. I am shocked by the atrocities fellow humans inflict on each other and so much in the name of a God. Time to reflect and spread goodwill amongst all religions.

Love to all.

Shanta – Peace

It is by chance Shanta’s photo, age four, got into this image magenta lilies. And she is forty and a bit, and still symbolizes peace.

The Mysterious Disappearance

GRATITUDE LOST

MH 370, a plane and its load of crew and passengers disappeared on March 8th. Millions of dollars have been spent. Thousands of multinational specialists risking lives have spent hundreds of man-hours searching for the missing plane. The most advanced machinery known have been used.

Not a sign and not a clue of the missing plane. Every move made to find this plane by scientifically advanced nations has been fully reported. The whole world knows what is going on. A big puzzle indeed as we have moved past the 50th day.

But above all that what puzzles me most is the attitude of the grieving relatives and friends. Their belligerence and obnoxious behaviour confounds and shocks me. There has not been a word of gratitude, no appreciation shown for what’’s being done. No patience and no tolerance visible. The mourners insist their ‘request be taken seriously’. They want the Malaysian government and the airline ‘to return their disappeared relatives and friends’, and failing that tell them where they are.

Is this a new middle class risen up with new expectations? A new class raised to believe in unreasonable demands, blindly seeking certain rights.

The mourners have been flown to Kuala Lumpur by the Malaysian authorities. They have been fed and quartered in hotels in Kuala Lumpur and Beijing. Doctors and psychologists have looked after them and their emotional needs. The mourners have taken up squatters’ rights, resorted to violence towards airline personal and others looking after them. They have held protests both in Kuala Lumpur and Beijing. Protesters have been allowed with impunity to march to and be violent at the Malaysian Embassy in Beijing by a government that tolerates no protests.

I am flummoxed. These indeed are strange times we are living in. No appreciation for anything that is being done. Horrific, childish temper tantrums cloaked as sorrow seeking justice. And as one of Shakespeare’s characters may have said, ‘I want that pound of flesh, and I want it now.’ Though in reality the one that could offer that pound of flesh has disappeared without a trace.

Ha!

I DID YOU NO HARM

I DID YOU NO HARM

Night scene in a butcher’s in old back street, Georgetown, Penang

I Did You No HARM.

My wife rolled on her side contented. Siblings Curly,

Thumbs, Scuffles tumbled in mud.

Charmy, PinPot , Trotters wallowed, snouted by the trough.

I, stress free, rooted in straw rustle.

In pig parlour well fed all.

With not a care I watched proud my family grow.

One dim dawn a man-army burst into our dream filled hoghood.

Grunts turned into fearful screams.

Men poked, prodded, netted all six little ones, rounded up for roasting.

My wife they dragged away dislocating her hips. For bacon fat.

I froze in the corner, they netted me.

A flash of cleaver last I saw.

THE PIGEON

The Pigeon by Patrick Suskind

‘How quickly the apparently solidly laid foundation of one’s existence could crumble.’

The Pigeon by Patrick Suskind (1988) translated by John E. Woods

The Pigeon, a novella, by the author of well-known the novel Perfume, The Story of a Murder, follows a simple plot but is packed with suspense.

It is the story of a man who has had a disappointing childhood and later a disappointing marriage. Jonathan Noel has spent 20 years contented without connection with people. He is a security guard in a bank in Paris. He lives alone and frugally, enjoys his independence. Having achieved invisibility he loves the daily ‘sameness’ of his life and work. He knows the only person he can depend on is himself.

His home is a one room flat, which he has set up with all the comfort he requires. He has to share a bathroom with other residents but he makes sure he meets no one. He listens by the door and opens a crack and checks no one is about before leaving his home.

‘He could interpret every crack, every click, every soft ripple or rustle, the very silence itself.’

One day disaster strikes, after listening by the door, he opens it just a little and looks out only to be confronted by a ‘beady eyed, diabolical’ pigeon in the hallway, outside his threshold. Jonathan spins out of control. His ordered life descends into anarchy all due to a bird ‘with red taloned feet on oxblood tiles…in sleek, blue-grey plumage’ and the eyes dreadful to behold’.

From then on many emotions come into play. Fear, paranoia, insecurity, anger, envy.
All the events that happen take place in a single day. But the long day eventually ends in a happy transformation.

‘He splashed diligently through the puddles, he splashed right through the middle of them, walked in a zigzag from puddle to puddle, sometimes he even crossed the street because he saw an especially lovely, wide puddle on the far pavement, and stomped through it with flat, splashing soles, sending spray up …it was delightful.’

Suskind weaves a disturbing tale, a tale of depth and tension. He writes sparingly and crisply. The seemingly boring daily details of this reclusive man are complex.

I found this psychological thriller warranted a second reading. I read The Pigeon the first time many years ago and re-read it a couple of weeks ago.

I am certain many of us would love to diligently splash through puddles. Then why don’t we you may ask?

Mmm…we don’t because we can’t find puddles?

ROOTS

Roots

Roots spread
In harmony
Seeking no depth
Earth bound and floating
Sun-ray
Fueled
Moon-beam
Nourished
Rain
Fed

Leela Devi Panikar

LADY MAZDA

MAZDA MX5

LADY M

Lady Mazda, Lady M to my friends. I am retiring, after 21 years. Not that I have come to be run on rope, hope, and charity as Leela’s cars have known to be run before me.

Her vintage cars, a 1964 Datsun Fairlady, a 70’s MGB, and Vintage Triumph, were mostly run on those three until she met Don. She opted for a newer and more reliable classic, and a more lady like life style too.

She first spotted my cousins generation Mazda MX 5, at the Macau grand prix in 1991. But before she acquired me she waited for a white model to be imported into Hong Kong. She is a little particular about colours; white would better match her outfits. But in 1992 she and Don walked past Causeway Bay Mazda show room where I was quietly enjoying the admiration and praise of passers-by. One look at me and they fell in love, with me that is. Don convinced her racing green was more her style. The couple popped in; went for a test drive, and bought me outright. I became the LeelaDon Lady Mazda.

We, the Mazda Sports cars are the best-selling two-seat convertible sports car in history. Our Mazda family of sports cars are Jinba ittai – translated person horse rider. This sums me up. Me one with the driver, a team. My response to her driving is a perfect, I know her intentions. The two of us effortlessly united and forge ahead.

I have had few unusual adventures. There was a time when a cyclist beside me lost his balance tipped his large bucket of hotel-pigs-swill on me. I had the brunt of the smelly stuff, Leela had the windows up. And there was another time when the couple decided to spend New Year’s day in a cemetery up in the mountains and got lost. That was a bit scary. Mechanical I may be but wandering with ghosts is not my scene.

The Cemetery Stint

Then one very late night having arrived from Tokyo that day Leela drove around Hong Kong completely lost and on the wrong side of the road too. Somewhere in Wanchai a police man was blocking her side of the road. She tooted him, beckoned him to get out of the way. He came over, not too menacing, and she asked him to move aside and let her pass. He told her very politely she was going the wrong way on a one-way street.

Well it has been a fun 21 years.

My cousin, a 2006 model, is joining the family.

Zoom Zoom Ra Ra

She is no a lady like me. I am a classic soft-top. My smooth flowing silhouette is unmistakable, recognizable by my pop-up headlights. I emit quiet powerful roar, low-noise assurances. She too is a mean machine like me but a ‘zoom zoom, ra ra’ type. She lacks certain finesse but makes up for it with her silver sleek, airbags, and increased engine power.

Leela is a little cautious with my cousin, she likes being in control, manual control. She is not used to an automatic drive, does not know what to do with her left foot. She had better have that rock music going loud, to keep the foot tapping while driving.

Mazda Sports and LeelaDon the perfect Jinba Ittai.

Book Review NORWEGIAN WOOD by HARUKI MURAKAMI

“I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me…
this bird had flown.”
Beatles

Haruki Murakami borrowes his novel title “Norwegian Wood” from the Beatles.

On a cold soggy November day as Toru Wanatabe’s flight makes its decent into Hamburg a version of the Beatle’s track Norwegian Wood comes through the p.a. system. Thirty-seven-year-old Toru feels a shudder go through him. He remembers his story. Eighteen years have gone by when during a walk Nakao said to him:
“I’d never find my way back. I’d go to pieces and the pieces would be blown away.”
The pieces do get blown away but Toru remembers every detail of the sad and strange love story, a story of life and death.

It began as a tale of three close friends Kizuki, his girl friend Naoko, and Toru. They spend much time together. A short time later Kizuki who was good at everything and had everything, it would seem, commits suicide. After this Toru’s and Naoko’s friendship develop into deep love. She becomes a much-troubled girl and eventually ends up in a sanatorium, Ami Hostel, in the mountains.

Other characters come into Toru’s life too. A fellow university student, Nagasawa, strong, debauched. He leads a charmed life at his university and only reads books by authors dead 30 years with one exception, Fitzgerald. Reiki is Naoko’s interesting room-mate. She is wise, kind, and spends much time learning to play new pieces on her guitar. It is when visiting Naoko in the Sanatorium that Toru first hears a version of Norwegian Wood played by Reiki. Midori, another strong character, a wild and energetic girl teaches Toru to take life as it comes. Her energy and flirtatiousness and a sense of sexual freedom give much relief to Toru through his troubled times.

Norwegian Wood

Murakami’s characters are fully developed and strong, and strong too is his dialogue. As always he is good at balancing the light and dark side of life. Throughout the story Toru is torn between his loyalty to Naoko and his attraction to others.

This novel, like his other novels, is deep and philosophical, at times strange but always with a touch of humour. Much of the author’s love of Western music, of pop and jazz, comes into play in Norwegian Wood first published in in 1987

Toru’s painful love story is meditative and quiet. Naoko had insisted he remember her in the future, constantly reminded him not to forget her. He remembers.

SHIMLA, INDIA -1

Part 1

In November 2013 we spent 8 days in Shimla, Himachal Pradesh, India.

Shimla

Everywhere we went there were Ram Leela posters. I could not resist the temptation to pose with one

Leela Flavour

Shimla the capital of Himachal Pradesh was once known as Simla, the summer capital of the Raj. Steeped in history both Indian and British, Shimla is a gracious city. It is smoke free, plastic free and boasts 94.14 percent literacy rate.

At 2,200 metres (7,234ft) above sea level it seldom gets hot and enjoys snow in winter. A Camelot for me. We were in Shimla for 8 days at the end of November 2013. But alas no snow fell while we were there and there was no skating and skiing.

Sunny cool days, and chilly nights, temperatures ranging from 10c to 18c made November weather magical, but being dry it was a little too dusty, not quite right for body-warmed woolens that caught every mote.

And everywhere is bright and brilliant and colourful, more colour is added by the women in saris and other traditional clothes.

Girls

Garlands for Temple

Citizens of Shimla are kind, helpful, polite and amazingly generous. There are also a great number of dignified elderly people, calm and leisurely. At school break hordes of smartly uniformed students are seen everywhere. Shimla is also packed with local tourists, a haven for Indians from the south and other warm regions. We encountered very few overseas tourists. One thing that really stood out about the local tourists was when we were aiming our cameras at some scene they’d stroll right into our camera view and dawdle, fully aware of what was going on, so unlike Hong Kongers who are always extremely polite and accommodating when they see someone trying to take a photo.

The Ridge and the Mall are reminiscent of the Mall in Darjeeling. The area dominates social life of residents and tourists. It overlooks a ring of snow-capped mountains, and is lined by amazingly beautiful heritage buildings, an eclectic assortment of pleasing architecture many more than a 100 years old, some in ruins, others have aged well and are still in use.

Snow-capped

Mall Homes

Viceregal Lodge

Many of the very busy banks are tiny places, really old and sagging with the weight of Internet traffic. Only US dollars are welcome at the money exchange counters.
See Part 2

SHIMLA, INDIA – 2

Part 2

The wide Ridge, clean and with no through vehicular traffic, is where all tourists and locals with nothing to do but people watch spend their time; sitting on tiered benches all around or standing about chatting, snacking and, of course, people watching. At the end of the Ridge and where the old mall begins are horses for hire.

Horse for Hire

Children and a few adults get to sit on horses that are led up and down a short stretch. The horses do foul up the mall at times but sweepers are quick at hand and immediately clean up.

Here too are Monkeys.

Indifferent Model

Monkeys in the whole of Shimla range from tiny babies to many as large as medium sized fluffy dogs. It is interesting to see many residents caged in by bars and barbwire fencing, keeping inmates safe in and monkeys out. The monkeys on the Ridge are a cheeky and daring lot but seem harmless. They dislike people pointing cameras at them; they make faces, scold threateningly baring their teeth or turn away.

Most leave you alone, but a few snatch bags, sunglasses and food from unwary tourists and vendors.

Veering off and going down the path of any slope brings one into a warren of activity. Shops, stalls, restaurants, temples and dwellings balance precariously, built and supported on slopes and narrow steep ledges. They line the rocky and very narrow crowded pedestrian paths. A big pleasure of walking through the crowded lanes and stopping at times to admire and feel the scene is that no one tries to sell you anything. There are hardly any beggars pestering one unlike in other big cities of India. In the time we spent there we encountered only three disabled beggars.

SHIMLA, INDIA – 3

Part 3

Choice of Wool

The old mall consists of small shops and restaurants, vendors with a variety of goods and homegrown vegetables all on mats on the ground.

Veg Vendor

The route lead down a tortuous path to one of the largest hospitals, Tenzin Hospital.

In the Mist[/caption]

The rest of the city, the lower parts, consists of narrow paved roads that carry heavy horn blowing motor traffic. The congested roads choke with dust and exhaust. We were amazed at the skill of drivers who are able to squeeze through the narrowest of lanes with oncoming traffic, cyclists, pedestrians and parked vehicles. Hotels, office buildings and homes cling to the steep cliffs of mountains. Paths meander through the mazes of mansions and forestry of pine and deodar.

Shimla’s very similar to Darjeeling. Twisting, narrow roads and lanes are lined with stalls and shops some brightly lit and others dark as night. They stock local and foreign goods. We loved walking up and down these lanes until we were ready to collapse. Snack shops abound, hundreds of beautifully packaged snacks. And stands with cauldrons of hot oils frying samosas, pakoras and interesting savories, smelling delicious and warm.

Big Wok

Lots of dhaba style eateries offered freshly made hot parathas, and pickles.

Parathas and Pickles

Food was not too exciting for us – the usual North Indian stuff and some poor imitation Southern food.
We found Baljees Resaurant on the mall one of the best.

Baljees

Mo-mo (dumpling) stalls, especially in the cold nights, are inviting but there was a definite lack of vegetarian mo-mos.

Nothing available like the delicious chilli-cheese and spinach mo-mos of Bhutan, Sikkim, and Nepal.

P.S.
Warning: Avoid public toilets unless you plan on committing hara-kiri whilst in there and so not return to civilization. Restaurant toilets are bearable.

A Suitable Girl

Vikram Seth is back with a girl this time. Wondering if she is thick or thin. My 19 year-old Suitable Boy is 1,349 pages long.

Aleph Book Company has acquired publishing rights of Vikram Seth’s much-awaited ‘A Suitable Girl’, sequel to the 1993 bestseller ‘A Suitable Boy’. The novel is set for release 2016. Aleph will also be publishing the 20th anniversary edition of “A Suitable Boy”, set to release February 2014.

The announcement came after the author was asked to return a $ 1.7 million advance by his previous publisher, Penguin, in July, as he had failed to deliver the manuscript of the sequel on time. Though no figures have been revealed by the publication house on the signing amount,
Seth, in a statement released here Monday, said he was happy with the new association. “I am delighted to be working with David Davidar and Kapish Mehra. My publishing relationship with David goes back 25 years, and I have more respect and affection for him than for any other editor,” said Seth. “As for Lata’s mother (protagonist of ‘A Suitable Boy’), Rupa Mehra – she tells me that she highly approves of being published by a company backed by her namesake,” he added on a lighter note. Aleph Book Company is promoted by Rupa Publications India. “It is an honour and a privilege to publish Vikram Seth. We are delighted,” Kapish Mehra, managing director, Rupa Publications, said.
Novelist and publisher David Davidar says he is “beyond thrilled” with this deal. “We are thrilled to be given the opportunity to publish ‘A Suitable Girl’ — that would be a massive understatement. We are beyond thrilled by the prospect of publishing what will be, without a doubt, the publishing event of the decade,” said Davidar, co-founder of Aleph.

100 year Literary Nobel

Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) received the Nobel Prize in literature for Gitanjali on November 13, 1913, a hundred years ago. He was educated at home in Bengal; and at seventeen was sent to England for formal schooling but he did not finish his studies there.
Tagore was a foremost poet. Among his more than fifty volumes of poetry were many protests against British policies in India. Besides poetry he wrote musical dramas, dance dramas, essays, about travel and he wrote diaries. Tagore also left numerous drawings and paintings, and songs for which he wrote the music himself. He wrote two autobiographies, one in his middle years and the other shortly before his death in 1941.
In addition to his vast literary contribution in his latter years he managed the family estates, a project which brought him into close touch with common people and increased his interest in social reforms. He was a close and devoted friend of Gandhi. Tagore was knighted by the ruling British Government in 1915, but within a few years he resigned the honour.
‘For the world he became the voice of India’s spiritual heritage; and for India, especially for Bengal, he became a great living institution.’

RAPTORS AFTER LOUIS VUITTON LABELS

Velociraptors

Thieves in the Night.

News travels fast and far. Last week, having heard of Louis Vitton’s new handbag collection a band of 75-million-year old female Velociraptors invaded Hong Kong and Kowloon. They came from inner Mongolia, China. It did not take them long to reach the show windows all over town. Jennifer Eagleton saw them in Pacific Place. I caught the raptors, red handed, in a Tsim Sha Tsui show window.

FLYING PIG IN NOVEMBER

Pink Pig

Seen this morning Pink Pig ready to leave the calm, cold and peace of Clear Water Bay for the excitement, warmth and neons of city life in Tsim Sha Tsui.

George Bernard Shaw once said never wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty and the pig likes it. This pink pig was not about to get dirty nor was it wrestle-able, not by me.

And here’s Pink Pig ready to take off without Don

IF YOU ARE ALONE TONIGHT

A poem dedicated to Don Ellis

If You Are Alone Tonight

When at dusk you’re alone
And hear no distant dog bark
No birds chirp, no crickets sing
Hush…listen, just listen
Listen to shadows fall
Listen to breeze whisper
Listen to grass grow

If you are alone this night
And sleep does not come
When mist from sea draws near
Feel the perfume of night
Look up into your sky
And through tree branches
Watch stars leap across

If you’re lonely, broken-hearted
Missing me, thinking me far,
Slide aside the curtain
See our moon shift
Feel my nearness
Hear me whisper
I love you

Leela

BUS STOP CHAT

Overheard At The Bus Stop

It is not often Don takes a bus from our Ha Yeung village to the Hang Hau MTR station. He drives or I drive him there. But on the infrequent occasions, usually on cool autumn mornings, he enjoys his hike up the 45 degree incline from our home to the top of the hill where the bus stop is.

While standing there, huffing and puffing and trying to get immersed in catching up world news on his iPad, he heard someone trying to get his attention.

Bus Stop Friend

Monkeyfriend: Pst, pst. Hey you, what are you doing?

Donman: Reading news.

Monkeyfreind: I don’t own an iPad.

Donman: Would you like to take a look.

Monkeyfriend: Thanks, I’m not too keen on world news. We have plenty happening on our end of the forest. Are you waiting for the bus?

Donman: Yes, and you, catching a one too?

Monkeyfriend: No, I can’t, I ate my octopus card for dinner last night.