Life, Laughter and Everything Else

When quizzed by her friends, my sister once admitted to her friends in an all casual manner that she might one day enter into an arranged marriage. Her friends, predominantly Chinese, was revolted by this idea to the extent that information about any passing Indian guy who came on their radar was immediately relayed to her. Of course, when friends arrange it, it is all right. My dear non-Indian friends, before I proceed, let me clear one misconception. Arranged marriage is not forced marriage. In arranged marriage, you have a choice (and sadly so does the opposite number). What makes it particularly distinct are parents play matchmaker and decisions have to be made faster. Which means you don't play base. You just go straight to the home run.  Personally, I was not in favour of it, though that was 4 years ago, when I came into university expecting life to be like American Pie. But God had other plans for me. Not satisfied of putting me through an all male secondary school ...

What is hard work? Is it the burning of the midnight candle? Is it the sacrifice of life's pleasures  for a goal deemed worthy? Or as Ali said, suffering now to live like a champion later? I thought I knew what it was. I thought I had tasted its bitterness. Until they reached down and grabbed the bar And set it so high it disappeared behind the clouds. Now I preach from the ground, of the pleasures of being rooted to the Earth. Though I suspect it is but a fear to keep me from striving for the limits of the sky. Will I ever dare to take on the suffering and the pain and live to enjoy the fruits of toil? Will I ever know What is hard work? 

Perhaps any writer's greatest motivation to write is a strong emotion about a certain issue. I woke up with one today, thanks to a conversation I had the earlier night with a friend whose perpetually sombre face, cracking, deep voice and the slow, measured pace of talk exuded a sense of immense gravity to everything he said. The conversation starter was when I told him that I wanted a work life balance in my future career, to which he replied, " Work life balance? Throw that out of the window. This is Singapore and anything you do, you need to work really hard. The reality of modern day is that you cannot afford to sit on your chair at home while there is someone from some other country willing to do your job for more time and less pay " That statement did not really surprise me. I had known it all along, but I still chose to desperately cling onto the remnants of a hope that I could one day have work-free weekends. Coming straight from someone whose face see...

A few weeks ago, my father left for India for his college reunion. The few weeks preceding the trip, I had never seen him so excited. E-mails, international calls, t-shirt designs, sponsorships, hotel bookings, alcohol, a myriad of issues were debated over ceaselessly while my mother scorned over this child like behavior of her fifty plus year old husband. It had been thirty two years since his batch graduated, though this period was peppered with reunions now and then between old friends and their families. The coming one would be the biggest of them all. It would take place at the very location where it all began, their old school, in the presence of the very professors who once taught them. People would arrive from all corners of the globe to relive the old times. And in the midst of all the planning, he rather boastfully dropped the question, "Why are kids today not as close to their friends?" "Competition perhaps?", I made a rational guess. But ...

He pressed seventeen. Two floors below, I noted. I took my place, straightfaced and cold, on the left at the back and leaned myself against the wooden railing. He stood prependicular to me, an arms length away to my right. As the door closed, I wondered where his two friends were. The three of them, big, round and brown lived in contrast in this middle class family oriented environment. Their foreign tongue and weather beaten appearance, grace of their blue collared jobs, did them no favour in our silently discriminating society. Their presence was unwelcome and a failure of the capitalist system of rewarding whoever had the money to pay the rent. Then I saw those words, stretched out on those unshapely chests. They stood out in big white lettering against a grass-green background, like an advertisement for Nike Golf, Smile!  Its a Charity :) It made me smile within. Then it spread to my body, like an itch. I had to say it, but I did not know him. And for what purpose?...

A picture affixed in my mind A recollection of months gone by Of places travelled Of sights seen Of people met All starts with that image Of that silent room. The windows wide and tight shut Standing guard against the dreamy winter The lacy curtains drawn as they posture in reverence to the streaming sunlight who eases past the guard and rests on its throne, but a mere wooden table covered by a plastic fabric, scarlet and flowery. The silence is undisturbed a picture of an alluring harmony. Oh how I miss those silent breakfasts in that silent room.

One of the main reasons I looked forward to my exchange was that it gave me an opportunity to further expand my cooking repertoire beyond the omlette and scrambled eggs. In the process, after a series of successes and failures, more of the former than the latter, I remain exceptionally bad at it. Though failure is always the first step to success and now that I can also make edible pasta, I believe that qualifies me to do share my experiences and advice for all amateur cooks and cook wanna-bes around the world. So here goes, 1) Listen to thy mother As an amateur, never listen to your guts. This is all the more important if you are an engineer or a mathematician to whom logic is important, where input is equal to output and the amount of water you pour inside will determine the amount of curry you get. Cooking is not engineering, which should already be obvious from the differences in the gender ratio involved in either. So when your mother, whom with years of experience tells you ...