Father and Son ***

“My father is a popular man. Every day, dozens of people come to see him. His phone is ringing all the time. He has hardly any time for anything.”

“My father travels round the world for his business. He employs more than 2000 people. He is on the move all the time.”

And it went on and on. Rajan squirmed in his seat. His son had insisted that he come for the Fathers' Day event at his school. And here he was, listening to the children, each singing praises of their fathers. But Rajan was just a humble clerk. He struggled to cater to his small family’s needs. To make ends meet, he had to drive a taxi part time. And his wife had to baby sit a few children to earn a few extra dollars. In the company of all these distinguished fathers, Rajan felt small and out of place. He gazed at his son, standing at the side of the stage. Soon, it would be Pushpa’s turn. Rajan was overcome with guilt. What could Pushpa possibly say about his father ? Sitting by his side, Leela glanced at him. She instinctively knew what was going through Rajan’s head. She touched his hand, and gave him a squeeze.

Then, Pushpa was at the centre of the stage. He hardly reached up to the microphone. But he stood tall. Rajan was overcome with a mix of emotions. Pride, but at the same time guilt, shame and a feeling of inadequacy.

Pushpa was speaking. Rajan strained to hear every word. “My father is not rich with money. He is not famous. But he is the best. He has unlimited love. His sacrifices cannot be measured. He is here for me. I love him. And he loves me.”

Rajan sat up proudly. His eyes were moist. He wanted to stand up there and then, right in the middle of the hall, and declare “That is my son! He is the best.”

The Encounter ****

The three dark blue uniformed men stepped forward, startling me out of my reverie. I tried to surreptitiously switch off my cell-phone and pocket it, while groping for the seat belt. But there was no belt. Because I was walking ! It was ok to use the phone! Relief. I looked at the policemen sheepishly, a little emboldened. I was quite certain I had not done anything against the law.

“Selamat petang encik.”

So what did they want from me? One of the policemen pressed a few brochures and stickers into my hand.

“Ini maklumat Rakan Kop. Kalau ada masalah boleh SMS. Ini nombor dia. Selamat petang encik.” And they were off.

I stood for a while looking at their backs as they merged into the crowds at the pasar malam. I felt a little awkward. I think they felt the same way too. We were unaccustomed to such friendly encounters.

High and low ****

Bhaskar hurried home. He couldn’t wait to tell his wife and son what had happened at the office that day. Pushing the door open, he stumbled in, sinking into the sofa. Seeing him, his wife got up, “You know the gas....”

“Sit down. You would never guess what happened today.” He cut her off, and sat her down. Bhanu sat next to him, looking at him. Kiran put down the remote and watched his father.

Bhaskar caught his breath and started relating the amazing incident. “I had just finished tallying the morning collection. There was a shortfall of Rs 320. And I rechecked all the invoices twice before I found the error. And just as I sat back, relieved at having reconciled everything perfectly, I sensed some people entering the room. And guess who it was? Our GM. He headed straight for my desk. He smiled and asked me about my job, what I did. And he listened and nodded as I explained everything. I even explained how I had managed to tally the accounts to the paisa that day. He patted me on the back – imagine, the GM himself patted me on the back, and said, ‘Very good. Keep it up.’”

Bhaskar paused to catch his breath. “It was astounding. My boss stood behind, and even he looked pleased.”

Bhaskar was beaming with pride. He was excited like a small child.

Bhanu sat silently for a few seconds. Then she said, “You know the gas cylinder is giving problems again….”

Kiran took up the remote and resumed changing channels.

The Attraction ***

He was up early. It was a weekend, and he knew the crowds would be extra large. They would start arriving soon. Within minutes he had arrived at the square. He sat, at his usual place. It was a vantage spot. He could see the whole square. He could even see beyond, as the tourist coaches arrived and parked, disgorging the hordes of oversized men and women, all with cameras dangling around their necks. They came from all over the world. To see him. They gathered just beyond the metal barricades, and stood in awe. Gazing at him. Often snapping photographs. Some had photos taken of themselves, with him in the background.

He sat obligingly. Occasionally he descended to the square. But mostly he sat high up at his place.

As the crowd thinned, he decided to call it a day. He flew off his perch on top of the huge bronze statue, and headed for his nest.

In the square, the few remaining tourists continued to snap pictures of the massive statue in the failing light.

The mathematics of the law

There is an interesting problem appearing in the recent news. The gist of the matter is that an MP has been sentenced to a fine of RM2,000. The Constitution provides that “a person fined not less than RM2,000 shall be disqualified” as an MP.

The lawyers are befuddled. Is RM 2,000 “not less than RM2,000” ?

For the laymen (and lawyers are laymen for this purpose), the argument goes like this:
1. The man has been fined RM 2,000.
2. If RM 2,000 is considered “less than RM 2,000” then he is not disqualified
3. If RM 2,000 is considered “not less than RM 2,000” then he is disqualified

It’s quite obvious, but we cannot blame the lawyers.

In mathematical parlance, the problem can be analysed thus:

Is 2000 < 2000 : not true

Is 2000 > 2000 : not true

Is 2000 not< 2000 : true


Of course for the mathematical aficionados there are methods of proving that RM 2,000is not less than RM 2,000. One way is to use Fourier series & Euler's constant.

The bottom line is that there is no point in disqualifying Tian Chua. Batu is confirmed PKR.

The Psycho ***

The waiting room was crowded. It was silent except for the hum of the air-conditioner, and the occasional beeping of the phone, followed by the hushed conversation of the nurses.

Then, a tremor. It was hardly perceptible. Only the alert few sensed it, but soon they let it pass. One or two looked around, and pondered a while on what they had felt, but they too dismissed it as another effect of the long and mindless wait.

Then it came. The whole row of seats shook, causing mild panic to those seated. And then it became clear. The middle aged chap sitting at the centre of the row. He was the cause. He sat with his head bowed, chin touching his chest. His body was in convulsions. Those seated nearby watched in horror. Then he looked up. The man was trying to suppress his mirth. Seeing that he had attracted so much attention, he somewhat sobered up. He looked around furtively. Looking a little sheepish, he bowed his head. Everything was tranquil once again.

Those seated near to him sensed the imminent danger from this obviously deranged person. He looked harmless enough, but who could tell what was going on in his mind? A few moved away, surreptitiously. A boy who had curiously moved closer to observe the man up close was jerked violently away by his mother.

The man sat silently. Several pairs of eyes watched him keenly, looking out for tell-tale signs of lunatic behaviour. And then he looked up, smiling and chuckling to himself.

Then he rose, abruptly, startling several of those seated nearby. He strode purposefully towards a woman, who had just emerged from one of the doctors’ rooms. Together, they walked out of the waiting room. And as they went, everyone could see the cover of the book the man held in his hand. “The lost continent: travels in small-town America”, by Bill Bryson.

A Proposal for Mr O ****

Dear Mr O:

Shalom. Whatever be the merits contained in your recent spate of emails, it goes without saying that you have stirred much interest among the populace. Indirectly you have spawned a host of others who mimic, imitate and mock you, thereby adding to the excitement. All this is good. Because we here at MA Associates are concerned more with the commercial possibilities that have opened up. It would be a criminal waste if these are not exploited to the fullest, and recognising you as the pioneer and prime mover in this case, we offer you the right of first refusal.

Our proposal involves advertisements and merchandising options.

Merchandising: The possibilities are endless. Here are some samples.

Advertisements:

Running adverts, spots and side-bars in your future emails. We could also franchise similar arrangements to other Mr O mimics. We foresee several potential clients:

• Vegetable wholesalers
• Centres promoting Study Circles
• Other organisations, hoping to fish in the troubled waters
• English language coaching centres
• Convention Organisers (if agreeable to you, although we do see the irony)

We envision much potential in the future, and we are not ruling out movie rights.



We appreciate that you have a penchant for anonymity, and we therefore offer to be your commercial agents, guaranteeing complete confidentiality.

MA Associates
Public Relations, Advertising and Merchandising Consultants (PRAMCON)

The Golden Age of Venga ***

The erstwhile leaders had not imagined that this would happen. Not in their dreams. Their foolhardy challenge to the writer of the anonymous letters to reveal himself and walk the talk had backfired. Venga had not only called their bluff, but had turned the organization around. Everyone now basked in the golden sunshine of spectacular success. Except the ex-leaders, who were full of envy, jealousy and hatred.

Venga had strong faith. He also believed in himself. He worked hard, and had faith. This was the secret of his success. He did not tolerate 'cliqueism’. His clarion call for Reformation struck a chord with the young and restless. “We are no longer common man's organization. No more mundane activities. Everything must be on a grand scale. Everything we do will be an astounding mega spectacle.” Venga declared.

And it happened. The Values Drama competition was held Nationwide, attended by all (yes, ALL) colleges, universities and polytechnics. Everyone walked the Values path.

Single handedly, Venga showed the Government the way to eradicate social ills afflicting our Nation, through the inclusion of value components in the school syllabus. All 8,000 primary schools in the country implemented this. Venga was celebrated as the saviour of the Nation.
Every Centre of the organization was multiracial and multireligious. Venga ordained that every centre must have at least one person from each race and religion. Otherwise the Centre will be downgraded or even closed down. Another decree was that no centre must be dominated by one denomination. All must be equally represented. Centres were reformed, and now functioned as Community Centers which provided skills training, hobby classes, single mothers meeting center, etc

Strict rules required all members, including youths and children to follow the Code of Conduct. Voluntary vigilantes would monitor this diligently.

Venga also cracked his whip to bring the leaders in line. KPI’s were introduced to monitor their performance, and anyone not up to the mark will be sacked. Members also had recourse to introduce a Vote of no confidence against any leader not performing to expectations.

The Golden Age of Venga had arrived.