God and the 3-foot Putt

The objective of the game of golf is to put the ball into the hole with as few strokes as possible using any of 14 clubs you have in the bag. Every shot you hit, whether its 300 yards with your driver or a 6-inch putt into the hole with your putter or with any club in between, counts as a stroke. Even if you hit the ball 200 yards with your 3-wood to 2 feet from the hole, which is an amazing feat, you still have to putt-out i.e. put the ball into the hole with your putter. You do not get exempted from holing out even if you hit a great long shot!

Many golfers, including pros, suffer from an infliction called “putting yips”. When attacked, they cannot hole a three-foot putt to save their lives. And once you are attacked, you can never be totally cured of the “disease”. It comes upon you at the most crucial moments in a game, most famously when Bernhard Langer missed a four-footer to lose the Ryder Cup in the early nineties.

I am one of those who suffer from yips in a chronic way. The long game is natural to me because of my tennis and hockey background. I don’t hit the ball super long but I hit it straight, seldom losing my ball in the roughs or hazards. But on the greens, I am really bad. In my early years at the game, I attributed my poor putting to my natural personality trait of not liking to finish off a task. I always start things off very well but I find finishing, like cleaning up after messing up the kitchen, pretty mundane. I also used as an excuse that having a killer instinct has never been a strong point of mine. I used to miss sitters in tennis quite regularly. But the real reason I believe is fear; fear of being embarrassed by failing to accomplish something even a five-year-old can. Gradually, this gets transformed to giving up even before I execute the stroke. “What’s the point of trying if it never happens?” In golf parlance, this is called defeating yourself. Eventually, you are overcome by complete despair. “Oh, God! Why is this happening to me?” Starting five years ago, I actually freeze over the ball, not able to move a muscle, getting out of it with jerky stabs at the ball. A 3-foot putt can end up 8 feet away from the hole. This, of course, compounds the agony.

I am actually a good putter but only on the practice green. I have a smooth, flowing putting stroke that many envy and my directional orientation is superb. On a flat surface, I can hit a one-inch target from 20 feet quite regularly. So the problem is entirely mental or psychological. It’s like one of those phobias people are inflicted with, like the fear of heights. How do you overcome it?

Late last year, I came across a book by a golf psychologist. Imagine that, an entire book on putting! I read it cover-to-cover and back again. I put into practice the advice contained and lo-and-behold, my putting improved. My handicap went down by 4 strokes in six months! Given that, statistically, one can only play to his handicap only 25% of the time, this is a remarkable feat indeed, even if I say so myself. And then, after the Ramadhan lay-off, the yips came back. In one game last week, I four-putted 3 consecutive greens, which is ridiculous.

This, of course, set me thinking again. Ironically, this is one of the recognized causes of yips: thinking too much. But then, how do you solve a problem without thinking? Even if the answer is to do nothing, it requires thinking.

The major advice in the book is that the most successful putters putt instinctively. Just decide in which direction you want to putt and stroke the ball. Don’t think about whether your clubface is open or close, your backswing and follow-through or anything technical about the stroke. Just let your natural instinct take over. To give up control is to gain control, it says. I was following that advice for six months with reasonable results and suddenly it deserted me. At first, I was stroking the ball well enough but was simply choosing the wrong lines. If I decide to putt straight, the ball breaks; if I decide to take a break (aim outside the hole) it goes dead straight. After a few such occurrences, I started giving up even before executing the putt; I approach the greens with fear of 3-putting and finally, the dreaded freeze set in.

After one such outing last week, I muttered to my playing buddy that the reason it’s happening to me is that I lack faith or “kurang iman”. Huh? You see, for years now, whenever my children are about to do something significant like taking an examination or entering some sporting competition, I tell them to say “Bismillah”, do their best and accept the outcome (Tawakkal). I haven’t been following my own advice. This, to me, is the meaning of Qadha and Qadar, one of the articles of faith. Things wouldn’t happen for you without effort (seldom at least) and even your best effort might not bring about the desired outcome. It’s all God’s will that you’d do well to accept. And, even in the face of the greatest of setbacks, you need to stay committed to do what you think you should do. One is not truly a Muslim until he is aware that he is dependent upon God in all his pursuits, no matter how trivial.

Now, will this reminder to myself improve my putting? Insha’Allah.

The Story So Far

I posted the following on my MC batch’s EGroup. Somebody thought that it was a good idea for us to share our life stories so as to know each other better and enhance our closeness. I thought I should share it with you guys.

I was born in Kota Bharu on 6th April 1956, officially named Kamarudin with 1 'd' but somehow called Puding by friends and family. This was bahasa baku'ed to Pudin at MCKK. The corporate glamour name KAB got stuck onto me at Bank of Commerce.

I am the 5th of 6 siblings. Actually there are 3 more, from a different mother. My father was a businessman-cum-politician-cum-religious teacher. He had a few shops selling books, batek and sports goods. He also had a stall at the Odeon cinema in KB. So I grew up amidst batek making paraphernalia at home, books in the shops and walking in and out of the cinema as I pleased. Politically, my father was UMNO. His religious credentials made him a much sought after speaker during elections. He even stood as a candidate for the state assembly in 1962. My uncle told me that that probably caused his business to deteriorate. By 1968 it was a mighty struggle for him to keep the business alive. But then, that’s another story.

My elder brother Zame was in MC batch '70. Because of him I fully expected to go to MC in form 1. I devoured the college magazines and newsletters he brought back cover-to-cover. I knew all the college personalities then and the various annual prizes for English, Debating, All-rounder, Chess, Sportsman etc. that was part of the college tradition. I set my mind to be the Best 5th form all-rounder even then. It was quite a heart-break that Kamil Hani pipped me to that accolade but I guess he deserved it more. They did give me the Sportsman of the Year Award as consolation, though.

When they announced there was going to be no form 1 intake when were in std six, I broke down and cried right there in class. Yup, I cried a lot in those days. (But I didn't cry when my mother died on 13th May 1966. That is, not until the first Raya without her).

I decided to state Systems Analysis as my chosen career during our scholarship interviews because I didn't want to be a doctor or engineer and telling them I really wanted to be an accountant would have meant not going overseas. I had no clue what it was about. I was introduced to the term by Rik, of all people. They sent me to Bristol to do A-levels. One of my classmates was Azizah, Ilham’s wife, who should be made a Datuk soon. When I realised that more than 75% of those chosen to do Computer Science were females, I had a serious doubts about my chosen career. I went to Manchester U because they offered a joint honours programme with Accounting. I reckoned that this could give me the option to do CA after my degree. But laziness put paid to that idea.

I started working at the Accountant General’s Dept still not knowing what a Systems Analyst is supposed to do. I soon developed the idea that I would be most useful if I am allowed to change how things are being done in business. With this mindset, there was no way I could stay long in government and I left after 3 years. Joined now-defunct Bumikonsult and talked Latiff Ishak into joining me. Left after 3 months when I got cold feet about being able to draw my salary. Joined Sime Darby Systems in 1983. Stayed until 1985 when again I was enticed by another start-up Bumi company. This time, I lasted 6 months, leaving when I discovered the owner was discounting fake invoices with Bank Islam. (Come to think of it, my first 3 employers went bust). Then followed memorable stints with UEP and Bank of Commerce. At the bank, I was in the process of being converted to a banker when MJI talked me into leaving for EDI Malaysia where I had the most gratifying years of my career 1993-1997. Then I was called upon to replace MJI at Time Engineering knowing at the onset I wouldn’t last long working for Halim Saad. I walked out on him when he accused me of “conning him into approving investments” that I tried hard to convince him not to do. I have not had a proper job since.

Post-corporate world, I have been working for a banking software company on a retainer basis. Good arrangement really ‘cos I do not have to work 9 to 5 and I get to travel a lot. I also have made a couple of investments that have turned out very well, Alhamdulillah.

Family-wise, I first got married in 1982 to Norlina Abdullah who was, before that, known as Renata Liporado. She stuck around for 3 years, deciding I wasn’t worth it as I don’t know how to appreciate her. I re-married in 1988, to Maiza, sister of Pahmi of Batch ’76. We are still married even though I still don’t know how to appreciate my wife. God bless her.

My first child, Hanim, is an uncertified genius. She decided that instead of working for decades to save enough money to retire to a small village by the sea, she was going straight there. She is a dive instructor, now temporarily immobilized by the arrival of delightful child Bahri (Bahri Sahaja). Her husband is a German refugee from western civilization who doesn’t own a single pair of shoes. They used to live on a friend’s boat anchored on Sungei Kilim, Langkawi. The arrival of Bahri forced them to live on dry ground but not for long. They are now in the midst of building their own boat to live on at Pulau Duyong.

Ariff, my eldest son is a Malay College reject. Luckily, he managed to sneak into Halim Saad’s school (just after I walked out on him) in Malacca. He is every bit like me except he doesn’t play tennis, preferring rugby. He is now studying economics in the states, generally living the life I wish for myself. He has just been to see the US Open.

Second son Azam is now doing his A-levels at Lembah Beringin while the last two, fraternal twins Tirah and Mirah, are doing theirs at Taylors. Yup, Maiza was constantly pregnant for 30 months!

It has been a good life generally. I consider the failure of my first marriage the biggest disappointment of my life but my darkest day is still the day I got caught smoking by Crow in Form 5. I deserved the punishment and the shame that came with it but did I learn anything? I still smoke a pack a day!

Currently, I must admit my major pre-occupation is to reduce my golf handicap while struggling against materialistic instincts of myself and family and to be a better Muslim.

Tennis Anyone?

Everyone who knows me knows that I love sports, whether participative or as spectator. Why? Maybe because when you are involved in sports, you don’t do small talk and I hate small talk. Growing up, back in Kampong Puteh, there were lots of sporting activities going on. We used to play football in the garden of the Police Officers Mess (We called it Padang Polis) bordering Che Mud’s lot and a rubber plot. It wasn’t much of a field, couldn’t have been more than 20 metres long and goals were marked by slippers. But we had fun, especially when chased away by the Police Officers waving their pistols at us threateningly.

Malek Maulud

Malek was my senior at MCKK. What I remember most about him at KK was that he was sent to DC (Detention Class) almost every week. He must have held the record for being sent to DC most most number of times. Either him or Moideen Koyammu. I don't know what he did after MC but our paths crossed when I was at Time Engineering. My predecessor, MJI, recruited him and he frequently came up to see me just to talk cock. Malek always has a smile on his face and always seem to be easy-going and gets along with everyone. His was a humble job, somewhere in the Accounts Dept. but I always had the impression that this guy was brilliant and had character, and that fate could have dealt him a better set of cards with which he could have attained a higher station in life. I learnt later that he has nine kids, moved to PD a few years ago, had a bypass last year and since losing his job with a software house, has been struggling to make ends meet through various means.

Today, I found out he suffered a stroke yesterday. I called his son, also an old boy, who I met recently to find out his condition. It didn't sound too good and I drove down to Seremban Hospital, 3rd class ward. He is in a coma. Only his lungs are still functioning. The brain hemorrhage is too severe for any operation to be useful.

His wife was calm and collected by his bedside, patiently explaining to me his prognosis and that many friends have called enquiring his condition, offering prayers and support. You could tell she was already building resolve to continue life without her beloved husband, making plans to provide for her large brood, some of which are still in school. Her frozen food business is doing fine. Atarik (eldest son's employer) has ordered some. Anas (important person in MARDI) has offered to help. Malek's business activities need to be followed through. She has to settle something PERKESO, etc.

I am quite sure they'll be alright. God provides for all His subjects, somehow. Rich or poor, it's the same. Everyone has 24 hours of existence per day in this life. The greater the pain, the bigger the pleasure upon relief. Any food will do just fine when you are hungry but when you are not, servings from a fancy French restaurant might be difficult to swallow. Yup, I am sure they'll do alright, albeit without the Ipods, X-boxes, fancy cars and expensive restaurants in their lives.

Just got the call. He has passed on. Innadillahiwainnaillahirrajiun.

Principles of Kamalism

Kamal was my brother, yet he was more my father (his words). We were born 8 years apart and you could hardly say we grew up together. Yet, I adored him.

One of the earliest memories I have of him was when there was a row between us and our neighbors, Che Mud's family. There was a fruit tree, what we called "Buoh Kerhiak" (It's probably extinct because I have never seen it anywhere else in my life. The fruit has reddish skin of similar texture to langsat, size of small grapes and very sour), that grew on the border between our land plots. It might have been on the border but we had always regarded it as ours and I spent many hours swinging from its branches. However, on that day, Che Mud's family, led by Zaki, who was Kamal's age, staked a claim on the tree. There was a huge ruckus and we were close to exchanging blows when Kamal grabbed an axe and threatened to cut the tree down! That put an end to the argument.

Kamal left home in 1964, to study at St. John's in KL, when he was in form 4. There's another story to that. There were loud grumblings in the family when Kamil, the studious one among us and who always topped his class, failed to get selected to go to MCKK. That was the first time I caught the sense that there is injustice in this world. Apparently, he didn't get a place because the Kelantan quota was taken up by rich, well-connected people. Tok Ayah didn't take it lying down. Using his connections, he managed to get Kamil a place in St John's and it was decided that Kamal was to go as well to accompany him, staying with some relative. I don't know how long he lasted there but years later, he told me that he passed his MCE through self-study. He got sacked from the school for being caught being in a district of KL that was notorious for gangsterism. Tok Ayah was clueless about that. Kamal told him about it only on the day he graduated.

He came back to KB for his sixth form and I remember him having a whale of a time, zipping about the town on a Vespa (I can't remember whose) and sometimes Tok Ayah's car. His photo collection comprised scenes of beach parties with his class-mates and the like. He had a portable record player on which he played songs by Cliff Richard, The Strollers and The Animals. He was a natural leader and a few of his followers remain loyal to him to this day. During those days, he maintained a note-book that he titled, in his beautiful handwriting, "Principles of Kamalism". The first entries, I remember, were

1. Rules are meant for fools. To the wise, they are mere guidance.

2. The ends justify the means.

I now know that these were hardly original but to an impressionable 12 year old I was then, these were gems of wisdom.

Over the years, I hung on every word he uttered in my presence or wrote to me. Here are some samples:

1. Words can hardly describe how the heart feels - in a letter to me after Kakla was born.

2. If you want to be hurt, you can be hurt by anything - his response when told that a nurse cousin of ours was upset that he didn't look her up when he was at the hospital she was working at.

3. I may not pray 5 times a day but I am a better Muslim than most people I know - complaining about the many people who wear kopiah but are corrupt.

4. When I drive at night, I am always first to put my headlights down when there is an oncoming car. But if the oncoming car doesn't do the same, I'll turn on my spotlights - in other words, trust the other person. But if your trust is betrayed, hit him hard.

5. You go in through the front-door, you go out through the front-door - advising me to discuss my wanting to leave government service with my bosses before making a final decision.

6. When you work for someone, you have sold your time to your employer - advising me against moonlighting.

7. You put together a man and a woman long enough, they'll start thinking they are in love - explaining his choice of Cikha whom he was giving a ride daily to work.

8. I don't mind standing for election, so long as I don't have to campaign - response to someone who challenged him.

9. If I got a license to shoot someone, it will be the head of DBP - expressing annoyance at the bastardization of the Malay Language.

10. Never beg, even if you have to sell goreng pisang - advice to his children in his final days.

11. Only stupid people get divorced - one day in Temerloh.

12. I was wrong - years later when I sought his advice about my broken down marriage.

13. There are only 3 professions for women - doctor/nurse, teacher or house-wife.

14. He can tuang school as much as he likes, so long as he turns out to be at least like me - regarding Oee in Gua Musang.

15. I can't understand married couples who have separate bank accounts.

16. The best way to give is for the recipient not to know you are the giver.

17. You are already stupid. You watch all those Malay dramas, you'll become more stupid - remarks to his servant girl.

18. Ghoyak Cikpo - his often used dismissive remark.

19. Like postcard - describing scenes in his beloved KESEDAR scheme.

20. Best in the world - he used this so often to describe things he likes that one of his nicknames was Kamal Best.

21. We appear arrogant because we are always on the side of truth.

22. I got this lump on my back - he never used the dreaded "C" word. 

23. The treatment is worse than the disease - on his chemo treatment.

"Only the good die young", sang Billie Joel. How true that is of him. He was my value shaper, influencing how I see the world. How I regret that on the night before he died, he requested that I sleep beside him, and I actually slept soundly. I had no idea he was dying!

TiraMiraaa!!!!

Congratulations, Tirah and Mirah, for getting such excellent results in your SPM. Proud of you. Actually, I am more relieved than proud, relieved that you were not disappointed by your results. You see, children never disappoint their parents. We love you no matter what. It's just that sometimes we are concerned that delinquencies you indulge in and bad habits you acquire, will lead  to harm for yourself in the future.

I am also proud of myself that I have managed to overcome the knee jerk reaction I acquired from my father - the tendency to encourage negatively. When I got third in my class, he demanded, "Why you didn't get first?"; When I got 8 A's in my LCE, he asked, "How come only 3 A1's?". In that case, he actually took me for a celebration - ice cream at Cold Storage, the most posh place in KB then. However, he managed to spoil it by paying the bill with coins (from selling at the sweet stall at Odeon cinema), as if silently telling me that he can't really afford it but he's making a big sacrifice for me. In my less enlightened days, eg. when Kaklong came running happily to me to announce that she got straight A's in her Std 6 exam, my response was, "Yeah, you and a few thousand others". Poor girl!

Sure, the wisdom of devaluing A's in public exams is highly debatable. But having caught a glimpse of the breadth and depth of the SPM syllabus, even if you memorized the answers without understanding, it's still a tremendous achievement.

You must have put in a lot of effort to get the results you did, motivated by your peers, teachers and to some extent, us, your parents. But I think you have merely inherited the culture of excellence that has been prevalent in both my family and Mama's. In my family, our parents never had to tell us to do our homework, study hard or get a certain number of A's. It was just a silent expectation. To some extent, there was pressure to do better than our older siblings. Cik Mah once complained to me about this. But to me, it was just our circumstances. You see, where we lived in Kampong Puteh, KB, we were sort of isolated. All around us were families who were related to each other but not to us. Our own relatives were gathered in 3 other places, mainly, in  Lorong Gajah Mati, Kampong Kubor Kuda and Jalan Masjid. And they were further divided into the Nik's and the non-Nik's (have's and have-not's). Quite a few of the poorer side of the family depended on my parents for their livelihood. On the other hand we felt looked down upon by the rich side. To cut it short, we must have developed a kind of siege mentality, one that drove us to be better all the time. Uncle Kamal was the first to get into University from our kampong. Uncle Kamil and Zame were pioneers in going to boarding school. The pressure was so great that before Kakjah died, Kamal made a pledge that all her children will go to university.

As for me, it was recognized early on that I was the "gem" among the siblings because I was achieving so much with so little effort. But Tok Ayah never allowed me to rest on my laurels. "Hmmph, Uh! Ding gaaaak eh!". That's his infamous sigh of exasperation with me. I don't think I ever got a direct gesture of approval from him. Mine was the first batch that sat for nationwide standard 5 assessment exams and I got straight A's. I got straight A's in LCE (PMR) as well. Needless to say, these were rare achievements then, rare enough to get me into the papers. High achievements of course meant high expectations. For my MCE, I only got 3 A's. I was so afraid of Tok Ayah's reaction, I didn't tell him my results. He tracked me to RMC where I was playing a tennis match for MCKK. I broke down and cried, there and then on the court, the moment I saw him. I can't remember how I managed to finish the match. Kamal saved the day by pointing out that since I got C3's for my other subjects, I was close to getting straight A's. God bless him. But this sense that I am never good enough persists to this day!

Why am I telling you these old stories? It's just that I never want you to feel the burden of expectation the way I did. That's why I often tell you, "Before you do anything BIG, say Bismillah, do your best and tawakkal (accept the outcome)". I too must learn to accept and love whatever fate unfolds before me. Everyone's story has been written, even though we can make choices to change it. Notice the paradox and contemplate on it. I think that's a very important key towards attaining happiness in life.

Lawyers in Love

Rehman flattered me by using the title of one of the albums by my beloved Jackson Browne in the headline of his op-ed piece in the Sunday Times today. In his usual verbose style (I write only for people who can understand me, he says) he pointed out that when the last GE was described as a "political Tsunami" most people simply understand this to mean the sweeping away of the incumbents by the victorious challenges. People overlook the fact that a tsunami also has the effect of leaving things at very odd places, not where they should be. That's why you get a young Malay engineer with no previous administration experience suddenly being thrusted into the position of MB and a Hindu with 3 lines on his forehead and ill-fitting suits suddenly made speaker of the State Assembly. Very clever insight, I thought. 

Actually, we discussed this piece before he wrote it. He thinks that Sivakumar didn't respect the law when he suspended the the new MB and exco members. I think Sivakumar believes he has the law behind him when he did what he did. Only, the law is flawed! By written law, I believe we have a stalemate position in Perak. It will be interesting to observe how it pans out.

Dear Ariff

24/12/08
Dear Ariff
So you are visiting the Big Apple. I must say I envy you. When I was at Wharton’s there was a week-end break when I could have gone to NY. But I chose to go to DC/Maryland instead for Malay food and to have my laundry done (the laundry charges at the place was too high and I have never even washed my own underwear my whole life).
I don’t just envy you for that. I wish I was there in your place, living the life you are living, studying the stuff you are studying, seizing the opportunities you have before you and generally not repeating the mistakes I made in my own life at your age. Guess it’s true what they say about fathers wanting to relive their own lives through their sons.
We don’t talk much. In fact I often regret that my household is not as as “cheria" as others. Something inhibits us from being more communicative and demonstrative. It’s my fault really. Long ago I read one of those popular psychology books called “I am ok, you’re ok”. The basic premise of the book is that many of us tend to behave the way our parents did subconsciously. Not that I am blaming my father but it’s difficult for me to rid myself of habits like being critical of others, putting down people, persuading negatively and worse of all, appearing like I got the weight of the world on my shoulders and I don’t want to be disturbed. I wish we can joke, laugh and have fun together like other families but in the words of Jackson Browne, “though the future is there for anyone to change, still you know it seems, it could be easier sometimes to change the past!”.
I wish to be known, especially by people I love and I want to know them. But this “pressure” to always appear right, proper, strong etc. inhibits me from really letting my hair down or pouring my heart out to anyone, to share my frustrations, hopes and dreams. And, this causes reciprocal behavior in others. Hence, “I am not ok, you are not ok” which is the worse kind of relationship you can have. I am further reminded here of what the book says, that most people tend to exhibit behaviors they developed as a “child” or mimic their “parent” unthinkingly. The well developed person matures into an “adult”, one who considers issues and make his own appropriate choices according to the situation. I have tried to be that over the years, one of those things that I try to do because I should.
I digress. You appear happy and full of life on FB but I am not too sure that that is not merely a façade. I tell myself to give you the freedom to make your own life changing decisions but I can’t help myself sometimes from influencing you, to placate the regrets I have with my own life. I spent 5 years in UK without having a single mat salleh friend. I can’t even remember my classmates names. There were just too many Malays! It was too easy to stay in my comfort zone. Even among the malays, there were 3 groups – the dakwah types, the pub going ones and the middle-of-the-roads. I stuck to the last group. I spent much more time playing poker, watch tv and listening to music than studying. I didn’t even need to attend lectures. I could get by by just copying other people’s lecture notes. The few text books I had were hardly touched and I never went to the library. I graduated 2nd class lower because I didn’t think it was important enough to work for a first class degree. Actually, if I didn’t waste all the time I did, I could have come back with 2 first class degrees! You see, one can get a degree in UK by being completely anonymous and doing enough to pass the exams. I didn’t want you to waste your god-given talent and intelligence the way I did. Hence my preference for you to go to US. Hope you don’t regret it.
We spoke about whether you are to stay away from food that’s not kosher or otherwise. I spoke actually. You didn’t respond. For whatever it’s worth, in UK I could get halal meat easily and most of the time, I lived with other malays and we take turns cooking. But sometimes, I did indulge myself with KFC or McD. I didn’t really think about it, really. It was a question of the company I was with. When I was at Wharton I ate whatever was served – too shy to make any special requests. In Argentina, I ate the steak while mama stuck to seafood. How could you not have steak when you are in Buenos Aires! My take on it (briefly) is that there are a lot bigger sins that you commit daily than eating non-halal meat. Right or wrong in Islam is relative rather then absolute. Of course, refraining from non-halal food is better than otherwise but if it causes you to be depressed, tensed or appear to be self-righteous to people around you, you are better off allowing yourself some indulgence. Wallah wa’alam.
I miss you. Write to me when you have the time.
Carpe Diem!
Papa

Here It Goes Again

For years I've been contemplating starting a blog. Actually, I did post a "debut"article two years ago, but I pulled it down. Why? Fear of embarrassment, mainly. I am a painfully shy person. Public speaking is definitely not my forte. I don't even like small talk at social events. But I can be highly opinionated with a few close friends. In fact, that's what I do most of the time - form opinions about this and that. I guess that's why I appear deeply in thought most of the time to the extent that people are afraid to interrupt or to be judged by me. Must be difficult to be around me. There have been times, a roomful of people, chatting and laughing away, fall into silence the moment I walk in. I am the worst party-pooper I know.

So why am I starting one now? I can't express it as well as my good friend Rehman Rashid who once lamented "It seems to me we each have an idea of who we are, and each of us lives in the hope of finding someone who can see us the way we see ourselves. To see through our words what we truly mean; to judge from our actions, our true intent. This is almost laughably difficult, but this, I think, is our yearning as human beings. But why is it so difficult, so rare and precious, to have others see us as we see ourselves, and know us as we know ourselves?"

Yes, I yearn to be known by my loved ones, meaning, you guys who are reading this. Access to this blog will be by invitation only, limited to people who I think love me, warts and all. I intend to pour my heart out in this blog and I don't want to expose myself to the whole wide world. You see, I have it all worked out - I am not vain enough to think the public at large would want to read me or confident enough with my writings to withstand open scrutiny. On the other hand, I hate the idea that I am writing merely to myself and I do think I have things to say that are worth saying. You guys are my captive audience!

The title of my blog? Everyone knows the story of "The Emperor that Wears No Clothes". I am like that naive little boy.