War and Peace

"It was the best of times. It was the worst of times."
Many of us could hardly go beyond the first few pages of War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. I did not go far either, but I remember the opening lines.
Maybe I was impatient, or more frankly, I gave in to temptation, and settled for second best. I watched the movie instead. But I assure you this is only occasional -- I read most of the classics before I saw the celluloid version, and I can guarantee you that explains why I could aspire to become a wordsmith and poet. If you think you can rely on the Big Screen version to write well, please dismiss the thought. There's no substitute for immersion in the original forests of word, words and yes, MORE WORDS .

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Erratum: "It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times" is actually the 1st line to "A Tale Of Two Cities". The line refers to the French Revolution.

Charles Dickens & Leo Tolstoy would both be rolling over in their graves right now ;)

By Minny, at 1:55 PM

Desi@5.00PM: Thanks to alert Minny with a better memory bank, Desi's humbled by her "correction". If I could join Dickens and Tolstoy to tender my tendrest of "To err is human.." APologies, I would, 'cept they might not wish for my company. O Dickens, what have I done!:) After their rolling, rest assured I have placated their grave spirits, now now everything's loving and giving again.

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Humans are like that -- they want an easy way out. I describe the present generation as the Gen3 -- famous/or notorious? for Instant Gratification, IT Gadgetry and Good at many I-things, master of hardly any.
And Desiderata is just as human as his neighbours, except in one department he's thankful he's God-gifted, and proud to say it out loud -- I have a flair for writing, and I strive to excel when engaging in serious writes. I won't compromise in giving my best. At that moment in time when I pen my innermost thoughts. Or I'd rather hold my tongue.

But Blog writes are a hobby which I take seriously most times, but I allow myself some room of dreaming aloud, peppered with DDC and humour/rumour, and of course, a Blogger's privi of digression. To ENJOY the cyber-journey with fellow travellers. Yes, I can be as serious as brudder Mave SM or xypre minus da d, or flippant as Helen, Anak Merdeka, and hopefully (foolly) you catch me there (dare) -- the (foolly) and (dare) are instances of the flippant mood, so I hope you can discern the difference when to take me lightly, or heavily. Like now, or lucknow...

This Sunday I was at my usual haunt in Furong for my capitalistic indulgence. A CON BF. For the sake of newcomers to Desi's Place, just inform that CON stands for Continental, as opposed to Asian. Not that Niger coming with promiss of USD20million but wanting to CON thee of RM100,000 first.

And BF is for Breakfast. Yes, poor human blighters after an eight-hour deep freeze in Wander land, now need to give food to the starved body, to replenish with Tea and Bread and Butter, chicken and other chops for Continentalists, and rice and pork, and mutton, and chicken too, curied, roast or grilled, and noodles plus other spicy meat shreds -- Chinoserie, Malay or Indian -- for Asians. And being Malaysian, I'm Asian in my culinary delights for six days a week, then opt for some wicked CON BF on Sunday. I subtly suggest it's an INTER:LUDE, which broadly explained, means it's a break from the ordinary scheme of things.

So it could be the best of times. It could be the worst. Whether one is caught in the war zones of Iraq and Afhanistan, or in the crime- or drug-laden streets of San Francosco, Koala Lumpuh or Toktokio. Leo Tolstoy's words could start the scenario of a story based in gay Paree, bustling New York or lamer Johor Baru or Singapore. We may not realise it -- war and peace govern Man's daily existence in almost every nook and corner of the www, except for some dead ends. Where Death rings down the curtain. And it's The End, Habis. Wan Dan.


From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, I learnt that~~~

"... Tolstoy is widely regarded as one of the greatest of all novelists, particularly noted for his masterpieces War and Peace and Anna Karenina; in their scope, breadth and realistic depiction of Russian life, the two books stand at the peak of realistic fiction.

Tolstoy was struck by the description of Christian, Buddhist, and Hindu ascetic renunciation as being the path to holiness. Tolstoy's Christian beliefs were based on the Sermon on the Mount, and particularly on the phrase about turn(-ing) the other cheek, which he saw as a justification for pacifism, nonviolence and nonresistance.

en.wikipedia.org /wiki/Leo_Tolstoy (4787 words)

Desi's mind turns to the great Russian novelist after quite a transcendental encounter at BF just now. A lady dressed in orange blouse,and well pressed long black pants, walked into the hawker centre with two plastic bags in hand. Walking past my table, I could see her smoothly ironed blouse in the upper section of her back drenched in sweat. She must have "worked" hard or walked a distance to keep her rendezvous.

Her date is a man in his forties, someone I had seen around the eating place walking around aimlessly, once a while breaking into shouting nonsensical phrases aimed at no particular person. Maybe the dog or cat scavenmging for food at the dustbins nearby. One feature that struck my mind often is that the man, well built of body, is attired in "clean" clothes most time, unlike the majority of the vagabonds and beggars who accost you at public places in Seremban.

The lady (I'll call her Madam X ) greeted the "man" -- by the looks of his age I surmised could qualify as her son -- and sat down on the plastic chair next to him.
She opened up a tin-can containing what I later could see was newly-cooked rice, topped with black-sauced ginger flavoured chicken (I could tell because it was onbe of my favouritres that Mum cooked...). The man (Can I call him ManY?) quietly ate as she ordered a coffee, uncorking a bottle onto an empty bowl placed in front of ManY. From the "colour" of the liquid, I guessed it must be either "chicken" or some other meat, or possibly, vegetable soup.

Madam X got up to pay the cafeteria server for the coffee, then she turned and passed us again, and some minutes later, came back with a loaf of Bengali bread. This bread is so-called because traditionally it was made famous by Bengali bakers, but now it's mostly made by Chinese bakeries serving the traditional Kopitiam. Served either Toast with rich butter and kaya, or "steamed" yes, yummylicious, with buutter and kaayaa. Desi sometimes asks for "double" topping of peanut butter instead! (One particular kopitiam knows my taste without asking ... that's called Good Customer Service!)

Back from digression, Madam X seated herself close to her "sonny" as he quieltly enjoyed his chicken and soup. She took out a slice of braed, broke it into a small mouthful piece, dipped into the black cofee, and Ooomph, that's the way to drown Bengali bread with the caffeinated liquid itno one's mouth. I culd feel Madam X's ecstasy in a reduced scale as I gobbled my larger chunk of peanut-buttered French toast.

I was told by a waiter at the centre atht Madam X keeps a regulat tete-a-tete with her ManY, without fail every morn to bring him home-cooked food fit for a manager. I also learnt that the ManY would have taken a "bath" at the canteen washroom punctually before her arrival with a new change of clothings -- no wonder he always appeared fresh and neat by "vagabond" standards.

I can envisage the labour of love she put into preparing that meal for her son. She appeared so elegantly groomed herself -- her hair tied into a neat bun tied with a ribbon -- that I told myself{ This is a woman Malaysian society must salute and do with with many, many more of her kind. I continued to cast looks of wonderment at Mother and Son enjoying a meal together; are other breakfasters at nearby tables doing the same, I wonder...

Suddenly, it dawned on me that seeing Madam X's episode with her "sonny" ManY being palyed out today represents for Desiderata an epiphany of sorts. I realise there's no love greater than A Mother's Love. I am glad my late Mum (God Bless her soul that she's now at a better place, I Know...) definitely is at the same plane of selfless devotion and service to her young ones as now I witness Madam X's rendition. I say my prayers constantly for such blessings.

We do not realise our blessed status in being healthy, able to have a "normal" body to lead an independent life. Comapred with ManY who obviously must have "suffered" some illness, most lielky of the emntal faculty, when he could not look after himself. And now places his Mum (I believe my inference is grounded) is a state of war and peace, every day of her life.