Everyday as we move closer to out independence day, I can’t help but wonder whether did we ever achieve true independence in our minds and hearts. Forget the proclamations in a stadium and all those signatures on a piece of paper. Not that I am condemning and making fun of all those things, but to me, independence is a lot more than that. I am doubly sure that some people would actually agree with me. I am presented with a dilemma every year. Why? Because every year, whenever I get the urge to plant the flag majestically at my house, some idiot tells me to get out of the country. I’m made to feel like a non-citizen. I then end up questioning every single fucking thing that going wrong with the way we live in this blessed country.

Why is it that everything in this country seems so fragile? Why does someone jump their head off when something “taboo” is spoken out in public, when it is clearly not “taboo”? Why is it that I fear my children, and their children will forever be regarded as a person of “another colour”? Why do we always have to think a million times before voicing out displeasure?

Why does MACC hire a man who failed physics to represent them?

Why do some parties police the country looking for things that, according to them, incite hate and create disharmony among races? When did the freedom of expression got bottled up in the name of national secrets and/or security? Why does a man gets questioned by the police when someone incompetent in language skills makes an absurd police report? And why do some people blind the eyes of the people they serve with pointless finger pointing but never with beneficial actions? Truly the freedom of expression is very much lost to the ruling party. I’m considered a hard leftist whenever I choose to question something without blindly obeying. Idiots who grovel at their feet, on the other hand, are rewarded (directly or indirectly) and continue to stagnate in their thoughts and actions. The finale comes when these grovelers put the country’s name at shame by their stupidity.

Another national pride - The "unsinkable" submarine. Truly unsinkable.

Am I inciting hate? Or am I creating disharmony? Am I insulting my rulers? Or am I insulting a religion? None of those. Achieving independence is about learning to broaden our minds in every aspect. It is about mending old problems. It is about paving new ways towards advancement in skills and knowledge. Independence is about letting go of outdated policies and believes and replacing them with new ideas for the benefit of all of a country’s residents. Independence is about being able to think for yourself, and be free to voice out your displeasure. Be damned those politicians who think that I owe my allegiance to them. Be damned those politicians who think that their policies are in place to protect me. I am protected by the constitution, thank you very much. It is the retards and idiots who bend the constitution to suit their own whims and need that I am afraid of.

I want to see a future for me, where I am not discriminated based on petty differences of man such as the presence of facial hair or underwear colour AND skin colour. I want to know that I have the freedom of choice. Malaysians should be able to support any football team they want, without the overzealous zealots going on about devil-worship. I wanna express opinions without having some shit-faced asshole make a police report on me just because he is NOT smart enough to understand my comments. I wanna go to concerts and watch Beyonce shake her booty. Does this make me immoral? Why do I have moral police watching over my shoulders, trying to “protect” me?

We’ve dealt with immature racists and slimy politicians for so long that some of us have grown to “accept” that this is how things will be from now on. I’d tell those people to wake up from their slumber. No one must give up. If you truly believe that the nation is in distress and the government’s policies are detrimental to how we as a society will progress, then you shall never give up. How long will you stay silent for the travesties? Deaths in custody, corruption and leakages in the national coffers are rife.  Freedom to gather peacefully have been taken away. You CANNOT afford to stay silent AND be truly independent from the shackles of tyranny.

Apparently, he strangled himself. Then jumped out of the building. Case closed.

Banned in Malaysia. Dangerous. May lead to vigils.

I was born in this country. So did both my parents, all 4 grandparents, and 6 of my great-grandparents (only 2 were immigrants). Why should I be thankful to anyone except this land I call home? I contribute to society with equal zeal and honesty, yet I cannot brush off the feeling that I am unwanted by some quarters. I am labeled by communal stigma and although it is a burden most of us have to bear, it is one that I wish it I did not have. It is one that makes me want to lay the smackdown on those wretched scum of Malaysia who concoct wild accusations of “insulting Islam, insulting Malays and insulting the King”.

Soon you'll be arrested for insulting this fler. Don't say I didn't warn you.

53 years of independence has brought us much advancement and achievements. But none would be so foolish if he were thinking that all of this is enough. There is a long, long way to go. Even after 53 years, there are some aspects still with closed doors and closed minds. Let’s just hope they open up by the time the next 50 comes up. I want to be able to raise the national flag and call myself a Malaysian without racial references. I know that this concept is still a dream at the moment, yet I do not fail to hope. I’ve seen plenty of wonderful Malaysians that have broken out of the mould the government set, and they keep my hope alive.

SELAMAT HARI MERDEKA KE-53

Related posts:

1. A Seedy Jet Engine Story in Pictures

First up, apologies for going missing for a month. I was, ….. uninspired. Now that I’m back, I’d like to sink my teeth into our latest bullcrap to hit Malaysia – Changing Your Lifestyle! Yeah, apparently it’s all the rage here in Malaysia, with our government harping about lifestyle changes to counter the recent price hike of essential goods. Hey, when the government tells you to change your lifestyle, you do it. Who knows best, eh?

I look back at my life and I see myself being screwed by the government at every single turn. Sure, some of you might say that I’m unappreciative of all the good things provided by the government like toasted bread and chili sauce. I don’t give a hoot. All I see is myself and a good few million of us being screwed left, right and center. We’re so used to this rape that we’ve kinda feel that it’s a normal phase in life.

Let me begin during all those school years. It’s no surprise our education system, by itself, manages to shape our fresh, young brains at the age of 7 into a putty of useless, spoon-fed goo which is poisoned by government propaganda by the time we’re 17. That’s 11 years of numbing your minds into becoming flocking zombies. When I came out of school, I was a vociferous government supporter. Of course, all my knowledge came from our local textbooks.

During our school days, we’re lead to believe that we must follow the flock. Finish school, do your tertiaries, get a job, get a house, get a family, die. Repeat process with your children. School going children tend to spend hundreds of ringgit per month going for tuition classes when the actual work was supposed to be done in school. What kind of a fucking life for children where you spend half your day studying and spending less time for recreational activities which are indeed very very important? They spend 4-5 hours at school, then another 2-3 hours at tuition classes, then a few more hours doing homework for both school and tuition? What’s the fucking point of sending children to public schools then? And yet we have those eggheads saying that our education system is not problematic.

Our education system is THIS big

So we finish 11 years of this nonsense, get good grades at the public examinations, and we’re faced with a whole new conundrum. College, university, and the likes. Okay here is where the stick is slowly being put up your arse. If you’re prepared for another 2 years in school, you can try to score well in the following public examinations, get into a local public university (most probably doing the course you have absolutely no interest in), take a minimal education loan, and get out with a degree. You be well into your mid-twenties by then, probably holding a degree you absolutely never knew existed.

Else you could opt for a private college and take a massive loan to study what you want to study, and graduate with an Honours degree coupled with a RM 50,000 debt the day you receive your scroll. Sweet.

Of course, if you’re financed by your extremely wealthy parents or won a scholarship provided by the government or were lucky enough to be given the course of your choice at the university of your choice or just a plain ‘ol lazy fellar who just wants to stay at home, you’re slightly less screwed then most of us here.

It's not as bad as it looks

So here I am, like most of you guys reading this, standing here, in my mid-twenties, holding in my hand a degree which was totally useless the moment I stepped out into the working world and also being in debt to the sum of, you guessed it, RM 50,000.

I wonder why do we have to take massive loans to get an education, then of course get a job to pay back the loans, while leaving very little for us to spend on ourselves. Of course if you don’t get your certificate saying that you didn’t spend that many credit hours impressing a lecturer you didn’t even like, you don’t get to have a job in most places. Ironically, the last thing they do in most interviews is look at your damn cert.  Now, in order to gain more money to pay off your loans, you need a better paying job, meaning you need better qualifications. What do you do then? Scrimp off your savings or take another loan to do your postgraduate studies while living of Maggi Mee and the mushrooms that grow on that rotten piece of wood on your backyard. Yes, a vicious cycle that we drones readily participate in.

Your breakfast, lunch & dinner for the next few years

By the time you know it, it’s time for you to start a life with the woman/man you love and therein lies the other big headache. Wedding expenses don’t come cheap and you’d be probably willing to sell your soul just for that one-day fancy dress event. Worse still if you’re Indian, like me. Then it’s time to buy a place of residence. Hey ho there, time to pay the bank a visit for another loan! You then sell your soul, car and pet cockatoo to the bank and continue to pay off the mortgages for another 20 years.

CEO of most financial corporations

Now, after all this mega shit-fest, the fucking government has the cheek to say, CHANGE YOUR LIFESTYLE? My lifestyle has already been screwed mercilessly over and over and over again by your nonsensical policies and public fund wastage. I will be spending my life paying off debts. There’s little room for me to enjoy plenty of comfort. I’m not exactly driving a Mercedes that massages by buttocks while I drive. I drive a fucking Proton Iswara which gives me backaches on long drives because I cannot afford anything better since the whole system has made me a slave to it.

So, my fellow Malaysians, do not opt to change your lifestyle. CHANGE YOUR GOVERNMENT. Ptuiiii!!!!

No related posts.

I tell you, when I’m bored outta my mind, the devil in me goes to work. I’m having writer’s block. It’s a serious condition. I can’t write. I can’t imagine and cook up weird scenarios. Or maybe the Malaysian scene has just been too quiet lately with nothing to poke fun at. Then again, I still have something for you guys.

Related posts:

1. A Seedy Guide to Malaysian Indians – The Food
2. A Seedy Guide to Malaysian Indians – The Culture

MAY 13^th 1969.

Fuck, I just saw all the old fogies run away at the opposite direction at the mere mention of that date! Yeah yeah. I know that most of them lived through the horrors of the day and the following days. No denying that. You might even dare to call it the Malaysian Holocaust.

I’m not being insensitive here. God knows how insensitive I can be when I’m trying to shove a 2×4 up some politician’s arse using satire. Now is the time to be looking towards the future. How can we exorcise this demon? Ugly, overweight political warlords have long been using the specter of another bloodbath to deter us from speaking up. The ones who survived that day might be gripped with fear. Fair enough. I know how them folks feel. It’s like how I still have a disgust of Marie biscuits after choking on them when I was a kid. Don’t fucking ask me how I choked on Marie biscuits.

For all we know, this might have been the cause of it all

What excuse do you youths have? I’m defining “youth” loosely here (in-line with our political parties). Are you too chicken to challenge the social norms put out by The Man? Or will you grow some balls (purely euphemistic for women; unless.. ahem…) to set our your own rules and be colour blind?

Let’s face it here, folks. The reason the events on that day came to be, was because of misunderstanding between different groups of people, and also the (in)actions of those in power.

I’ve great solutions for those two reasons.

In regards to those in power, tell them to go fuck themselves. Learn to think rationally and that brain of yours would actually say “Omaigoat! I’m actually working! Hey wait a minute… This is wrong. That guy’s a fool. Let’s not listen to him speak from his arse!“. You see? So simple. Issue solved.

How most Malaysian politicians speak

Next, is the issue of (mis)understanding. Come on now. Is it so hard to get to know someone out of your comfort zone? With the advent of social media, there is no longer an excuse to say “Damn, that Indian fellar looks like he’s gonna rob me.“. You could always find him on Twitter and FB and politely ask if he is gonna rob your ass or not. If not, hey, why not go sit down at one of those cafes and pay exorbitant prices for coffee and get to know that guy?

If there isn’t any fear in our hearts, it is impossible to hate. Why hate, when you can love? Certainly you’d wanna be the person who’s out there having a cuppa and laughing and enjoying your life, as opposed to the racial bigot whose mind is filled with gloom and doom and broods hate in his thoughts while sitting in a room with filled more hate emanating from like-minded bigots?

No pussy for these guys.

Not every man or woman who is classified “Bumiputera” wants to destroy your race/religion. They just want some halal food at all accessible locations, along with a karaoke bar that serves non-alcoholic drinks, you know. And that Ah Pek who drives a Mercedes? Perhaps he didn’t cheat and steal to become so rich; instead he might have been working tirelessly day and night selling Char Kuey Teow and making an honest living. Don’t forget that bearded Macha who looks like he hasn’t had a haircut for 6 months over in that corner holding a bottle filled with a pale-brown liquid. That might be cumin water while he’s getting ready for a pilgrimage to India. How about that East Malaysian you see walking down the street? Odds are he wears Renoma underpants instead of loincloths and works as an engineer and buys his chicken at Tesco instead of roaming the countryside with a blowpipe. You see that big man with a turban reading a paper there? Make friends with him, and get invited to his house for dinner one night. Odds are you will be tasting the best chapathi in your life.

Notice how making friends can make you smile like you're on Prozac

All it takes, is one “HELLO”. One smile. One friendly nod. You don’t need to fear May 13. In respect to those who have lost their lives, we should do the right thing by moving on to prove that all those boogieman stories about more racial bloodbaths will not become reality. We should not use their suffering as an excuse to keep us locked in chains of fear.

Just party on. Hang out. Love one another. You don’t need to take arms to fight them bigots. All you need to do is go on with your lives, make lots of friends irregardless of skin colour, call everyone Macha, respect our differences, eat nasi lemak and make fun of YoRais. If possible, have mixed-marriages and make rojak children. Else, just ogle at hot and sexy men/women irregardless of skin colour. Hot and sexy is hot and sexy. No two ways about that.

And don’t forget. Make sure you also contribute to making the Americans richer by paying RM 8 for a small cup of coffee.

NOTE: The author means no disrespect to the Malaysians who have lost their lives on May 13th 1969 and also to those who have lived through the horrors (including the author’s parents). May the souls of those who have passed be in peace, and those who survive able to move on. To those who were born after that: cappucino, ladies and gentlemen?

PS: “Happy people” image stolen from Jessica Tan’s Extractions of A Disoriented Mind: The Jessicat

No related posts.

Today we tweeps were greeted by a mind-blowing news. Bolehland is gonna have nukular energy. Woot! Now, we stupid Gobloks might forget about this issue next week, possibly after the boys in blue decide to shoot a puppy because it growled at them and they needed to defend themselves from the possible embarrassment of being upstaged by a 2 feet mutt in the eyes of the public. So let’s make seed while the sun shines. By that I mean make fun of the issue.

So here I am examining the possible reasons, effects and what-not that comes together with nukular energy because, seriously, when bored people such as myself discuss this issue to an uninterested audience, the only thing stopping them from killing themselves is a bunch of totally ridiculous but PLAUSIBLE scenarios put into the mix.

All I’m saying is, some people are embarking on a secret project to create a superhuman being called The Incredible Sulk. Our totally inept Ai-Gee-Pee who has been crying like a bitch and acting like Ellen Page in Juno when the public demanded answers regarding the trigger-happy cops. With Bendera from Indonesia wanting to prison-fuck Malaysia for allegedly “stealing” a song, who could blame us if we wanted a superhero to lead the frontline when the inevitable attack occurs. Thus, the perfect subject has been identified: a man of (dis)honour, (dis)serving the public with all his might. Give him superpowers and he can sulk around in a mega scale to fuck these intruders six ways to Sunday.

Finishing Move of The Incredible Sulk. Don’t say I didn’t warn you

I know. I’m come up with awesome conspiracy theories right? Laugh all you want. You won’t be laughing when your future kid is born with a boob on his forehead.

Of course, you might ask, why build a goddamn nukular plant just to create ONE superbeing? Simple. This is Bolehland. If it’s anything, we can always overspend and do it in 10-times larger scales and waste taxpayers’ money like how a homeless man shits around everywhere – he simply doesn’t give a fuck.

But all you hippie environmentalists might be crying out “How will we manage the waste?”.

Good question. Here’s the answer. We’ll let Sinkapoh deal with it. Or sell to that Ahmadinejab fler. Or hide it inside Hamsor’s hair. I dunno. We’ll figure out SOMETHING. Isn’t that what we’ll always do?

All your nukular waste are belong to us

Just kidding, folks. The real solution is let The Incredible Sulk feed on the nukular waste to keep him strong.

OM NOM NOM NOM NOM!!!!

ANYWAYS, I just have one small misgiving about the whole idea. How can a nation with leaky parliaments, cracked expressways and a collapsed stadium expect to build a fully functional nukular plant? I’m sure our leaders will figure out something.

I mean, come on now. Have a little faith in them, will ya? It only took them 5 years to kick out a sleeping, drooling Pee Em. All it takes is a mini-Chernobyl here, and BAM! You’d have royal commissions, enquiries, inquests, karaoke sessions, tweetups and whatnot to spend another inflated amount of budget to rectify a problem that was never supposed to happen in the first place? 20 years after that, the problem is (seemingly) solved!

Not to mention who’s gonna head up the whole project. Do I see a C.Montgomery Burns in the making here? Let’s see here. We need a feeble, ugly old fart who annoys the fuck outta every sane person alive. He needs to spew venom each time he says something and he’ll twist and turn facts. Maybe that Kerala Kutty fler can do this job.

Now all we need is a safety inspector, just like Homer Simpson. Ribbit Ali anyone?

The wrong person for the wrong job

This article is brought to you by FNN – FAKE NEWS NETWORK. DON’T FUCKING SUE ME.

PS: I spelt nukular that way coz my Ingerlund very the bad. Coz no PPSMI.

No related posts.

Keling is generally viewed as a deragatory word referring to Indians. Call an Indian “keling”, and almost immediately you’ll be met with stares and blood-shot eyes with tightly gripped fists aching for a facial contact. If you’re all by yourself and you use that word in Bangsar, Brickfields or Klang, you might return home with a few bruises. Possibilities exist that you might not return at all. Too bad those dumb politicians are still able to return to the parliament or state councils.

These days, like Chris Rock said, everything needs to be politically correct. You know you cannot be politically correct all the time. And so, it all comes down to context. In what sense do you mean the word when you say it, and how does it justify you saying it. Most of the time, all these would mean zilch, so you better just avoid saying stuff in the first place, especially if you have limited vocabulary.

According to the Keling Council formed just around 35 seconds ago in my head, there is a situation where calling an Indian “keling” is accepted. You are allowed to call an Indian “keling” IF

The local time is between 2.00 am and 4.00 am, and you’re all by yourself just returning home from your mamak session with your friends. You head over to your car, and just as you open your door, a very old, drunk and homeless Indian man in his 40s, dressed only with a torn pair of jeans and an unbuttoned, hole-ridden shirt, sneaks up behind you and hits you on your head with his empty Guiness Stout bottle, shattering the glass into a million pieces, at the same time giving your punk ass a fucked up concussion that leaves you totally disoriented and crying like a baby. Which is when that old man reaches in your back pocket, snatches your wallet, empties the cash, spits a huge loogie in the wallet and shoves it back into your pocket, all the while taking a piss into your leather-seated Toyota Camry and letting out a huge stinking fart in your face while you’re still writhing like a worm. And almost right after that, that man forcefully kicks your nuts three times, making you assume the foetal position while crying louder for your mama like the girl you are.

Ugly guy; possibly wanting to rob your ass

This entitles you the chance to apply for a Keling Utterance in Non-permanent Terms (K.U.N.T.) privilege card from the Keling Council. You should bring along a copy of your MyKad and a copy of the police report made about the incident that happened and a processing fee of RM 150.00 (non-returnable). The members of the Keling Council will provide you with a K.U.N.T. card if all conditions are met. Appeals are entertained based on the amount of bribe given, on par with the government’s practice.

The K.U.N.T. card holder will hold the following privilege for one (1) week:

1. Permission to call Indians “keling”; with the exception of children below 12 years of age, senior citizens above the age of 60, pregnant women and the physically and mentally disabled members of society.
2. Sing “keling” songs at public gatherings
3. Producing written instances of “keling” in physical or electronic format.

Upon the expiration of the K.U.N.T. card, all priveleges will be revoked and the common law for dealing with idiots who use the word “keling” without regard to sensitivities will be reinstated upon his/her candy ass.

Holders of the K.U.N.T. card must produce the card if asked by any member of the society, be it Indian or not. Failure to comply will result in a smackdown. If at all you are assaulted for having said “keling” in public, you may produce (if you prefer) the K.U.N.T. card in order to defend (a.k.a. justify) yourself.

Consequence of not using the K.U.N.T. card

Of course, all this is bullshit. You don’t need to be a K.U.N.T. to call someone “keling”. In most cases, Malaysians of Chinese and Malay origins who enjoy close company with Indians tend to use the word in the presence of their friends without batting an eyelid. Why? Coz it’s always the intention and the underlying tone while uttering “keling”.

In tight-knit groups of friends, you can never fail to see a Malay, Chinese or a Coconut (Indian who doesn’t speak any Indian dialects) who are usually referred to as “keling”s themselves. How does one qualify into this special fraternity? Skin colour alone does not make you a “keling”. Here are some of the tests you need to pass to be initiated (100% score not needed; judgment will be made by your peers):

• Eat with your hands; if on banana leaf, wipe down the leaf with your fingers then proceeding to lick them loudly
• Drink alcohol like it was water (optional, and Muslims are exempted)
• Able to cuss in Tamil.
• Arrive 2 hrs late for any appointment
• Wear jewelery like you robbed Poh Kong
• Refer every other person as macha, machi, Joe, Mike
• Know at least one handsome tamil movie actor (Surya, Vikram) and/or one ugly ass actor (T. Rajendar, Vijayakanth)
• Tolerate spicy food
• Think 2-day old fish curry goes awesomely with thosai

So, that’s just a roundup on “Keling” according to me. Anything else, ask other kelings.

Related posts:

1. A Seedy Guide to Malaysian Indians – The Culture
2. A Seedy Guide to Malaysian Indians – The Food

Before I proceed, I’d like to say that any names seen below have no connection to anyone dead or alive (except Hitler. Fuck him.), and any similarities are coincidences.

Playing with memes is a fun thing to do. What more can I do when a by-election is looming, and political parties are full of drama? I’ve always loved to poke fun on Malaysian politics. I wonder whether will foreigners actually be laughing at us for all the shenanigans that we conjure.

There are many famous memes here, like Courage Wolf, High-Expectations Asian Dad,  Chris Crocker, Kanye West, King Leonidas and finally, my absolute favourite person to make fun of in the whole planet: Adolf Hitler.

Related posts:

1. Malaysian Memes – Sepol & ‘Nuar
2. 5 Seedy Reasons You Should Vote In The Next Election

Indian food is awesome. Well, it’s not that I’m discriminating Chinese and Malay food. I love my Bah Kut Teh and nasi kerabu wit sambal belacan, but I’m quite partial towards Indian food. All those curry and spices. I tell you, i can’t live without something spicy at least once a day.

Whenever someone mentions Indian food, the mind points towards a banana leaf meal. Yes, the meal designed by the folks from the Indian subcontinent to make you a slave to your tongue at first, then regret the whole episode after being reminded of how much calories had been taken in.

Clog, you damn arteries. CLOG!!!!!

One way to enjoy banana leaf meals is the traditional way. These can usually be very common in rural areas and not so much in urban areas because urbanites like me and you are lazy fucks and prefer to get a crappy catering service to open up a buffet line in your flat in the middle of KL with elevators that smell like piss. Yes, banana leaf meals require a helluva lot of work to be done, no doubt, BUT, the togetherness that comes with it is simply non-substitutable with any buffet line. The leaf is laid out, with your guest grinning from ear to ear. You start shouting to your cousin at the other end of the tent, asking him to bring in the vegetables. You proceed to dish out rice, while your guest says “Enough, enough….”, but you just go on, telling him to eat more this one day, and stop after he says “Enough” for the 14th time.

Your cousin arrives with the vege, and you go hunting for the curry bucket. On the way, you see your dad’s close friend washing his hand after the dinner. You ask him whether did he enjoy the food, then ask about his family, and say thank you for his attendance, all in 7 seconds flat before rushing to rushing to the guest you left behind with the curry bucket. Relatives and friends walk up to you saying that they had a good time, not to mention the good food. You are happy that everyone has eaten to their heart’s content. Though you are dog tired, it was all worth it. As soon as you’re done, you catch glimpse of the girl you’ve been having an eye on during the whole function. She walks past you, head lowered in shyness. You smile at her. She smiles back. You smile to yourself. That’s how traditional banana leaf meals are.

NOT this kind of Indian girl

And then of course you can head out to the regular curry houses which are aplenty all over town to get your fix of banana leaf rice. Just a reminder: eat with your hands. Don’t use cutlery on a banana leaf. You risk tearing the leaf. And it’s just not right. Just dive in with your hands. Get into the culture, as they say.

So these days the curry houses have a section where they’ll fry some meat and fish for you to be served piping hot. When you order something from there, make sure you tell them to add more “masala”. Just do it, don’t ask why. It is customary to have at least two helpings of rice. Most Indians are bloody gluttons whenever they step into a curry house anyways. After you’re done eating, swipe the leaf with your fingers and give it a thorough lick. No one would comment negatively if you pour a bit of chicken curry on an empty leave and proceed to have a lick-off.

Now, for all you non-Indians out there who don’t actually know what to have on your leaf before you start digging in, here’s a free tutorial.

1. Order your fried item before calling for the rice. Don’t choose the biggest fish there. Medium-sized and small-sized ones are tastier. Ask for more “masala“. If you’re getting fried squid or chicken, ask more extra onions as well.
2. The customary rice + 3 or 4 vegetable dishes. Pretty simple. It is advisable to take half the amount of rice you’re planning to eat. Reason to follow. You may opt for the healthier Indian rice (pu-lung-ge a-re-si).
3. The curry. You’ll have the usual one: dhal (sambhar), chicken curry, fish curry. Some shops sometimes have special curries stored away and they will only bring them out if customers ask for them. You may ask if they have crab curry (nan-du ka-ri), onion curry (ven-the-ya ko-lam-bu), or salted-fish curry (ka-ru-vaa-du ka-ri).
4. Divide your rice into 2 portions, and have different curries poured into each one to guarantee that you will taste everything. Once you’re done, ask for the second helping of rice, and proceed with different curries. Sloppiness is never an issue.
5. The condiments arrive. The regulars are papadam (ap-pa-lam in Tamil) and fried bitter gourd (paa-vak-kaa). You can also ask for the fried chili (mo-ru mo-le-ga). There’s also the option of asking for some “thovaiyal“, a spicy, minty, sour paste that you can eat with your rice.
6. Next on the list – yoghurt. Now, there’s two versions of it. One to drink, one to put on your rice. The drinking variety is called “moru” – yoghurt mixed with water, onions, coriander and some spices. A glass of iced moru on a hot day will do good for you.. The one that you put on your rice is called “tairu“. Tairu goes very well with any spicy curry, but fish curry leads the pack. A very common way of eating tairu is to mix it with plain rice, add a little salt, then having the “moru molaga” (fried chili) on the side.
7. You can also ask for some herbal soup – rasam. This will be served usually in a small tumbler and it’s quite spicy. Mix it up with your index finger and drink it, or pour it on your rice and eat with it.
8. Once you’re done wolfing down everything, fold the leave inwards to indicate the food was good (we still do that even if the food was bad coz we’re not a bunch of assholes).
9. Order a cup of BRU coffee. Not regular coffee. But BRU coffee. Every respectable Indian food establishment will have BRU coffee. If they don’t, you’ve obviously went to a bad place. Get your BRU coffee with cow’s milk if you fancy it.
10. Burp.

REMINDER: Woman does not come with the coffee.

Of course you can opt for other meals like the chapati or puri or naan. Then ask for some mutton varuval. Or mutton curry for that matter. Briyani rice is also an option for those who want to pig out on a completely different level. Don’t get your briyani at those nasi kandar shops where they only have the briyani rice laced with some herbs. A true briyani rice must be cooked with the meat in it, and should be served with the meat together.

Oh, there’s also this crazy thing among Malaysian Indians (or for any Indians for that matter) when it comes to eating mutton. We love to eat bone marrow. If your curry house offers mutton curry, ask them for a bone that you can suck the marrow out along with the meat chunks. Mutton curry is best eaten wit long beans or pineapple-cucumber salad. Don’t use a fucking straw to suck out the bone marrow lest you wanna be known as a pussy. You may bang the bone on your leaf (which of course is laid out on your table). People won’t mind. Really.

Bone. Delicious bone.

Indian food also has a wide array of sweets for those who aspire to be diabetic one day. Choices range from the halwa, gulab jamun, mysoorpak, jilebi, laddu, paalkova and athirasam (also known as ‘kuih peniram’ in Malay). You can almost always find these in established curry houses, but for better tasting ones, you can head to a shop that specializes in selling indian sweets.

“Laddu” inside your arteries. Awesome.

So that’s pretty much it about Malaysian Indian food. I’m just writing this because I’ve nothing else better to do at this point. I need a BRU coffee now.

PS: This post might seem to be biased towards South Indian food. That’s because I don’t fancy going to pimped out North Indian restaurants that charge RM 30 for a fucking small pot of mutton curry.

Related posts:

1. A Seedy Guide to Malaysian Indians – The Culture
2. A Seedy Word Known as “Keling”
3. More Malaysian Graph-ical Madness

Related posts:

1. A Seedy Guide to Malaysian Indians – The Food
2. A Seedy Word Known as “Keling”
3. More Malaysian Graph-ical Madness

Johnny Inggebish stared at the documents laid in front of him. They were of some foreign language that he could not comprehend. He cursed under his breath. His brows furrowed, accentuating the deep lines on his forehead. He cursed his secretary for not informing him beforehand that these documents – which contained important findings on a very serious matter pressing the nation at this point – were not in his native language. He cursed his personal assistant for failing to appoint an experienced translator. But most of all, he cursed his predecessors who held his position before him. Damn those bastards. It was their seedy policies that had lead to this.

Johnny Inggebish had gone through a lot in his life. He had been a great champion of rights for his people. They adored him, or at least provided him the illusion that they adored him. Not that it matters to him. It had taken a lot outta him to be here, at this place. A few more years, a decade at most, and he’ll be the one looking down at all the others. All those years of hard work; all those years of snaking his way in and out, is now under threat of going to waste. All because of a set of documents presented to him in a language he is unable to read in. And the people were demanding for an immediate answer. By not being able to comprehend the report, he’d look like a total idiot.

Being an idiot isn’t cool.

Beads of sweat formed on Johnny Inggebish’s forehead. How is he going to get out of this pickle? This isn’t some issue that he could throw a smokescreen and make a dash for it. His name is stapled to the issue now since he’s the man-in-charge for this whole agenda. There’s only one thing for him to do now. The report’s findings shall not come out, whichever side it favours. The plan began to form slowly.

Johnny Inggebish buzzed his secretary and told her to put forward a request to his boss. He needed all the warlords to agree to this. There’s no other way. He then waited. He knew the big kahuna wouldn’t dare waste time on this matter. Something important for the whole team was coming up, and they need a good leverage. This would be it.

The call came soon enough. The meeting was scheduled tomorrow. Johnny Inggebish sneered. Enough time to prepare his whopper. He slept soundly that night, even managing to enjoy some Dom Perignon before victory was even proclaimed. The man had enough cheek to act so confidently.

The next day

Johnny Inggebish looked at the assembly around him. Time to start the propaganda, he thought to himself. He lifted the documents that were given to him yesterday. He cursed the foreign language. He told his comrades about how foreigners are still burrowing into the country’s young minds and trying to colonize them with television and T-shirts and cars and most importantly, their language. This foreign language must be killed off instantly. He drilled into their heads regarding scientific terms and mathematical equations being the mind-control mechanism of the foreign invaders.

Foreign languages sound funny. They also turn you into sexy blue cat-like people

Johnny Inggebish smiled to himself. He thought to himself about how stupid his “comrades” are. They didn’t know that he doesn’t know how to read the foreign language. That was his plan. He needed to demonize all foreign languages so that his shortcomings would be excused. They failed to see that it wasn’t about national integrity or unity or any of those off-key issues. It was about him. Him alone. Johnny Inggebish’s plan was, if he couldn’t understand the language, then no one else would. And since his plan to get to the top would only come into fruition ina decade or so, he needed the younger generation to be as oblivious as he is now. It is much easier to rule ignoramuses, he thought. Nowadays, EVERYTHING is political.

Johnny Inggebish looked up. He then spoke in his native language.

“Saya menyarankan agar PPSMI dimansuhkan dan kita kembali kepada pembelajaran dalam Bahasa Melayu. Anda setuju atau tidak, sidang kabinet?“

“SETUJUUUUU!!!!!“, came the deafening approval.

This post was taken from my older blog. I felt it was relevant because there a lot of nuts on Twitter speaking terrible Inggebish. What’s worse is that they almost always misunderstand tweets from other people due to their inability to comprehend a simple sentence structured in 140 characters. How dumb can you get?

Related posts:

1. Seedy Google Auto-Completes
2. 5 Seedy Reasons You Should Vote In The Next Election