A Place Called Indian High Commission

Although my family have been residing in Malaysia for over 25years, my mum is still under PR and maintains her Indian passport. So one in 10 years, she has to travel to the Indian High Commission located in Jalan Duta to renew her passport. We (my mum and I) made that one of those trip yesterday.

Since it was located in a very secluded area, our options for transportation there were very limited. To save time and be there early, we opted to take a cab instead. Thanks to my dad who said the embassy will open at 8am, we were waiting in front of the embassy like some refugee as early as 6.30am. Then we were told they don't open till 9.30am at a place that has no proper place to even sit down. Thanks dad.

Surprisingly, we were not alone. There was an old man who were there way early then us. And he was sitting there in front of the embassy as though he never left that spot for days. We were second in line. Soon after that, Indians started to flock that area. We waited there patiently and watch every staff drive into the embassy. At around 8am, the guard asked us to form a line so that everyone can be checked before gaining entry into the embassy. And so we queued up and waited..waited...and waited...and waited..for freaking 1hour.

At 9am, the guard checked our bags and let us in. Inside the office, what do you know, we formed another line. This time to get our number. At 9.30am, the lady came to the number counter and sat down and started asking the old man in front of me what was his purpose there. The funny thing was majority of Indian who goes there are Indians speaking only Tamil. And the staffs working there speaks only Malay and English. Which idiot hired them in the first place? Don't they know what customer service is?

Because of this, all the staffs there behave like they are having PMS. Very rude and cranky. There was this lady that keeps screaming at her customers including my mum and I as though we owe her money or something. All this for being slow in producing the relevant papers. HELLLLOOO..if I don't bring the paper and you scream I can understand but you are only open for 2 and a half hours (Yes..they are open from 9.30am to 12pm and they wont issue the numbers after that) and the remaining 4hours or so you are going to end up drinking coffee and chatting away. Why don't you treat your customers nice a bit.
Just a bit

To top it all of, the payment counter does not even have a RM1. The passport cost RM154. So we gave her RM155 and she said no change. What is the payment counter for without RM1? I was totally clueless.

We got everything done by 10.30am and I sent my mum back to PuduRaya and I went back Sunway.

My mum and I will be going there again for another dosage of the screaming lady to collect the passport...soon.

Just Been Kissed

My summer semester has official come to an end. I have no freaking confidence in the paper that I have just written. Hopefully Ting Ding Ding will be generous enough to close an eye while marking my paper...hopefully.

Two days ago I was back in Melaka for Thaipusam (You can read about Thaipusam here). Some of my friends were nice enough to wish me Happy Thaipusam, although Thaipusam is not a celebration, more like an religious occasion for us Hindus. I have been carrying a milk pot for the past 13 years and this year is my 14th. It is the simplest form to fulfill your vow.

Devotees carrying milk pot

Some of the more extreme devotees

While I driving back after lunch the very same day, a bugger (no offense to you TPK) was waiting in at the traffic light, reading newspaper. then when the light turned green, his wife sitting in the passenger seat screamed at him saying the traffic light has changed. Without looking if the road in front him is clear, he pressed on the accelerator and with a loud 'BANG, CRASH, THUD', he 'kissed' a stationery Proton Wira in front of him. Unfortunately for me, the driver in the Wira was me.

I don't know why but the moment I heard the load crash, the first thing occurred to me was, "Oh shit, who did I bang?!" The my mom who was sitting at the back seat was like, "Aiyoyo..kaadiah yevano eedicheta (someone banged our car)!!!". Come to think about it now, my mom's action was very funny.

Then I got out to check the damage. My bumper was bent and lowered. The Chinese guy who banged me was very apologetic. He offered to change the bumper and everything was settled without any hassle.

Kissed on the butt

About a month back, while my house is still under renovation, the Wira was always parked outside the house and one night some drunk Manipal student got angry because he couldn't get a kiss from his girlfriend, so he decided to 'kiss' my car instead and realized he could be caught for 'molesting' my car, so he ran away. The condition of my car now is very depressing after being 'molested multiple times' thanks to other horny cars getting attracted to my car.

Kissed on the cheek

But my mom told he all those dents have been fixed. So lets all hope for the best and
LONG LIVE MY WIRA!!!!

=.='

While I was completing the 25 random things about me on my Facebook, I came across this advertisement and I nearly fell off my chair laughing.

Check out the detailed explanation.

Best Complaint Letter

Been back in Melaka for bout a week now. Still haven't found any motivation to start studying for the upcoming marketing exams in a fortnight time. Basically slacking off...big time. Surprisingly I've been playing futsal every other day.

Recently my FYP partner and Aqel did a marketing presention on space tourism project by the Virgin company headed by Sir Richard Brandson. As I googled my way through some websites, I came across this letter wrote by a Virgin Airlines passenger to Sir Richard Branson himself complaining about the on air food and entertainment system. It was chosen as the best complaint letter by the company.
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Dear Mr Branson

REF: Mumbai to Heathrow 7th December 2008

I love the Virgin brand, I really do which is why I continue to use it despite a series of unfortunate incidents over the last few years. This latest incident takes the biscuit.

Ironically, by the end of the flight I would have gladly paid over a thousand rupees for a single biscuit following the culinary journey of hell I was subjected to at thehands of your corporation.

Look at this Richard. Just look at it:

I imagine the same questions are racing through your brilliant mind as were racing through mine on that fateful day. What is this? Why have I been given it? What have I done to deserve this? And, which one is the starter, which one is the desert?

You don’t get to a position like yours Richard with anything less than a generous sprinkling of observational power so I KNOW you will have spotted the tomato next to the two yellow shafts of sponge on the left. Yes, it’s next to the sponge shaft without the green paste. That’s got to be the clue hasn’t it. No sane person would serve a desert with a tomato would they. Well answer me this Richard, what sort of animal would serve a desert with peas in:

I know it looks like a baaji, but it’s in custard Richard, custard. It must be the pudding. Well you’ll be fascinated to hear that it wasn’t custard. It was a sour gel with a clear oil on top. It’s only redeeming feature was that it managed to be so alien to my palette that it took away the taste of the curry emanating from our miscellaneous central cuboid of beige matter. Perhaps the meal on the left might be the desert after all.

Anyway, this is all irrelevant at the moment. I was raised strictly but neatly by my parents and if they knew I had started desert before the main course, a sponge shaft would be the least of my worries. So lets peel back the tin-foil on the main dish and see what’s on offer.

I’ll try and explain how this felt. Imagine being a twelve year old boy Richard. Now imagine it’s Christmas morning and you’re sat their with your final present to open. It’s a big one, and you know what it is. It’s that Goodmans stereo you picked out the catalogue and wrote to Santa about.

Only you open the present and it’s not in there. It’s your hamster Richard. It’s your hamster in the box and it’s not breathing. That’s how I felt when I peeled back the foil and saw this:

Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it’s more of that Baaji custard. I admit I thought the same too, but no. It’s mustard Richard. MUSTARD. More mustard than any man could consume in a month. On the left we have a piece of broccoli and some peppers in a brown glue-like oil and on the right the chef had prepared some mashed potato. The potato masher had obviously broken and so it was decided the next best thing would be to pass the potatoes through the digestive tract of a bird.

Once it was regurgitated it was clearly then blended and mixed with a bit of mustard. Everybody likes a bit of mustard Richard.

By now I was actually starting to feel a little hypoglycaemic. I needed a sugar hit. Luckily there was a small cookie provided. It had caught my eye earlier due to it’s baffling presentation:

It appears to be in an evidence bag from the scene of a crime. A CRIME AGAINST BLOODY COOKING. Either that or some sort of back-street underground cookie, purchased off a gun-toting maniac high on his own supply of yeast. You certainly wouldn’t want to be caught carrying one of these through customs. Imagine biting into a piece of brass Richard. That would be softer on the teeth than the specimen above.

I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was relax but obviously I had to sit with that mess in front of me for half an hour. I swear the sponge shafts moved at one point.

Once cleared, I decided to relax with a bit of your world-famous onboard entertainment. I switched it on:

I apologise for the quality of the photo, it’s just it was incredibly hard to capture Boris Johnson’s face through the flickering white lines running up and down the screen. Perhaps it would be better on another channel:
Is that Ray Liotta? A question I found myself asking over and over again throughout the gruelling half-hour I attempted to watch the film like this. After that I switched off. I’d had enough. I was the hungriest I’d been in my adult life and I had a splitting headache from squinting at a crackling screen.

My only option was to simply stare at the seat in front and wait for either food, or sleep. Neither came for an incredibly long time. But when it did it surpassed my wildest expectations:

Yes! It’s another crime-scene cookie. Only this time you dunk it in the white stuff.

Richard…. What is that white stuff? It looked like it was going to be yoghurt. It finally dawned on me what it was after staring at it. It was a mixture between the Baaji custard and the Mustard sauce. It reminded me of my first week at university. I had overheard that you could make a drink by mixing vodka and refreshers. I lied to my new friends and told them I’d done it loads of times. When I attempted to make the drink in a big bowl it formed a cheese Richard, a cheese. That cheese looked a lot like your baaji-mustard.

So that was that Richard. I didn’t eat a bloody thing. My only question is: How can you live like this? I can’t imagine what dinner round your house is like, it must be like something out of a nature documentary.

As I said at the start I love your brand, I really do. It’s just a shame such a simple thing could bring it crashing to it’s knees and begging for sustenance.

Yours Sincererly

XXXX

Source

Just to be clear with anyone who doesn't know what a baaji is, it is the Indian version of curry puff.

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The letter really cracked me up. And I think it is safe to say the mastermind behind this letter has to be an Indian. I even read that Sir Richard Branson called this guy to apologize and thank him for the letter. And he has also been invited as a food taster for their new on air food menu. That is some complaint letter.

Something to Get You Thinking

When I was back in Melaka, my dad asked me a question. More like a brain teaser. Both my dad and I couldn't find an answer to the question. So I'm leaving it to you to work your brain and get me the answer.

The scenario

3 friends always go to this specific restaurant to have their lunch. One day, each of them ate for RM10. So they paid RM30 and left the restaurant. But the owner of the shop, knowing the 3 people are regular customers, asked the waiter in the shop to return RM5 to them. Since RM5 is hard to divide among 3 people, the waiter took RM2 and returned the remaining RM3 to each of the 3 friends.

So mathematically, each of them now ate for RM9. RM9 times by 3 (Number of people) gives you RM27. Add the RM2 that the waiter took, that leaves you with RM29. The question is, where is the RM1 gone?

Please enlighten me by leaving comments.

Lesson Learnt

I am back in Melaka now. Having some prayers in the house. While I was in Melaka Sentral something unusual happened.

You see I always wait for my parents to pick me up from outside the open air car park. As it was a hot day, I decided to stay somewhere inside the car park, behind a shady lorry where I can still see if my dad has reached.

Out of nowhere, this dude in his 40s wearing a blank white Tshirt rode a motorbike and stopped right in front of me. I was taken aback. Just to be safe, I took a step back to maintain about 1m distance away from him. While sitting on his motorbike, he asked me a few questions..

Dude: Eh apa you buat kat sini?
Me: Tunggu ayah.
Dude: You tunggu sini nak pecahkan kereta dan curi barang eh?
Me: NO!!
Dude: Apa yang kat pocket awak tu. Keluarkan..
*For safety reasons, I always put my wallet as well as my handphone on my front pocket*

Me: (While taking out my wallet and handphone..which I think I shouldn't have done)Handphone dan dompet.

Dude: Buka dompet tu. I nak tengok.
*Then I realised something is not right*
Me: You ni siapa? Kerja sini?
Dude: I ni kerja RELA.
Me: You ade ID RELA? I nak tengok.
*The moment I asked for his ID he changed his story*
Dude: I datang sini bukan nak ambil duit you. I kat sini nak jaga keselamtan you.
*Bloody hell, just now accuse me of damaging private property. Now want to protect me pulak*

After that he just left on his motorbike. Then I realised he was not there for my 'safety' but to rob me. Here's why I think so

1. He failed to produce his ID.
2. He wasn't wearing any RELA uniform.
3. The car park allows motorbikes to park for free..which gives access to these type of people to come in freely and rob you.
4. The moment I asked him for his ID he fled.

I wanted to drop by the management and complain to them about the incident but my dad was already there. So I thought I'll do it when I go back there again this Sunday.

I'm glad that any unwated incident for me or my money was averted. Lesson well learnt.

Signboards

Since this is my second post of the new year, I shall post on something funny that I came across in the internet recently, signboards. You might have seen some of them but nonetheless, have fun..

Very efficicient air conditioning service. So cold that'll cause your..

They are more interested in your cash then your life

No escaping this area

Too much of Heroes is not good

No comments..

Its about time you teach your dog how to read signboards

Safety first ladies

Thank you..thank you for noticing (Russell Peters style)

And my favorite

Do not pee around or else you shall risk losing your..ahem..

Have great year ahead people..