January 12, 1981 gave me my finest moment of fellowship. I was concluding my bicycle tour girding the globe, when in New York’s John F Kennedy Airport, I met a special boy. This “boy” was 60 years of age; at the Pan Am airline terminal, official Ashok Parekh and I exchanged notes and realized that we had our founding education at a common alma mater. While I went through the six years in Chetpet, Ashok had his “forms” in George Town, where our School was serving from, those days. The discovery that both of us were Madras Christian College School, made the day truly memorable for Ashok and I.
It would be another 28 years before I would make it again to John F Kennedy airport, flying across the Atlantic. The London- New York flight on Kuwait Air is truly a pleasant surprise; sometimes the cheapest fares come with the greatest service!
Before leaving Chennai, a call from America’s East Coast is another surprise; it’s from Sri Raghavan, younger brother of classmate Murali Dharan. Sri is also an MCC School alumnus, from the class of 1983 and this junior boy invites me to his home across the Hudson river in New Jersey state.
When we used to be kids and were growing up, our elders would say, “My! How you’ve changed!” New York’s change has been good and bad from this writer’s perspective. The highway linking the airport and midtown New York pales in comparison with the baddest ones in the north of my home town, Madras; in the 28 years I have been away, the connecting road in New York does not seem to have been topped or tended to; the rocky ride makes me toss on the bus seat. After an hour it seems better, when I realize that I have only become used to the bumps and pits enroute!
The spirit of MCC School’s fellowship has not changed, though; Sri and I are meeting after 30 years and we get going down memory lane. This “boy” is today a leading vacation and holiday consultant, placing clients at the best accommodations at the best holiday centres around the world. Sri also knows every square inch of New York City and he guides me to all the lesser-known sights that are as lovely as the famous ones. In addition, at their 17th floor apartment, Sri’s spouse, Mt. Sinai hospital’s radiologist, Dr. Arati plays a great host(ess), and the two days speed away just like that!
India’s largest Bank is also among the world’s biggest. State Bank’s prudent lending has made it the market leader, steady in a world of topsy-turvy financial markets, especially America, where the hitherto “largest” banks started seeking State largesse and the “best” banks simply went bust!. In this scenario, if an Indian bank does creditably well in the U.S., it is due to top class leadership. My visit to State Bank’s American headquarters is all the more memorable; heading the institution is 1971 MCCSian, Pradeep Kumar. Pradeep hides his banking acumen with his disarming smile and talks about his days at School, the cricket matches where umpiring was a permanent fixture for this pint-sized achiever, nicknamed, “thatha” (old man) by class mates!
America has changed; it has changed the names of our boys living there. Sriram Bhuvaraghavan has shortened to Sri Raghavan. His brother, Muralidharan Bhuvaraghavan has simply become Murali Dharan. At Nashville, Tennessee, classmate Sundaram tells me about his friend, R.Kuppuswamy who used to be called “Kuppu” by friends. Kuppu R, has become Westernised; his official name is now Dr. Cooper! However, one name change tops it all. A 1967 alumnus, based in Texas, tells me about his years under Head Master Mathias and about his illustrious batch mates. He finally adds that his name in School was Gnanadorai David Sathiaraj, and that he changed it to David Raj. I wonder why he dropped the wisdom (gnanam) and the very truth (sathia) from his original name?
If America has given delicious cupsful of MCCS fellowship, Australia, Down Under, seems to vie with it with an equally tasty treat. There is a small joke we boys used to hear at School. Our teacher, Albert, used to tell us that in Australia, people celebrate Christmas only in summer. Perplexed as we were, relief came in the teacher’s answer; December is summertime Down Under!
Thinking of Mr. Albert’s question, I laugh in my seat on Emirates Air flight from Auckland, New Zealand, as the bird prepares to touch down in Sydney Australia. Spouse Ann and I in the past weeks, have been criss-crossing the two countries by plane. All along, it has been no-frills budget flights where we have to pay a tidy sum even for drinking water on the plane. However, Emirates’ food and refreshments are “on the house” and we experience true heaven in the heavens.
Sydney Opera House
Sydney Airport is connected directly by rail to the city and its suburbs. However, the Sydney CityRail extracts its pound of flesh for this facility. Boarding the train, we go to visit the famed Opera House, and the cost is 15 dollars for a ride of 11 kms. However, from the Opera House, our train journey to suburban Macarthur station is almost 50 kms, long, and the fare is just about 5 dollars. It is funny when you pay three times the cost for a journey that is only a fifth of the distance of another! In fact, our train stopped at the Airport station during our long journey to Macarthur. I point this anomaly to MCC School classmate Vinod Daniel. This Divisional Director of the Sydney Museum jumps to defend Sydney CityRail as tolls and charges being necessary for availing of development facilities. At the Daniel residence in Sydney, Vinod and I have a big laugh about it, though regretfully at my own cost!
It has been Vinod who has been inviting me to Oz (as Australia is also known) all these years. It is only now that I have really made it. If Vinod is delighted with his visitor from Madras, spouse Shanti enlivens the evening with her grand dinner, where Alan Isaac & Leonard Ponraj (1978) and Vinod Kumar (1981) make it a great MCCS reunion; the first meeting of a soon-to-evolve Sydney OBA chapter.
With Suresh @ Adelaide Cricket Oval
Adelaide, South Australia, is a city of splendid churches that compete with the famous cricket oval. Classmate Suresh Gupta, who moved from Madras’ Anna Nagar to Adelaide’s Burnside Town, is a structural engineer. Suresh is already very popular with the Adelaide Indian community, continuing on his trait at School. You could name an Indian and Suresh would almost definitely be his friend in the lovely city. Suresh drives us to the Oval, when he points out a fact about the road we are riding on. “It’s called the Million Dollar Way”, says Suresh, explaining that every year, all the money is earned by the City authorities as fines levied on speeding, law-breaking motorists! He also points out to passing “road trains”, huge, very long trucks.
Crossing the fountain pond, we enter the Oval. A thrill passes through our bodies as we pose in front of the Sir Don Bradman Stand. Later in the evening, we enjoy the lovely beach and then drive to suburban Burnside, Suresh’s home. We first stop at the Burnside Library, where novels by Indian writers line along with a surprising variety of Tamil language books. Tamil is the language we guys speak in Madras. Of course, English is still King!
The Gupta residence is all cheer. Here, at the doorway, a divine, elephant-like “Pillaiyar” image seems to bless all. Every day, the Gupta family has a few curious visitors asking about the significance of the “deity”, while Suresh’s folks tell them that it is this “Pillaiyar” that is the Lord protector in Hindu mythology. It is now late evening and Ramaa readies dinner and sets the alarm for her kids (and us) to wake up in time after midnight to view, live, the Indian Premier League cricket match being beamed from so far away. Morning is yet not born when Suresh drives us to the airport for us to get on the next plane to Melbourne. When I leave for the boarding gate, I thank this “boy”, nicknamed “bull dog” at School.
With Jerry (2nd Right) at Bangkok
We are now a group of five and on our way to Rangoon, Burma, and have just flown from Malaysia and touched down on Krung Thep’s Suvarnabhoomi (Indian name, meaning “golden earth”) International airport. This Krung Thep airport is an architectural marvel. By the way, Krung Thep is how the people of Thailand refer to their capital city, Bangkok. Now, Suvarnabhoomi airport is huge and confusing and my classmate Venkatachalam asks me how we are going to spend the night before boarding the flight to Burma. Well, I assure him that Bangkok, the magnificent city is brilliant at night and hence its nightlife is not to be missed. I also assure him that travel and sightseeing have been arranged, thanks to a mail I had earlier received from a School Junior, who promised to meet us when our flight would land in that unearthly hour. True to his promise, this “boy”, Jeremiah Moses Jefferson is there, waiting for us. He arranges for a taxi to the city, hosts us to a sumptuous midnight dinner, shows us shopping malls, the dancing halls and the karaoke spots, before reaching the airport “flyway”, an elevated highway that would soon connect the airport directly to the city; an ambitious, long flyover project designed by his Company, Siemens. As the night hours gradually change to early morning, our taxi zips back from the darkness into the shining lights of Suvarnabhoomi airport. As our plane takes off and flies north by northwest, we smile at the events of the night; the Bangkok experience may have been brief, but Jerry, with his infectious laughter was one “boy” whose fellowship and companionship made sure it was “super” for all of us.
Text & Pictures by M J Krishna. The author is an alumnus of the1978 batch of the 174-year-old Madras Christian College School.
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Istanbul is the old Constantinople, named after Roman emperor Constantine. He was the first Roman emperor who halted the persecution of Christians by the Roman empire. It happened that way because, on a day of a crucial battle against a more powerful army, Constantine got a vision of bright light that had the symbol of the Cross and was told, “in hoc signo, vince”, meaning, “in this sign, conquer”. Constantine did just that and adapted the Cross as the symbol for his army and during the course of the big battle, his outnumbered forces drove out the enemy soldiers and cavalry, in which the enemy (actually a Roman rebel aspiring to be the Caesar emperor) himself was drowned in the river stampede, where the decisive battle took place. Byzantium city became emperor Constantine’s capital, replacing distant Rome. Byzantium was later renamed Constantinople in honor of the emperor.
Blue mosque or Sultanamet Camil
Text by M J Krishna, travel writer. Need any additonal info or clarification with regard to the articles? Write to mj.a4friends@gmail.com
I was invited by my friend to watch this documentary ‘Enjoy Poverty’ by Renzo Martens, in 22nd International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam. Renzo’s way of defining poverty touches everyone who watch the movie. The clipping neon sign in the movie, sarcastically turning everyone into quiet and start to think after the movie.
For two years, Dutch artist Renzo Martens travelled around Congo, from the capital of Kinshasa to deep into the interior. Employing a casual film style, camera in hand, he makes his way around the poverty-fighting industry in the post-civil war country and regularly appears onscreen himself. He films UN peacekeepers in their SUVs providing security for an international company so it can mine gold; corpses of gold-digging rebels surrounded by Western photographers, white relief workers happily taking pictures of the recipients of their emergency aid, with their logo on every canvas tent they hand out; a large landowner at a photo exhibition looking at pictures of his day labourers, who don’t even earn enough to feed their children. It all amounts to one conclusion: poverty is there to stay, and “fighting it” is an industry from which the poor benefit very little. Martens then launches a self-styled emancipation programme: he teaches the Congolese poor that “images of poverty” are their country’s most lucrative natural resource. Under Martens’ guidance, local photographers start photographing malnourished children instead of wedding parties. He mounts a neon sign in the middle of the forest that reads “Enjoy Poverty,” so that the poor can reap its financial fruits as well. The local population dances frenetically, but in the end, adversity won’t be held at bay for long.
After a long trans-pacific flight from the US in January 2006, unwind I did when I stopped over at Singapore and travelled to the Malaysian capital. I was told that a grand temple along the sungai batu, the rocky river, needed to be visited. I missed the grand event at the sungai batu temple where the world’s largest Hindu idol of Karthikeya would be installed and consecrated. However much I looked forward to attending the divine event at the cave temple, I had an itinerary of further travel towards Thailand, and it was just a peek that I could afford, promising to visit this spot soon.
Towering idol shines in the setting sun
Every following year, Kuala Lumpur was on my pit stop, but the visit to the temple along the “rocky river” did not somehow materialise. However, resolving to make it during a recent tour of Asia, we hit the road to the cave temple. As we arrived, in front of us was the gleaming, golden 130-foot statue rising to the sky and seeming to rival the green canopy of the rocky hill behind.
Climbing the 272 steps leading to the inner sanctum of the temple, I take another flight of stairs below; The six abodes of Muruga are well-depicted along the cave walls, while stalacites and limestone suspended from the top act as “thoranam”, decorative pieces. The Palani “winch” to the right vies for a tasteful depiction with other images of pilgrims with “kavadi” on their shoulders. I walk up another flight of stairs beyond, when I hear descriptive superlatives from other visitors, one, a group of tired and puffing Russians who exclaim “beautiful, beautiful” when I ask them about the place. Another Malaysian couple look obviously Mohammedan, and say they are making it to here from distant Kota Kinabalu to see Balasubramanya and be blessed with a child. As we go further up to the grand sanctum of the Lord with his consorts, Valli and Devasena, the childless couple open their bottle of milk and hand it over to the priest for bathing the holy images with the milk, later. Prayer pooja time is between 8 A.M and 1 PM, and again between 4 PM & 8 PM, the priest informs us, also going to the history of the shrine, set up un 1891 by a devoted Thambuswami Pillai, a Tamil trader who noticed that the cave entrance was shaped like a spear, the divine weapon of his Lord Muruga. Pillai went on to find a magnificent abode for the divine. As the history is narrated, sunlight streaks through the top opening in the cave, lighting up our area.
When we climb down, the Russian lady walks down stiffly in pain, helped by her friend to balance her in the steep flight of steps below. .She smiles nevertheless and says that this trek is definitely worth the strain. Another lady briefly stops when an entrepreneur with a golden python offers to place his pet around her; there is some trepidation, but she goes on to wear the reptile around her and boldly kisses the reptile’s mouth when asked to do so. “Great”, she squeals.
It is evening and the towering idol shines in the setting sun. The temple photographer, Murugan, is equipped with a Nikon D 70 digital camera to take pics of desirous visitors. Murugan is from Chennai, India and loves working here, though he laments that almost every visitor has a camera or a cellphone-cam and so only shoots 10-20 portraits of pilgrim customers. Murugan also informs that the towering idol is coated with a special golden paint from Thailand, like the Buddhist pagodas. As I move on, a large group of Thai monks enter the complex; one of them opens a small bag of rice and the rest take a handful each, to feed the large group of pigeons in the temple complex.
We go further along a pond where an image of Lord Hanuman, the monkey God stands. Another visiting group opens a bag of bananas; simians appear from nowhere, and the bag goes empty in a minute..
It is sunset time, when the temple bell tolls below, and the Ganesha enclosure is lit up with the multiple lamps held by the priest, as pilgrims rush to the sanctum. Two musicians play the strains of Kungumam, Mangala Mangaiyar Kungumam, a Tamil film song dedicated to Muruga’s mother, Meenakshi. The notes are a bit faltering from the nadaswaram, the reed-wind instrument, but I guess that the Lord would grant small mercies for this errant musician. As also, for the shoe-clad, cigarette-smoking visitors on the holy premises…
It is a dark sky when we return to the capital city centre. The bus to Melaka is waiting for us. We board the upper deck and survey the bumper-to-bumper traffic jam in front of us. We look back, in our mind’s eye, thanking the pioneering efforts of Thambuswami Pillai for building a pilgrim centre that has, for over a hundred years, been blessing the faithful and giving visitors a truly enjoyable experience. We will make it again to the Batu temple, hopefully for next year’s Thai Poosam festival, we promise…
The author adds:
One thing that slipped mention was about a volunteer at Batu Caves, in 2005. This man was from India, on a short tour of Malaysia, when he reached the Batu temple. The tall Murugan statue was taking shape at the premises. Seeing some restoration activity at the temple and also noticing that volunteers were carrying buckets with bricks in them and climbing up the steps to hand the materials over to the site supervisor upstairs, this visitor from India, who had then, just recovered from surgery, decided to join the volunteers. He asked for a bucket and bricks, made the long, steep climb up the 272 steps and handed over the construction materials. “This was the minimum I could do as thanksgiving to Lord Muruga for my return to good health”, says this man, a legend himself, in Indian cooperative banking circles… he is M.Balasubramanian, Managing Director of the Chennai-based, government-owned, Repco Bank..
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“No visa problem for them; after all, they are aged”, said Chennai travel consultant Vasanthi as she handed over the visa-stamped passports of the two elders who were accompanying us on our 6-nation Asia tour the next day. There were fears about the seniors adjusting to our hectic schedule during the next 13 days as we would criss-cross countries and oceans during the travel. Of the five of us, four had already been to China together in 2006, and had adjusted to the smells of strange and non-vegetarian cuisine around us as we partook of pure veg food. However, the fifth member this time might have problems, we were told, being used to only *thair sadham,* curd rice, even during his recent tour in the US. We briefed him on the adjustments that he needed to do in the next two weeks. No problem, he assured us.
We were into our second week when we flew into Kuala Lumpur from Indonesia. Malay *Imigresen* official Kamatchi Ammal stamped our passports and smiled a welcome. It was another ten minutes and we were through customs when we realized that one of our elders was missing. We waited for him
outside the arrival terminal, and there was still no sign of him. While our friends Venkat and Krishnamurthy looked for him at the restaurants outside, Ann and I went back in, on our search, past customs, on to the duty-free shops and to the “lost and found” counter (!). Finding no trace of him yet, we went to the toilets and fearing the worst, opened every stall inside, checking in vain, for the missing man.
I then took the escalator up and went back to check with the *Imigresen* official, Kamatchi Ammal, who advised me to meet her superior. Meeting the senior officer, I showed him the missing elder’s photograph fearing we might have lost him on our way out. He then took me to the police room where I gave a complete description of the man, his photo and passport number, handing over my Malaysian cell-phone number to the police officer, requesting him to help trace the missing man, and call me if he had any news. By now, our elder had gone missing for over an hour and I slowly took the stairs down and beyond the customs enclosure when my phone rang with bleak news from friend Venkat
that the senior was not sighted yet.. When my cell rang again, a voice confirmed my identity and said that there was someone anxious to speak to me.. a booming voice followed, and lo, it was an excited
*Govindanna*calling me on the good Samaritan’s phone, informing me that he was stuck alone at the bus terminal outside, wondering why we were not there yet! Boy, were the four of us relieved at the return of my prodigal brother? *Terimah Kasih, *thank you, I later told the good Samaritan with the phone, rushing to see my *anna..*
Later, when we went on the city train, while discovering the Malay capital city of the two rivers, all of us, including host Meyyappan had a hearty laugh with *Govindanna, *asking him how he hit upon the idea of walking to the bus terminal, and the tension-filled hour he gave us when he went lost, until we finally found him…Enclosed is a picture of our group… It might be shaky; a by-stander at KL *Sentral Stesen* clicked it, but ours was one group delighted to have *Govindanna *(front, right in pic.) back with us that evening ….
Happy ending :)
From MJ Krishna, travel writer
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I feel sick when taking a trip by plane, always dizzy and want to vomit on the way. Yesterday, my mum told me about how she manage to overcome this, in the past. It was a method told by my grandma, to cook a soup with a pigeon, drink it before the day you fly.
Pigeon fly long distance. It can be more than hundred kilometers in a single fly. I am not sure if this make them then best creature to put into the soup when come to curing air sick problem.
The untold air sick remedy
Anyway, I think I can get really sick if the pigeon is killed :)
I was discussion an email problem with Jo, who is frustrating with TM’s email problem. After few email exchange, we have shared our Blog, and to my surprise, she is the founder of this interesting project.
I was at Penang last week. It was during school holidays, friends told me to book a place to stay before I go, but I don’t like a plan! To be frank, I wanted to see what would happen if I don’t have a plan!
‘All rooms fully booked’
Kind of classic ‘When to go’ case, where guidebook will suggest you to book earlier before you arrive. Yes, if I am on a fixed scheduled - I doubt many backpackers traveling South East Asia has a solid plan with exact date!
Without the leisure of picking the best Guesthouse, I called up the list of guesthouse on WikiTravel. I made at least 10 calls and secure the one last room in SD Guesthouse, near Jalan Chulia. They have 30 rooms, 29 are booked.
Perhaps, it is easier to just direct travelers to the Backpackers area in Penang, which in this case, Jalan Chulia. I don’t think there is such thing as ‘All rooms fully booked’. Countless guesthouse & budget hotels are available within that area, easily more than 20 of them. Many of them are empty. You can find one very easily!
SD Guesthouse @ Love Lane, call to book 04-2643743. RM18-55.
Many budget hotels are available along Love Lane
Clean bed & toilet
Teluk Bahang
Long house, Penang version
Nippon paint ad...
Black Giant Squirrel, Balik Pulau
What is this?
Need a direction map to Snake Temple
No Plan is Plan! Met Chief Minister of Penang in their Cultural Night
8 to 13 October marked our grand tour to Cambodia. In these 6 days, we encountered joys and laughter, shocks and burns (sunburns). Besides the famous Angkor Archeology Park, Pub Street, Traditional Markets, Museums and Temple’s visits, we have headed off the beaten tracks to a rural area, 1 hour bumpy drive from the Phnom Penh city, for visiting an under-construction school, namely Kumomo School.
The Kumomo School construction is sponsored by NGOs and partially by the Kumomo project from 1.com.my. At the same time, the Kumomo project has managed to sponsor 19 members to visit the fascinating SiemReap and adventurous Phnom Penh in Cambodia.
The lucky 19 members include
The tallest YowChuan, supposes to be our leader, but always missing in action. YowChuan’s gf, Ammie, hates sunlight, and spends most of the time indoor while Ammie’s sister, SokTeng, who was usually guarded by Ammie was successfully escaped at the last day during the Royal Palace visit.
Yong is the first one who dares to crunch on the deep fried insects. Yong’s sister, Elaine loves to try out all the Cambodia foods except the insects. Yong’s gf, HueyChin, only talks to Yong and Elaine most of the time.
Weikiat, our talented web programmer, was always serving his lovely gf, Foong. Foong was always happy except when Weikiat was slightly lost attention on her in the crowded Phnom Penh bus station.
Lily, always look likes 18 year old, although she is married and with two kids, and her caring husband is always carrying her orange bag whenever they visited in Cambodia. Next are our little couple, Cybie and Jason, who enjoys taking photos of all the things in front of their sights from insects to light bulbs. Last and not least are Daniel and his talkative gf, SiewLing, who both need to eat more in order to sustain a healthy weight.
And finally are guy who seldom has the chance to taste others’ foods beside those has been ordered. Watching couples exchanging their food each others in the half way of dining, I always think of they are so lucky to try two tastes in one meal. :)
Here we go… Nicholas, who always maintains his best photogenic post in front of camera, is our photographer, KeeKong, Pin’s buddy, has the best stamina in the group. XiaoMing, Eric’s buddy, had suffered from sore throat since the first day. Marcus, our replacement tour guide, has taken the lead for guideing the big group and lastly, I , ChinSeng, didn’t bring camera to Cambodia, except pen, paper, water and foods.
Stay tuned for the anecdotes on our grand tour to Cambodia!
It was a journey back to my hometown without to worry about rising petrol price and toll to pay. This off-the-beaten-road trip is going to give you more than what you want for a holiday. This is definitely the best way to get to know the Truly Malaysia! Travelers to Malaysia, read this…
First, fly with your bike. From the airport, head straight to Sepang, the small town which is located roughly 10km from the airport. From there, it is a pleasant ride from Sepang to Malacca which is roughly about 120km. You can make it a two days trip and stay a night at Port Dickson. You can put up a tent by the beautiful seaside. Malacca is the historical city which I’m sure you will like it a lot!
White sandy Port Dickson beach. You wish you have more days here with a nice book.
This is not Phuket for sure. The public beach is full of people, a scene only available during public holidays.
Along the trunk road, you will pass by many small town with forgotten old buildings.
Traditional malay house which you won’t find it in the city.
Rubber tree’s seed. There are more to see on the road!
From Malacca, make your ways to Muar and then Batu Pahat. Visit the Tanjung Emas and try this famous Ice Kacang and Rojak, nice!
Last month, Yichin and the little-monster-packaging team were busy sending out the soft toy to the people who has helped in the a4trip project. Rumors came to us that some took a snap during their trip and cause some delay, while few naughty one was hidden at the Post Office and refused to surrender themselves to their new owner. Luckyly, no report of missing soft toy so far :)
“”Carropi” has arrived in Oregon in fine shape and there were four BEAUTIFUL postage stamps of Malaysia’s birds and plants on the outside of his box. THANK YOU so much! We are adding the stamps to our collection. That was a very thoughtful and fun gift. Carropi is hanging near my computer, so he can remind me that I should quit playing stupid computer games (I am addicted to “Zuma” and “Mah Jong Solitaire”) and do something better,” said Barbara
“The package wouldn’t fit into my mailbox, so the postman knocked on my door. My dear mum who’s wary of strangers didn’t want to answer the door, so it got sent back to the Kelana Jaya post office. I booked a cab and went to pick it up the next day. I went to at least three different counters, before I was sent into the bowels of the post office, where thousands of letters seemed to await their fate. There, a postal officer rummaged through some steel drawers before he found my package, which was quite ’safely’ hidden. Glad to report the toy’s now safe in its new home. My son Amir named his new friend Kashi,” said Adline
