dishoom dishoom hindi movie style 

Who you are today, your core personality is determined by your personal life experiences, making each of us a unique individual. We carry the messages we received as children whether direct or subliminal, into our adult lives.

I grew up in a house ruled by fear. My father was a headmaster and a strict disciplinarian. I was good friends with the rotan and his belt. I could also be kicked out of the house anytime, day or night, with just the clothes that I was wearing leaving my mother distraught and worried. He would lock her in so that she could not go look for me.

My parents quarreled frequently, almost on a daily basis and my two sisters and I were terrified of my father. In my entire life he never once said he loved me or gave me a hug. Our lives were structured and regimented, divided between household chores and studies.

My father would occasionally come back home drunk or in a foul mood if he lost at the races and then my mother would be on the receiving end of what is now politically correctly known as domestic violence. We were next in line if he wasn’t satisfied.

Watching the news on tv daily we were fed with comments like all Malays are lazy good for nothings who depend on government handouts, all Chinese are devious and cunning, all Indians are drunkards and wife beaters and all other Punjabis are nig gossips.

Things came to a head when I was seventeen and waiting for my MCE (SPM) results, I came home to find my mother crying, sitting in a corner of the living room, bleeding profusely from the head and her right arm broken

Long story short, I attacked him and broke a chair over his head, completely destroying the living room in the process. I then packed a bag and left the family home forever. I was his only son but I never spoke to him again.

A year later my sister Harmohan decided to follow her boyfriend and also left the house, converting to a muslim in the proces. My Mother divorced my father and moved back to my grandmother’s house in Batu Gajah.

For the last month, I have been staying with my sister and her family. Yes, she married her boyfriend twenty years ago and they have two lovely children, a girl aged fifteen and a boy of twelve. What strikes me as I observe them daily is how well adjusted and completely “normal” they are.

The kids are kissed and hugged everyday by both parents. They are extremely well behaved and will ask for permission before taking or doing anything. The parents treat them as adults and get things done by merely speaking to them.

In return the kids are very responsible for their age and protective of each other and can look after themselves well. They are also able to think and reason for themselves as proven recently when I took them to Genting. I had a show and so I copped out and left them to their own devices after giving them RM100 each.

Yes I know I’m a lousy Uncle. Apart from a couple of sms-es to tell me that they were allright, they left me alone and amused themselves.

The point here is that my sister and me grew up in the same house with the same influences. Yet she and her husband Zarul have done a superb job with bringing up their children and maintaining a successful marriage. I can see that she is happy with her life so far and that makes me truly thankful.

So how about me? Am I fu*cked in the head due to my miserable childhood? I think the answer lies in the email below. I sent two photos of myself, before and after steroids to a female friend and this is what she replied. To me her answer reflects that she is a wonderful person:

“Hey Dave,

You shouldn't have to worry about the way you look...
If anyone should want you...it should be for your heart and personality...not
solely based on looks. If that person judges by looks....trust me...it won’t
last long and totally not worth your heart and effort!

We all should know that by now.....one of life's most important lessons!

Smile and spread the cheer around”.

"where's Dave?" 

During the course of my tenure as General Manager of the Royal Lake Club, I had to work closely with the then President, a prominent lawyer, and developed a great deal of respect for him for his straight shooting no nonsense style of character and management.

This cool dude is in his 60’s, rides a big bike and is fit as a fiddle, He eats healthy (read olive oil, wild honey and oats) and travels overseas on cases regularly.

So when I got to know last week that he had collapsed from a heart complicaton, was warded in a medical facility and had a stent implanted, it really shook me up. I was depressed, disappointed, despondent and disillusioned, feeling very helpless for his family.

He’s fine now and resting at home, but the episode has highlighted how bloody fragile life is. No matter how much precaution you take, how healthy a lifestyle you practice, when your number is up and the grim reaper comes for you, you have to go.

You may have noticed that I stopped posting your remarks some time ago. This is because you bunch are worse than the UMNO delegates when it comes to overreacting and misinterpreting things. Or maybe you purposely do it just to get my goat.

My post on Altantunya Shaariibuu was not meant as a joke. It was meant as a social commentary, a wake up call that such a horrendous crime can happen right here in Malaysia Nobody, male or female, Mongolian or Malaysian, deserves to be killed in such a despicable manner. Now can you lot please stop flaming me and calling me names?

Moral of the story? Life is short. Grab it by the throat and live it to the fullest.

A protégé whom I’ve sheltered, fed, allowed to use my car freely and introduced to friends, family and business contacts for just over a year now has grown too big for his boots.

To be fair, he did carry his weight earlier by running errands, driving and looking after me even better than my own family when I was ill We went through thick and thin together, sharing misfortune and laughter like brothers.

However lately he has developed a mean and sarcastic streak and managed to piss everybody off, resulting in a barrage of phone calls to leave him behind for future meetings.

Perhaps this story which I received forwarded via email will result as a timely reminder…

A wealthy old lady decides to go on a photo safari in Africa , taking her faithful aged poodle named Cuddles, along for the company.

One day the poodle starts chasing butterflies and before long, Cuddles discovers that he's lost.. Wandering about, he notices a leopard heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of having lunch.

The old poodle thinks, "Oh, oh! I'm in deep doo-doo now!" Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to the approaching cat. Just as the leopard is about to leap the old poodle exclaims loudly, "Boy, that was one delicious leopard! I wonder if there are any more around here?"

Hearing this, the young leopard halts his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees. "Whew!", says the leopard, "That was close! That old poodle nearly had me!"

Meanwhile, a monkey who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the leopard. So off he goes, but the old poodle sees him heading after the leopard with great speed, and figures that something must be up. The monkey soon catches up with the leopard, spills the beans and strikes a deal for himself with the leopard.

The young leopard is furious at being made a fool of and says, "Here, monkey, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!

Now, the old poodle sees the leopard coming with the monkey on his back and thinks, "What am I going to do now?", but instead of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers, pretending he hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close enough to hear, the old poodle says.

"Where's that damn monkey? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another leopard!

Moral of this story?...

Don't mess with old farts...age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill! Bullshit and brilliance only come with age and experience.

The Special Operations Force (Unit Tindakan Khas) has set up a counter at KLIA to issue free t-shirts to visiting female Mongolian models to Malaysia. It’s got a target printed on it.

Female Mongolian models are now in high demand as girlfriends in Malaysia. Apparently they are easily disposable and have highly explosive personalities.

What do you call a dead female Mongolian model in Malaysia? Answer: exhibit A, exhibit B, exhibit C, exhibit D, exhibit E…

Yes, I admit I am a sick and twisted bastard. So sue me ok? I could use the money.

This blog normally does not make political comments, but recent developments have just been too juicy to resist. This is my take on living in our beloved Bolehland.:

If you are high up enough in the food chain, you can hire our Special Operations Force (Unit Tindakan Khas) to assassinate unwanted Mongolian lovers, kidnapping her, shooting her and blowing her up with C4 explosive no less.

If you are high up enough in the food chain, you can build a palatial mansion without municipal authorization, build an illegal restaurant on buffer land and get your two sons elected to the city council, while thumbing your nose at the Rakyat.

If you are high up enough in the food chain, you can bitterly criticize your former mentor by saying “forget about him, he went to the press instead of solving problems internally in UNMO” by also making statements to the press. This from the same baby elephant woman who was constantly at Tun’s side and his staunchest supporter till he blew up the AP issue.

This is the aspect of politics that I absolutely abhor – the fact that you can be in bed with a person one minute and bitter enemies the next, exposing dirty laundry for all to see.

A simple sms containing misleading info on a hundred (100) muslims converting to Christianity at the Lourdes Church in Ipoh ended up implicating yatchman Datuk Azhar Mansor, sparking an investigation by the religious department questioning his religios beiefs and culminated in the Sultan of Perak demanding an explanation from the Menteri Besar and Pak Lah jumping in hasty reponse from Pakistan.

About a thousand muslims gathered outside the church brandishing sticks to teach the kafirs a lesson. In the end logic prevailed over emotions and no one was hurt.

On another related topic, yesterday I was forced to call about twenty (20) four and five star hotels in KL to solicit some info and came away with 20 stories to tell.

Operator:GoodafternmoonHotelABCKualaLumpurSharifahspeakinghowmayIassistyou?
Me: Good Afternoon. May I please have the name of your PR Manager?
Op: What do you mean?
Me: I need the name of your PR Manager, please.
Op: What do you mean?
Me: *click*

Operator:GoodafternmoonHotelDEFKualaLumpurKumarspeakinghowmayIassistyou?
Me: Good Afternoon. May I please have the name of your PR Manager?
OP: Lee
Me: dude, there are a million Lees in KL. Full name, please.
Op: Miss Lee
Me: *click*

Operator:GoodafternmoonHotelGKualaLumpurVernspeakinghowmayIassistyou?
Me: Good Afternoon. May I please have the name of your PR Manager?
Op: doesn’t say a word, transfers line – ring ring ring ring ring ring
I call back
Op:GoodafternmoonHotelGKualaLumpurVernspeakinghowmayIassistyou?
Me: Don’t transfer the line. I need the name of your PR Manager
Op: doesn’t say a word, transfers line – ring ring ring ring ring ring
Frustrated, I call back
Op:GoodafternmoonHotelGKualaLumpurVernspeakinghowmayIassistyou?
Me: Vern, do you understand English? Don’t transfer the line. She’s not in. I need the name of your PR Manager
Op: doesn’t say a word, transfers line – ring ring ring ring ring ring

Op:GoodafternmoonHotelHKualaLumpurAlicepeakinghowmayIassistyou?
Me: Good Afternoon. May I please have the name of your PR Manager?
Op: Sure, our PR Manager is Miss La De Da
Me: Thank you. May I please have her email address?
Op: err www
Me: that’s a website, darling
Op: err wait ah…*click* beep beep beep the line goes dead

Op:GoodafternmoonHotelJKualaLumpurAlispeakinghowmayIassistyou?
Me: Good Afternoon. May I please have the name of your PR Manager?
Op: Yes Sir, our PR Manager is Miss Do Re Mi.
Me: Thank you. May I please have her email address?
Op: Sure Sir, doremi alias hoteljdotcom
Me: huh? Alias?
Op: yup, doremialiashoteljdotcom, no my
Me: uh… thank you…I think

However the most pompous and arrogant operator was from The Ascott
Op:AscottKualaLumpur
Me: Good Afternoon. May I please have the name of your PR Manager?
Op: No
Me: Huh? Whaddaya mean NO?
Op: we don’t have a PR Manager
Me: Well can I have the name of your Marketing Manager then?
Op: No
Me: Let me guess – You don’t have a Marketing Manager. Who handles the Press?
Op: Nobody
Me: *click*

These are absolutely true – I’m not making them up. Malaysia the Bolehland. I love my country you know. Holder of many records from best airport and cabin crew in the world to KLCC to the tower to the flagpole to dubious records like the longest popiah, the fattest satay and the stickiest dodol.

Malaysia the Bolehland. We are so busy overreacting and blowing up issues to bombastic levels that we can’t wrap our minds aeound the simple little concept of courtesy.