|Richard Lester, director of HELP! |
and A Hard Day's Night
Grab a bag of chips, get comfy, and travel back in time to that fabulous year... 1965!
|Richard Lester, director of HELP! |
and A Hard Day's Night
|Wilfrid Brambell as Paul's "very clean" grandfather|
|The Beatles turned on a lot of teenaged girls (sexually) and teenaged boys (mentally)|
|Brian Epstein (1934-1967)|
|Roger Reginald Putra (7 Nov 2008 ~ 14 Dec 2010)|
Roger was more than just a dog, much more than a member of the family - he was like a second son to Anoora and me. His father, the illustrious Mr Wong Beng Oi, was a greatly beloved part of our lives for more than 10 years. Mr Wong enjoyed an enormously happy life with us and died of old age in August 2010.
Roger was his genetic legacy, the only pup in the second litter born of a beautiful young bitch with Doberman pedigree who mysteriously appeared at our doorstep one morning and decided to stay. The name "Lulu" just came to me, so that's what I decided to call her.
At that time it didn't occur to me that Mr Wong's mum had also been named Lulu - Lulu Yap, to be precise, and her mother was a minute but majestic full-blooded Spitz known at various times as Curly-Wurly, Mrs Curlington-Wurlington, and Madam Wu. In short, Roger Reginald Putra was the great-grandson of Madam Wu - one of the original Magick River canine corps, left behind by her previous owners, Mavis and Clifford, when they migrated to Australia in 1990.
Roger Putra was named in honor of my friend Raja Petra (better known as RPK the Blogger King) who was miraculously freed from ISA detention on 7 November 2008. Even as we rejoiced at the good news, we discovered that Lulu had given birth to a solitary roly-poly pup who looked pretty much like Mr Wong. Initially I couldn't choose between Reggie or Roger, so Reginald was included as a middle name, adding a touch of class. Occasionally, Roger was referred to as the Ten-Tit-Tot because he had no siblings with whom to compete for his mother's milk. As a result he quickly became also known as Fatty Boy.
The background to how Roger abruptly vanished from our lives on the morning of 14 December 2010 has already been recorded in a blogpost dated 25 December 2010. Even after a whole year has elapsed, my heart feels heavy when I think about the utter meaningless of this sub-humanly brutal act of violence, directed against me via our beloved canine son.
When Roger was barely 6 months old, his mother Lulu and elder brother Rupert had both been murdered on the same night by a bunch of drunken Orang Asli. This was perhaps the canine equivalent of the Kennedy family...
In Roger Putra's case, the prime suspect happens to be a social misfit in his early 50s named Uha Anak Penengah. However, I have yet to obtain incontrovertible proof that it was Uha who slashed Roger with his parang - and not any of 3 or 4 other middle-aged Temuan males, each of whom is perfectly capable of such a reprehensible act, having allowed their minds to be taken over in service of Umno's land-grab agenda via the JHEOA (recently incorporated as JAKOA or Jabatan Kemajuan Orang Asli) who view me as a subversive thorn in their side, because I stand in the way of their money-making and control-freak schemes.
It was no use reporting this heinous crime to the police (to whom dogs are haram and therefore better off dead or non-existent; in any case, the police have shown so little interest in the gruesome murder of a Mongolian beauty 5 years ago, why would they bother investigating the death of a dog?) And even if I knew beyond any shadow of doubt that Uha was the murderer, what else could I do except kill him? That wouldn't bring Roger Putra back to life - and I'd end up spending the rest of my days in prison.
Uha, like his father, suffered from warty skin and a surly, truculent disposition. He had had very little luck with the opposite sex. Five years ago Uha had tricked a girl from Pahang into marrying him, but she died mysteriously within a week. The day Roger Putra was murdered, he was accompanying a very beautiful Moroccan lady on her morning walk. The sight of such unmitigated beauty must have infuriated Uha. If he couldn't possess it, he would viciously and vicariously destroy it...
No, the only recourse was to acknowledge the abject misery and absolute pathology of Uha's existence - to empathize with his emptiness and pain, to understand that his soul was in a terribly dark place, and to envision his eventual enlightenment and liberation from the hellish horror of his own hateful life. Uha seemed to me the embodiment of hopeless frustration, self-loathing and envy; unable to imagine a happier destiny for himself, his inner rage and feelings of inadequacy were externalized as aggression, hostility and violence. Indeed, this is the root cause of fanatical bigotry and xenophobia manifesting as militant jingoism - the very stuff that spawns ultra-rightwing, fascist mobs like Pekida and Perkasa.
It began raining as soon as I set off with Anoora and Ahau on a pilgrimage to the approximate spot where Roger Putra met his untimely death a year ago. Getting drenched despite our umbrellas, I found a small rock nestled between two rubber trees and placed some flowers and a candle upon it. A few sticks of incense and a couple of soggy crackers completed our humble offering. As I completed the simple ceremony, the rain abruptly stopped and a brilliant ray of sunlight flashed from the treetops. The three of us washed ourselves by a small waterfall on our way home.
Losing Roger Putra has been the single most painful and tragic experience of my life - even more intense than returning home 40 years ago to discover my pet cockatoo had been stolen. At least I could hope that she would be kindly treated wherever she was.
Roger Reginald Putra was the perfect embodiment of beauty, robust health, innocence, joie de vivre, and an irrepressible sense of adventure. The sight of him was enough to bring cheer and contentment to my heart. To think that anyone could possibly kill my beloved canine companion just to get at me encapsulated all the cruelty, violence, hate, and repressed sexuality that have kept humanity in the bondage of sadomasochism and armed conflict for countless generations - delaying, if not thwarting, the possibility of heaven on earth, instead of in the hereafter.
|Pipe-smoking bow-tie pussy (bring your own pipe)|