The Splenderful Chronicles

I've Moved

2006-02-19T11:53:00.000Z

Jane Sunshine has moved folks. New chronicles here.

p/s: some features in new template made possible with the help of my friend, may. many thanks sweets.

HELP

2006-02-14T21:35:00.000Z

HELP. My entries have all merged together all of a sudden. What happened to my paragraphs? Can someone explain how can this happen and how I can sort it out?

Valentine Indeed

2006-02-13T20:37:00.000Z

Happy Valentine's Day everybody. I know its commercialised and all that brouhaha but a girl should never complain when when any excuse is a good excuse for gifts and dinner.

post coitum omnia animal triste est

2006-02-11T17:50:00.000Z

A psychologist told me this. And I cannot agree more. After lovemaking, all animals feel sad. There’s so many shades to this phrase that it is simply mindblowing. Think of a fabulous belgian chocolate. You sink your mouth in thinking that it is going to solve all your problems. It takes a few minutes to realize that at best, it was a temporal satisfaction. That my friends, is sadness.

This hole in my heart is in the shape of you, and no one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?*

2006-02-07T06:10:00.000Z

The articulateness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. The death of her and me. A friendship. Somewhere deep within my past is a Tina shaped hole.

This Tina shaped hole brims with all the sun-dappled joys and aches of girlhood. Starting when our spirits melted and merged in true kindred-spirit meeting moment.

And ending without a backward glance.

We were the ones who spent hours after class feeding teh tarik addiction at the mamak. Starting a few crazy fashion trends in college, beaded hair included (I’ve still got a remnant of the look tucked between the pages of my 1997 Diary). Drooling at some of those melt-in-your-mouth male varieties that sauntered around the uni square. Dreaming together under the sweltering Kuala Lumpur skyline. Philosophy, plays and poetry interspersed by giddy debates and soul searching. We were together so much that we became Tina and Jane said-in-breathless-unison to everyone else.

I don’t know when things started to crumble. First, a boyfriend, Ken who fills Tina’s space. Night and day. I am resentful that she let the friendship suffer for the boyfriend. It doesn't help that I don’t think much of him and tell her so. You deserve better that this guy I point out, perhaps a bit cruelly. Maybe she’s angry. Maybe she thinks I am jealous. I claim that I am not jealous-I am her best friend and want what’s best for her. That’s what I honestly believe. I am hurt and try talking. But something’s missing now, some intangible thing I cannot point out. Then I meet someone who opens a new world, new friends and parties included. I keep busy.

Then, just like the vision of a white tissue floating out of a train window on a blustery day, its gone. Tina and Jane said-in-breathless-unison.

Where did it go, I ask later. Today, I find out that she just had her first baby. Mentioned in the passing by a third person. That’s how far we’ve drifted away.

What ended with Tina was not just friendship but the idealism of girlhood. Next thing I knew I was out in the world and slipped into a new life, complete with job, credit card and car. The abundant college years, penniless but rich in face-crinkling laughter was light years away. We live in different continents, battling different destinies now. But how do you splinter the memories? Which one is mine, and which one is hers I wonder.

Still, I am startled by women who resemble her. Then, I remember the Tina shaped hole deep in my heart.

*Jeanette Winterson

Something about the cake and the eating and what's the point then

2006-02-04T10:26:00.000Z

I caught a rather controversial documentary on Channel 4 on Friday about why women can't have it all : the career, marriage and kids in-a-nice-package-deal. It's a myth says high flying journalist Amanda Platell. Somewhere, something gets sacrificed and no thanks to the angry feminism of the 60s and 70s, its the marriage and kids.

"Amanda embarks on a personal journey to examine the plight of the have-it-all generation of women today and, in doing so, reflects on her own life choices. She investigates whether feminism has unwittingly damaged a woman's chances of real happiness - with a husband and children - liberating them from the shackles of housewifery, but offering an unrealistic dream of being able to have it all, whenever they want it. While she acknowledges the great debt women owe to the trailblazing feminists of the 1960s and 1970s, Amanda asks whether it is the independence they granted women that has made it so hard for today's generations to settle down and have a family.

She meets some of the key thinkers on women's issues, among them feminist icon and author Fay Weldon, who was at the heart of the women's movement that transformed society. In her interview with Amanda she confesses her doubts over the achievements of feminism, suggesting it may have gone too far. Amanda investigates why equality now equates to young women behaving like men - competing with them in the workplace but also matching them drink for drink in today's ladette culture.

Amanda, herself a high-profile career-woman, believes it is a myth that women can spend their twenties relentlessly pursuing a career and their own agenda then suddenly switch tracks and try and find a life partner and dad for their kids. She tackles the taboo subject of the biological blight of delaying motherhood, speaking to the two senior doctors who were pilloried for suggesting women are damaging their chances of having children by waiting until their late 30s or even 40s. And she asks if the blame for the increasing disintegration of marriage can to some degree be laid at the feet of women who are too keen to put themselves ahead of their relationships.

She meets Minister for Women Tessa Jowell who admits that government policies can only go so far to promote the right work/life balance - ultimately women are responsible for their own life choices. In a visit to a leading girls' school, Amanda meets a class of 17 and 18-year-olds; the next generation of women, who talk about the pressures they will face in the future - juggling careers with an old-fashioned desire to settle down. Like Amanda, they believe women can't have it all and that somewhere along the line they will need to compromise aspects of their lives."

Hmmm..............

Why must we live through the whole life-business in the bloody dark? Whatever mistakes we make sighed and chalked as experience? And passed on as wisdom to the next generation. Why were we all not given life-operation manuals as we came along?

My Intellectual Mr.Big*

2006-02-02T14:13:00.000Z

*fn: C. Bradshaw, soul mate re Sex and the City.

I look for Holden Caulfield still.

Somedays, I mutter a silent prayer so as not to ever see my Catcher in the Rhye hero as a big city corporate lawyer. Anything but that I say. But what if he turned out to be an aimless loafer who bums around? Yet, something always tells me that he did hold on to his dreams and is now an impoverished writer, scribbling away feverishly in an old attic to illume humanity with hope for the young and the brave.

Yet it is with regret that I have to come to terms that I have outgrown my teenage hero. Although I never ever thought that it would come to this, Holden today has been reduced to a mere figment of my imagination, not that tangible kindred spirit with whom I had cried "freaks of the world, unite!" with. But I must tell anyone who ever wondered about life after Catcher in the Rhye this much: yes, there is a world beyond Holden Caulfield.

Franny & Zooey is a lesser known work by that wonderful J.D.Salinger but a masterpiece in its own right. People everywhere who grapple with the lost of their teenage friend Holden would be able to identify with Franny and Zooey Glass. Of course, I don't think that Salinger wrote F&Z with the intention that it should be in furtherance of the Holden Caulfield experience. There is no apparent link at all to the two. Yet somehow I feel that the impression is magnified for someone with a Catcher in the Rhye background. There seems to be answers here instead of all the mere questions propelled in Catcher.

The thing about books and friends is this. Some books, like friends, we hang on to at a certain stage in life or period of time. Sometimes, we move on and lose touch. We start again with new ones. Occasionally, we bump into the old friend and then cannot help but be imbibed in the nostalgia of the past encounter. Some however are not periodic. There is an initiation and unfolding of kindred spirits that is sealed forever, through all the stages of life. Lifelong friends and lifelong books are never easy to come by. When they do happen, if ever, they become one of those great gifts to treasure always.

Franny and Zooey has been a life-long book that has continually watched over me these growing up years. Now, that I think that I am adult enough in an adult world, F&Z still companies me with a quietude that comes from a best friend's familiarity, understanding and trust. I first read F&Z with the smugness of a 16 year old who relished in the joy of identifying like minded people. Begone, the phonies and hypocrites that populate the world at large (Maths teachers included).

Of course, at that point in time, it was also for me, more than anything else, a vehicle to be beyond the trivialities of that trash churned by Sidney Sheldon and (god forbid) Danielle Steel that gripped my classmates. There was a relish of discovering something beyond Holden Caulfield and Catcher in The Rhye and thus being able to book name drop about it with nonchalant ease, the little snob that I was (okay, okay,there are things from my past that I am not very proud of but hey, I was 16). F&Z is lesser known than Catcher and subject to some derision by critics who profess to think they know better. I will deconstruct any such detraction with a wave of my hand. Only if you take the time to read this book will you embrace the delicate nuances and pockets of tenderness that sluice the pages of the perfectly calibrated F&Z.

Little did I realise when I picked it up at a second hand bookstore many years ago that it would be the coming-of-age novel of my life. F&Z became the avatar of my young angst.

An elliptical tale of family ties, intellectual probing and spiritual questing, F&Z is Salinger's recondite exploration of the Glass family, a clan of ruptured intellectuals. Franny and Zooey are the youngest children who not only live in the shadow of their older brothers, Seymour and Buddy, but also now, as adults, have to deal with the intellectual and spiritual burden of a precocious childhood. Weaned on religion and the true path of life before being exposed to all that "fashionable lighting effects-the arts, sciences, classics, languages”, both Franny and Zooey, have at different times, felt that they are far removed from their peers who handle youth with equal degrees of bluster and levity.

F&Z can be seen as entirely 2 different novellas. For me however, it has always been one story with different viewpoints. Franny sees our first rate beauty, Franny Glass, alighting the train into the arms of the self-absorbed boyfriend Lane Coutell. Franny Glass is a study in dichotomy. Wistful and esoteric, her need to reach out to others is great but at the same time, she abhors the superficial pretentiousness of the world. The nadir of her breakdown is her inability to handle this contradiction (and with superficial boyfriend like Lane Coutell, puh leeze. You just know those artifical, arrogant types don't you? There would be many men I would meet later in life whom I would mentally file as Lane Coutell material and therefore suitably disposed).

In the second part, Zooey, a narrator appears for us. Capturing the 3 Glass family members; Franny, Zooey and their affable mother, Bessie (the rest of the family would receive sporadic mention ala “Banquo's Ghost”), the family dynamic slowly reveals significance at the end as the mystical and temporal cope together. What I like best is the way Salinger tells us the story in a most conversational way. We later learn that the narrator of the tale is the second oldest (living) brother, Buddy, writer-in-residence at a girls college. I have almost always thought of it as a film Buddy Glass captures on camcorder and then puts in writing. There is a spot of sunshine as Bloomberg the cat moves away. Another shot shows Bessie chinking faintly in her housecoat as she moves about in her large apartment. Then the camera gazes back lovingly at Franny, languishing in the living room. Somewhere in the horizon, painters are marching steadfastly from the bedroom.

F&Z has been a literary journey into my spirit. I must be quick to point that there have been many other books that have touched the very marrow of my being. Yet, there is none of the febrile passion that F&Z evoked as it grew with me. It is the book upon which I founded a portion of my identity and also shaped my literary taste.

I will tell you why.

Somedays, it is almost epiphany to read F&Z. All of you who have been depressed and wake up some mornings wishing that this hypocritical world was dead will know that this is the book for you. It companied me during dark moments of despair and heartbreak, watched over protracted anguish and lended support on ceaseless days. F&Z has and will always be my refuge from the world. I realize that the emotional translucence saved me from a heard-it-all-before sophistication that my smug 18 year-old self was dangerously perched to drown in. I was just like Franny. Her angst satisfied in me a spiritual yearning and embodied the various transmutations of the years.

"All I know is I’m losing my mind,” Franny said. I’m just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody else’s. I’m sick of everybody that wants to get somewhere, do something distinguished and all, be somebody interesting. It’s disgusting-it is, it is, it is. I don’t care what anybody says…..Maybe I am stark, staring mad and don’t know it.”

F&Z performed a most fundamental role to the insecure young woman not sure of where she fitted in such a complicated world. That my place in society was dictated by my string of A’s, articulate English and well-placed degree gripped me. Inwardly, there was a very real fear of being marginalised for not conforming to such expectations. F&Z was my cheerleader during those years of unsurety and confusion. Believe me, it took me years before I could close a door and ask myself what I thought of people instead of what they thought of me.

Then there are the days when I wonder about the state of being Zachariah Martin Glass. It is Zooey with his blue eyes, “a whole days work”, that defies me. Till date, he is hazy in my mind. I know the tenor of his voice, the wicked glint in those blue eyes, the wide shoulders, his own brand of vanity and madness. Zooey the abstruse, who oscillates between disbelief and bigotry. If only he knew that I have been in love with him for years. I exclaim silently at this strange draw I feel towards him. I too realize that my mother can actually, during moments of time, say things with such alacrity and precision, she could hit an emotional bulls eye with me. Somehow, I too either really take on to people or feel that life is better off without some at all.

“You either take to someday or you don’t. If you do, then you do all the talking and nobody can even get a word edgewise. If you don’t like somebody-which is most of the time-then you just sit around like death itself and let the person talk themselves into a hole. I’ve seen you doing it.”

Et tu, Zooey?

However, as much as striking a fundamental chord within my spirit, F&Z has at different times confounded and infuriated me. It can and has shredded my very make-up. The very nerve of F&Z is the need to find the pulse by which life is to be lived. What has happened to me is that unconsciously, I cannot just live everyday for the moment. Everything has to be linked to the grand purpose of life. I have been so busy planning my life 20 years ahead that the beauty of today is wasted on me sometimes. Some days, I accuse F&Z for fracturing me this way.

But the questions that Salinger was asking is as relevant for me today as it was my eager 18 year old self. Why do we do art? For ego gratification? To help society? To serve God? This was mystic fuel to the questions within me. Of course, Eastern gurus have been talking about all this aeons ago. The Hindus and Buddhists call it dharma. This would of course lead to the other criticism of F&Z pandering to the westerner’s fascination with all that is eastern mystic. Some may find all the highbrow spiritual leanings of the book to be a turn off. The fundamentals however, are elementary.

We can all relate to the premise that although we are basically flawed, at the end of the day, if we live in accordance to the dictates of our heart, we would have lived a good life. That’s really the simple way to happiness.

The complicated way would be to get a psychiatrist.

Some have panned it as just a bit too-smug and self-involved. It may be a bit clever at times but never pretentious. F&Z has heart but it is not always easy to find. That is why it is not on anybody's bestseller list and mostly only Salinger fans are wont to subscribe the pure unadulterated joy it resonates with.

How do you fundamentally reconcile ego-gratification: our desire for money, fame and that promotion with religion which advocates control of senses, humility and the sublime? The unabashed and ulcerous Zooey Glass says it best as he impersonates Buddy: Do it for the Fat Lady. The idea is all about living a true life and loving true loves. Whatever you choose to do, whatever the outcome of your decisions, just live. But live with all your might. After all, you’ve only got one life, so give it the best that you have. It’s that simple. The gist is condensed by Buddy Glass in a most profound and honestly written letter to his brother Zooey, the actor: “Enough. Act, Zachary Martin Glass when and where you want to, since you feel you must, but do it with all your might.”

And so, it has come to that while F&Z may have its detractors, the truth of the matter is that it is the book that has companied me over all these years of growing-up. I have yet to read the other Glass family saga for example, Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters, Seymour and A Perfect Day for Bananafish. But that experience will be another tale for another day.

This is my tribute to Franny and Zooey, with love and squalor.

If there was no Winter there will be no Spring to look forward to

2006-01-25T01:01:00.000Z

Work, Work, Work, Work, Work, Work, Work, Work. Repeat till the page is full.

[Inspired of course from Humbert Humbert: ‘Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita. Repeat till the page is full’.]

How come when he said it, it was so full of all breathless, visceral pain and sour-sweetness of yearning? My version sounds like the hoarse rattling of a battered old car that refuses to start?

Maybe because work weighs my shoulder down, a straggling millstone. It's got a life of its own I tell you, these drafts that I am working on. Every morning when I wake up, they would have readjusted themselves to suit strange whims.

Fancy that.

Over the weekend, 2 very different movies. Woody Allen convinced me that Luck plays a bigger role in peoples lives than they care to admit.Matchpoint had a noir-ish quality that surprisingly sucks you in. Dark passions, a very hot Scarlett Johansen and big doses of luck.

Brokeback Mountain , a haunting lyrical beauty that took my breath away. How many of us find a love that fits like a snug glove and becomes an imperceptible part of ourselves? Ennis and Jack had that.

Here's to all things Fabulous

2006-01-15T13:33:00.000Z

Over two weeks into the new year. Ah, I haven’t posted at all since.

Yes, it has been a frantic few weeks. Work took on gargantuan proportions. I have a breather now but next week its back to the grind stone. And what of 2005, that sweet-sad, chest-gripping, strange sort of feeling year? (okay, okay I stole that line from Murakami).

It whizzed past without a backward glance I must say. I did manage a small pocket of time to do my annual stock-take. Some highs, some lows and many days of frustrated struggle (mainly work related). I have only now gingerly opened 2006 and am planning to delve deep and hard and enjoy what the year has in store. It may throw good things and un-good but I am ready. As 30 should be.

Ah, yes. I turned 30. With quiet contentment.

We ran away from London, deep into the Welsh country for a few days. M took me for a swanky dinner, with scattered paper stars and moons on the table overlooking a bay. As we linked fingers, I watched the dark waves dance the night away. I am glad. To leave behind the madness of the 20s. There is of course the rose-tinted nostalgia that accompanies reminiscence of this kind. The 20s were filled with all the mayhem, anguish, delight and sheer rush of college, work, relationships and what not.

When I was 18, I sat and wrote a list of all the things that I planned to achieve by the time 30 rolled by. I opened the tattered, yellowed paper that I have been carrying all these years:

I have since done some of those things. Some I haven’t and some are plainly, no longer important. But as the sea and sky merged into a curtain of inky peacefulness, I knew that there is much to celebrate.

So much to be thankful for. Companied with all the love and good wishes of family and friends. Who are with me in love, play and work. Cheering me, de-stressing me, being goofy with me and loving me despite.

So much to look forward to. Some travel awaits, some get-aways, meeting new people and the many parties to be had in our love-filled new home.

So much to learn. From the books that gleam wickedly on the library shelves. From the experiences of yore. From the wisdom of my parents. From friends. New things about M that I keep discovering (for example I just found out that he knows the lyrics to really random songs).

So much to cherish. The past that colours the present. Once upon a time foibles. Halcyon girlhood. The choices I made (or maybe think I did) sum up what I am today.

So much to give. To send lots of sunshine to friends and family.To share knowledge with my students, to exchange ideas and thoughts.

One thing to pray for (that’s my secret).

I can sense it in my bones that the 30s are going to be fabulous.

So, here’s to 30 and Possibilities. Blessings of great magnitude. Swirls of grace and beauty. The goodness of people. The kindness of thoughts. The joy of oneness. Here’s to shimmering dreams unfurling, showers of joy, laughter and magic, pure and simple.

It’s going be great. Fabulous 30.

Remembrance Week

2005-12-25T06:07:00.000Z

From World Wide Help
"Last year, on the 26th December, an earthquake, and then a tsunami, killed, wounded, or impoverished hundreds of thousands of people in South Asia.

During the course of the year, other disasters took their toll too. Most devastating of them: Hurricanes Katrina and Rita on the South-East coast of the USA; and another enormous earthquake near Pakistan's border with India.

These disasters took their immediate toll, and, each time, the world tried to help. But as calamity piled upon calamity, there has been a certain amount of fatigue. Perhaps people's stock of goodwill has run low. Perhaps seeing too much suffering hardens us.

But, the fact is, the suffering from those disasters has not ceased. Parts of South Asia have still not recovered from December 26th, 2005. In the USA, normalcy hasn't returned to New Orleans. In Pakistan, thousands are still homeless, and may not survive the harsh Himalayan winter.

They need your help.

Last December and this January, the online community came together as never before to help in the aid efforts in South-East Asia. The lessons learned there were put to use, and improved upon, when the other tragic events of the year unfolded.

Can we harness that goodwill, that togetherness, that willingness to help once more? "
Here's a list of donation agencies that are still working on these projects:

Disasters Emergency Committee (DEC)

British Red Cross

Doctors Without Borders

Oxfam Earthquake and Floods Appeal

XXXXX

I'm spending the day with some of my favourite people. On boxing day, we will be lighting a single candle-in remembrance.

Warmest Wishes

2005-12-24T14:30:00.000Z

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and Happy New Year everybody. In a way, I am glad that the year is coming to an end. Enough calamities, suffering and pain for one year, I must say. May 2006 bring us all a happier and more peaceful world.

2006, can you please slow down?

2005-12-23T01:53:00.000Z

Aiks. Why can't 2006 slow down a wee bit? It's already faintly grazing my neck and I am not ready at all. I have so much to finish work-wise that I haven't had time to sit and do my annual 'the year in retrospect' thingy which is accompanied by loads of 'notes to self' and stuff. This is making me feel very edgy.

Hold on for a bit will you, 2006.

Bah, Humbug!

2005-12-21T11:57:00.000Z

Plan I am so NOT going to Oxford Street for some store-induced Christmas spirit. No way. I have a tree up in the living room and that's that. I am going to stay at home and do work. Yes. You heard me right. I have a great trip planned mid-Jan. So, I need to get cracking NOW in order to enjoy my trip.

Reality So, there I was- not planning to get into any of the year end festivities at all. Unfortunately, everybody ELSE is making plans and the phone keeps ringing.

The devil of consumerism comes-a-calling and I have succumbed. I am going away for the weekend with friends who for all intent and purpose are going to attack the boxing-day sale with great gusto.

If glee and guilt can mix, I have one heady cocktail in my hand now.

10 Things You Didn’t Know About Me

2005-12-12T15:44:00.000Z

1. I should be doing my work but am more content to stare at the window and day-dream away. I am dreaming of waves crashing gently on a white-sand beach where I am reading without a care in the world with a hibiscus on my hair and Andrea Bocelli streaming in the background.

2. The only ambition I ever had since I was 10 years old was to be a lawyer (don’t ask me why, but my hunch is that it’s a middle-class parent mentality that is transferred, osmosis-like to the child ie myself). But I am not a practising one now, even though I have spent a great amount of time in law school. Whatever decisions that I have made in life, I am certainly quite glad about this one.

3. I am going to adopt a child in Africa in the New Year but M doesn’t know this yet. I want a little girl, who would benefit from a monthly stipend (It would be money I would spend on something random as in No.4 below anyway, and if it is going to make a small little difference in a child’s life, I will be very, very happy).

4. I have paid 40 quid in library fines (in 1 week) and I am not planning to tell M.

5. I felt really sad when Brenda was voted out of X-factor last Saturday. And I think Colin Jackson is going to win Strictly Come Dancing (Hey, this two shows really require talent…okay, yeah, I watch reality TV. So WHAT?).

6. I am thinking of opening a dinky little antique shop one day.

7. I cannot sing to save my life-I was born tone deaf. When I was a child, I thought that I would never be successful because I had no talent whatsoever. Now, my definition of 'successful' has changed.

8. I was an awfully serious child.

9. I wake up in the middle of the night fearing that I am not going to finish the goddam thesis and am going to be a failure.

10. On my 18th birthday, I sat and wrote down all that I wanted to achieve in life by the time I turn 30. I still carry that list, frayed and yellowing, in my purse everyday. It’s just that I am afraid to open it now that I am going to turn 30 very, very soon.

Of Salt and Saffron

2005-12-08T22:56:00.000Z

I have been looking for a Kamila Shamsie book for aeons. So, when I finally found the acclaimed Salt and Saffron, I have been sneaking a read in between work. She is particularly appealing as a writer because she embodies a disparate voice: young, bold, woman, Muslim, Pakistani.

Salt and Safron has good moments. The legendary Mariam Apa (Aunty Mariam ) and her mouth watering orders to the cook are definitely highlights. The whole story centers around a woman’s search for a sense of self and love. The central character hails from an upper class family, leaves Karachi to study in London but has her heart in Pakistan. It is in London that she meets the handsome poor student from the other side of her hometown, who is salt, common, to her rarified saffron.

Yet. The search for self and all that is just a bit too pat. And all that talk about food throughout the book gave me indigestion.

Why is it that when I read books displaying Muslim women's voice, I generally come out disappointed? I feel as if something is missing. Like being invited into a house with no windows. A stifling house that encloses with too much clutter. I am being told too many things. And at the end of the day, nothing. I had the same feeling when I turned to the last page of Ahdaf Soueif's In the Eye of the Sun and Monica Ali's Brick Lane. Disappointment.

Perhaps, I should try the highly recommended Sara Suleri’s Meatless Days instead. Anybody can suggest a book that carries a Muslim woman's voice with greater sensitivity?

Revealation

2005-12-08T22:43:00.000Z

I didn’t realize I grew up on a diet of Marxist philosophy until I started teaching Rule of Law and Marxism.

When my fresh-faced students look at me with great earnest when the topic of Karl Marx comes up, I tell them what the syllabus says I should teach. That Marxist philosophy fundamentally opposed the concentration of power in the bourgeoisie (ruling class). The proletariat(working class) must obtain consciousness to revolt against the concentration of power in the hands of the bourgeoisie because the bourgeoisie relies on the proletariat to run his industry. Imagine, I tell them. A big fat bourgeoisie smoking a big, fat cigar behind a big, fat table. He does nothing the whole day because he squeezes the blood, sweat and tears of the Proletariat in his factory. The Proletariat must come to realize that the big, fat guy cannot survive without them and thus, revolt.

This I tell them.

What I really want to tell them is to get a B-grade Tamil/Hindi movie from the 80s which I used to watch. That’s where I learnt it all. Big factory. Bad boss. Mistreated workers. Revolt. See parallels? Plus this one has added bonus of one moustachioed hero and flimsy saried heroine. Look it up.

Oh, and I haven’t gone to Highgate to pay my tribute yet. For all his working class ideals, Marx ultimately appeals to the thinking class. I wonder what he thinks of that?

How I miss KL

2005-12-03T19:36:00.000Z

Musings in KL

Just between you and me, I must tell you
that I am no KL-ite. Home is tucked away
placidly up north. But KL is like a second
home, like your mother-in-law’s place,
a home that you marry into, something that
creeps into you with a perverse familiarity.
Like the traffic jam, the haze, Federal Highway,
the mamak stall near Sogo, the cacaphonic rush
of the lunch time crowd.

So, what right do I have to talk about KL?
Come onlah, people are all here to make a
living. I am one of the crowd.

If KL was a woman, she will be a whore.
A classy one at that. I am just the average
Malaysian, one of the clients she services.
I must say that she solicits with a randy
suggestiveness-all those palm fronds and
light strobes for this paradisical, touristy feel.
Just the way the orang puteh like it.

Looks very nice on the postcard, this
two dimensional cut-out. Then again,
the ringgit rolls in, so who is to say anything?

She has over the years taken to embellish
herself with these towering monstrosities.
Her crowning glory of course is that Twin Towers
which stick out like giant phalluses with a
self-righteous kiasu smirk. I must tell you that
it is all show and not much performance.
A lot of bluff really.

After all, she is not that nubile nymphet anymore.
There are lines under her eyes and the breasts are sagging.
That is why the need for this coarse touch-up:
to proffer this exotic, pseudo-rustic face.
Or else, she is wont to lose her clients.
But then again, these are modern times and
this is your archetypical modern woman. If you
want an anak dara you had better balik kampung.

But take heart.
I will share a secret. She really is
a very beautiful woman, inside and out.
After all she did not ask to look like this.
This was a fate thrust onto her by
those who Know Best.

Give her time.
As sweet and true as first kiss,
you will realise that the raunchy
side has a heart.

Most of all be patient.
Take time to journey into the marrow of her spirit.
Learn to understand her mood and colours.
Unravel that volatile chameleon, denude her off
that cosmetic face. Traverse into her and she will
take you into her folds.

And there, you will see a coy mistress. Quite
unsure of herself. Trembling and aching for an
honest lover. She will give you her soul with
so much trust, you can weep, man.
She will share with you hopes, dreams, fears.
Success and failures.
Laughter and tears.

Then.
Then you will want the whore
for a wife.To grow old and grey with.

I wish that she (and all women) came with an instruction
manual.

But maybe, you will find her amidst
the throng of humanity in Jalan Ampang,
jasmine garlands in Little India,
the crisp vigour of growth in Kampung Baru,
the strain of bargain in Petaling Street,
the deep rumble of the LRT,
the balik kampung exodus.

(c)Jane Sunshine (2001)

Oh Life

2005-11-29T11:00:00.000Z

To: Prof Vacation [vacate@never.here.ac.uk]
From: Hopeless inadequate useless bag of rubbish [self_pity@here.now.ac.uk]
Subject: Bleeeeeaaaah!

Dear Prof,

Boooooohoooooo, snivel, snivel, bleeeeaaaaaah...

/END MESSAGE

Source: Richard Butterworth, who did a Phd and did not go mad. Currently, my inspiration. I need to stay sane. Arrrrrrrggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness

2005-11-22T04:42:00.000Z

Sprawling Autumn is a golden swirl of falling yellow leaves and sombre nights. The beauty is one of sublime grace, a generous benediction. Crisp mornings bring along a misty golden dream, unfurled amidst carpets of crinkled leaves. The retreating flowers colour-away and fade amidst the spreading gold.

It is an apt season for me as I become more resilient and focused. Life is simple really. After all, which is the reality, which is the waking dream? The mellow gold season brings with it resignation and acceptance. Yes, it is laced with melancholia and sewn with deep, deep pain but such things are best tucked into cavernous recesses and never brought again. It is bearable in hapless Summer but Autumn demands resolve and strength of steel.

This I will give Autumn.

Out, Damned Spot!

2005-11-18T12:35:00.000Z

The milk of human kindness hath runneth dry. I cannot say one kind word about an unfortunate production. The BBC has been reinterpreting Shakespeare with the finesse of a strutting buffalo. Yes, clumsy, meandering and grey. The idea is to transfer Shakespeare comedies and tragedies into modern settings. As a result, on Monday, I watched the most passionless Macbeth of my life. The 21st century Macbeth is a chef in the restaurant of Duncan Docherty. It was really painful to see a wispy Macbeth wielding a kitchen knife alongside a screechy (Lady) Macbeth, forgettable Macduff and the rest. Duncan was the only character which stayed true-benign, sweet and wronged but it just wasn’t enough.

I don’t even want to talk about last week’s Much Ado About Nothing, set in a newsroom, though it did have the benefit of better lead actors. Next week is The Taming of the Shrew and I really would like to know how they plan to reinterpret the most chauvinistic of Shakespeare’s plays. Maybe not.

Blonde Day No.327

2005-11-16T22:45:00.000Z

This is Cruella de Ville season. Velvet is BIG this Autumn, apart from the horrendous military-look jacket, everywhere, I see coats, skirts and trousers in velvet. Black, dark blue and brown being perhaps more forgivable versions. Even aubergines and deep reds can past muster. Though the overdose is getting to me in an Addams Family House kind of way-ghoulish and dreadful. I used to not mind it. Once upon a time, I even spent a lot of money on a slinky black velvet dress for which I recieved a fair share of compliments. I have to further concede that at times, a rich black velvet skirt can look stunning. But the problem with velvet is that it also spawns Yellow, Pink and Green versions of aforementioned clothes. That’s when I want to yank the said velvet –wearer and rip it away from causing further aesthetic injury. Yank, yank, yank.

Marriage Means Being in Love for the Rest of Your Life

2005-11-13T00:31:00.000Z

My sister and her Mr.R still celebrate monthly wedding anniversaries. I laugh because I can’t recollect that time anymore: when you are still celebrating hourly, daily, weekly, monthly anniversaries. When everything is all sappy mush and there is a hallow emanating from your other half. Awww.

Where, I wonder, are the rose-tinted glasses that I had used to view M with? The same M who doesn't read me poetry, who's watching Braveheart for the 14th time this weekend, who used to open the car door for me, who thinks that the house can self-clean and whose idea of fun is watching The Simpsons.

But after a long day, it is M who will make me laugh myself silly, especially when I tend to take things too seriously (which is often). It is M who would have surprised me with a nice home-cooked dinner and hot tea afterwards. And it is M who would listen to my tirade about latest research problems or the joys of a new found friend in what is a relatively new city for me. When my limbs are weary and heart heavy, I snuggle up to him and know that all's right with the world.

Before our wedding, I had our rings engraved with 2 lines from a Browning poem. Mine says Grow Old Along with Me. His reads The Best Is Yet To Be.

The spirit of Browning’s words didn’t materialize immediately. The early days were not smooth sailing. We were both strong headed, highly opiniated and foolish. Recipe for turbulence. Further, I was so used to being by myself. I was after all, an independent KL girl. Things were all so honky dory when we were going out but suddenly, I felt claustrophic and longed to coil in my own space. I resented sharing my mind with such intimacy. I would shut away the stories I was working on. Why did I have to share everything just because we were married?

But slowly (and I mean slowly), the guarded layers peeled away. And I felt relieved to be loved despite. To be loved despite knowing the worst side there is to me, the one that is tucked away from the world and harbours demons of various guise. There was nothing else to do but to love back.

So, this one's for you, M (and to sis and her Mr.R as well).

Marriage Means Being in Love for the Rest of Your Life

Marriage is love walking hand in hand together. It's laughing with each other about silly little things, and learning to discuss big things with care and tenderness. In marriage, love is trusting each other when you're apart. It's getting over disappointments and hurts, knowing that these are present in all relationships. It is the realization that there is no one else in this world that you'd rather be with than the one you're married to. It's thinking of new things to do together; it's growing old together. Marriage is being in love for the rest of your life.

(Chris Ardis)

The Problem With Acerbic Stupidity

2005-11-12T20:29:00.000Z

Some people are so simple. They think that blogosphere is a cowboy town. They have illusions that they can say anything they want, defame anybody in particular and get away with it. Sorry to tell you the news sweetheart but you just can’t do that. Not here, not there, not even in Zanzibar. Trust me. I know defamation laws better than YOU. And I will put it simply for you, no legalese. Just don’t think you can spew falsity, with regards to ‘prominent persons’or anyone else and get away with it.

It was almost the worst Divali ever...

2005-11-08T10:01:00.000Z

...only it wasn't.

Finally, things are holding together. The clothes are in the cupboard, books are on shelves (almost), washing machine is whirring placidly and the shed is all sorted. Again, almost sorted is the apt word. Jane Sunshine has been through a mad, mad month or so. She was ill for a few days, was having extra classes, the laptop had virus, the water pipe broke and flooded her front lawn, a plumber had the nerve to tell her that it will cause 1,000 quid to sort the pipes out, it turned out to be nothing, she had learnt that plumbing and plastering are jobs that pay very well, she went into fits whenever the builders brought mud into the house on rainy days and the dust and noise became a permanent fixture.

Was it a surprise then that she was truly depressed this Deepa Raya? M went to work and she gave the builders some shop-bought murukku on Divali. The autumn chill kept her spirit frozen. She will refuse to admit it but there were a few hot, opalscent tears as well.

Then, a parcel arrived. Carrying along with it a whiff of Malaysian sunshine and warmth that thawed her heart. She melted and broke into a smile when she opened the never ending package of murukkus, chippi, omapudi and love. Lots and lots of love. Further sent by telephonic means.

All's well now. Jane is ready to conquer the world again.

So Silent for So Long...

2005-10-10T20:27:00.000+01:00

....due to all house-moving related madness. I have missed Splenderful and all my blog friends. British Telecom is being a pain. I am writing this from an internet cafe. The house is looking less like a war zone and more liveable but it's slow, slow. Hmmm...i suppose Rome wasn't built in a day.. plus these are busy days with the teaching term in full swing.

It doesn't rain. It pours.

Kak Teh and Ewok, I agree with makan plans. I am missing the times when M and I used to gallivant all the Ramadan markets around Kelana Jaya, s14 etc. Mmmmmmm...........