White Tiger

Now, here's a book I'd recommend: White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga. The story of a kid growing up in a poor, rural village, this novel paints a rough if unflattering portrait of real-life in India. In letters to a Chinese official, the narrator and protagonist Balram reviews the twists and turns of his life, revealing the dark and light, the ying and yang of everything around him.

A rite of passage story, the reader is drawn in by Balram's innocence and naivete. He is a meager son of India, among so many just like him. Pulled from school to support his family, Balram's last name identifies him as a part of the sweets-makers caste and he gets work in a tea shop. With a lucky break, he manages to get a job as driver, moving up in the world. But taken to the city, far from his family and village, he changes.

Living among the wealthy, he eavesdrops on conversations, learning, listening. Still a servant, however, he cannot pass through the bars of his caste cage. As the caged white tiger, Balram watches and waits. And in another stroke of luck, he seizes a chance opening of the gate, pouncing on any standing in his way to freedom. Violent in action and sly in reaction, he manages to avoid punishment for his wrongdoing and make it in society. But once Balram frees himself his cage, he gives more respect to those still in their cages than those who've broken free. A boss, rich, respected, the white tiger identifies with and provides for those who remind him of who he once was.

Corruption among the higher castes, their abuses visited upon those below them, the author spares none in this work. While a quick read, the story is full of details an outsider can appreciate, from men's addictions to chewing betel nuts to the difference in deposit value of empty liquor bottles. Adiga does not spare religion in this work either. Hinduism a mask for Balram, a formality, he uses it as a ploy to better his situation. A true entrepreneur. Likewise, prejudice against Muslims surfaces in the novel. India, a melting pot, and, as Adiga describes it, ready to boil.

Black and white

Another day of rain. Another bummer. So, to the streets I go.

I am fascinated with graffiti around the world. I'm fascinated by a lot, let's be honest.

While far from an artist myself, although hopefully a creative person, I am interested in people and their work. Globally. Tags, art, stories, perspectives, which and whatever. Whether a simple message, political stance, or art for art's sake, the images with which we choose to surround ourselves speak to life. And while a fair amount of work is needed on my part to give credit where credit is due, hopefully, some exposure is better than none. Indeed, I am far behind.

While wildlife and nature are what Borneo is known for, things haven't worked out exactly as I'd hoped while here. So this shall remain my impression of Borneo and a different kind of wildlife.

The images in this post are from an abandoned lot in Kota Kinbalu. White columns, the bones of a building yet to be erected, have been made into a makeshift gallery. The power of the image shared equally in the hands of the artist and the eyes of those looking.

Critters

"It's raining, raining. Ooh, baby it's raining..." I'm neither a fan of Rihanna or, today, of the rain. Yesterday spent in the mountains, today's supposed to be the day for snorkeling and a hopeful beginning of a SCUBA certification. With poor visibility and high winds, we won't be checking out any ocean critters today. We were planning to island hop, too, but sitting in the rain on an isolated island? I don't think so. There's always tomorrow! And a bit of a slap in the face, just before dusk, the skies cleared and the sun came out. Another gorgeous sunset, the day doesn't feel like such a loss, the sun having shown its face at least to kiss us goodnight.

And how wrong I was. Our dining experience this evening was one of a kind. Port View restaurant on the water in KK is unique. Just inside the front door, welcome to a wall of fish. Greeted by aquariums stacked to the ceiling, massive tiger prawns stuck in plastic Coke bottles, a rainbow of fishes, lobster, you pick your poison at Port View. At varying prices per gram or kilo, the daily catch is yours to be had.

Once at a table, the house menu offers a long list of supplemental dishes, veggies, chicken, soups, rice. Wine, beer, Chinese tea, fresh juices, while nice, remain at best sideshows to the fish. It's a good idea to make it an early dinner in order to get the freshest selection. Suggestions of cooking styles for the fish also vary, but I'd stick to steamed were I you. We had prawns sauteed in garlic, a bit of overkill. Oh yeah! And there is a show, too! Dancers squeal and squawk past diners to take the stage in a revived tribal number or two.

Note: having investigated the restaurant a bit online, watch out for endangered species being enthusiastically suggested and sold at special prices, passed off as, for example, parrot fish. Buyer do beware.

Akira

Just a quick shout to one of my buddies. This one's for you, Les! Miss you, love you.

Kinabalu

The mountain is not going to happen for me. May 1st is a holiday, for all of Asia, it seems. As well, while heading to Borneo to hike Mt. Kinabalu without a tour package is said to be possible, it ain't easy. One company owns the overnight lodging on the mountain, another the permits required to hike. From what I've learned, you have to travel to the park (minimum 2 hours from town) to see if there are any cancellations for the following day, and at that, there's no guarantee anyone will have canceled. Especially on a holiday.

The mountain itself is about 12,000 feet, the summit granite which you have to pull yourself up with ropes at certain points. I have to admit, I'm bummed. Not in the best shape of my life, it would have certainly been a challenge. At the same time, I'm strong and was looking forward to the challenge.

We did visit the National Park and hot springs though today, and walked a canopy through the trees. Our first stop in a local village, the people chew betel nuts. It looks like a tiny red cigar poking out of their mouths, and leaves a red film on their lips, teeth and tongue. Does anyone else remember Mercurachrome? My dad used to use it on, well, any and everything that ailed. Inside the park, a short hike up to the canopy walk, my mom got two steps out and flipped out. Unsteady, giggly, you walk on 2X8 planks of wood through the treetops, holding onto ropes with a net lining on either side. Rereading this, it doesn't sound all that safe, I guess. Sandwiched between my dad and me, though, the moms made it. At one point, she turned to my dad and said, "I'd get in her pocket if I could." Hell, I figured. She carried me around for 9+ months. Least I could do.

P.S. Does the end of the walk look like a heart to anyone else but me?

Dancing Queen

The day spent getting to know Kota Kinabalu, we walked along the water. And walked. And walked. Sometimes what looks like a short distance on a map turns into, well, 7 more kilometers. We eventually found Down Below Dive Shop and reviewed options. I'm hoping for a lot of things here in Borneo. There's a mountain to climb and I'd love to get SCUBA certified. We'll see.

To the sunset at the Shangri-La, there cannot be a better sunset view in all of KK. Oh, and there's a fire show to boot!

After dinner, I went out for a little karoake. Why the hell not? I think people are intrigued by me here, a single girl, different. Or maybe it's pity. If I'm a curiosity, probably less so once I open my mouth. Granted, I did start out with Sweet Child O Mine. Still, the bartender befriended me. Shocker. The only girl drinking Chivas, I'm sure. Another girl befriended me, too. We sang ABBA together and lit the place (all three occupied tables) on fire. From Borneo and only 24, but married with two kids, and dating her husband's best friend, she told me her story. Hurting her parents, her husband, abandoning her kids, all that conflicting with her desire to be free. Guilt and more guilt, she turned to me for some answers. Who am I to say anything? All I have is freedom. She thinks she's selfish for not returning to her family and husband. And talk about some guilt. For me? Guilt doesn't exist. If you are true to your heart and honest about it, you cannot feel guilty.

Then she showed me the cuts on her wrist. I swear. All over this earth, people are hurting. And I just want to spread love. We can all be happy. And live our dreams. How? How does it happen? How do we make it happen for all of us? Having the time of your life...and not just in a song?

A little rain

And it's a downpour. Leaving Singapore today, I survived the scariest cab ride of my life. The driver's hands shook on the wheel for most of the drive. Hugging the right lane of a three-lane highway, I have no idea what the man was thinking. You couldn't see a thing in front of the car. And lights are an afterthought in the daytime. Getting splashes from the flood rising in the well on the right, along with the wake left by cars passing on the left, I wish I'd been driving. Speaking of, it's still weird hopping into the left front seat of a car and not driving...

Once at the airport, under the awning out of the rain, the driver let out a sigh. You know, you may be sweating but it's a whole different thing when you know your driver (or pilot) is flipping out, too.

So...Borneo, here we come!