CQ#6

C Q

LIFE IMITATES ART How coffee become a part of our culture

EAST IS EAST A walk through Carpenter Street

CUPS OF SUGAR The bittersweet truth about sugar

CANTEEN CAN TEENS Reconsidering Malaysian school canteens

WINDY CITY A chat with filmmaker Winaldo Swastia

#6 | AN INDIE POWERED PUBLICATION

UNDER THE HOOD Reviewing Marion Nestle’s Food Politics

PINEAPPLE EXPRESS Rethinking Second Thoughts by Julian Lee

MONKEY BUSINESS A look at Semi Apes by Sabah Carrim

FROTHY AFFAIRS A love letter from afar

PAST THE PRESENT FUTURE The short stories of Shemsi Elsani and Rahim Ramli

TIMES ARE A CHANGING The importance of Jagat’s victory

A SPICIER LIFE VARIETY, CORNUCOPIA AND ALL ITS AFTERTASTES

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EDITORIAL NOTE Feeling hungry yet?

Food. It can turn a frown upside down, make the world go round, and as Michael Jackson sang in his hit song, it can heal the world. Like all these cheesy lines, food has been the topic of discussion for ages and yet we could not stress enough how important these edible consumables are. We can't go on for long without food. It is literally the fuel that our body needs to obtain energy. Scientifically speaking, the human body (of most of us) would not last around eight days. Others, like me, could not last 24 hours because we are prone to getting stomach ulcers.

Nevertheless, it doesn't just come down to the nourishment that we find in food, but also the comfort that it brings to our souls.

Many a time we would ignore the nutritional contents and go straight for the stuff that makes us feel good. We find solace in a pot of warm chicken soup and a tub of brain-numbingly cold chocolate ice cream. Of course, nothing beats having good food with good company. We can all admit that food does more than fill us up. As we carry our grandmother's curry recipe, we're bringing part of our roots with us, and we constantly evolve as we watch Jamie Oliver whip up an amazing looking spaghetti bolognaise dish or drool as Shersan Lian walks us through his version of the classic asam pedas.

Obviously, these are all metaphors, but the point is that we are all individuals resulting from a unique fusion based on our experiences. It is no wonder that we have developed our own personal tastes.

Regardless of age, sex and ethnic background, we are likely to go for the things that appeal to our taste buds, and the contents of our wallets. In my personal experience, I could never recall a time when I have been hungrier than my days as a university student. I get

constantly peckish and being away from home reminded me that I shouldn't indulge as I used to have, but that is one of the lessons that I've learnt from being hungry. For me who had a limited amount of cash in hand, like most college students are, I still had access to cheap cup noodles and if I felt that I needed something more filling, I could walk a little further and get a rice set for under RM5. Here's the lesson: being thrifty is nothing to be ashamed of as there are thousands of others starving without being given an option to choose. I'm not saying that this had immediately turned me into a better person, but it made me aware, and for that I count my blessings.

In this issue, we're celebrating food. I know it's pretty redundant because in my experience of celebrating anything, food would be the top priority. I mean, have a listen to most of our Hari Raya songs now.

We have a lot of good stuff lined up on this buffet of words. Heather Francis tells us how the sweet stuff may not be all that sweet for our hunger, while Nurul Ismawi and Jazelia Jasmene delve into the past and their stories. A juicy interview with filmmaker Winaldo Swastia is also on the cards, along with some sides by Aisyah Ezral, Rahim Ramli and Shemsi Elsani in the form of short stories. Flavourful poetry by Maria Adibah Azmi, ABAH, Lydia Koh and more will be the final order of the day.

I'll end the editorial here for now; these food puns are making me hungry. To our readers, thank you for your continuous support, and bon appĂŠtit!

ZUE SUB EDITOR

CQ Magazine is an indie powered e-publication for creative explorations adhering to a high standard of professional writing and journalism. The opinions of contributors do not necessarily represent the views of CQ Magazine.

Design inspired by Swedish Film magazine.

Licensed under Creative Commons.

Editorial Board EDITORS IN CHIEF FIKRI JERMADI WANI ARDY EDITOR AT LARGE EZZAH MAHMUD SUB EDITORS AISYAH EZRAL JAZELIA JASMENE SHEMSI ELSANI ZUE CONTRIBUTORS ABAH ADI ISKANDAR AISYAH EZRAL EQHA ANWAR EZZAH MAHMUD HEATHER FRANCIS JAZELIA JASMENE LYDIA KOH MARIA ADIBAH AZMI NURUL ISMAWI RAHIM RAMLI SHEMSI ELSANI SHERIL A. BUSTAMAN U ATREYA SARMA WINALDO SWASTIA ZUE LAYOUT DESIGNER ADI ISKANDAR FRONT COVER HĂ…VAR OG SOLVEIG / FLICKR

cqmalaysia.com cqmalaysia hello@cqmalaysia.com #6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 1

CONTENTS

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3 USAH CARI, AKU DI SINI EQHA ANWAR 4 COFFEE KITSCH ZUE 7 MY CUP RUNNETH OVER AISYAH EZRAL 8 OF COFFEE AND CHEESES NURUL ISMAWI 12 GOOD REASON LYDIA KOH 14 SWEETNESS FIKRI JERMADI 16 FOOD FACTORY ADI ISKANDAR 19 LATIHAN AMALI ABAH

IMAGE: FATBWOY / FLICKR

20 LOVE THE WAY YOU SOUND RAHIM RAMLI 25 OUR TIME IS NOW SHERIL A. BUSTAMAN 28 THE SWEET HUNGER HEATHER FRANCIS

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30 YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT JAZELIA JASMENE 34 WINDY CITY WINALDO SWASTIA 39 THE END SHEMSI ELSANI

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52

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IMAGE: JOÃO TRINDADE / FLICKR

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IMAGE: TALLALEX85 / FLICKR

44

IMAGE: RON WADDINGTON / FLICKR

52 PASAR MBAK MARIA ADIBAH AZMI

IMAGE: CAMILLE CHENCHEI / FLICKR

IMAGE: WIKIPEDIA

40 HALF ALIVE U ATREYA SARMA 44 IN BETWEEN SHEMSI ELSANI 49 FOOD FOR THOUGHT FIKRI JERMADI

POETRY EQHA ANWAR

Usah Cari, Aku Di Sini TEXT: EQHA ANWAR IMAGE: CRAIG BENNETT / FLICKR

Jika ingin terbang menjengah angkasa Siapkan sayap tebar dengan yakin Jika ingin selam menjenguk lautan Penuhkan kuasa pastikan kebal kapal selam Jika ingin petik sang bintang Sediakan galah yang panjangnya mencapai Jika ingin peluk indahnya sang bulan Eratkan rakulan genggam jangan dilepaskan Jika ingin merasa bayu berbicara Pejamkan mata bukalah hati Jika ingin mencari erti sesuatu Pacakkan minda simile yang nyata Jika ingin merasa sayangnya kasih Himpunkan hati yang bisa menahan semua Jika ingin mencari teman kawan, mencari kawan sahabat, mencari sahabat selamanya Usah cari, aku di sini.

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I believe that it is to make the scenes feel close to home by putting the extraordinary into the ordinary

FEATURE ZUE

Coffee Kitsch

Is coffee on the silver screen a reflection of our way of life?

TEXT: ZUE IMAGE: FATBWOY / FLICKR

Ah, coffee. A favourite among caffeine aficionados. What's not to love? The dark, bitter taste from the roasted beans, the infusion of flavours of your choice (tacky to purists, but I prefer not to judge), and the unidentifiable yet strangely nostalgic aroma. One sip of that delightful buzz, and you're ready to take on the day's challenges.

According to the Roast & Post Coffee Company, 400 billion cups of coffee are consumed worldwide annually. I'd like to think that this is something that brings people from all walks of life together, for that is not a number to sniff at. Among other social lubricants that help to break the ice, coffee and tea seems like the most socially acceptable. There are others, such as alcohol, tobacco and other recreational substances (with or without the caffeine), but nothing comes close to these two beverages.

Having said that, we're not here to talk about numbers or how much we absolutely love, love, love coffee, even though we can. What we are, though, is guilty of dramatising and romanticising the act of consuming coffee into a form of art. Just pick any mainstream television show, and more often than not coffee is presented in some shape or form.

Let's face reality. Coffee comes with a darker story than our usual shot of espresso. The business is a challenging one to be in. From the farm, the tedious process of picking coffee cherries and the drastic drop in coffee bean prices have left farmers unhappy while Starbucks maintain their standard pricing of your favourite caffeine concoction.

Between fact and fiction, the reality of coffee beans and the onscreen cup of joe, which one comes first? Is the coffee portrayed on television some form of promotion of coffee culture among audiences, or is it a reflection of how we consume the beverage to begin with?

The former gives us the idea that a form of advertising comes into play, specifically as a type of product placement. A nonadvertising technique whereby products make appearances on TV, films, and other sorts of media, we’ve seen tonnes of them over the years: Pizza Hut in the Back to the Future trilogy, Mini Coopers in The Italian Job films, and (since we're talking about coffee) Starbucks in You've Got Mail.

However, coffee as a beverage is not a trademarked product that is paid to be on screen. It serves better as a motif for these media. A recurring symbol that is shown throughout a film, TV series, plays and such, examples of motifs include the issue of blood versus water in Shakespeare's Macbeth, the colour red in Baz Luhrmann's film Moulin Rouge!, and the futuristic jargon in Orwell's 1984, such as 'doublethink', 'newspeak', and the daunting authority figure Big Brother.

We can see the coffee motif in various media, though for now I will narrow down to the ones I believe most of us are familiar with. We see coffee playing a role in the television shows Friends, Seinfeld, and Twin Peaks, while films ranging from the French award-winner Amelie, Quentin Tarantino’s ground-breaking Pulp Fiction and even contemporary commercial fares such as Thor all feature the drink. From these, coffee seem to work as a #6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 5

FEATURE ZUE representation of the normal, everyday life; in many of the television shows mentioned above, cafes are the meeting spots where people get together and talk about, well, life.

The cult classic Twin Peaks revolves around the murder of Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee) and the eccentric FBI agent Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) who was sent in to solve the case. This is not your ordinary crime television series as it mixes elements of the supernatural, psychological, and weirdness that only David Lynch can (or is allowed to) pull off. Between the dark secrets of Twin Peaks, odd characters on the verge of madness, and the beautiful dead girl, our hero Coop offered the following advice to the local sheriff, Harry S. Truman (Michael Ontkean): "Every day, once a day, give yourself a present... It could be a new shirt at the men's store, a catnap in your office chair, or two cups of good, hot black coffee…”

What of the films? Pulp Fiction, for instance, centres on the issue of crime and gangsterism in the city. Sure, it's not a conventional reality to a lot of people, but there are still situations that showed a degree of the ordinary. In related scenes in Pulp Fiction, we see glimpses of how normal a person can be in the midst of chaos. In fact, the film opens with a scene in a coffee shop. Two characters, a man and a woman, were presumably having a meal together. The man seemingly declared against the woman as he disagreed with something, saying 'it' is too risky.

it is to make the scenes feel close to home by putting the extraordinary into the ordinary that we are familiar with (and vice versa). This concept also seems acceptable in parodies as they have implemented and sometimes highlighted in the narrative. In an episode of How I Met Your Mother, Barney Stinson claimed that bars are more fun that cafes, while Futurama’s Philip J. Fry serendipitously saved the day after consuming 100 cups of coffee.

The act of making coffee as a part of the slice-of-life scenes familiarises them to the audience, hence making them 'typical', or a form of shorthand. Pam Cook, a Professor Emerita in film, mentioned the term 'shorthand' when discussing about the genre/author interplay. She stated that this gives the audience the immediate idea of something without needing a long explanation. Therefore, if the audience get it that coffee is synonymous with our daily lives, it probably is.

This concept is similar with the representation theory in media, which explains the depiction of reality in media,

and is commonly concerning the topic of stereotyping and archetyping in media.

However, this matter is highly subjective, and needs to be taken with a grain of salt (or a sprinkle of cinnamon). This is because the 'representativeness' of media representation is still far from a perfect portrayal of our lives. We are all naturally biased, after all, and there's no shame in that.

Speaking of bias, you may notice that the examples I gave are mostly American. Well, that's because American shows are among the most popular, as are the American films that dominate the mainstream film scene.

This begs the question: how much has our lifestyle been affected by American media?

Man of Steel, for example, displays an arsenal of American brands, such as Kellogg's, Gillette, Carl's Jr., Sears, 7Eleven, Warby Parker eyewear, and that's just product placements. Let's not forget the actual narrative: Alien turned American dream, out to save the world, o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave, and then some.

Of course, that's a whole 'nother story.

Halfway through the film, we see another iconic coffee scene in Jimmie's (Quentin Tarantino) kitchen where a blood-soaked Vincent (John Travolta) and Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) were addressing the elephant in the room over, you guessed it, coffee.

In Thor, our eponymous hero was banished from his realm to this one. Here on Earth, in a breakfast scene at a diner, he was served a mug of coffee. To his delight, it appealed to his taste, an appreciation he expressed by smashing the mug to the floor to pay a compliment.

So why was coffee placed in these scenes? Like I stated earlier, I believe that 6 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

IMAGE: CAMILA TAMARA SILVA SEPÚLVEDA / FLICKR

Moments later, a waitress appeared and asked if anyone would want a refill on their coffee. The discussion intensified after the waitress left and finally the couple dropped the bomb on what they were talking about: planning a robbery, and because they thought the coffee shop was a perfect place to rob, their plan commenced within a few minutes.

SHORT STORY AISYAH EZRAL Dear sweet lover, It has been close to two years since our parting. I still find myself craving for you at the oddest times. No surprises there. Your warmth used to fill me up, fuel me in those late lonely nights, those cold misty mornings, loud crowded afternoons, and those sweaty hazy evenings.

I tried looking for a substitute, even molding them into you, to become you, at times. Unhealthy, I know. Just like you.

Unhealthy, I mean. Yes, you know that.

Don’t pretend like you don’t know that.

Don’t act all innocent, please. We’re way past that. You’re bad for me, everybody knows that, I know that. Doesn’t make it less painful though. It just makes me want you even more.

I miss your bubbly personality, always cheering me up. Especially when I felt so alone in a crowd of loud comrades.

Chatting amounting to nothing, loud cans of cannot-dos.

You had this subtle saccharine scent about you, one I could smell from afar. Dripping

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of creamy goodness, every sip I had of you was passionate, trust me. I love how you’re on-demand, at every call and bidding, every order of mine fulfilled. As long as I paid the price, you came in mere minutes.

Your tanned skin, darling, is the one thing I have been failing to find an exact match of over here. Almost golden, it was, so lovely to look at. Love, you complemented me, and everything else. You fit right in with everything in my life, accommodating and ever-versatile. You inspired me when I could not go on. You nourish me, nearly excessively. I loved you too much, I still do.

That is why we had to part. You became an addiction of mine, a habit I had to break. I still smell you, and still see you. One day we shall reunite, my love, even if it is just for a while, as a treat.

My Cup Runneth Over TEXT: AISYAH EZRAL IMAGE: TAMAHAJI / FLICKR

I shall seek you, my much-missed Teh Tarik.

Love, Esah in the USA

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FEATURE NURUL ISMAWI

Of Coffee and Cheeses Fancy a cuppa? Let Nurul Ismawi take you on a journey of caffeine discovery (and other delights) in Sarawak IMAGE: NURUL ISMAWI

Carpenter Street, Kuching. Loved by travellers, treasured by the locals.

Ewe Hai Street, also known as Carpenter Street by the locals, is one of the oldest Chinese settlements in Kuching, Sarawak.

In the morning, it is one of the busiest streets in town. The street is inhabited by mostly carpenters, and also tailors and hawkers, hence the name Carpenter Street.

This is where the older locals of Kuching go about their daily businesses. Old furniture can be bought here. Some come to pray at the temples, and some come simply for the food.

The street reveals its quieter side starting 3PM. Younger Kuchingites are starting to show their love for the street. Tattoo parlours, art spaces, bars and cafes are giving the street a different kind of vibrant in the evening. So what is to love here? For me, it is the coffee and cheeses!

Now, will you come along to Carpenter Street with me?

If you are starting your journey from the Carpenter Street arch, turn right to Upper China Street off Ewe Hai Street.

Indah Café Gallery is located on the left. If you are into fine arts and everything artsy fartsy, then this would be your favourite among all of the cafes I have sacrificed my soul and stomach to whilst writing this guide for you. The first thing that I noticed about this café was that it blended well with calmness of the street. Come inside and you will be greeted by the mouthwatering cakes in the chiller.

I had a slice of Mosaic cake, which is a

delicious creamy cheesecake marbled with chocolate and Oreos. Let me tell you something about my relationships with all of the cheesecakes that I have tasted: I either love them or hate them. I am very fussy about my cheesecakes. My trusts were betrayed by bakers who baked their cheesecakes into tasting like buttercakes, but not at Indah. They are very generous with their cheese, so two-thumbs up for you, Indah Café!

I washed down the cheesecake with a glass of cold vanilla latte, which was decent. It did not taste like watered-down coffee, and it was not strong enough to get you into a caffeine high. Good enough for occasional coffee drinkers, and acceptable for a caffeine junkie like me.

The café spirit revolves around fine arts.

There are artworks by local artistes hanging on the walls and they even sell them. Living Art Gallery is located upstairs and is open to public. Downstairs, just opposite the counter, I found small canvases sitting on a shelf, and a sign that says ‘Batik DIY Kit’. It turns out that for the price of RM30, you will get to colour-in batik motifs that are already drawn on canvases, and there will be no need for you to worry about bringing your watercolours as they provide all of the materials. And yes, you can bring your artwork home!

If hype or anything lively is not a friend of yours, this café is the place for you. It is located in the quieter part of Carpenter Street, perfect for long chats and getting some reading done.

Moving on to the next café, which is Wrong Place!

Oh, before you reach Wrong Place from Indah Café Gallery, you will come across a place called Picniq that sells pork sandwich. I do not know how pork tastes like but from what I heard, their pork sandwich is delicious.

Wrong Place is located just a few minutes walk away from Indah Café Gallery. I was greeted by the owner, Ivan, who was kind enough to show me around. Thank you, Ivan!

There is nothing wrong with the place, unless you are looking for food meant to be eaten alone, in which case you are in the wrong place. The portions are huge! The grilled cheese sandwich that I ate was thick, and good God, the cheese was oozing at the sides of the sandwich. I am not exaggerating, I swear! If you are not a person of huge appetite, make sure you bring along a friend to help you finish the food. Do not let the cheese go to waste.

(Save our cheeses!)

The beverages in their menu are pretty peculiar in a good way. There was a detox drink, avocado blend, and lemon essence.

Do they sound healthy to you? That’s because there are! After all of the grease from the huge juicy burgers and sandwiches, you would want a healthy drink served in a tall beaker. Yes, my lemon essence drink was served in a beaker!

Wrong Place has great ambience. You will be enjoying your food while nodding along to the sound of The Black Keys. The place is more energized and upbeat, if I were to compare it to the laid-back, calm and peaceful Indah. While you are there, please look up and look at the tin can lights. They #6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 9

IMAGE: NURUL ISMAWI

FEATURE NURUL ISMAWI

have lights that are made out of tin cans, the kernel corn can type of tin cans.

This is the thing about Wrong Place; the quirky décor. The first time I visited Wrong Place a few months ago, I saw a seat that was made out of bathtub (or was it a sink?). Something is always changing in Wrong Place, so you have to keep coming from time to time to see them evolve into something different.

DIY Dorm is upstairs, run by Nazreen and Ivan. It is a mixed a dorm that costs RM25 per bed, perfect for backpackers who are looking for a place to land their heads on after a long day of adventure!

Move along now…

Speak Eazy and Wrong Place.

You can smell the coffee even before you reach Black Bean Coffee. It is the Mecca of Kuching’s coffee enthusiasts. The place is tiny, with 5 or 6 coffee tables to cater to the visitors. It is best to visit the coffee shop at around 3pm as there are less people visiting during that time of the day.

Black Bean Coffee serves the finest coffee from high quality coffee beans originating from all across the globe. Ranging from Tanzania Arabica and Sarawak Liberica to Java Robusta, you can choose the coffee beans you want for your latte. You will even get a cookie with your latte.

If you are into alcohol, Speak Eazy may be your cup of tea. A friend of mine told me that Speak Eazy have tuak of different flavours!

You can also purchase vacuum packed grinded coffee beans of your choice to bring home! In simpler words, Black Bean Coffee & Tea Company is Kuching’s very own Starbucks. Except that their coffee is better and cheaper. Sorry, Starbucks!

For all you coffee junkies and caffeine addicts out there, please head over to Black Bean Coffee & Tea Company, located at the other end of Carpenter Street. It’s just a few metres away from

There you go. I’ve revealed Kuching’s best kept secrets. Why were they even secrets, you may ask? Well, tourists go to Main Bazaar and the Waterfront. Locals and travellers go to Carpenter Street!

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Come inside Indah Café Gallery and you will be greeted by the mouthwatering cakes in the chiller

IMAGE: NURUL ISMAWI

Black Bean Coffee serves the finest coffee from high quality coffee beans originating from all across the globe

POETRY LYDIA KOH

Halfway through a busy morning I can give a good reason A fairly decent excuse to say no.

When thoughts of you come unbidden To say it with confidence Even if it's only in my head In the middle of the afternoon, as I rush past people Each with their own destination The thought plays a silent symphony Broken by a telling smile Still I can still hear my reason Strong, in control, resolute But right now, when night calls I am tempted, bewitched, bewildered I am lost for good reasons None of the good ones seem right None of the right ones seem good Just for a hint of you, my world threatens to fall

TEXT: LYDIA KOH IMAGE: DANIEL HOHERD / FLICKR

Good Reason #6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 13

From one clichéd adventure to the next: no sooner after I had reviewed The Judge than a film came along with such grand sweetness that it’s difficult not to fiddle around in the dark for an Equalizer (or three). That was what The Hundred Foot Journey was like in many respects, and not only because it featured a lot of sumptuous shots of foods being prepared and consumed in a delightful manner.

We follow the story of the Kadam family, led by the patriarch Papa (Om Puri). A brief montage-like sequence at the beginning established their issues: they ran a successful family restaurant, but troubles back home in Mumbai (which involved the demise of the matriarch [Juhi Chawla]) meant that they had to relocate to London.

Here, Papa, along with the rest of the family, decided to move on to pursue their culinary dreams.

A failed brake in a quaint French village meant the family was somewhat stranded there. However, Hassan (Manish Dayal), the star pupil of the family if you like, met Marguerite (Charlotte Le Bon), who helped the family back on their feet. Papa evidently liked the place enough, so much so that he plonked down a somewhat unbelievable amount of money to purchase a rundown building. The plan? To open an Indian restaurant.

That seemed alright enough, but the only issue is that across that literal road lies an upscale Michelin Star restaurant owned by Madame Mallory (Helen Mirren). It is literally a hundred foot away (hence the title), so you have an idea of the proximity within which such different cultural and economic clashes would take place.

Adding intrigue to this is Marguerite, who also works as the sous chef at said restaurant. How, then, will the family face this? Will they thrive in the face of such heated competition? Will Papa prevail against the not-so-malleable Mallory? Can Hassan’s affections for Marguerite grow in the context of their professional rivalry?

Sweetness For once, Fikri Jermadi decided to watch a film ‘blind’, without knowing what it’s about prior to its screening.

IMAGE: TAMORLAN / WIKIPEDIA

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REVIEW FIKRI JERMADI I raise those questions in a rhetorical manner, of course, because this film plays out exactly like the three-course dinner you would expect. Perhaps I should stop here and apologise for the use of culinary terms peppered throughout this review, but hopefully it will help to colour the picture just that bit more vividly. Throughout the whole film, I was just pleased at how pleasant the whole experience was.

Nothing new to truly shock the sense, but a cliché-ridden film that made me smile is never a bad thing, is it? Once the credits rolled up, though, and the director’s name was revealed, I smacked my forehead: Lasse Hallstrom! Of course! In a way, I had gone into this film blind, but emerged with my senses awakened.

For no one but no one does sickly sweet films like this director. In fact, there were parts that made me feel everything went a little too smoothly The initially bravado amongst the warring restaurateurs eventually subsided into a quiet entente cordial that grew into mutual admiration and more. No surprises here, but the pleasantries do make me feel like more conflict would have spiced things up.

In terms of storytelling, the lack of problems is problematic For example, it was clear from the beginning of Hassan’s affections for Marguerite. That’s fair, for the actress does have a very charming and special quality about her. However, it only takes a few turns for the road to straighten out for the both of them; the piecemeal attempt at creating a conflict between the two was not all that successful at making me hang on the edge of my seat. Again, an exaggeration, but you know what I mean, and you can see how they would end up together.

Another issue that jumped out at me is just how much money the Kadams actually have. I know, this is a film, and there should be a strong detachment from any real attempt at matching it with a sense of verisimilitude. Nevertheless, the whim with which Papa bought the derelict building was surprising; the family had been portrayed as having to struggle to even sort out the brakes for their death trap of a van, yet here he is, plonking down the payment without as much as batting his eyelids. The same goes for the spices, too. They were hand-me-downs from their restaurant in the real Mumbai, the secrets of their mother’s recipe, yet that amount packed in the suitcase was enough to service their customers on a nightly basis with no real signs of diminishing. It raised my own eyebrows, if not Papa’s.

Nevertheless, that does not take anything away from this film. The fact is, a walk down the side of La Seine in spring might strike you as equally clichéd, but as I argued in the review of The Judge, it does not necessarily make it any less effective. A bit more of the conflict (and the subsequent payoff) would have made me wonder a bit more, but it does not really detract from the wonderful beauty of this film, the food, the assuredness of Helen Mirren and Charlotte Le Bon’s charm.

If you were walking down that river in Paris, you would not be complaining, would you?

First published in February 2016 on Thoughts on Films, a portal focusing on Malaysian films and beyond.

Perhaps the closest this movie came to truly making me wonder “What happens next?” is somewhere near the middle, when rogue elements from Madame Mallory’s kitchen decided to desecrate Maison Mumbai (the Kadams’ restaurant) with some inflammatory messages on their walls. However, Mallory herself was not best pleased, and even made the effort to rub the writings of the walls herself. This was a turning point for both Papa and Mallory, but it mimics the relatively untroubled path taken by both Hassan and Marguerite; in storytelling terms, the lack of problems is problematic. #6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 15

REVIEW ADI ISKANDAR

Food Factory Adi Iskandar ignores what people say, and finds out more about the food industry in Marion Nestle’s Food Politics than he really bargained.

IMAGE: ROBERT JUDGE

The title of this review refers to a particular saying, “If you like sausages, don’t visit the sausage factory.” In a sense, the same applies for Food Politics, which uncovers a lot of important information on how we eat what we eat. Written by Marion Nestle, it is regarded by many as one of, if not the foremost authority in the food industry, with an especial focus on the United States of America. The edition I read was promoted as the revised and updated 10th anniversary edition of the original book, first published in the early years of this millennium.

“We are human. We eat what we buy,” writes Nestle. “Food Politics is about how food and beverage companies encourage us to buy more and eat more.” She goes on to explain how this is directly tied to the bottom line, a pursuit that has led to an expanding waistline for many. Her critics focused on her reducing the human agency in this process, suggesting her message positions us as little more than slaves injected with spurious intent by the hypodermic needle. However, she rightly raised how billions of dollars have been spent by interested parties in the pursuit of changing our choices to suit theirs, and henceforth bringing to light the fact that our sense of consciousness may be a false one to begin with.

In almost any other field, we’d consider the political economy of that industry. For example, who owns the media is of great concern to many. Nestle’s work positions the food and beverages industry on the same level. The book slowly but surely peels away the layers to reveal what lies beneath the sugarcoated marketing of major food companies. A particularly 16 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

critical segment is entitled Exploiting Kids, Corrupting Schools, with many a concerned parent surely tempted to give this chapter more than a skim. Of a more personal interest is part two, aptly titled Working the System. It looked at the process on a higher governmental level, with an almost-insidious influence from third parties. This book cannot be accused of lacking informed opinions and information, and this chapter, dense with minutiae that could be off-putting for others, is incredibly enlightening.

A part of this engagement lies with her approach. Nestle investigates (for that is the term here, even if she is more of a seasoned lecturer and researcher) with a strong journalistic vigour. In explaining how the lobby industry works, she delves deep into the formation of various senate committees, divulging extraneous information about relevant members, their history and how it ties in with decisions made. While food is undoubtedly an important issue beyond its scientific and physical realm, I had no idea that it could be as political as it was portrayed by Nestle in the book.

Another interesting scenario was the development of the food pyramid. I remember seeing a lot of such graphs and images back in school, and did little to truly think of it critically. Nestle’s account of how that pyramid came into being, though, suggests greater forces at play. Dairy companies, for example, would not be entirely satisfied with their products’ position on the pyramid (placed a little too close to the Fats, Oils and Sweets category, which is usually seen in a negative light), and strongly lobbied the

government to change it. Given that ultimately such changes are accepted on a national and global scale (for much of the world looks to the United States for reference in such areas), these are the small decisions that affect the world, for better or for worse.

I’ve mentioned the book’s meticulous approach in constructing a grander narrative. Written by a professional academic, this means it is not without its evidence, with every few pages or so punctuated by graphs and statistics to highlight specific issues and themes.

Herein lies one of my few constructive criticisms of the book. While it was published as a revised and updated edition, the majority of facts and figures I came across remained largely rooted in the early years of the millennium by the latest. I could well understand that such detailed revisions inclusive of these data would have been an enormous undertaking in its own right, but I am incredibly interested to see how the situation is unfolding at the present time. A chapter at the end offers a more contemporary perspective, but the difference remains between my expectation and what the book actually offered in terms of currency. That’s not to say it is irrelevant, however, and it certainly gives rise to plenty of food for thought for the Asian and international context: what is the food industry like in Malaysia and the rest of the world?

In the United States at least, it appears that money talks, and in more ways than one.

Nestle herself admits that her efforts in her own research and academic endeavours would have been greatly hampered without the monetary aid and financial grants that

Written by a professional academic, it is not without its evidence, with every few pages punctuated by graphs and statistics

IMAGE: MALI MAEDER / PEXELS

REVIEW ADI ISKANDAR

comes from partial and partisan sources.

She makes clear of her allegiances early on, though, which suggests a strong desire to be as objective as possible.

Interestingly, the book’s dense and detailed approach means that while it remains accessible to the layman, I suspect many will be turned off by the actual size of the book, as well as the information. If the devil is in the detail, then Food Politics (as well as the politics of food) can be incredibly devilish in parts.

Incidentally, I believe this can be solved with even more words. As it so happened, I read this book at the same time as Taylor Branch’s The Clinton Tapes. A diary-like recollection of the author’s off-the-record on-the-record sessions with former president Bill Clinton, the books overlap in parts. Though the linkages are small, it helps me to bridge gaps of grey areas, as well as to connect Food Politics to the bigger picture. Fortune magazine dedicated an issue to Big Food not that long ago, while a segment of John Oliver’s Last Week Tonight focused on the sugar industry. I greatly enjoyed these segues that lead back to the narrative in Food Politics, and I suspect an identical approach would grant you a similar level of 18 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

satisfaction.

Despite my misgivings, this book remains a timely and critical addition to our bookshelves. The author rightly points out the special role food plays in our life (we all have to eat, after all) as well as the unique situation food companies find themselves in. While there are physical limits as to how much of their products we can consume, such companies are still capitalist behemoths, prioritising their shareholders over the stakeholders that are us.

This book certainly helps us better understand how these issues are played out in meeting rooms across Wall Street and Washington, before ultimately affecting everyone else all over the world. Having been consistently and greatly attacked by the industry and their supporters, Nestle notes that she must therefore be doing something right. In our case, it is our right to know more, and Food Politics will certainly help to set you on that diet.

Food Politics is published by University of California Press.

POETRY ABAH

Gementar Umpama menyusup perang Gemersik suara terus menyerang Usai lalui lerai segala Pancaran nurani lahirkan impian Mendebarkan Utusan ini sebuah takdir Lantas terus-terusan ku redahkan Antara Puncak Perdana ke Neo Damansara kembaranya Resapkan Enggan kalah sebelum bertanding Dari menyerah sebelum bermula Andai mungkin depannya masa Rezeki ini usah abaikan 1435H 15 Julai 2014 11.41 PAGI Tingkat 3, Capital TV, Neo Damansara

TEXT: ABAH IMAGE: TALLALEX85 / FLICKR

Latihan Amali #5 | CQ MAGAZINE | 19

SHORT STORY RAHIM RAMLI

Love The Way You Sound TEXT: RAHIM RAMLI IMAGE: TIMOTHY KRAUSE / FLICKR

“Ryan. Ryan. Wake up. It’s morning already.”

I heard her voice calling my name. I opened my eyes yet I could not see her face. I could not see anything. But I could sense that she was sitting on the side of the bed, right beside me.

“What time is it?” I asked her.

“It’s seven. I’m getting ready for work,” I heard her say. I could feel her hand touching my right arm. As I sensed her pulling her hand away to get up, I grabbed it.

“Wait,” I said.

“What is it?” she asked, and I could sense her sitting back down on the side of the bed.

“Walk me to the kitchen. Please,” I said. I heard her chuckle.

“Okay.”

I sensed her grabbing my right arm with both of her hands. She tried to help me up.

So, I sat up. When both of my feet touched the floor, I stood up. I entrusted her to take my arm and walk me to where I had requested her to bring me. I could feel myself walking, my feet taking step after step, and her hands pulling my arm slowly and gently.

“Be careful,” she said to me.

My left hand could touch the door of the bedroom, indicating that we were leaving the room. I continued to walk. Then, I could 20 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

sense my feet walking down stairs. I touched her arm with my left hand. She took my left arm and let go of the right one, the one she was holding before. I used my right arm to touch the wall along the stairs.

I knew that we had arrived in the dining room when she took both of my hands and put them on a chair. I pulled the chair out on my own and tried to sit on it. She held me, perhaps in case I fell. After I took my seat, I sensed her taking my right hand and sinking it into a bowl of plain water. I pulled my right hand out and shook it up and down, drenching the water, hopefully back into the bowl. She then took my right hand and put it on what I believed to be bread.

“What did you make?” I asked her. I heard the sound of a chair being pulled out.

Perhaps, she took a seat beside me.

“Can you guess?” she asked me in return.

From where her voice came, she was indeed sitting beside me.

I grabbed the bread and ate it. I could taste the bread, in addition to the taste of a few slices of cucumber, sardine and mayonnaise.

“It’s a sandwich,” I said.

“Right,” she said. I could sense a tone of excitement and happiness in her voice.

“You eat first. I’m going to get ready for work,” I heard her say, followed by the sound of a chair being pushed into the table. I heard her taking her steps, leaving the dining room.

Her name was Vanessa. She had always

been taking care of me since the day we were bonded by marriage. I had not always been unable to see. I was born normal. I could see. I could choose what to see.

I took my sight for granted. I was superficial. With the eyesight that I had, I always used it to judge people by how they looked on the outside. By the time I grew into a young adult and got into college, every time I looked in the mirror, I could tell that I was good-looking. I could tell that women looked at me in awe. I, in turn, chose only to date women I considered as attractive as I was. I did not settle for anyone that I deemed ugly. I did not care if a woman was kindhearted, polite, sweet or caring. If she was pretty, she was pretty. If she was ugly, she was ugly. That was it.

One day, I managed to get into a relationship with this one woman. Her name was Patricia. She was beautiful.

Perhaps, the most beautiful woman I had ever been with at that time. I looked at her and I looked at other women around, and I concluded that there was no woman I was attracted to more than her. I had decided that I wanted to marry her.

“Patricia, there’s something I want to tell you,” I said while we were having lunch at the cafeteria.

“What is it?” Patricia asked me.

“I think I would like to marry you. You know, after college,” I told her. She had this big grin on her face.

“Yeah, right,” she seemed skeptically amused, or amusedly skeptical.

I was born normal. I could see. I could choose what to see

SHORT STORY RAHIM RAMLI “I’m serious. I could not picture myself being with anyone else. There’s no one that I like more than you.”

“We’ll see. It’s not like I am seeing anyone else either.”

“Great. I’ll talk to my parents. I bet they’ll like you right away when they see you.”

“Come on. You say that to just about any women you date.”

“Not really.”

I did talk to my parents. I showed them a photo of Patricia. They really liked her.

After all, my parents were superficial, just like me. They would want an attractive daughter-in-law to ensure that they would have attractive grandchildren. They said I could get engaged earlier. So, we went to Patricia’s house and talked to her parents.

Her parents agreed to get her married to me. It was all set.

After that, my parents and I went home. We were all happy. I was leaning against the backseat in the car with my hands behind my head. I was satisfied, thinking that everything in my life had gone smoothly. I got everything I ever wanted. Well, I got everything that most people ever wanted. I was smiling, not knowing that everything would be taken away from me soon enough.

A lorry appeared seemingly out of nowhere in front of us. My father hit the brake, yet the car still hit the lorry. As soon as I woke up, I noticed that I could not see anything but my ears worked just fine. Judging from what I heard, I could tell that I was in a hospital. I then heard the footsteps of someone coming in. I sat up.

“Who’s there? Are you a doctor?” I asked.

“Yes, I am,” he answered. I knew it was a man, judging from the deep voice.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Why can’t I see anything? Where are my parents?”

“I’m sorry, son,” the doctor said. He exhaled.

‘What do you mean you’re sorry?” I asked him impatiently.

“Your parents are dead,” he said. I shook my head.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“I’m afraid that you’ve gone blind,” the doctor said.

I was quiet for a while. I breathed in and out heavily before I started screaming in agony.

“Calm down, son,” the doctor said. I heard him but I did not really process what those words meant.

“You must be kidding me!” I kicked the air with both of my legs.

“Why me? God! Why me? Aargh!” I screamed. As I continued to vent my anger and frustration, I fell off the bed. It hurt. I screamed in pain. It hurt, physically and emotionally. I stopped moving, but I continued to scream.

The next day, I just sat on the bed, leaning against the wall and not saying a word to anyone. Then, I heard the footsteps of someone coming near me. I thought it was a nurse or a doctor.

“It’s me, Ryan,” I recognised her voice.

“Patricia?” I mentioned her name.

“I would like to break off our engagement.

This is not working out. I don’t think I can go through with all of this. You being blind and all. I hope you understand,” she went straight to the point.

“Yes, I do,” I said.

“Okay. Goodbye, Ryan,” I heard Patricia’s voice for the last time, followed by the footsteps of her leaving. The engagement.

The marriage. They no longer mattered.

Now that I could no longer see Patricia’s face, I realised that I was not so fond of her. The sound of her voice. The way that she talked. The way her presence made me feel. I did not like any of those.

22 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

“My nephew. He got involved in an accident. I’m taking him in. He’s going to live with me from now on,” Aunt Margaret answered.

“Oh. Hi,” the woman shouted.

“Ryan,” Aunt Margaret said.

A few weeks later, I was discharged from the hospital and my aunt took me in. She brought me to her house. As I got out of the taxi with my aunt holding my arm, guiding me to her front gate, I heard a voice calling her.

“Was that for me? Hi,” I replied without looking at her. Not that I could.

“Hey there, Miss Margaret,” the voice belonged to a woman, who probably lived next door, judging from the distance of her voice and the way she tried to sound loud enough to make sure that my aunt heard her.

“I’ll see you around.”

“No. No way,” I said in disbelief.

“And your eyes…” the doctor continued.

IMAGE: DOMINÖ / FLICKR

“Who’s that?” the woman asked my aunt.

“Oh. Hi, Vanessa,” my aunt replied. I stayed silent, trying to hear whatever they were going to talk about.

“I’m Vanessa,” the woman shouted.

“Ryan,” I replied.

“Yes, sure.”

Aunt Margaret opened the front gate. She took my hand and brought me into the house, slowly and gently.

The next day, I sat on a bench at the front yard. I was reflecting on so many things.

SHORT STORY RAHIM RAMLI chuckled.

“It’s okay. Go ahead,” I said.

“Yesterday, your aunt mentioned something about an accident. So, you had just lost your sight, right?”

“Yeah, I have only been blind for about a few weeks now, but I’m getting used to it.

I’m still having trouble differentiating between shampoo and shower gel though,” I cracked a joke. I could hear Vanessa giggle.

“It’s kind of nice, you know?”

“What?” I was puzzled.

“You’ve gone through a tough time, and yet, you’re able to just laugh it off. It means you’re strong,” I could not see Vanessa’s face, but I guessed I could tell that she complimented me.

when I needed her. She had been taking good care of me. Being blind taught me what it meant to love someone for reasons other than how they looked like on the outside.

“Ryan,” the sound of Vanessa’s voice and the scent of her rose fragrance put an end to my reminiscence.

“Come here for a while,” Vanessa took my hands. I got up from my seat and let Vanessa walk me to what I believed to be a living room.

“Have a seat,” Vanessa said. I felt the sofa at the back of my legs. I sat down slowly while Vanessa held my hands. I felt her letting go of my hands and sitting just beside me.

“What is it, Vanessa?” I asked her.

“There’s something I would like to tell you.”

“Well, I probably deserve it, you know, what happened to me.”

“Can’t this wait until you come back from work?”

“What do you mean?” Vanessa sounded curious.

“Actually, it can but I don’t want it to,’ Vanessa said.

“It’s a long story. Let’s just say that I had always been the kind of guy who judged books by their covers.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Actually, I have been raising some money.”

“I think I get it.”

Now that I lost my sight, so many things had changed. All those things that used to matter, they no longer did now. Pretty faces, bodies that looked like they belonged to fitness models, fancy clothes, sporty cars, you name it. The moment you lost your sight, they became irrelevant.

I heard a number of footsteps on the grass.

I knew that someone was around. I could only guess who it may be.

“Aunt Margaret?” I guessed.

“It’s me. Vanessa,” that someone gave me the answer to my question.

“Yes. You care too much about how things look like on the outside and then you go blind, it no longer matters,” I said, telling Vanessa the life lesson that I got from being blind.

Just a few months later, I overheard Vanessa and Aunt Margaret talking.

Vanessa had feelings for me. Aunt Margaret, who had been clearly sounding like she liked Vanessa all this time I lived with her, suggested that Vanessa and I get married. Vanessa just agreed. I could not be happier. Though I had never been able to see Vanessa’s face, I liked her voice, the way that she sounded and the way her presence made me feel.

“Go ahead,” I was indifferent. Whether she sat, she stood or she was not even there, I did not really have any preference. I could sense her sitting next to me.

Vanessa and I got married a few weeks later. From what I could hear, we did not really have a fancy wedding. It was just a simple one, attended by family members and a few close friends. Holding on to the idea that a man should provide for the family, I trained and worked a number of part-time jobs, though Vanessa’s full-time job alone could cover enough for both of us.

“Can I ask you about your eyes? Or would it be a sensitive issue?” Vanessa asked. I

Here I was now, living with the woman who cared about me and who was there for me

“Oh, it’s you.”

“May I sit?” Vanessa asked politely.

“Raising money? For what?” I asked.

“I have been trying to find a way to cure your eyesight. I found a doctor outside the country that can help you. By the end of the month, when I get my salary, we will have just enough money and hopefully you will be able to see again,” Vanessa explained. Her voice was filled with hope and optimism.

“Vanessa…,” I was speechless for a while.

“What do you think, Ryan?”

“I am pleasantly surprised and touched.

But no, Vanessa. I don’t want my eyesight back.”

“What? Why?” Vanessa sounded puzzled, perhaps upset.

“Because I’m afraid.”

“What are you afraid of, Ryan?”

“I have always loved you, Vanessa. I have always loved you for the way you sound and for the way you make me feel. You’re the first woman that I have actually loved for reasons other than just having a pretty face. I really, really long to see your face, #6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 23

SHORT STORY RAHIM RAMLI but at the same time, I’m afraid that when I am finally able to see your face, I will not be able to love you for the same reasons I love you now,” I stopped for a while. Vanessa remained quiet.

“Losing my sight was probably the second best thing that has ever happened to me. It had set me free from being superficial, from making it all about how people and things looked on the outside,” I heard Vanessa exhaled from her mouth.

“Losing your sight was the second best thing that has ever happened? What was the best thing, then?” Vanessa asked me.

“It’s… it’s spending the rest of my life with you, hearing your voice and feeling your presence day to day, knowing that you will always be there for me and shower me your love,” I answered. Vanessa became quiet yet again.

I heard a number of footsteps on the grass. I knew that someone was around.

I could only guess who it may be Then, I could feel her arms wrapped around me. I could feel her chin on my shoulder. I could feel her hair touching my face. In turn, I put my arms around her. I held her tightly. God, I really loved this woman.

Nothing in this world comforted me more than being in her arms.

“Thank you, Vanessa. For all that you’ve done for me.”

“No big deal, Ryan. We don’t have to cure your eyesight, if that’s not what you want.

Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll keep the money, just in case.”

IMAGE: SPLITSHIRE

“Okay, Vanessa,” we continued hugging each other tightly. I wish I would never have to let go.

24 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

FEATURE SHERIL A. BUSTAMAN

Our Time Is Now IMAGE: RONILE / PIXABAY

Celebrating a seminal success, Sheril A. Bustaman highlights Jagat’s importance in Malaysian (film) history

On Saturday 3rd September 2016, Jagat won the Best Malaysian Film award at the 28th Malaysian Film Festival. In case you didn't already know, let me tell you why I think this is so important to the Malaysian film industry and to Malaysians in general.

Jagat is a film that took over 10 years to make, on a limited budget and with limited resources. I can understand why the Malaysian film industry would not fund a film like Jagat. In an industry where the winning formulae for local films seems to involve mat rempits, pontianaks, abused women falling for their abusers (based on adapted novels) and the like, there is no room for a socio-realism film like Jagat. This however, does not make it correct or acceptable.

I don't remember who I watched Jagat with.

I do, however, remember watching the film.

I remember feeling incredibly uncomfortable by all the hard truths that Jagat was so seamlessly delivering on the screen. I remember my heart breaking when the MJ costume was ruined. I remember tearing up

when the father lamented how he is trying to give his child the best education possible because that's his only way out over a glass of beer. I remember the stark contrast between a father's hope and the coarseness in the way he talks to his child. I remember thinking how tough love sometimes breaks us, instead of strengthening us. I remember taking away the lesson of how some things come to be by circumstance, but the circumstances tend to repeat themselves, thus becoming a cycle and a part of the social structure today.

I watched it many months ago, once - and I remember all of this till today.

And that's essentially what a good film does. It stays with you, outliving its screening dates, reviews and awards. Many years later, it is still able to come to your mind, fresh as the day you sat down to watch it.

It hurt me greatly when Jagat was removed from the Best Film category, on the basis of #6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 25

FEATURE SHERIL A. BUSTAMAN it not fulfilled a "70% Bahasa Malaysia" criteria. It felt like the industry was trying to invalidate it as a Malaysian film, and that is terrible on so many levels - the biggest one being the fact that a Malaysian identity can encompass so many things that go beyond just the national language. Jagat felt more like a Malaysian film to me more than any other local film I have ever seen, just because it was a film made about Malaysians, by Malaysians. So when the compromise (and don't kid yourselves, for that's what it was) was achieved and the nomination returned, my entire support was rooted into Jagat winning Best Malaysian Film.

And then it did.

The underdog film that people did not believe in for years, and didn't want to have anything to do with, won the Best Malaysian Film award. Opening up the belief to other filmmakers that, yes, you can make a film different from the generic formulae, despite naysayers telling you that this isn't a film that will be well received. It isn't a film that people want to see, and win. This win shows Malaysians that the potential for Malaysian cinema is out there, undiscovered. It is possibly silenced, but it’s still out there, and it is an untapped goldmine of stories yet to be told and put on the silver screen. There is more to the Malaysian narrative than just abused women and love triangles. There is more to gangsterism than just fancy special effects and sound design. There are backstories, there are layers. And it is wonderful. It is magical. And we're living in a time where the stories like this can thrive over the generic, and come out triumphant.

This is why Shanjey Kumar Perumal is personally my new Malaysian film hero.

Because by defying the odds, and working with what he had, in pursuit of delivering the story, he has broken barriers and opened up the Malaysian film industry to so many new possibilities. Whether he intended to or not, whether it is recognized by the masses or not, this is the case as it stands in today's society.

This is why the Jagat win is so important, because it shows you that being Malaysian sometimes doesn't mean conforming, tolerating, adapting. It also means being different. That is not only okay, it is now celebrated.

Published on Facebook in September 2016.

Sheril A. Bustaman is an aspiring filmmaker and the editor in chief of G-Blog, a platform for gender discourse in Malaysia.

26 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

IMAGE: NONO FARA / NONOWRITES.COM

And it's about damn time.

FEATURE HEATHER FRANCIS

The Sweet Hunger Heather Francis explains how high fats and sugar diets stop us from feeling full IMAGE: WIKIPEDIA

When we eat a meal, we take for granted that we should feel full afterwards. But eating a diet high in sugar and fat makes it harder for our body to tell if we are full or not.

The typical diet in Western societies consists of highly processed, highly palatable foods, with lots of saturated fat and refined sugar. Examples of specific foods include red meat, vegetable oils, ice cream, sweetened yoghurts, cakes, cereal, biscuits and soft drinks.

These foods are so commonly consumed in developed nations it has become known as the “Western diet”. We know this sort of diet is high calories and therefore tends to make us gain weight. But new research suggests this diet might also impair our ability to stop eating when we’re full, which would be another reason it would make us put on weight.

Gut-brain signals When you eat a meal, the body releases hormones to tell your brain you are full.

28 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

These hormones send messages to specific areas of the brain, which are involved in the decision to either stop eating or continue eating. One important area of the brain that receives these messages is the hippocampus.

The hippocampus is involved in memory.

People whose hippocampus has been removed are densely amnesic – they are unable to form new memories. But our research suggests another important function of the hippocampus is receiving messages from the gut about internal states such as hunger.

Humans with severe damage to their hippocampus will always say they are hungry, regardless of whether they have just eaten or not. They will eat a full meal, and then only a few minutes later eat an entire second meal. So the hippocampus is very important in telling the body we’re full and don’t need to eat any more.

Rats and mice fed a Western diet have damage to the hippocampus. In our

lab, we wanted to know whether eating a Western diet damages the hippocampus in humans too. To test this hypothesis, we looked at memory ability, and the ability to detect signals to indicate fullness.

Our research Our first study compared two groups of people: those who eat a Western diet, and those with a diet low in saturated fat and refined sugar - a healthy diet. Both groups were matched for age, sex and body mass index.

Both groups were given a range of snacks, followed by some tests of memory ability and then they ate lunch. They were asked to rate how hungry they were before and after the meals, and asked to recall how much they ate during the snack and lunch meals.

Compared to the healthy diet group, the Western diet group had poorer scores on memory tasks, had poorer memory for what they had eaten during the snack period, showed reduced feelings of fullness for the

IMAGE: OPENSTAX COLLEGE

FEATURE HEATHER FRANCIS

same amount of food eaten, and ate more during the lunch period.

This is the first evidence in otherwise healthy, normal-weight humans that eating a Western diet could be damaging the hippocampus and causing poorer memory ability and reduced sensitivity to feelings of fullness after eating. Because they couldn’t accurately remember what they ate during the snack period, and because they had less sensitivity to feelings of fullness, it is not surprising they ate more during the lunch period.

In a second study, we showed the same effect seems to happen with thirst. When participants were made thirsty by feeding them salty chips, the Western diet group didn’t feel as thirsty, but needed to drink more water to quench their thirst. This suggests the Western diet was impairing their brain’s ability to receive messages from the gut.

making better dietary choices.

Importantly, these findings were in healthy young adults. This means even if you’re young and of a healthy body weight, you should consider the impact of the food you’re eating on your brain. This information could be a great motivating force to get people to eat a healthy diet and perhaps reduce rates of obesity.

What can we do about it?

Various nutrients have been shown to improve hippocampal dependent memory, and protect against the effects of ageing on the brain.

Omega-3 fatty acids These are often referred to as a “good fat”.

Omega 3 fatty acids include acids critical for brain function. They’re found in fish, avocado and flaxseed.

What this means for you It’s not just the calories in a Western diet making us overweight. The diet itself makes us less sensitive to feelings of fullness, causing us to eat more.

Antioxidant foods When cells produce energy, they produce reactive oxygen species which cause damage to the cell. The body can counteract these harmful effects through antioxidants. Various micronutrients have antioxidant properties:

But there is some good news. Individuals in the healthy diet group were more sensitive to their internal signals of fullness and thirst.

This provides hope that, after taking the initial first step of eating a healthy diet, it might become easier to eat according to your body’s hunger signals and to continue

Polyphenols These micronutrients are found in fruits and vegetables (especially dark berries), as well as coffee, tea, red wine, chocolate and soy.

Polyphenols have an antioxidant effect and can also reduce inflammation in the brain.

Improved brain function after consuming

cocoa has been shown in both young and old adults.

Curcumin This is a component of turmeric, the spice that gives the yellow colour to a lot of curries. It has been shown to promote brain health through its antioxidant and antiinflammatory properties. It is speculated the high intake of curcumin in India might explain why there is such a low incidence of Alzheimer’s disease in that country.

Vitamin E Vitamin E has antioxidant properties and has been shown to improve neurological function with age. It is found in nuts, green leafy vegetables, wheat germ and vegetable oils such as sunflower and grapeseed.

Folate Also known as folic acid, folate is found in spinach, oranges and yeast. It is required for optimal brain function, and supplementation with folate has been shown to reduce the risk of cognitive decline with age.

Heather Francis is a postdoctoral researcher within the Psychology Department at Macquarie University and also a practising clinical neuropsychologist. This article was first published as ‘High fats and sugar diets stop us from feeling full’ on The Conversation, an independent source of news and views delivered with academic rigour and journalistic flair.

#6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 29

LIGHTBULB JAZELIA JASMENE

You Are What You Eat Having watched Jamie’s School Dinners, Jazelia Jasmene reconsiders the Malaysian public school canteen IMAGE: CAMILLE CHENCHEI / FLICKR

Growing up, the people I knew who paid attention to television content would have come across a distinctly talented chef. He was blonde, super cute, British, and he never bothered to wash his hands between cutting ingredients, tasting his own cooking, and touching everything else in between. If you had not noticed that, you were paying too much attention to Jamie Oliver’s accent and his oddly wide tongue.

A while ago, I wrote an analysis for my Television Studies class on Jamie's School Dinners, a four-episode documentary series featuring Jamie’s attempts to improve the quality and nutritional value of school dinners at a typical British school.

Surprisingly, according to the newspaper The Telegraph, it made quite an impact. Its study conducted among 11-year old pupils showed that Jamie managed to decrease the rate of absenteeism (caused by illhealth) by 15 per cent, whilst also improving their performance in English and science.

It got me thinking about my own Malaysian canteen experience. During my high school years, my father was always sceptical about canteen food. But why wouldn’t he?

Could the not-so-sanitary environment of school canteens have triggered his subtle Obsessive Compulsive Disorder traits?

Then again, I always distinctly imagine him wiping any surface he was prone to touch.

I did not quite understand him until he transferred me to a private school – where the food was more expensive, the canteens were a lot more hygienic, and lunch expenses were already in the annual tuition fees. I realised that my schoolmates in private school were much more aware of 30 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

what they consumed and many, especially the more senior students, stayed clear of food that was either too oily or too processed.

When I asked this of a friend who is currently studying culinary arts and had experienced working in hotels, he suggested that there was a possibility that the upper middle class (and the classes above) were more likely to invest in the best food for their children. In contrast, the lower part of the strata (presumably to be the majority in public schools) practiced the mindset of “asalkan kenyang”, consuming food only for survival.

This might have also influenced the contents of daily proportions mainly comprising of starch and carbohydrates.

The consequences of such a lifestyle was observed in the second episode of Jamie’s School Dinners, whereby school children from a primary school in Durham easily identified fast food brands rather than the names of common vegetables. Therefore, implementing a diet plan onto school canteens and, considering the diversity we have in Malaysia, catering to the preferences of each ethnicity would be deemed challenging – as opposed to the standard meal size and preference in Britain, which mostly only caters to one race (if at all).

So what is it that attracts children to choose one type of food over the other?

We take a closer look at the amount of exposure children have these days from watching food channels (that is, if they watch food channels) on Astro, and how we might have a fighting chance at implementing a better diet if we

Could the not-so-sanitary school canteens have triggered my father’s subtle Obsessive Compulsive Disorder traits?

LIGHTBULB JAZELIA JASMENE understood the importance of incorporating food presentation in children’s meals.

For example, in the second episode I realised that a boy named Liam, who was adamant about eating less healthy food or food that was more familiar to him, refused to eat chicken unless it was processed.

This could possibly be, to a certain extent, at the fault of his parents. As much as the society would like to believe that a balanced diet is ideal for their children, perhaps we can generalise that most parents are too preoccupied to worry too much about what their children consume – simply because processed food or fast food is easier to come by and is more appealing. All those smiley fries and Happy Meals have quite a big role to play in the reason behind kids favouring these types of food over healthier alternatives.

that I was easily prone to food poisoning if I was not careful. Often, whenever I ate canteen food, I would end up with an upset stomach possibly because the food was not fresh or it was contaminated. I could identify the causes of such hazards because I observe my surroundings before proceeding with a meal.

I wish I could say that I had this carefree take on having a balanced diet, as well.

Almost every kid in the world (well, namely the 90’s, and you can thank Louis Stevens from the Disney Channel TV series Even Stevens for this) grew up enjoying junk food, as much as they try to deny it as they age. The real complication here is to incorporate the way children mould their beliefs, and create an opinion about something, into changing their daily routines to slowly suit a healthier one.

How would a child be able to tell if the food they were about to eat was safe for consumption? Do they know how certain foods nurture their bodies? They would not know these things unless they were taught in school, and, most importantly, educated at home. Among the cacophony of causes, teaching children the importance of a balanced diet and to be careful about what they eat is something parents should prioritise and start taking serious responsibility for.

In my case, I slowly started appreciating food of better quality when I discovered

As ever, the best lessons in life begin at home.

IMAGE: CHEE MENG AU YONG / FLICKR

Within the grounds of any government school throughout Malaysia, visitors are

prone to come across some sort of food pyramid, visually depicting the ideal intake of each food group, to promote a balanced diet to school children. I spent my first eight academic years in several government schools, and I can tell you that our canteens contradict that ‘healthy lifestyle’ schools seem to promote.

32 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

INNER VIEW WINALDO SWASTIA

Windy City At an event in Monash College Jakarta, Winaldo Swastia speaks out on his career, the filmmaking process and Indonesian films as a whole IMAGE: WINALDO SWASTIA

Hi Winaldo! We’ve just watched your short films, Akhir! and Angin. Talk to us a bit about them.

Akhir! was my friend’s assignment. I had four friends who wanted to make a film, and they asked me to direct it, so I did. The second film, Angin, was my final project at Jakarta Institute of Arts (IKJ). It consisted of four team members: myself, the producer, the scriptwriter and the sound designer. Angin was nominated for the Best Short Film award at the 2010 Indonesian Film Festival. It was my free ticket to Singapore and India.

vague. It was also a very interesting point for Singaporean and Indian audiences, because they are very curious about Buddhism in Indonesia. The fact that it was nominated for awards showed its acceptance.

Not to Europe?

No, not Europe! Europe on Screen is a film festival in Jakarta. They screen feature films from Europe, and every film has a short film as its opener. Angin was one such film.

Was the story inspired by something specific.

Actually, I don’t remember! I forgot whether there was any particular incident that sparked this. When we made it, I wanted to make it by myself with a few friends of mine. The final project ballooned to include 45 people. I invited others to join me, at least on a financial level. It cost 45 million rupiah to make this, so I asked three others to join me.

Why did you take a Buddhist monk as the protagonist of the film?

First of all, historically speaking there has been no fiction film looking at Buddhism in Indonesia. I used the monk because of its strong association with this religion to show that this is the first film in this way, even if it is a short film.

Secondly, on a personal level, I studied Buddhism in 2006. I made this film in 2010, and in the intervening years I studied a lot about Buddhism and filmmaking. That’s why I made it a key part of the film.

Were you trying to raise awareness about Buddhism in Indonesia?

Yes, of course. People in Indonesia wanted to see Angin because they don’t know much about Buddhism. What is it? The face of Buddhism in Indonesia is very 34 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

Angin was screened at the T.H.I.S. (Thus I Have Seen) Buddhist Film Festival in Singapore in 2012. It also screened at Jogja-NETPAC Asian Film Festival in 2010, as well as the The Inner Path, Festival of Buddhism 2013 in New Delhi. Like I said, it was my free ticket.

At first, I wrote a synopsis and gave it to my scriptwriter. In the process of developing the story, he started to hesitate about the narrative. Then he proposed another synopsis, which I spontaneously agreed to, as it was better than the original.

If you see, both films have different styles.

Akhir! was very harsh and violent. Angin, on the other hand, was very peaceful and smooth.

In between the peace, though, wasn’t there a sense of suffering?

The interesting thing about filmmaking is when spectators read films in a way

different from what was intended. Yes, that’s a good way of looking at it. It was an interesting point I never thought of.

Is there something to it than this, though? Both films featured suffering in different ways. I wonder whether there was something specific you wanted to explore with Akhir!

Yes. First of all, it’s because the assignment wasn’t mine. Thus, the story was my friend’s idea. I actually only directed it. I didn’t write it. It was made in 2007, and it was very violent. I asked my friends to do a violent film about poor people who try to survive. In trying to survive, they have to compete with others who are also poor. In the end, they all die because ultimately, violence kills.

This is like Game of Thrones, in a way.

Yes! Maybe Akhir! shows a physical sort of violence, while the violence in Angin is more psychological in nature.

Right now you’re working on something with Garin Nugroho.

Yes, I am currently assisting him on something. The last film I worked on with him was Aach… Aku Jatuh Cinta! This will be screened in February 2016. It stars Pevita Pearce and Chico Jericho. One thing about this film was its premiere was scheduled for October, but it was postponed because the film was accepted for the Busan International Film Festival. It is the biggest film festival in Asia, and Mas Garin asked me to come to South Korea as well. It was a pleasure; after all, it was another free ticket!

You’ve worked extensively as an assistant director in Indonesia.

INNER VIEW WINALDO SWASTIA

Being a filmmaker in Indonesia is not as bad as you or your parents might think. You have to do your best because I’m a freelancer, so I have to do my best to make studios and companies call me and employ me. We have to be a good man, a good person. We have to have the right qualifications, and then we can do well in the Indonesian film industry.

I’m sure you’ve had some difficult or challenging moments as well. Can you talk to us a bit about them?

Actually, I did have some problems in my line of work. The biggest problem is actually when I work with very hard people to work with. Directors can be dictators, and

People wanted to see Angin because face of Buddhism in Indonesia is very vague 36 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

producers can probably have problems managing teams as well. I have to adjust and adapt myself to the different studios and directors. Maybe that’s the most challenging thing. So long as I can adapt and do my best, I don’t face any problems.

I’m the assistant director, not the director.

There are no major concerns or problems.

But you have made films yourself. On your film, you are the creator, but on the major productions, you’re working on someone else’s vision. How do you reconcile between your own ideas and someone else’s ideas?

That’s a good question. Being an assistant director is actually not a path to being a director. It’s actually a different path. The assistant director is a part of the production team. He’s a bridge between the producer and the director, so my job is to work the schedule, make sure we have all the cast and locations ready. I don’t make a work of art, just like a director.

When I directed Angin, it was a very good experience for me, because I had to read many books and consult many different people, including monks and other

filmmakers, as well as my professors. Then, reading the script, visual images pop up in my mind. I write it and share it with my team. It’s very creative, and also fun!

However, as an assistant director, I don’t have any satisfaction creatively. I only make practical things, much like an office worker, actually. I translate the idea of the director and then adjust it with the production team.

For example, the director might want a helicam shot, but we don’t have the budget.

So what must we do? We can shoot in this way, maybe using some tracks from a rooftop.

The most chaotic thing about being an assistant director is the mismatch. The location could be used on a Tuesday, but the actor is only available on Wednesday.

That’s where it gets really stressful! For a director, the stress comes from something more creative in creating the visual and aural elements. When I make a schedule, I use Post-it notes on a calendar. Today, we’re at Monash. Tomorrow we’re at IKJ. What about when the actors are available?

That’s the negotiation we carry out with the cast members.

IMAGE: CHRISTOPHER MICHEL / FLICKR

Financially, how rewarding is it?

People usually think that the film industry in Indonesia is not financially good. Actually, it’s the opposite. What’s the standard salary for any white collar worker? It’s not more than 10 million rupiah, perhaps. As an assistant director, my income starts from 15 million rupiah a month, not including other bonuses or covered expenses. As time goes by and your experience increases, your income will also rise.

INNER VIEW WINALDO SWASTIA

You’re often listed as the first assistant director. What’s the difference between this and the second assistant director?

The first assistant director is actually the general in the shooting period. Let’s say we have a script. Scene 1. I have to break it down: who’s the cast, where’s the location, which props do we need to prepare. Then I need to design the schedule. On set, I will run the schedule with the help of the second assistant director, who is helping me to direct extras. He or she will also pay attention to details on the costume, the makeup. The first assistant director designs the schedule and make sure everything goes to plan. The second assistant director helps the first assistant director to manage. The second assistant director is actually the assistant of the first assistant director!

The director has an assistant, and the assistant has another assistant. Of course, they all follow the comment of the director, and all three will work together. The second assistant director will bring the cast member to their wardrobe, and then he will tell the team what scenes they’ll be working on: “Scene 35 is a continuation of Scene 34. That scene, we shot a week ago.” So they’ll have to open the file and see what is needed to maintain the continuity.

So they have to rewatch the scene?

No, not necessarily. They’ll rely on photographs and pictures. These will be pictures of Scene 34. When we shoot scene 35 weeks later, they’ll just use these pictures as reference.

develop the script. After all, it was an assignment, so I had to regularly consult with my supervisor. All this was followed up with a three-day shoot.

On a more general level, what are the things Indonesian films should improve on?

The story. People who watch film in the cinema they tend to be teenagers or housewives. You would rarely get the executives and such. Why? They might be busy looking for money!

The sinetron drama and cinema spectators are almost the same. The housewives can watch the sinetron drama without watching it. Just listening to the dialogue would be enough. They love it. How can we make film work in this market? In the end, many people would mix both genres together. If we are market-oriented, we can make films which the people like. The story will not be better if we only make what people like.

The dilemma is, if we only focus on making a good film, without its commercial considerations, there’s a chance it won’t make back its money at the box office.

Some films have a good artistic value, and actually work in the market. The only thing that could make and determine how the industry could prosper and how the independent and arthouse filmmakers grow is the support of the government. For many years, they didn’t support us. But currently, they are starting to.

If you’re making films that promote Indonesia, shouldn’t they be involved, somehow?

Yeah, they should. I don’t know, but the current president Jokowi has a good vision for Indonesian cinema right now, so we’ll see what happens in the next few years.

He was present at the premiere for Jenderal Soedirman.

So in some ways, not all the scenes are shot in sequence.

Oh no, of course not. In my first year at IKJ, they asked me to make a film with camera editing. This means that the film, from the first until the last shot, is shot sequentially.

You see that it was so difficult. The first scene might be here, and the second might be in Bogor. The third scene might be somewhere near the first scene! You cannot shoot here, go to Bogor and come back here. The logical thing would be to shoot everything needed around this area, and then go to Bogor. That’s where the editor comes in.

Indonesian films tend to use up and coming stars. Their acting, however, is not that always that great. Wouldn’t it be better to use actors who are actually good at acting?

Well, they have a lot of fans. It’s as simple as that.

Using Angin as reference, is this process different for short films?

For the preparation, we have two months.

We would also have another two months to

Yes, but shouldn’t producers be taking that first step to producing quality films with quality performances?

Well, there are producers who do that. It’s

Is it?

Let’s say you don’t like Pevita. You probably wouldn’t want to watch her work.

However, you’re probably only one out of a thousand. Those who like her are more numerous than those who don’t. That is what makes a film profitable.

IMAGE: 4SEASON_SANTA / FLICKR

You’re not doing this by yourself though, right? Usually a director would have more than one assistant director.

The standard is two, actually. However, currently I am working alone as an assistant director to Mas Garin.

#6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 37

INNER VIEW WINALDO SWASTIA can do that role justice. There are, of course, those who do not care about that.

The fame of the actor plays an important role, whether we like it or not.

What’s the Indonesian system like relative to Hollywood?

The Hollywood system was established in 1930s, so it’s been around for over 80 years or so. In Indonesia we started a lot later. That cannot be ignored.

The Raid made a big impact overseas.

What about the people behind the camera? Is there a strong Indonesian presence in Indonesian films?

The majority of the crew are Indonesian.

Perhaps the director of photography and maybe the director Gareth Evans himself, who is Welsh, aren’t Indonesian. Maybe there’s someone else in the special or visual effects team, if you want to look at them. Having said that, even Gareth himself has been here a while. Before his first feature film Merantau, he’s been here since the 1990s. Though I don’t include myself in this, some people thought that The Raid is not an Indonesian film, because of the director. I think you cannot say that.

It’s an Indonesian film.

IMAGE: JOÃO TRINDADE / FLICKR

What kind of suggestions would you give to those who are interested to get started in making films?

I always say that to students, if you want to make a movie, just shoot it. You can shoot it with your phone. It’s for practice, right?

You write a story, and you ask others about it. How is my story? Is it good enough?

Maybe you can develop the script for a week or so, and then shoot it with your friends. You can make one or two small films this way, and then you can upload it to YouTube and garner some form of constructive criticism. It’s the first step for making a film. After that, you can read more about this. Just like a baby, you have to learn to sit. You have to learn to crawl, walk and run. Don’t worry, just shoot it.

The current president has a good vision for Indonesian cinema, so we’ll see what happens

38 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

just that the general Indonesian audience don’t watch these films. That’s why! People want to watch the stars. Like I said, you might not like Pevita, but at least you know of her and her films. If, however, there is a film with an unknown cast, you might not even be interested to find out more. Let’s take Jenderal Soedirman, maybe. There’s a lot of producers willing to give others a chance. Not all of these type of films use the most famous actors. They don’t always try to focus on the financial factors. Rather, the hope is that the story is good enough.

Not everyone is that driven by money. In some cases, they are fixated on an actor precisely because they believe no one else

Finally, will you be making a jump into the director’s chair for your feature film debut anytime soon?

As an assistant director, there are some companies that have asked me to direct my first film. I rejected them. I don’t like the stories. The first film has to be something I like. It’s a big stamp on your forehead. It’s a signature, and that’s what people will associate you with. It has to be a story I give birth to.

Winaldo was the 1st assistant director for Aach… Aku Jatuh Cinta (dir. Garin Nugroho) and Jenderal Soedirman (dir. Viva Westi). He recently co-wrote and codirected Setan Jawa, an upcoming feature film with Garin Nugroho.

POETRY SHEMSI ELSANI

The End TEXT: SHEMSI ELSANI IMAGE: SEAN MACENTEE / FLICKR

Standing still on the edge, all alone His heart beating, beat by beat Waiting for the moment, closing in slowly The breaths he sucks in deeply, hurting his chest Trying to imagine how painful it would be Facing the openness of the wide open ocean The wind gushing in, slapping his face, mercilessly As if questioning his very decision at the moment He has been running all the way To the edge of his short life There is nothing more to cry for As his life now come to the end Even though he is still too young But his heart has been broken, beyond imagination By the only love he’s ever known On one fine morning it all started For they were still too young to comprehend Trying to explore the meaning of real life Had they known not the consequences Felt they were in the verge of emotions Promising words that could never be uttered Bonding life to the life Casting the curse of sacred love ‘Till death do they part The young heart would soon be broken Broken loose of the sacred curse Hunting him down to the deepest of agony He’s collapsing in the verge of black tears Tearing all things apart As he’s running towards the end Taking with him all the hurt and pain To be taken away to the forever land Slowly pushing on to the very edge Stepping forward into the ocean Readily waiting for him to join The waves roaring down far below Keep on calling his name And closing his eyes ever so tightly Tears come rolling on his beautiful face As he tumbles down into the deep blue ocean

#6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 39

REVIEW U ATREYA SARMA

Half Alive U Atreya Sarma unpacks the overt and covert readings to be made in Sabah Carrim’s Semi Apes.

IMAGE: AFTAB UZZAMAN / FLICKR

Semi-Apes is the trajectory of a semi-aping girl to an independent entity of her own by clearing her way through a jungle of trappings that hamstring her growth and personality, and her progress from a hermetic to an eclectic. It is a brainy saga of Heera, "the offspring of only two generations of immigrants who had arrived on the small island of Mauritius from the provinces of India". We are taken deep into a vortex of psychological reflections and complexes besides stimulating intellectual and philosophical inquiries and debates – with a touch of authenticity because of the author's background.

Sabah Carrim, an Indo-Mauritian herself, is a "philosophy autodidact" drawn to several philosophical and literary works. A writer of international acclaim presently living in Kuala Lumpur, she is a law lecturer, whose earlier novel Humeirah, too, has a Mauritian setting. Currently she is working on her doctoral thesis on War Crimes Tribunals.

The recurring "stairs" of Heera's unpleasant memories far outweigh her naïveté and childlike pranks. She is raised in a family of parental conflicts and selfcontradictions, gender discrimination vis-àvis brothers, and self-imposed social secession. This makes her a cynic, and the suffocation urges her to fly out of this constricted environment on a passport of academic merit and scholarship to the shores of England for higher studies to become a clinical psychologist.

The characters in Semi-Apes are an idiosyncratic parade. Heera's father Zameen, though an academic, is a whimsical and feudalistic dictator, who despises any socializing, for it is beneath 40 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

them to be with lesser and ill-cultured people. Mother Asmaan is a semi-literate harridan, and the spouses are perpetually warring.

Living in The Palace there are characters with outlandish monikers – The King, The Queen, The Prince and The Princess. The King (Khusrow), highly precocious in business but fed up with it in no time, marries The Queen (Layla), daughter of his business partner (Azam). Originally a Hindu, but finding it inadequate, he goes on switching the religions until settling down with Islam despite the undesirable things like violence, quibbling, sophistry and dogmatism he finds there. The King who had insisted on joining only such a religion where there is no dichotomy between tenets and adherence – has by now transformed into one of those who twist the religion to defend their own aberrations and malfeasances. He takes to a second wife but without The Queen's permission. And The Queen suspects that he has, in fact, "a third wife in waiting".

The Prince (Yazid), doubling as a mediator in other households, ingratiates himself with Heera's father and imposes himself as a Good Samaritan on their feuding family.

An intellectual ignoramus notwithstanding his education in England, he has no compunction in flirting with Heera, taking advantage of his relationship as a cousin.

He weds The Princess (Sarah), a physical beauty but an intellectual mediocrity, and their conjugality gets uneasy.

We have Alif whose traumatic experiences prove to be worse than her friend Heera's.

Can any Mauritian story be complete without a Telugu character? No. Madame

Appadoo, Heera's Yoga teacher, completes the multiracial picture of the island nation.

While the plot runs through a tangle of shady and secret relationships and equations – bigamous, extramarital, incestuous and paedophilic, it has its interesting take on several facets of life. We are given a peep of "life where girls take immense interest in their physique and grow self-conscious over their overactive sebaceous glands", and how Heera's female sensibility and susceptibility coupled with her traumas make her into a bundle of ever-changing contradictions.

She seeks solace in Schopenhauer's philosophy of suffering and of Nietzsche's misanthropy, suiting her peculiar situation.

The men she comes across "lack the independence of thought" she seeks, but she doesn't give up her quest.

The narration has its dose of humour.

Talking of her father "known for his proverbial statements," Heera observes that "he should have been a Hallmark card writer or perhaps worked for an American company to write messages tucked into fortune cookies," given his one-liners like "Birthdays are celebrations of the ego" and "Buy first class goods at third class prices".

And how as a madarsa child she adjusted her "slippery white hijab… ninety-nine times over a span of ninety-nine minutes," before "angry Ustanis"!

Why the title 'Semi-Apes'? Heera's dig at snobbery gives the clue: "In society, tales about The Prince added to a repertoire of conversational inanities: the secrets of his private life became the property of the public… A noisy effusion would follow, one

While she herself doesn't turn irreligious, Heera notices that religion means different things to different people

REVIEW U ATREYA SARMA that would sound like a farm populated mostly by donkeys and pigs. I shudder at the thought that not long ago, I belonged to that society and that in my naivety, I might have more than once aped their behaviour in order to exist".

One more sentence about The Prince: "During those times, I wondered if The Prince was aware that he was an object of ridicule both in the eyes of strangers who knew of him, and friends who in a different setting, would not fail to shower him with praise". Doesn't he stir the images of a contemporary Indian politico?

Heera debunks the TV Hindi serials which are full of wile, villainy and melodrama.

Addicted to them, her mother finds a vindication of her attitude and position.

Heera also lashes the newspapers for their baneful influence: "…what prompted conversations was precisely that which made the existence of newspapers possible: bad news". On the commercials, we have an obiter dictum: how their germicidal mania – to usher in "an Age of Zero-Bacteria" for our "highly sanitised lives" – ultimately kills our immune system.

Seeing good, bad and hypocrisy in the praxis of every religion or sect, Heera rubbishes the Sunni exclusivity and superiority; and infers that the huge population of non-Muslims and their ancestors cannot be wrong. While she herself doesn't turn irreligious and goes through ponerology, theodicy and meditation, she notices that religion means different things to different people. While The Queen distinguishes between religion and culture, and reasons out that religion is

"not meant to complicate our life but simplify it", Heera finds it biased against the fair sex. Her parents swear by religion but the commonality doesn't harmonise them.

Heera analyses: "We know that religion … provides us with a wide array of rules; some compulsory, others optional. My mother capitalises on both types indiscriminately, especially the optional ones, because they are about the trivial details". She warns of the dangers of an un-mellowed approach: "…we should only turn to God and Religion after we have with our own hands secured a satisfying and fulfilling existence; otherwise God and Religion are merely weapons we misuse in order to get back at the world".

Despite being a qualified clinical psychologist, Heera identifies its limitations. Psychology claims to be a panacea for any mental disorder, and the practitioners are euphoric about their profession and their high-sounding theories and jargon. What's their worth if they can't heal the patients? It's not through drugging and branding the patients with disorders like schizophrenia that they are to be treated but with empathy. The nail is hit on the head when a helpless and pitiable mother inquires: "Heera, tell me, you've read so many books: how can I be happy?"

IMAGE: HEATHER / FLICKR

Heera's derision of "middle-class morality" that her family subscribes to would ignite a debate: What exactly do the critics mean by "middle-class morality"? Why be pejorative about? What's wrong with

middle-class or its morality? Does it mean that the upper or the lower classes don't have morality – or that their morality is superior?

42 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

REVIEW U ATREYA SARMA “The men I had come across, had seemed to lack the independence of thought that I sought,” states Heera. Will the position change in the remaining 105 pages? It’s worth exploring.

How the law can be twisted into making the criminals look like innocents and vice versa, we see in Haroon Hala, the consummately unscrupulous and scheming lawyer.

We see quite a few controversial artists in the society. How art is scandalised and sensationalised by the crooked in the name of 'Art is for everybody' is driven home.

Likewise, we are treated to contextual truisms like: "… choices do not necessarily lead to black or white consequences. I am having to choose between two shades of grey".

Sabah can capture the throbs of nature as well. See how evocative this description! "I remember watching the waves somersaulting, rolling, gathering their might, swelling up, and finally crashing into a foamy effervescence… After each of these spectacles, the water receded timidly into an antithesis of shame, and went back into the dark and dreary vastness that bound every world to every other world".

Let's round it off with Heera's pregnant observation: "… living in the past makes you unnecessarily morbid; living in the present makes you superficial; and living in the future means that you take life a bit too seriously”.

"…what prompted conversations was precisely that which made the existence of newspapers possible: bad news."

IMAGE: STOKPIC.COM

First published on Muse India. Semi Apes is published by 108 Publishing.

#6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 43

SHORT STORY SHEMSI ELSANI

In Between TEXT: SHEMSI ELSANI IMAGE: MATE MARSCHALKO / FLICKR

Squatting down on that beach brought about all those long lost memories. Still memories, regardless. The sand felt warm beneath his bare feet.

was red, smelly, and flowing. He had never seen blood before. He had almost passed out, but fortunately he did not. He was scared to the bone, indefinitely.

Waves came, beating the sand tirelessly, the way it has been for so many years. Yet still, they stick together, ironically.

Slowly, he swayed down from his bicycle.

Stood up by his BMX. Not sure what to do next. Hesitating a little, he walked up to the body laying by the lane. He was praying hard, silently, that the boy will still be alive, or at least not having turned into a ghost or anything of the equivalent.

“Don’t go too far, buddy!”

An 8-year-old went crazy with the kite. A kite. He had never seen one before, let alone to get a hold of one. He was a very bright boy. Genius, even.

And a happy one too, for now.

It was evening; the rain was so heavy that you couldn’t even see what was in front of you. It was so loud that you became mute and deaf, all at once. The wind was so fast that you couldn’t stand straight.

He crouched down, calling for his friend.

His only friend.

When they first met, it wasn’t a pleasant scene. Far from a happy one. Yet the bond was so tight that no space was left in between.

They were only 8 then. *** There was blood all over. On the school uniform, face, hair and even on the ground.

The red, sticky liquid was flowing mercilessly from the broken lips.

Something looked like a gaping wound on the tummy, covered with sticky liquid. It 44 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

“Hello. Are you okay?” There were vibrations in those words. He was still in shock, scared, worried and confused. Not to mention, all alone, except with a boy who appeared as good as dead. With blood all over him and flooded on the ground.

He moved closer, near the body. His face filled with blood made him looked disfigured. His hair stuck all over his face, some already hardened by dried blood.

“He must have been laying here for some time now,” he thought.

He tried to figure out how on earth this boy, in his school uniform (God knows from which school) at that hour, ended up bleeding by the lane used by no one except himself.

Something creepy swept over his young mind. And for a brief moment, he wanted to run. So bloody badly.

But for reasons that he could not explain, he did not. Instead, he stayed.

He stepped forward, took a closer look at

the boy. “Hello there. Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

He wondered if the boy had actually died.

His fingers were trembling so badly, his knees too, wobbled, barely able to hold himself upright. He wanted to cry. His heart beat so fast that it made him breathe faster and made his throat dry. Sweat was all over his body, soaking his school uniform.

He looked around. Nothing.

He listened, in hope that someone would pass by.

Nothing.

He was all alone, indefinitely.

Except for the boy, probably a boy’s body, or maybe even a ghost or vampire for that matter.

And he was only 8.

To make things even worse, it would be dark soon, very soon, and his house was nowhere to be seen.

He looked at the boy again, a little closer this time. He crouched down by the boy's side, and patted his face softly. “Hey, wake up buddy.”

He jerked up and screamed when he heard a grunt. It was so loud that birds seemed to awaken from their nap, flying away out of fear.

He, too, was in so much shock. He stood up, stepped backward, a little farther, and looked down at the boy as if he was a vampire who would at any time suck out all his blood. He was probably vampire-pale by then, if he could see himself in a mirror.

“What was that?” he whispered to himself.

“Hello?”

Silent.

He looked around. The sun started to descend farther down. Soon it will be dark, very dark, very soon.

And it won’t be a good thing too.

Black clouds, too, seemed interested to join the party.

“I’m going to go and get some help. OK?” He waited, as if he boy would respond to him. “I’ll be back for you. Stay put.”

#6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 45

IMAGE: MARCO NEDERMEIJER / FLICKR

SHORT STORY SHEMSI ELSANI

He knew he was talking to a likely dead boy, but he thought it was necessary.

He kept looking at the boy, as he’s running farther and farther along the windy, beautiful beach, on that island.

He took his BMX up. He turned around and was about to cycle away when he heard the sound.

The Island.

“Ian!”

The wind caressed his skin softly, toying with his now greying hairs. It has been a long time since the accident.

He stopped short. Both his hands were holding his BMX handle. His right leg was on the pedal and ready to go. But he looked back at the boy. And suddenly his jaw dropped. *** “Ian! See my kite! See my kite!”

The boy was running joyfully, flying his kite high on the sky. He could see the boy was so happy. And for a moment, he was too.

The warmth embraced his heart, and he was ready.

“Good boy!” he shouted. He knew, though, that the boy wouldn’t be able to hear, as the wind was strong. The boy was quite far away from where he sat.

“Just be careful not to run too fast!” he shouted again.

46 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

He brought his eyes to the endless horizon.

He remembered a riddle that his friend had asked him once. Long ago, when they were young.

“I’m far away. Yet, you can see me but can’t reach me. The closer you are to me, the farther I will be. What am I?”

He came down from his BMX. Once again he stood straight. He looked down at the boy, who was still drenched in blood and as good as dead. Motionless.

Except that he’d called his name. His secret name.

He walked towards the boy once again, slower and more carefully this time. His mind worked so fast that he got dizzy. A lot of questions came rushing in, all at once.

He wasn’t brilliant, let alone a genius boy.

And for that matter, he didn’t even have friends.

Not yet.

It took forever for him to figure out the correct answer. But he finally got it right.

And his friend thought he was brilliant.

Which he did not think he was. But he had never said it out loud.

“You called my name?”

All he knew was that his friend was a true genius boy.

Again, silent.

“Ian.” “Yes, that is my name. My secret name.”

Truly.

He came closer. Crouched down near the boy. He opened his eyes a little; just enough to let him knew that he was still alive.

***

He was so relieved that he cried. The boy

And a very special one too.

SHORT STORY SHEMSI ELSANI was not a ghost after all. Or a vampire. *** It has been long since he last cried. Since that day.

The boy seemed so immersed in the happiness with his kite. He’s far away by now, appearing small than he really was.

He was still 8.

And had been all along.

He stood up, stretching his aging muscles.

Tension seemed to evaporate with the blowing wind. He started to stroll down the beach, towards the boy who kept on running, happily toying with his kite.

The evening was so peaceful. ***

never been so real for him. And the kite was so obedient, following his paces. At times, his laughter could be heard, brought about by the blowing wind.

kept his eyes fixed on the boy, in case he suddenly turned out to be something other than human. He had to be careful. Just in case.

And he smiled, satisfied. Nothing more he could ever wish for.

Not that he wished for it.

On the horizon, the sun started to descend stubbornly. *** The stars were so bright that they lit them up by the lane. The rain had completely stopped by then. But they were still drenched.

The blood had stopped flowing. The boy's face was clean now. He was a very beautiful boy. His hair was raven black with big, round, glittery eyes that glowed under the stars.

The rain suddenly came pouring down. He had to cover his eyes so he could see the boy. Still lying by the lane, weak and probably dying, if he had not already.

He sat up. Rubbed his forehead, looking for a cut or something.

“Are you OK?” he shouted, above the rain.

He tried to straighten his hair that had matted in the dried blood.

The rain became red when it hit the blood.

The boy’s face was almost clean now, washed by the pouring rain. He smiled.

Smiled.

Despite the cracked lips, the gaping wound and God knows what else, he smiled. And it was the most beautiful smile he could ever imagine.

“Thanks.”

“You okay?” he asked, as if he was not the one who had the injury. All those blood on his shirt and pant and face, seemed invisible to him. How strange.

He stared at the boy. Intently. Tried to figure out where, when, if ever, had he seen him.

Cherubic.

Even though he’d already knew the answer.

“Could he be an angel?”

***

“Who are you?”

“Ian, come here!” The boy beckoned at him. “Come on! Faster!”

The boy gave out a small laugh. Even his laugh was magical. Like a soothing tune that made you want to hug someone. To really hug, tightly.

And the boy hugged him, ever so tightly he could barely breath. In the awkwardness he said, “I’m you Ian.” I am you. How could it be? *** The horizon changed to a crescent red. The boy was still running, and trailing behind him was his kite. His happiness did not seem to end that day.

He paced faster to catch up with the boy.

“Hey buddy, it’s getting dark now. You’ve got to stop there!”

He started to run, faster and faster. Away from where he was.

And at that exact moment, he could hear voices, faintly, but real, tailing on his back.

They would soon catch up with him. That much he knew was true. As it’d always been.

“The time is up! Buddy, you’ve got to stop!

This instant!” He ran faster for the boy. The wind blew harder as he went on faster. His aging legs would soon give up, but for that moment he kept on running.

And the noises became more and more apparent, tailing him ever so closely behind him.

He blinked.

“How do you know my name?”

Again, blinked.

“Where do you come from? I’ve never seen you.”

The rain kept on pouring down, ever so heavily. They stared at each other, with no words whatsoever, so long, that the rain stopped and it got darker. The sun had sunken long ago, to wherever it is supposed to sink.

He was laughing joyfully, still toying with his obedient kite.

It is very interesting to know that kids do not need a reason to be happy. They are just happy because they can be happy, almost like magic.

Sadly, things are different once you’ve started to grow up. One thing for sure, you will never find unconditional happiness once you have reached the limit of childhood.

Stars started to smile down at them.

“How did you know my name?” He asked innocently.

From afar, the boy seemed to be running, hopping and jumping. The happiness had

“Are you a real boy?” He sounded crazy.

But he had to ask. He had to be honest. He

“Ian, faster! We have got to go now!” The boy shouted, loudly that the voice pierced his eardrums sharply. He cringed for a while. Shaking off the pains.

The pains. *** “This isn’t going to be pleasant news for you.” The young doctor spoke softly.

Almost soothing to the boy’s ears. He was very careful as not to hurt his young patient. The boy in front of him was different. Different, in a strange way.

Almost peculiar, if he could ever conclude it.

#6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 47

SHORT STORY SHEMSI ELSANI “What do you mean? Is he dead?” The boy’s voice trembled. He tried to control it, but he failed terribly. He tried to fight off the sadness, the pain. Tears were brimming on his eyelids. Soon it would be flowing down on his unblemished cheeks. Sooner than he could’ve ever hoped for.

“You’re a very good boy. Do you know that? Really, a good one.” The doctor patted the boy’s shoulder and caressed his hairs softly.

“There are things that young boys, sometimes, find it hard to understand.

Something very difficult to make sense of,” he continued. “Things like fairy tales do not really exist. Stars cannot actually talk. And the moon can’t really smile at you.” He stopped, taking his breath in, slowly.

The boy looked at the doctor, tried to make sense of what he was trying to tell him. “I just want to know if he is OK,” he said weakly, almost mumbling. “I have no friends except for him. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“Yes. And no.”

“Is he dead?! Oh no! No!” He cut off the doctor’s words. He stood up. Trembled all over. His heart beating quicker, he could not breath. “You must not let him die doctor! You must not!”

“Yes I did. But not quite…”

“Ian, Ian. Listen to me. You have to calm down. Please sit.” The doctor took his hand. The doctor held the boy's hand so tight that it hurt him. He looked down at his feet. His shoes were very dirty and wet from the mud and rain.

But the blood was gone.

“Look at me Ian.” Slowly he looked up.

There were tears rolling down on his cheeks now. “Good boy.” The doctor wiped away the boy’s tears. Hugged him close. “Ian, there are things that you must understand. I need you to understand. Can you at least try?”

He nodded.

His cries started to get louder. He tried to suppress them, but he just could not. His tears were like the rain that had soaked him. Jumping out mercilessly from his eyes.

“He’s dead, right? I knew it.”

“You said he was.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know he can live forever.” The doctor took a deep breath. So deep, it made a weird sound. He looked at the boy in the eyes and said, “Forever.”

“As long as I want him to?”

"Yes, as long as you want him to.” The doctor said. And he wished he had not said those words.

“Ian, stop there. You need to come home now.” The voice finally caught up.

He stopped. Breathless. He bent down, his hand on his knees. He tried to gulp in as much as air as he could. At his age now, he had very limited lung capacity, not like when he was 8.

And the boy with his kite slowly slipped away into the darkness as the sun was sinking into the horizon.

The stars started to talk, and the moon smiled down onto the beach on the distant island.

IMAGE: HEATHER / FLICKR

He looked up. Straight into the doctor’s eyes. He removed his spectacles, and put them on his table, in front of him, and smiled at the boy. His smile was honest, the boy could tell. But there was something else too. Something he could not get a hold of.

“You see Ian, this boy you were telling me about...” The doctor struggled to find the correct words. “…he was…”

48 | CQ MAGAZINE | #6

REVIEW FIKRI JERMADI

Food For Thought Fikri Jermadi picked up Julian C.H. Lee’s Second Thoughts off the book shelf, and discovered something new.

IMAGE: JOHN LOO / FLICKR

I have never written a book review before, at least not to my recollection. I’ve done similar appraisals of other texts, especially films, but I’ve never popped the cherry when it comes to writing about books. It’s ironic, because there is no writing without reading, and I certainly love me a bit of reading.

In reviewing Second Thoughts by Julian C. H. Lee, I decided to take a bit of the Nike powder and just do it. After all, experience is the best school out there. Julian didn’t say that, but he might as well have, because lo and behold, this book included a book review of sorts as the author dove into The Harvard Red Book; the sixteenth chapter considered the ideals of this American publication and its potential impact should it be applied to Malaysia.

That alone may describe the reverberating academic and critical undertones. Yet at the same time I could not quite regard this as the ideal template to follow either, for the chapter appear to have been adapted from an international academic journal. In this case, there is a clear difference in the approaches we both wish to apply. What it did do was to highlight Julian’s professional background as a lecturer, one concerned with issues in Malaysia and beyond.

Having said that, if you were to say that Second Thoughts is another academic publication made inaccessible by its jargon, I would advise you to think again. A collection of previously written write-ups augmented by some new material, this book is a potpourri of senses and sensibilities. Julian essentially expands upon his different experiences, training his

professional eye on the daily grind of life through a number of different genres. That should not be all that surprising, given the relative plurality of his own background.

This multi-hyphenate identity, allied with an accessible writing style, combines academia with life in a way that should be more common. After all, those in ivory towers do work and reflect based on society itself. Though differences have grown over time, the substance of such works should not necessarily be made exclusive, and I am pleased to note this book as the latest in a long line that addresses this imbalance.

The tricky aspect of collecting different thoughts through the years makes for a reading experience that’s different to call from one chapter to the next. Some, like the above, may well have been abridged versions of longer academic exercises. Yet the immediate predecessor to that is a briefer, 300-word or so rumination on Malaysian and Australian relations. Fast forward a hundred pages or so, and you’ll land on paragraphs of words digging into the significance (both historical and contemporary) of Hainanese chicken rice, one that combines academic rigour with candour and humour. This can be noted in another chapter detailing the unlikely origins of a special fruit: “Given the rising political mania that Malaysia continues to show symptoms of,” he says, “the odd kiwifruit might be just the thing for those suffering acute election fever, inflammation of the voting constituency, and irritable ballot syndrome.”

In terms of substance and style, it calls to mind a lot of what Farish Noor achieved

with his books, primarily the semi-seminal publication What Your Teacher Didn’t Tell You. Similarly, Lee also covers a fair amount of ground related to gender and sexuality. This is unsurprising, given the general focus of his research thus far.

“Simultaneously, we need to broaden our understanding of masculinity and to interrogate our understandings of masculinity and femininity,” he asks aloud.

“Where do they come from and are they useful?” This is applicable to almost every nook and cranny of life, but I suspect not as many would have considered it in the context of a car showroom the way Julian did: “While I understand that good presentation might be a reasonable expectation for a public-facing side of the business, at the same time I was discomforted by the way that the dealership entrenched the stereotype of women in the proximity of showroom cars.”

Having been culled from the thousands of words written in a variety of publications for different purposes, there is bound to be a clash of styles that may conflict, if not necessarily contradict one another. There is, however, a method to the madness.

Aside from Lee’s lucidity and logic linking them together, I’d argue that this scattergun approach is not inappropriate, for the book’s subtitle of ‘On Malaysia, Globalisation, Society and Self’ highlights its major theme. Any discussion on globalisation has the potential to be polarising, while discourse on the nation in question can be equally conflicting in contexts. As such, there is a strong fidelity to the style and its substance.

Even an actual linear reading of the book should not be encouraged, an advice in the #6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 49

An analysis of the pineapple reads like a ready-made script for Freakonomics Radio

IMAGE: TORSTEN DETTLAFF / PEXELS

REVIEW FIKRI JERMADI

Lee’s lucidity and logic links together a scattergun approach that’s not inappropriate

book’s introduction I ignored. With 47 chapters split into six different sections, a key factor may well be your mood. Some, like the historical analysis of the pineapple, reads like a ready-made script for an episode of Freakonomics Radio. In a more relaxed environment (perhaps with a glass of wine), you may be tempted to check out the lengthier segments, but be warned, for chapter 38 may well make you reconsider the journey your tipple has traversed. This method harks to Larry Wilmore’s logic on his recently-cancelled talk show. The Nightly Show featured an upside down map in its background, suggesting that a deeper and more critical perspective is required when it comes to understanding the world. Whoever said the start is the beginning anyway?

and politics, a delight waiting to be unpacked by those in the know.

Other contributors pop up once in a while as co-authors, many of whom hail from the School of Arts and Social Sciences in Monash University. There are also visual elements in the form of illustrations by Malaysian illustrator Jun Kit. They pepper the page with its own brand of humour; a chapter on the issue of phantom vibrations (when people feel that their phones are ringing when it’s not) is accompanied with an image of a bus filled with phantom voters. This intertextual link requires a greater understanding of Malaysian society

There may well be no writing without reading, but this whole process would not exist without thinking. By looking under the hood and making the familiar unfamiliar, Second Thoughts will certainly encourage more food for thought, and makes for a fine addition on that bookshelf.

Therein lies the trickiest part of the book. I mentioned earlier about issues of accessibility and how Julian have managed to bridge this gap between Malaysian academia and society fairly successfully.

Those somewhat removed from these specific contexts, though, may find the book difficult to get into. With a structure uninviting to those who prefer conventionality, it may narrow the field of potential readers even further. That would be a shame, for those brave enough to consider this text are likely to be rewarded with moments of enlightenment, either with new knowledge or old ideas presented anew in interesting ways.

Second Thoughts is published by Strategic Information and Research Development Centre.

#6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 51

POETRY MARIA ADIBAH AZMI

Ketika enjang memohon teriak Dingin subuh menyapa embun yang masih berdengkur Di pinggir bandar Seorang mbak mendekati bingar Menemui paginya di sebuah pasar.

Riuh tidak mampu mengira peluhnya yang menitik Kudratnya menjentik alah dan lelah Yang menggoda untuk rebah.

Di pasar itu, Mbak berjuang menawarkan senyuman dan harapan Tertumpahnya keringat seperti gula jawa dalam singkong colenak Air peluh bulat perlahan menitik bagai combro dan misro Serinya hilang dalam gurandil yang berwarna-warni.

Esok mbak kembali lagi Ke pasar yang didiami rezeki-rezeki pagi Buat anak-anak yang selalu menanti secolek nasi.

Pasar Mbak TEXT: MARIA ADIBAH AZMI IMAGE: RON WADDINGTON / FLICKR

#6 | CQ MAGAZINE | 53

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