Kumari - Part 1 : Love Blossoms in School

“Psst...,” a soft murmur is heard. Kumari leans back, trying very hard to look inconspicuous, towards Linda, her best friend.

“He’s staring at you again,” whispers Linda, still in a soft-hush. Instinctively, Kumari looks to her right, across the classroom. Yes, there he is, staring unabashedly at her. That is senselessly brave of him, Kumari thinks to herself, knowing well how strict Mrs. Chan is with her math’s class.

Still he looks on, dopey-face, totally oblivious of the on-going lesson. He also appears blankly unaware that his goggle is being return at by Kumari. Suddenly, he jolts, almost as if awakening from a night slumber, when he realizes his object of adoration gazing straight back at him. He fixes his position and straightens his posture, as if to display his renewed interest in Mrs. Chan’s dreary explanation on arithmetic.

Vicnesh is so funny, mulls Kumari to herself. She likes Vicnesh. He is different from the other Indian boys. The others are rude and loutish, often sprouting cheeky comments when the opportunity so arises. Perhaps they think it as attractively brawny, but how loathsome it is to those at the receiving end.

Vicnesh is athletic; he represents the school in the sprints; yet, he is soft-spoken and polite. Coupled with that of a charming smile, Kumari finds no excuses for her fluttering heart. She has always been, from the very first time Vicnesh joined the school about a year back. Affectionate glances were exchanged even during then. However, it is only of recent, after Vicnesh and she were being grouped in the St John’s Ambulance club committee, that their veiled liking towards one another is noticeably incited.

“Do we all understand, then?” The stern Mrs. Chan makes her final point for the lecture. This time, it is Kumari’s turn to startle; she too has been daydreaming. She hears a little snigger from the back.
“Oh, shut up, Linda,” she says, in response.
“You really like him, don’t you? Well, he obviously can’t take his eyes off you as well,” Linda replies, in girly giggles. A half-smile forms on Kumari’s lips, without even her realizing it.

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Some of the students are already on the way out to the school gates, swarming like little armies out for Napoleon’s battles. It is ironic how the school dismissal bell resembles the liberation of a guarded society; the instantaneous glee etches on every pupil’s face in corresponding response to the loud emancipating ring. Abruptly, a burst of renewed energy and vigour engulfs the students, one that was not lavishly displayed during the lessons. A frenzied pursuit of dumping books and other useless stationery in their bags ensues - scurries of they will, almost as if the ghost of darkness in is close pursuit.

Kumari is disappointed that she is unable to partake in the daily freedom-rush ritual. But she has dutifully agreed to help Mrs. Chan to collect some books from the car to the teachers’ room. Authoritatively strict as she is, Mrs. Chan has always entrusted Kumari with her little task here and there, it is almost as if Mrs. Chan has a selected liking towards her, though the math teacher’s affection is hard to show.

As Kumari reaches towards the end of the empty corridor, with heaps of textbooks and exercise books in her arms, all neatly stacked high up almost reaching her nose, she hears thumping footsteps in quick motion, directing towards her. Kumari immediately halts, remembering the movies on how people exaggeratedly collide to one another at the ensuing corner, with the volume of paperwork sent flying in the air in melodramatic action. She will not be such a victim.

And there is no such crash, for as the figure runs past the corner, and upon seeing Kumari, he stops almost in a cartoon screech. It is Vicnesh, all changed in his tee shirt and shorts, obviously getting ready for the afternoon trials.

Kumari peers from the sideways of the books that is half-blocking her vision. She smiles at him. He returns the smile, earnestly.
“You’ve not gone back?” she asks the obvious, eager to start the conversation.
“No, I have the run later.”
“Oh, I see,” replies Kumari, somewhat acknowledging her silly question.
“And you?” asks Vicnesh.
“Well, I have to carry these books to the teachers’ room. It’s for Mrs. Chan.”
“Oh, let me help you then,” offers Vicnesh, chivalrously.
“No, it’s ok. It’s not at all heavy,” answers Kumari, totally unaware why she said that, as she did really wish for Vicnesh to accompany her.
“Well, err … I’ll see you then,” says Vicnesh, after an uncomfortable silence.
“See you, Vicnesh,” smiles Kumari, before she walks on again.

Kumari takes a few steps forward when she hears her name.
“ … Kumari …”
Kumari turns around, in anticipation.
“I was just thinking, Khairul, one of my relay runners, is celebrating his birthday tonight. We’ll be having a party bash. I would like you to be there, you know … as my partner, of sorts,” says Vicnesh.
Kumari lets out a dainty smile, “Of sorts, Vicnesh? Are you asking me as your date, then?”
“Yes, I guess that would be it,” a bashful Vicnesh admits.

Kumari sighs within herself, for she knows how strict her father is. There is no way she‘s going to get her father to agree to an outing, however she can plead. It is just not the ways of her traditional family upbringing. But she cannot bring herself to say no to Vicnesh.
“I can’t promise, Vicnesh, but I’ll try,” came her best answer.
Vicnesh quickly took out from his sports bag a piece of paper and quickly writes down some particulars.
“Here, the address. Dinner starts at 6. I’ll wait for you there,” says Vicnesh.

Kumari takes the scribbled paper, elated at the prospect of the first date of her life of 17 years, but apprehensive of the daunting odds of convincing her elders.

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Jegatheeswary looks across the neighbour’s quarters as she pounds the dry-chili. The commotion is hard to ignore, with the burly Indian man shoving and shouting hard at his wife, totally oblivious that he is doing the despicable act in the outdoor kitchen, well within the full view of others. The wife offered some resistance, in the form of screaming and pleading, but her efforts are foil by even more violent response by the brutish male. His final push propels his wife down to the floor, at which he just glares at her before walking away, almost as if he has accomplished an envious task.

Jegatheeswary looks away, pretending not to see nor hear, as she squats there, her hand still pounding the chili in an unthinking motion. The neighbour’s weeping sobs does not greatly affect her; she has seen such unfolding events far too many times, for far too long. It is something one has to come to accept as a common feature in these impoverished quarters.

Jegatheeswary’s spouse is also not the best of a man. Shouting and violent rising of hands as a means of conveying one’s message is also frequently displayed by her husband, so much so that she has come to accept it strange if he is to speak in regular tones; those refined moments are only kept for conversations with his friends. It is not in her place to do or say anything; she will continue to be the wife of Nagarajan, and mother to his three children.

Jegatheeswary looks up at the blazing sun. There is no clock near enough for her to tell the time, but the midday glare is enough indication to her that her children will soon be home from school. The two young boys are still in primary school, while the eldest, the girl, is already in the Sixth Form; the major exams will be here soon for the daughter.

As Jegatheeswary continues to grind the dry-chili to a fine-paste form, she sees Kumari walking towards home. She has always been proud of Kumari. Her daughter reminds her much of herself when she was at that age – so vibrant, spirited and happy. There was a time too, when Jegatheeswary was eager to face the complexities of life.

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The little clock shows the time as 5 pm. Kumari has just showered and is sitting in front of the mirror. She is getting ready to be dolled up for birthday dinner, her first date with a boy. She is excited and happy, yet sad at the same time.

Kumari’s mind raced back 3 hours earlier, to the conversation she had with her mother. Her mother displayed no emotion when being told of the party. She stared straight at Kumari, unblinking; so much so, Kumari felt embarrassed and held her head low. Kumari had anticipated such a cold response.

Jegatheeswary has strong motherly instinct; her nurturing skills and womanly intuition far exceeds that of her daughter. The twinkle in Kumari’s eyes says it all; this is not just a simple request for a social dinner, she can tell an infatuation. Jegatheeswary knew this day would come, she fervently believes it as a sort of rite of passage for every teenage girl to experience. She too, was once as Kumari is today.

“Go,” she blurted. Kumari looked up, unexpected of the response. Her mother’s cold steely stare was in contrast to the answer.
“But, what about Pa ...? “ asked Kumari.
“Go, I know you want this very much. Don’t worry about Appa. He will be back late today, after you are gone. I’ll let him know.”
“But ma,” interjected Kumari, knowing well that it is not for her mother to decide on any decisions. “Appa will get angry; he will ...“ Kumari immediately refrained from finishing her sentence.
“You want to go, just go, I will know what to tell Appa,” assured her mother, “Just make sure you come back early.”

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Kumari appears out of her room, looking very pretty and demure, in her modest dress. Jegatheeswary pretends to ignore her daughter, instead trying to look busy dusting up the cabinet, which didn’t look as if it needs any cleaning at all.

“Ma,” calls out Kumari. Her mother looks up, trying to look surprise, unconvincingly, at someone calling for her. She looks straight at Kumari, stoically.
“Ma, I’m going now,” informs Kumari, seeking a final blessing from her mother.
“Ok, remember to come back early,” came her mother’s simple reply.

Kumari walks out of her house, with mixed feelings. She feels that she is not a good daughter, in allowing her mother to take the brunt of her going out. It feels wicked that her burden of seeking an impossible permission from her father can be transferred, so technically, to someone else. Her mother would definitely be subjected to a harrowing time by her uncouth father, thinks Kumari, though she feels somewhat guilty to think so lowly of her own father.

But as Kumari’s thought continue to invade her, her legs continues to walk on, as if having a life on their own, clearly ignoring whatever guilty consciousness that she may have. At her age, she feels a powerful compulsion taking over her, controlling her instincts beyond reasoning – she feels that the party that she is going to attend with Vicnesh is the single most important event of her life, something that she cannot miss for her life. It is a selfish, childish thought, she agrees, but somehow everything seems right.

Whilst Kumari slowly disappears from sight, Jegatheeswary quietly peers from the window, carefully shielding herself behind the curtains, just in case Kumari turns back to look. Jegatheeswary too, has varied thoughts. She is happy to see her one and only daughter growing up, innocently embracing life’s little pleasures. Yes, her daughter’s first love in school. Something that Jegatheeswary herself has experienced, and lost. The facing-up to her husband, Nagarajan, is daunting, but inconsequential in knowing the joys of Kumari.

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“Will you be my special friend?” blurts out Vicnesh, immediately feeling ashamed by what he has asked. Kumari looks up at him, suddenly loss for words.

They are sitting on the swing, just the both of them, talking. The birthday party seems far-away, as if it is a backdrop trivial event complementing their meet-up. Both Vicnesh and Kumari did attend to their social greetings and little merry-making, almost as if to substantiate their physical attendance to the occasion. Thereafter, they spent the whole time with each other, talking, intermittently interrupted by mutual friends joining into their conversation.

“I’m sorry I said that, I don’t know what got into me,” says Vicnesh, apologetically, after a long awkward silence.
Kumari’s heart beats wildly, she is so sure that the pounding sound is within earshot. The experience that she is experiencing, for the very first time, is exhilarating, like a potpourri of rich splendid spices all mashed into the finest dish; and flavouring it for the very first time, with all its sensual ingredients breaking up into little unique delightful savouries. It is a sensation like no other. So, this is what that has been described in the love novels that she has read.

Kumari is compelled to take a quick breath, to calm her, and quickly clears her throat, before she replies, “Its ok, Vicnesh. I’m not angry.” Vicnesh’s stare is still gazed downwards; he is still obviously embarrassed by his question.
“Actually, Vicnesh, I don’t mind. I would like that very much,” adds Kumari.
Vicnesh looks up, looking a bit perplexed. He sees Kumari’s assuring smile. A wide smile broke out on his face.
Kumari has never felt happier in her life.

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My Lembu - Part 2

Rahman Husin and Mahidon Kassim were happy and contented. They had a dispute concerning a stray cow. The matter was brought to the Magistrate Court for justice. The fair-minded magistrate, Tuan Bokhary Hamzah, made a decision that was amenable to both the litigants. In fact, the wise magistrate’s decision won heaps and praises from the villagers of Kampung Sepi. They viewed the decision as one that saved the village from a potential public squabble that could have split the otherwise peaceful villagers.

The next day, the sagacious Tok Bek suggested to the villagers to hold a kenduri as a stately celebration cum thanksgiving to the dignified end of the crisis. The suggestion was accepted immediately. The kenduri was to be held the day after. Straight away, the villagers got busy. The womenfolk quickly got down to business on matters pertaining food. The men made arrangements to set up tent at the paddock situated beside the court house.

The next morning, the whole village was swarmed with busy-bee activities. The smell of cooking beef and mutton filled the air. There was an almost carnival-like atmosphere. The festivity was to commence by 12 noon. By that time, all of the villagers were already at the reception site. Special invitations were dispatched to Magistrate Bokhary, who is obviously the star of the do, and the court interpreter, Rav Rav Shankar.

Upon the arrival of the magistrate, who was clearly at ease with his new-found village idol persona, the revelry begins. Everyone started to feast on the foodstuff. The rendang-beef was particularly scrumptious. Laughter was heard all around. Rahman Hussin and Mahidon Kassim were seen with their arms around each other, acting like the best of friends. It was a kenduri like no other – the mother of all kenduris. The gala went on to the late afternoon – by which time unrefined loud belches and gaping yawns ruled the day. One by one, the weighty meat-fed laden villagers excused themselves.

Some of the more energetic youths volunteered to clear the heaps of litter. The trash were collected and neatly wrapped in huge plastic bags. Kamarul, a polite likeable lad, took the bags to throw at the rubbish dump-heap across the field. As he was walking, his eyes caught sight of a long-velvety object sticking out from the grass. He went up and stood right in front of the curious entity to inspect. It looks dried-up and shriveled, yet somewhat soft. It’s in the shape of a flat-long semi-circle tip – almost like an ice-cream on sticks.

Kamarul’s curiosity got to him. He started to pull out the object. It was heavier than he thought. Kamarul then used his two hands and pluck with all his might. Suddenly, the object was dislodged from the ground. It flew straight up, over Kamarul. The object then fell with a heavy loud thud. Kamarul looked back, observing the sphere-like thing. He went up for closer scrutiny. Almost at once, he fell to his back in terror. It is the head of a dead cow! With its long tongue sticking out grimly; its petrifying eyes wide open. It must have been the tongue that was sticking out through the ground surface.

The nasty news quickly spread like wildfire. By the next morning, the whole village was talking about the dead cow head with stick-out tongue. The story reached Tuan Bokhary the same morning. He was petrified. He quickly summoned Rav Rav Shankar, together with Sompol and Del Amran, the court bailiffs.

“What did you do to the dead cow?” inquired the magistrate. “I buried the cow, tuan,” answered Del Amran. “And you had to bury the cow with its tongue sticking out!” shouts the enraged magistrate. “And why is there just the head? What happened to its body?” asked the exasperated magistrate. There was a long silence. “Well! I want an answer!” yells Tuan Bokhary.

“Sir, the cow’s body has been taken by Sompol,” answers Del Amran, sheepishly. The Magistrate turns his irate stare at Sompol. “Tuan, I sold the cow’s meat to Pak Alim’s sundry shop”, explained Sompol, with his head down.

“WHAT!”, the magistrate’s eyes flaming, “WHEN?”. “Just yesterday morning, tuan” came Sompol’s answer.

“You utter idiot! You sold decomposed cow meat to the sundry shop. Please don’t tell me that was the beef rendang they had for the kenduri”, says Tuan Bokhary, almost pleadingly.

“I’m afraid it is, tuan”, Sompol replied. The magistrate fell to his chair, defeated by stupidity.

Later the same morning, the villagers started to suffer intolerable stomach-ache coupled with perpetual diarrhoea. The magistrate was not spared of the tummy-upset. He quickly made a trip to the one and only clinic in the village, Klinik Mesra Sepi. To his horror, he saw a long and winding line of people waiting to see the resident doctor. It was a sight to behold. Some were grimacing in pain. Others were writhing on the floor. Many had soiled trousers – with blotched brown patches visible. Those in sarong had it worse. A stench of diarrhoetic-pong filled the air. The chaos went on late to the night.

A report was quickly lodged with the Ministry of Health. A ministry van showed up the next morning. The situation was quickly diagnosed as a simple food poisoning. By that time, medications were already dispensed to all the villagers, including the magistrate, who had since soiled his sleek black Durban pants many a times whilst waiting for his turn to be treated.

The dead cow head was quickly forgotten in the pandemonium of the food poisoning incident. As in all cases, a promised in-depth investigation on the cause of the food poisoning was never carried out by the medical authorities and was quickly forgotten of. The villagers were more excited by the fact that a cub-reporter came over to the village to cover the story. The coverage on Kampung Sepi was the first ever. Every household in the village keeps a copy of that report, proud that their beloved village made headlines in the local newspaper. It matters not that the report was a two paragraph write-up in a little obscure corner of the newspaper

The Morning After

Ming-Li opens her eyes. She is not in her room. She is somewhere else, unfamiliar. She looks around, observing and wondering. It is a beautiful room. The bed she is in looks ancient, but warm and enchanting. The bed looks almost out from a fairy-tale palace of faraway land. The atmosphere of the room is warm and cozy. The walls and flooring-tiles are coated in Mediterranean-red. A dark-brown heavy-wood wardrobe stands across the bed. Beside it, a dressing-table, complete with an imposing mirror.

Strangely enough, Ming-Li is unafraid, despite the new bewildering surrounding. In fact, she feels very much at ease. There is a fresh sweet smell to the whole room. The door to the terrace-balcony is left open, allowing the outdoor breeze to greet her. Ming-Li walks out to the terrace. She realizes she is on the first floor of a beautiful villa, which is perched on a little cliff beside the beautiful-blue ocean. She stands there, in still, allowing the cool sea breeze to sweepingly embrace her body. Her silky hair is swept all over by the gust.

As Ming-Li stands by the terrace, she notices below her a courtyard, complete with a coffee-table and chairs. The yard looks particularly inviting. As Ming-Li ponders on the thought of sipping freshly brewed coffee, she notices a figure. There is a man down there, with him a tray of coffee cups and cakes. As the man lays down the eateries, he notices he is being watched. He looks up. Ming-Li’s heart skips a bit. She knows him. He smiles at her, that kind familiar smile that she has missed for many years.

Ming-Li and Darrel had been lovers. He was the only love of her life. But they were not meant to be. Circumstances dictated for them to be apart. It was painful, yet inevitable. She has not seen him for so many years. The painful separation culminated with Darrell moving away to another country. They have never spoke nor kept in contact since. But their love affair was something Ming-Li has cherished all her life.

And here he is, in flesh, his earnest eyes fixated at her. Instinctively, she returns the smile, tears welling up her eyes. Darrell beckons for her to come down. Immediately, she darts out of the room, down the stairs, straight out the villa, and straight up to Darrel. She stood right up in front of him, their eyes met. There was a long silence; no words were needed, there was not a need to.

“Come, let’s have coffee”, says Darrell, breaking the silence. “It’s freshly brewed. I remember the Gaelic coffee as your favorite”. Ming-Li smiles, “And it still is … “, came her reply. They both sat down at the coffee-table, sipping the hot coffee, whilst staring at the blue sea. There was no hug, no embrace and no outlandish fanfare to their reunion, but a tender loving affair of the heart.

“What is going on, Darrell? Why am I suddenly here?” ask Ming-Li. “Aren’t you happy to be here, to see me?” asks Darrell. “I am, but I’m confused”, she replies. Darrell just smiles at her, without answering. “Where have you been? What have you been doing all these years?” inquires Ming-Li again.

Darrel begins to tell Ming-Li about his life – how he left for Australia, how he attempted to start a new life there, how unhappy he was without her, and how he remained single all the years. They begin to talk, exchanging stories of each other; and in the midst, rekindling their feelings for one another. They gaze into each other’s eyes; holding hands like love-struck teenagers. Their conversation and loving exchanges went on for hours.

The conversation went on to the afternoon, followed by a nice walk in the park-garden beside the villa. It is a scenic quaint flowery-rose garden, with wild plants and shrubs across the edges of the walkway. The weather is just right for the leisure stroll. Yet, in Ming-Li’s mind, the question still persists on her whereabouts. But she is happy to be with Darrell. Time and place doesn’t seem to matter anymore. They talk even more – about themselves, their dreams, the world, friends.

Towards the evening, the blue sun-lit sea changes its’ color to a maroon-tinge setting against the picturesque sunset. “It’s time we have dinner,” says Darrell. Ming-Li nods. Upon reaching the courtyard, Ming-Li is surprise to see dinner already being laid out on the same coffee table. There is no other person within the villa, she noted. As she sits on the chair, she gazes towards the sea for its breathtaking view. She has never felt so happy in a long time. And she silently says a prayer for the day not to end.

Darrell smiles at her, almost as if he knows of her intimate wishes. “Ming-Li, it’s time I tell you where you are”, he announces. Ming-Li smiles, “You must have kidnapped me to Australia in the night. It doesn’t really matter that much where I am. I think you know that already,” she jokingly replies. “No, I have a duty to tell you,” says Darrell, “You have already passed on. So have I.”

Ming-Li keeps quiet. Her mind went bare. “You need not worry, Ming-Li. I’m here to take care of you,” Darrell quickly assures Ming-Li, aware of her shock. Ming-Li just looks back, without a word. “There is nothing to be afraid of. This is all part of life. We live, and we pass on, to the next plain. And here we will live another life till we go on the next stage again”, assures Darrell comfortingly.

“You mean, this is the afterlife”, whispers Ming-Li, her voice almost inaudible. “You have passed on yesterday, dear; this is the morning after,” came the reply, “I have passed on many years ago. You never knew that. I made a promise to you once, Ming-Li - that I will take care of you. It never happened in that lifetime, but it will happen now. Call this place whatever you want. To me, it will be our heaven.”

Ming-Li continues to remain silent, with mixed emotions. She tries very hard to remember what had happened. Her mind is all blurry. She remembers vaguely being sick, and being lovingly tended upon by her parents and friends. She recalls images of her being in pain in the hospital bed, with images of her parents weeping by her bed-side.

Ming-Li looks up at Darrell. He holds her hand, smiling. She smiles back and hugs him.

Disability – Not a fact, but an idea

The Chambers Thesaurus describes disability as handicap, impairment, disablement, disorder, inability, incapacity, infirmity, defect, unfitness, disqualification, affliction, ailment, complaint and weakness. The list of words all connotes negative labeling. A lot of people see it that way as well. But it is not necessary true.

YOU SEE - disability is not a fact. It is an idea. A notion conjured by people. A person is considered disabled if he or she has something lacking, or is different, either physically or mentally. But the so-called physical or mental incapacity only prevails when that person is compared to another. The inadequacy does not exist within oneself. It only subsists when that person contrast himself or herself against another able-bodied person.

WHY DO I SAY THAT - well, first of all, we have to ask ourselves who is an able-bodied person? An able-bodied person would be somebody who is of normal attributes - normal by the majority standards. This means, if the majority of us are of certain attributes, physically or otherwise, then that majority form the definition of a normal person. The yardstick for disability is the conformity to the majority. This means, if one does not conform to the majority, then that person would be disabled.

LET ME GIVE AN EXAMPLE - if the majority of us can hear, and you cannot, then you have a hearing disability. But imagine if you will that every person in the world do not have the ability to hear. Would everyone be considered disabled? The answer would be no. This is because if everybody is deaf, then everybody would be considered normal.

IMAGINE - if you are born with only one hand, you have a disability. But if you are suddenly put into a new world where everyone else has one hand, you will then become normal. Why, because everyone now shares the similar attributes. In fact, in this world, anyone born with two hands would be considered either a freak or a mutant. That person would probably be advised to go for surgery to remove his “extra” limb. That is the odd criteria for disability. If you do not conform to the masses, then you are the odd one out. There is no room for differences.

REMEMBER - there is no such thing as disability. Disability only arises when we start to compare. Any form of disability will disappear when the majority of us share the same attributes. Do not compare. That is wrong. Comparing will only lead to discrimination. Instead, there should be acceptance of differences. We are all different in our own way. Do not discriminate and set standards. Just because one group forms the majority does not make them ideals. The society is always carefully structured and catered for the majority, thus discriminating against the minority.

Loss Experiences

The years has gone, the ebb of time has drifted away
And here we are, in solitude, longing for the tide to stay
And as we look back in reflection, our inner-self realize its repentance
Loss experiences we have since aggregated in our span existence

And in this pensive conscious, reminiscing in joyless desolation, we ponder
We begin to long, we begin to yearn, and we begin to wonder
A second chance, perhaps, an opportunity for redemption
Can we go beyond conscientious contemplation?
Can we leave behind this disquiet apprehension?
And begin to embrace life’s adoration.