Diversity

I consider myself rather fortunate to be among the few who are firmly grounded with the Class of 1972 at Penang Free School while maintaining ties with my original cohort, the Class of 1973. Recently, I had the pleasure of attending a post-New Year lunch with some old schoolmates from the latter class. It was a delightful gathering—a different circle of friends, bringing fresh ideas and diverse discussions to the table.

Oon Hup and Seng Oo (1954-2025)

The turn of the year has been a sombre one for me. As I sat having lunch with friends at the Penang Club on 3rd January—and listening to an impromptu talk on Buddhism—a heavy thought lingered at the back of my mind: one of my closest school friends, Yeoh Oon Hup, was being cremated that very moment. A loyal OFA life member, Oon Hup had battled cancer for 11 months before passing away less than two months after his 70th birthday. He had requested no wake, choosing instead for his ashes to be scattered into the sea, a quiet farewell befitting his unassuming nature.

The very next day, 4th January, brought more devastating news. Another old schoolmate, Ang Seng Oo, passed away suddenly while on holiday in Busan, South Korea, less than three weeks after celebrating his 70th birthday. Seng Oo will be cremated in Busan, and his ashes will be brought home to Kuala Lumpur. The shock of losing two cherished friends—whom I had known since Standard Two at Westlands School—on consecutive days is indescribable. The sense of loss is profound, leaving me numb and grappling with the fragility of life.

These losses are not isolated. Over the past nine months, I have bid farewell to five school mates who had just crossed their 70th or 71st birthdays, Oon Hup and Seng Oo among them. Two were based in Penang and were OFA life members, while two others lived in Kuala Lumpur and one overseas in California. Each departure serves as a stark reminder of the significance of reaching 70—a milestone both physical and mental.

To all those still in your forties, fifties, or sixties, let me tell you this: cherish every moment of your life's journey. Reaching 70 is not just a number but a testament to resilience and fortune. And to those who have crossed this landmark age, treasure each day you have. We never know who among us might not see 71.

My dear friend Seng Oo, in particular, leaves behind a legacy of integrity and compassion. An accomplished accountant, he was deeply committed to issues of social justice, fairness and equality. He was never afraid to speak up against monopolies or political hegemony, often articulating his views with clarity and courage. His humour and camaraderie were equally memorable. It’s difficult to reconcile his untimely passing with the image of someone so vibrant and fit.

These losses weigh heavily, especially at the start of a new year. Yet, they also remind us of life’s impermanence and the need to cherish those around us. As we continue our journeys, let us remember to celebrate milestones, honour friendships and carry forward the legacies of those who have touched our lives.

Such is the progression of life and death—a poignant reminder that each day is a gift not to be taken for granted.

POSTSCRIPT: 

The three other schoolmates who passed away in the past nine months were Lee Keat Heng, Wong Ban Pak, and Kam Wei Lin.

Keat Heng and I shared a classroom in Standard One at Westlands School, but our educational paths diverged from Standard Two onwards. While I moved to an express class that skipped to Standard Four, he remained in the regular stream, advancing to Standard Three. This divergence meant that he became a year my junior at both Westlands School and Penang Free School. Due to this gap, our paths only crossed again in the last decade or so, allowing us to reconnect. Tragically, in May last year, just three days after celebrating his 70th birthday, he collapsed while jogging.

I came to know both Ban Pak and Wei Lin in Form One at secondary school. Ban Pak was, sadly, a rather irritable character. Though I loosely describe him as a "friend," he was not someone many would have stayed in close contact with. However, we did share a unique connection—we travelled to school together in a hired car. In those days, there were no school buses, and most parents couldn’t afford cars or the time to ferry their children to school personally. Instead, families relied on "school taxis," hired private cars who picked up students and dropped them off. By coincidence, Ban Pak and I shared the same school taxi. Every morning, the driver would pick me up before stopping at Ban Pak’s house on Bawasah Road. Ban Pak had a sharp eye for electronics and pursued a career in the field, eventually finding work and settling down in the United States after graduating. He passed away in June last year, leaving behind memories of our shared rides and a glimpse into a different era of schooling in Penang.

Wei Lin, on the other hand, was someone whose path intertwined with mine beyond Free School. After completing our studies, we both attended Tunku Abdul Rahman College in Petaling Jaya. Following his graduation, he joined Malaysia Customs, with an office conveniently located near Ban Hin Lee Bank. As a result, we often bumped into each other during that time. Unfortunately, in September, Wei Lin succumbed to septicaemia, a condition that claimed him far too soon.

An ambitious misstep

The 2024 World Rapid and Blitz Chess Championships, held on Wall Street in New York City during the final week of the year, aspired to be a defining moment for the sport—a bold showcase aimed at propelling chess into the global spotlight. Instead, it unravelled into a display of organisational chaos, overshadowed by controversy and FIDE’s failure to reconcile tradition with the demands of modernisation. At the centre of this debacle was Magnus Carlsen, whose actions revealed him as a polarising figure wielding his influence with little regard for the broader community. More tellingly, the fiasco laid bare FIDE’s systemic weaknesses, highlighting an organisation ill-equipped to manage the sport’s evolution while safeguarding its integrity.

The $1.5 million prize fund, backed by NASDAQ-listed Freedom Holding, marked a new high for financial investment in chess. Selecting Wall Street as the venue was a strategic gamble meant to imbue the championships with prestige, aligning the intellectual rigour of chess with the financial world’s high-stakes allure. However, the symbolism was overshadowed by logistical failings and internal discord. While the glitzy location added flair, it underscored FIDE prioritising image over substance. The grandeur of Wall Street ultimately felt like a hollow attempt to mask deeper organisational weaknesses.

FIDE’s introduction of a two-stage knockout finale for the Blitz Championship was designed to inject excitement into the format. While this innovation added drama for spectators, it inadvertently diminished the importance of earlier rounds, undermining the tournament’s competitive integrity. 

Magnus Carlsen’s role in the championships was both pivotal and divisive. His earlier disqualification for wearing jeans, after signing an agreement that prohibited jeans in this event, sparked widespread criticism, leading eventually to a U-turn from the FIDE President, Arkady Dvorkovich. In an era where chess strives to shed its elitist image, FIDE’s insistence on rigid formalities seemed both regressive and petty. This decision not only alienated fans but also shifted attention from the games themselves to a trivial matter of attire. 

Carlsen’s subsequent withdrawal from the Rapid Championship and initial refusal to compete in the Blitz underscored his dissatisfaction. His eventual participation, though welcomed by fans, highlighted the disproportionate influence he wields within the chess world. FIDE’s inconsistent handling of the situation—from rigid enforcement to eventual accommodation—painted the organisation as weak and easily swayed by its star players.

The controversy reached its zenith when Carlsen and Ian Nepomniachtchi tied for first place in the Blitz Championship. Carlsen’s proposal to share the title, and FIDE’s agreement to this unprecedented arrangement, flew in the face of the tournament’s rules. By allowing this compromise, FIDE undermined the spirit of competition and set a dangerous precedent.

The disparity in treatment between the men’s and women’s events compounded the issue. While the women’s Blitz Championship required tie-break games to determine a clear winner, the men were allowed to share the title. I don't believe that this glaring double standard exposed entrenched gender biases within FIDE, but the decision devalued the achievements and efforts of female players, and tarnished the organisation’s credibility further.

So who were the winners and losers? A hollow victory for whom? 

Where FIDE was concerned, I would say Loser to them. FIDE’s reputation emerged battered and bruised. The handling of the dress code incident, followed by its capitulation to Carlsen’s demands, portrayed the organisation as inconsistent and ineffectual. The emphasis on image over substance and the selective application of rules left a sour taste among players and fans alike.

As for Magnus Carlsen, he was also a Loser in my eyes. While his actions exposed legitimate flaws in FIDE’s governance, his behaviour risked being perceived as self-serving and arrogant. Leveraging his star power to force changes may have achieved short-term gains but at the cost of appearing dismissive of the broader chess community and its principles.

Amidst the power struggles and questionable leadership, the real losers were the players and the sport itself. The championships, intended to showcase chess’s brilliance, became mired in controversy. Players’ achievements were overshadowed and the event failed to project the modern, inclusive image FIDE had sought to cultivate.

The decision-making failures reinforced negative stereotypes of chess as an elitist and insular pursuit. Rather than inspiring growth, the championships highlighted the deep divisions within the sport and the urgent need for reform. 

There are lessons for the future. The 2024 World Rapid and Blitz Chess Championships were a case study in mismanagement. While FIDE demonstrated a willingness to innovate, these efforts were undermined by poor execution and wishy-washy leadership. Magnus Carlsen, for his part, acted as both a catalyst for change and a reminder of the dangers of unchecked influence in a sport built on fairness and intellectual rigour.

For chess to flourish in the modern era, FIDE must address its systemic issues, from updating outdated regulations to enforcing them consistently. Transparency, inclusivity and a focus on the sport’s integrity must take precedence over optics and star appeasement. Without these changes, chess risks losing its unique identity and becoming a mere spectacle of egos and excess.

Okay, I've vented enough!

#fide #carlsen #magnuscarlsen

Farewell, Oon Hup (1954-2025)

I dreaded for this day to come and today, my heart grieves as I say my farewell to one of my oldest and dearest friends, Yeoh Oon Hup. 

I had known him since Standard Two in Westlands Primary School. He passed away this morning after an 11-month battle with cancer. Glioblastoma multiforme, I am told, is rather aggressive. After his operation, he recuperated at a nursing home in Ross Road while undergoing chemical and radiotherapy sessions. But by end of October, he had been taken off treatment as his body was already too frail. It was downhill after that. Every time that I visited him, I could see his condition worsening. He could barely whisper and the only way I could think of communicating with him was through music. I loaded my mobile phone with the music he loved, songs of the 1960s and 1970s, and I played them close to his ear. I shall cherish those remaining moments of interaction. 

I shall miss you terribly, Oon Hup. I shall miss the annual telephone calls we made to one another on our birthdays, even when you were working overseas. I shall miss all that but most of all, i shall miss your intellectual presence and your forceful opinions.

Our last picture together, taken at a nursing home on 08 December 2024:

FIDE trainers

Obviously, Malaysia must have a world-class Train the Trainers programme. How else can we explain the paradox? We don’t have a single Grandmaster, yet we boast the fourth-highest number of FIDE-registered trainers in Asia!

Penang's GOAT

Meet 15-year-old Poh Yu Tian, arguably Penang's greatest chess player of all time—a true GOAT. Never before has there been so much excitement surrounding a chess talent in Penang. Poh Yu Tian has had an extraordinary year, dominating the chess scene and sweeping every major title in Malaysia.

In July, at the Eastern Asia Youth Chess Championship (EAYCC) hosted by the Penang Chess Association, Yu Tian played above his age group and triumphed in the Under-18 section. His stellar performance earned him the prestigious International Master (IM) title from the World Chess Federation. For anyone doubting whether this title was deserved, it’s worth noting that Yu Tian also achieved his third and final IM norm during this tournament. Whether the title was a direct award or the result of consistent excellence, the outcome is clear—he earned it.

Right after the EAYCC, Yu Tian represented Penang at SUKMA 2024 in Sarawak, where he clinched three gold medals, contributing to the state’s unprecedented success. The momentum didn’t stop there. In September, he made history at the Arthur Tan Memorial Malaysia Open in Kuala Lumpur, becoming the first Malaysian to win this prestigious tournament.

Earlier this month, Yu Tian continued his streak by claiming the Penang Closed title with a flawless performance. Just two weeks later, he became the first homegrown player to win the Penang Open in its current format.

Yu Tian’s accomplishments this year are nothing short of extraordinary, and his talent promises an even brighter future in chess. Congratulations to him on these incredible milestones. May his journey continue to inspire and amaze.

Indian choice!

Food-wise, yesterday was one odd, crazy day—completely unplanned, utterly random, and I only realised the pattern while driving back from the island. Every single meal I had was Indian: breakfast, lunch and dinner!

It all started with breakfast at my regular Indian spot in Bukit Mertajam. I had headed to the Post Office early in the morning to use their Poslaju service and on my way back, I decided to grab some thosai and masala tea. My usual Chinese coffee shops were all closed—it was a Monday, after all—so the choice was easy.

A few hours later, I found myself heading to Penang Free School to pass something to the Headmaster. As usual, I lingered around to soak in the school's vibes. The place was unusually quiet thanks to the school holidays, but before I knew it, it was lunchtime. 

Since I was already in the area, it was an automatic decision to stop by The Garden restaurant for some Indian vegetarian banana leaf rice—just a stone's throw from the school.

And dinner? I ended up driving my friends from KL and Japan to Little India. Our wanderings led us to a newly opened restaurant where we treated ourselves to a sumptuous Indian meal that included some prawn masala, palak, mutton bone soup and briyani rice. 

It was only while driving home that it hit me: every single meal of the day had been Indian! Surprisingly, I didn’t miss my usual Chinese food at all.

Li Chun (立春), 2025

I’m writing this short note on the winter solstice, the day when the sun reaches its southernmost position in the sky before making an about-turn to start its trek northwards. In the northern hemisphere, today marks the shortest day of the year—though here in the tropics, we barely notice the difference.

When the sun reaches this southernmost point, the winter solstice, Chinese astrologers recognise the occasion as the beginning of the solar term known as Dong Zhi (冬至), or Tang Chik as we Hokkien people in Penang call it. I’ve written before about solar terms and how ancient Chinese astrologers divided the sky into 24 segments, covering all 360 degrees of the heavens. Each solar term spans 15 degrees, reflecting the rhythm of seasonal changes, as the sun journeys northward and southward each year, passing through every one of them.

Forty-five days after the winter solstice comes the solar term known as Li Chun (立春) or the Coming of Spring. We call this day Jip Chun in Penang Hokkien. For 2025, Li Chun falls on the third of February at 10:12 PM, Malaysian local time. At that precise moment, many households will ceremonially fill their rice buckets to symbolise abundance and prosperity for the year ahead. Incidentally, this date coincides with the sixth day of Chinese New Year—a coincidence with no deeper connection other than tradition. Nevertheless, on this day, the local Chinese folks in Penang flock to the small and rather unassuming Snake Temple in Sungai Kluang—located about five kilometres from Bayan Lepas town, which my grandparents called Bang Ka Lan (萬腳蘭)—to celebrate the birthday of the temple’s resident deity, Chor Soo Kong.

By the way, I've been writing consistently about Jip Chun in this blog since Year 2007 and if anyone wants to find the historical dates and time, the information is all here:

Li Chun, 2024 
Li Chun, 2023 
Li Chun, 2022 
Li Chun, 2021 
Li Chun, 2020 
Li Chun, 2019 
Li Chun, 2018 
Li Chun, 2017 
Li Chun, 2016 
Li Chun, 2015 
Li Chun, 2014 
Li Chun, 2013 
Li Chun, 2012 
Li Chun, 2011 
Li Chun, 2010 
Li Chun, 2009 
Li Chun, 2008 
Li Chun, 2007

#lichun #snaketemple

Food and friends

My recent trip to Singapore wasn’t entirely about chess—those moments were reserved for the late afternoons and evenings. So, what did I do during the mornings and mid-afternoons? For one thing, it was all about the food.

On two mornings in Geylang, I set out to explore the area in search of Bak Chor Mee, a Singaporean street food I find utterly irresistible. Every time I’m in the Little Red Dot, indulging in this dish becomes a priority. While I’m happy with any variety, the traditional style remains my favourite. Over two days, I managed to find two stalls—one at the Sims Vista Market and Food Centre, which was a bit farther from my hotel, and the other at a nearby coffee shop. My tastebuds decided: the stall at Sims Vista was definitely the better of the two.

On my last morning in Singapore, I opted for breakfast at a 24-hour roti prata restaurant just minutes from the hotel. Their thosai masala was delicious—a perfect way to wrap up my morning culinary adventures in Geylang.

Of course, my food explorations weren’t limited to the mornings. On one of the nights, I introduced one of my travelling chessmates to a popular beef hor fun restaurant in Geylang. It’s a place I’ve visited many times before, but it was his first time there, and the experience didn’t disappoint.

Another objective of my trip was to reconnect with friends and relatives. Unfortunately, I couldn’t meet my younger relatives—our schedules simply didn’t align. They were busy working and making money during the mornings while I was free, and when they were available in the evenings, I was tied up at the World Chess Championship matches in Sentosa. One was so consumed by religious fervour that giving me some time of day might have required divine intervention! That left my old classmates to call on, reliable people who, like me, were either retired or working less intensively nowadays. On Saturday, I met up with Nai Kwang and his wife, Eve, for lunch, and on Sunday, I caught up with Teik Kooi and his wife, Cynthia.

Teik Kooi and I go back a long way. He's my oldest school friend, we having known each other since kindergarten days in Seang Tek Road. And then during our Westlands Primary schooldays, learnt that we could be distantly related to one another as we shared some common relatives (who were then living in Hutton Lane and New Lane) while visiting these relatives during Chinese New Year. We discovered our common interest in chess during our Secondary schooldays at Penang Free School and naturally here in Singapore, we had much to discuss about the match between Ding Liren and Gukesh Dommaraju. He was initially doubtful about the quality of the games but I encouraged him to attend the games, pointing out that such a high-level chess event in Singapore, where he’s now a citizen, could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’m not sure if he took my advice, but after I returned home to Penang, we continued exchanging notes about the games via social media.

With Nai Kwang, our time together was very much less about chess—his awareness about the game was limited to what he could read in the local newspapers about the chess match—and more about exploration. A passionate walker, he took me meandering through the streets of Little India. I wasn't complaining; in fact, I looked forward to it as I got a unique glimpse into Singapore’s daily life. We made a detour to the Sakya Muni Buddha Gaya temple, which I shall write about on another occasion. 

Our long walk ended at Muthu’s Curry, a very popular and well-patronised South Indian restaurant, where we enjoyed a fiery feast of fish head curry, lamb shank and naan bread. Lunch with Teik Kooi, on the other hand, was a completely different experience. He introduced me to the Sunday buffet at the Fullerton Hotel, the building once housing the Singapore Post Office. The sumptuous spread featured an array of delicacies, with seafood being the undeniable highlight.

December full moon

At last, the full moon—99.8% illuminated—emerges above Bukit Mertajam, breaking free after weeks of hiding behind the rain clouds! The sky is so crystal-clear tonight that Venus shines brilliantly high in the western sky, while Jupiter quietly peeks above my rooftop in the east.

Nine-year-old Gukesh

It is not widely known that, as a nine-year-old, Gukesh Dommaraju participated in the 13th Malaysia Chess Festival in 2015. Having left school to pursue chess full-time, Gukesh arrived in Kuala Lumpur with his parents in tow. Already a Candidate Master at the time, he competed in both the flagship IGB Arthur Tan Memorial Malaysia Open and the Swensen Age-Group Chess Tournament (Under-10 section).

In the Malaysia Open, he faced players who were not only far more experienced but often physically towering compared to himself. Undeterred, Gukesh battled them on equal footing, finishing a respectable 101st out of 138 participants. In the Under-10 age-group event with 145 players, he emerged triumphant, taking first place.

A lot has changed for Gukesh since 2015, he has achieved his dreams, but I wonder if he still remembers his early adventures here in Malaysia all those years ago. We’d love to have him back!

An update: Gukesh had also participated in the 15th Malaysia Chess Festival two years later. This time, he did not play in the age-group events but concentrated solely on the IGB Arthur Tan Memorial Malaysia Open. However, his results were indifferent and he finished disappointingly in 90th position out of 165 players. Two Malaysians managed to play with Gukesh: Sumant Subramaniam drawing with him in the eighth round while Lim Zhuo Ren beat him in the ninth. I'm sure Sumant and Zhuo Ren would now be relishing those results! Here's a picture of 11-year-old Gukesh Dommaraju from the 2018 souvenir book.  

#Gukesh

World chess championship 2024

Recently, I spent an engaging four days in Singapore to attend Days Four, Five and Six of the World Chess Championship match between the defending champion, Ding Liren, and his challenger, Gukesh Dommaraju. I travelled with two chess friends, Tay Aik and Terry. While Terry opted for a hotel near the Vivocity shopping mall, Tay Aik and I decided on a budget hotel in Geylang. 

By the way, Geylang is no longer the infamous area it once was, although it still retains echoes of its colourful past. Singapore, in fact, had several questionable neighbourhoods decades ago, such as Geylang, but also Bugis and Desker Road. Anyway, our choice, the Ibis Budget Hotel, was clean, well-maintained and family-oriented, though the establishments around it still advertised their "special Eight-Hour promotional rates." Hmm...

The first day of our arrival was spent navigating our way to the match venue. Friends who had attended the match before us had suggested that we look for the Seafood Paradise restaurant, from where a free shuttle bus would take us directly to the Equarius Hotel on Sentosa Island. We arrived with plenty of time to spare, passed through the security checks and then relaxed in the Fan Zone before queuing up to enter the viewing gallery. In the Fan Zone, a simultaneous chess match was ongoing between a grandmaster and 10 players. On Day Four, Alexandra Kosteniuk was in the midst of playing her opponents; on the following day, it was Xie Jun, and on the third day, Viswanathan Anand was the main attraction. So, there were three days of former world champions facing their lucky opponents, drawn from those who had purchased VIP tickets. Once the games concluded, the tables were rearranged, bean bags were scattered on the floor for casual seating, and free-flowing coffee and tea were made available to everyone. There were also television screens in the Fan Zone streaming commentaries by David Howell and Jovanka Houska.

Inside the playing room, the players were seated at a central table, with one side of the room featuring a soundproof glass barrier that completely isolated the gallery from the playing area. On the left, two Arbiters sat at their own tables, while the Chief Arbiter—whom I'd rank as the third most important person in the room after the two players—was seated on the right. Just before five o'clock, a throng of photographers arrived and positioned themselves in front of the glass barrier, eagerly awaiting the entrance of Ding and Gukesh. When the players finally made their way into the room, both avoided each other's gaze and waited for Maurice Ashley to deliver the introductory statements. Every day, special guests were invited to make the ceremonial first move, with photographers snapping away madly. One of the Arbiters then carefully placed the moved piece back on its original square, and Ashley officially announced the beginning of the game. Both players shook hands, White made the first move, and then Ashley and the guest exited the room. After a brief moment, the signal was given for the photographers to scoot off as well. Amidst all this activity, the Chief Arbiter remained a peripheral figure, out of view and basically overlooked by both the photographers and the spectators in the gallery.

Meanwhile, in the viewing gallery, the audience was divided into VIP and general seating areas. Usherers guided ticket holders to their designated spots and placard holders raised signs asking everyone to remain silent. I found it curious that complete silence was required in the gallery, considering no noise could penetrate the soundproofed playing room. For the most part, the crowd adhered to the rule, though quiet discussions were ongoing among friends as they analysed positions and debated possibilities. Two television screens, positioned on either side of the gallery, displayed the game for all to follow, as it was impossible to see the actual chessboard from where we sat. At 5:30, everyone was ushered out of the gallery to surrender their mobile phones, laptops and cameras for safekeeping before being allowed back in. At the end of the game, applause erupted from the audience, and everyone would then rush out to retrieve their belongings.

The three games we witnessed in Singapore were all drawn, which left us feeling slightly underwhelmed. A friend who attended during the first week had the fortune of seeing two decisive games out of three—and even bumped into Gukesh on the rest day! No such luck for us, unfortunately, as we were there in the second week. Game Four concluded with a repetition of position, as did Game Five. In Game Six, there was a fleeting moment where it seemed the game might end quickly. When Gukesh spurned the repetition of position, an audible gasp rippled through the gallery—a clear expression of admiration for the Indian player’s fighting spirit as opposed to his opponent's non-aggression strategy. It was obvious he wanted to continue playing. Inwardly, I couldn’t help but think that, had the game ended in a quick draw, the audience would have been deeply disappointed—some might even have booed. Thankfully, we were spared that scenario!

With the Chief Arbiter, Hamid Majid

Former world championship contender Boris Gelfand

Former women's world champion Alexandra Kosteniuk

Photographers inside the playing room

Bean bags in the Fan Zone

Fan Zone

With the world champion's trophy

Former women's world champion Xie Jun

VIP seats in front, general seats at the back

Deposit counter for all mobile phones, laptops, cameras and other electronic devices

Stringent security check for sharp objects

Reliving old times by exchanging notes with Filipino grandmaster Eugenio Torre on chess personalities like Tan Chin Nam, Florencio Campomanes, Hasan, Matsumoto, etc

An old friend from Kuala Lumpur. Vooi Giap and I go back to the MSSM days of 1972