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?