Tag: Rifle Range Boy

Essay

A Cyclist’s Diary: Criss-crossing the Titiwangsa

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date June 15, 2026
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Photographs and narrative by Farouk Gulsara

Day 1: KKB-Fraser’s Hill-Raub

These days, our cyclists’ group yearns for long weekends. On Sunday, 31st May 2026, Malaysians honoured Lord Buddha on his birthday. 1st June was marked as the King’s official birthday. In their honour, Malaysians enjoyed four days away from office. It would have been seven if one had mysteriously fallen ill on the preceding Thursday and Friday, as Wednesday, 27th May 2026, was Hari Raya Haji, commemorating Prophet Ibrahim’s sacrifice to God. With the holiday mood set, the cyclists were not inclined to stay idle.

With the holiday mood set, the cyclists were not inclined to stay idle during the festivities. Instead, they wanted to be in sync with nature, hear the birds chirp, and immerse themselves in the wild’s greenery.

Titiwangsa is marked in brown. Cameron Highlands and Fraser Hill are part of this range. From Public Domain

This the first time we were trying this route and conquering these highlands that are part of the Titiwangsa, a mountain range that forms the spine of the Malay Peninsula. A few years ago, I did participate in a competition from Simpang Pulai in Perak, a western state, to the Cameron Highlands. Now, it is a different ballgame, approaching the beast from the east to kill it. The day started early with a drive up to Kuala Kubu Bahru, and after gearing up, the journey began. Before the climb, a brief historical detour made KKB feel like the right starting point.

For some historical perspective, KKB is an old town with a rich historical heritage. It had already become a tin-mining town by the 1870s. Legend has it the locals had built a dam above the original town, Kubu. Kubu (fort) was built by the warring factions in the 1870s Selangor Civil War[1]. The British moved in to set law and order.

The district officer, a Briton, had apparently hunted and killed an albino crocodile that the local folks believed was a guardian of the dam. Once the crocodile was gone, the balance was upset, and the dam broke its banks. Without its guardian, Kubu was almost destroyed, save a Chinese temple and a mosque. The destroyed area was named Ampang Pecah (broken dam). The town was rebuilt on higher ground and renamed Kuala Kubu Bahru[2].

Because the British officers thought KKB was too hot and humid for their comfort, they sent their workers to search for a place with a more pleasant climate. Hence, Fraser’s Hill came to the fore.

The roads leading to the Hill are unceremoniously remembered as the place where Malaya’s Highways Commissioner, Sir Henry Gurney, was gunned down by communist insurgents in 1951. According to the Malaysian Communist Party, it was a ‘routine’ ambush and that ‘big catch’ was quite unexpected[3].

The climb up to Fraser’s Hill was quite gruelling. The inclination was around 5%, sometimes peaking at 10% and 12%. The Hill was about 1330 metres above sea level. After a short stopover at the resort station, it was a cool ride down the hill. From the ascent, the contrast made the descent feel especially rewarding.

From there, the long stretch down to Raub was pleasant, with mostly continuous slow decline, just enough to recover from the earlier climb up to Fraser’s. We also noticed a funny thing on Fraser’s Hill. Even though Fraser’s Hill is technically located in the State of Pahang, the administrative council is the Hulu Selangor Town Council in Selangor. After a short stopover, it was time to move on.

After cycling 86km over 5h51m and gaining about 1400m of elevation, we reached Raub, having completed the day’s ride.

I had imagined Raub to be a ghost town, much like the Wild West towns in America that became deserted after the gold ran dry[4]. I remembered from my geography lessons that Raub was the ‘gold capital of Malaya’. Bau in Sarawak was the other place with gold deposits. In the late 19th century, Raub was already famous amongst the locals for its gold. Raub, in the local lingo, meant a fistful. That was how much one could scoop of gold from the riverbed with a dulang (a flat tray used for mining). That drew in multinational companies, including an Australian firm that modernised mining to achieve higher yields. That, too, ignited related activities and the mushrooming of colonial Tudor-style buildings, which are neatly maintained to this day. Hence, modern Raub turned out to be a busy town, serving as a stopover for those travelling along the spine of the Peninsula to Gua Musang and Kota Bahru.

Raub hit the headlines again recently for being the centre of the ‘Hermès’ of king of fruits, the Musang King durian [5]. Disused pieces of state land belonging to the State Royalty were used by enterprising durian planters to churn out, via budgrafting, a particular breed of durian that had durian lovers from China yearning for more and more. Seeing its great potential, the Royalty decided to claim their land[6]. There is also talk of a different kind of mining in the pipeline in Raub for rare earth elements (REE). It is said being discussed between the State-level and Chinese investors[7].

After settling down at Raub Hotel, a convenient 3-star hotel right in town, we took a stroll around town. The imposing shop that caught our attention was Restoran Ratha Raub[8], a red-painted building with its name in bold, striking, contrasting fonts. At first glance, it seemed just like a generic Indian makan[9] shop. Only upon entering did it dawn upon us that the owners were going places. Plastered on its walls were numerous pictures of important luminaries enjoying themselves in the shop. There were even newspaper cuttings in the national dailies describing its curry as deliciously ‘foxy’! I wonder why. Is that a hint of the restaurant serving exotic meat? The one that took the cake was the photo the owner took with the Sultan of Brunei. Apparently, the restaurant also marketed its halal curry powder at a trade festival in Brunei that His Highness attended. We later learned that Restoran Ratha Raub also had a branch in the Klang Valley.

Day 2: Raub to Sg Koyan; Betau post

After a quick breakfast of bread and peanut butter by 0630am, we hit the road. The second day was going to be a recovery ride of sorts, and we were supposed to hit the Cameron Highlands on the last day. So, the plan was to ride to Sg Koyan, a small township in the middle of Pahang amidst the Felda land development programme.

The first small town we traversed was Cheroh, a Chinese New Village with a row of coffee shops, small- and medium-sized industries, half-plank, half-brick houses, and temples. Rows of palm oil trees soothed our eyes as we rode uninterrupted, except for a herd of cows criss-crossing the road, grazing their morning chow.

One of the fascinating things we usually see as we drive along the roads is how quirky some businesses’ names are. On this road, we noticed a regular coffee shop named ‘Double Three Kopitiam[10]‘, a direct reference to Hilton’s Double Tree. Perhaps the owner was aware of another restaurateur in Bangsar who got into a legal tussle with HSBC for naming his shop HSBC, too. The Bangsar owner thought ‘Hot Spicy Bangsar Cuisine’ aptly described what he was offering. An Indian family offering Chinese cuisine already had people turning their heads; what’s more, with a catchy name. The multinational conglomerate, Hongkong Shanghai Banking Corporation, which sprang from the tears of the family of a person with an opium addiction in China around the Opium War, thought otherwise. They sued, but it led nowhere. Along the way, too, I saw way too many schools, disproportionate to the area’s population. There were huge Chinese schools, Tamil schools and even residential ones. Perhaps people in this region understood the value of education or that politicians in cahoots with building contractors used school buildings as part of their moneymaking schemes.

In 3.5hrs, we had already completed the day’s intended 73km journey. We had reached Sg Koyan, our stop for the day. Since we had time on our hands and the ride was relatively easy, we decided to add an extra 15km, meant to reduce our burden on the last day. So, we ended the day after riding 88km in about 4h20m.

Sg Koyan is literally in the middle of nowhere. It is a collection area for jungle produce, a centre for Felda settlers, served by a row of shops, petrol stations and a farmers’ market. The only decent rest house, frequented by the rich and famous around here, as we later discovered, was Jelai Inn. This inn is clean, fairly well maintained and spacious. The restaurant, with an in-house chef, prepared various Malay dishes that we can bravely say changed our perception of how tasty traditional Malay cuisine can be—highly recommended.

After going the extra mile on the second leg of the journey, we reached Betau post. Betau is inhabited mainly by the orang asli (the original dwellers of Malaysia). The whole area had been gentrified, with nice roads and a rest-and-recreation area where people could sell their products. The area had received the royal seal as a weaving centre to showcase orang asli handicrafts. From there, we headed into the final stretch.

Day 3: Betau post to Ringlet to Tanah Rata

Selangor River Reservoir enroute to Fraser Hill

From there, the last stretch proved to be the most gruelling one yet. Starting with a slight climb, it increased to 5%, sometimes to 9-12%. The only saving grace was the occasional punctuation of climbs with descents, giving a brief respite to the sore muscles.

Even though this stretch spanned 60 km, it took us 5h15m and featured 1550m of elevation gain.

The roads all along the stretch were very well maintained and wide. They grew narrower, and the traffic grew heavier as we approached Ringlet and Tanah Rata. Nevertheless, we received adequate encouragement from passersby as we drew nearer and nearer to the elusive finishing line, set at the iconic clock tower in Tanah Rata. Thus ended the legendary ride over 229km, with an elevation gain of over 3,520 m and a moving time of 13 hr 53 m.

[1] https://kkbwebsite.neocities.org/Attraction

[2] https://museumvolunteersjmm.com/2024/01/28/the-quaint-little-town-steeped-in-history/

[3] https://www.nst.com.my/lifestyle/sunday-vibes/2018/10/418756/henry-gurneys-final-fight

[4] https://britishmalaya.home.blog/2022/07/29/the-gold-rush-in-malaya/

[5] https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cz7ndzw28v4o

[6] https://www.themalaysianinsight.com/s/271658

[7] nst.com.my/news/nation/2024/05/1048705/pahang-has-rare-earth-resources-worth-some-rm80-billion

[8] https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g2530734-d3963324-Reviews-Restoran_Ratha_Raub-Raub_Raub_District_Pahang.html

[9] food

[10] Coffeeshop

Farouk Gulsara is a daytime healer and a writer by night. After developing his left side of his brain almost half his lifetime, this johnny-come-lately decided to stimulate the non-dominant part of his remaining half. An author of two non-fiction books, Inside the twisted mind of Rifle Range Boy and Real Lessons from Reel Life, he writes regularly in his blog, Rifle Range Boy.

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Musings

Looking for that Goodness…

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date June 15, 2026
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By Farouk Gulsara

Another of my favourite pastimes is immersing myself in true-crime dramas. After listening to case after case, I noticed a particular pattern. The spouse or a close family member would invariably[1] be the guilty party whenever there is a murder. It’s only in fiction that the butler does it!

Then I start wondering: why is there so much evil? I thought the crux of any relationship was the need to protect one’s own kind. How could a loved one have the heart to look into the eyes and see the living daylights just disappear like that? Is that all the human bond is about, protecting and nurturing?

Some talk about the suppressed reptilian mind having to act in accordance with what is deemed normal in civilised life. There is a demand that society act in a particular way. If all our actions are merely acts, and we are just actors playing our roles, then what happened to the ‘humanity’ that humans are so proud of?

In 1961, the world was curious to find out what a man who sent people to the gas chambers looked like! What they saw at the Nuremberg trials was an unremarkable civil servant who made killing a banal act. His aim in life was to be a good worker and to complete the tasks he was assigned. He did not see beyond his duty. As long as his i’s were dotted and his t’s were crossed, he had a good night’s sleep.

Following that observation, Stanley Milgram[2], a psychologist at Yale University, devised a series of experiments to show that ordinary people are willing to inflict severe harm on others when instructed by a figure in authority. In these experiments, participants were asked to administer electric shocks to subjects taking part in a memory test under the experimenter’s scrutiny. The recipients of the shocks were actors who were heard but not seen. The voltage was progressively increased as more mistakes were made. It was shown that 65% of the participants were willing to inflict fatal shocks when prodded. This overrode personal conscience.

That study suggested that ordinary people are surprisingly willing to inflict severe harm on others if instructed to do so by who they consider a legitimate authority. Authorisation may be expressed through words or through inanimate objects that signify power, such as uniforms or white coats. When people view themselves as instruments of something bigger than themselves, they shift their moral responsibility to the authorised persona. Obedience also increases when participants do not see their subject and the environment is imposing, such as when the task is conducted in a university or government institution.

So, where does it leave us? Are humans mere automatons with no agency, easily moulded, moving in herds according to the whims and fancies of the dominant group? As thinking beings who consider ourselves superior to animals and capable of compassion and empathy, we should be able to do better.

Are the events depicted in William Golding’s 1954 classic Lord of the Flies[3] not merely fiction but inevitable consequences of a society descending into violence, savagery and mob mentality?

Despair not. The Milgram experiment has been re-evaluated[4] with particular attention to the 35% who stood their ground and did not bow to the pressure of authority. The original experiments were also conducted with a series of setting variations. When the experimenter was not wearing a white coat, obedience decreased to 20%. When there were two experimenters, and they started arguing with each other, obedience fell to zero. There is also a possibility that conscience overrode authority in these people. Some empathised with the ‘victims’ and felt personally responsible for causing pain.

In 2002, Reicher and Haslam, through their BBC Prison Study, reported findings that were quite contrary to those of Milgram’s. In a simulated prison setting, in an oppressive environment, the prisoners formed a cohesive bond to fight the injustice in the system. They do not conform to the oppressive authority and challenge inequality. The outcome is quite different from Zimbardo’s 1971 Stanford Prison Experiment[5].

All is not lost. There is hope in humans to think, evaluate, and make a mindful decision about what is best for their kind and humanity at large. We are not automatons or psychopathic maniacs who can be programmed to be a wrecking ball. We have the capacity to distinguish right from wrong, moving from blindly following orders to making informed decisions based on lessons learned from life and our past.

There remains a sliver of hope for mankind.

[1] https://bjs.ojp.gov/female-murder-victims-and-victim-offender-relationship-2021

[2] https://www.simplypsychology.org/milgram.html

[3] https://blog.nls.uk/william-goldings-lord-of-the-flies-is-70/

[4] https://www.simplypsychology.org/milgram.html#Critical-Evaluation

[5]https://static1.squarespace.com/static/557a07d5e4b05fe7bf112c19/t/5b84796f352f53d4e6a1ee86/1535408496256/ConsensusStatement.pdf

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Tags BBC, Farouk Gulsara, Haslam, Lord of the Flies, Reicher, Rifle Range Boy, Stephen Milgram, William Golding, Yale University, Zimbardo's 1971 Stanford Prison Experiment

Musings

Living Through Change

By Farouk Gulsara

I had the same feeling during my last visit to my hometown, Penang. After doing all the rituals I needed to, I decided to go for a run around the places I used to run more than 30 years ago.

The quarry where I used to run has now become a cluster of towering apartment complexes. New roads leading to new housing estates were everywhere. Secondary forests had disappeared.

I have noticed this over the years as I visited my mother periodically. The view from the balcony constantly changed as more buildings sprang up and greenery shrank. More renovations were taking place, and fewer and fewer familiar people were seen around. It seems they have either moved away or passed on. The ambient temperature became intolerable. I remember we did not even need a fan to sit in the sitting room; now even the air conditioning seems not enough.

As the days go by, I feel more and more like a foreigner in the very environment where I spent my growing years. I feel like someone waking from a coma after spending 20 years in a vegetative state. It seems as if the world has moved on while I was in deep slumber.

This must also have been the feeling my late mother experienced in her twilight years, when she was unable to keep up with the changes around her. She never could order a ride on her phone. She found a smartphone too problematic. Despite my sisters and me teaching her again and again, she simply could not master it. She found it too complicated. She had to depend on physical paper or TV to consume news. After some time, even reading or watching TV became incomprehensible. I guess she reached a point where she simply let her favourite pastime of keeping up with current affairs just slip away.

I wonder how she must have felt, watching these changes unfold right before her eyes — the eyes that watched pre-Independent Malaya, the people with spirits high as they embraced the new Malaysia, the racial calamity, the new social order in Malaysia, and the seedy, megalomaniac years of the 90s, which saw Malaysia slowly spiral down the ravine of bigotry and discrimination.

Would she have been thankful to have lived through a time of dramatic change, from a black-and-white world to a colourful digital one that morphed into one of virtual reality and deep fakery? I do not think she felt intimidated by all the changes happening around her; she let others live as they wished. For a start, she stuck to her car with a manual gear. For the love of her life, she was never convinced that a car with an automatic transmission was easier to drive. Maybe she lived through the times but did not change with it. She must have thought, “Let others live their lives, I will live mine!”

That brings us to the question of whether there is only one way to live. Is there only one prescribed way to live? Should we live the way we want, while reminding ourselves that others choose their own unique way to carry on? Perhaps we should live our lives the way we want, whilst remembering that others have their own way. Who is to know which is right? One thing is for sure. There would be peace on Earth when everyone is mindful of others. I would take a leaf from the pages of my mother’s book of ‘Life Lessons’ – Just let us live and let others live too.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed are solely that of the author and not of Borderless Journal.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access Wild Winds: The Borderless Anthology of Poems

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Tags Farouk Gulsara, Malaya, Malysia, Penang, Rifle Range Boy

Essay

A Cyclist’s Diary: Jaipur to Udaipur

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date April 14, 2026
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Narrative and photographs by Farouk Gulsara

If one wants to understand the ‘chaos theory’, one has to place oneself at the centre of ‘around about’ — the way the traffic weaves around, observing the traffic go by as everyone swerves to get to their destinations. The one from 9 o’clock reaches 3 o’clock; 6 o’clock reaches 12 o’clock. It does not matter whether the vehicle is following or counter to the traffic flow; it gets through.

Adding to the pandemonium is the incessant honking from all right, left and centre.

Despite knowing all these, after our stint from Kashmir to Leh, India still managed to lure us back. This time around, we signed up for a tour across Rajasthan, from Jaipur to Udaipur.

Day 0: Delhi to Jaipur

After landing in Delhi from Kuala Lumpur late at night, we left for Jaipur the next morning. We had our first lesson in chaos theory that morning. The confusion about transport arrangements, running to get a taxi in a hurry, rushing to an unmarked site designated as Jaipur bus station, waiting for a bus we thought had left, and finally getting on the correct bus were all proof that the churning of the Universe is indeed impossible to comprehend.

Despite all the traffic jams, the packed vehicles and our increasing anxiety not to miss the bus, all the taxi driver could tell us was “aram sey!” (equivalent to saying, take a chill pill).

Jaipur, the Pink City, had its rare February showers the day before. As if to usher in our visit, the large part of the city around the lake, Jal Mahal, was in full gear, preparing for an air show. We managed to catch a glimpse of what the Indian Air Force had in store.

Jaipur showcases a history that built alliances with the Mughals and managed to preserve its buildings and heritage. Their allegiance with the invaders could have been viewed as betrayal by their contemporaries, the Sikhs and Marathas, who were fighting tooth and nail against the Mughals. Ajmer Fort is a massive fort with brilliant engineering.

To top that, there is a stepwell, Phanna Meena Ka Kund, with its intricate geometrical design that has stood the test of time. Jaipur is known as the Pink City, not without good reason. The roads leading to town are paved, lined with multiple red buildings and architectural marvels. The intricacies of Hawa Mahal make it look like a 3-D movie cutout propped against a building. It was too beautiful to be true.

Adjacent to the Hawa Mahal is Jantar Mantar, a UNESCO World Heritage Site that houses the world’s largest stone sundial clocks. One cannot help but wonder: with so much scientific knowledge in their ancient past, how did they just fall like swatted flies when the Western imperial powers walked over them in the 18th century through to the 20th?

Day 1: Jaipur to Sambhar

We started early at 6 am to avoid the morning traffic. Surprisingly, Rajasthanis must be early risers, as even at that early hour, the streets were already bustling with activity.

The itinerary for each day was straightforward. We would cycle daily around 70-90km, with a water break every 20-30km, and reach our predetermined accommodations around noon. There were 12 cyclists; the youngest was 33, but most were over 60.

The route on the first day was mainly flat, traversing small towns and villages, and sometimes haggling with motorcycles, lorries, and buses for space to pass. The trouble is that the vehicle sometimes appears unannounced (with loud honks, of course) and goes against the traffic!

The terrain was mostly flat. It was funny cycling in desert-like conditions, with scorching sun and a cool 20 C wind. The early morning temperatures would start around 15C and reach 23C at noon.

After reaching the hotels prepared by the organisers, evenings would be spent in tête-à-têtes, awaiting dinner, or being shown around town.

Day 2: Sambhar to Pushkar

Starting before the break of dawn, at 6, we began cycling into the dark under the guidance of the bicycle headlight and the road lines. When dawn broke, we finally realised that our view was acres of fields as far as the eye could see. About an hour into our journey, we reached a village, one of the many villages yet to come. The villagers would look at us funnily, not knowing what to make of us, a bunch of fellows cycling at an unearthly hour. All we had to do was hail, “Jaya Sri Ram“! Their look would change, a smile would emerge, and they would raise their hands in unison, in solidarity, knowing quite well that we were harmless and one of them.

Along the journey, we saw many animals that we, Malaysians, would not see in mainstream. We saw peacocks perched on trees and houses. Lining the roads were innumerable cows, donkeys, goats and even pigs.

As the day got hotter, the temperature built up to about 25 °C. Riding in desert-like conditions with no shade from trees or clouds. The interesting thing is that we did not see a single person carrying an umbrella. They were pretty much comfortable, just under the sun, with the ladies in their veils and the men in their turbans.

The main attraction of Pushkar is the rare Brahma temple. Legend has it that Lord Brahma was cursed that He should not be worshipped. The irony of this place is the presence of a large lake amid arid terrain with desert vegetation. It remains an enigma waiting to be answered, just like the mystery of creation and why the Creator Himself does not have a temple of worship.

Day 3: Pushkar to Beawar

Again, the trip started early at 6 in the morning, in complete darkness, along what turned out to be acres and acres of fields. The generic appearance of a village would have concrete roads, a row of shops with large advertisement boards in big Hindi fonts, and a strikingly gaudy combination of hues: yellow, green, and red. This same psychedelic colour combination is mirrored in Rajasthani clothes. The ladies’ sarees and dupattas are so contrasting that they cannot be missed. The same goes for the men’s unique bright coloured turbans.

Cows would seem to roam freely, with their droppings spread liberally on and by the roads. The row of buildings would mostly end with a temple or a school.

The terrain today was mostly flat, with the sun shining at its fullest by 9.30 at 23C. After about 6 hours, we reached Beawar.

For a small town, Beawar has so many mid-range hotels, probably to cater to the numerous businesspeople who come here. Beawar, due to its central location, serves as an important hub for the cement, textile, and wool industries. There is no special iconic monument.

Day 4. Beawar to Kamlighat

Rise and shine, and we hit the roads again. Today’s menu is a gruelling one, cutting through the Aravalli hills.

“What is all this for?” asked a curious onlooker when told that we were cycling from Jaipur to Udaipur. I thought that was a profound question that questions the core of our existence. What is the purpose of anything in life?

This ride turned out quite hilly, mostly along the national highway. Missing today were the tractors with loudspeakers blasting Bhangra beats. For the past few days, we had seen tractors plying the countryside carrying workers and produce, setting the beat for the whole vicinity to get into the dancing mood. Err, but the lyrics were neither inspiring nor devotional. They were suggestive and laced with profanity.

Growing up in Malaysia, we were taught that travelling on a highway was sacrosanct, with traffic rules to be followed and vehicles in tip-top condition. Not in Rajasthan, they are not. One could actually see a whole five-tonne lorry travelling on the wrong side of the highway and honking violently at oncoming traffic as if the lorry’s right to drive on the wrong side was being infringed!

The terrain was monotonous, with rolling hills and a steep 6.5% incline, and the sun was hot from 9.30 am. Being a highway, there was nothing much to see here. About 6 hours later, we reached Kamlighat, some 88km away.

Kamlighat is a small town with nothing spectacular to show. A row of shops, many stalls selling fruits and vegetables, and our accommodation was the biggest building around. A stroll pretty much covers the whole town.

Day 5. Kamlighat to Kumbhalgarh

This proved to be the toughest ride yet. Riding through the Aravalli hills was no walk in the park. It was a slow burn with multiple gradual inclines. The 70km journey ended at the Kumbhalgarh Fort. The fort is labelled the Great Wall of India, the second-longest wall in the world after the Great Wall of China.

There was a light-and-sound show that essentially narrated the glory (and sometimes turbulent) days of Maha Rana Kumbha. He was a descendant of Emperor Asoka and later Rana Rathap, who fought valiantly against the invaders.

Day 6. Kumbalbagh to Udaipur

This proved to be a fun ride. Starting late at 7 am, it turned out to be a short ride, after much heckling and joking. A large proportion of the journey was along national highways; the later detour through the smaller villages proved interesting. A few observations I made as a curious Malaysian passing through the everyday people in the midst of their day-to-day lives are these.

Villages in Rajasthan are no different from those in Malaysia. If in Malaysia, azan and religious sermons are broadcast over the speakers, here in almost every village, it is the sound of ‘Om Jaya Jagadisha Hare[1]‘ and sermons on their speakers. The bottomline is that the majority dictates what is kosher for the masses.

We, the cyclists, were kind of local celebrities among the people, especially among the younger kids, who would wave at us. Some would even come so far as to bump fists with us. Interestingly, even some young ladies who walked along the roads would wave to us. If one were to observe, the ladies would not do the same when accompanied by a male companion. Instead of waving, they would pull down their shawls to cover their gaze.

Addendum

The cyclists shared many pleasant moments on and off the saddle. During one of those tête-à-têtes, the talk about each other’s countries’ politics came up. There was a lot of Modi-bashing among the Indian cyclists — that he had outlived his usefulness and that his every move appeared like propaganda. So I asked them one question, “If there were a snap national election today, who would you vote for?” Without a pause, they all replied in unison, “Modi!” That’s the trouble everywhere. Nobody has a perfect government. Everyone has to decide between the devil they know and the one they do not.

Last day in Udaipur, running around

The cyclists utilised this day to unwind after six days of cycling. The few touristy spots were the target.

First, we visited the picturesque City Palace and scenic Lake Paricha. There was a boat ride around the lake, quite reminiscent of that in Budapest, only that Udaipur had much more to offer. The City Palaces had many sections and a museum attached to them. Pichola Lake is situated in the centre. A boat takes tourists around and makes a stop at a luxurious hotel to give them a taste of opulence. The property opens onto another section of town called Hathipole, which features rows of shops showcasing Rajasthani art, crafts, produce, and souvenirs. Hathipole is another proof of order within chaos. The auto-trishaws and motorcycles weave through the tiny lanes while shoppers still manage to jump from shop to shop, getting their best bargains.

To absorb the Rajasthani experience, one has indulge in their culinary traditions. Two dishes specific to this region are batti, a tennis-ball-sized hard bread made from unleavened wheat flour. It is eaten with dal or yoghurt. Next is lal maas, a fiery mutton dish, packed with chilli and Rajasthani spices.

The day ended with lazing around town and walking the streets of Udaipur. Fateh Sagar Lake offered an excellent view of the various hues of the setting sun on the horizon. It houses a solar observatory station.

Extra day

While we were still in recovery mode, most Indian cyclists returned home. We had one more day to kill, so we went out to explore more of Udaipur, the Lake City.

Still centred around the lakes, we took a cable car trip up to Neemach Maa Mandhir, perched 900 metres up on a hill overlooking Fateh Sagar Lake. It is said to be a powerful protective guardian of a particular dacoit clan.

Next stop was at the Maruthar Folk Dance to sample a traditional Rajasthani Cultural show. Besides witnessing some folk dances, we watched puppet shows and an experienced dancer performing a balancing act with multi-tiered pots on her head whilst grooving to metal petals, bowls, and shredded glass.

To end our visit on that hot day was the mausoleum erected for Rajasthan’s most revered hero, Maharana Pratap and his heroes who defended the region from foreign invaders. The enclosure also includes a museum that relives the glory days when the kingdom of Rajasthan was a force to be reckoned with.

Take-home message

An international expedition like this is quite life-affirming. It is priceless to realise that our mental illness is shared by many around the world. With this healthy obsession, we can explore places worldwide at a quite close and personal level. One is not merely taken to touristy spots, but can see the country as it is, warts and all.

While walking around the Kumbalbagh fort, we encountered a group of 60- and 70-year-old American cyclists, not quite by accident but by what was screaming on their T-shirts. After the usual cursory greetings, we discovered that they were more eccentric than we. These people in the geriatric age group were on a month-long cycling tour around Rajasthan, Kashmir, and Ladakh!

[1] “Om, Victory to the Lord of the Universe (Vishnu), the Remover of Miseries”. A devotional prayer in Hindi.

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Musings

Imprints from the Past

By Farouk Gulsara

It was a sombre occasion. The only sounds audible were the occasional sniffles and a quiet hum of a mantra in the background. The crowd arrived in an orderly manner, circled the casket, paused at her feet, touched them, and raised their hands in reverence. They stopped near the son; some offered a consolatory handshake while others embraced. Afterwards, they found a safe corner to watch the world go on, lost in thought. They wonder if they should slow down, take a step back, and smell the roses. They understand that every passing day brings them closer to the day when they will be the main focus at such an event.

Many who knew her well will remember her 87 years of life and the challenges she faced. Coming to Malaysia as a young, match-made bride from India, she must have encountered difficulties adapting to her new country. Widowed for more than half her life, her children were her constant companions. The recent sudden death of her eldest son took a heavy toll on this octogenarian. It said that the biggest burden that a parent carries is to bury their own child.

The mourners who were there at the funeral were there to pay respect to the soul that had endured all the challenges that life threw at her. Amid those hurdles, she managed to bring forth offspring who helped make the world a better place. The kids, in their own ways, contributed to society and the nation. It is like a 21-gun salute to a fallen hero, minus the military regalia. That is all.

It was an act of gratitude. The rituals symbolised the completion of a book; an immersive one. The covers were closed, but the memory of its contents would linger in readers’ minds for a long time, especially if it was well written. What is a good book in the story of life? That would start the debate about the purpose of life. Why are we here? Is it a reward to be born into a species with higher senses, after enduring millions of births before which were not so glamorous? Is it a test bed for other births to come?

Are we here just to engage in the dizzyingly indulgent experience of being alive? Are we sent here to make some indelible change or leave a legacy?

These questions popped up again after his funeral as I was watching a reel sent to me on social media.

It was one of those rare, civilised discourses on Tamil Nadu TV about the younger generation and their outlook on marriage and having kids. On one side of the auditorium, Baby Boomers and Gen-X’ers[1] were complaining that Gen-Zs were delaying their marriages and even postponing the time they embarked on having children. Their bone of contention was that this was bad for society at large. Society’s in a constant flux, needing new innovations and people with unabashed energy to stay afloat. Only young minds can do this. Delaying this process could be a disservice to mankind, they say.

In defence, the Gen-Zs asserted that we are given just one life. Within that span of a lifetime, we are expected to learn, save, serve, experience and enjoy. There isn’t much time. Bringing a child into the world is a big commitment and a strain on their time and finances. There is no guarantee that they would do as good a job as the generation before them. They went on to say that the world is a dangerous place with predators and with global degradation on the rise, every living day draws earthlings a day closer to annihilation. The fear of passing on harmful genes was also mentioned.

In rebuttal, they were told that no one comes with a cookbook for surviving. Everyone tends to learn on the job, savouring every moment of it, the ups and downs, and leaves the world with nothing but memories. If that is our purpose in life in the first place, this was it.

Then again, the same thought came into my conscience around the time when Renée Good was shot dead by ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) officers in Minnesota. If Renée were not shot, the world would probably not be reading her award-winning poem, ‘On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs‘. As if by a stroke of serendipitous and synergistic coincidence, her poem also explores the interplay of faith and scientific reason in our day-to-day lives. The logical mind tells us something is either white or black. Further exploration may reveal various shades of white, off-white, beige, ivory, and more. There is a confusing line that separates the analytical mind, which complicates understanding, from the spiritual awe that prompts one into submission. In that poem, Renée probably conceives of life as a chance meeting of an ovum and a sperm. Is there a higher meaning for this chance meeting?

To quote George Orwell, “The trouble is every generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it.” In the late 18th century, economist Thomas Malthus postulated that population would outstrip food production, leading the world to starve into oblivion. Subsequent generations, through science, proved him utterly wrong, and we are now afflicted with malnutrition of abundance.

We should not underestimate the next generation to find answers to questions we cannot answer.

Every generation is still searching for the ultimate secret of life. What we are given instead are the red pill of the sciences and the blue pill of unquestionable social traditions[2].

Propagating the race with our progeny may not be the only reason for existence. If such is the case, the world would not remember literary doyens like Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf. Neither would spiritual figures, like Swami Vivekananda and Adi Shankara, who left without children, remain in people’s minds. They left us with chests full of wisdom to help us think.

A perfect life need not be complemented with children. Legacies may be handed down by other means, through passing of wisdom, art or impact.

[1] Baby Boomers (born 1940-64); Gen-X (1965-80); Gen-Y (1981-1995); Gen-Z (1996-2012)

[2] The Red Pill / Blue Pill concept was introduced in the 1999 movie, ‘The Matrix’. The Red Pill reveals the harsh truth about the world, and the Blue Pill lets him stay in comfortable ignorance.

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Tags Adi Shankara, Farouk Gulsara, George Orwell, Jane Austen, Malaysia, Renée Good, Rifle Range Boy, Swami Vivekananda, Thomas Malthus, Virginia Wolf

Essay

Christmas that Almost Disappeared!

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date January 14, 2026
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By Farouk Gulsara

Charles Dickens was flying high by 1842. His books, Pickwick Papers and Oliver Twist, and periodicals were selling like hot cakes on both sides of the Atlantic. With so many fans over in America, he decided to pay them a visit. What he saw in the second-largest fan base upset him for two reasons. Firstly, there was the issue of royalty. Publishers in America were printing his work left, right and centre. He received none of the returns due to him. Secondly, he was upset with the level of racism and their cavalier attitude towards slavery, even amongst the northern states.

Dickens could not stomach the dehumanisation of the black Americans. The vocal and expressive writer, who drew his readers to his craft in the first place, wrote in one of his later articles about his trip to America. He did not twist his words when he wrote verbatim in his American travelogues of slaveowners’ advertisements about their runaway slaves. In one of these advertisements, it read, “Ran away, a negro woman and two children; a few days before she went off, I burnt her with a hot iron, on the left side of her face. I tried to make the letter M.”

A few years earlier, Britain had outlawed slavery, so the British felt a bit of moral superiority over the Americans.

The Americans did not take to this kindly. Dickens’ following few publications fared poorly.

Meanwhile, Britain was also changing.

It was industrialising as its Empire ventured far and wide to exotic lands. With that came the increasing gap between the poor and the rich. The poor remained short of money and short of education opportunities. With the development of science, religious belief took a back seat. Catholicism lost its favour. The Puritans were disillusioned with the material world.

The idea of Christmas and family togetherness was losing out. Work took up most of the time. There were no documented Christmas holidays. The ancient midwinter culture of Europeans had lost its lustre. Many of the Christmas iconographies were viewed as pagan in the UK and the US. The Puritans viewed life as hard, and having joy and fun was scorned. A small proportion of people still wanted to revive the spirit of Christmas.

Against this background, Dickens returned home. His following two books received a poor reception from readers. He resumed his social work, helping the marginalised. At that time, the prevailing view in the UK was that poverty was self-inflicted. The society felt that providing aid to the poor was counterproductive; it made them lazy. People deserved to go hungry for producing so many children, and the Malthusian theory that food demand would outstrip supply seemed to be coming true. The 1840s were known as the “hungry 40s.” Famine was looming.

Yet another layer of population, the reformists, took it upon themselves to help the downtrodden. Dickens was one of those souls. In Manchester, after giving an emotional lecture at a fundraiser to feed and educate poor children, he went for one of his famous long walks.

As he walked the streets, an idea struck him. He visualised a man who had lost all his compassion and had to be jolted back into a complete sense of his humanity. The story helped rebuild Christmas and the compassion that had been lost over the years. The rest, as they say, is history. A Christmas Carol reformed Victorian Britain.

Reference:

From Journey Through Time: 59. A Christmas Carol: The Book That Brought Back Christmas (Ep 1), 25 Dec 2025. Podcast

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Tags A Christmas Carol, America, Atlantic, Britain, British, Catholicism, Charles Dickens, Christmas, Empire, Farouk Gulsara, Malthusian theory, Manchester, Pickwick Papers, Puritans, Rifle Range Boy, Victorian

Opinion

All So Messi!

By Farouk Gulsara

Lionel Messi in Kolkata. From Public Domain

With the amount of information I am bombarded with daily, I often wonder, as one usually does, how all these changes will change society. Are we all going to be empowered, aware, and demanding what is due to us? Will our minds be so open that we can accept that there is more than one way to skin a cat? On the contrary, will we become more aware of the many ways we can be taken for a ride, and so paranoid that we cannot even breathe a breath of fresh air? What if it is contaminated with toxic effluents?

Three recent video clips steered my mind towards this end.

In the first instance, a group of spectators in a stadium in Kolkata went amok. They were seen tearing fences and wrecking stadium chairs and equipment. They had come to see their favourite world-famous footballer, Lionel Messi, interact with fans. Perhaps the organisers had noble intentions that by having these types of exhibitions, more youngsters in India would take up the sport.

Unfortunately, the events of that day were quite different. It became a façade, with Messi surrounded by multiple VIPs and their entourages, all eager to take selfies from every angle.

The crowd was furious that the star was interacting only with VIPs, their children, politicians, and their kin. Messi was seen being passed around like a soccer ball to capture that perfect picture that would one day adorn their study. The ordinary spectators were left drooling, unable to get close enough to see Messi’s scoring actions. Messi was then seen joking around with the exclusive group of kids, kicking a few balls before departing.

The spectators paid good money not to see their hero paraded as a selfie model. They came expecting some action. A show promised to last two hours, but it ended after just half-an-hour when politicians and officials hijacked the event. One trigger, and chaos erupted.

What happened? Were the people in the stadium offended because they felt duped after paying a lot of money to catch glimpses of the hero posing with others and their children, not with them? They believed his appearance was too brief to matter. They thought the wealthy had used the ticket sales for their own pleasures.

Has Messi’s overexposure in the media led ordinary people to claim ownership of Messi? They believe they have a legitimate right to him. Watching others possess their hero while he is kept outside was too much for them to bear. Meanwhile, they overlook that their own football hero, Sunil Chhetri, reportedly the world’s third-highest goal scorer after Ronaldo and Messi, is ignored. Some Indians do not even know who Chhetri is.

Another reel that reached me showed stranded Indigo passengers having a field day berating the frontliners verbally as thousands of flights were cancelled because the airline could not comply with the new aviation regulations. The reel commentator scolded the passengers for their unruly behaviour. People of a certain stature, well-travelled and well-informed, should not be behaving as they did—loud, abusive, threatening, and insulting the ground staff. The recipients were merely lowly-paid messengers who had no control over operations, yet they bore the brunt of every customer’s insult.

The message further criticises the stranded passengers for losing their composure. They should have behaved with more dignity. In their view, flying is a privilege enjoyed by the educated; hence the need to act ‘cultured’ rather than resort to theatrics. The demonstration exemplified the deep-rooted middle-class mentality that seemed to prevail amongst the nouveau riche.

It is too simplistic to assume this. The rot runs deeper. On one hand, there is a feeling that passengers are being taken for fools. Airlines have recently been cutting corners due to the sharp increase in air travel. With so many new destinations, more flights, and affordability, the airline industry has never been more profitable. Making hay while the sun shines is the airlines’ motto. By squeezing pilots, crew members, and ground staff, the owners have had a field day. Recognising this, those in power tightened regulations to ensure air safety. Sufficient time was given to industry players to make amends. Indigo, holding the lion’s share of India’s air travel market, believed it was above the law. They procrastinated defiantly. That, in short, led to this fiasco.

So, were the passengers justified in their behaviour? Some were attending job interviews, some were about to get married, while others were taking part in equally important, life-changing events. All of it was for nothing because profiteers turned into vultures. There must surely be some etiquette in the business. They should have a minimum level of responsibility to follow the law and ensure safety. Instead, they failed. They killed the golden goose.

The failure of public relations to provide practical solutions, leaving customers in limbo about how events would unfold, is a recipe for disaster. And it happened.

In Malaysia, nearly every time after a fatal motor vehicle accident, the public is informed that the driver involved in causing death was driving without a valid driving licence, road tax, or had 30 or 40 unpaid summonses. Each time a suspect sustains fatal wounds during car chases, interrogations, or while in custody, the Malaysian public raises concerns. In defence, the police often mention possession of machetes and criminal records related to the deceased, as if their demise is justified and question why the public should mourn a hardened criminal.

This time, it was different. Police allegedly engaged in a highway car chase and shot three suspects. They soon announced their list of criminal records and provided a summary of the weapons found and the sequence of events. What the police did not know was that the spouse of one of the deceased had recorded her conversation with her partner, and the phone recording continued until after the trigger was pulled.

A day after the incident, the recording surfaced. The gunshot did not resemble a typical shootout but rather an execution. The postmortem report complicated matters further. The bullet entered the nose and pierced the heart, execution style.

For so long, the Malaysian public had been told to believe the various narratives about these kinds of deaths. For the first time, telecommunications tools may reveal what actually happens during police chases in the dead of night. Amnesty International has been warning us that our police custodial death rates are alarmingly high. The police have been dragging their feet on the public appeal to set up an Independent Police Complaints and Misconduct Commission and to equip their officers with body cameras.

Is the damning evidence produced by modern devices a turning point in how policing is done in Malaysia?

Modern life has changed many of our priorities. If, a century ago, the average man was content with decent square meals, enough garments to keep himself and cover the essentials, had a roof over his head and was able to provide for his family, the modern man needs more than that. The world’s modern economy, on the one hand, makes him quite aware of his surroundings. He is cognisant of different ways in which others live their life. On the downside, he has become a little self-centred and hedonistic. Travel to a foreign land has become an essential pastime. His obsession with famous media icons makes him mindlessly parrot his hero. He dresses like them, mimics their mannerisms and worships the Earth they stand on. Not all this work is for the betterment of society.

The fence that separates the elite and the plebeians is crumbling. Certain privileged information was kept from the general public, deemed necessary to ensure peace. Disinformation and uncertainty worked very well to maintain law and order. As information became more widely accessible, we found it helpful to curb abuses of the system. That, however, did not assure peace of mind. As in all things in life, there are two sides to the coin. Even though they may present opposing views, they are actually part of the same coin. The analogy is the same. Humans must learn to accept that everything is a work in progress. Not a single item that Man created has stood the test of time; it has needed constant twirling and re-modelling.

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Tags Farouk Gulsara, India, Indigo, Kolkata, Lionel Messi, Malaysia, Rifle Range Boy, Ronaldo, Sunil Chhetri

Musings

Your call is important to us?

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date December 15, 2025
No Comments on Your call is important to us?

By Farouk Gulsara

I cringe every time I hear this line, during those countless times during my calls, placed amidst the robotic, psychosis-inducing loop of hold music. Funny, this ‘muzak’[1] was meant to create calmness.

“All our agents are extremely busy right now; you’ll be attended to shortly. Your call is important to us.” The robotic voice would go, trying to sound like how a hangman would place a hood over your head before pulling the lever.

“You are the number 999,999,999th customer in line!”

This is nothing new. Even when an alien concept called customer service was introduced in the old days, people had to wait in line to have their issues resolved. At least, the saving grace at the end of this endless queue was a human voice, not a chatbot. Now, after a zillion years of human experience in crisis management, the problem of waiting persists, and we still have to wait in line, twiddling our fingers.

Now that all transactions and dealings are conducted electronically, I wonder why the queue on the telephone line is never-ending. Is there a rush for something that I am unaware of? Are the customers so unimportant or irritating that the company believes it does not need to invest in more agents to handle the increasing demand? Whether it is a Monday or any other day of the week, you can tune in and listen to an hour or so of so-called soothing music, or until your patience runs out.

When you finally reach the end of the line and think it is all over, it is not. Here, you will be presented with a menu so extensive that you will be spoiled for choice. Press 1 for English, press 2 for …, press 1 for savings, press # to return to the main menu, yada yada. The fat lady never sings.

Along the way, you will be forewarned, “anything you say can be used against you in the court of law!”, but not in the exact words.

“Your call is important to us. It will be recorded and be used for training purposes!” Yeah, right.

For all you know, nobody is there at the other end. The single casual employee employed to man the line may be on sick leave with a sore throat or something. The customer line is just to hold a caring image. If a problem cannot be resolved online, how can it be sorted over the phone? The clients have to present themselves in person at the office anyway. Just give the callers some chill music and let them be zombified by the hold music. At a time when AI (artificial intelligence) is taking over mundane tasks, it is not cost-effective to hire dedicated staff for them. This is what the big companies seemingly offering call-in customer service seem to think.

They may have made a devilish deal with the telco companies. We hold the line while the telcos go laughing all the way to the bank on our account. That is why there are frequent dropped calls. It is not due to poor cellular network coverage or a system glitch. It is intentional.

Not to forget the flurry of self-aggrandising advertisements that get inserted while clients wait in anticipation or are doing their down-to-earth activities like cutting vegetables or watering the garden with the phone on speaker mode, realising the futility and wasted effort of holding the phone to the ear.

Customer service is a thing of the past. Now that there are so many online options to address the intended concerns, face-to-face interaction is quite dated. If the customer is too daft to use the services, they deserve to be taken for a ride. Increasingly, automation can handle most compelling transactional issues. If the customer’s problem is too big for the bots to handle, the customer still needs to go to the office.

The problem is that offices are virtual nowadays. Mailing addresses are in the cloud, and offices are shared by a zillion fly-by-night companies. There is a thin line between the modern way of doing business and being taken for a ride. Like the pleas of the stranded Nigerian princes and their stash of heirlooms, a legitimate transaction may turn out to be a scam, too.

[1] Muzak- a brand of soft, instrumental, and smooth non-distracting music designed to create an atmosphere of calmness.

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Tags AI, customer service, Farouk Gulsara, Rifle Range Boy

Musings

Just Passing Through

By Farouk Gulsara

During my early days of cycling, as I trained during the early hours before dawn, my greatest fear was not the darkness. Beyond fearing fear itself, the next thing that frightened me was the possibility of a head-to-head encounter with a pack of stray dogs that throng the country roads leading up to Genting Peres, the border between the districts of Hulu Langat in Selangor and Jelebu in Negeri Sembilan.

The dogs are not from the wild. Some of these ‘man’s best friends’ served as guard dogs for the numerous orchards and homes of indigenous dwellers along the valley. A few packs of dogs must have been abandoned by their owners for various reasons. In Malaysia, a peculiar tradition during the Lunar New Year is to adopt animals based on the celestial animals associated with that year. Dogs, rabbits, and pet roosters are highly sought after until the excitement of the new year diminishes. Afterwards, people often look for ways to discard their pets. Where do you think they end up? Here, at the edge of civilisation. Fortunately, tigers and dragons, which are also animals in the Chinese calendar, cannot be kept as pets for obvious reasons. Imagine abandoning these creatures into the wild after the flavour of the month!

Over time, we occasionally hear of dogs attacking cyclists or cyclists falling off their bikes after being harassed by these canine creatures. The interesting thing about these wild animals is their need for vigilance. Creatures of the wild generally live by the rule of survival. They base their behaviour on constant vigilance. In a universe where ‘might is right’ and the law of the jungle dictates that the winner takes all, a misjudgment could be their last. Their default behaviour is to establish dominance in any given situation. If the opponent appears uncertain, frightened, or even runs away, the animals will try to assert dominance. Conversely, if they seem disinterested or exude confidence, the wild animals will likely just slither away. It is all about exerting dominance, marking territory, and size—these really matter.

Imagine a child who, after being frightened by the appearance of a stray animal, immediately reacts with fear and runs away. This kind of submissiveness can be easily detected by predators. It is 101 in their survival toolkit. Next comes the attack. The more one bows, the more he will be smacked down. This is the law of the jungle before Earth became civilised, but is it relevant still?

We like to believe that civilisation ushers in less violence. A civil society is meant to resolve conflicts through negotiation and arbitration. The higher one climbs the ladder of education, the less one resorts to swords and machetes to prove one’s point. At least, that is the belief we have been taught.

We were also told that we are not the sole owners of the planet. We share it with other beings, both human and non-human, to pass it on to the next generation in the pristine condition in which we received it. Every being deserves its place in the Sun.

Someone from my secondary school WhatsApp group recently sent a gruesome video of a toddler being mauled by a stray dog on a busy street. It is unfair to speculate about the events that led to the incident, but suffice it to say, rabies is quite rare in the community, and the dog was quickly captured and probably put down.

The whole fiasco brought to mind the recent ruling of India’s Supreme Court on stray dogs[1]. After a six-year-old girl died from rabies following an attack by a stray dog in Delhi, society recognised the seriousness of the stray dog problem in India. There are about 15 million stray dogs in that country [2]. The Supreme Court decreed that all strays should be removed from the streets and be vaccinated, neutered, and placed in shelters permanently.

What followed was a farcical display of comedy. Animal activists were furious, accusing others of cruelty for confining animals in cages. The highest courts reversed their decision and allowed the dogs to be returned as strays after sterilisation and immunisation, as if that would reduce dog attacks. Perhaps if the gonads are removed, they would be less aggressive.

Many talk shows and YouTubers appeared in the media, debating the issue and trying to find common ground. Some activists may have lost perspective, forgetting that human lives are involved. They personify the stray animals, attributing more importance to them than to children, and prioritise animal rights and freedom. Some animal enthusiasts even link animal aggression to human behaviour. In my books, children and human lives may take precedence over animals. Some conspiracy theorists went so far as to say that PETA [3]and animal sympathisers are foreign agents to discredit India and maintain the Indian demand for rabies vaccines.

The rising sales of pepper sprays only confirm that we should be more wary of fellow humans than other beings[4]. The increasing avenues for ladies (and men) to call for help in case of domestic or sexual assaults do not speak well of our ‘civil’ society. The ongoing stories about horrific crimes further serve as evidence of these crimes[5]. Leaders whom we elected democratically to protect us are determined to turn the world upside down, aligning with the military-industrial complex. They seek to wage war, not to promote peace. They play the fiddle while their capital goes aflame. They indulge in cakes when the common man has no bread.

We may convince ourselves that we, as a society, have become less violent. As a hunter-gatherer, our lifetime chance of a violent death was close to 15%[6]. In modern times, however, despite years of introspection, aggression still occurs. A growing concern is violence against oneself in the form of suicide, war and genocide against others due to differing ideologies, homicide for self-interest, and killing other animals for recreation. And we call ourselves cultured. Animals only kill for food, territory and mates for the continuity of the species. We do it for recreation during the hunting season, and for a psychopath, it gives him power, control, grandiosity and ecstasy with no remorse[7]. (6)

(P.S. Like how a mafia would walk into the neighbourhood and receive a cursory nod from the town folks, the pack of stray dogs and I have established a working relationship. They do their thing of barking and exerting authority, whilst I simply pass through unceremoniously. It is an understanding between a wandering dog and a cycling dog!)

[1] https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c5yejnze4p1o

[2] ). https://visionias.in/blog/current-affairs/stray-dogs-management-in-india-balancing-public-safety-with-animal-welfare#:~:

[3] People for Ethical Treatment of Animals

[4] https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/chennai/woman-partner-get-life-in-jail-for-killing-her-kids/articleshow/122888742.cms

[5] https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-46269794

[6] https://cliospsyche.org/articles/fuchsman-k-2014-the-complexities-of-being-civilized-clios-psyche-214-256-264

[7] https://leb.fbi.gov/articles/featured-articles/psychopathy-an-important-forensic-concept-for-the-21st-century#:

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed are solely that of the author and not that of Borderless Journal.

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Tags Chinese, Farouk Gulsara, Genting Peres, India, Lunar New Year, Malaysia, Negeri Sembilan, PETA, Rifle Range Boy, Selangor, WhatsApp, YouTubers

Musings

Parenting Tips from a Quintessential Nerd

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date September 15, 2025
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By Farouk Gulsara

The question is, why are we here? What are we doing, and what is expected of us? Is the purpose of our existence merely to continue the propagation of the species? Is there a higher calling to elevate our souls? Can we correct our karmic order to a better footing? Unfortunately, if only we knew where we went wrong last time, we could fix our past mistakes. Sadly, we do not. Is our presence on Earth to raise our species a level higher, whether intellectually or technologically, than a generation before? Is there a greater plan in the pipeline, to consume more and more, heading towards entropy? The less wise among us will be sure of their existence, convinced that this is a testing ground for more magnificent things to come.

Among the lower orders of species, it is a given that the biological reason for their existence is the perpetuation of DNA and the selection of the fittest. Most animals die shortly after laying eggs. Some, like praying mantises and black widow spiders, kill their mates after sex. Salmons lay eggs once in their lifetime, after enduring life-changing experiences to swim upstream, conserving all their energy for their one final trip to lay eggs and then die[1]. At this level, it seems that their raison d’être is to procreate. That is all.

As we climb the pecking order, women evolve to live longer. Some even reach a phase of life way past the cessation of ovarian follicles, a period called menopause. Only in a few species do the females have the luxury of relieving themselves of childbirth and caring for the young towards the latter part of their lives. Formerly, it was thought that only humans go through menopause. Now, we know that besides humans, whales, orcas, and chimpanzees also spend a significant part of their lives in the postmenopausal period[2]. Thinking about it, if the main purpose of life is to pass on DNA and then move on, why do they stay so long without trying to improve or spread the gene pool? It seems like a waste of resources. If it were only for procreation, it would clash with the purpose of existence. They might have to compete for limited resources.

Behavioural scientists who have studied orcas and whales suggest that their pod structure is matrilineal[3]. The older members care for the ‘grandchildren’ to promote survival. Indirectly, they help ensure the continuation of the species. This is known as the ‘grandmother hypothesis’. Their presence leads to healthier and stronger calves for future generations. These older postmenopausal orcas possess a wealth of knowledge to guide the pod in making life-changing decisions such as where to hunt juicy salmon and where to relax in peace.

Elephants that live for a long time, up to around 80 years, can still reproduce quite late, even as late as a 65-year-old female. One may wonder whether inbreeding is a possibility since they live in communities. Fortunately, nature provides a solution for them. Bull elephants, after reaching adulthood, leave their community tribe — a practice called dispersal. They then join their bachelor friends and roam around sowing their seeds. Female elephants remain with their birth herd for their entire lives and do not go through menopause[4]. In the chimpanzee community, dispersal is carried out by the females. They leave their troop when their hormones surge to avoid inbreeding.

So, where does that leave us as humans? Are we evolutionarily programmed to spend a long time in the postmenopausal state? After all, our ancestors rarely reached menopause. Even as late as the 18th century, the life expectancy of a woman was between 35 to 40. Advances in medical care and safe childbirth have extended our lifespan beyond the expectations of our ancestors. It might be an evolutionary accident, but we have adapted to it. It also prevents intergenerational reproductive conflict, as we avoid competing with our daughters for limited resources and reproductive opportunities.[5]

If the continuity of a species is the primary goal of life, then postmenopausal women have fulfilled their mission early in life. Life in old age should be regarded as a bonus. Without a role in transmitting genetic material, they may indulge in pursuits that bring them happiness. They might be catching up on activities they could not pursue during the demanding years of motherhood. The vast wealth of life experiences and street-smart wisdom can be passed on to their children, if the young are willing to listen. They could also revisit their carefree teenage years, which were cut short by hormonal surges during youth and the burdens they carried.

Recently, it has been suggested that living in an extended family can help ease the burden of caring for children with neurodevelopmental conditions. While it does not prevent ADHD or autism, grandparents can be valuable for providing emotional support and practical assistance.[6] They can offer a listening ear to understand the child’s unique needs. Better outcomes have been observed when grandparents live with their grandchildren.[7]

On a philosophical and existential level, it is difficult to precisely define what life is all about. We can discuss endlessly, like a philosopher, until the cows come home and then go grazing again. From a biological perspective, there is no doubt that it is not merely about the propagation of chromosomes. There is also room for acquiring knowledge, disseminating it broadly, and offering a helping hand to make the world a better place.