Penamoli

It was a perfect day today, after some unusual roller coaster weather with bitter cold days in the month of spring. My eldest son and I went for a little stroll along my street in the eastern outskirts of London. Chatty and curious as usual, my son's topic of discovery was about plants and flowers when he spotted bunches of showy lilac pink flowers.  ''Mum, look, pink flower. What is his name?'' my two-year old asked.  I said, ''Rhododendron.'' ''Rhododendron?!'' he repeated with much amused tone and exclaimed, ''Oh, its so pretty! It's my favourite now.''  Indeed, it is one of the prettiest flowers of the ornamental shrub and I remember noting down in my book some years ago as state flower of Azad-Jammu and Kashmir. Today, these large trusses of bell-shaped flowers reminded me of 'Zalzala', the baby girl whom I carried and rocked to sleep. Rhododendron Ponticum: State Flower of Az...

Spring is colourful and my garden buzzes with vast activities of its spring friends. One of the most frequent visitors to our garden is the bright and inquisitive little birds-Blue Tits. These incredibly agile birds are rewarding to watch and as they are very adaptable, they are usually the quickest to exploit any new food source, quickly learning to use any new feeder.They are so opportunistic that in some areas Blue Tits even learnt to pierce milk bottle tops for a sneaky sip. A colourful, noisy, active little bird, bright blue crown, nape collar, wings and tail and yellow underside. The white cheeks are bordered by a dark blue line - the line through the eye is separated from the blue cap by a white band - all producing a distinctive head pattern. Bill is short and stubby, legs bluish-grey. They always amuse me with very acrobatic stunts-hanging upside-down on branches pecking at buds or foraging for insect and my bird feeder. I've also learnt that these song birds use aromat...

13-5-13, another hectic Monday with list of things-to-do, call the GP (General Practioner), call the insurer, write a letter, get son to the GP, and shopping, besides my usual house chores. The day will pass in wink just as other Mondays but 44 years ago in my country, this day was a bad day; a bloody day which has been printed in chapters of our history books; and a rough day which left scars and wounds in many hearts of Malaysians. The ghostly sectarian violence ignited after the May 10, 1969 general election. Many of us might not have seen the ugly face of 13 May 1969, but for surely, would not want to see it in our life time. Today there a certain degree of tensions after the May 5th general election. It is sad to read headings of papers, slogans and quotations in public media, misleading news and misinterpretations, but I believe the amount of venomous hatred churned by political divide can do no harm to us. There are few paranoids, there are some provincials, ...

Evening cup of tea, is just so prefect under a 20 degree Celsius of a typical London spring temperature, I am some 6544.8 miles away from home country but Malaysia is just so close to my heart and I can't take my eyes away from its latest development and post election syndrom. I have different phase of active involvement in our general elections. 2004, I was covering general election as a broadcast journalist, 2008 I was monitoring generaL election from an academic perspective and this time around as a housewife who is married to a foreigner but still anxious to know how my Malaysia is going through her 13th GE despite the 'over-dramatised' political lobbying. My cynism on our electoral process started way before I can understand the meaning of 'democracy'. I remember those elections during my childhood. We know that there is an election whenever we see the Public Works Department at work paving or resurfacing our 'kampung' roads with tar. Then you can ...

I was writing one night, when my 2 year-old woke up from his sleep and asked, ''What you doing, amma? Are you reading? '' I answered, ''No, I am writing.''             Intrigued, he continued,''Oh, are you writing about me?'' I answered, ''Yes''.             His curiosity prompted another question, '' Are you writing about me using a pen?'' Amazed by his fascination, I answered with pride, ''Yes, I am writing about you using a pen.''             He smiled a contented smile and shut his eyes tight, falling again in his cosy cot bed into his midnight slumber. That night my son made me smile and my pen  reminded me that my last chapter is still a very long way off...till the last of my breath.