“Ho’oponopono,” Bikash said, wishing me well.
It was a gorgeous day when he rang. Pockets of fluffy white clouds were dancing with the sun, so graceful and light it felt like I was watching Swan Lake in the bright blue sky. The caws of a black crow, a stark reminder of the demands on earth, distracted me and abruptly ended the ballet. The crow was expecting me to share my bread with it, but it was grossly mistaken. The Mrs was still livid about her missing pork rind that she had been drying for days. They were to feature in her Hakka pork soup on the weekend, a delectable ingredient that everyone zeroed in with their forks or chop sticks the last time she served it. She wrongly accused Murray of stealing them from the clothes stand that the wrinkled pig skin were hanging from. Poor dog, he did not even know he was adjudged guilty without any evidence, for the simple fact that he’s a canine, nothing uncanny about her intuition. It’s as wrong as accusing the Chinese people of being communists simply because of their race.
The crow advanced a few more steps. I took no further notice of it since Murray was vying for my attention. Employing uncanny stealth in its movements, the crow was almost within striking distance – of striking me, I mean, that I almost dropped the plate that was on my lap in my recoil. The evil look on its face and the shine on its black coat made me realise why black crows are such useful props in any scary movie. I told the Mrs the thief that stole her pork rind wasn’t Murray, neither were the thievin’ magpies guilty. It was the damned crow. It stood there, near my shabby shoes, and mesmerised me with its cold eyes. Its demands were clear, there was no ambiguity in its command. I meekly threw a few bite-sized pieces of bread on the ground as a peace offering.
“Ho’oponopono, Bikash,” I replied, not knowing what it meant, except that it must be a good wish.
We were never in the same class even though we were in the same year right through high school in Penang. We reconnected a few years ago in RU9, a reunion of schoolmates of the same year. Covid interrupted the annual event for three years. RU10 was held in May 2023 with a smaller attendance, perhaps many were still unsure about leaving their cocoon for a party. During the reunion, we had a late night drinks session after the grand dinner that was attended by over 150 school friends, many of whom had not met one another for over four decades. Over a beer, Bikash initially surprised me with his diction and command of the English language. Such a well-spoken guy. A worldly man. I thought to myself.
Later in the night, he surprised me even more with his intelligence and grasp of eastern philosophy. He was impressive as a global speaker in all matters of recycling, greenhouse gas protocols and solutions for sustainable industries. In a recent radio podcast, he showed his immense knowledge of and challenges in the industry of which he was an expert and a spokesman.
These guys from the “lower classes” shouldn’t be smarter than me! I whispered under my breath that was by then heavily imbued with remnants of fried noodles and little slivers of steamed rock cod trapped in the gaps in my teeth from the evening’s dinner. Washed with a few pints of beer, my breath did not bother me even as I leaned closer to Bikash during our conversation.
It is not a rehash to sing Bikash’s praises. A worldly man indeed, he was on a quest to save the world.
Bikash called to let me know he may have to miss the dinner I had organised in KL this October. My plan was to meet a small group of old friends over a nice dinner and have a good time. After the sudden demise of Soon Keat and Wei Wah this year, both schoolmates of mine, it suddenly felt imperative that I needed to make time to catch up with everyone, some yet to be reacquainted since 48 years ago. It was to be another fleeting visit to Malaysia, this one even shorter than the last. The day after the dinner would see me in Singapore to attend my youngest son’s solo concert, after which, we would fly back to KL to support a relative’s art exhibition at the CIMB Artober Art & Soul fair.
“Awww, shucks, Bikash,” I said with a grimace that he could not see.
“Why not!” I demanded to know, disappointed that the small reunion would become even smaller.
After he told me why, I realised the crow must have thanked me for sharing my breakfast and left without menacing me, and Murray, the ever-loyal pal, was sunning himself by my feet, his pink wet tongue hanging out of his mouth, shaking in tandem with his panting. He did not need words to tell me he was thirsty. The sun was beginning to be unkind to the black spots on my face, so it was time to return to the house. Very much unlike a mountain goat, I skipped and nearly tripped over the garden hose left on the pebbled path and forgetting my advanced age, I scurried down some moss rocks that served as giant steps to the patio.
What an awesome guy.
I thought of Bikash, not myself.
The man was told he needed to undergo an open heart surgery. It was too late for stents. He was lucky – there were no symptoms which meant he was a walking Russian roulette. It was discovered during a routine annual checkup; a slight anomaly in his ECG was enough to ring the alarm bells. He walked a lot, avoided lifts and escalators. He took the bus whenever he could. He did not wheeze, there were no fainting spells and he wasn’t ever aware his heart was working overtime.
What would a normal person do and what would the reaction be when told to check in ‘as soon as you can’ for such a serious operation? Panic? Get emotional, question the probability of meeting Death? Be cool, organise their financial matters, write a will? As for me, I would probably sit down and cry first, then regret over the things I didn’t do or worse, regret over some of the things I did. Yes, I have said ‘I love you’ to all my loved ones – that’s something I won’t have to regret anymore. When Pa died, it was one of my biggest regrets, not having said I loved him. Fellas of his generation didn’t believe in words, only actions counted. So, I convinced myself Pa knew I loved him, through my actions.
“What did Bikash do?” the Mrs asked.
Bikash thought of others, not himself.
He rang to ask me for my opinion! The proposed date for his operation – “do it pronto, as soon as you can,” advised his heart specialist – clashed with a long-planned reunion in Penang with the surviving siblings in his family. Bikash, the youngest of nine, had planned a you-beaut holiday for the remaining four sisters coming from overseas. A brother in Wales had sent his apologies. The eldest sister, a cancer survivor in her eighties, was becoming immobile and this would very likely be her last trip to the Pearl of the Orient. Bikash did not want to disappoint any of them and was justifying with good reasons why he could easily defer the operation till after their planned holiday.
I am fine, I am not suddenly going to drop dead.
My heart has repaired itself sufficiently for me not to feel any symptoms.
I’m only deferring it for two months, max!
We are very close.
It would mean the world to my sisters that we give ourselves this time to be together.
I can’t be selfish and spoil their holiday.
Bikash K Sinha
Just as I was about to give him my opinion, another caller rang – the third one during the short conversation; he asked to call me back the next day and hurriedly hung up.
“Get a second or third opinion!” I shouted, as the phone disconnected.
The next day, Bikash rang as promised – it was almost noon. By then, I had already made an appointment to see my doctor. I had missed at least five, maybe six annual checkups, three due to the pandemic and the rest due to procrastination and laziness. Bikash did me the favour; the story may be about himself but it was a story that screamed at me for my lackadaisical attitude to my own well-being. In troubled times, I never lacked fortitude yet now, as I approach retirement, at a time when illness or disease or even death can strike without warning, I switch off my survival instincts. Bikash rang me for advise, yet his very action actually woke me up from my stupor. I began asking myself why.
Why have I not bothered?
Why have I let myself down?
Why am I so irresponsible that I do not look after myself?
Why isn’t my health my main priority?
Isn’t our health the most important thing we have?
Isn’t health our true wealth?
Do I not love myself?
Why do I not love myself enough?
Bikash told me his siblings were adamant they must cancel their reunion.
“Get the surgery done yesterday!” one of them said.
It was, of course, a no-brainer. We have to save ourselves first and foremost – that was what I learned from an air stewardess the first time I flew in a plane.
Bikash, always the spiritual man steeped in eastern philosophy, said that throughout our lives, we try to do good in order to feel we have done the right thing. Our kindness and generosity bring some reprieve and perhaps even joy to others and our altruism brings happiness to ourselves also. Empathy makes us more caring, more alive, more in touch with others and gives a better understanding of the people around us. Doing good gives us good karma. Providence is our reward. “So, we do not leverage providence,” he simply concluded.
I was in awe of the man. When faced with his own mortality, he was still thinking of others. He was still talking about not disappointing his siblings. He was concerned about missing our dinner party. He did not want to let me down. He was questioning his right to be selfish at a time when self-preservation was the only thing to do, not something to consider.
Providence is the result
Don’t leverage providence
Bikash K Sinha
Urghhlings 