Its 7pm and I am still in the office.

Why? I hear you ask.

Because today was our annual stock take and we all have to wait until the final accounts closing is done before we can leave.

Meanwhile I have a great bowling game lined up, that I am going to be super late for.

Grrr.

Some Pictures of the night before Christmas

So here are some pictures of the cast and crew of Baghdad Cafe.

Backstage, photo whoring while waiting for the audience to settle in.
(from back to front: Sherman, Mervin, Sarah, Rachel and Aarika)


The brains behind the madness - Rhordan Wicks. He wrote, produced and staged the entire musical in 2 weeks, with a lot of stress and alot of grace from God.


The Prince and his Harem - Prince looks very happy to be the only thorn among the roses. The girls are (from left) Tiffany, Audrey, Aarika, Rachel and someone whose name I don't know.


The entire cast and crew of Baghdad Cafe. Great bunch of people. Energetic, talented and so much fun!


The people I hung out with the most. And that one girl whose name I still don't know. Clockwise from right - Yeronn, Rhordan, Elgin (stage manager), Kenneth (general do everything guy), Prince, girl I don't know name of, and me.


Aarika and me, glamming in up for the camera. Just before the media mobbed us. :)

So, what's next?

Sigh.

After all the excitement of Christmas, the musical and the hee hee haa haa, life back at work is so mundane.

Especially the thought that I actually have to work, instead of just looking busy and staying under the radar.

It's time to seriously think about doing something different next year. If not job wise, then at least with my extra curricular activities. Definitely continuing the charleston lessons with Sinclair Ang. Then what?

This time of the year is so hard. SO many things I want to do, and so little time.

BTW, anyone want to read my synopsis for my Easter play? Heh heh.

Because I am lazy...

Hey, since I am waaay too lazy to post pics about my Christmas party, I am going to refer all of you to Shal's blog instead. Read about it and see pictures at http://conceal-me.blogspot.com.

Oh, and here is the key to making good dhalcha.

7:00 am to 2 p.m. - visualise the dhalcha, make sure you have all the ingredients and pray hard that it will turn out ok.

2p.m. - 5 p.m. - Take a nap (Do not skip this step, or else you run the risk of ruining the whole dish.)

5.pm - put dhal, meat, potoatoes and carrots on the boil. Add salt to taste. Quarrel with husband about how you are working, for Pete's sake and please get out of the kitchen.

6:00 - prepare the oil and spice mixture (Thaalippu in Tamil) and throw it in with the boiled stuff. Add curry powder and salt to taste. Yell at husband about how he is no help.

7:15 pm: Serve with hot butter rice to general accolades and applause. Take ALL the credit.

Oh, and dhalcha tastes better the next day, so make sure you make enough to have leftovers.

Christmas isn't Christmas till it happens in your heart

My heart is full.
Almost as full as my stomach.

I have not the energy or the composure of mind to blog more right now, but it has been a full and rewarding Christmas holiday.

To all those reading, blessed Christmas and I hope your hearts are as full as mine.

More later.

Theatre Review - Baghdad Cafe

When I was asked to review this play, I initially didn't want to do it. Too many emotions, friendships and heartstrings are tied up in it for me to do an objective critique of the acting, singing or technical excellence.

Therefore this will probably be more a synopsis than a review.

James is a journalist, working for a small time newspaper in a dead-end reporter's job. His dad, also a reporter, was the joke of the town. He spent his entire career searching after this "odd and crazy tale" about a prophecy - that a child will be born to a virgin, and be King. Tragically, he died in a car crash before he could prove anything and left James and his mum with nothing but Baghdad Cafe, with which they eke out a living.

Everything changes one day when a beautiful stranger walks into the cafe and James' life. Turns out, she is chasing the same dream his Father did!

Was it all a conspiracy to drive James crazy? Or is there any truth in this so-called prophecy? And were the powers-that-be going to allow the story to break? James has to take his own journey, reopen old wounds and change alliances to find out.

With an original score of 8 songs written by the anointed Rhordan Wicks, an ensemble cast of 12, and more volunteers, helpers and angels than you can shake a stick at, Baghdad Cafe is as removed as you can get from a traditional Christmas pageant, while keeping the central idea of "Christ Festival" (which is what Christmas means, by the way). The play mirrors reality in that Christmas is a day when the world stops and remembers Jesus of Nazareth, who changed the world, regardless of whether you are a believer or not.

Baghdad Cafe opens tonight and runs till Sunday. The house opens at 7:30p.m.
Location: 36 Prinsep street, #03-00 (opposite Paradiz Centre)
For ticket information, please call 6339 1317.

Speaking English - Building highways in place of barriers

Living in Singapore as a member of a minority ethnic group, there are some things you kind of get used to. Not necessarily embrace, but tolerate with practised nonchalance, lest you get too caught up in negation.

One of the things you get used to is people speaking in Chinese. Not just to each other when it doesn't concern you. But also during business meetings, office discussions, 3 way shop talks, gossip and lunch prattle.

Sometimes it irks me. Sometimes I enjoy the anonymity. But most times, especially now I don't even notice anymore.

But today something happened that brought this to the forefront. I was in a car with my boss and his wife, Katherine, going to a corporate photoshoot. Now both my boss and his wife are typical Chinese business people, who are more comfortable in Chinese than English. In fact, Katherine mostly conducts her business dealings in Hokkien (sitting behind her has improved my knowledge of Hokkien by leaps and bounds.)

But, the whole journey there and back, not one word of Chinese passed between them. They spoke in English, haltingly sometimes, but you could feel the effort they were making. Even when they were discussing private matters, like the renovation of their new home, they spoke English, so that I won't feel left out.

And that's how you spot people of genuine quality. People who will put aside their own comfort zone and try to make someone else feel comfortable, even if it's by the simple act of speaking a common language.

I couldn't let such kindness go unacknowledged, so at the prompting of my manager, Joyce. I sent them an email thank you.

Hi,

I just wanted to tell you both that I was very touched by the way you both made an effort to speak English in the car on the way to and back from Dean's Studio just now.

I know that you both are more comfortable in Chinese, so the effort and consideration you expressed by that act means alot to me. Especially when you continued to converse in English even when talking about private matters - that really shows your heart and the lengths you went to make sure I didn't feel weird or left out.

I have been with 01 Computer for 15 months now, and none of my other Chinese colleagues have ever made the effort to conduct themselves in that way, even while socialising or talking over lunch.

You are both genuinely nice people and I hope your example will spur our people on to be as considerate with their non-Chinese colleagues as you are.

Thank you for your warmth.

And this was his reply:-

Which ever country I went to, I will normally share the good things about Singaporean and I do not like to use the word like “Singapore Chinese or Singapore Indian”. We should all work as a team to build the reputation for the country that is why we are different from other country. Well, we should not speak our own language also especially with you around as you might not feel good. Since we can speak English, why not share our joy & experience with you? The only thing is we do not speak fluent English but we can always learn from people like you. Glad to have with us as a family for the past 15 months and let’s work together to build 01 at a different level against our next nearest competitor. Thank you for your contributions for the past 15 months.

By the way, thanks for your below wonderful message and I have the confident that many of our colleagues will do the same eventually. Cheers……

Now, if only 10 more people thought like that, we could change the whole cultural paradigm of this nation and indeed be Uniquely Singapore.

Dean's Studio

Dean is my company's official photographer, and today we went down to his studio to have some corporate portraits done of our MD.

Dean is not a famous photog, neither does he have expensive equipment or an eye for the quirky.

What he does have is a humble heart, sufficient skills to make you relax in front of the camera and reasonable prices. Oh, and an amazingly quick turnaround.

So if you need pics, good and fast, you could make a worse choice than my man, Dean.

Check him out at http://www.deanstudio.com.sg/

Theatrical Terms

I can't remember who originally sent me this, or where I read it, but it made me hoot with laughter at the accuracy of the definition.

Since we are in Christmas pageant mode, I thought it appropriate to post here:-

Theatrical Terms Defined

Eternity - The time that passes between a dropped cue and the next line.

Prop - 1. A hand-carried object small enough to be lost by an actor shortly before it's needed on stage. 2. Anything that gets in the way of a scene change.

Director - The individual who suffers from the delusion that he or she is responsible for every moment of brilliance cited by the critic in the local review.

Blocking - The art of moving actors on the stage in such a manner as to not collide with the walls, furniture, orchestra pit or each other. Similar to playing chess, except the pawns want to argue.

Quality Theater - Any show with which you were directly involved.

Turkey - Every show with which you were not directly involved.

Final Dress Rehearsal - Rehearsal that becomes a whole new ball game as actors attempt to maneuver among the 49 objects that the set designer added at 7:30 that evening.

Tech Week - The last week of rehearsal when everything that was supposed to be done weeks before finally comes together at the last minute; reaches its grand climax on final dress rehearsal night when costumes rip, a dimmer pack catches fire and the director has a nervous breakdown.

Set - An obstacle course which, throughout the rehearsal period, defies the laws of physics by growing smaller week by week while continuing to occupy the same amount of space.

Monologue - That shining moment when all eyes are focused on a single actor who is desperately aware that if he forgets a line, no one can save him.

Bit Part - An opportunity for the actor with the smallest role to count everybody else's lines and mention repeatedly that he or she has the smallest part in the show.

Dark Spot - The stage area which the lighting designer has inexplicably forgotten to light, and which has a magnetic attraction for the first-time actor. A dark spot is never evident before opening night.

Hands - Appendages at the end of the arms used for manipulating one's environment, except on a stage, where they grow six times their normal size and either dangle uselessly, fidget nervously, or try to hide in your pockets.

Stage Manager - Individual responsible for overseeing the crew, supervising the set changes, baby-sitting the actors and putting the director in a hammerlock to keep him from killing the actor who just decided to turn his walk-on part into a major role by doing magic tricks while he serves the tea.

Lighting Director - Individual who, from the only vantage point offering a full view of the stage, gives the stage manager a heart attack by announcing a play-by-play of everything that's going wrong. One who whines, throws fits, and says "This is the last show I'm doing here! I swear to God !"

Makeup Kit - among experienced community theater actors, a battered tackle box loaded with at least 10 shades of greasepaint in various stages of desiccation, tubes of lipstick and blush, assorted pencils, bobby pins, braids of crepe hair, liquid latex, old programs, jewelry, break-a-leg greeting cards from past shows, brushes and a handful of half-melted cough drops.

Stage Crew - Group of individuals who spend their evenings coping with 50-minute stretches of total boredom interspersed with 30-second bursts of mindless panic.

Strike - The time immediately following the last performance that all cast and crew members are required to watch the two people who own Makita screw drivers dismantle the set.

Actors - People who stand between the audience and the set designer's art, blocking the view. That's also the origin of the word "blocking," by the way.

Stage Right, Stage Left - Two simple directions actors pretend not to understand in order to drive directors crazy. ( "No, no, your OTHER right !" )

4 days more!!

There are 4 more days to opening night of Baghdad Cafe - a musical production of Full Gospel Assembly, and as usual, there is gonna be a huge miracle involved in pulling this off.

But it's a miracle that will happen. Because it happens every year.
Every year, the musical does not get written till 2 weeks before Christmas.
Every year, full run rehearsals only happen the week of the performance.
Every year, scores of people crawl out of the woodwork to help with a million last minute tasks like cutting out tickets, arranging seating, ushering and catering.

And every year, they put up a bang up show with original score, talented actors, awe inspiring singing and innovative sets.

There is something to be said for working within the family - somehow everybody knows what needs to be done and eventually someone does it. It will not win any Tonies, Oscars or Emmys, but it will touch hearts and possisbly change lives. That's what I love most about Christmas pageant and plays - the simple heart warming touch that reflects the Person that first touched us.

Come watch it. Bagdad Cafe

The Charleston

As they say here in Singapore, "The Charleston is very the siong!" (Translation: Dearie me! That was rather difficult to master, wasn't it?)


For those who have never heard of this dance form, this is it.

Of course, I did not look anything like that, during my first lesson yesterday. And thankfully, neither did the rest of the 10 or 12 students who were there, although some of them had some basic dance experience in various forms. This stuff is hard man! Takes alot of energy, alot of letting go of your inhibitions and just...swinging.

What we learned yesterday was 20s Charleston, and just the basics at that. All that freestyling and improv that make up the soul of the dance will have to come later. Much later, for me at least.

For now, I will concentrate on getting my calves and thighs to stop aching, and listen to some Ella and Louis. That'll do me.

The only Christmas Play you should see this year!

If you need tickets, email me. I will be watching it on the 23rd.

So, what do you do?

I find that when people ask me this question, I tend to go into in depth detail about the things that I do in my office during working hours. The success of projects, the annoying idiosyncracies of colleagues, the frustration of justifying ideas to the management and of course all the mundane budgets and reports.

But this is just what I do to put bread on the table and provide my family with shelter against the elements. What I actually do on a day to day basis that have meaning, fulfillment and joy, usually have nothing to do with what takes place between 9-6 , Monday to Friday.

So the next time someone asks me what I do, this will be my answer.

1) I worship an awesome and mighty God, who provides everything I need, and his Son Jesus Christ, who took my sins in exchange for His Life.

2) I raise a wonderful boy, who amazes me everyday with his talents and blesses me with his laughter.

3) I relish and maintain close relationships with the ones I love, koffeeklatsching, movie watching or just hanging. I try and make my presence felt in their lives.

4) I am writing a book - historic fiction, in a sense, a biograpy in another. If you really want to know what it's about email me, cos I don't want to see it on Oprah's Book Club with someone else's name on it. :-)

5) I transcribe sermons for my church, so that future generations will remember the foundations that God provided us. Currently they use the transcripts for daily devotion emails, but I like to think what I do has far reaching impacts.

6) I dance. I have completed Salsa, and had learned Indian dance in my childhood. Now I am moving on to the Charleston. I am learning that from Sinclair Ang, a good friend, great dancer and wonderful human being. I don't dance to exercise, or lose weight, as people insist of believing, but to express the joy in my heart with my body.

7) I do anything associated with theatre. Free or paid, I am there. I will watch, build sets, write scripts, block, act, cue sound or stage manage. Free or paid. It's the only thing I will quit my 9-6 job for.


There. That's what I do. A little long winded, but now you know.

Unless of course, they ask me what I do for a living. Then I have to say:-

(droning voice) I am hired to corporately and commercially market the services of a local SME that resell computer supplies and hardware.

Now which answer do you prefer?

Retail Tear-apy or How Bad Service Reduced Me to Tears

Customer service should NOT be proportionate to the size of the price tag. Regardless of whether I am paying $10 or $100, I should be able to expect the same amount of respect and attentiveness.

But honey, this is Singapore. Customer Service is NOT our way of life.

I decided to get cracking on the Christmas shopping yesterday and went to Vivo City since the 3 stores I wanted to hit were all there (Toys R Us, M&S and Tangs)

Good try but...

We first walked into Tangs, and I wanted to buy this pair of shoes. The sales girl was nice and helpful and went and got my size for me without complaining or anything.

BUT she let me walk away without closing the sale!!! I mean, if I could see that the customer was really interested in the item, and the only thing stopping her from buying it was that she wanted to shop around and not have to carry the shoes, I would have at least asked her to pay for it first and offer to hold it for her till she is done.

But she let me walk away and I never did go back and get those shoes. There is always a better deal elsewhere right?

Bouquet

M&S was a pleasure to shop at, as usual. The salespeople don't follow you around (they have plain clothed store detectives for that) :). But when you need them, they are right there, at your elbow. To me this says vigilance.

But this one salesgirl really went the extra mile. I tried on a blouse that I really loved, but it was a little frayed at the seams. She not only called the other stores to find out if they had them. When she found out they didn't, she called the warehouse to order one piece in for me!! I was blown away by her initative and desire to delight the customer. This is why, as inflated as their prices are, I keep going to back to good old Marks and Spencer.

Brickbat

Toys R Us was a totally different story. 8 staff milling around the customer service counter, talking. One cash register open. 10 people in line - some with a full trolley, and behind them, a little girl with one lollipop.

Do they just not see it? Are we such a permission-based society that we have to wait for people to tell us to do our jobs?

Finally, one of the irate ang moh customers complained and they grudgingly opened another counter. I hope someone had the sense to let the lollipop girl go first. I didn't hang around to see.

Brickbat 2

It was the same at Burger King. 4 customers in each line. 7 employees behind the counter. Only two were manning the cash registers. 2 of them were engaged in the all important task of refilling the chili and ketchup sachets and aligning them perfectly. The other 3 were staring at the metal shelves of burgers as if waiting for the Holy Grail to appear.

The manager finally put two and two together, and despatched some of the Crusaders to take orders. The chili and ketchup girls where told to pack it in. I hope this was a result of the angry glaring I did in his direction.

Snapshots of a mildly dysfunctional family

Last week, my family (extended) rented a holiday chalet in Changi for a few days of togetherness, general R&R and lotsa love.

And it was. When you throw about 10 aunties, uncles, cousins together with a liberal sprinkle of itinerant friends and lots and lots of alcohol, there tends to be general goodwill all around.

The chalet also marked a few important occasions. The end of "O" levels for Shalini. A new beginning for Vinodhan, who goes into National Service tomorrow. And don't forget the bonding moments - for the ladies, a good gab fest, and for the men, a chance to do macho warrior things like crab fishing and bush whacking.

Of course, you can't throw that many people together in one space without some friction. Lest I give you the impression that we are perfect or something. My relatives range from the ultra laid back, let-me-know-when-the-house-is-on-fire type, to the extra panicky is-that-a-picture-of-fire type. And the two annoyed each other to high heaven. Too neat, not neat enough. Too cold, not cold enough. Snoring too loud, I don't bloody snore!

Everyone was too polite to yell at each other of course, but that would have been fun to watch *rubs hands together in glee*. My laid back cousins fumed in frustration as one of the ultra picky aunties kept yelling down the stairs to "keep the volume down" , because it was 2a.m. and she needed her beauty sleep. She was aptly nicknamed "Military", and we played a "take a swig everytime she whines" drinking game.


The shoes tell the story. "Military" has been here.


This is what the bedrooms at the chalet looked like before we got there.



And this is after. We are resourceful, if not anything.

Movie Review - Happy Feet

My husband said it best after the movie:-
"I didn't know the saviour of the world was blue eyed and white faced."

If you watched it through your innocent child-eyes, then the story is this:-
Mumble the Penguin was born different, dancing, instead of singing.This is because his father Everybody gave him a hard time about it, until he used his dancing feet to save his world from a famine. Encouraged by his gang of Latino friends, and now-on, now-off girlfriend Gloria, Mumble is a ugly penguin that turned into a hero. As Ramon, Mumble's Latino friend says, "This guy is so accidentally cool."

If you are a slightly older child, you will also receive the following messages
1) Authority is bad. The man wants to keep you down, and he is an ignorant fool.
2) It is ok to be different, as long as you are cool different.
3) If you too different, you can always move to another country where people will think you are cool.
4) Pollution is killing all the penguins and we are are catching too much fish, and it's ALL YOUR FAULT!!

I hope everyone who went watched it through the eyes of an innocent child, because I did not like the socio-political commentary. But the music and the dancing was waay fun. Most of the heartsongs were old school retro classics like Boogie Wonderland, which has all the 70s children in the cinema grooving. There was this little girl who got up and danced in the aisle and she got her fair share of applause too.

Overall, Happy Feet is a good, well-made animated movie. The VOs by Elijah Wood, Hugh Jackman, Nicole Kidman and Robin Williams were awesome. And some of the avalanche animation was breath taking. Anyone who has played Tux Racer will enjoy the action sequences in the movie. And the characters were well developed and totally had our sympathy. Script-wise, it had its weak moments, but Ramon and his friends totally stole the dialogue with their swaggering machismo and easy camaraderie.

What's in a name?

These immortal words of Shakespeare were the theme for the conversation among us cousins while we were at our holiday chalet the last 2 days. We were wondering if the etymology of a person's name actually plays a part in shaping his/ her character and eventually destiny. (This, of course, presupposes that your parents gave you names that they thought about, deliberated over and mean something.)
Take mine for example. Nalinee is from the root word "Nalinam", which in Tamil means "graceful and feminine", usually referring to a dancer's movements and gestures.

So, am I graceful and feminine because that's who I am, or because my name somehow influences my personality? Jumping to the conclusion that I AM those things of course.

But what if they had gone with their first choice and named me Mira? (She was a woman who believed that she was born to be the bride of the Hindu God Krishna, and spent her life in worship and devotion in front of his statue.) Would I still have been graceful and feminine? Would I have been able to embrace the love of Christ, or would I have believed that I had to worship Krishna like my namesake?

In the bible, it says that God called forth things into being by naming them. And later he passed that ability on to Adam, who named all the creatures. And when Death (the Fall) entered his life. Adam wisely used his gift and called his companion "Life!" (Hawa in Hebrew or Eve, when Anglicised). He thus called life into a situation that may have ended humanity altogether.

And God set a precedent when he renamed Abram (Exalted Elder) and Sarai (Domineering One) to Abraham (Father of Many) and Sarah (Princess). After this change of names, their destiny also changed and they brought forth Isaac and the entire Jewish nation, thus fulfilling God's promise to Abraham.

This only led me to remember a discourse I heard recently on how the ancient Hebrew name of God reveals the gospel of salvation, 4000 years before the birth of Christ.

This is pictorial, so bear with me as I try to explain it in words. Also remember that Hebrew reads from right to left.

H V H Y


Hei Vav Hei Yud

Now, like Chinese, every Hebrew letter is also a symbol for a word.

Yud - Open hand, as if in blessing

Hei - Divine Grace

Vav - Nail

Hei - Divine Grace

So if you read the symbols, God's name, Yahweh, actually says:-

The Open Hand of Grace, Nailed in Grace.

Now, does that remind you of Someone? :)



*Hebrew Lesson and Name of God Discourse credited to Pastor Joseph Prince*

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing

I was walking through Citylink Mall on my way back from church yesterday, when I saw something that really baffled me. Citylink Mall, like all other malls, also have their little Christmas campaign to make us spend money we don't have yet, and this is what it said:



For those of you who have less than perfect eyesight, what it actually says is "Let Christmas Joy befall you."

Befall? Befall? I have only ever heard the word used in a negative context as in "Let no harm befall you", so off I went to my trusty friend Webster.

And true enough, he says: to happen especially as if by fate

So now we are fated to have the joy of Christmas? It's not by choice? Oh dear, this absolutely throws a spanner in the works.

Grr.. I wonder who the advertising agency is who
a) came up with the idea or
b)didn't have the sense to advise their client on language usage.

Maybe it's time to buy them both a good Webster's dictionary. Or the way I feel right now, to throw it at their heads.

New Nostalgia

I was looking for Dhoom 2 songs on youtube when I came across this blast from the past.

I swear Zeenat Aman is the hottest fox, man! All these new starlets can't hold a disco ball to her.

The faux musicians in swimsuits are a funny looking bunch, though.

Do you hear what I hear?

My colleague who sits immediately to my left is a pretty nice person. She also is a fan of what I think is the most annoying radio station in the world - 97.2FM. She listens to it 5 days a week, from 9 to 6:30 and it's starting to drive me barmy.

It is a Chinese radio station that consists of the following totally annoying segments (from what I can guess):

1) Songs by singers with vibratos that are longer than 8 seconds. There are a few of these. They sometimes do them in duets too, for added enjoyment. It must have been considered a great musical feat during that era (190s or whatever), to be able to trill like a songbird every 15 seconds. They really take synchopation to new depths here.

2) Advertising by Homeway Design. This interior design shop must have a master contract because they are on every station. And TV. With what is probably the most annoying jingle in the world. Honestly, the only one that I have hated with an equal passion is the Springcoil mattress ad, where there is the high pitched loud sound of a spring uncoiling. It was like scratching your nails on a blackboard.

3) A call-in request programme for fogeys older listeners. They tend to be long winded, have hearing problems and request songs that bring to mind soft focus lenses and rainbow spectrum lighting. And Rahima Rahim in a white dress with a diamante hair clip holding a slim mike with a big pagoda ring on her finger.

4) An evening segment where 2 Chinese DJs pretend to be Indian and mimic the Tamil language as they present their show. This seriously irritates me - both because of the bold bigotry, but also because it's the segment that my colleague enjoys the most and hence turns up the volume! Grrr!

I have taken to plugging in my headphones when I need to concentrate, so that I can block out her radio, but that's not a good long term solution. It also means I can't hear the phone, or my boss calling. Which can be a good and bad thing. Heh heh.

Strangers? Not for 2 seconds.

It was just a fleeting moment that their eyes met - 2 strangers walking down crowded Orchard Road. He noticed her animated hands and dazzling smile as she explained something complex to her companion. She saw his unusual height, dark eyes and the intense way he was looking at her.

Their gaze held for less than 2 seconds before they passed each other, so she had to turn around to take a second look. She did this surreptitiously, hoping her companion will not notice her brazen act of flirtation.

As she looked in the stranger's direction, she noticed that he was turning too. Oh no, this can't be happening, she thought, horrified to be caught up in such a cliched moment.

But it was happening. He turned around and gazed at her as well. Blushing to her very core, she gave him a shy smile, which he returned, acknowledging it with his eyes. They both recognised a connection - 2 human beings that identified something about each other that was worthy of the other's notice.

Did they discover that they somehow knew each other? Maybe in another situation, another time, another life? Some might say so. But at that moment, all that mattered was that in that sea of humanity that is Orchard Road at Christmas time, 2 people met and bonded. For 2 seconds.

Turning back around, she continued on her way and he on is. There was no need for more. Everything the other needed was fulfilled in that 2 second exchange.

"Were you checking that guy out?", her friend asked, accusation and envy in his voice.

"No,lah. Of course not," she said, linking her arm through his to placate him.

But she knew - it was way more than that.

My Baby goes to camp

Should this baby be sent away to camp?

Today, my 7 year old cuts yet another apron string and goes to a stay-in camp.
This is the first time he has been away from home without me, and is not staying over at his grandma's (my mother's) house.

As I said goodbye to him this morning, with his backpack, sleeping bag and cheeky grin, a part of me did wonder - is this too early?

Should there be a few more years of holding on tightly to his hand as we cross the road? (Instead of my impatiently barked command, "Look left and right!")

Should I have volunteered to be a helper so that I can spy (read: protect) on my son while pretending to tell stories?

Than there is thaT other part that thinks the What-ifs?

What if he gets scared in the night,and has noone to run to and snuggle up with?
What if he pees in his sleeping bag?
What if he plays "show me yours and I'll show you mine" with some innocent 7 year old girl in the bathroom?
What if, what if, what if?

This is going to be the longest 3 days/2 nights ever.

How do you sleep?

Find your own pose!

Weirdly accurate, except I usually have a bolster pillow between my legs. Try it!

Why I love kelingkillah.blogspot.com

Cos they are ace at finding stuff like this.

Enjoy. I TOTALLY can't stop laughing.

Movie Review - Dhoom 2

Crazy kia re!

That pretty much sums up everything about this movie.
Let me break it down for you.

Crazy Stars!
Aishwarya Rai, Hritik Roshan, Abhishek Bachan, Bipasha Basu. I think that's all I have to say. It doesn't get more star studded than this.

Crazy Hot Bods!
Already filled with the hottest names in Bollywood at the moment, I kinda expect to see alot of half naked hot bodies.. but my was I surprised by the hotness and the plenitude of those! Shot on location in Brazil, most of the scenes had writhing hot bods - writhing on the beach in G strings, writhing at the Mardi Gras in skimpy costumes, writhing in the background during the elaborate dance sequences.

Crazy Storyline!
Don't go see this movie if you are looking for deep meaningful dialogue, poignant subtext and symbolism. It is a pure feast for the eyes, suspend your disbelief to the max kinda flick. The storyline had huge holes that noone bothered to even try to mend, and the number of leaps of conclusion I took made my metaphorical legs tired. But the minute Hritik Roshan appeared with his shirt off in the first 15 mins, I got my money's worth.

Crazy Clothes!
I think the costume designer for this movie totally rocked. The outfits that Bipasha wore were out of this world. I particularly loved that orange and turquoise number.. man, I was turned on, and I am not even into women.

Crazy Hritik!

Ok, I had to admit this, but the first time he appeared on screen, I gasped so loud, my aunt, 2 seats away, started laughing at me. That man is too good looking for his own good (and for mine). In this movie, I particularly liked his Hell's Angel look. I am kinda glad he has that one extra finger imperfection, or I will start thinking life is unfair. That little thing actually humanises him a bit, doncha think?


Crazy Ratings!
Go watch it for pure entertainment and lusty gratification. Here is a taster to whet your appetite!

Prom updates

Finally, Shalini has decided to shut me up and share some of her promo photos with me. I

Here they are in no particular order.

Shalini, the tawny Greek nymph


Having sparkling conversation at the table.

If she sends me more, I will upload them. And once she decides to update her blog, which has been collecting dust since her O level preparations, I will link it here.

Bopiancy

It has been quite a while since I updated this blog, but I have very good reason. A lot of things happened this week that deserve space on this post, and I wanted to upload them all.

Unfortunately on Tuesday I fell prey to a bad throat infection and spent two days at home, feeling sorry for myself.

And then when I went back to work, I had a million things to catch up, including 160 emails (minus junk mail), 2 events to plan for, plus all the usual drivel.

So, as you can see, blog updating was kinda low on my priority list. So I will tale the next few posts to update you on my life.

Bopiancy, to those of you who are not familiar with the word is a noun that means, due to the lack of other feasible options.
Root word - Bo pian (chinese); no choice.

E.g of usage - Due to bopiancy, I was not able to update my blog on recent events, despite my deep desire to.

Promenade Shopping

Last Saturday, I did 2 things I haven't done in a long time.

1) Go shopping with a 16 year old

2) Go shopping for a prom dress.

My cousin Shalini, who is finally free of her "0" level shackles, asked me to go prom dress shopping with her. I, of course, assumed this was because of my impeccable taste in clothes and indubitable "coolness" factor.

I forgot how 16 years shop.

To give you an idea of the ordeal, we started at 10:30 and didn't make a decision till 4 pm.

Naturally, the perfect outfit was not even at the place we decided to shop, but about 5 bus stops away.

Teenage girls are really finicky. They have these naturally stick-thin bodies that looks wonderful in anything. But of course they have to find the tiniest fault and blow it waay out of proportion. Some of the more choice ones I heard in the course of the day were

1) "I look short." Well, she is about 5 feet nothing. No surprises there.

2) "You can see the spots on my arms in this." A few tiny freckles.

3) "The front looks ok but the side makes my hips look big." What hips? I wonder how her jeans stay up.

4) "It's ok if I stand up, but when I sit, my stomach folds in." I totally don't get this one at all.

5) "It's a definite maybe. Put it on the KIV list." There's an oxymoron for you. There were 4 outfits on KIV.

Finally we decided on a dress. She looks like a tawny Greek Nymph in it. Beautiful. I will post pictures if she lets me.

Of course the dress is just the beginning. Now she has to do earrings, necklaces, shoes, bag, make up, nails, hair and 'tude. She has already decided she is going to eat nothing but tofu and salad till this Thursday, and in case that doesn't work, jog 5 km every night.

Do guys go through even half of this for their prom preparations? Do tell guys, I am dying to know.

Hate mail

I never thought of it this way, but a good friend of mine says that hate mail is the best indication that you have arrived as a bonafide blogger. (Shanker, yours is imminent too)

I got my first one a few days ago. I was considering publishing it, but it was anonymous and he/she didn't have anything substantial to criticise, so I decided not to.

So if you send me hate mail and want me to publish it, please make sure you include your name, email and URL. Like my first critic Sunil here. That way, at least I know that you can stand behind your criticism.

Meanwhile,


and

Theatre Review - Kalinga Trilogy - Separation

Never send a clueless non-Keling to do a Keling Kia’s job. That was the first impression I got when I read the reviews of the Kalinga Trilogy –Separation. The review on the Straits Times on Tuesday (14th Nov) for example was obviously written by a non-Indian, non-Tamil who did not understand the nuances of language, the importance of dance and the ubiquitous nature of song in the play that are central to the Keling soul. Instead she spent time being distracted by the science of theatre, rambling on and on about “narrative”, “internal monologue”, “expositional dialogue” and “surrealistic mediation”.

You totally missed the forest for the trees, honey.

For those of you who don’t know the story, here is it in a nutshell – starts from 1946, immediately after the war. It continues the story of Letchumi and the trials and tribulations she experiences right up to the separation of Singapore and Malaysia in 1965. The Separation is the second installment of Trilogy but this production stands alone. Even without knowledge of the first part, audience can still enjoy the performance.

Anyone with a keen interest in Singapore's history and unique culture will not want to miss this journey into the country's past – from the citizenship drive in the 1950s by the Indian community to the emotionally charged 1964 racial riots, from ugly incidents like the Hock Lee Bus riots to the Maria Hertogh controversy.(Synopsis courtesy of Esplanade website )


Kalinga Trilogy, directed by Vadi PVSS, is a play that sings right into the heart of every Singaporean Indian. Besides the careful research into our history, Vadi also made sure to represent the popular culture of the time to its truest. For example, he chose to insert a sing-and-dance item- a typical “aruvadai” song from cinema in the 1950s, which brings back memories of the stars of the time like Sivaji, MGR and S Muthiah.

We are all familiar with the patriotic songs from that era and the Kalinga Trilogy has a few orginal songs, in local context, that added oomph to the patriotism of the play. The strike song, the resistance song, the “every dog has its day” song – they all resounded with what we know of our turbulent history.


The actors were well chosen for the parts, although I was surprised that not more Indian actors were hired. (Read: Why didn't they hire me?) Maybe it was to maintain the multiculturalism of Singapore in the play. And get more multicultural bums on seats, of course. Some of the faces that we are used to seeing on the small screen, like Vickneswary and Sivakumar actually translate well onto the stage.

Vickeswary’s classical dance background came through with her overdramatic sadness and larger than life decision making (Think Saroja Devi). Sivakumar is a natural and gifted actor, who really should explore his stage career a lot further. And the non-keling actors were just as good. Joanne, Sani and Rodney, you all have honorary Keling membership now.

After the play, Mr Vadi decided to have a open dialogue with the audience, hoping to get some intelligent dialogue and feedback. This turned out to backfire in the most embarrassing way. It was like having one of your once-a-year Deepavali guests tell you why everything about your house is wrong and that you should have consulted them before you bought it.

Why, Mr Vadi? Why open yourself up to that kind of heartache? Especially when you saw that the audience contained people who liked the sound of the own voice so much, they wouldn’t let anyone talk? Even when you took their mic away! Especially when what they had to say had nothing to do with the play or with real life. . I mean, does anyone really need to know the 6 Sanskrit words for Lion? You should have just had Mr Samuel Doraisingam share his experiences of the time, and thus add truth to the beauty that was the Kalinga Trilogy.

For those of you who decided to invest the $25 on Black Cat and fags instead of a ticket, please start saving now for Part Three. It will be worth it. It will at least give you an extra bounce in your step the next time you are reminded you are Keling Kia.



Top Ten things that made Kalinga Trilogy - Separation the ultimate Keling Kia event
1) The event started late.

2) The girls were dressed to the nines and the guys looked like they just crawled out of bed. Esplanade? So what?

3) You laugh at grief. Yes, it’s your coping mechanism. Laugh so you won’t have to look like a pansy for crying along.

4) You don’t notice that the actors say “wery”, instead of “very”, or stare-y instead of starry.

5) You clap along to the songs, even though your seat mate stares daggers at you for rocking the whole row.

6) You read the subtitles, even when the characters are speaking Tamil.

7) You don’t flinch at strobe lighting or bright spotlights on the audience, thanks to the lighting designers at Amaran.

8) Half the audience is related, friends with or knows someone who knows someone who is a cast/ crew member.

9) You rue the fact that there was no love song scene daydreamt by the hero or heroine in the play.

10) The programmes were free, because no self-respecting Keling will pay $10 to buy one.

Celebrity Spotting

Last week, I seemed to have had my more-than-fair share of run-ins with a few of my heroes. Of course, I totally understand if these names and people mean nothing to you. But I was quite thrilled to bits lah.

Celeb #1: Elim Chew

Who: Entrepreneur and owner of 77th Street

Place: WDA Learning Festival last Tuesday

How: Joyce and I were sitting there, totally enthralled by the speaker, when I heard a loud whisper at the beginning of my row (I was about 4 seats in, with one spare seat next to me). I look up to smile and the newcomer and make them feel welcome when lo and behold, it was Elim Chew! (She also owned a hair salon called Elim Emmanuel back in the late 80s and I used to get my hair cut there). I tried to play it cool and would have succeeded of not for Joyce jabbing and excitedly whispering, very loudly, "That's Elim Chew. (swoon)"!

Miss Chew then proceeded to take notes of the entire seminar. I am not talking a jot here or a point there. I am talking about nearly word for word, speed typing here. She typed down everything that was said (even participant questions), boldly hazarded answers to the speaker's questions and did not flinch when she was wrong.
Note-takers ARE history makers.

I was so inspired by her. Wow!

Click here to read more about Elim Chew


Celeb #2: Ravi Veloo

Who: Caustic and bold journalist from the 80s and early 90s.

Place: Esplanade, while watching the Kalinga Trilogy on Saturday

How: Goke and I got what I thought were really good seats at the Theatre Studio when we were informed that one of the seats we took was being reserved for a friend. Obediently, we scooted up, closer to the aisle. A man with long hair tied in an untidy ponytail enters and tried to get to that seat, practically sitting on Goke's lap on the way. She then recognises him as Ravi Veloo and casually introduces us.

I was glad that neither of them could see that I was beside myself. Totally star struck and a little in awe. Ravi Veloo's column was one that I read without fail and used for all the newspaper clipping projects we did for English and GP. He was my journalism hero. His articles, always spiced with a bit of dissent and disagreement, was the closest thing you could find to true journalism in the Straits Times back then. At least that's how I felt. Everything else was lifted from AP or Reuters anyway.

I listened with stars in my eyes as Goke and he discussed the sorry state of journalism in the world today. He talkd about different attitudes and how journalism across the causeway is so much more amiable, even though the competition is higher. It was truly an honour. It was a great way to spend the 10 mins before the play started.

Again, wow!

To read one of Mr Veloo's articles, click here.

Self Pity

I need a hug!!!


On a totally unrelated note, check out this site for awesome artwork.
The images are really powerful, this is one talented guy.

Mindless nonsense

I have been thinking about the cliches that I mindlessly use when I am stuck for something to say. For that's what cliches are, the verbal shortcuts in language that allow us to automatically phrase a thought and be understood. Without much brain power being employed.

But I was wondering, what happens when you turn a cliche on its head.

E.g I hate to eat and run.
Can we just as effectively say," I am planning to stay and starve?"

Here are a few more that I use often. See if you come up with the ultimate uncliche.

No news is good news

Better late than never

Better safe than sorry

No man is an island

There are plenty more fish in the sea

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade

Have a nice life

Pretty nonsensical, huh?

Learned a new thing

Meaning of Prodigal

1. wastefully or recklessly extravagant: prodigal expenditure.
2. giving or yielding profusely; lavish (usually fol. by of or with): prodigal of smiles; prodigal with money.
3. lavishly abundant; profuse: nature's prodigal resources.


Now, with this new revelation, read the story of the prodigal son again.
The son wasn't the only prodigal one, was he?


***
Luke 15:11-32
11 Jesus continued: "There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger one said to his father, 'Father, give me my share of the estate.' So he divided his property between them. 13 "Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living.

14 After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16 He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

17 When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18 I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.'

20 So he got up and went to his father. "But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. 21 "The son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.'

22 "But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. 24 For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate.

25 "Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27 'Your brother has come,' he replied, 'and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.'

28 "The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29 But he answered his father, 'Look! All these years I've been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!'

31 "'My son,' the father said, 'you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.'"

I am already beautiful

I pulled my fare card out of my bag as I walked towards the train station. I was tempted to quicken my pace to match that of the other scurrying commuters, but in time reminded myself that I was not in a hurry, and had no train to catch, as it were.

The usual touts were hanging around outside the station. The donation seekers with their apologetic faces and pleading stance. The insurance agents with their little carpeted and furnished turf, looking slightly cocky and trying desperately to catch someone's eye.

And then there was this new group. Lithe and lanky, in tiny white dresses cinched with red belts, these women, who looked like they were cloned off each other, were selling beauty! With a larger-than-life poster of their spoke model in the corner to cheer them on, they approached the plump, the fluffy and the just plain fat with vigour, oblivious to the public humiliation they were causing.

"Excuse me, Miss? Do you need help to lose weight? Our new treatment is all natural and very effective! Now got promotion!"

I turned around to come face to face with this barely pubescent, slightly malnourished girl, who looked at me as expectantly as her heavily lacquered face would let me.

I threw her my usual line over my shoulder, dismissively, "No thanks. I don't need it."

"What do you mean? You don't need it? But you are quite fat, you know!", she exclaimed in disbelief and horror, her perfectly painted mouth falling open quite unflatteringly.

Wow, this one actually heard me, I thought.

Usually, when I say I don't need it, I get one of three responses.

1) Abject horror and dismay, but no further action, having being paralysed by intense emotions

2) Smirking superiority. You can almost see the thought bubble that says "Denial!" hovering over their heads.

3) Pure indifference as they scan and lock on to their next potential sales. This group seldom hears what you say and depends on non verbal signals to communicate.

But this girl actually responded. I decided to be a little mean and have a little fun.

"Yeah, I don't need it. I am already beautiful."

"But don't you want to be more beautiful?" she asked, a consummate salesperson.

"But what is more beautiful? A smaller waist? Long ruler-straight hair? Fairer skin? Larger breasts? Do you mean, to be thought beautiful, I have to look JUST LIKE YOU?"

Sister girl was dumbfounded. She just stared at me like the concept never occurred to her. I gave her a disarming smile, turned and walked away, my head held high.

I wonder how long it took before she decided to approach someone else. I hope I made her think just a little.

Stranger things have happened

I was home with Prashanth and Hanan, watching the news of the war. Hanan was shrieking at his uncle's attempts to tickle him, almost drowning out the TV. I was about to yell at both of them, when suddenly Hanan stoppped and stared at the open doorway. I followed his gaze and saw a man in Number 1 military uniform standing there.

"Mummy, there's someone at the door!", Hanan informs me.

"No Shit, Sherlock," snaps Prashanth, who has always been gentle and sensitive, even when we were kids growing up. He continued to torment my son.

I did not recognise the man at the door, although he smiled like he recognised me. As I moved towards the door, I saw that he was accompanied by a lady, a beautiful woman also in military garb, also a stranger to me.

For some reason, I started to panic. I could see their mouths moving like they were saying something to me, but all I could hear were my sharp indrawn breaths as my panic started to mount. Blood was rushing to my knotted stomach, making a hell of a racket as it coursed through my veins. I turned to look at my brother and at Hanan, wondering why they both seemed totally unaffected by these strangers at the door.

Finally, another head appeared at the other side of the gate. I recognised the man as Uncle Pragasam, an old army cronie of my dad's. In fact, I was surprised I recognised him at all, since the last time we met, I was 6. He looked unchanged from my memory of him. Smiling, he gestured towards the lock, and I quickly unlocked the gate and let him in.

As soon as they entered, the lady officer positioned herself right next to me. Uncle Pragasam held my hand and said softly," I am sorry, girl. But your father is lost."

"Lost?", I repeated, idiotically.

"Yes, lost." Drawing a long breath, he continued," Your father was sent with his platoon to the war, but we lost contact with them after 3 days. We don't know where he is."

"You mean he is MIA?", asked Prashanth, looking smug for knowing the proper military term for our lost father's state.

Uncle Pragasam turned to him. "Yes, boy. Your father is officially MIA."

Suddenly, Hanan cries out, pointing to the TV, "Look, there's thaatha!"

And sure enough there he was, my dad, handsome and dashing in his No 3 uniform, sitting aroung a campfire with his platoonmates, a mess tin in his hand, being the life of the party that he always is. I looked closer. He looked about as old as I was as he threw his free arm around a friend, and suddenly my heart was filled with a resolute certainty.

"That's impossible!" I yelled out. "He is not in the army anymore, hasn't been for 15+ years! And he sure as hell is not this 33 year old on TV, although I admit, he did look like that. So," I draw myself up, preparing for the final blow, "how can he be MIA, when he is not 33, not in the army, and definitely not in this war!"

I look around triumphantly. Uncle Pragasam looked nonplussed. The other two officers exchanged looks that I could not really read. Could be pity, could be disbelief.

"Hmmm, maybe it wasn't your dad," he said, with great solemnity and gentleness. "But why don't you call him to find out?"


***

So was this dream just my subconscious mind telling me to call my father?

You got to face the fats

I had a good conversation with a dear friend today who told me that we had to face the fats.

That's right. He was alluding to the fact that I was slightly fluffy and could stand to lose some fluff.

Now, to fully appreciate this, you have to understand a few things.

1) When we were in our 20s, I was the person who inspired him to lose weight.
2) I only started getting ridiculously large in the last 4 or 5 years.
3) I am a little tired of hauling all this extra baggage around, and its making me crabby inside.

And yes, it may come as a surprise to most of you, but I wasn't always the plump and cheerful person you know today. There was a time when I was a lean, mean, hard ass machine.

One good thing that came out of us "facing the fats" - I remembered that I had a gym membership. True, I havent used it in about 3 months, but I still have it.

So I can start anytime I want. Really.

Exam fever

Yes.

For the first time, since 1998, I actually have exam fever. You know the symptoms.
- hands sweaty and slippery
- nightmares that you forgot to answer questions, had no pencils or didn't wear pants to school
- waking up at 7:30am to catch up on undone work
- stomachaches that are not caused by indigestion
- a sudden urge to procrastinate, followed by panic at said procrastination.

The only difference is this time,I am experiencing all these vicariously - through my 7 year old son. He sits for the first exams of his life next week, and we are all sitting for them with him.

The interesting thing is this - no one taught him these behaviours/ traits. We have not made a big deal of this exam thing, certainly not to the fever pitch of alot of my fellow parents who are falling over themselves trying to get their kid to panic or feel guilty. Anyone who knows me and Otrie knows we are rather laid back parents -too laid back for some.

So Hanan's behaviour comes from one place only - school. His teachers must be telling them horror stories of how their little lives will be over if they don't pass this exam. The have certainly been piling on the homework like there is no tomorrow.

So my role in this situation is this - to be a constant reminder of where his help comes from. That it doesn't all depend on him. That he will never walk alone. That this is NOT the valley of the shadow of death, but more like crossing the Jordan - easy, effortless, and full of milk and honey on the other side. The giants are like bread - for feeding on. And God is B.I.G.

We have been saying Psalm 91 - David's song of protection and safety. I hope it helps Hanan feel secure.

Psalm 91 (Amplified Version)

1 HE WHO [a]dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall remain stable and fixed under the shadow of the Almighty [Whose power no foe can withstand].

2 I will say of the Lord, He is my Refuge and my Fortress, my God; on Him I lean and rely, and in Him I [confidently] trust!

3 For [then] He will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence.

4 [Then] He will cover you with His pinions, and under His wings shall you trust and find refuge; His truth and His faithfulness are a shield and a buckler.

5 You shall not be afraid of the terror of the night, nor of the arrow (the evil plots and slanders of the wicked) that flies by day,

6 Nor of the pestilence that stalks in darkness, nor of the destruction and sudden death that surprise and lay waste at noonday.

7 A thousand may fall at your side, and ten thousand at your right hand, but it shall not come near you.

8 Only a spectator shall you be [yourself inaccessible in the secret place of the Most High] as you witness the reward of the wicked.

9 Because you have made the Lord your refuge, and the Most High your dwelling place,(A)

10 There shall no evil befall you, nor any plague or calamity come near your tent.

11 For He will give His angels [especial] charge over you to accompany and defend and preserve you in all your ways [of obedience and service].

12 They shall bear you up on their hands, lest you dash your foot against a stone.(B)

13 You shall tread upon the lion and adder; the young lion and the serpent shall you trample underfoot.(C)

14 Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore will I deliver him; I will set him on high, because he knows and understands My name [has a personal knowledge of My mercy, love, and kindness--trusts and relies on Me, knowing I will never forsake him, no, never].

15 He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.

16 With long life will I satisfy him and show him My salvation.

Public Holiday Malaise

It could have been a well spent public holiday. I could have been at an awesome worship conference that I really wanted to go to; that I was supposed to go to by divine appointment I think.

Instead, I let my flesh get in the way, allowed myself to develop feelings of guilt over not being home on a public holiday and therefore had the crappiest day.

Sigh.

Sometimes, its better to do the things that you know are right, rather than things that you feel are right.

On a related but random note, watched The Inside Man, with Denzel Washington and Clive Owen. Good stuff. Extremely good writing. And Spike Lee is a brilliant director who really hasn't got his due credit.

Meeting potential family members

" Boy! Come visit auntie for Deepavali ok? And bring your new girlfriend, we would like to meet her."

Dreaded words indeed. The subtext being, bring your girlfriend, so we can stare at her rudely, say a curt hello, gossip about her mercilessly in the kitchen in Tamil and then proceed to ignore her for the rest of the evening.

I remember the first time my husband (then boyfriend) went through this trial by fire. He was perplexed and slightly angry. But as time went by, he learned how to deal with it. And being Otrie, he decided to do the extreme and take it to another level.

He announced his presence in a loud booming voice the minute he entered the house.
He went around and shook hands with everyone and tried to pick up and hug anyone who was smaller than him (including some adults).
He ate with gusto, complimented the host on her cooking and flattered her to the point of embarassment.
He loudly called out when anyone stared at him, making them tell everyone what they were scrutinising, thus showing up the kaypohs and the truly malicious for what they were.

Basically his message was, "You can judge me, but you can't ignore me".

So Vivian, if you felt uncomfortable at our Deepavali gatherings this weekend, or like a fish in an aquarium, I understand. Put up with us for a while, we will get used to you and learn how to include you.

Or you can force yourself on us. I know at least one other person who has, and it seems to work for him.

Matisyahu Rocks!

This is one talented artiste.
Jerusalem by Matisyahu.
Enjoy!

Provided By MetroLyrics

Chaim Potok

I spent the nice long Deepavali break reading 3 books by Chaim Potok. The best thing about reading authors like Mr Potok, is how he totally transports you into his world. Even if the books are not part of a series, the writing, imagery and situational literariness is so consistent, that I feel a little uncomfortable in my own skin after a marathon session like this one. Very few authors can acheive this for me - OSC of course, Anita Shreve does too, and now Chaim Potok.

The Chosen
15 year old Reuven Malter makes a difficult decision to be friends with Danny Saunders, the boy who hit his eye with a baseball and almost blinded him for life. His decision goes beyond forgiveness into true acceptance for his new friend who is a Hasidic Jew. Danny Saunders also has had a rough childhood, raised in silence by a father who was afraid his son's brilliance will make him hard hearted, and hopes his silent treatment will cause enough pain to teach Danny compassion. He expects Danny to take his place as Tzaddik (spiritual leader) of his synagogue, but Danny wants to walk a different path - a path frowned upon by Godly Jews.

This book is about the most basic, and most important of relationships - that between a father and his child. It is also a sort of allegory for man's relationship with God. As long as we see him as G.O.D all in capital letters, He remains unreachable and constantly watching for you to slip. But when you can embrace Him and call Him Father, then you don't have to worry about pleasing Him. You already are.

The Promise
This book taught me a very important lesson. You can agree with the questions that are asked, without agreeing with the answers. I know what probably sounds too simple, but I am a simple person .

There are alot of times when you are taught not to question. In school, at home and even in church, sometimes asking questions is anathema, because noone wants to admit that they don't know the answer.

Reuven Malter faces this situation when his whole Yeshiva is up in arms against a new scientific method of studying Talmud. He is especially persecuted by his teacher, Rav Kalman, who threatens not to let him pass his Rabbinical exams unless he denounces the method altogether.

Reuven realises that sometimes, you have to walk a different way to find answers for yourself, even when the world, as you know it, is against you. And that being pleasing to God is often far removed from being pleasing to men.

The Life of Asher Lev
Of the three books, this one is my favourite. Asher Lev is a Hasidic boy who grows up with an absentee father, a pining mother and an unusual, genius talent for art. He starts drawing startlingly poignant pictures of his life in New York in the early 30s to make up for his father's absence. His father, who spends his life travelling to East Europe to emancipate Jews for his Rebbe, or spiritual leader, does not seek to understand his son's talents, which he calls "nonsense".

Again, Mr Potok has masterfully drawn out the intricacies between a father and his son to tell a touching and painful story of the importance of being accesptable to your father.


By the way, Chaim in Hebrew means "life" or "alive".
To read his own commentary on these books, click here.

Give me this mountain!

Give me this mountain! And though I may be
not very sure of how I will defeat
all of my enemies; I will take Your hand
and I know with You, I will conquer the land.


Give me this mountain! I can see it from afar
I know that its immovable and fortified with iron.
But to me its bread, that falls from heaven like dew
Cos I know that this mountain was given me by You.


Give me this mountain! For Your rest is mine.
I need not seek, strive or contrive to find
All of the blessings that You promised to me
And the mountain you have bought for me, at the Cross of Calvary.

Inspired by the story of Caleb, who at the age of 85, said that his strength was as unabated as it was when he was 40. He then proceed to ask for and conquer the mountain of Hebron.

Murukku

It was a lazy weekend. I stayed in bed till 5:30 and then mosied my way over to my mum's to make murukku for Deepavali. This is usually a family affair - ladies only. And not everyone is involved in the making of the murukku. For instance, only Aunty Tami knows how to use the medieval contraption that squeezes the dough out into the oil. Aunty Agnes is in charge of monitoring the doneness of each piece, lifting them out and laying them out on the kitchen towels. I am the stacker - arrange carefully in a spiral in the tin when cooled. Mum just made sure everyone's throats were well moistened with fresh cups of your preferred beverage. Absent this year were Shalini, who is swotting for "O" levels and Aunty Ruba, who .. err, what happened to you, Athai?

But more than our hands, it's our mouths that got the real workout. Who gave birth, who died, who married who (Surya and Jo), who divorced who, whose marriage is on the rocks, who is patching up - no subject was too sacred.

For 4 hours, the 4 of us stood around a greasy electric wok, smelling like oil and murukku and caught up on every human relationship we knew. That's the beauty of talking to women in your family versus your friends. There is no competition - for men, for beauty or for intelligence. Its just true mutual admiration and love, the melding of hearts over the most menial of tasks.

I love this annual activity.

A few crunchy bits

I don't know if other bloggers have this problem, but my biggest issue with starting a new post is always "What do I put in the title?"

I could go the route of the numbered posts, but then noone can tell when I have updated, so I decided to use random phrases that may have something to do with the content, or not.

Anyway, just a few things I wanted to mention.
***
I was talking to a friend in the train yesterday, we were discussing, among other mindless topics, the need to er.. flatulate. Did you ever realise that the person who lets one rip is always the one who either 1) pretends never to notice or 2) is the first one to notice and mention it while holding his nose?

Yes, test it, by all means.

***

Pizza is almost staple food in my family now, since we have many "noone wants to cook, but we are all hungry" days. There are several that we like.

New York Pizza - This is a little joint that only has 3 locations. Harbourfront, Tampnes and Khatib. They served those razor thin and crispy pizzas with a biscuit like crust, and 1 foot long slices. The toppings are your usual stuff, but the sauces they use are awesome. Stay away from the Brooklyn if you can't handle spicy. This was lethal.

Canadian Pizza is good value for money - $22 for 2 largish pizzas. They have a good amount of ingredients, and good balance, which we like. The other thing we like is, the pizzas always arrive piping hot. I am not sure if that's just good service, or Otrie has made enough of a fuss about it often enough, but either way, we enjoy the warmth.

Pasta Mania - This home grown company, I am glad to say, understands tha concept of pizza. Its doesn't try to stuff 4 kinds of cheese in the crust, or make you pay stupid amount of money for a good meal. Try their Calzones. They are freshly made and chockful of goodness.

I hate Pizza Hut. They are overpriced, their crusts are so thick, they absorb all the flavour and more than half the pizza ends up just being a ball of dough in your belly. The cheese overload is ridiculous, and we have never gotten a pizza from them that was more than lukewarm. Pizza Hut ought to rethink their food quality and pricing strategy.

Postscript: Geet has very helpfully recommended Sarpino's, which while looks very respectable, is not available via delivery or accessibity in my part of the country. But the rest of you guys, enjoy. Or open a franchise in the north or something.

Judging Amy

I don't watch a lot of TV, but Judging Amy is something I cancel appointments to watch. And while I watch it, I expect total silence, no interruptions and preferably noone in the room.

It's my time to completely switch of from reality and live someone else's life for a while. I beleive it's the similar experience to watching daytime soaps.

For those of you who have never seen it, here is a brief synopsis. Amy Gray (Amy Brenneman) is a juvenile court judge who lives with her tweenie daughter and widowed mother (Tyne Daly). She has issues which she tries to battle through like wanting control, inablity to commit, and being secretly in love with her court clerk, Bruce (Richard T Jones). In fact, it's such a secret, she doesn't know it herself.

Add to this amazingly simple plot several layers of dysfunctional family members, gender confused friends and of course the bizarre court cases she hears, and you what you have a is a wonderful meander through the daily life of what it means to be human.

The thing I find most amusing about Amy is that she is a self-professed atheist and she tries to get through all her issues on her own strength. Her control freak persona will not allow her to look to God, but you can see the times where her resolve weakens and she hopes, or even prays, for Divine assistance.

Her mother, Maxine Gray, is a social worker, who works for the Department of Family and Children (DCF). Her job provides me with a large dose of social commentary and ideas on how to get around bureaucracy.

I love this show for many reasons. For one, Ricahrd T Jones is serious eye candy. Second, nothing in the series expects you to suspend your disbelief too high. I can see the things Amy goes through happen to me, if I was a single parent, living with my mom and deadbeat brother. And finally, the writing for this show is so good, it's actually tragic, funny, witty and clever, all at once.

And the actors are so good, they actually make you care about the characters - every last one of them. Heck, I almost wish they would do "Where are they now?" episodes, so I can find out what happened to some of the kids that came through that courtroom.

The sixth season of Judging Amy is showing at 9 pm every weeknight on StarWorld. It may be the last season. So catch a few episodes while you can.

The Woman with the Golden Voice

OK, not really, but I am going to be the voice of 01 Computer.

My boss has selected me over 1000s of candidates (ok, 25 candidates. I am Indian, we exaggerate) to be the voice of 01 for our new telephone system.

Yes, I will be the annoying voice that says, "Hello, you have reached 01. For marketing, please dial 2745386532947087540356476539184708, followed by the arsed-to-risk key".

The reason I am minorly proud of this accomplishment is that, as the only minority race female in the organisation, I feel that my boss realises the benefit of a company that doesn't sound so completely er... homogenous.

And, of course, that it means my voice is lovely.

I will let you all know when it happens. Then, please feel free to call my company and listen to my sultry sounds.

:-)

Less homework, more learning

My son had 42 pages of homework this weekend. 42.

He had 20 pages of math, 10 pages of Tamil and 12 pages of English (handwriting practise)

The 2 10-page Math exercise were on addition and subtraction, the Tamil was a mock exam and the English paper was an exercise on how to write neatly.

Surely Miss Algorithm, or whatever your name is, you should know by page 5 whether your students have mastered addition and subtraction. Especially when there is no variation to the sums at all.

Surely Miss Chalkdust, 5 reptitions of each word would have sufficed to train the kids. Do they need 12 repetitions? Given the limited fine motor skill abilities of most 7 year old, can you have a little sympathy for cramping fingers as they struggle to write "surprised" 12 times in perfect script?

The only homework that I thought was fair was the Tamil, because while it was 10 pages, it covered 60% of the methods and vocabulary that will be tested in the exam.

I do not want my son to be a drone, doing repetitions of boring, mundane work that means nothing. Repetition works for kids with IQs under 80, but surely those kids will be in schools that cater to that deficit.

If it takes 10 pages x 5 sums a page for you to determine if the student understands addition, then maybe you are not teaching him enough. Maybe you are expecting the parents to teach him, while you just grade the papers and do the boring mundane things that your employer expects you to do. Like classroom decoration to the Hari Raya theme.

But I don't want to spend 6 hours a weekend teaching my son. I want to enjoy him, do the things that we like, chill out and relax and worship God. In fact, and this may come as news, that's what most parents want to do on weekends. We send them to school to get the learning. At home, we want to do the loving. And the teaching that they don't get at school. Like social interaction, responsibility with chores, respect and love for parents, and why Aslan is a type of Christ etc etc.

Can we make no homework the default state? (Read this article to learn about this concept)

And can we prioritize learning? I know that's a tall order in the midst of compulsory testing and project work, but school used to be about that. Let's revisit it.

Should I write?

I have decided to write a book.

Ok, it may end up being a novella, or even a short story, but the point being, I think I have a story to tell and that people may think it's worth reading.

One of my favourite authors,Orson Scott Card, has a really cool writer's guide, which is material that he uses for his writing lessons in UNC. And I have been so inspired by his "lessons". (click here to link to his site)

The first lesson is, I beleive, to write about something where you know the subject matter intimately. Therefore this will not be a sci fi book,(although I love the genre). It will probably be a family drama, since I am Indian, and in my family, got plenty drama.

I also hope I can keep the chick lit element out of it, because more times than not, lighthearted books by women, about women,turn out being insipid, ridiculous and not very readable.

So if I do post passages or chapters of the book here, please do gimme your comments, won't ya?

Thanks. I knew I could count on you.

A Message to Indian Expats

Recent events have gotten me so riled against this particular group of people that I have to give vent to my feelings here before I explode and say something I might regret to their faces.

Dear Indian Expat,
1) you are not smarter than me. Sure, you may have a whole string of alphabets behind your name that your father bought from whichever corrupt univerisity you call your Alma Mater, but that doesn't make you smarter. The only reason you were hired for the job is because no self respecting Singaporean will do that kind of work for that little. In case you didn't know, even peanuts in SIngapore is 6 figures per annum.

2) Keep your food morality to yourself. I am really not interested in hearing how meat is bad for you, and how the rancid curd rice your wife packs for you in the morning is so much healthier than food at the hawker centre. In fact we are actually happy you prefer your puke-inducing yesterday's sambar, so that we don't have to jostle with you for space during lunch.

3) Teach your children some manners. Granted, children only ape the way their parents behave, and we all know how petulant some of you are. But it is NOT acceptable for your kids to be running into people while playing on the train while their mothers sit there and compare the designs on one another's jewellery.

4)Singaporean women are not dying to meet Indian expat men. So stop looking at us like we are. We like our men strong, physically fit, independant and manly, the way Singaporean men who have been through NS are. Not interested in soft in the middle, pansy walking, limp wristed men who lived with their mother and a retinue of servants till they got married.

5) Singaporean Indians have risen above petty differentiators like religion, sect, caste and clan. It is no longer an acceptable conversation starter. So don't think we should fall down and worship you just because you know which caste you belong to. People who cling to age old clan and caste traditions are people who have such low self esteem that they have to hold on to whatever history they can find to validate their existence. Singaporeans are alot more secure than that.


Of course, I acknowledge that there are Indian expats who do not deserve this rant and are actually decent human beings. You are hence tasked to teach your countrymen the dos and don'ts of living in someone else's country. Please. Do us all a favour.

A Song for the Love of my Life

From the time I rise in the morning,
The Son shines His favour on me.
In all my comings and goings,
I know His presence is near me.

The people that I meet
don't know what they see in me.
Yet all through the working day,
the Son shines His favour on me.

If I wander off and go my way,
I know He will come and find me.
And when I am found, He won't
have a harsh word to condemn me.

Instead He makes a feast of good things,
and says, "Eat! Till you are filled.
And if this is not enough, ask!
I have so much more to give."

And when the day is done,
He makes me to lie down.
Whispering in my heart that,
all the sweet things in Him will be found.

He is more than just a Saviour,
He is the Lover of my being.
He shines on me, everyday.
The Son shines His favour on me.

Product Launch - Terrorist Attack

I attended a product launch by one of my company's main partners on Friday. The brand name will go unmentioned for reasons that will be obvious soon.

The launch had a military theme. The invites came in manila envelopes with Top Secret printed in bold across them. The contents boldly demanded that we attend the "mobilisation".

So far so good. We were all milling around in the reception area, under camouflage nets and green tents. All the staff were dressed in green army supple Tshirts and camouflage pants or skirts. With the exception on the vodka shot girls of course. What is a product launch without women in tiny shorts and midriff baring, barely breathing tight Tees dropping vodka shots in the mouths of open-mouthed guests?

And then, the lights went off. Someone started a strobe light, and we saw a man in a ski mask with what looks like a Soviet machine gun from WWI. He then opens fire at the audience, and tells us to go to the event room for "interrogation".

I don't know about the rest, but for a minute, I was quite alarmed. Strobe lights are scary in them selves, but seeing a ski masked gunman clinb onto a platform, take aim at me and fire away literally made me almost soil myself.

We live in paranoid times, with the danger of terrorism everywhere. Gunned soldiers are patrolling our train stations, for Pete's sake. Don't you think its highly inappropriate to have a product launch to a terrorist theme?

Or is it just me?

It's my blog and I'll cry/ laugh/ criticise/ scream if I want to

Recently some of my friends and fellow bloggers have been getting all kinds of abuse for putting up content that offends the sensibilities of their readers. They have not been particularly abusive - no one is in danger of being exposed to the law or beaten up by screaming women or anything like that. They are just angry that the blog does not represent their point of view.

Unfortunately blogging has allowed us to make our private thoughts public. Things that used to be writtens in diaries, whispered among friends, or at most discussed loudly over teh tarik in coffee shops, is now online for the whole world to see.

I remember Otrie getting very upset because I had made a less-than-congratulatory remark about a lady in my salsa class who annoyed me to death. He felt that I shouldn't say that about her in a public blog. Till, now I wonder, why not? It's my opinion and my blog.

If I was writing in a salsa community blog, I may not have been so open in my criticism though. I may have changed her name, called it a hypothethical situation, or written in the most general terms about the incident. But my blog is about my life, and if you are in my life, I will surely write about you.

I will however, not do the following:-

1) Lift content of someone else's blog, website or book, and pass it of as my own.
2) Say anything that may destroy a person's reputation e.g. call someone a playa when I know he is not :-)

Not every blogger has the same scruples I have. They may have more. They may have less. The point is, they are free to manage their blogs however they want. ANd if you don't like it, stop reading. Its just like changing the channel when Kylie Kwong comes on. I don't have to watch it, I can turn it off.

Blog: Blog is the contraction universally used for weblog, a type of website where entries are made (such as in a journal or diary), displayed in a reverse chronological order.

Blogs often provide commentary or news on a particular subject, such as food, politics, or local news; some function as more personal online diaries. A typical blog combines text, images, and links to other blogs, web pages, and other media related to its topic. Most blogs are primarily textual although some focus on photographs (photoblog), videos (vlog), or audio (podcasting), and are part of a wider network of social media.

(Definition by Wikipedia, bold and italics my own)