A Love Letter

Dear Madam Editor,

I was astounded when I was told by your assistant who paid me a visit the other day, that you were interested in doing an article on my love story. By the way, thanks for all the wishes after the good reviews following the nice articles you published on me. You always have something nice to say about me, my law firm and the charity bodies I run. Thanks in advance.

Should I say madam that I am not a very romantic type of person. Even though I very much believe in love. Contrary to what many youngsters today might believe in, I personally don't believe in love at first sight. I suppose they are simple what they call a crush, or infatuation. Maybe even lust, thanks to the ever evolving hormone levels of these young people. 

I personally feel that love is something that develops gradually. It can only happen after you get to know someone in person and judge them for who they are. Then you consider yourself being with that person. You ponder on how you two get along with each other. Do you treat each other with respect? Can you tolerate each other's differences? With the similarities and differences you both share, is it possible to live under one roof and start a family together? Will there be conflicts? If so, how bad? 

Yes. This is what I would think about before getting into an official relationship. Quite a handful isn't it? You might see me as a choosy little perfectionist. But I can assure you I am not. I have had my own share of disastrous relationships as well that have taken their toll on my life. But to put things bluntly, here it goes:

I have always been in love with my best friend. I really have. But I could not see that. Till today, though I finally, after decades of loving her in secret, I can finally confess it out loud to the world, but I can never tell it to her. Why, you may ask? Because I suppose it is all too late.

But enough of my ranting. You want to know my love story for your article right? Well, so here it goes...

It was during my first day at Oxford University that I met her. My special one, Evangeline. Evangeline Swettenham. At that time, I was enrolled into university with my original name, Gangga Senthilnathan. It was only after I returned home to Malaysia did I change my name, for reasons I will explain later. 

I was a top scorer back at school, for which I earned myself a full scholarship. Evangeline was an Anglo-Indian girl from Pondicherry, India. Her education was financed by her estranged British father. I suppose since we were the only Tamilians in our class, we instantly connected and became good friends ever since. Sorry, madam. No hate-at-first-sight-that-eventually -develops-into-love type of romance in my story. Don't say I did not warn you if it gets too dull for your taste. There is basically nothing much going on here. Trust me. 

One day, I think it was somewhere in our sophomore year, Evangeline’s father, Lord Swettenham and her half-sister, Clementine, visited Oxford. Lord Swettenham instantly senses that his daughter had feelings for me despite her not acknowledging it herself. Spoilt brat Clementine had a crush for me and always annoyed me with her constant flirting. Lord Swettenham warned Evangeline from befriending me, telling her that he had bigger plans for her, including having her meet the grandson of a long established, equally wealthy and influential aristocratic family friend. Already estranged from her father, Evangeline was offended by his materialistic behaviour and simply told him off. I still remember the look her gave me before he left campus. It was pure hatred. 

However, Evangeline started to realize that she indeed had fallen in love with me. I found out about this from a letter Clementine wrote to me. I did not believe that little brat back then. But I suppose there was some truth to it when Evangeline asked me one night if I had ever dated anyone, to which I replied no since I had been engaged since childhood to my elder sister’s stepdaughter. We had grown up together knowing that one day we would be married and had been deeply in love with each other for years. 

That look on Evangeline's face when I told her this for the first time ever since knowing her; it was as if she was annoyed that such an urban, modernized lad like myself would settle down for a traditional Indian arranged marriage. But now I know, Evangeline was actually heartbroken.

After graduation and a heartwarming parting, we both returned to our respective homelands. I returned to Penang only to realize that my family had a long standing feud with the local mafia ever since they testified against the latter at court. They fled Penang and moved to Kuala Lumpur, where my elder sister lived with her family. This is when we all had to change our names in order to protect ourselves. I changed mine to Karthik Sukumaran, a combination of two of deceased grandfathers' names.

A week later, I followed my brother-in-law to pick up my fiancee from her college in Singapore for the Deepavali break. When I saw my fiancee, Deepika, for the first time in years, I fell in love with her all over again. I even wrote to Evangeline about her.


Meanwhile, Evangeline returned to Pondicherry to her Indian mother, only to find out that the old woman had been hiding her terminal cancer from her only daughter for years. Evangeline received my letter, but had no time to reply as she decided to spend every single second she had left with her ailing mother. 

Evangeline’s mother was Lord Swettenham’s first love and she is their love child. He was a hippie during his youth and had travelled to Pondicherry only to fall in love with Evangeline’s mother, made her pregnant and returned to London to his family, who turned out to disapprove of their relationship. Evangeline had never completely forgiven her father, though she eventually allowed him to be the benefactor for her studies. He was the one who had named her after his favourite aunt. After Evangeline’s mother passed away, Lord Swettenham came to Pondicherry and took his eldest daughter with him back to London. She finally replied my long written letter, telling me all about her sorrows.

I was saddened by my best friend’s lost. I shared her stories with Deepika, who who seemed jealous of our friendship. Oh, hell. When you are in love, it is only natural to feel jealous every now and then, right. As I spent more time with Deepika, I soon realized that this is not the homely, innocent Deepika I knew from my childhood. She was now a rebellious young lady, always getting into trouble. Our families then made plans for our wedding. By then, I managed to secure myself a position at a humble law firm in Kuala Lumpur. There was not much work, and the pay was bad. But everyone has to start somewhere, right?

In London, Evangeline met the suitor her father had chosen for her. Though this suitor was very nice, she did not feel the same way towards him as she felt towards me. Within days of knowing each other, the guy proposed to Evangeline, who halfheartedly accepted. As their wedding was being arranged, Evangeline received my invitation to my own wedding in Kuala Lumpur, but she could not attend as her own big day is not too far away. I, too, wished I could have seen her get married. 

On the morning of her wedding, Evangeline could not control herself as she still could not bring herself to marry Richard while she was still in love with me. Mischievousness little Clementine had been spying on her sister all along, and she told me she had seen Evangeline sob like a child and throw up multiple times but later denied it. 

Just as she managed to bring herself together again, Clementine did something she should not have. She revealed to Evangeline that she and the groom were once very much in love but it was their father who disallowed them for ever seeing each other again, claiming Clementine was too young and immature for a stable relationship. She threatened Evangeline to stop the wedding or else, she would end her own life. 

Finally at the altar of the cathedral, before saying I do, Evangeline admited she could not get married as she is in love with someone else. I suppose it must have been a big spank on Lord Swettenham's face and I hope he guessed that someone was me. After apologizing to the groom and his family, she left the cathedral. Later that day, it became public knowledge that this was all a sick prank by Clementine. Nevertheless, Evangeline was happy the wedding never went on. She boarded the next flight to Kuala Lumpur to attend my wedding. I am quite sure she was secretly hoping I would do the same thing to be with her too.

But that was not my case. I was very much in love with Deepika, as I had been sicne I was a kid. After I had tied the thali around my new bride's neck, and we were pronounced man and wife, I thought I caught a glimpse of Evangeline... in tears... but she disappered before I could get someone to bring her to me. But wasn't her wedding yesterday? She could not be here now. No, it was just impossible. 

But Evangeline was there alright. She would later tell me this herself. She boarded the next flight to Chennai, from where she would then travel home to Pondicherry and run her mother’s lodge until she decides what to do with her life.

Deepika and I enjoyed our honeymoon in Venice. But we had a small fight when I lectured her to give up smoking. We returned to Kuala Lumpur, not on talking terms, only reconciling once back home. But I soon became busy at work as I continued to handle various high profile cases. A first class Oxford degree can be curse in some ways. 

I was never fully aware that Deepika lacked my attention. But as soon as she received an offer to further her studies in Melbourne, she decided to go. I was reluctant to let her go for I do not believe long distance relationships would work. But Deepika wanted to become a successful career woman and how could I stop her dream from coming true. So I finally lets her go, promising to come visit her as often as possible. We both spent most of the early stages of our marriage leading separate lives.

In Pondicherry, Evangeline’s lodge became more successful when the local government began promoting tourism in the city with high profile campaigns in collaboration with the French government. But Evangeline was soon visited by a wealthy billionaire from Chennai, Jayram, who offered to buy her lodge for a fair price as he planed to develop a huge theme park resort at the site. Evangeline refused to sell it no matter how much money was offered as the place was full of memories with her mother that she would never let go for the world. Jayram’s ambitious and greedy elder brother, Balram went to the extent of terrorizing the lodge with gangsters and bribing the authorities to let them purchase the site. But being a lawyer herself, Evangeline managed to brilliantly overcome all these nuisance.

But Jayram was nothing like Balram, as Evangeline would eventually realize and repeat to me over and over again whenever she wrote to me. He constantly apologized on his brother’s behalf and agreed to leave her lodge alone, along with compensations for her lost. He also offered his friendship, to which Evangeline bluntly rejected as she was not about to forgive his family that easily for what they had done to her. 

But Jayram was not the giving up type too and continued to pursue her. He even saved her from a group of petty criminals who pretended to be clients at her lodge. I would assume this really impressed Evangeline to the extend she finally accepted his friendship. Under Jayram’s advice, Evangeline finally wrote to Gangga after years, explaining her long confined love for him.

I remember reading that letter. For some reason, it did not come like a big shock to me. Funnily, when I replied her letter, I did not seem to acknowledge the fact that my own best friend was once madly in love with me. As if I was traumatized by that thought and I wanted to pretend like it never happened. Or maybe I was just feeling lonely with Deepika not being around much anymore.

Deepika soon returned to Kuala Lumpur. Though we were initially happy to be reunited, we soon realized we were now two very different people, not the little children were once were, who were crazy about each other. Like for instance, we wanted different things in life. Very different things. I was longing to become a father. But I never knew that as a child, Gangga had witnessed her biological mother die during childbirth while giving birth to her younger brother. Ever since then, she was so traumatized that she promised herself she would never have a child of her own. I flipped and took my anger out on my sister and brother-in-law for not telling me about Deepika's condition. We further drawn apart from each other.

Deepika did nothing to change. She refused therapy and counselling. Things got worse when she read Evangeline’s letter. She finally moved out and back into her father’s house, only to discover she was pregnant. The pressure of having to go into labour nine months from now took its toll on her. She becomes depressed and avoided contact with others, almost becoming a recluse. She pestered her parents to allow her to go abroad to get an abortion. Fearing that Deepika might kill our unborn child, I had a court order arrange that would prosecute her if she did an abortion, as medical tests had proven she was in no physical or mental harm while being pregnant. Once our twins were born, Deepika left me forever, refusing to even see her new born sons, as if they mere parasites living in her womb all along. That was the last blow. I could no longer in my heart find it the strength to be with her anymore. 

While my marriage was falling apart beyond repair, love began blossoming between Evangeline and Jayram. With his charm and demure, he had managed to sweep her off her feet. She finally wrote to me, saying that she was finally gotten over me and was ready to move on. I took my sons on their first trip abroad when we attended Evangeline's wedding in Pondicherry. This was the first time we were meeting after years. I got to know Jayram and he was nothing short of a true gentleman. Evangeline was truly one lucky girl. 

Also present at the grand function was little Clementine, who had not changed one bit. She was still the flirt she was, and her crush on me never left. I think it was then, as I saw Jayram tie the thali around Evangeline's neck, and officially making her his lawfully wedded wife, I suddenly realized I too has feelings for Evangeline. Swettenham, Clementine and I saw Evangeline and Jayram off for their honeymoon. Later, she would write to me saying that in Venice, she came across an inscription of mine and Deepika’s name that we had left on an old wall during our honeymoon there.

Soon I found out that Deepika had was back in town but in rehab. Though I once loved her with all my heart, I could not find it in that same heart of mine to feel any pity for her. After all, as she had been selfish enough to kill her own children. I then decided to raise my sons, Raman and Lakshman alone. It was during this time that I paid full attention to my work, winning several high profile cases. I was blessed enough to be named several times as of the most reputable lawyers in Kuala Lumpur. 

This was when I finally started my own law firm alongside some friends. I continued to stay in touch with Evangeline, especially with the internet which was starting to gain much worldwide recognition at the time. Instead of letter, we started sending e-mails to one another. Evangeline had become Jayram’s business partner, and together they had transformed her late mother’s humble lodge into a world class theme park resort, attracting more tourists to Pondicherry. The resort still retained the same name as her mother's old lodge, in her loving memory. It was the sweetest thing ever. 

It was high time Evangeline also had children of her own. Some might find it hard to believe, but she too gave birth to a pair of twin boys, Vinayagam and Subramanian.

Years passed by and we still remained friends, though many things had happened.  All four of our teenage sons had grown to be the best of friends. Lord Swettenham died leaving his fortune to his two daughters. Clementine had married Richard, much to everyone’s surprise. My law firm was enjoying success as much as Evangeline’s resort.  But tragedy striked when Jayram died in a freak accident one faithful night on his way home after a business meeting in Chennai.

I tried to call Evangeline after my twins told me that her sons had told them this over the internet . It turned out she was not even there at the funeral as she was so depressed she was unconscious the entire day. She went into a high fever for days. I was too preoccupied with work but I could hardly concentrate as I became worried of my best friend’s condition. Having dealt with most of his high profile cases, I finally left my minor projects to my cliques to handle while I left for Pondicherry to be with Evangeline.

Finally seeing me, her best friend after many years, the bedridden Evangeline got well day by day. I took her to a therapist to help solve her problem. She finally openly talked about her lost, and made attempts to accept the death of her husband. To help keep her busy, I took her to shelters across Pondicherry to care for the sick and homeless. By divulging herself into charity work, Evangeline managed to distract herself from always thinking about her lost. When her sons were finally old enough to attend college, Evangeline left her resort and all her husband's other business companies under the care of my law firm, until her sons were old enough to run it all themselves. She decided to travel across the world doing charity work with nuns. She never forgot to send e-mails to me and her sons every time she could. 

About a year later, I had retired and handed down my law firm to my sons to run. I decided to start writing my memoirs, though I was never much a writer. I was in Rome one day finding inspiration to write when I was told by my sons that their Aunt Evangeline was in Malta attending a UNICEF conference to help impoverish children. What else? I took the next flight there!

As she was on her way back to her hotel, I gave her a big surprise. She literally yelped so loudly that many people turned to look at the two middle-aged clowns playing around like the naughty youngsters from Oxford we once were. As they tour around the city of Valetta, Evangeline revealed that she planed to become a nun and dedicate her life fulltime to serving God and the needy. Though shock at this revelation, I was supportive of her decision and told her I was proud to have such an angel as my best friend.

Evangeline’s sons came over as they were equally surprised to discover their mother’s sudden decision. But she was content with God’s plan for her. My heart was never at ease after being told of this. I could hardly think straight and had lost any inspiration I had to write my memoirs. As I somberly walked back to my hotel, my two sons too showed up . They had heard about Evangeline’s plans too and were surprised that their father supported her in this. They were heavily implying that they had assumed all along that I was in love with their Aunt Evangeline. Well, guess what? Their assumption was right.

One night before Evangeline’s christening and her eventual entry into the local monastery, she meets me at a small local café outside town to discuss our lives so far in the last one year. Evangeline told me that her sons were hoping we would start being together. Similarly, I told her my sons also were hoping that their father would take his relationship with their Aunt Evangeline to a whole new level. 

After some awkward moments, Evangeline reminded me again that she had loved me all her life, and that when he got married she was most devastated, that was until she met her late husband. I too simply had to admit that ever since I was separated from my wife, I was almost going to propose to Evangeline, but then she married someone else. Having had that talk that evening, it changed the way both friends viewed each other completely. Evangeline started contemplating her plans, but she knew it is too late as she had made a promise to God and she will never turn back now.

So, Madam Editor, there you go. Nothing going much here, really. It's just that rather than telling someone else's story, I was telling my own; which explains the long, lengthy descriptions you come across at time. 

But, let's be frank.

You know all about my love life, just as much as I know about yours. For heaven's sake, Evangeline. You really thought I wouldn't know? Well, here you go. I have been in love. I have been in love with you, I don't know... because I'm a fool, from maybe, I don't know, the first time I laid eyes on you? 


But what was it in me that never allowed me to express myself? Was I still blinded by my puppy love for Deepika? Or was it every time either of us wanted to confess our feelings, the other would fall heads over hills for someone else? Is it the work of fate? Was God testing us all these years? 


It's been almost 30 years. Three decades! Since we last met and became the best of friends at Oxford. Part of me was relieved you did not take up life at the abbey. But another part of me got me thinking? Was this right? Should I confess? Is this the right time? Or would she say no and I'd have to live with that embarrassment all my life? 


See? Once again, lots of contemplating. But no. No more of all that. Your boys, or as I would rather call them my boys now as mine are yours just the same, had told me you had come back to Pondicherry not to long ago. Well, I will be there. Hell, by the time you read this letter, I might already be at your doorstep in a few hours time with a ring ready to propose. 


I hope you would accept.


Your ever one true love,
-Your best friend since Oxford-

Fake Accents and The Plastics That Use Them!

I always thought foreign accents were cool, especially the American one. Having grown up watching Disney Channel and other TV shows and movies from Hollywood, it just appeared cool.

But that was until the day I started attending extra tuition classes at a tuition center back at my hometown.

There were not only kids from my school, but also from other schools in and around Taiping who were all pursuing straight 'A's for the upcoming public examinations in this God-forbidden exam-oriented education system.

Everyone got along really well. The kids from vernacular school were rather quiet and cliquish at first, but as you get to know them, you know they would talk to you whenever necessary. The rowdies from the all-boys schools were usually left alone to mingle among themselves as nobody dared make friends with such people.

And then there were the self-proclaimed Disney princesses of our society, all from a certain prestigious local girls school. They never talked to anyone else from other schools, which made them appear exclusive. Some dressed in the skimpiest of clothes, rather risque for girls living in a moderately conservative Malaysian town like Taiping. Most of them hardly tied their hair, so they could push it to the back of their ears flirtatiously whenever they were around boys.

And they spoke with heavy British or American accents. Plastics.

As much as some perverts; meaning those rowdies I mentioned earlier, and even some of my own schoolmates, would pursue these plastics, most of their attempts proved unsuccessful. It's simply because these plastics rather choose to play hard to get. That's what the perverts say. Well, they deserve it for sure.

Now back to the fake accent. It suddenly occurred to me how annoying and irritating it actually is, especially when someone uses it on a daily basis. It's one thing to be well articulated, and it is another to fake an accent. I have never faked an accent before, except while playing with my younger siblings and cousins, where we would sometimes reenact a famous scene from some movie.

But these younger ones started assuming the accent was something elite. I suppose it gave them an air of a certain class. It made them stand out from the other kids at school who spoke broken English, or maybe even Malay or Tamil.

I was not about to let that happen. I wouldn't want to be associated with plastics. No.

So, I brought this case to the higher authorities - my mum, dad, uncles and aunts. Maybe they never noticed it before, or maybe they thought it was cute all along. But after I pointed out how much the fake accents annoyed me, it suddenly opened their eyes to the truth! It was annoying to them too!

I mean, it was bad enough we mostly spoke English at home, and in turn spoke terrible Tamil. Now, everyone was faking American accents? Oh no. No. No. No. No. My parents were not about to let that happen. I had no idea they were going to take it so seriously. But they suddenly banned my younger brother from watching Lizzie McGuire, Even Stevens and That's So Raven - his favourite TV shows! Go mum and dad!

As for my cousins; their father went all out when he publicly embarrassed one of his daughters during a family gathering by raising his voice at her, saying: "Drop the fake accent-lah! You think its nice? It makes you look like a chicken in a chicken farm trying too hard to roar like a lion, you know!" Wow! Good one! Nice metaphor by the way. Haha!

The accents stopped immediately. I suspect all the family elders had secret meetings in the living room of grandma's house where they discussed this accent problem while we little ones were out playing. But never mind that. The accents made a sudden comeback after we returned home from vacation in Rome in 2005, except this time it was British, thanks to Harry Potter and Narnia movies. But that was only temporary, thanks the the elders' drastic measures.

Eventually the accents stopped completely. But nobody did anything to improve our Tamil. Our youngest cousin, whose mother; my aunt, was a Tamil teacher and tried to raise him up by speaking Tamil at home. But that didn't work out. I mean, he is surrounded by us! All brown backsides speaking English, as my late grandpa once said. Well, at least the fake accent is out of the picture for now.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against people with foreign accents. I think these different accents are cute actually. It shows diversity, and the origins of one's identity. It is when a Malaysian, who having grown up among Malaysians, and have been to Malaysian schools, in a country called Malaysia, all of a sudden miraculously  has a British or American accent - now that is simply annoying. I've never said this straight to anyone's face, apart from my own siblings and cousins since their upbringing is partly my responsibility. But I am entitled to my opinion, just like anyone else.

Faking an accent might give a person a certain ego to appear more urbanized, or even westernized then the common Malaysian. So, this provides them with that extra boost of confidence to operate in society better. But then as they always say, when you appear too plain, what do you do?

Accessorize.

These fake accents are nothing more than accessories; like handbags, watches and jewelry. They are mostly just for show.

Two Gifts From God

Ayer counted the money from his drawer with his eyes closed, still half asleep as he had been working day and night at the tailor’s shop. He had been counting the money for months now and he could tell by just touching them what kind of money notes they were. He now had a few thousand Rupees. But that still was 

not enough.

Deepavali was in a week’s time. But unlike the previous years, he did not have enough money to buy his younger brothers and sisters any new clothes as he was saving up for something important. These were not his biological siblings, but the younger orphans who lived at the orphanage he grew up in. Already half the money he had saved up was used for his operation he had undergone recently. Now the other half of it was for Sheila and Sheila alone.

Life seemed such a bore for Ayer. He was mostly content with life, having grown up with a roof above his head, with three square meals per day, and free primary education. Being a well-built, strong young man, he survived mostly by doing odd jobs. He was not sure if anyone would hire him now with his condition after his operation. But whatever it was, the money he had earned would be useful for Sheila. And that was all that mattered to Ayer at the moment.

Sheila. Sweet, beautiful little Sheila. She was the love of his life. Only after Ayer met her, did his life change. There was a certain excitement knowing that someone cared for you out there. That someone would tell you they loved you, and actually meant it, not out of sympathy since you are an orphan, or because you are in the same boat with them. It was her laughter that probably made Ayer flip. Or it could be her smile. Or perhaps even the way she moved her hair behind her ears flirtatiously when they were together. Ask Ayer what was most beautiful about Sheila, and he would say probably everything about her.

The fact that Sheila was blind since childhood never bothered him.

The town of Pondicherry was beautifully decorated at this time of the year. There were colourful lights and decorations on every building in honour of the festive season. Ayer could tell there was celebration in the air. Soon, he would propose to Sheila. And she would surely accept. Then, they would get married. They might run a florist stall by the beach. Sheila always loved flowers and was often fascinated by their smell. Surely once she had her eyes fixed, she would enjoy being around flowers, enjoying their various colours and scent, all coming together to form a paradise of beauty.

“Sheila, my dear,” Ayer called out.

“Why, there you are. You’re here late, for a man who has both his eyes functioning perfectly” Sheila got up from the floor of her tiny apartment to get to the kitchen to lay out the dining table. She had been sewing some torn garments for customers who were fixing their clothes before Deepavali. People living around this area were not the type who could afford brand new clothes every year. They would just what they have.

As the two love birds were having their meal that evening, Ayer finally decided that it was time he told Sheila the special news.

“Sheila, I have something to tell you,” he went.

“Yes? Is the chicken not good?”

“No. No. The chicken is just fine. It’s just that... you know that Deepavali is just a few days away. And that they say it’s the day light triumph over darkness.”

“Sure. We call it the festival of lights for a reason.”

“Well... I really felt this is the best time for it. I want to bring back the light in your life. At least before our wedding, so we can have a beautiful married life...”

“I don’t get it. What are you trying to say, Ayer?”

“What I’m saying is, we found a donor for your eye operation. He was someone from my orphanage. He passed away recently and it so happens his blood type matches yours. I never really told you this but I’ve been saving up for your operation for months. The doctors have even fixed your operation. It will be on Deepavali eve.”

“Oh...” Sheila seemed like she was about to faint for a second. She was speechless, but then got up and tried to reach for Ayer across the table. I hugged her and kept her close to me, as Ayer would do forever.  She then sobbed uncontrollably. Tears of happiness. This was Ayer’s dream, my goal in life; to see his Sheila happy. All of a sudden, all his sacrifices seemed right. It was all worth it. Sheila would get her sight back. That was all she ever wanted, what she always talked about. It was her dream too. And now she would be forever happy, just like Ayer seeing her happiness. All was well.

It was Deepavali eve. It was raining that night, as if God was washing the streets for Sheila to travel back home for the celebration with her sight back tomorrow morning.

“Ayer, my sweetheart. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything,” Sheila said as she held Ayer’s hands tight.

“Don’t thank me dear. This is all His doing. We should be thankful to Him. I have given an idol of Ganesha, your favourite deity to the doctors so that when you open your eyes tomorrow for the first time in years, you can see Him and get His blessings on Deepavali morning.”

“Why, that’s so thoughtful of you, sweetheart. Thank you. But I want you to be the one holding His idol for me. So I can see the both of you when I can see again. Will you be there?”

“Of course I will,” Ayer kissed the tip of her gripped fingers and rubbed it on my cheeks. She was warm, as she was beautiful always. She was taken into the operation theatre. Ayer waited outside patiently for the next morning- a Deepavali more special and meaningful than any other.

It was early the following morning. The doctors announced that the operation was successful and that Ayer could see Sheila in a few hours time. That gave him time to freshen up and look good before his loved one. He washed his face, trimmed his stubbles, brushed his teeth and styled his hair. He could not tell if he looked good, but he knew his Sheila would like him no matter what.  

It was finally time for Sheila to open her eyes. She was already awake and was all excited to see Ayer. The nurses gave him the Ganesha idol he had given them. There were tears of admiration in their eyes to witness this beautiful love story unfold before them. The doctors, however, were sceptical. They felt Ayer should have told Sheila the truth rather than play this sick joke on her.

A nurse opened the bandage covering Sheila’s eyes, revealing her deep brown eyes. She opened them slowly. Sitting before her, with an idol of an elephant headed deity was the love of her life. He was as tall and muscular as she had felt every time they touched. His face was as handsome as she had imagined it;  his heavily tanned skin, his sharp nose, full lips, wavy hair, high forehead, square jaw; it was all perfect!

And his eyes, they were a deep ocean blue. But wait. They were still and were not directed at her. Then it hit her. Ayer was blind too. He was blind all along! What kind of a prank was this? She pushed the surgery equipment before her crashing down to the floor.

“What kind of sick joke is this? You could have at least told me! Liar! Filthy hypocrite! How am I supposed to live like this? We’ve known each other for years. I loved you with all my heart, and now that I can see, must I see you like... like this?! A blind man? How am I supposed to live with you, run a family, have kids, lead a normal life, all with a blind man? What was the point of finding me a donor all these years when you could have done the same for yourself? Why, Ayer? Why? No! I cannot stand the sight of you any longer. Get out. Please get out. Out! Now!” The girl was hysterical.

Ayer could not understand why this was all happening. Wasn’t she happy enough now? Maybe she was simply beyond his mind’s understanding. He got up to leave, simply turning around once to say:

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Sheila. I just wanted you to be happy. I didn’t know you wouldn’t want a blind man as your life partner. If leading a life with a blind man is as sad as being blind yourself, then I shall walk out of your life forever. I hope you find someone who can make you happy. My eyes are yours now. I hope you can see all the wonders of the world now, all the beautiful colours of the flowers that you so missed. God bless you, Sheila.

And he left. Just like that.

Sheila could hardly believe her ears. She fell unconscious on the floor, unnoticed by the doctors and nurses who watched Ayer walking away, perhaps not even knowing which way the exit was...

Some crap and other stuff

Sometimes life just gives you crap. But it usually leads to something better. Like in my own personal experience, my greatest challenge came to me when I had to move away from home and into college.

I was thankful for getting a place in the TESL course which I am currently doing. I come from Taiping. So, many who know me would agree I am nothing more than a typical small town boy. I knew someday I would have to move away to some big city in the Klang Valley to pursue my tertiary education.

But I had no idea I would have to cross the entire South China Sea to come and study English at a teacher training college in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah! Fate definitely had an odd sense of humour. What surprised me more was that if I passed my foundation year in Sabah, I would get a chance to pursue my degree in England!

Like, come on! What could be better than studying English in England? And with a degree from a British university, one can do wonders in Malaysia. So I was told.

I remember my first day at college. I registered myself, met some of my soon-to-be course mates, got to know a few of my batch mates, listened to some briefing by lecturers; while my parents who were kind enough to follow me along were taken out for lunch by a lecturer who agreed to be something like my caregiver during my two years here. He claimed that not many Indian students get sent all the way to Sabah. So with the few of us here, he felt it was his and the other Indian lecturers' social responsibility to care for us.

I was taken to the hostel. I had mentally prepared myself to be prepared for the worst. But than God it was not the worst. But it was bad. Well, what would you expect from a college hostel? I kept on reminding myself that this was not home. And that things were not all that bad anyway. I concentrated on the positive.

It was not a bed of roses for me. It was not a bed of roses for anyone I suppose. The new surrounding, the new culture. My parents, having stayed for merely less than a week in Sabah, were convinced that it seemed like a whole different country, and that Singapore was much more culturally similar to Peninsular Malaysia. Sure, I had to agree. The accent was different. The ethnic groups living here were different. The food was rather different as well. And the list goes on and on.

I really had no idea how I was going to survive without seeing my family's love. I would miss my dad's advice, my mum's cooking, my grandmother's stories, my siblings' antics. I had to do all my chores alone. No more delicious home-cooked food. No more caring parents to take me to the clinic each time I was sick. No more television. No more weekend family outings. Homesickness would struck me every single week and the hangover of it would remain on me whenever I was not homesick.

That was not the worst part. What really buggered me was for a person who loved to stay low profile like myself, I was the most noticeable and stood out from the crowd. Why? Because I was the only Indian boy in my batch. I stood out like a black dot on a white sheet of paper. I could not do anything without my every action being unnoticed.  Even during orientation, I sat at a place different than my usual spot, a senior quickly asked everyone where I was on stage, and I had to raise my hand to show everyone I was there in the hall. Or like once when this lecturer giving a talk asked a question to which he expected everyone to nod their head in agreement, but nobody did since we were so tired. Somehow, his menacing eyes fell on me and he questioned me for not answering him. Or like during the time when everyone had not memorized the college anthem but I stood out the most for not singing the lines well and had to sing it out aloud for everyone to hear. Or like when an activity was being carried out, nobody wanted to be the leader and the senior simply handed the task over to me to carry out. It was hell.

But one thing I loved about the limelight I was in back in Sabah is I truly received respect from seniors, juniors, batch mates and my own classmates. Not all of them of course. Some might have disliked me but would never tell it to me to my face, but the majority of people liked me. My juniors were like my family back then. We would hang out together, go out to the city together, have meals together, gossip, watch movies and do a whole lot of other interesting stuff. I suppose I can be approachable when people get to know me more. So my juniors and batch mates would always come to me for help with their English assignments. I would help them as much as I can. It did not know until then that helping others can really make myself happy. Even seniors and other batch mates who I don't know too well would always sit with me and just talk about stuff. Sometimes, it would really make my day.

But as much as you make friends, you also make enemies. And I made enemies from the most unusual of people. There was this group of, well let's call them 'senior citizens'... not seniors, okay? 'Senior citizens.' They claimed to be my caregivers as long as my stay in Sabah. Instead, I was more like their object of insult and mockery most of the time. Whenever we met or bumped into each other, there was always some form of criticism that I had to face. It was always either my skin was too dark, or my clothes did not match, or I was bad at sports, or I spoke Tamil badly, or I hung out with girls too often, or just about anything negative that they could get on me.

Then, there was this one time when I decided to play a stupid prank on my parents by calling them up and not speaking, just to spook them. So, maybe it was my fault and God punished me by having my plan backfire tragically. And when I say tragically, I really mean it. Here is how it goes. So, I sensed my parents getting worried much to my pleasure. So they called up this caregiver to check whether I was doing fine. This caregiver is, of course, one of the 'senior citizens'. He tracked down my class monitor's number and called him to makes sure I was fine.

So I realized things got quite overboard. My prank was merely attention seeking from my parents. But it had gotten way out of hand. The next day, guess what? The news had spread like wildfire! My classmates knew about it, my tutor knew about it, and I am pretty sure the rest of senior citizen gang knew about it too. Things at that point of my life were just so effed up! Effed up big time!

And then I knew. Eff those caregivers. I could survive on my own. The last time I had to spent 'quality time' with them was during Deepavali that year. My first Deepavali away from home was nothing but a piece of crap. Nothing more than crap! I had never been embarrassed so much in my life. I was just bombarded with all these negative comments I simply felt like leaving the place. I only went to one of their houses. I refused to go to the others' and I faked being sick. That saved me from further embarrassment.

I am not sure if these people actually realized the amount of stress I was on. Being homesick. Being noticed all the time. Having my every move being watched. All that simply puts pressure on a person. Sometimes, I simply wish I could yell it at these people's face. Or maybe just beg them for sympathy. But can you see how much they had changed in my eyes? They were nothing more than rubbish to me. Rubbish worth being thrown into a trash bin.

After that I knew that it was important that I keep my distance from these people. They could not have made it more clear that they did not like me. And I could not have made it more clear that I had lost my respect for them after declining their invitation and avoiding further contact with them for the next few months.

I am pretty sure some of you out there have come across people like these, but you are not in the position to tell them off. So my advice? Fake it. Fake being respectful towards them. Fake being happy around them. Fake enjoying being in their presence. But what's most important is.... make it obvious it's all fake. Like me, whenever the senior citizens asked me a question to mock me, like "You've grown blacker. Your skin complexion is hideous." I would simply answer, "Yes. My father retired and I had to work during the holiday so that we have more money." Then I would look away, not giving a darn how they reacted to that. Or what word answers would do the trick. Or avoiding eye contact. Or just being quiet and putting a long face, and when asked just say you're sick. All these worked with me. I hope it works for you too.

Book Review: Life of Pi

I've just finished reading 'Life of Pi' by Yann Martel. What can I say? I truly mean it when I say, there are no words to describe what a beautiful story this actually is. The writer, Mr. Martel did not simply choose the a random subject to write on. Who knows how many years of research it might have taken him to come up with such a masterpiece?

The novel is divided into three parts, which are further broken down into smaller, and sometimes really long chapters. The first part is entitled Toronto and Pondicherry, the second; The Pacific, and the third; Benito Juarez Infirmary, Tomatlan, Mexico. Let's look into these different parts in detail.

1. Toronto and Pondicherry

I suppose if you share my fascination with these two things; the Indian diaspora in western countries, and the influence of the French in French India, then you might find this part very compelling.

The narrator, named Piscine Molitor Patel reminisces his childhood in Pondicherry, India as he studies in a prestigious university in Toronto, Canada. He does very well in his studies and is always top in his class. But life was not so perfect when he was young.

The narrator was constantly made fun of because of his unusual name. He was actually names after a famous swimming pool in France. He was also bullied by his playful elder brother, Ravi. Finally in secondary school, he made up a nickname for himself, Pi, in order to avoid further name-calling.

A beautiful aspect of this part of the novel is that Pi's father owned a famous zoo in Pondicherry. Pi grew up surrounded by animals. The writer gives beautiful, detailed descriptions of how Pi viewed these different animals.

But that is not the only beautiful part of the novel. Despite being born and raised as a Hindu, Pi became fascinated with Islam and Christianity as well. His parents only come to know about this after the family bump into a priest, an imam and a pastor on the beach where the argue on what religion Pi is practicing. As an innocent child, Pi cannot understand these men's arguments as his only intention is to get closer to God, love Him and do good in this world.

This could be a good lesson for religious fanatics who think only their religion is supreme to others. Due to his innocence, Pi fails to see how can a good human being go to hell just because he professes another religion despite doing so much good in the world and treating others with respect. The writer certainly proves his fascination with religion and spirituality in this part of the book.

Soon, the political scenario in India turns bad and Pi's family decide to migrate to Toronto to start a new life with their fellow Tamil people who were moving there from both India and Sri Lanka in big numbers. Pi has a bad experience on the ship carrying his family there, along with the animals that they plan to sell since the zoo is now closed. The Japanese officers and the Taiwanese crew members are rude and arrogant. Pi cannot wait to arrive at Toronto.

But something happens and the ship sinks. Pi managed to survive on a lifeboat along with a Bengal tiger, a orangutan, a zebra and a hyena. Thus, begins the second part of the novel.

2. The Pacific

I have to admit that I did not really enjoy this part of the novel. The once beautiful and colourful story was not morbid and almost monotonous. The writer's obsession with specific details of Pi's turmoils and suffering at sea definitely bored me a bit. But I was still engaged to know what happens of Pi's fate since I had fallen in love with the character by now.

The hyena, being the most ruthless and evil creature on board notices the zebra's injured leg. It rears it out and spend the next few days eating the poor zebra bit by bit. Then, the hyena also kills the orangutan, who was rather protective towards Pi.

But the hyena is no match for Richard Parker, the mighty Bengal tiger, who kills the hyena and eats it. As the food and water on the lifeboat grow short in number, Pi starts to learn how to fish by reading a survivor's manual he found. Pi soon is thankful that he has Richard Parker since he does not feel lonely, despite being terrified most of the time. Pi feeds him with some mice of the lifeboat in order to tame it.

As Pi gets more skillful at fishing, he feeds Richard Parker some of this catchings as well. However, the tiger has a big appetite and always eats up lots of the food.

An interesting part of the book is when Pi and Richard Parker come across a school of flying fish. The tiger simply catches many fishes with his paws. Pi also has a feast with all his catchings.

In order to establish that he is the alpha animal on the lifeboat, Pi pretends to be a ringmaster like in a circus by yelling out loud and blowing a whistle as loudly as possible to avoid being killed by the tiger.

At one point, Pi becomes very weak and is ready to die. Things get worst as he becomes blind due to his weakness. Then, the most peculiar thing happens. He meets a blind Frenchman in the sea and they become friends, talking about food and many other things. Just as Pi feels fortunate that he has found a human companion as he is about to leave the world forever, a starving Richard Parker kills the Frenchman and eats him.

But things get slightly better when Pi not only gets his sight back, but also comes across a mysterious island with treas and algae floating on the bare sea with no land. What makes this island even more peculiar is that meerkats live on it. Pi decides to stay on the island as the algae is not only edible but tastes good. The meat of the meerkat is not bad too.

Then, Pi makes a stunning discovery.

The island is carnivorous. Pi discovers the teeth of some dead person in the leafs of a tree. Shocked, Pi quickly kills as many meerkats as possible for meat and escapes with Richard Parker on the lifeboat. After 227 days in sea, Pi arrives at the coast of Mexico and is helped by a group of locals. Richard Parker, as if not knowing Pi at all, escapes into the nearby jungle and is not heard of again...

3. Benito Juarez Infirmary, Tomatlan, Mexico

By now, I was relieved that Pi made it out fine. But then, he is interviewed by two officials from the Japanese maritime department. He tells them the whole story but they refuse to believe him.............. maybe for the right reason.

So Pi proceeds to tell them another story. One that will shock you. One that will haunt you for days. One that will not allow you to sleep in peace. One that will not permit you the appetite to eat. One that I will not tell you because you need to read yourselves to find out what a genius the writer really is.

All I can say is that... this book is definitely worth the read. Also, I cannot wait for the movie adaptation to be released in 2012. It will be directed by Ang Lee and stars Irfan Khan as an adult Pi, Tabu as Pi's mother, Tobey Maguire as one of the interviewers  and a newcomer as the teenage Pi.

Most of us grew up reading Robinson Crusoe, espicially those of us who attended school in the northern states of Peninsular Malaysia, where the novel was a compulsory component of English literature. If you found it boring, trust me; Life of Pi is nothing like that. It is a very fresh, beautiful and colourful book.