Assailed in India!

Colourful India

In April, I travelled with friends to India and what travel India is! We arrived in Mumbai and were immediately assailed by the putrid smells of urine as we stepped out of the airport. But that was India and we were ready to accept it in all its glory, even the uninvited porters who insisted we gave them "paper money" and not the coins we shoved quickly into their hands for doing nothing but trail us to the car.

My travelling companions, Anita and Devi

That same night, even our pre assigned driver tried to make money out of us. We had stopped at a stall to buy bottled water. Since there were five of us, we asked for a box of 2 litre bottles.

The driver insisted that because we were making a big buy, the stall owner should give him some commission for bringing him good customers. They argued for some time and then the shop owner tried to pass on the commission to us, by hiking up the price of the water. Thank God my sister in law had some experience of living in India and she told them both off. Next the driver took the longest route possible to our hotel. What should have taken about half and hour to 45 mins tops took almost two and the half hours. It was crazy. All this so that he could claim more money - they get paid by the hour you see.

These are the waters beyond the India gate. Despite the horrid stench that permeates the air here and the littered sidewalks, there are moments of tranquility and beauty.

That is India for you. You have to be prepared for it and not let the little but horrifying experiences bother you or your trip will be ruined. The only thing to expect in India, is the unexpected, so they say.

Essentially, I learned, to survive your holiday in India you need:
1. To read all about it before you go (Lonely Planet would be your best bet)
2. To have a good sense of humour
3. To drink only bottled water
4. To have a strong stomach and a good head on your shoulders
5. To insist on getting what the tour operators promised you (the drivers will try to be funny where they can)
6. To be on the look out for any kind of scams from just about anyone
7. To be ready to be horrified

Mumbai was crazy - heavy traffic even at midnight, old men crushed under the weight of their labourious burdens, and blasting horns that never stop. It was also disturbing with all the homeless or street children half naked and barefooted running around. What struck me was that they seemed to be so happy - just children playing and chasing - oblivious that having no shoes was a bothersome thing.

We saw women washing clothes wherever they could find water - gas stations, leaking water from broken pipes. Children collected water in the dead fo the night from tiny streams trickling through rocks on the dirtiest beach you ever saw. It really was depressing.

We chose the worst time of the year to go. April is hot and humid and the sun scorches the skin. We spent most of our time in our hired car, shuffling from one tourist spot to another shopping district in Mumbai.

Goa was a welcome respite. It is a stark contrast from the rest of India. No signs of poverty or the homeless. Just lots of good food, a hint of drug dealing and beautiful clean beaches. When in Goa, one must not miss the sunset cruise down the Mandovi River. It is just a truly breathtaking experience for the reflective person. I hear the pork vindaloo is divine but we somehow never came across it.

Goa looked and felt, in many ways, like Langkawi, only not quite.

Wherever you are staying, do make a trip further south to the less crowded and more beautiful beaches. There were rumours of Goa's reknowned parties here and there but it was the end of the tourist season and the partying was essentially over.

Beautiful sunsets here

The craft markets are worth a visit. Look out for the Tibetan jewellery sellers. There are rows and rows of them selling exquisite and well cut pieces with really exotic designs. They are mostly good quality silver set with semi precious stones. You will need to haggle to almost half the introductory price. However most of them are really haughty because the Europeans, with their big money, usually pay them what they ask. Look for the sweet little ladies with kind eyes and they are more likely to relent.

The most of us

All in all India was quite the experience. It did not hit me as hard as I have been to Africa before and had my share of culture shocks. All through my trip though, especially in Mumbai, I could not help but ask God "why?" as I looked out the frosted windows of our hired car into the immense poverty that we passed by...

My achy breaky heart

It was the worst day of my life. Even now, as I relive the incident in my mind, guilt and heartache wash over me in spurts.

My little one and the half year old, had on that fateful day, been playing tag with a pretty, gleeful, pony-tailed, four-year-old near the swimming pool at our condominium

In a bid to get away from her, he runs with wild abandonment straight towards a high pavement, trips and knocks his head on the low bricked wall. What little flesh on his forehead bursts open in a deep but narrow cut.

I saw it happen in my head before it actually happened. I reacted instantly, but was too far behind to stop him.

The ache in his cry – like nothing I have ever heard from him; and the terror in his eyes all but shook me even before I saw the streaks of blood flowing down his face.

I carried him in my arms and ran, my heart thumping crazily, back to my condo where thank God, my mother was at home and engrossed in a magazine.

We searched frantically under the blood and saw that the wound was not too deep, and his condition far from life threatening.

Yet, I felt threatened.
I felt vulnerable. How can this happen? On my watch. On my watch!

In the midst of his persistent cries and bloodied clothes, and my trying to contact my husband I had the presence of mind to bathe him quickly and wash his hair, so that he would not need a wash after he gets stitched up.

We rush him to our family physician almost an hour later. They see the blood and tend to him immediately even though there is a roomful of people waiting.

Nothing prepared me for the trauma of watching my child get stitched up for the first time.
The doctor tried his best.
“Has he had stitches before? I need to tell you that it IS going to be painful and he IS going to scream. Just be prepared.”

The doctor makes me hold baby down as he cleans the stitches and my son looks at me, wailing, pleading, and with eyes that questioningly say, “Mummy, what are you doing to me?,” “Mummy why are you letting them hurt me?.”

I turn away as the doctor hovers over him, the shringe full of anesthetic poised over his wound. I shut my eyes tight – I can’t look. I can’t watch.

My son, my baby, he screams so loudly when the needle pierces him that the walls seem to shake, my heart shatters to a million pieces and I force myself, for his sake, to look, to assure him with my eyes. What I really want to do is push the doctor away and hold my baby close and tell him I am sorry.

He goes back to just crying and then whimpering and I guess he sees the fear in my eyes and reflects it in his own.
But his forehead is numb now and he does not feel the hooked needle the doctor uses for the singular stitch he needs for his deep but narrow wound. He does not take his eyes off me, studying my every reaction.

All of a sudden everything is ok and when we go to the waiting room, my son, my baby, he starts to play with the rocking horse as though nothing has happened.

The stress finally hits its peak and in the dark corner of the waiting room I break down and cry, hiding my face by looking out of the window, letting my long black hair fall over my face.

My mother misinterprets and tells me not to worry, he will be ok.

For the next few days, everyone enquires about the band aid on his forehead. I wince as I recount the necessary details, resenting the need to, as I secretly relive every distressing moment and feel every painful pang, in my little aching heart.

Playground or danger zone?

I have found, much to my disdain that playgrounds in Malaysia are more a danger zone than a safe haven for toddlers to play.

Most of the public playgrounds in and around PJ are surrounded by large monsoon drains that unsuspecting toddlers can just run towards and fall into. In the US and Australia, all playgrounds are fenced in so parents don't have to walk one step behind their toddlers and kids all the time, hair on edge, waiting for some disaster to happen.

Many playgrounds are not well maintained, the ground is uneven and full of holes - again making it a hazardous for young children.

At our condominium, we have what they call a small "intelligent" playground. It is raised about half a foot above the walkway. As the playground is very small, toddlers just learning to walk can easily tumble over the side of the playground and fall to the concrete below. Even though it is only half a foot, it is very dangerous to young children and babies. I used to have to run around half bent right behind my son and keep pulling him away from the side of the playground. It was no fun for him, and it was very tiring for me. There is no freedom within limits. I was on edge and stressed the entire time we were in the playground, and he was constantly in danger.

On top of this, they have two benches, with sharp metal edges on the four corners, right next to the drop. Can you imagine? Once my one and the half year old son climbed on the bench, lost his footing and tumbled to the concrete on the other side where the drop is. This was when he was older and I learnt to stand aside and watch rather then run behind him. Big mistake. I have gone back to walking right behind him... it's no fun for him, and VERY tiring for me.

When I follow him like that, he imagines I am chasing him, gets excited and runs faster. Sigh...

Oprah Goes Green

I was really inspired by Oprah's show last night to do just one thing - one thing - to change the way we live that is hurting the environment.

Today I sat down my maid and explained the concept of climate change to her. Interestingly she brought up some changes she noticed in her village in Surabaya when she was home for two months just recently. She says the padi they plant grows nicely but has no rice in the husks. She said this could be because there has not been enough rain and water retention. Apparently all the neighbours were complaining about the failed crops. They have never experienced this before.

The world is changing for the worse and if each of us just did one thing - one thing, to go green it would really make a difference to the kind of Earth we leave behind for our children.

My maid and I are making a concerted effort to separate as much of the garbage as we can and we know that the cleaners at our apartment here recycle them. We recycle the newspapers ourselves. When we move to our new place at the end of the year, we will have a garden and I explained to her that will allow us to start composting. She smirked and told me, back home the villagers have been composting for years!

That's basically it I guess... we need to go back to basics.

Tun, Toh Puan, Datuk Seri Utama, Datuk, Datuk, Datin, Datin dan sebagainya

In my line of work I meet many people who have done so much for the poor, the marginalised and destitute in the country, and yet they have not been recognised for their work. At the same time I hear about or meet many who receive honours they have done nothing to deserve - aside from being politically well connected. Year after year they move from one honour to another undeserved honour of higher rank.
I would just like to quote my favourite author, Mark Twain here "It is better to deserve honors and not have them than to have them and not to deserve them."
I salute Mrs. F.R. Bhupalan who has done more for women and the marginalised in the country than most and yet refused the Datukship offered to her. God bless her and others like her!

Choo Choo Train!

Incidentaly, my other sister Sandra is the original baker in our family and has been baking our birthday cakes for as long as I remember. She gets orders for them now, quite often. She has what I call the touch. Her cakes always have the right moisture content and after years of being spoilt by her cakes, other cakes are always having to measure up.

Here is the cake she made for my son's first birthday

Here is the one she made for her daughter's fourth birthday.

My son wants a "choo choo train" for his upcoming birthday in August and my sister has been given the challenge. Will keep you updated on how that turns out.

Yummy, yummy, yummy, I've got love in my tummy

You must try my sister's cupcakes. They are delicous! And they look great too. I have it in good faith that she uses only the best ingredients and tried a zillion recipes to find the perfect taste for each of them.

They cost RM3.00 - RM3.50 for the big ones, and RM2.00 for the fairy cakes. Choose from chocolate with butter icing or chocolate ganache, red velvet with cream cheese, cookies and cream, butter with butter icing, pumpkin, apple and many more.

To order, contact Sheila at 017-8843230

WHAT A WASTE

Very soon, all Malaysians may have to separate their waste at source or even pay as they throw, thanks to the Solid Waste Management Bill which finally and somehow made it through the doors of Parliament; AND got passed.

This method of separating waste at source is not anything new and has been successfully implemented overseas. In the UK, the garbage collectors will not pick up waste that is not separated.

The QUESTION is, how are the authorities going to implement this in sunny Malaysia?

As it is, the recycling campaign that they spent millions of ringgit on was deemed a failure. Short of going door to door and teaching people how to separate their waste at source, I don't see how we are going to successfully implement the Bill.

Incidently, there is this couple from Penang, MyLene and her husband who have been going around to schools and showing people how the average household can recycle almost ALL their waste - for free.

Perhaps THEIR experience and motivation can be harnessed to train trainers who will then go school to school and teach children and their parents how to recycle and then separate their remaining waste at source.

With the abandonment of Broga Incinerator Project the government has little time to do what needs to be done to prevent large tracks of valuable land from turning into landfills.

Malaysians produce much too much waste and it may be a case of too little too late.