08 The Year in Books

January



Sons and Mothers by Colm Toibin

Growing Up in Terengganu by Awang Goneng

The Gathering by Anne Enright

The Gift of Rain by Tan Twan Eng

The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein

In the Country of Men by Hisham Mather

My Antonia by Willa Cather

Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts (lyrical but still unfinished)



January 29- May 6: Sprong pops out. No reading unless The Baby Bible aka The American Academy of Pediatrics counts



June

New Complete Baby and Todler Meal Planner by Annabel Karmel

123 Brain Games for Baby by Jackie Silberg

Evening is the Whole Day by Preeta Samarasan



July

How Children Learn by John Holt (Unfinished)

Empire's of Profit by Daniel Litivin



August

Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri

How Babies Talk : The Magic and Mystery of Language in the First Three Years of Life: Roberta Michnick Golinkoff, Kathy Hirsh-Pasek



Oct - mid Dec

I start work so hardly any reading for pleasure unless Newsweek and the Financial Times count



Current

Trying to read The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama

Christmas 08

Yawn! Yes, still around, just not been blogging.

Time for the annual audit. Must. Do. Soon.

obamul

Joint branding I've heard but this one is just genious. Indian dairy producer Amul cashing in on current phenomenon. Read tag line with heavy Indian accent for full effect please!

XXXX

On a more serious note, I am not really sure if Obama's win is really going to structurally change race relations. In fact, I think it may actually work against African Americans - you know, the President is black, what more do y'all want? kinda thing.

Also, I think the whole world is expecting too much from one man. He is going to save the world and change things from North Korea, middle east to spin around the credit crisis. Only a mythical man can do this. Or a Kyroptonite superhero.

Still, it's amazing to have a leader the world looks up to, after such a long time. The last great leader who brought the world together like this whom I can think of is Winston Churchill.

obama

you would never think its possible- a black man in the WHITE house but there you go.....

even brought me out of blogging hiatus.

One Year Ago Today.....

....I sat down in my hollow living room. Ammerton Drive and every memory of it reduced into 63 boxes, all labelled and ready to go. Tear fest was made worst by raging 5 and half months pregnancy hormones.

I miss. I miss.

guacomole and other such

wow. i am almost posting everyday after a long, long time.

After going through a period of loving avocado, Sprong suddenly is turning his nose away. Must seriously look for guacomole recipe pronto before the few sitting in fridge go bad.

Otherwise, am currently reading the Diaper Free Baby by Christine Gross-Loh. Yes, I am thinking of potty training Sprong as I hate diapers - just the fact that it is so chemical-fied and what not. His eczema is further aggravated as well because of the synthetic material. I have been using cloth napkins (I bought a couple of Bambino Mios) but I am paranoid about the cleanliness- much effort needs to be exerted in ensuring hygience, etc which is a headache I can do without. Solution? Go diaper free in 6 months. That's the plan anyway.

This is almost becoming a mommy blog

Today, I sat at a cafe and Sprong could self- entertain himself for 15 mins by which time, I finished my nasi lemak. How amazing is that?

Sprong turns 8 months in 2 weeks - no its not been as quick as some people tell me its been. It has been a long drawn, protracted 8 months interspersed with some of the most magical, ethereal spells.

XXXX

This blog is avowedly apolitical - in other words, it's all about ME, ME, ME and once upon a time, I was able to talk about quite a range of subjects. Yet, in these few months, I realize that 98% of posts have been Sprong related.

My perspectives have changed forever I think, though I am still me, in many ways I am mom-me first. Funny how all other roles, daughter/friend/employee even wife never defined me like this.

snap out of it

hrmph...am burrowing further and further in a downward spiral. snap out of it jane sunshine. tomorrow is another day.

btw, how come it's already september?

mothersandsons

A few days before delivering Sprong, I read Colm Toibin's collection of short stories Mothers and Sons. Toibin is an immaculate observer of human foibles and this comes across every story. How do you judge a selfish mother who ignores her only son's wishes in order for herself to have freedom to live life the way she wanted. Was she a lesser mother?

What about the mother who finds out that her son, a priest, had raped the boys in his seminary? Will she still love that son?

Difficult questions which Toibin unpacks without supplying easy answers.

It's a complicated relationship that has been delved since Oedipus. Some of my favourite books explore this relationship of boy/man with the first woman in his life. DH Lawrence in Sons and Lovers, Lionel Shriver in We Need to Talk about Kevin and Hisham Matar's In the Country of Men. To a lesser extent, The God of Small Things has lovely glimpses of the son-mother relationship. Ammu reaching out to mess Estha’s Elvis puff comes to mind.

Then, there is Lucy Ceccaldi whose brazen brand of mothering (or non-mothering maybe) stands out. She says this about her literary son: "this individual, who alas came from my womb, is a liar, an imposter, a parasite and above all". The question someone like her poses is what happens when mothers and sons become enemies?

Sprong is currently going through an early form of stranger anxiety: he wants his mommy exclusively ie mommy has to run out of the shower/ rush back from the corner 7-11 because of meltdown moments. Everyone is exasperated except me. I am quite aware that after this stage, Sprong will never quite want me this way again. One day, I know that he is going to walk to school with nary a backward glance (later rather sooner hopefully). For now, I am quite happy to smother (pun intended) him any which way he wants.

yawn

this blog is dusty. need to update soon. but...yawn...so sleepy all the time. bubba is teething and can't sleep at night. poor babe seems to be feeling awful. otherwise he's been eating apple/pear sauce, courgettes, leek, potatos, avocados, bananas, papayas, brown rice, carrots in various combos - or not. solids been hit or miss really. but real fun for me - i let him hold the spoon and we make a total absolute mess!

Tired

I am so, so tired. Of everything.

XXXXX

When S finished his soy milk today (after some serious struggle), I told him that he is a superbaby. I just wish that I am supermommy who can make his eczema go away.

Community Message for Parents (ideas most welcome)

1. Everywhere I go in KL, I see Avent (by Philips) baby bottles on SALE. There's a reason for this folks- traders want to get read of their stock as Avent clear plastic bottles have been recalled in Canada and the UK gvt is considering the same.

Avoid ppl! Clear plastic baby bottles contain Bisphenol-A, a chemical that leaches and leads to all kind of side effects. Of course, the science is unproven but my take is, why risk when it is your baby at stake? I used Avent myself till I stumbled upon this fact and am unsurprised that traders in M'sia are trying to dump the bottles on unsuspecting parents. A friend of mine just bought SIX bottles, quite happy that she got them at a hefty discount only to discover her folly.

2. We started rice cereal yesterday for S at 5.5 months (there have been feeding issues with his reflux so that's why we are starting slightly earlier). I am so excited about him starting solids with his own proper bowl and spoon! I've been referring to Annable Karmel's New Complete Baby and Toddler Meal Planner which is fairly good and idiot proof. Any other weaning ideas are welcome. I would like to make my own rice cereal but not really sure how.

3. I have resigned to the fact that an outing in KL means going to the mall what with the heat and all. We have so far ventured to ones where people don't go much so we can manage when he is fussy and wailing his lungs out ie Subang Parade. I discovered that SP has a lovely Mother's Room with private cabins for breastfeeding, diaper changing etc. We are in Bangsar Village a fair bit as well but its crap with regards to breastfeeding facilities and the changing room is with the toilets which I hate. Someone told me that The Curve is also v. good with facilities (plus there's a brand outlet store) so must check that out. Any other ideas re: KL malls, please let me know.

4. There's not going to be an Epping Forest or a quiet country farm to take him to here but there have been some good finds. With regards to parks, the Taman Tun one is great excpet that it so packed over the weekends. Avoid the Kelana Jaya park with a vengeance -it is not buggy friendly and tends to be dirty. Last weeked, we discovered the Kiara park (I can't remember what its called now) and loved it because it was guarded, clean, buggy friendly and also not crowded. Yeay!

5. I suppose there are lots of non-mall related activties that can be arranged in Mall-Asia if one looks hard enough. When S is older, I can't wait to take him to Planeterium Negara (sp?), and the various butterfly/flower parks.

6. I called to find out about a play nest for babies 6 months and above and am shocked with the astronomical prices that I was quoted! I am thinking of starting an informal play nest for S with other babies myself. Just a couple of moms singing and doing some puppet shows etc. Any takers (preferably in the PJ/Bangsar/Damansara area) please email me privately.

Loving 'Evening is the Whole Day'

For two whole days now, I have been holed up at home, sporting eye bags from lack of sleep and leaving baby with maid for tending. Guilty I know but the object of my adoration- Evening is the Whole Day by Preeta Samarasan.

At heart it is a book about love and loneliness framed by hyphenated identities, what it means to be Malaysian and Indian. The present time is set in 1980 but I think most if the issues are still relevant. Looming over the characters is Ipoh. Although I never went to school there, at many levels, due to family connections, I consider myself Ipoh mali. I was delighted with the Ipoh details and anecdotes.

Growing up I always wished my name was Jennifer or Amy or something more American sounding. Besides, nobody in my books ever sounded like anyone I knew in real life. In real life, my big cousin sister was action-action for not friending us.We drank from kovalai's, bought bread from the roti man and tapau-ed food from FMS Bar. On special days, we got to makan at Station Hotel. And run to the corner shop for tinned milo, dried chinese plum, kandos, axe brand medicated oil. Every Divali, we went to get kain for tailoring from Kwong Fatt textiles. This is the Ipoh of Aasha and family. It is also the Ipoh I know and love.

Finally, a book that sounded like all of us with real people, grappling with their hyphenated identities and fractured by family secrets. Rich in detail and finely executed, the characters leap with intensity, the narrative is taut and kept me rapt right till the end. Incidentally, the last sentence is one of the most powerful ones I've read for a while-it captured every anguish and made my throat dry.

Yet there are some problems. Appa's farcical descent bears a false note, a change so abrupt that it appears more to feed some tragicomic need. Also, the need to tie the occupants of Big House to 1969 was built with gusto only to crash and then suddenly disappear. That part seems to be almost diembodied from the rest, a Necessary Section towards making The Book a Serious One. What causes Appa's incendiary chants to fade away is never really explained. Also, the need to rely on Arundhati Roy-esque language is A Perplexing Matter to Consider. How necessary was it to the narrative? Why bother when the tone already works?

Still, I am being finicky.

This is a remarkable first book and Preeta Samarasan pens a truly Malaysian tale. The dialogue is scintillating, its cadence and singsong beauty made my heart leap. She also captures the Malaysian Indian psyche with candour. The attachment to fair skin which denotes beauty and class. Children must not call house-help as servants but the mothers are free to gloat how well provided their own servants were treated. When Kooky Rooky sits to gossip with Amma at the kitchen formica table, I tell you, it is a scene that has been repeated on countless kitchen tables. More importantly, the untold class distinction between the urban Indian who feels superior to the rubber estate fellow, like what Suresh says: 'a real estate woman she (chellam) is'.

Go out and grab a copy y'all- not just Malaysians but lovers of good fiction everywhere. This is a stunning debut and I will look forward to more of her work. I hope that the book receives the adulation it richly deservers.

M-Day

The thing about Mother's Day that irks me is this outpouring of luurrvvvee. How all mothers are so fabulous and all-sacrificing goddesses.

Don't get me wrong. '08 marks the first year ever that I can demand some kind of celebration and gloat at my own greatness with regards to raising my own little pet, oh sorry, kid (in any event, nothing much happened cause I have a husband who forgets this kinda things unless nudged. And since motherhood has happened, I have no energy to nag anymore, much to his benefit).

But still, to treat mothers as a homogenised entity seems incredibly naïve. I am sure that there are those filmi mothers who sacrifice life and limb for their babes but what about the regular ones, who are imperfect, lazy, selfish and infect various complexes on their children. Do they get celebrated as well?

I have more thoughts on this but (yawn) later. I had a long day entertaining one very active baby.

Blessed (again and again and again)

Last Tuesday, I sat for a while at a pub in Holborn, gathering my thoughts. I watched the shuffling crowd, entangled in the after office rush. A few minutes ago, I had stood on the grey pavement with a giddiness that made me want to slump. I felt emptied out, knackered beyond belief.

When the panel congratulated me, it didn't quite sink in. It still hasn't I think. What is a culmination of a lifetime's work seemed to have pirouetted into this one singular moment. So, I can now sign off as Dr. Sunshine.

Afterwards, surrounded by some of the loveliest of friends who came together to celebrate, I had to ask what is it that I had done to receive such benevolence.

To the universe for conspiring to bring such goodness in one fabulous year. Thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

This sure takes the cake

M swears that I sang 'here's tommy kitty' out aloud in my dreams last night. How do I reconcile this with my readings on communitarian politics?

Otherwise, kiddo is okay. Just waiting for his reflux to go away.

Birth Story

Been silent for so, so long.

Wanted to recount birth story and decided that I better do it before its too late. Baby S is 10 weeks as of yesterday. When I look at pix of him in the hosp, I can't believe how much he's changed and grown. Was it yesterday that I gingerly held that tiny, wizened old froglet? Today, he can lift his head briefly already- so proud of my little bubs.

XXXX

So, we had reached the stage where we were 39 weeks, heavy, heaving and counting. No baby in sight. 'Who knows' said my gynae. 'Maybe the tyke will appear on your due date itself which will make you an interesting statistic'. Then, on the 20th of Jan ie Sunday, I thought I had some bloody 'show'. Not sure what to make out of it as I had a gynae appointment the day before and she did mention that this would happen as she had examined me. My parents and M insisted that I drop by the hosp nevertheless cause 'what if?'

'No way' I said. 'Today is so just not it, I tell you'. I even had a list of 'things to be done' for Monday morning ie bank in cheque, pay electricity bill etc. 'I will be right back after this - we are wasting our time today - I still haven't finished my errands' says moi. Plus, I didn't have time to wash my hair that morn. For months, I had told myself that I must have nice hair on the day of delivery (must look nice in photos with baby okay), so made sure I washed and blow dried everyday that I felt 'is today the day?'.

So I was quite certain that day would not be it.

When I went in, I was told that I was 2 cm dilated and was in labour! So much for instinct. Had to send M back for my hosp bag. 'Oh wait' I asked. 'Can I go out and have dinner?'-suddenly realizing that this will probably be the last time ever that M and I will be a couple, go to a restaurant without a second thought.

And there I was, over 2 cm dilated, sitting in Lotus Jln Gasing having thosai and tea, being very pensive.

The rest of course you know. Baby S was born after almost 20 hours of labour and I had matted hair in all the pix.

And Baby Makes Three

I didn't expect it to be this tiring.

I wish I could say that the minute they laid my son on my chest, in full bloody glory, I was totally in love. Instead at that moment, all that I could think of was 'why wasn't he crying?'I remember Blake's babies who made 'sweet moans, sweeter smiles'.

A fear gripped me that something was not quite right. My baby, born through assisted delivery, was vaccummed out on Monday, 21.1.08. He spent the first 3 hours of his life in neo-natal intensive care (NICU) due to lack of oxygen. Once out of NICU, he wailed his chest out into his mummy's heart.

A strange hollowness gripped me the minute he was born. I feel emptied out, as if some part of me had been ripped away. Pregnancy, though accompanied with a steady stream of whining and winges, had been incredibly fulfilling. I felt that my body had reached for its own rhythm, as a vessel carrying life. The baby in my tummy shared many little secrets and we both kept each other company throughout the major upheavals of those few months.

Once he was delivered, for the few hours that he was placed in a glass incubator, I was strangely detached. As the epidural slowly eased off and I could feel my legs again, I felt that the baby was no longer mine. We couldn't share secrets anymore. It didn't help that a steady stream of visitors popped around to claim their stake on him.

The hospital stay was a blur of distress. I was exhausted from the whole labour process and when the baby was put to breast, he didn't latch on. I didn't lactate for a good 5 days which was a greater source of stress as I had been quite intent on breastfeeding him exclusively. We had to use formula which broke my heart into many tiny pieces. Even now, he is still on supplement though I try to pump as much a possible to increase my supply. Then there was the first few times that I tried to pacify him and he continued bawling, I felt personally rebuked. I had never felt like such a failure before.

But I am being pragmatic about it now. I do what I can do, and beyond that call for help. M has been a hands-on dad and I don't think I would have survived the first two weeks without him. There will be days when this whole motherhood thing is going to be more fulfilling than others and I must allay self doubts. Granted, I am never going to be one of those militant soccer moms, will go on to make loads of mistakes and am often clueless as at what to do.

But so what? If there is such a thing as pure love, then I am experiencing that every day. That and those 2-3 hourly feeds.

(oh yeah, he is going to be Baby S on this blog).

32

I turned 32 a few days ago. Too many candles on the cake if you ask me. Made me wistful as well - next birthday, I will be a full fledged mom....don't know if I am ready or even cut out for it but I will just have to learn on the job I suppose.

I am at the stage where everyone keeps calling and asking whether I've had the baby or not. Well, the doctor thinks at least not for another week . I'll let Sprong decide when, really.

Don't really want to go into details about current physical discomforts but its really miserable being this big. I've gone into nesting mode as well- clearing the house from top to bottom, filing away all bills, notes, etc.

Happy New Year

Obligatory New Year post or more like wake up-and-update-the blog post. But seriously. Have a great '08 ahead folks.

As for me, '07 has been a year of serious ups and downs. In a funny way, I think I really grew up last year, all considering......

Many things to look forward to in '08 including our little bundle of joy, due end of Jan but as per gynae's instructions, to be ready from now basically. So, my hosp bag is packed, there's a stroller in the store room and a cot to be assembled. Whatever it is, I am quite certain that I would have forgotten something.......

XXXXX

These few weeks past saw me mired in a depressive state- combination of hormones and niggling issues but found myself salved in the form of Growing up In Terengganu (GUiT). GUiT is such a charming delight, housing a cornucopia of chuckle inducing tales. The humourous vignettes made me smell the East Coast monsoon, drool over the gorgeous food and simply enjoy the journey back in time.

GUiT has been a beautiful perk-me-up these few weeks and I would recommend everyone grab a copy! Congratulations to my friend Awang Goneng (AG) for such a beautiful slice of Malaysiana. Makes me want to go to T'gganu NOW!

Thanks to GUiT, am all ready for 2008 now.

63 boxes later...

....we are settled.

Sort of. Moving continents while being pregnant is not the best of ideas but things have been such. Finally, we have a semblance of a home. (most) Things are out of boxes and in some kind of organized place.

How have I been surviving Kuala Lumpur? With lots of air conditioning, that's how (at 7 months, my concerns for the environment take a back seat unfortunately).

Big, big sigh. I won't go into details with regards to all the super-stress this move entailed but for a variety of reasons, it had to happen. M's been a troopper in this process, bearing the full brunt of all my pregnancy winges and whines. We found a place not that close to Raju the Banana Leaf man but not that far either (taking into consideration leasehold properties vs convinience).

I am officially unemployed for now. Well, I still have a thesis to submit so that's work in a sense. I have found this state very marginalizing but that's a post for another day.

It was really tough saying goodbye. Sometimes, late at night, I think of Ammerton Drive, our cute little house, my garden, my sun dappled spot at the dining table where most of my thesis was worked on. I miss driving down to Borough market for fresh veg and fruit. Tate. Bundling down to the British museum to just unwind when work got to me. Feeing the ducks at Epping forest. Food fests at Holiday Villa (at regular table) with scrumptious company to boot. The second hand bookshops at Charing Cross Road. Coffee at Holborn high. Saturday Guardian. Autumn walks.

I miss. I miss.

Waiting to Exhale

All I can say is that the year so far has been one of ups and downs, most importantly, of transitions. Won't be writing for awhile now, at least until things settle and yes, when I get a chance to exhale.

Little Gidding
TS Elliot

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
...
And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start

A Wedge of Dusty Sunlight

Verdict on Atonement? I am not nearly done yet but I think I've bee reading it at the perfect time- with fabulous summer sun. The first part of the book is set amidst a sun dappled day and harrowing night which sets the tone of lightness/darkeness, happiness/unhappiness throughout.

I am reminded of atmospheric reading. How reading a book at a particular time or place enhances the experience.

A few months ago, when I was sieged with grief and loss, I re-immersed myself in Anne Fadiman's charming little book on books Ex Libris Confessions of a Common Reader.She says this:

I begin writing Ex Libris when it occurred to me how curious it was that
books are so often written about as if they were toasters. Is this brand of
toaster better than that brand of toaster? At $24.95, is this toaster a best
buy? There is nothing about how I may feel about my toaster ten years hence,
and nothing about the tender feelings. I may yet harbour for my old toaster.
This neatly omits what I consider the heart of reading: not whether we wish
to purchase a new book but how we maintain our connections with our old
books, the ones we have lived with for years, the ones whose textures and
colours and smells have become as familiar to us as our children's skin.

I entirely agree because I cannot ever think of books as acquisitions. My favourite books have personalities and lives of their own for which I am eternally grateful. I strongly believe that as much as I choose my books, they choose me as well. Why do I end up reading a particular book at a particular time? Book karma, that's why. The good ones sometimes tiptoe into the radar subtly, camouflaged amidst the louder and brasher ones. Books are a lot like men.

When I remember all the books that accompanied me over the years, my younger self comes tumbling out again. Some of these books have grown up with me, like Franny and Zooey. There is a much scribbled Potrait of the Artist that stores my 18 year self. How can these just be cheap books, expensive books, torn books, leather bound books, picture books? Between the covers are memories, pain and laughter. Rereading them is a kind of comfort food effect, a feel good warmth without calories. Some pages bear old food stains, obviously because I tend to read during meals a lot. There are also chunks of underlined passages which would have particularly caught my attention and often, scrawny scribbles of my thoughts. Sometimes, other stuff that have been submerged for years spring out-movie tickets, shopping lists, forgotten postcards, payment receipts, parking fines, blades of grass, an odd stamp or two.

Some books have travelled with me far. A few years ago, on a sweltering July day, I sat down at the banks of the Ganges in Rishikesh reading Globalization and Its Discontents by Joseph Stiglitz. Amidst the lazing cows and half clad sadhus, this is a book that continues to influence my work and shades my thinking.

All cried out at 22, the book that helped me get through my first break up was Sons and Lovers. Like Miriam, I felt that I would never find a man to truly love me because no man will be able to reach out to my soul. I was too complicated and to be part of any man's life, much less the superficial a***hole with whom I was going out with. But I also saw that Miriam deserved better and surely I did too. Slowly, I picked up myself and the year.

In Kota Kinablau I walked with sea spray in my hair and dried flower bracelets laced on my wrist. My colleague Nora slept while I stayed up reading The Inimitable Lightness of Being to make sure we would be up by 4 am to make it to the seafood wholesale market. My mother made the most delish prawn stir fry from the purchase later in the day and my copy of Kundera's book still has some of those stains.

I remember the night I spent in a hotel room, unable to sleep as my first trial loomed in the morning. I had re-read my files and notes 25 million times and it made me fidget. So I opened Angela's Ashes which I had bought that afternoon at the airport. The sodden, gloominess of the lives of the McCourt boys kept me rapt, and I dozed off after a few hours. The memories of my first trial remain intermingled with the McCourts.

I've also traced the steps some of my favourite characters and poets. When I went to Bath, I brought along a copy of Persuasion to re-read all the Bath escapades again. Anne Elliot is my favourite Austen heroine and the sense of tracing her steps as well as the dishy Fredrick made my heart skip a few beats. Last week, I went to the Keats museum in Hampstead. With the gradual change in season, I re-read my favourite poem, Ode to Autumn. The words tumbled with a calming cadence.

Happy 50th Malaysia

Selamat Hari Merdeka kepada rakyat Malaysia di mana-mana jua.

Malaysia is like family- full of warts and skeletons but can't be severed from my identity either. Sometimes it is a happy family, sometimes it is not. Like Tolstoy says, 'all happy families resemble one another, but each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way'.

We need to sit and think about the gnawing unhappiness that is increasingly glaring. Today however, is a day to celebrate so lets put family altercations aside.

bankholiday

Over the weekend, warm, honeyed sunshine streamed in, casting the whole world in a magnanimous warmth. Happiness. Happiness. In twirls.

What little it takes to make me happy (especially after weeks of interminable grey skies).

XXXXX

I am madly trying to sneak in reading Atonement amidst harried schedule-before the movie. Saw the trailer and Keira Knightley looks ravishing. This is my first Ian McEwan and now know what the fuss is all about and why people worship the ground he walks on.

A Sprong Sprang Last Spring

Yes, we are pregnant!!! Its been a mad ride so far what with trying to finish work and moving and hundred and one other things happening at the same time. I had a text book first trimester which was nausea and puke-filled. Not the best times.

But all's well now that we are well and truly in the second trimester. My energy has returned and so has my appetite.

I miss my morning coffee so much. Just that one cup of perk me up that used to be the highlight of my morning is now well and truly a memory. I now sneak a cup of tea here and there in the evenings, caffeine police be damned.

Overall, I think pregnancy is one of the most spiritual experiences to have - where your body transforms a couple of cells into a living, breathing human baby-apart from the fact that you soon resemble a beached whale to achieve this.

I am quite keen on this blog not to be morphed into a mommy blog. I don't have anything against mommy bloggers but personaly, it's important for me to have a life/personality beyond being a mom or soon-to-be mom. Plus, I don't think talk about books, travels and travails really sit well with baby buggy purchase and other such ilk.

But for repository of pregancy related tales, here's link http://sprongsprang.blogspot.com/

superpowers

I'm mildly addicted to Heroes, the NBC series.

If you were to be gifted with a superpower and could choose your gift, what would you want it to be?

To fly? (no need any more for waits at airport lounges).

To be invisible?

To have superhuman strength?

To hear other people's thoughts?

To see the future?

(in the tradition of comic book good guys, you can only use your power for good causes).


My superhero power wish: to eat all that I ever want but never to gain weight or have health issues like ordinary mortals.

Elsewhere

-Truly drowning under all this work. So much to do, so little time.

-Thought of calling for a blog hiatus but I hardly update anyway.

-I have a fox surreptitiously living in my garden at the moment and its driving me crazy. My neighbour has a 1 year old baby and we were wondering if foxes attack babies like dingos? As a result, we both don't open our back doors unless we have to. Sounds pathetic. M thinks the council can do something about it but they don't seem to be too bothered.

-The weather's got better so I can't gripe on that end but I don't have time to go out and enjoy it so that's current source of consternation.

- I have been trying to read Lionel Shriver's We Need to Talk about Kevin before going to bed and its so fascinating. She explores how motherhood is not all that its cracked up to be. She's such a great writer, working on the unreliable narrater technique with eloquence. The only complaint is that I am so tired these days that by the time I get around it, I can only manage a page or two before getting knocked out.

-Have to mention about this dissapointing documentary on Channel 4. I've been following the Empire's Children series on and off. It explores how the British empire has impacted the lives of people in and from the 'colonies'. Malaya, during the communist insurgency was documented with comedian Jenny Eclair tracing her soldier father's steps. Her father was part of the British troops that were sent to combat the insurgency. They had some fantastic footage of the Emergency but why oh why did they get an airhead of a woman to cover such an important and painful part of Malaysian history? I got the impression that here was a hormonal woman striving to hear only what she wanted and as a result, painted a sloppy history.

-I had pasembur about two weeks by chance (laced with some crazy conversation with an even crazier bunch) and am craving for it again. Should do it again soon. Along with some mee rebus. Malaysia Hall anybody?

Reads

-Looks like I may actually end up reading Harry Potter what with this intense hype building all around. I used to follow the series quite religiously until the 3rd book (is that Order of the Phoenix?) but my interest sort of fizzled out when I realized that Rowling was actually borrowing so much from other writers. But I am one of those sad consumers who gets easily swayed by marketing glitz and may just fall for this one as well. It's kinda nice to be part of the madness in a way.

- If you really, really want to read just one book this year, my recommendation is something from last year's Booker Prize. I finally finished The Inheritance of Loss. I can only use superlatives to describe how well Kiran Desai writes. The whole book is poetry in motion, a luminous exploration of displacement and identity. Her ultimate strength is in the language- it has an uncomparable cadence and beauty which took my breath away.

-Summer reading is currently work related so I won't bore you with that though I am quite tempted to pick up Alistair Campbell's Diaries. I've been following the dramatization on TV and am enjoying all the high drama behind the Blair years. Campbell's role was something like Director of Communications at No.10 and he was spin doctor extraordinaire. Which made him one of the most unpopular persons in the country at that time. Or was it Cherie Blair?

Where is Summer?

Lack of updates due to mountains of work since coming back from longish break but I think the bigger excuse is plain laziness which hasn't been helped by this horrible weather. What's happened to summer? Summer means languid lunches at the park, shorter skirts, falling asleep in a green field, strawberry's and cream and endless days of bountiful sunshine.

This grey gloom is making feel totally crap and cranky. Few things happening in the next few weeks which are going to keep me even busier, not least the fact that the in-laws aka out-laws are visiting. Part of the reason why I keep this blog anon is simply because I want to be free to bitch and moan. And this I will probably be doing when Dowager Queen of High Drama arrives. Grin and bear Jane.

Otherwise, I am working this weekend to make up for holiday time out. In fact, what holiday? Can't remember it now.

I think I'll write when I am feeling sunnier or if the weather gets better.

Summer Break

Going away for a bit.

See you guys in July.

Listen to this

I've hijacked this song lyrics from Ms Light Bulb. Lightbulb and I date back to 1996 and really became good friends circa 1998 when she coached the rest of us tone deafs to sing Innuendo's Belaian Jiwa on stage. We also had some really bizzare escapades together where we transported around RM20,000 cash to the bank by cab (don't ask, except that it was all legal), watched one of the worst movies I've ever seen in my life together ie Anaconda and ate cold satay in Fraser's Hill.

I love this lyrics by Maliq and d'Essentials (never heard of them before)...but it's just so dense and filled with all the angsty pain that accompanies the heartbreak of unrequited love:

ketika,

kurasakan sudahada ruang di hatiku yang kau sentuh

dan ketika, ku sadari sudah

tak selalu indah cinta yang ada

mungkin memang,

ku yang harus mengerti

bila ku bukan yang ingin kau miliki

salahkah ku bila

kau lah yang ada di hatiku

adakah ku singgah di hatimu,

mungkinkah kau rindukan adaku

adakah ku sedikit di hatimu

bila kah ku mengganggu harimu,

mungkin kau tak inginkan adaku

akankah ku sedikit di hatimu

bila memang, ku yang harus mengerti

mengapa cintamu tak dapat ku miliki

salahkah ku bilakau lah yang ada di hatiku

kau yang ada, di hatiku

bila cinta kita tak kan tercipta

ku hanya sekedar ingin tuk mengerti

adakah diriku, oh singgah di hatimu

dan bilakah kau tau, kau yang ada, di hatiku

kau yang ada, di hatiku

Misc

-I haven't been updating much these days. But life updates itself, work being the primary culprit. Not been doing much otherwise.

-My roses are blooming. Pink, light orange and a deep damask, almost slutty red. But this weather, I tell you is awful. We have been having rain, rain, rain for an interminable period of time now.

-Lots of other things happening as well- long haul trips happening real soon, a wedding and an anniversary. As a unit, M and I turn four very soon. Somtimes, its a great unit but other times, I feel like breaking every bone in his body.

-We are planning on watching the Mousetrap to celebrate. When I tell people, they just say, 'what, you haven't seen this show? I've seen it three/four/five times'. I know. I know. That is why we are actually going, finally.

-The plan was to be in Hereford this weekend beginning with a Baaba Maal concert and some exciting meet the writers sessions. But man plans, and God disposes. So, I am off on a work related *&%* which it seems cannot be avoided. I have reached the stage where I am really enjoying work but I just wish it wasn't so consuming like this. I need to get out of this rut soon. Like a friend mine says, karma will bring you to Hay-on-Wy* if you are meant to go. Some day, some day. Hopefully, friend and I get to go as planned, just that it will now happen in the future. Not this weekend (sniffle).

Cutty Sark in Flames

Isn't it sad that a national icon has been ravaged by an arson attack?





M and I love rambling around the area and further afield where the maritime museum is.

A sad, sad day.

Mid-year Book Audit

Wot, is it seriously going to be June soon?

To be honest, I am quite happy that the first half of 2007 is going to dissipate. It's been an extremely difficult few months and I want to really look forward to June.

XXX
It's an apt time I suppose to do a mid-year review of books read, loved and loathed.


1. Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky
Full of dark passions. Felt like a criminal at the end of it.

2.The Labyrinth by Kate Mosse
Ho-hum. I wanted to turn the pages to know the propped up secret, which however evolved into a disappointment. I can't quite place this book though. I didn't hate it but it didn't do much either.



3. Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell
This was read while recuperating from surgery and hence had time out from work. I'm probably the last person to have read it – absolutely everyone seems to have devoured it. Verdict? Yeah, mind blowing in ambitiousness but at some level, I am not sure if I enjoyed it as much as I thought I would. There was also this hint of reincarnation thing going on which I think didn't quite work. Still, a writer with great dexterity.

4. Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto
Cute and disturbing (how weird is that?)

5.The Secret River by Kate Greenville
Australian history has been explored in many books but this one has a lyrical beauty to it. Not without its flaws, some bits plod on but overall good writing, capturing the heritage of guilt and sadness with numbing clarity.

6. Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimananda Ngozi Adichie
The best book I've read this year, so far. I cant sing enough praises. The dialogue leaps, the characters are unflinchingly alive and a story that rips your heart out. It explores the Biafra war- the war by starvation which Nigeria plunged into the mid-late 60s by looking at three central characters. My friend Sam who is an Ugwu (the tribe that was massacred) said that he cried reading it. So did I.

7. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

Currently reading (part of my self imposed requirement of interspersing my reading with classics which have been missed over the years).

Non-Fiction

Lots of re-reading Between Facts and Norms by Jurgen Habermas, The Communitarian Persuasion by Philip Selznick, Global Capitalism (ed by Will Hutton and Anthony Giddens), Bounds of Justice by Onora O'Neill.

Misc

Oh, I also made some lovely tandoori chicken and lamb inspired by Ranjit Rai's delectable book Tandoor.

Photo Blogging

n/b too lazy to write a post.....

Adios Barcelona

So, after a few months being in the country which I believe is sufficient for my carbon offset, M and I were desperate for a holiday and we hopped to Barcelona. Was sad to leave after a lovely, languid holiday involving sun, tapas, paella, seafood, gothic architecture, Gaudi, Picasso, Dali, street dancing, Las Ramblas, Avenue Diagonal, Los Caracoles, more paella (that smelled like the sea).

we move but our words stand become responsible for more than we intended and this is verbal privilege

says Adrienne Rich.

XXX

The Namesake, the movie is better than the book. When I found out that they were making a movie of the book, I wasn't very keen. How would it translate, I thought? For a start, there wasn't much dialogue and most of the book was introspective reflections of the characters, particularly Gogol. But the movie reflects scriptwriting at its best- I loved how the character quirks have been fleshed, especially Ashima and Ashok. And Calcutta was another character as well.

I remember feeling the angst of Calcutta many years ago in Anita Desai's Voices of the City. There it was a city of desperation and pain. Now, in The Namesake, it is a Calcutta of coming and going, heaving and lurching, absence and longing. It's been a long time since I left a cinema hall feeling moved.

XXXX

I have been holed in at home a lot these days, working furiously. Inevitably have fallen into the routine of watching old TV re-runs at lunch time including Ally McBeal and Sex and the City. What strikes me is how male centred these shows are. Sure, the main characters are women and their friends and lives. These women are successful, beautiful and talented. And yet, their lives revolve only around men, the ones that they like, the ones that they think are cute, the ones that got away and broke their hearts. If these shows were such hits, do they reflect how women are wired? That life must revolve only around men?

I think one of the most progressive series on TV ever has been the Golden Girls. Bunch of girls living a full life with or without their men.

Time to reach out for Marilyn French, who talks about chic-lit type of books but the context is the same:

'Male character is less important than male centrality. In a male centred novel, the heroine clearly needs a man; whatever her fate, the male reader does not feel threatened since he knows she could be happy if only she had the love of a good man-one very like himself'

Introduction to the Woman's Room
Marilyn French

I think of my young cousins who read/watch this stuff and the kind of impact such shows and chic lit can have on them and shudder. I am not anti-man. I live with one and they are generally quite fulfilling (emotionally and physically) but the premise shoved to women of all ages in such literature and media is that without a man, life is somehow hollow and meaningless.

Time to burn all that chic lit? Too radical?

Top 10 books of all time

I hate lists of all kinds. I am one of those persons who goes grocery shopping without a list and always forgets the garlic/tomatoes/coriander (and ends up coming home with a horseradish). I am the one who forgets the toothbrush on the weekend away because she didn't make a list. In my final year exam in law school, I forgot to bring the Criminal Procedure Code and realized too late that I should have made a list the night before of all the things to take into the exam hall (one of the lecturers had an extra copy, no doubt in anticipation of nuts like myself).

I know people who make major decisions in life by sitting down and drawing a line marking Pros and Cons on a paper or computer. They are able to make life altering decisions based on such a list. I envy the method and precision that goes into such a task because it is something that eludes me. Most of the biggest decisions I make are ones that remain a congealed mess in my mind until I just decide.

I tried to do it once. I wanted to follow the rational and sensible path. Should I make the big career change that I wanted? A list will get me there, I thought. But as I drew the dividing line with a black marker on a fresh paper, I knew deep down that what I wanted would not be the most sensible thing to do. To leave a well paying job with all the prospects for the great unknown? I didn't know if what I wanted would make me happy or if it was right or where things would head after that. In all probability making a list would urge me to do otherwise. But in the hinterland of my heart, I knew what I wanted. I threw the piece of paper away.

I am a resolute non-list maker married to an assiduous one. The ever methodical M has lists for everything including a master list for travel which is filed according to event-weekend away, annual trip, short trips. I am kind of used to it though-I grew up with a whole load of Virgoans who made lists for everything under the sun.

It didn't daunt me then when Sharon Bakar put her loyal readers (me! me!) to task with the Star challenge for their Top 10 favourite books of all time. Here's mine:

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

Lolita by Vladimir Nabakov

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie
Possession by A.S.Byatt
The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce

The Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger

There are a few must haves on the list like Old Man, Lolita, One Hundred Years of Solitude and Anna Karenina. Beyond that, Catcher in the Rye may be a bit esoteric but if it has touched so many young people and continues to do so, surely it must feature? Midnight's Children because it changed the feel, sound and soul of English as a language.

Portrait of the Artist was tossed around with other stream of consciousness novels notably To the Lighthouse but I chose this simply because it is my personal favourite. The Unbearable Lightness of Being had to be mentioned, being a paean to post-modernism. Possession because of its mastery and expanse. And the one book that leads me into the heart of nobility and restraint -The Remains of the Day.

Thinking Blogger

Kak Teh has given me a Thinking blogger award!!! I am not entirely sure if I deserve such an honour (suddenly I am gripped with thoughts of the quality of this blog. The thinking bit is often nothing more than a repository of rants and random spiel). But I am deeply touched that she thought this blog worthy enough to be mentioned. Hers is a friendship that emerged from blog-world and spilled easily into the real one. We exchanged a few emails and discovered that at that time, we worked in adjacent buildings in the Bloomsbury area. I was a bit apprehensive about the first meeting as I had seen her by-line many times in leading publications, a known no-nonsense, respected journalist. But all was quelled when I found her to be warm, kind, opinionated and fairly mad. And I also discovered in her a master storyteller who kept us mesmerized with anecdotes of her various adventures over the years. This is a friendship that continues to be cultivated over many a curry mee, nasi goreng and nescafe tarik.

So now I must set about tagging five more bloggers. This is a difficult task though a few names popped in my mind immediately. The problem is that I don't know some of these bloggers that I am going to mention- I have just started reading their blogs and haven't left a comment or exchanged any kind of contact. I just hope that they don't think of me as a random weirdo- I genuinely love these blogs and they also leave me with brain fodder.

1. Starlight : Starlight and I have become virtual friends. I always feel a sense of lightness emanating from her entries, how she is always striving to learn from all the life lessons that are thrown to her and the inner contemplativeness to always check herself, her thoughts and views. Of yoga journeys, introspections and always, exhaling.

2. Masalachaii: If there is one thing that strikes me about Ms Chai, its her infectious upbeat, fiery and kick-ass attitude. She is always doing doing something, going somewhere and learning something . Of maximum living and joie de vivre.

3. Amir Muhammad: He doesn't know me but through his blog, which has been a repository of his film work, I read about the trials and tribulations of making Komunis and Kampung, the political brouhaha and the ban on the movie as well as the new one, Apa Khabar Orang Kampung. I love that he never loses his sense of humour in all this and that he remains undefeated, moving on with his next project. Of history, sense of self and a certain up your a***

4. Nursamad: I've just started reading 3540 Jalan Sudin but it is such an addictive blog-opinionated, passionate and honest. The biggest draw are the stories about her father's imprisonment, the emotional journeys and the intersection with the larger political background during that period. Of politics, passion and family.

5. Ms Blabs : We have become firm friends now. What I love about her is her honestly written posts. Through her, I have traveled vicariously to Egypt and shared all the angsty adventures of moving to a new country. Of travels, learning and always, cats.

This award was started here:
And now my dear recipients, your award comes with a price. You have to award five others whose blog you think deserve this award.

Should you choose to participate, please make sure you pass this list of rules to the blogs you are tagging. The participation rules are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think

2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme

3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

Please, remember to tag blogs with real merits, i.e. relative content, and above all - blogs that really get you thinking!

If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars

says Tagore. Writing is a catharsis of sorts.

XXXX

We sit in the half light of dusk. A few birds streak the purple-blue sky, rapidly disappearing from view. The crisp evening air chills the room. Somebody should get up and turn the heating on. But nobody does.

I hold on to my cream cable sweater, not thinking of putting it on. The tea my mother made has gone cold. The liquid that slides down my throat is unpleasant. It tinges my mouth with the slight acidic aftertaste of tea that has been left undrunk for too long.

Grief-numbed silence engraves the room. Opaque, dumb eyes stare at each other momentarily. We are still figures slumped on brown cushion chairs, watching the day sinking away. A few hours ago, a phone call comes through bringing results that breaks each one of us.

I place the phone down the receiver. It takes time for the news to be coherent. A numbness sets. An almost detached, clinical logic to the information. I am familiar with viable research projects. One that wins you grants, funding and jobs. Here, it is a question of a viable pregnancy. Of not being viable that is.

Suddenly, like a burst of molten lava, reality explodes. The tears come in a wrenching profusion.

Spring Again

"Suffering is not holding you. You are holding suffering. When you become good at the art of letting sufferings go, then you'll come to realize how unnecessary it was for you to drag those burdens around with you. You'll see that no one else other than you was responsible. The truth is that existence wants your life to become a festival."
-Osho

Spring brings with it renewed vigour, succour for the maligned heart and always, hope. The weather has been erratic but there have been days, even weeks, of glorious, honeyed sunshine. Spring's largess is the rebirth of colour after the grey starkness of the winter months.

Spring days are ones that are beautifully warm as you wake up. 'It's a T-shirt and skirt day', I decide, and throw in a flimsy cardi for good measure as I head out to the high street. A few hours later, the deception is done and I have foolishly fallen for it. The wind nips my nose. I shiver and cling on to the sorry excuse of a cardi and rush home freezing.

The evenings stave dusk away a little longer. The lightness is filtered with a prism of scents emanating from the garden, cajoling me to stop work and just be. The unfurling leaves and peeping flowers are a riotous medley. What have I done to be bequeathed days as beautiful as these?

Pause Mode and Weird Things

Life has been on pause mode for awhile now. You think it's a mad, crazy race. And then one day it gets on pause mode. Just like that.

But unpause now.

XXXXX

So, I must get around to this 6 weird thing meme that has been plastered on almost every blog. Thank god I got tagged- I dawned on me that what if nobody tags me (although I don't like tags)- does that reflect on my unpopularity in blogworld? Goodness. Almost feels like school again. But some nice people ie Blabs and Demonsinme did tag me and have therefore done my list:

1 The imaginary parallel lives I tend to live sometimes is quite mind boggling. Yesterday for example, I wondered how delectable it would be to live with Nigel Slater. I have a feeling that he is a bit of solitary nut, more in love with plants and his kitchen then people but how joyous would every meal be! It's not only about the taste but about the pure love for food. My recurring parallel-life dream is to be good friends with Zadie Smith, where we sit and have coffee in dinky little cafes while discussing our mutual love for Antonio Gramsci. I know. This one is weird-pathetic.

2 . I have certain food related weirdness. We all know that the grand food love of my love is the humble, hawker fare-char kueh teow. I can eat a plate everyday and never tire of it. I always order the whole she-bag, cockles, prawns and bean sprout or taugeh. Yet, before eating, I would sit and pick out every single strand of taugeh in sight. Only then will I tuck in. The aversion to taugeh started because I had an allergic reaction to it as a child. I think I've worn out of the allergy now but the ritual remains. 'Why not just order sans taugeh?' asks an exasperated M each time. 'But that would mean detracting the taste' I argue back, not very convincingly I think.

3. This one is weird bordering on obsessive compulsive-with minyak cap kapak...how do I describe it to non-Malaysians? Basically its a eucalyptus oil type of thing which has calming properties-I use it for headaches, tummy aches, backaches and even when there are no aches, I need a dash of eau de Minyak Cap Kapak everyday. What can I say?

4. I have to read every night before sleeping. I know I read a lot of work related stuff the whole day but I absolutely have to read on the bed. However dead exhausted I am. At least for 5 minutes. Otherwise, I feel that I've wasted my day away.

5. A personal hygiene related weirdness is this need to wash hands. I am very particular about the hand wash we use at home and have tested most products in the market to tell you that I don't think any of it meets my stringent requirements. Yes, I probably wash hands more times a day than I care to admit and carry one of those spray on hand cleaning things whenever I travel.

6. Talking about travel, I am always a last minute traveler. I think I am programmed to be unable to pack early so no matter how much time I have, will pack a few hours before leaving. This does mean that I am always rushing to airports and sprinting to boarding gates. The record was 30 minutes before take off once on a Malaysia airline flight to Bangalore. Trust me, I lost all dignity running around like a banshee to get there. And I never learn I think.

Joy and Sorrow

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, 'Joy is greater than sorrow,' and others say, 'Nay, sorrow is the greater'.
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

K.Gibran

You, Me and Tomato Chutney

Why this tomato livery?
a glance, a smile, a blush
and butterflies doing somersaults
add a dash
of adrenaline rush,
season with chemistry masala,
and there- tomato chutney for you.


Ah, Valentines day! A surge of superficial hallmark expressions, shops decked in tacky plastic

hearts and florists laughing their way to the bank.

Nevertheless, I know of a new couple and want to dedicate this post to my sister G and her Mr. R. The early throes of love with all its hourly phone calls, beating hearts, door slamming rows, dancing the night away and hot, opalescent tears in succession. Enjoy your days, it is something to remember after a few years of bed hair, duvet farts and love handles.

A Christmas Card day

There's a romance about a snow-clad day like today. A carpet of fresh snow greets my morning. A sudden hush envelopes the world. There's not a stir on the road outside, not even an intrepid squirrel. The reverential silence fills my heart with an inexplicable gladness.

The garden is a layer of white icing. Benevolent cotton clouds glisten on the shrubs. The old shed at the corner sits revived with a fresh white canopy. I saunter around, admiring the Christmas-card effect.

M and I use the transport chaos to work from home. At about 11ish, we get into a snow fight while making an out-of-shape snowman.

Then, I hear the laughter of children. A car or two zooms by.

It's one of those God's in His heaven, all's right with the world day.

A Red, Red Rose

For Burns Night

O, my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my Luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair as thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will love thess till, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run:

And fare thee well, my only luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.

No Method in Madness

Aye. It continues.

It's been sometime now since bloggers have launched a campaign against books that have been banned in Malaysia. The whole saga is a bit complex (there appears to be a few lists floating with different requirements) and it appears that Spongebob Squarepants, Vagina Monologues and Midnight's Children will cause mental depravation (and other various moral problems) to polite Malaysian society.

My friend Toro has quite another opinion about this whole thingamajig.

'Really no need for outragelah. The government-fella is really being clever. Now everbody is going to beg, borrow or steal a copy of any Salman Rushdie book. Maybe they will even start reading something like Things Fall Apart.'

'Don't you see?' continues Toro. 'It's the best reading campaign run by the government. Ever.'

Hmmm...does make sense in a way.

Things Fall Apart

as Malaysia turns 50 in 2007. Instead of sitting and celebrating like a regal doyen, there's an increasingly farcical accumulation of drama.

Bloggers being sued poses questions of constitutional freedom of speech and larger question of independence of the media. From what I gather, the New Straits Times (NST) is suing 3 political bloggers for defamation. What baffles me is that the NST is media. Old media suing new media.

I think a lot of us Malaysians have already resorted to reading news online because the print one has just become a political mouth piece. It saddens me because I grew up reading the NST everyday. I feel so cheated that a once august institution has to resort to such cheap tactics.

Of course, this doesn't mean that bloggers are not bound by the law. Surely bloggers cannot use the anonymity offered by the internet to write anything they want. The constitution protects fundamental liberties within reasonable limits. There are boundaries. But within these boundaries lies the future of the country. Freedom of press and speech is suspect in Malaysia. This is no secret. Political blogging and the internet has been a natural spill over in this climate, an attempt to bridge the need for information.

Until there's political will to change, the boundaries by which Malaysia's future resides will be very bleak indeed.

Brown paper packages tied up with strings

Two books arrived on a crisp morning in a brown package. My New Year cum Birthday gift to myself. Utterly perfect.

In Feast, Nigella says this:

Feast is not just about the way we cook and eat at the great religious festivals or big-deal special occasions, but about how food is the vital way we celebrate anything that matters-a birthday, a job, an anniversary; it's how we mark the connections between us, how we celebrate life.

Nigel Slater makes food, the buying, cooking and eating a homage to earth and to life:

There is a single rose out in the garden, a faded bundle of cream and magenta petals struggling against grey boards. A handful of snowdrops peeps out from the ivy that has taken hold amongst the fruit trees. The raspberry canes are bare save the odd dried berry I have left for the birds, and the bean stems stand brown and dry around thier frames. A withered verbena's lemon-scented leaves stand crisp against a clear, grey sky. January 1st is the day I prune the tangle of dried sticks in the kitchen garden, chuck out everything over its sell by date from the cupboards, flick through seed catalogues and make lists of what I want to grow and eat in the year to come. I have always loved the first day of the year. A day ringing with promise.

I bought these two books to remind myself that in 2007, I want to celebrate life every day. So often, I am caught up with the whole grind of living and working that I end up forgetting to LIVE. Forget all this c'est la vie business. The journey, as they, say is the best part after all. That's kind of resolution cum birthday dictum for the year.

So, I turned 31 quietly. Feels awfully grown up. I made 31 wishes and sent them out to the universe. At the end of the day, life is about balance and I do think everything has a way of finding its own rhythm. So, there's also a sense of letting go because you always get what you deserve.

I think each of us have our own word for the principle behind this, whether we call it serendipity, karma, justice, kismet. Same thing to me.

10 Books in 2006

In Paris, I managed to spend a few hours at Shakespeare & Co. It was as higgedly piggedly and quirky as I imagined it would be, oozing with books on every crevice. You have to take a creaking, narrow wooden stairs to get upstairs for the library and where so many bibliophiles, homeless and waywards have sheltered over the years. The walls bear the signature and pictures of the many famous persons who have been there.

Now, for my annual book audit.

I didn't read many non-work related stuff this year but here are my best reads, more non-fiction though. None of these books are new 2006 editions by any chance but these are the ones that I picked up. Some really old books, some which was one last years hit list, some which I always wanted to read and finally managed to. Here are the memorable ones that I particularly enjoyed:

Non-Fiction

No Logo by Naomi Klein. I finally get hold of this and she doesn't disappoint. We are assaulted by logos- Nike, McDonalds, Tesco, Shell. The corporate hegemony sneaks into our lives and affects us in much more sinister ways than we think says Klein. Not without flaws but at many levels, compelling.

Development as Freedom by Amartya Sen. Poverty is not so much a matter of low income as deprivation of human capabilities says Sen. Deep exploration of liberal economics with real, stark examples. Although I don't always agree with him, it is a remarkable book because Sen takes developmental economics out of theoretical quagmire and places it within communities and asks searing questions.

The Silent Takeover by Noreena Hertz. If you want to read one book about how corporations are perversely changing the world, this is it. How many of us vote? Not many argues Hertz. But we are all consumers driven by multinationals that have taken over the world. Scary but true.

Capitalism and Slavery by Eric Williams was a former Prime Minister of Trinidad & Tobago and wrote this book depicting the profits made through the slave trade. What made slavery end in Britain was not so much awareness of human rights but a matter of cutting losses. You know the fancy Lloyds building in the City? That's built on slave sweat.

Bali, Jawa in my Dreams by Christine Jorges. A travel book with humour and pathos.

Toast by Nigel Slater. I remember buying this in Heathrow out of desperation as the book in hand (I can't remember what now) was driving me insane. Bittersweet memories of growing up angst and the food that accompanied over the years. Absolutely delish. I heart Nigel Slater.


Fiction

Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. Weird, quirky philosophy spanning analysis of Adolf Eichmann, talking cats to raining mackerals. Vintage Murakami.

What the Body Remembers. I absolutely had to read it, after the glowing recommendation of Ms 30in2005. Partition seen from a woman's perspective, from a Sikh viewpoint and a human face. Shauna Singh is a delicate writer and I will look forward to her other books.

On Beauty by Zadie Smith. The best book I read this year. There are some comic loose ends that are a tad too perfect but overall, its such a nuanced book deserving many superlatives. With Gramscian undertones, philosophical tug-of-war and mostly, dysfunctional families.

The Sea by John Banville. Written in a languid, immaculate style. Heart rending.

Book related resolution: Read more fiction and make an attempt at reading more books from the banned books list.

Now, have to contemplate and do some emotional audit.

Happy New Year everybody. See you in 2007!!!

Joyeux Noel!

M and I decided on a whim to spend Christmas in Paris. It was a bit of mayhem the night before when our flight was cancelled due to the fog that was sweeping the South East the few days before. As soon as I find out at 7 pm on the 21st, I call British Airways (our original flight was on the 22nd morning from Heathrow) and after some deliberation, we re-book to fly from Bristol at 8:20 the next day, the only other flight available in the morning from Bristol.

This however meant that we had to leave the house latest 4:30am in order to make it. Driving in the intense fog was a bit of a nightmare on some parts but we arrive on time and after checking in, ITV Bristol interviews me.

I'm serious. I, who ranted away about our transportation woes to everyone in sight was delighted that I could now do it on regional TV. After hearing my spiel for a few minutes, the ITV guy asks me, 'so why are you going away for Christmas?'. Duh. I realise that I am on the wrong track-the focus of the program was on why people are changing the tradition of spending Christmas with family and friends and going away on holiday instead. I mumble something about the stress of entertaining and cooking and go catch my flight.

In Paris, we trawled a few Christmas markets while sipping hot chocolate, feasted on fine sculptures and paintings, joined the crowds admiring the delightful window decor at La Fayette and Printemps, salivated at the gourmet markets, ate at Montemarte. This apart, we spent a lot of time doing nothing at all, sipping coffee, nibbling on the most gorgeous pastries and reading our books while the world passed by.

It doesn't change the fact that we freezed our asses out walking around.

10 Things I learnt in 2006

1. I underestimate myself, my powers, my capabilities, my intuition. I CAN'T is all I think sometimes. What if I make a fool of myself I ask? What if everyone laughs? So what, I now say. I owe it to myself to try, explore and simply, enjoy.

2. Letting Go. Letting go of dreams is not cowardly. It is important to realize that some dreams will be buried and I can't do anything about it. I can't be 24 again ever. But I am not going to waste the 30s wishing for the choices of 24.

3. Resilience is good but sometimes, calling for help is not a bad idea. I don't have to be strong or perfect all the time. It's okay to call a friend, it's okay that the house is a mess, it's okay that the attempt at fish curry didn't turn out that great. It's okay.

4. Breathing helps. Before taking stage, before losing temper, before saying words that can't be taken back.

5. I actually like football. Maybe just during World Cup. But there's so much drama and passion involved which I never knew. How else will a French Algerian kid who grew up in a council block (gorgeous one nevertheless) become a world recognized hero?

6. Time may not actually heal every wound. But I can lick them and snarl my way through when need be. That's the bitch in me.

7. I have fallen in love. With London. A surprise turn always makes me stumble into a new perspective, a half-smile, a charming little bookshop. We took sometime to warm to each other but this one's a keeper.

8. Sometimes it's a matter of KISS Keep it Simple Stupid. I've spent way too much of my life psycho analysing, reanalysing and then some more. But when I just stop and take one moment at a time, things often fall into place like a drawn curtain. Everything has a grand scheme to fulfil, only it's not my business to worry about that.

9. Compromise. I can live with a right wing Ayn Rand disciple and respect that (most of the time at least, hush my communitarian heart).

10. Amazon One Click is is going to leave me in financial ruin. It usually attacks me on late nights, when I am seized by a bout of self pity that I work so hard, etc, etc. I browse, pick and click. A few weeks later, a brown package appears and spreads a pang of guilt as it is shelved among all its other One-Click cousins. Increasing the pile of to-be-read-books.

What did you learn?

I'm Back

Been dipping in and out of projects, papers and coutries these past few weeks. I've just recovered from exhausting Geneva trip. Lausanne, 40 mins outside Geneva, where the conference was being held was a quaint little town with cobbled paths and winding alleys. With postcard picture perfect snow-capped mountains as well as a shimmering lake.

Only, I didn't get to see any of it, huddled as I was for two days in grey conference building and social events that followed.

European's don't believe in tea and for two days, they served strong espresso. This is catastrophe for a tea drinker like myself and I was nursing a bad headache at the end of the day, from all that coffee. Was I glad to be back in England, land of tea and soggy sarnies.

On the last day, we went to a traditional Swiss chalet and ate cheese fondue, downed with a fair amount of Schnapps. This was quite lovely as it warmed my heart on a freezing cold December evening. Some smart aleck decided we go bar hopping afterwards not realising how exhausted all of us were. By 1:30 am, Doro and I decided to walk back to the hotel as I had an early flight to catch.

(I'm not sure if this qualifies as a post-but it's an update, ensuring you guys that I haven't abandoned the blog. In fact, I am making a resolution to update more frequently in the new year).