American Gods

If you read enough Neil Gaiman, highly likely you will agree with me that he is a funny man. On page 134 of his American Gods, Gaiman enthused me. For some what he wrote might be a joke, for me, a joke and rejuvenation of way of thinking.

"You know, one time I saw Tiger down at the water hole: he had the biggest testicles of any animal, and the sharpest claws, and two front teeth as long as knives and as sharp as blades. And I said to him, Brother Tiger, you go for a swim, I’ll look after your balls for you. He was so proud of his balls. So he got into the water hole for a swim, and I put his balls on, and left him my own little spider balls. And then you know what I did? I ran away, fast as my legs would take me.

"I didn’t stop till I got to the next town. And I saw Old Monkey there. You lookin’ mighty fine, Anansi, said Old Monkey. I said to him, You know what they all singin’ in the town over there? What are they singin’? he asks me. They singin’ the funniest song, I told him. Then I did a dance, and I sings,

Tiger’s balls, yeah,
I ate Tiger’s balls
Now ain’t nobody gonna stop me ever at all
Nobody put me up against the big black wall
'Cos I ate that Tiger’s testimonials
I ate Tiger’s balls

"Old Monkey he laughs fit to bust, holding his side and shakin’, and stampin’, then he starts singin’ Tiger’s balls, I ate Tiger’s balls, snappin’ his fingers, spinnin’ around on his two feet. That’s a fine song, he says, I’m goin’ to sing it to all my friends. You do that, I tell him, and I head back to the water hole.

"There’s Tiger, down by the water hole, walkin’ up and down, with his tail switchin’ and swishin’ and his ears and the fur on his neck up as far as they can go, and he’s snappin’ at every insect comes by with his huge old saber teeth, and his eyes flashin’ orange fire. He looks mean and scary and big, but danglin’ between his legs, there’s the littlest balls in the littlest blackest most wrinkledy ball-sack you ever did see.

"Hey, Anansi, he says, when he sees me. You were supposed to be guarding my balls while I went swimming. But when I got out of the swimming hole, there was nothing on the side of the bank but these little black shrivelled-up good-for-nothing spider balls I’m wearing.

"I done my best, I tells him, but it was those monkeys, they come by and eat your balls all up, and when I tell them off, then they pulled off my own little balls. And I was so ashamed I ran away.

"You a liar, Anansi, says Tiger. I’m going to eat your liver. But then he hears the monkeys coming from their town to the water hole. A dozen happy monkeys, boppin’ down the path, clickin’ their fingers and singin’ as loud as they could sing,

Tiger's balls, yeah,
I ate Tiger's balls
Now ain't nobody gonna stop me ever at all
Nobody put me up against the big black wall
'Cos I ate that Tiger's testimonials
I ate Tiger's balls

"And Tiger, he growls, and he roars and he’s off into the forest after them, and the monkeys screech and head for the highest trees. I scratch my nice new big balls, and damn they felt good hangin’ between my skinny legs, and I walk on home. And even today, Tiger keeps chasin’ monkeys. So you all remember: just because you’re small, doesn’t mean you got no power.”

I trust less his grammar whenever he wrote I sings, I tells. But to put across a message not in a serious note, but in a comical way is a talent that not all writers own. And how can I blame Gaiman for that grammar when it was Mr. Nancy telling the Tiger Balls story to a woman in red sari, shabby-looking businessmen and others. It's all about detailed characterization sometimes. I haven’t finished the book, but I am already pleased.

Deepavali. Mohan’s friend’s father’s death day. Funeral's tomorrow. Shiaw Mei’s heyday, her last hours of spinsterhood. So true, time and train wait for no man. But it’s not easy to miss some trains. All I could do was to keep my brain still like photographs.

I used to be a capricious kid. I always switched my ambitions (my answers to the what-or-who-you-want-to-be questions), the old ambitions that I have almost forgotten. A traffic police when I saw him from my school bus, like a magician performing his tricks, with his two gloved hands. A writer when I read my first fiction. A doctor when I watched ER. Popeye when I liked Olive Oyl.

Things didn’t change as I grew, as I walked the long walk on the fells. I still wanted to be that and this, I was a crazy cow. A drug addict when I befriended a drug dealer. A player when I met pretty chicks. A Christian when I walked past a church. And these days, a globetrotter when I watch the Travel & Living satellite channel. A student again when I read Marcus’s blog and when I see Shamini doing it with the weight of a fetus in her. A jobseeker when I come across promising job opportunities.

I am thinking if human brain (an ambitious one in particular) ought to work this way. Or if I am still a capricious kid. With a fickle mind.

I am writing for a slide presentation for a close friend’s wedding dinner, a tribute to her parents, her own way of encomium. She gave me a bunch of photos and you must see this particular one.

I wrote, their lullabies were her baby dolls.

Nothing more I could write as no one in better shoes than herself, to convey her love to her family. Someone said something about family somewhere,

Family isn’t about whose blood you have. It’s about who you care about – Trey Parker and Matt Stone, South Park (Ike's Wee Wee), 1998

The wedding was Sua Fung's. The night was ours.

Oh yea, I should have posted this earlier. Many worried about my whereabouts and I was bombarded with concern calls. What happened was…

The security in Heathrow Airport was tight. All passengers were asked to remove their shoes and belts and like always, the wallets, coins, laptops from its bags. The entire airport was vigilant (obviously) after the arrest of 12 men suspected to be suicide bombers in the north west of England if I heard it right. Hey, do I by any chance carrying a look of a terrorist? Soon, it’s going to be the pants, shirts. Underwears. Sick. Duck!

The world map on the screen in front obsessed me. I daydreamt of places. When the red rigid line that the airplane icon drew approached Italy, I was in Cinque Terre, dancing with the local folks in their vibrant street. When it flew across India, I was in Goa, helping myself with the Prawn Masala Rice, cooked by the fisherman’s only daughter. I dozed off only when I knew my stomach was full and woke up to catch the strange stare of the girl sitting next to me. I must have been snoring.

I am at home now. With a new addiction to Mocha (without the cream) contributed by the subsidised 5 pence coffee(s) and the even cheaper Starbuck’s one pound and some pence Mocha that I had requested at all the time to be without the cream and to be served in a tall paper cup.

Some goodbye pictures taken around the sea-town…

I must say that we liked the Ship Inn, the owner of a sublimely beautiful view which was no cheaper than the meals on its menu. We revisited, re-beered, re-cheered and re-shivered as we decided to dine outdoor in cold this time. The parched sea revealed its secret residents. The wind stank but it was pleasant. The sun crept, burring itself in the sea. Its twilight coloured the masts of yachts. The English kids mortified us with their thin clothes. We were their dumb adults shielded with the thickest jackets and yet with both arms curled around us to keep the warmth within. To keep the cold breeze away. But all in vain, the forks were cold, the glasses cold, the spoons cold.








London Pride and the others




Drunken Prawns


the Ship Inn

Chichester is a lovely town with attractive women at all corners. Seriously, I don’t know where they came from. It wasn’t the charm of the little town that excite me as much as the ones in stilettos. A town is not necessarily modernized or highly populated to be longed-for, I reckon. I just need one with an old lighthouse equipped with a blue beacon, a good neighbourhood restaurant, paved pathways, the ones in stilettos and I can live. Wake up Surein!








Chichester Cathedral


This nice chap was kept asking me to be his friend, I had to snap
his picture to cool him down




Dining outdoors is no longer de riguer,
the sun is no longer hot here


Lamb shoulder with mashed potatoes @ The Dolphin and Anchor






sorry mate!

as cheap as peanuts

I bought Vinegar Hill by A. Manette Ansay, Back Roads by Tawni O’Dell, The Beach by Alex Garland and The Great Fire by Shirley Hazzard for just £3.50. As cheap as peanuts. Yes, they are second-hand but believe me, you will not find a wrinkle on them. Now I know that we have people out there who value books as much as I do – I slapped my brother for drawing a stick-man on my book. I thought I was a freak. Now I know. I was not.

Colder and colder it’s getting day by day. On top of that, it rains cats and dogs. I am surely in need of something spicy to keep me warm. That reminds me of the lines from the movie Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me that my friend re-quoted recently.

Ivana: Do you know how we keep warm in Russia?
Austin: I can guess, baby.
Ivana: We play chess.
Austin: I guessed wrong.

Huhu. Back to the story, I was in need of something spicy. And “Sawatdee Kaaaa” she said, welcomed me into the Niyom Thai, her own Thai Restaurant. To keep me warm, she served me the ribs, prawns in Green Curry and the Roasted Duck. “Khorb Kun Kaaaa” she said before I leave.