the road to mandalay

Inexplicably, one of my favourite poems. Perhaps it's the imagery, perhaps it's the language, perhaps I don't care. It just is.

The Road to Mandalay
Rudyard Kipling

BY the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ eastward to the sea,
There’s a Burma girl a-settin’, and I know she thinks o’ me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
“Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!”
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can’t you ’ear their paddles chunkin’ from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin’-fishes play,
An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ’crost the Bay!
’Er petticoat was yaller an’ ’er little cap was green,
An’ ’er name was Supi-yaw-lat—jes’ the same as Theebaw’s Queen,
An’ I seed her first a-smokin’ of a whackin’ white cheroot,
An’ a-wastin’ Christian kisses on an ’eathen idol’s foot:
Bloomin’ idol made o’mud—
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd—
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed ’er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

When the mist was on the rice-fields an’ the sun was droppin’ slow,
She’d git ’er little banjo an’ she’d sing “Kulla-lo-lo!”
With ’er arm upon my shoulder an’ ’er cheek agin’ my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an’ the hathis pilin’ teak.
Elephints a-pilin’ teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence ’ung that ’eavy you was ’arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

But that’s all shove be’ind me—long ago an’ fur away,
An’ there ain’t no ’busses runnin’ from the Bank to Mandalay;
An’ I’m learnin’ ’ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
“If you’ve ’eard the East a-callin’, you won’t never ’eed naught else.”
No! you won’t ’eed nothin’ else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An’ the sunshine an’ the palm-trees an’ the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay . . .

I am sick o’ wastin’ leather on these gritty pavin’-stones,
An’ the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho’ I walks with fifty ’ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An’ they talks a lot o’ lovin’, but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an’ grubby ’and—
Law! wot do they understand?
I’ve a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren’t no Ten Commandments an’ a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin’, an’ it’s there that I would be—
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin’-fishes play,
An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ’crost the Bay!

The interview with God

I stumbled across the interview with God on Jukebox's blog. It's wonderful for when you need reminding of the bigger picture.The full poem is beautiful but not unlike those PowerPoint's that every one's received at one point or another. This one line however got me:-

“To learn that it only takes a few seconds
to open profound wounds in those they love,
and it can take many years to heal them.”

It's the term "profound wound" that got me.

pro·found (pr-found, pr-)
adj. pro·found·er, pro·found·est
1. Situated at, extending to, or coming from a great depth; deep.
2. Coming as if from the depths of one's being: profound contempt.
3. Thoroughgoing; far-reaching: profound social changes.
4. Penetrating beyond what is superficial or obvious: a profound insight.
5. Unqualified; absolute: a profound silence.

That all it takes is a second to wound so deeply. I know, I've been there, and I still wonder if those wounds will heal. A lesson worth remembering me thinks.

on being muslim

Before I begin this post let me first clarify, I am not the best Muslim. I do not do all the things that I am supposed to do. I know that. Does that make me a worse Muslim, that I know I should do it and I don't? I don't know, and to be honest, to me, that is for God to decide.

Many things have happened of late that have placed faith high on my list of thoughts. The fact that in Malaysia someone was denied the legal right to convert from Islam because they were Malay, the backlash that Sharifah Amani received for shaving her head and most recently the slew of riots that ensued as a result of the knighthood of Salman Rushdie.

My thoughts on these things in brief are as follows:-

On the first matter, I believe that constitutionally it should be recognized that all Malays need not be Muslim. It does not go hand in hand. One is a culture and a race, the other is a religion. One is defined by your genetic makeup and the other should be a choice you make. Surely, it defeats the purpose of religion should it be shoved down your throat? I have always believed that religion is a lot about nawaitu, niat, intention, whatever the language you choose to see it in. Surely making religious choices a legal thing makes a mockery of this?

On the second matter, the backlash was predominantly because Muslim clerics and scholars said that by going bald she was trying to be a man which Islam prohibits. I believe this is a ridiculously tight and uneducated reading of that part of the Quran. Firstly, whoever decided that being bald was the domain of men? For many African women this is the norm. Secondly, if Islam was read so strictly, then wouldn't Prophet Muhammad's (Peace Be upon Him) wife be in serious breach of this rule when she captained armies in God's name?

On the third matter. I think it is poor timing on the British government's part, however I see nothing wrong with it. I have not read any of his books, but I am sure some people believe they are works of literary genius. So he is knighted, so what? It is for works of fiction, that really shouldn't be taken so seriously. Did we see similar levels of rioting and was it taken so seriously when "The Da Vinci Code" was released? No.

My thoughts on faith generally in the events post 9-11 have been largely coloured by shame.

Shame, that Muslims seem to think that the only way out is by bombs and riots.

Shame, that as a people, we seem to be living up to the stereotypes that the media feeds the masses.

Please don't get me wrong. I understand that in the face of such hatred and bigotry it is easy to think that there are no other options. I empathise with feeling such helplessness that you believe there is no way out. But why do we insist on sinking to levels even lower than those on which our persecutors stand?

With the Rushdie thing as with the Danish cartoon that was published some time back. I understand being offended. But really does is warrant such rioting and backlash? Is our strength not better conserved for something a little less frivolous?

Why do we react to everything so disproportionately and with such violence? Is this what we want the world to think? There are the lucky few of us who live in places where a more moderate face of Islam is the norm and hence such bigoted views of a beautiful religion are not prevalent. But what of the rest of the world uneducated in this norm?

When did we as Muslims forget that God's soldiers fight best with their minds and their hearts, not with bombs and fists?

for Buddy because it's true

Been trying to get through all ten seasons of "Friends" in the right order. Have just watched the one where Rachel has a baby and I thought of Buddy. It's odd that everytime I think of a future, I think of him. Even when there were other people in the picture, it was always him.

"Something's telling me it might be you
Yeah, it's telling me it must be you and
I'm feeling it'll just be you
All of my life"


It Might Be You-
Stephen Bishop

For Buddy because it's true. And I can't wait :)

*koff koff*

And yet again I am ill. Think I may be allergic to this work malarkey *giggles* I got stubborn and refused to go the the clinic insisting that it would all blow over. Worked for a bit till i realised that I really only was OK between ten in the morning and three in the afternoon. So Buddy got fed up and hauled my cute, not-so-little, patootie into the clinic yesterday. Which has resulted in me getting today off. And I actually think it's done wonders. So bless his little cotton socks. For that and for keeping me company, and for the mangoes and the soup that he brought over.

He loves me *big grin*

And I have weddings on my brain! I dreamt that Buddy proposed to me a few nights ago. It was in his telly room with a ring that confused me. It was one of them dual band jobs, the bands were encrusted with diamonds culminating in a bigger central diamond. I guess it confused me because I felt that the many little diamonds on the band took away from the central stone and he would have been better off with just one stone for the same amount of money. Simplicity goes a long way I think. I remember feeling a little confused but then also at the same time really really happy. Then he ran off to ask my parents' permission and next thing I knew I was pregnant. Go figure!

Been looking at dream dictionaries to see what this means and apparently, the pregnancy symbolises new beginnings or new projects that haven't yet been fully formed. The reaction I had upon receiving the ring is how I truly feel about the relationship and the ring itself symbolises that the relationship is something I am committed to.

So anyone that knows me well has probably heard about my whole fantasy of how I want to meet "the one". Here goes nothing:-

I want to meet him in an elevator and get stuck in there with him for four hours or so where we would just talk and talk. We'd eventually get out and go our separate ways only to realise a little later that we'd actually fallen in love. Then [insert miracle] we would suddenly find each other again despite only knowing each other's first name. We would date for a year or so and he would propose. Not big on the long convoluted courtship because:-

i. I think falling in love is not a decision but staying in love is. I believe you know which way you'll decide very soon after meeting the person. You know if it will work and if you want it to work. But only if you're "there" and asking yourself those questions.

ii. I'm really not getting any younger and I would like to have kids when I'm young enough to play with them. I'd like to enjoy being married before having kids and I'd like to be able to retire with the person I've chosen to grow old with, having fulfilled my commitments to my children and having seen them safely into adulthood.

iii. The world is full of fish, why keep nurturing the same one when you know you're not interested in that breed?

[It sounds terribly practical I know, but having been in two long term serious relationships that amounted to very little my outlook's changed just a tad]

Anyway back to the dream, he would propose to me, with an Alexandrite engagement ring [Because diamonds are far too cliche] on the summer solstice, when the sun sets on the longest day of the year, in a field full of daisies. He'd ride in on a tandem bicycle singing "Daisy daisy, tell me you love me do. I'm half crazy but for the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage. I can't afford a carriage. But you'd look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two" [I know my name's not Daisy, and there are no fields of daisies in Brunei, but a girl can dream] I would laugh, say yes, clamber on the bike and ride off into the sunset with him.

The wedding would be in a big giant marquee a-la the last scenes in "My Best Friend's Wedding". With a giant dance floor and a great swing band. There would be Lindy hop instructors teaching a basic Lindy class in the first hour or so of the reception and instructors roaming around throughout the event so some fun Lindy goes on all night. Sean Ghazi would sing because he, above all singers, brings together both my eastern and western- ness. Who else does it more eloquently than he, when he sings "Hujan di Tengah Hari" [Which translates to "Rain at Midday"] with the oh- so- recognisable music from "Singing In the Rain" in the break of the song. Combining my western mind and eastern soul with such finesse.

So that is the fantasy *giggle*. Do I need it all? No. Not at all. But it's fun to think of no? At the bottom of this silly little romantic heart of mine, all I really need is someone who will grow old with me.