Peradeniya Continues to Charm

"It's a beautiful day", a passer-by greeted me.  I nodded in agreement but started to wonder what was so special about this day.  It was Fall 1980, College Station, Texas.  I was new in town, just have come from Peradeniya, which was home to me for about six years prior to it.

I have spent 21 years at five Universities in four countries, as a student, Assistant Lecturer, research-associate, Professor, Head of the Department, Director and Dean.  I think my life as a student at Peradeniya was the best, it was full of life in the most beautiful environment.  I was naive,young, but equally wanted to be someone important.  Must be the age.  Being a residential campus, Peradeniya helped forming bonds and relationships - not just with fellow students and Professors, but also with the place itself.  This University is modeled after University of Cambridge, and I agree, Cambridge is beautiful (in Summer) and its buildings are far more majestic than what Peradeniya has.

But the hills of Peradeniya are more beautiful, and River Cam is no match to River Mahaweli, which dissects Peradeniya Campus.  Galaha Road is the main artery.  Most of the residential Halls are on both sides of this road, placed at the valley bottom, or the gentle slopes of the hill.  So, are Colleges (we called them Faculty) of Medicine, Agriculture, Science and Arts, the Senate and the Library.  Not to be missed are the Arts Theater, where 'art' movies are filmed periodically, and the open air theater.  I have seen amphitheaters , mostly ruins of them, in Italy and Jordan.  The one at Peradeniya is much smaller but natural.  Existing hill-slope is made into tiers of seats in an arc formation, and the stage is at the lowest but center-point of the arc.  Shade is provided by those huge trees with flowering wines crawling on them.  When the breeze comes, these trees and wines shed flowers, mesmerizing those around.

As you walk through Galaha Road, in addition to Residential Halls, Faculties and Administration buildings, you will sight places for worship, for Buddhists, Muslims and Hindus.  If you are game enough to climb up the hill then there are churches of different denominations.  Along the hill slopes, there's always a man or a woman cutting grass for fodder, they swing the cutting blade in a rhythm, that cuts the grass at a constant height from ground.  Human Mowers, I guess.  They are from the villages around, do not get in the way of University students and their lives, but add color to the landscape.

Combination of residences with Colleges on Galaha Road, ensured steady traffic of young - boys and girls - at day light and twilight hours.  Almost everyone walked everywhere.  The slopes are not suited for bicycles, and motorcycles and scooters were beyond reach of almost everyone.These parading groups of girls, full of colors - skirts and blouses, and saris (only the Tamil ones at the Faculty of Arts had to wear it - not sure why such a requirement - although I have no complaints), were a treat to the eyes.  Yeah, there were boys too - but invisible to me most of the time, except of course, they were joined with their girlfriends, strolling along the lovers lane.  When it rains, both get into a small umbrella, cover their heads, and bodies touch-and-go, and their backs soaked in water.  Well, if this is not romantic, I wonder what else could be.

I returned to Peradeniya in 2010, the place still remains absolutely wonderful.  Very few new buildings along Galaha Road, but boys and girls, trees and shades all remain the same.  Although I have heard of difficult times and horrible stories at Peradeniya during JVP times, I did not see any evidences of it.  I suspect that the Hindu student population must have gone down since the seventies, but, the Hindu temple looks new, well taken care of by the generous Indian business men in Kandy.   I visited some of my friends who are Professors there now, living on University Houses within the campus.  All I could think of was that these houses are built within gardens - not a garden in front of the house.  It's just green everywhere.  For some reason I felt that there are more monkeys than what I could remember, and those grass cutters must have found better sources of income - hill slopes are now full of bushes.

I understood why it was a beautiful day in College Station, as I lived there for six years, that means six summers.  Winters are livable, Fall and Spring are OK.   But at Peradeniya, everyday remains beautiful, and it keeps on charming me!

Graduation from BPL to LMC

Just in case if you wonder what these are, BPL, Below Poverty Line, LMC, Lower Middle Class.

Yesterday I was in a village in Bihar, named Mukundpur.  For historians Bihar is Magatha, the State where Maurya Dynasty flourished - Chandra Maurya and Asoka came from here.  For the political strategists  this is the land of Chanakya.  For Hindus, it is the state where Varanasi and Gaya are (where Rama did final rites for his father on his way to exile), for 300 million Buddhists around the world, Budh Gaya, where Lord Buddha attained Nirvana and for educationists this is the home of Nalanda, the first University town in the world.

Bihar is one of the poorest Indian states, despite the presence of mighty Ganga, abundant but seasonal rainfall and vast alluvial plains.  It is home for 104 million people - some of the best and brightest IAS officers come from here, but there are villages,one after the other, where 100% of the population is below poverty line.  Some suspect the statistics - people under report their income to receive some benefit from the Government, but it is largely poor.  During the recent 7 years a new CM is making a difference, but, it will take time.  Previous ones largely plundered the state coffers and thrived in chaos.

I was in the house of a Village Group Leader which reminded me of our home in Jaffna when I was a kid.  I sat on a broken, old, but, a strong chair in a veranda.  Must have been a very good wooden chair some years ago.  The veranda floor was polished with cow dung, roof was supported by wooden pillars about three meters apart.  Roof was not high enough, so, one need to bend to get in.  The way I remember things at our ancestral home in Jaffna.

This village head lives under BPL, that will make my family living under BPL some 50 years ago.

As I grew up, we graduated from BPL to LMC.  The mud floor was cemented, roof was lifted, and half walls were built around the veranda.  Still, we did not have a lot of clothes, food was often very basic, fish once a week, chicken once a month, and on festival days, mutton once or twice a year.  My elders were better disciplined as Hindus, and vegetarian food was the norm for about three to four days a week.  When fish,chicken or mutton was not on, we as kids could expect half of a omelette for one of the three meals.   Still family debt grew, I frequented pawn shops and banks to pawn family jewelry, and for most part of my young life, our family home was mortgaged.  To me this was LMC.

The experience as a LMC kid has permanent marks in me.  Despite making a good income, I am comfortable when I do things the way I did many years ago.  Walking, biking and busing are fine, and being in a sarong without a shirt at home is pretty cool for me.  I enjoy a one dollar dinner often, and occasionally, I have had two hundred dollar dinners.  One exception is whiskey, I prefer a deluxe one over  ordinaries, may be because, I never had alcohol when I was LMC.

I am  very natural when I deal with LMC in India or elsewhere, often to the surprise of my hosts.  They expect an expat to be somewhat different.  The BPL/LMC attitude is still within me and I feel very good about it.

Mathura & Brindavan - A Tourist's Recollection

These two cities are halfway between Delhi and Agra.

Mathura, where Krishna was born and prisoned, and Brindavan is where he danced with Gopikas, 1008 of them.

There is a shrine in Mathura - a flat rock - which was supposedly Krishna's bed in prison. It is incredibly flat and smooth for a rock, as if someone consciously smoothened it.  This bed is inside a cave, so, it could have been easily be a room or a prison cell.  Worshipers go through one 'large opening' and come out through the 'other'.  Next to this shrine are two places for worship, one a mosque, built by the Mughals.  Not sure who it was, so you see a lot of Muslims.  The second is a very modern Krishna temple, built recently by Birlas.  Well maintained, noone asks you for money or anything, there is a lot of Prashad, very spacious  bright and roomy.  Because these two shrines are next to each other, the whole street leading to the temples are under high security.  Almost nothing other than the person is allowed.  Police will take responsibility for your belongings, and return when you return.

Brindavan is an area of about 2 ha, 1008 trees of same kind are found.  Very interesting type of trees, more like wines, no clear trunk, and these 'trunks' go around each other, like a man and a woman embracing, strong enough to support the canopy.  These trees are said to be the Gopikas - embracing Krishna and dancing.  The belief is that the trees become Gopikas at nights, and dance with Krishna.  No one goes there after 8 pm.  Those who attempted were blinded by the lights from the garden, so we were told. Well that's the belief, but next to the garden are flats, so not sure what the residents of the flat would tell.  All trees are drip irrigated now, but wonder who were irrigating them before and how.  In addition to the trees, there are two shrines, one is (was) the bedroom.  Now they are cemented buildings, not big, just enough to keep idols and photos of Krishna and Radha.

Outside the garden, there are all sorts of small temples and hundreds of 'priests' who swindle money from you in the name of God, Annathanam and so on, and we too got sucked in.     

Brindavan is not in a clean surroundings.  Real shame for garden of worship.  The garden itself is kept clean, the roads leading to them are not.  I even saw a pig, pissing in the drain - good pig!  A lot of Indians piss on the streets.  

I took my daughter there, 10 at that time.  She is almost twelve now.  I asked her this morning what she remembers about these two places.  She said 'lot's of Cow pooh', and 'smelly'.  This is what my daughter remembers first.  Then she went on why these places are significant to Hindus.

Not sure why Indians do not pay attention to cleanliness.  As a kid I was taught cleanliness is godliness.  Not around Brindavan though.  

Jaffna Returns

I was born in Jaffna, and except for two years of primary education, I did all my primary and secondary education in Jaffna.  My grand parents, parents, uncles, aunts, teachers, school mates and neighbors shaped my ways as I grew from a kid to an adult.  Although my life in Jaffna is only 15 years, about 25% of my life, I proudly claim that inside of me there is a boy from Jaffna.

Except for two weeks in August 1984, I was absent from Jaffna from 1980 till 2010, for many reasons.

My first return to Jaffna in 2010 was arranged by my close friends from Bibila!  During the 30 years, I have pretty much lost all contacts in Jaffna.  The trip was brief, just four days.  We, my friends and I stayed in a hotel, drove anywhere and everywhere I could think and remember.  My family home, our neighborhood temples, my school, and of course the land marks like Keerimalai and Nallur temple.  Only the priest at our family temple recognized me from my voice.  Few others have heard about me or remembered my mother or grand father.  I was a stranger in my own land (Sometimes I wonder how dare I make this claim!)

I felt that Jaffna was frozen for the 30 years I was away.  Nothing has changed, except some remnants of the war such as the bullet ridden railway station.  There was no trace of the railway track, it has now become a dirt road.  Steel and timber have disappeared.  Bicycles are being replaced with motor bikes.  Temples, Tuition Centers and Schools looked healthy.  Army check posts all over.  Most damaged government buildings - post office, high court, library, Municipal Council etc. had been rebuilt.  Bus stand was busy, so were the street hawkers.

My second return was in 2011, again for four days.  This time I went alone, but my Bibila friends' friends provided accommodation on Wyman Road.  The host was very warm, showed me the room.  I set my bags, and went for a walk, looking for a bicycle.  I walked into a corner shop, and asked the manageress where I could rent a bike.  She looked at me quizzically, and asked if I had come from overseas (Must have thought I am from a different planet).  I said, yes, and waited.  She then said that there are no such things as bicycle renters in Jaffna anymore, but she would not mind lending her bicycle for two to three hours.  I was happy, went to Nallur, which was nearby, and then to Kalladdy, my neighborhood, and cycled around for three hours through the streets and lanes, I thought I knew well.  Well almost.  At one intersection, I could not remember if I should turn left or right, a good Samaritan walked to me and offered direction.

I returned the bike and went to my accommodation.   The host was worried that I have disappeared.  I told him what I was up to, he wondered why I did not take his vehicle.  I said Jaffna is better on a bike.  I then asked if he could arrange a bike for me for the next three days.  He did not have one, but someone who worked for him was able to lend one.  I was happy as if I was a boy, I went around two to three hours in the mornings and two to three hours in the afternoons.  Always returned before sunset, there were still some Army check posts.  It was then I realized, that my Jaffna was a circle with two km radius with my home as the center.  Kalviankadu to the South, Manipay to the north. Pannai to the west, and Kokuvil to the east.  Is this all, I knew?

Jaffna still looked like an orphan, there was no signs of reconstruction.

I have just returned from my third trip to Jaffna.  It was the first trip for my daughters, and a trip after 23 years for my wife.  I am now bold enough, got a friend in Colombo to arrange a guest house and a car for us, and we were on our way. The car was a new Prius, Toyota's new Hybrid car.  Very comfortable.  The driver spoke a bit of English, polite and helpful.  The roads from Colombo to Jaffna is second to none in the world, but there was hardly any traffic, once you are out of Colombo.  Having lived in Delhi, I started to wonder where people have gone.  There were still a few check posts, but, largely the Army is invisible.  If you pay close attention, then you will recognize a few camps.

Met a childhood friend who too have returned to Jaffna after living in Colombo and Vavuniya.  Had dinner at her place, typical Jaffna dosai with chutney powder, and curry leaf sambol after many years.  Very good.  Drove around Jaffna, to temples, to Casuarina beach and so on, mostly for my satisfaction and my wife's.  I also took my family to an islet -Nagadeepa - their grandmother's roots.  My girls were amused at the way we lived as kids.  They were polite and cooperative, but not hugely excited.  They were in a foreign land.

This time Jaffna showed some life.  Houses inhabited were done up, had a new coat of paint - multi-colored I must say.  Very typical Jaffna walls.  Most streets in Jaffna are done up too.  Many bottle necks for traffic have been removed, and many roads have been widened.  Some land marks are GONE.  Subhas Cafe and Damodara Villas are no more.  There are guest houses in every street.  Mostly empty homes owned by Tamil Diaspora are now converted into Guesthouses.  The guesthouse we stayed was almost new, just 40 USD per night, clean room, clean bed and clean bath room.  Served Jaffna cuisine and western.  They even had a wood-burn pizza oven, just the way they are in Italy or elsewhere.

Uninhabited houses were falling apart, in most cases fenced well.  Well we are talking about Jaffna, we are particular about our fences here.  A mixture of well renovated houses and dilapidated houses, dotted with well maintained temples and schools now define Jaffna landscape.  The bazzar shows life too, shops filled with goods, mostly cheap Chinese and Indian products.

Overall, Jaffna is returning as a hub of economic activity, but there are casualties.  In particular, Vavuniya, the frontier town for thirty years, is now losing its importance.  With very good roads and public transport, no-one even stops there for a drink.  The population is about 25% of what it was during the war.  People have returned to wherever they were from.  So, are Colombo suburbs like Wellawatte.  Pressure on housing is less here.  There is virtually nobody in the islets around Jaffna - Velanai, Pungudutivu, Karaitivu are all EMPTY.

I have now returned to Jaffna thrice, and I can see Jaffna too is returning.  Over all, I felt some connection, but not a strong one.  Affection to land is there, but, without friends and family around, it is not home.  I will keep going to Jaffna, the temples in Kaladdy are draw cards.  Else....

Incredible Indians

I had always been a fan of India, and I still remain so.  Their promoting slogan to tourists, Incredible India, is very appropriate.  The commercials show incredible landscapes, temples, dancers, musicians, wild life, lights and colors.  Its just incredible.

There are other incredible things too.  One day I was at  a bus stop and counted different types of commuters,  - there were all sorts of two wheelers, rickshaws, three wheelers, vans and buses of various sizes and shapes, and of course cars of various ages and costs.  Oh, I should have mentioned the dogs and the cows.  Too many to count, its just incredible.

I am also a critic of Indians.   Its  easy, they leave a lot to be desired.  I have previously expressed my disgust over the level of hygiene in India.  Not sure why it does not bother even the most educated.

This time my ire is on the educated Indians holding responsible positions, they are just super confident, arrogant, and have no respect to any one else.  Often, they are in haste, ill informed or vexatious.

Examples?

Recently I had a nose congestion, its not difficult to get nose congestion if one breathes Delhi air.  The ENT surgeon of a prominent Delhi hospital, put a probe through my nostrils, looked in, and two minutes decided that I needed a surgery.  I was hoping that he would recommend some drops, to de-congest.  I politely asked if I could have a nose drop, he then prescribed one, it did the magic.  Later, I asked a pharmacist  in Pretoria, who suggested another nose drop which is better for daily use.

There's a leading research center in India, with whom I like to collaborate.  Found a researcher to work with, then her boss interferes, I stayed out and let them resolve; then I thought of collaborating with one more person at the same center, but the first one is not happy.  I had to back out.

Recently I had to interview and appoint a person for a position, a Kenyan, and Indian and a Burkinabe competed, the Kenyan won (it was close call between the Kenyan and the Indian), now the vexatious Indian is after blood.

A state govt is providing subsidy to a technology, in the free market the technology costs 150000 INR, the state Govt estimate is 470000 INR, then it subsidizes 86% or 410000 INR, and the farmer pays 60K.  The alternative technology will cost the farmer 60K (so, he has a Toyota instead of a Nissan), the required subsidy and the cost to the tax payer should be 90K, instead it is 410K.  Tax payer is losing, but who is gaining?  The bureaucrats and the politicians?  Are they ill informed or is this all intentional?

In most instances bureaucrats largely look at an issue or a request and think why it should not be done, instead how things can be done.  A purposeless one.

The doctor was in a haste to make money, the researchers' egos block their mission in life, unsuccessful candidate is vexatious, policy makers are ill informed, and the bureaucracy is largely a purpose less one.

These educated Indians are incredible, seriously.

A Hyena (was in disguise as a Coroner)

I am not a wild life expert, but whatever I have heard of hyenas is not complimentary. They are known to be scavenging animals, live off the dead left by hunting animals.  Occasionally they as a pack hunt by isolating their prey, then attack the prey, till the prey meets its slow death.  It so happened, that I witnessed a pack of hyena hunting down a dear cub, and I almost felt that the hyenas were enjoying their hunt, the poor cub had no chance to escape.  It happened when I was on a safari in Northern Zambia, I did not like what I saw, but, in a way I witnessed a rare sight.  My summation was that, hyenas feed on defenseless preys, and they reminded me of a coroner at Kalubowila hospital in the outskirts of Colombo, Sri Lanka.

In August 1996, my mother had a sudden death.  She was walking around, fed my newly married youngest sister of 27, then felt sick, walked into the toilet to vomit, which turned out to be blood.  My mother had a history of ulcers.  We did not know how severe it was.  My sister and brother in law took her to the hospital, but on the way she died.  One, if not the saddest moment in my life.  It so happened that I was at Colombo Hilton that night, but by the time I arrived at the hospital, I could only see my mother’s body lying on a stretcher in the basement.  The hospital refused to ‘admit’, because she was already DEAD.

The next morning the body was transferred to Kalubovila Hospital mortuary.  We were at the mercy of this hyena, which was in disguise as a coroner.  We required clearance from him, so that we could execute her last rites.  We as a family waited and waited for hours.  Interference of a family friend, who happened to be a lawyer, did not help either.  The Coroner refused to budge.  He wanted us to proof no one killed my mother!  Bizarre isn’t it?  If we the family had suspected that my mother was killed, we would have been the first to complain and find out. 

We were not the only ones, there were many grieving families waiting for his nod.

We waited the whole day, and around 4 pm, he said that he will allow her to be buried, not cremated.  He was of the view if that murder was the case the body could be exhumed for further investigation, if necessary.  We as Hindus believe in cremation of the body, the physical matter held in the body – carbon, minerals and water – are returned to earth. 

We did not know what to say.  Our family friend continued his discussions with him and finally around 6 pm, the coroner agreed for cremation.  It was time for him to go home, and he was clearing the backlog.  He has done the same thing to all.  I saw him going home; his face brimmed with a smug of a victor.  He has almost prevailed.

I am still not sure if he was after money  - in that case we would have given him what it takes.  He has preyed in defenseless grieving people, and drew an enormous satisfaction for himself.  Just like the way the hyenas do.

Even after 20 years of my mother’s death he disgusts me.  I never disliked anyone, the way I dislike him.  I do not wish that he goes to hell, only because I am not sure if there is a hell.  I hope he is still alive - the brain is active to feel physical pain, and he suffers as much as those who he victimized. I am sure hundreds who suffered because if him, will agree with me.

He is (or was) a hyena,  he preyed on the defenseless.  I wish he reads what I have written about him.  

Brush with Police

An incident yesterday prompted me to reflect on my interactions with Police over the years, so here I go.

My first brush with Police came in 1961, I was seven years old.  My father will walk me to school (Bambalapitiya Hindu) in the morning; I will hold his hands and cross a main road (Galle Road).  My school finished around 3 pm, I will walk to the main road, wait at the pedestrian crossing, a police officer will hold my hand and help me cross the road.  I will then find my way home (17 Castle Lane, Bambalapitiya) and narrate the details to my mother – how smart the police man looked and how kind he was and so on - a new Police Uncle every day, and my mother will smile at my innocence.

In 1970, now I am a teenager, I happened to be in Jaffna Town around twilight hours on a bicycle, finding my way home.  It was not dark yet, but my bicycle did not have a ‘head light’.  I was stopped at a make-shift Police barricade, detained for a couple of hours, many more joined, at around 8 pm, all bicycles were loaded into a truck, so were we.  We were at Jaffna Police Station, told to squat on the floor, till cases were filed.  When my turn came it was almost midnight, and I was allowed to go home.  Our house was about 5 km from the Police station, I literally ran fearing the dogs which may chase and possibly bite me.  I had to go next day to collect my bicycle, and two days later, a local Magistrate dismissed the case.

In 1977, I was in Jaffna during University vacation, a friend of mine and I went for a late movie which finished just after midnight.  We went to a tea boutique, had a cup of tea, and were at the counter paying our dues.  A Police jeep stopped in front of the tea boutique, and an officer walked towards me.  I thought he was going to ask me for something, instead he slapped me strong and hard.  Another one did the same to my friend.  We just RAN………..

In 1981 summer, I was staying in a trailer home at Weslaco, Texas, a town in Texas along Mexican border.  Around 8 pm or so, I went to throw garbage, without taking the key to the trailer home.  A strong wind shut the door, and now I can’t get in.  I asked my neighbor to call the site manager.  Instead, he walked to my house, took a credit card, slid it between the door and door-frame, lo and behold, the door opened.  He then said that, he is a Police officer and he had to know everything the burglars know.  We had a laugh, he has never met a Sri Lankan, and we became friendly. 

In 1985, I was charged by a Police officer in Houston for exceeding speed limit at a school zone, and the fine was 80 USD.  It was a big amount in 1985, for a graduate student especially.  I pleaded him to cancel my ticket.  He advised me that I could appeal to the local Magistrate, which I did.  The Magistrate agreed to cancel the ticket, if I attend a defensive driving course run by the Police.  It cost me 20 USD, and eight hours of listening to lectures and watching videos.  It was well worth, getting the ticket, and then attending the course.  I still remember the lessons I learned.

In 1987, I was stopped by a highway trouper between Dallas and Fayetville.  He said I was doing 65 MPH in a zone for 55 MPH.  I said no, it can’t be right, he was half convinced, walked around the car and noted that my tire size was somewhat bigger than what it ought to be.  Hence I was travelling at 65, but my speedo meter was registering 55.  He said he will give me a warning, and I should change the tire soon. Phew….

In early nineties, my wife and I lived in Griffith, a sleepy country town in New South Wales, Australia.  Around 2 AM someone knocked on our doors, we woke up, and opened, to see there were two young cops.  We haven’t closed our car door properly, the internal light was on, and noticed by the patrolling officers.  They shut it, and then woke us to tell – which they are required to.  Thanks, but, they could have shut the door and left.  There was a smug on their face, which told us – we are just having fun waking you up.  It’s OK with us too.

Between 1996 and now, either I or my drivers had to pay bribes in Lahore, Madras, Patna or Delhi for traffic violations.  Police in this part take advantage of traffic violators to get rich.  I have become used to them.  When they approach me, I think of beggars in Police uniform.

It was the event yesterday, which brought all these memories.  I was in Little India, a part of Kuala Lumpur, hailing a taxi.  It was just after a shower, I was a bit wet.  A new white car went passed me and stopped.  The man at the passenger seat called me, and I assumed that he was going to offer me a lift. 

Well, I was wrong.

He introduced himself as a Police Officer –did not show any ID, and he and his driver were both in mufti.  I worked it out that the passenger must be a Senior Officer, because the driver was not joining the conversation, but gleaming in pride at the way the passenger was talking to me.  He was trying hard not to look at us.

The passenger asked me what I was doing.  ‘Hailing a cab’, I replied.

‘Where is your passport?’  ‘It’s in the hotel, but here is the ID given by the Hotel’.

He looked at it and then said that I should have made a photocopy of my passport and visa pages, and carried with me.  I said sorry.

Interrogation continued.

‘Are you carrying any drugs?’  ‘No, I do not even smoke’, I said wryly.

‘Well if you cooperate, I will make it easy for you’.  Now it’s a threat, and he showing the ugly face of Police. ‘Come near’, he was still in his passenger seat, so, I walked closer to him. 

‘Empty your pocket’.  I had a camera, a phone, a wallet, and a handkerchief.  All pockets were bulging.  He went through my wallet a few times. I had an equivalent of 100 USD in Ringgits.  Then frisked by tummy and moved his hands to my abdomen area, while sitting on his passenger seat.  This was on a public road at 5:30 PM in full day light.

‘You are embarrassing me, I am a Professor’, I said assertively.  He returned my stuff, and left.

So, what do I make of Police in my life?  Overall, only a few do their duty, I think.  They were good – like the men who helped me cross the road, I respect them.  Most are bad, like the uniformed beggars in Indian sub-continent.  There is no difference between them and criminals.  I pity them.  Some are real ugly.  The guy who slapped me and the one who embarrassed on KL streets – very ugly, I reckon.  I detest them.  They have a sick mind, and abuse their power, because they know that they will get away. 

I hope they do not.