3 Cheers For The Black Parade

There is a life changing experience, and then there is a rock concert. To see the good in the world. To see the moral of the story. To see beginnings. To celebrate life and death. The complete circle. That’s what My Chemical Romance’s “The Black Parade” album is all about. I was never impressed with their earlier 2 works, so I waved this one off as another over-hyped record. But then came the news that they were performing. Here. In KL. And I thought, what the heck? Just give it try. 10, 20 years from now when I look back, would I ever wonder ‘what coulda been’? Rock acts are rare here, so I should just go for whatever I get. I got the CD from a friend a week before. 2 days later I bought my ticket for the concert. I had no company, no one that was available, so I went alone. What I got was a lifetime of experiences. Memories. Things we saw. Things we wished we saw. Lives we lived. Lives we wished we lived. So many of them were painful, but isn’t that what makes you feel alive? What is it that you want to see? World peace? Equal rights? Silence? The future? Walk into a stadium. Grab a good spot. Listen to the calm before the storm. Watch all the different faces there tonight. Chinese, Malays, Indians, the French, the British. Strangers. Each his own. Then over the next hour and a half, watch the magic unfurl.

“When I was a young boy,
My father, took me into the city,
To see a marching band,

He said son when , you grow up,
Would you be, the savior of the broken,
The beaten and the damned,

He said will you, defeat them,
Your demons, and all the non-believers,
The plans that they have made,

Because one day, I’ll leave you, a phantom,
To lead you in the summer,
To join the black parade”

I think we all remembered our childhood. Those memories at the Floral Parade, and the Independence Day march past. The marching bands that walked past us holding Daddy’s hand or sitting on his shoulders in those huge parades. Parades of celebration, of joy, in all your favourite colours. But there was sadness in his voice. Almost a whisper of hurt. Draped in black curtains. Dripping in the blood of patriots. To remind you that when that day comes, remember them. Honour their memories by carrying on.

“Do or die, you’ll never make me,
Because the world, will never take my heart,
Go and try, you’ll never break me,
We want it all, we want to play this part,

I won’t explain, or say I’m sorry,
I’m unashamed, I’m gonna show my scar,
Give a cheer, for all the broken,
Listen here, because it’s who we are…”

We would have died for the world that night. We would have sacrificed everything for what was right. We sang every verse of this song. Will the world remember how bravely we fought? How fiercely we loved? How still we stood? It doesn’t matter. None of it does. We don't need our names on a wall of marble. We don't need a star on our chest. We don't need a flag on our coffin. As long as they promise to carry on. Stand where you are. We did. And I will.

“They said all teenagers scare the living shit out of me,
They could care less, as long as someone’ll bleed,
So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose,
Maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me!”

The encore could have scared society back to the stone age. It shook the foundations of the teenage world. The song we all sang loudest. It was for every time we opened the morning paper and read about a school shooting. Every time we walked into a classroom wearing a nametag and didn’t know what to think. Every time we saw them dressed in leather clothes, dog collars, lip piercing, topping it off with spike hair. Every time we heard songs like ‘Smells like teen spirit’ and ‘Disposable teens’ and ‘Teenage lobotomy’. It came from the heart, and we meant every word. We were tired of being the bad guys. The ones who lived in a corporate world. The ones who sent young men to war. To their deaths. Listen to our cries, and look at the world through someone else’s eyes. Then you’d understand.

“Mama, we’re all full of lies,
Mama, we’re meant for the flies,
And right now they’re building a coffin your size,
Mama, we’re all full of lies”

Ok, so not exactly a song you would dedicate to your Mataji on mother’s day. Point noted. The song was actually written in a mischievous(I wouldn’t say evil) and funny tone, backed by a very carnival-owned-by-the-evil-circus-ring-master soundtrack. Sort of a tribute to classics like ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’ and ‘The Corpse Bride’. In other words, films that poke fun at death. Gerard Way is one of the most talismanic front men I have seen in rock. He brought this song to life not just with his vocals, but with his ever changing persona from song to song, getting the crowd into the moment. The song was to Mother War, telling her, that at the end of the day, we will see each other again. She was the heart of the world’s despair. The hooker with a heart of gold, and the creep in the gas mask at the same time. It could be in the garden of Eden, or in the bottomless pit Lucifer calls home. Home. A relative term. One that should never be taken for granted. Appreciate it, and love it always.

“I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone,
Honey if you stay I’ll be forgiven,
Nothing you can stay can stop me going home”

It made a lot of us in the audience cry. Or maybe it was just me who was tearing. Trying to disappear in the sea of people. Reminiscing my entire life. The fact that I was only ever living it for everyone around me. The choices I made, the paths I took, the hearts I broke, the life I once led. I knew those moments too well. And here I was, screaming at the top of my voice, complete with hand gestures(only polite ones), telling the world I’m living life my way now. The song was speaking to me. I even showed up at the concert alone, deciding not to cancel my plans just because I had no company. I walked alone. And you know what? It didn’t matter anymore, because I believed in myself. To put myself forward once in while. That’s really all that was asked from me. How could I not tear? My heart caved in from the beauty of the moment. So much had changed in the last 2 years. So much. It was, liberating. I spoke, with words I thought I’d never speak. Awake, and unafraid. Asleep, or dead.

And then the night ended. Or so we thought. Sure, the concert was over. The lights were off. The stadium silent. The streets crawling with cars trying to make their way home after an experience. But to me, that was just the beginning. At the end of all things, begins anew. I just had one of the greatest personal experiences ever. Making my way back to the train station, I knew within me that if I died tomorrow, I would have no regrets. None. I would be peaceful. No doubts or second thoughts. I have loved and been loved. I have gained and have lost. I have suffered and have cried. I put my arms around strangers and chanted to the songs like they were a pledge. I received hugs from those around me, people I have never known my entire life. People I will never know again. There was something behind 10 000 people head banging and bouncing to a band of philosophers. Behind the sweaty bodies and sore throats. And all it took was an hour and a half of silence. Silence to listen to our hearts. We were one voice. A voice that didn’t have a care in the world. A voice that lived the perfect world for one night. We shared everything. We shared our smiles and cries. Some of us came with friends. Some of us came alone. Some of us came as couples. Some of us came as family. And then, we went home a parade.

“We all carry on, When our brothers in arms are gone,

So raise your glass high, For tomorrow we die,

And return from the ashes you call…”

Goodnight Mama.

Love Actually...

… is, all around. I’ve heard that if I should ever feel sad, down, depressed, torn, glum, sorrowful, unhappy, regretful, hopeless, heartbroken, and the countless other ways one expresses that feeling on the days that life is a notch below beautiful, I should think about the arrivals hall in Kuala Lumpur International Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. The arrivals hall. But what I saw that day in the Low Cost Carrier Terminal’s departure hall changed everything. It mattered.

Boy cut hair. Red t-shirt, like a sweater. Youngish, early twenties in my opinion. A chinese couple looking on. Wearing a backpack. Holding the boarding pass in her left hand. Wiping away her tears with her right. But they wouldn’t stop coming. The chinese couple were still looking on, hoping she would look back, so they could give her a smile of encouragement, to keep on walking. But she couldn’t. she just couldn’t. she was now leaning against the pillar for support, with her hand clasped over her mouth, trying desperately to let it all go, and look ahead. I was glued, staring at this scene before my eyes, wondering what was going on. It was like, one of those moments, 10, 15, 20 years after the loss of a loved one, when suddenly we feel alone, alone in the room with the most deafening of silences, and remember how much we miss their presence in our life. And the tears trail down our cheeks as the memory gets stronger.

She gave up. Got tired of being strong. Letting the tears flow, she walked on, to the immigration counter. But she lost her way. All the signage was in English. She wasn’t sure where to go. A few looks to the left and a few looks to the right later, she finally looked back, more out of confusion than that feeling that was bringing all those memories back minutes ago. I went numb when I saw her face. The chinese couple smiled. They called her back to where they were standing, which was just a family away from where I was, using the everyday hand signals. Over the noise, I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying to her in Malay, but one needn’t be born a prodigy to realize they were showing her the right way to her counter. She was still crying. I was still numb. They were still smiling.

She was their maid. Trying to say the final goodbye. going home. Going home and never coming back again. She gave the resonance of someone who’s world had just ended. Someone clinging to the last straws of logic. Someone praying for a miracle. You can argue that she feels this way because of the income she was earning, the standard of living she was experiencing, away from the pressures of family matters. A life she might never see again. Yes, it is. But I’d like to think that its because she was grateful for the kindness the couple showed her, for the love they gave her, the treatment of a human being not needing a better definition. She cared. All I wanted to do in those few moments was just to walk up to her and give her a hug, saying nothing, praying time would heal all her wounds, if she would let it. Hoping it would give her the courage to walk away. I remember my eyes being watery, but I assumed it was because of the dry air coming from the air conditioning.

I saw life in the blink of an eye. I saw a complete stranger break down for a couple she was now calling family. I saw what I wanted to see, restoring my faith in humanity. But most importantly, I saw love. I saw it for the very first time. The way it deserves to be shown. I considered taking her photograph, to remember the moment, but walked away with my family, smiling like I didn’t have a care in the world, but deep down feeling rather insecure. I can write as much as I want, but nothing will better describe what I saw than the moment in my mind. And for once, I want to be selfish. No photos. No videos. Just words. The memory will be for me, and for me alone. As the day I saw love, and knew there was still plenty of it in the world. Thank you, the girl with the red sweater. Thank you.

Roobaroo

"your first flight in a light aircraft brings back memories of the first takeoff you experienced as a child. that big smile carves on your lips. it was so cool to feel the earth struggle to keep you on the ground then eventually let go. in 9 out of 10 scenarios, you yell out a loud 'whoo-hoo!', with your eyes peeled to the window. you watch the runway disappear beneath you. you see the green, the houses, the people. you see lifestyles in front of your own eyes. you see civilization. you see the world the way God sees it everyday. the bumpy conditions are more than welcomed, seeing as light aircraft are easily affected by wind conditions and the occasional gust."

"All in all, it was a satisfying flight, and a fantastic experience. You truly feel like an aviator for the first time during this flight. You have a bird’s view of the earth, and the people around you. You see the true wonders of nature; in its untouched form. you see man's contribution to mother earth. You see no borders and boundaries, nothing but blue skies and open plains. the air is cool. you have never felt air this cold, and so close to the heavens. You feel free, like no one can touch you, and no one can make you feel low. its just you and the air up there. No matter who you are or where you’re from, for those fifteen minutes, you feel like you belong, like you finally have a place in the world. so what if it's 3000 feet above the ground? Some people drive cars, ride motorbikes, go sailing, and go fishing. It’s their place of peace. Where they can connect with themselves. where life feels beautiful for those moments. We fly. We fly for everything that we believe in. We fly to believe. And this is just the beginning."

i wrote that 1 year, 2 months, and 13 days ago after clearing my first solo. and i have never forgotten that feeling. not even with everything that had happened over the last 2 years.

"maha 04 tango, wind is calm, you are cleared to land runway 03".

"cleared to land runway 03, maha 04 tango".

i taxi back to dispersal via taxiway bravo, unsure of how to feel. after shutting down the aircraft, Capt Zul grabs the aircraft technical log, and leaves for the hangar. i don't move from my seat. i'm glued. i close my eyes and try to look in deep. real deep. i think about all the times i've had here. good. bad. stagnant. my friends and the stunts we pulled together. like that time we went around town stealing all the spiderman 3 promotional posters off the lamp posts at 5 in the morning. my instructors and the shit they put us through. like that time my instructor ordered me to get out of the aircraft and run alongside it all the way off the runway because i was taxiing it faster than the standard operating procedure. the scheduling and the delays that proceeded, stretching the course to 25 months from the original allocated 14 months. all those times we spent in our rooms, with the air conditioning cut off during the day, wandering aimlessly, waiting for 5pm when the schedule came out, praying once for the rest of the world and twice for ourselves, so that we may fly the next day. how do i want to feel? how do i want to walk away from this? when i look back, will i know that i made the right choice? i know the answer. i had been practicing it over the last one week. its going to be perfect.

just to prove that i'm guilty as charged. there were 3. i gave one away to my young cousin.

200 hours. and they were all over. i earned every single one. i unbuckle my seat belt, collect my navigation log sheet, put it in my nav bag, grab the pitot cover, and step out of the aircraft, locking the canopy in place. after placing the cover on the pitot head, i reach for my nav bag. the following are its contents at all times :- aircraft flight manual, the CRP-5, the douglas protractor, a folder with spare log sheets and flight plans, pencil case, sony discman, sennheiser headphones, flight training report, map, log book, letdown charts, and 'a heartbreaking work of staggering genius'. i take the headphones out with the discman already set to track 10. i place them over my head, adjusting the length, and press play. the guitar comes in, and i smile like the terminator, only with a touch more realism. i wish there was someone i could hold on to and never let go. the moment is perfect. and the song never stops. it never stops.

The Lord Of The Rings

A circle. a closed curve which divides the plane into an interior and exterior. a special ellipse in which the foci coincide. a conic section attained when a right circular cone is intersected with a plane perpendicular to the axis of the cone. a ring. a shape. one with no beginning and no end. perfect. that's what God is. that's what the Kara is.

"Early science, particularly geometry and astronomy/astrology, was connected to the divine for most medieval scholars. The compass in this 13th century manuscript is a symbol of God's act of Creation, as many believed that there was something intrinsically "divine" or "perfect" that could be found in circles."(Reference: Wikipedia for circle)

The Kara is a gift from the guru to constantly remind us that our will at all times must be god-like. the Kara in every aspect represents God's true nature. we wear it on our hand. we, to politely put, 'wear god' on our hand so that every action we perform is one fueled by pure thoughts. yes, god is everywhere, and yes, god is in each and every one of us. but how often do we look within?

In the tenth month, you were made into a human being, O my merchant friend, and you were given your allotted time to perform good deeds." (Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji page 76)

Every man is born to make another's life. no matter how unimportant we feel our lives are, we affect the people around us. a kind word. a gesture of good faith. the stand for all that is right. that's all. if only with every breath we took, we remembered that.

This is the true nature of the Kara. this is why it is one of the 5. now can we all stop referring to it as a 'ward for evil spirits'?

Come Home.

T.I.A.

“Sometimes I wonder, will God ever forgive us for we have done to each other? But then I look around and I realize, God left this place a long time ago”. 200 000 child soldiers. A life for a stone. Civil war for years. This is Africa. I saw it for the 7^th time last night. I teared for the 7^thtime. How do I go to bed every night with the promise of a beautiful day ahead? How do I go about my life knowing people are losing theirs? I have never seen any film that has left me feeling so helpless. I don’t understand why it means so much to me. Why it hurts every time I watch it. Why I watch it again.

I talk about changing the world. That’s it. I talk. Children die of starvation. I shed a tear. Then pass the newspaper to someone else. Massacres happen all over. I scream outrage. Until the next commercial comes. Life moves on in an instant. She said, “people back home wouldn’t buy a ring if they knew it cost someone their hand”. Did the diamond rates fall? It’s pointed out in the film that we are led to believe that diamonds are rare. But who are we kidding? What has changed? Did we even flinch? All we manage is a sigh, and say ‘what is the world coming to?’

You know that something has hit you when the credits have been rolling for the last 10 minutes and you haven’t even flinched. You continue to stare at the screen, even you if you’re not looking. The last two hours flash before your eyes in bits and pieces. You just want to get on a rooftop and scream. And cry. And scream again. Sorry. I keep forgetting that this is supposed to be about me. I generalize too much. It’s almost like I want to hurt in order to feel happy. I caught myself doing it again. Grabbing the skin on my chest that covers my heart, almost as if I was trying to tear it off. It’s been more than a few times. Life just gives me these moments to feel alive.

Look at the photograph. Now look closer. In this scene, he is standing in front of a standing ovation that’s waiting to hear him speak for the world, for the voice of those suffering from the chaos and bloodshed. What do his eyes say? What are they trying to tell us? They look like they have been crying for generations. So much that the trail of the tears on the cheeks has just become natural. Just another facial feature. Believe it or not, he was not tearing in this scene. I noticed this when I saw the film for the third time. I couldn’t digest it. I just couldn’t.

“My heart tells me that people are inherently good. My experience suggests otherwise. What about you Mr Archer? In your long career as a, journalist, would you say that people are mostly good?”

“No. I’d say they’re just people”.

And the world dies one life at a time

Any Given Sunday - Peace by Inches - Pacino

The video i promised in my first post

The 9th Day Of The 2nd Month

To Mataji, Pitaji, and Harkiren

Date: 09/02/07

Time: 13:30

Setting: 2 hours before takeoff

Message: I love you

9^th February 2007. 4 students performing navigation exercise number 10. Langkawi to Penang to Alor Setar to Langkawi. Eddie, Izwan, Azlan, and Hargobind, in take off sequence. Just another day in flying school.

Izwan and mE in Nando's

From Vicky

Date: 09/02/07

Time: 15:08

Setting: During stop-over in Penang

Message: Dey don 4get my Nando’s order man! I’ll kill you if you come back without the chicken :)

9^th February 2007. Hanging out in Nando’s in the Penang Airport. Called Eunice to see if she was in town. Ordered take aways for the guys back on campus. Just another day in a flight to Penang.

The last photograph of Azlan before the crash

From Lavan

Date: 09/02/07

Time: 18:49

Setting: After landing in Alor Setar

Message: Dude, first of all, thanks for not giving me your sortie. U ok or not? Pick up the damn fon la!

From Murali

Date: 09/02/07

Time: 18:55

Setting: After landing in Alor Setar

Message: Harry, murali here. My aunt will pick you up from alor setar airport at 8pm. Just sit tight k?

9^th February 2007. Azlan encounters an engine failure. Crashes in the water south of Aman Island, 5 minutes from Penang. Eddie and Izwan make it back to Langkawi safely. I am ordered to make a full stop landing at Alor Setar Airport and spend the night in town. The beginning of a new type of day.

From Mataji

Date: 09/02/07

Time: 20:21

Setting: At Murali’s aunt’s home

Message: Thank God you are safe. What have they planned for you now?

From Mataji

Date: 09/02/07

Time: 21:54

Setting: At Murali’s aunt’s home

Message: Ok then good nite. God bless you. We love you dear

9^th February 2007. Having dinner with Auntie Krishna and family. Dressed in clothes not belonging to me. Sleeping in a bed new to me. My first time in Alor Setar. Azlan is saved by local fisherman uninjured. Placed in Penang Hospital for monitoring. Quite the irregular day.

The guest room in Aunty Krishna's home where i spent the night. Lovely family.

From Manipalian (Manmeet)

Date: 10/02/07

Time: 21:17

Setting: One day later, back in Langkawi

Message: Hi hargobind,how r u?=) heard abt d ’adventurous flight yday, glad evrythng ok=] me currently tied dwn wth sportsday;>tc, huggies! Satnam –manipalian Manmeet

10^th February 2007. Aircraft is recovered from the sea. The full story repeated by me to the students on campus over and over again. All aircraft are grounded for a week for inspection. Life goes on.

From Coach Sukhbir

Date: 12/02/07

Time: 00:07

Setting: 3 days later

Message: Dear hargobind, heard abt ur friend’s accident, so glad u r fine and pray for ur friend.. miss u as always. Lots of love. Satnam

9^th February 2007. The first engine failure in our flying school history. The first crash I have had first hand knowledge about. My first stay with an Indian family, and they made me feel like family. You know what they say. There’s a first time for everything.

Messages were also received from Paven Singh, Ajit Kaur from Subang, and others that were unfortunately deleted due to storage limitations before I got this idea of typing them all out. My many thanks to all of you who took the trouble to send me your messages. It was an eye opener to see how much one person’s life matters to those around him. And I was not even involved in the crash! I will end with the famous words of Roberto Benighi that you have probably seen countless times in my messages to you. ‘Life is Beautiful’. Cheers……….. Written on the 20^th February 2007

No Pennies For These Thoughts. No Penny's Worth That Much

3rd july 2007. sometime at night. a regular phone call for me. one that i get every couple of days. the people that mean the world to me, making sure everything is fine. my health. the food. flying. we talk. the same way you tell someone who knows your schedule how the day went. silences in between. wondering what to say next. finally, all formalities aside, its time to hang up. and then i say it, without the least bit of realization. "goodnight Phenji". goodnight. phenji.

Phenji. a distant word. a regularity as a child, but something happened as i grew up. during the last 10 odd years. it became Harkiren this. Harkiren that. just, Harkiren. sister became a word i used to describe the alien life form living next door. the one that got me into trouble. the one that shared my parentage god knows how. everything seems like a lifetime away.

i went back to my room that night. thinking. realizing. the last memory i have of hugging her and calling her phenji as a child. the day Mataji and i picked her up from school in the Ford van we used to have. the school main gate. a rare occasion. mum always picked us up from the back gate. the one with a proper bus stop. i was sitting in the front row. behind the driver's seat. phenji comes in, and yells that she got 4 A's for UPSR. the day the results came out. Mataji reaches back from the front and hugs her. breaking apart, i remember her exact words. "aren't you going to hug your sister?". i do. along with a 'congratulations Phenji'. a forced hug. influenced by a 3rd person. a term i used at my parents request. that was my last memory. it hurt. to think that's all i had to offer as a 'brother'.

i tried saying it again the other day. during the next phone conversation. it never came. not a peep. that part of the sentence muted. like the word "morphin'" from the Power Rangers theme in our early days as kids for its resemblance to the drug. medical or not. so much for being easier the second time around. you know when its hard to say, that it means something. otherwise, it becomes just another word. that's all. a means of communication. no. not anymore. everything changes. from this moment on. i will prove my worth as a younger sibling. an idiot next door. a brother.

i don't care if it makes a difference for her. it may all sound the same. but i see Pitaji calling his sister's 'Peyna'. and i see that look in his eyes. and i think, that makes all the difference.

A HitchHiker's Guide To The Prestige

4 seconds is a lifetime. the words of al pacino in the movie 'any given sunday'. the movie that has one of the most inspiring speeches of all time. i will past the video on my blog to show you the strength in his words, despite his age. i never thought i would ever start a blog. i honestly didn't. i in my time have viewed too many blogs that are more the day to day accounts of non-existent lives. my believe was always that when you share with the world, share with it an experience. share with it, your love. share with it, that moment. the one that mattered. the one that made, all the difference.

that is what i intend to share with all that i have come to know and love over my lifetime. the things i discovered about myself. the times when life tore me apart. the times i put it back togather again. my love for my Guru. my passion for rock music, for what it has to say to me. my parents, for the role they played in my life. for saving it, one day at a time. my sister, whom i have come to greatly admire and miss. my cousins, whom i shall never let go. ever. my friends, without whom life's pleasures would cease to exist. my teachers, from all walks of life. this is my moment. this is what matters. and thus, does my story begin. with the first post.