People sprees

Where would you go on a shopping spree?

When I was working in Singapore, if I missed my mom or dad, I would visit my mom’s brother, who lived in Marsiling HDB. He reminded me of my mom—a male version of her. Thirunavakaraso Selvadurai (R.I.P) was an active member of the People’s Action Party (PAP) and dedicated a lot of his time, effort, and sincerity to helping others. He had an incredible ability to put himself in other people’s shoes, something I still don’t understand how he managed to do day in and day out, even after a long day of work.

He was always there for his relatives, especially my mom, and I was his most frequent visitor. I cherished the time I spent with him because he would share parables and real-life stories, which I always looked forward to on my off days. Spending time with him and Aunty Kanthy felt like a treat. If he ran out of stories to tell me, we would sun tv together with my aunty. I didn’t like sun tv (Tamil gossip stories) I always want to listen to his stories. He had a big heart—he would feed me until I couldn’t walk! My stomach would feel like an anaconda’s, stretched to its limit, just waiting for me to snooze on his comfortable guest bed. And he never let me leave empty-handed, always packing a bag full of food and drinks to take home. He was my Indian Santa Claus.

Now, thinking about him brings me closure, especially since my mom reminds me so much of him. From the way she uses toothpicks and floss to how she combs her hair, their similarities are uncanny.

On the other hand, when I missed my father, I would visit his sister, who was like a female version of him. But unlike my uncle, I hated visiting her. Both she and my father shared the same manipulative tendencies, always turning situations to their advantage and leaving me at a disadvantage. Because of this, I visited her less often. Instead, I would wait until she wasn’t around and visit her husband, Rajalingam (bless his soul). He was much kinder, and the best part—he was a skilled carpenter and an amazing cook. In contrast, his wife’s cooking was terrible, much like Puvesneswary Vithlingam’s (thank goodness she’s gone). I never understood why people like them cooked the same way—it was awful. Now I see why my father always complained about his sister’s cooking and needed my mom and us to travel from Johor to Kuala Lumpur just for a decent meal.

If I missed my brother, I had his daughter. She was always my little playmate, keeping me company with her toys so I never felt lonely. In a way, I saw my relationships with people as part of a shopping spree—except instead of buying things, I was collecting pieces of familiarity and comfort. The smell of tomato paste and yogurt curry coming out from kitchen.

The worst people to forget, whom I have had attachments with, are all my father’s relatives. As I said, they are all black magic practitioners. Yesterday, a dark black ball entered the right side of my head, sinisterly sent by RN, as I had let go of all attachments to them.

My desire is to have nothing to do with them—they embody evil in all its glory for fame and success, and I want no association with them at all. How do I remove this black ball from my head and send it back to RN?

In the worst people’s sprees, XR and her lover sit at the A&W restaurant, sipping their root beer. XR takes her straw, bites it, and plays with it as if she is free from this madness. Yet, I have been given a new black ball, another product of RN’s sinister ways.