Welcome sight

What a welcome sight! Last night's full moon at 10.03pm. I had thought that I would miss seeing the full moon again as I was at the Berjaya Penang Hotel where the window looked out in a different direction from the moon's current path in the sky. But now that I'm home, wow!

Raw passion

Finally, I’m back home after a really memorable 10 days of playing chess in the 23rd ASEAN+ Age-Group Chess Championships, and I think I’m already suffering withdrawal symptoms from the event! There’s that dull, hollow feeling that comes when the adrenaline drains away. I haven’t felt quite like this in decades. Being away from the family, it almost felt like going to camp: getting immersed in chess, surrounded by like-minded folks and just enjoying the company of friends. And when it’s all over, the mind aches a little. 

Impromptu meeting of the Arbiters and assistants before the Blitz event

I’d been staying at the Berjaya Penang Hotel, which also doubled as the competition venue. So thankfully, I was spared the daily commute from Bukit Mertajam. Even so, I was worn out at the end of each day, not least because of the long games and keeping people like Hamid, Miki, Berik and a few others entertained. Some days, we even ventured out for lunch or dinner despite meals being provided by the hotel.

I didn’t play in the Rapid event as I had an eye check-up scheduled at the Penang General Hospital. Something I absolutely couldn’t miss. Appointments like these are precious. This one had been booked since last year! The sheer volume of out-patients means follow-ups now stretch into annual events. But it was worth it. The medical officer said my eye pressure was excellent. The only catch is that my next appointment is in nine months' time!

After the check-up, I rushed back to the hotel and found that the Rapid event had paused for lunch after the three morning rounds. Play would resume at 2pm. Great, at least I’d be able to catch the remaining four rounds.

Halfway through the afternoon, the Tournament Director, Jonathan, came up and asked whether I could confirm helping with the Blitz event as an Arbiter. Of course, I was delighted to assist. So there I was, yesterday morning (Thursday), showing up as the Arbiter for the Seniors 65+ section. Were they surprised. Only two days earlier, I was playing chess amongst them. Only nine players in the field, which meant a straightforward round-robin format. The top four players agreed to draw quickly among themselves and focused on collecting points from the rest.

A disabled but brave Too Pi He playing in the Under-12 rapid tournament

I was slightly relieved that there were no disputes in my section except for one moment when Rico made an illegal knight move. He immediately admitted the mistake, so I just added one minute to his opponent’s clock. Nothing too technical to deal with.

But elsewhere in the hall, where the kids were battling it out, it was total chaos, both on and off the boards. The blitz format, with just a few minutes on the clock, always brings out a different kind of energy. The younger players were all pumped up, hands flying, pieces rattling, clocks being slapped. You’d think we were in a market. Illegal moves, dropped flags, hands being raised to call the arbiters over, background noises from players whose games have finished and awaiting the next round. The arbiters certainly had their hands full. 

Still, beneath all the noise and flurry, I could see the raw passion. These kids took their games seriously. Some jumped up after a win, others sat frozen in disbelief after a loss. There might have been a few tears shed too. I could almost feel the energy radiating from the tables. It was messy, loud and at times overwhelming. But it was also exactly what the ASEAN+ age-group chess championships needed to close off a full 10 days of competition: fast, furious games and full of heart. Just very glad my section didn’t need babysitting.

All in all, I'm tired after all the excitement, but it's the good kind of tiredness.

Nepal 2025, Day Six (I: Swoyambhu mahachaitya)

Nepal offers a traveller three choices: to come as an adventurer, a pilgrim or a mere tourist. For me, the first is already out of the question. Ten years ago, maybe I could still have managed a bit of adventure — but now? No way. Those days are behind me.

In Lumbini, our presence was clearly that of pilgrims. For myself and the rest of our Nandaka Vihara group, we had come to visit the sacred sites associated with the life of the Buddha. But here in Kathmandu, the tone of our trip shifted. We could now allow ourselves to act more like tourists.

Our guide had already taken us into the heart of Thamel the evening before — that lively, colourful district packed with shops, cafés and restaurants. It was dinner and light shopping for us. I honestly can’t recall everything that Saw See bought — lots of soaps, I think — mostly as gifts for friends and relatives back home. 

As for me, I had my eye on a singing bowl. It was quite something to see the sheer variety on offer: from small palm-sized bowls to enormous ones you could stand inside; from factory-made items to finely handcrafted pieces. I eventually settled on a five-inch handcrafted bowl which set me back NPR3,900. A fair deal, in my opinion. And tonight, we would be heading back to Thamel again for a second round of last-minute shopping before returning to the Gokarna Forest Resort.

Even though we were now more tourists than pilgrims, temple visits remained firmly on our itinerary. This day was particularly packed. We had four major sites to cover: Swayambhunath Mahachaitya, Patan Durbar Square, the Golden Temple, and the Boudhanath Stupa. A tall order for one day — so best to get started!

If the name Swayambhunath Mahachaitya is a bit of a tongue-twister, just call it by its more familiar name, the Monkey Temple, which is rather fitting, considering the number of monkeys roaming about freely. One has to be cautious, especially with food. These monkeys are bold and not the least bit shy. One of our group members lost her ice-cream in the blink of an eye, snatched away by a cheeky monkey who looked rather pleased with himself.

The temple complex itself is perched on a hilltop west of Kathmandu and is one of Nepal’s oldest religious sites, dating back to the fifth century. It’s also a UNESCO World Heritage Site and still very much a living place of devotion. Entry was NPR200 per person, and from there it was a climb, all 365 steps to the top. Along the way, sweeping views of Kathmandu unfolded before us. It was a lovely, breezy day, and the city looked calm from that height.

And what a sight awaited us at the summit: the stupa, a grand white dome with a golden spire and Buddha’s all-seeing eyes gazing out in every direction. Flags in the Buddhist colours fluttered in the wind, and the air was filled with the scent of incense and the occasional chanting and accompanying bells. Surrounding the stupa were shrines, statues and rows of spinning prayer wheels. Souvenir stalls lined the walkways, selling everything from tiny Buddha statues to mandala coasters, prayer wheels, chunky bead bracelets and singing bowls. Bargaining was part of the fun — good-natured and expected.

Swayambhu Mahachaitya had everything: spirituality, scenery, shopping and cheeky monkeys. It’s a place where ancient tradition meets vibrant daily life. For all its colour, noise and movement, it still offered a feeling that stayed with you long after you’ve climbed back down those steps.

A maddening 10 days

My little campaign in the Senior 65+ section of the 23rd ASEAN+ Age-Group Chess Championships has come to an end. After the free day last Saturday, I managed 2.5 points from my final four rounds and clawed back a bit of my earlier deficit. Those four points were pretty valuable and helped me finish in a respectable enough spot.

I dropped about 70 to 80 rating points in the process – part of the plan, really, as I’ve felt for a while that my pre-championship rating was a bit inflated and didn’t quite reflect where my chess standard is at nowadays. It’s still too high, which means I’m not eligible to play in some of the local FIDE-rated tournaments with rating caps at 1600 or 1800. Getting down to that level’s going to take a fair bit more playing, and to be honest, the chances to do that are few and far between. So with the rating still a touch too high in my opinion and the opportunities drying up, maybe it’s time for me to go into hibernation mode again.

We had quite the memorable closing ceremony after the Standard Chess events wrapped up. Our special guest was Ramli Ngah Talib, who’s just been appointed Penang’s Head of State. Back in the day, he was the Malaysian Chess Federation president from 2007 till Dec 2016, so a lot of the chess folks knew him well. Despite the state protocol staff and police trying to keep things orderly, he got a hero’s welcome when he turned up at the Che Hoon Khor Moral Uplifting Society for the closing and official dinner. The current MCF committee were all over the official car as it arrived, while we from the Penang Chess Association simply hung back and let them have their moment. We had our own photo op with the Penang Governor later – no fuss, no drama.

Me, I was actually more concerned with keeping an eye out for Ernest Zacharevic’s arrival at the dinner, and I missed a medal call. I had gone back and forth with his rep for ages to get the green light to use his iconic Children on a Bicycle artwork for the Championships. A special invite had gone out to him, and I didn’t want to miss him when he walked in. When I brought him into the hall, he was treated like a bit of a celebrity. The Malaysians seemed more flustered by his presence than by Ramli’s! I couldn’t sit at the same table as Ernest, but I did some quick shuffling and made sure he was seated next to Berik Balgabaev, the FIDE President’s representative. Thought they might hit it off – Berik’s from Kazakhstan and Ernest is Lithuanian. Both ex-Soviet states, so maybe they’d find some common ground and not get too bored with the evening.

All in all, I’d say the closing ceremony and dinner went off brilliantly. There were a few minor hiccups, but nothing worth stressing over. Hats off to the organising team – and yes, I was part of it, but still – the real heavy lifting was done by Ooi Gim Ewe, Steven Hoh, and Chong Kean Foong. They handled everything from rooming and transport changes to endless hotel and protocol meetings. On the technical side, Jonathan Chuah was a proper workhorse as Tournament Director. Not an easy job working with the Chief Arbiter, all the arbiters and assistants, and the demands that go with the job.

The Championships aren’t quite done yet. There are two more days to go – today’s the Rapid Chess competition, and tomorrow’s the Blitz to wrap everything up. I was meant to play in the Rapid today, but instead I’m at the outpatient eye clinic at Penang General Hospital. An eye check-up I couldn’t miss – waited too long for the appointment! But tomorrow I’ll be back at the Championships, not as a player, but in my role as International Arbiter, helping out with the Blitz event.

It’s been a maddening 10 days, that’s for sure!

Senior chess moments

I’ve been rather quiet the last few days and will likely remain so until the 11th or 12th of this month. Reason is because I’m competing in the Senior 65+ age-group category of the 23rd ASEAN+ Age-Group Chess Championships at the Berjaya Penang Hotel. This is one of the very few age-group events that give recognition to those senior members of the chess board. People tend to think of age-group competitions as limited to those age groups below 20 years old, but I had always contended that age-group events can be for adult chess players too. 

ASEAN Chess Confederation's 25th anniversary celebrations
at the 23rd Age-Group chess championships. There wasn't any
competition in 2001 and 2002, that is, the Covid-19 years

Actually, I didn’t plan to be playing in this ASEAN+ tournament at all. My role was to take charge of the media releases, but several weeks ago, I was being urged by the Penang Chess Association committee members to play since the response for that age-group category was rather poor. I did a lot of soul-searching. Should I play or not? Five years ago, I would unhesitatingly have said yes to it. But five years is a pretty long time, and I’ve found that my chess abilities have taken a hit as I grew older. 

Nevertheless, the urge to play remained strong despite my reluctance. However, the enticing bit was that for the PCA committee members, the tournament was free. No need to fork out the money in order to play. And it’s not exactly cheap. Plus, I get to stay at the tournament hotel for the event’s full duration. That sealed the deal, actually. Not having to travel back and forth from Bukit Mertajam meant less stress on my constitution. And that’s how I ended up as a participant in the Seniors 65+ section, making up a field of 12 players. Meantime, the Seniors 50+ section had attracted 20 players. A very decent number!

However, before the championships started, the organisers decided to combine both Seniors age-groups and came up with a new list of 30 participants. So here at this event, I was wearing two hats. The first was as an official in charge of the media, and the second as a participant. That being so, it forced me to surrender my mobile phone outside the tournament hall as regulations do not permit players to carry mobile phones or even wear wristwatches while playing. The regulations are quite strict to prevent participants from cheating. Even exiting the tournament hall to go to the washrooms or leaving the hall after the games are over would require the players to be body-scanned electronically.

So how have I been faring in the first three days of playing? Well, the first round went disastrously wrong as I lost. The second and third games were drawn. In the fourth round, I lost a second time needlessly by walking into a one-move checkmate. I was having the upper hand in the game, actually—until I tried too hard to capture a pawn, and that was my undoing. Fifth game, drawn again. So from five games, I’ve collected only 1½ points. Quite miserable, this contribution of rating points to other people. And there are four more rounds to go. How will I fare against my future opponents? Stay tuned to my further misadventures.

The great assembly

When I was recently writing about the Mahavana Forest in Nepal, it struck me how underrated the place is. Most people overlook it, probably because there’s no major landmark there. Just a quiet expanse of forest without even the hint of ruined structures. Even the Buddhist pilgrimage tours from Malaysia and Singapore tend to skip it entirely. Yet, I would argue that Mahavana deserves to be an essential stop for anyone who wants to better understand the activities of the Buddha.

Some time ago, I was reminded that this year's 10th of June corresponded to the full moon day of the lunar month, known as Navon in the Burmese calendar. This full moon day in June is an important date in the Buddhist calendar, especially in Burma where it’s marked as Mahasamaya Day, meaning The Great Assembly day. It becomes a time to reflect on a remarkable event from the Buddha’s time: an event that combined compassion, wisdom and cosmic significance.

It all began with a very earthly quarrel. In the fourth year after his enlightenment, the Buddha learned of a serious conflict brewing between two neighbouring states: the Sakyans of Kapilavatthu (his own people) and the Koliyans across the Rohini river. A terrible drought had struck the region and the two sides were fighting over water for their crops. The tension was so severe that war seemed inevitable.

The Buddha intervened. He travelled to the border where the two armies were facing off. With gentle words and calm reasoning, he reminded them that water was not worth shedding blood over. Through his wisdom, the conflict was diffused. The two sides saw the error of their ways and laid down their weapons.

To express their gratitude, the rulers of both states each ordained 250 princes, 500 in total, into the Sangha. But these newly ordained monks, though sincere, still struggled with worldly attachments. Their wives, left behind in the royal palaces, tried to win them back with music, perfume and sweet food. As the young monks’ minds wavered, the Buddha led them away into the serenity of the Himalayan forests, to a place called Kundala Lake. There, under the cool shade of trees and the silence of nature, he taught them the Story of the Kundala Bird, using 300 verses to illustrate the path of letting go. By the end, the monks reached the first stage of enlightenment, Sotapatti. 

The Buddha then brought them to Mahavana, the Great Forest near Kapilavatthu. Seated in a cave on the night of the full moon of Nayon, he gave them guidance in meditation and one by one, they attained full enlightenment or Arahantship.

And then something extraordinary happened.

Word of the great assembly of enlightened monks spread. Not only humans, but devas, yakkhas, nagas, Brahmas, beings from the heavenly realms and all across the cosmos, began arriving. They came in vast numbers, shining with celestial light, drawn to the power of the Dhamma. The Buddha turned to the monks and said, “The deva hosts have approached. Detect them, monks.”

The monks, deep in their meditation, opened their inner vision. Some saw a hundred celestial beings. Some saw a thousand. Some saw uncountable numbers. The entire forest, it seemed, was glowing.

Seven thousand yakkhas came from Kapilavatthu. Six thousand more from the Himalayas. Three thousand from Mount Sata. Another 500 from Vessamitta. And Kumbhira, the great yakkha of Mount Vepulla, brought an entourage of over 100,000.

Then came the Four Great Kings: Dhatarattha from the East, lord of the gandhabbas (celestial musicians); Virulha from the South, ruler of the kumbandas; Virupakkha from the West, king of the nagas (serpents); and Kuvera from the North, sovereign of the yakkhas. They stood, radiant, at the four corners of the forest. Their entourages followed: hosts of devas, raucous and reverent, bearing names like Pañcasikha, Matali, Timbaru and Suriyavacchasa. The naga kings from Lake Nabhasa, Vesali and the Yamuna river came, as did the mighty Garudas, ancient bird-beings who, for once, made peace with the nagas.

The sky shimmered with the arrival of devas from the sun and moon, from the constellations, from the four elements - water, fire, earth and air. The gods of the Tavatimsa heaven came, led by Sakka, the deva-king. Even the high Brahmas arrived: Sanankumara, Subrahma, Harita, and Great Brahma himself — resplendent, serene and wise. Altogether, 60 great groups of celestial beings came from across the heavens. Each arrived quietly and reverently to hear the Buddha speak.

But not all were pleased. From the shadows came Mara, the Lord of Delusion. Seeing so many gathered in peace and joy, his dark heart burned with envy. With a thunderclap, he summoned his army. “Surround them! Distract them! Trap them in passion and fear!”

But the monks were unmoved. They remained calm, clear and beyond Mara’s reach. The Buddha once again said, “Mara’s army has approached. Detect them, monks.” And once again, they did. Mara saw he had no power here, and thus he fled.

In the stillness that followed, the Buddha delivered the Mahasamaya Sutta, a discourse so powerful and universal that countless celestial beings attained various stages of enlightenment. An unimaginable number reached Arahatship. Others reached the first, second or third stages of liberation. It was a moment of cosmic harmony. A great meeting of awakened minds and a turning point in the spiritual history of the world.

And that is why Mahasamaya Day is honoured. It reminds us of the Buddha’s role as peacemaker, teacher and guide among humansc and across all realms of existence. It tells us that peace is possible, even in the face of conflict. That wisdom shines brighter than power. And that the Dhamma speaks to all who are ready to listen, from kings and queens to yakkhas and nagas, from monks in the forest to devas in the sky. Above all, it teaches that true peace begins with the taming of our own hearts.

New electricity tariff looms

Looks like we’re heading towards changes in our electricity bills starting today. I’ve been following this for some weeks now, and from July onwards, electricity tariffs in Peninsular Malaysia will be adjusted monthly instead of every six months. That’s the big shift announced by the Energy Commission (Suruhanjaya Tenaga).

The idea is to make our bills reflect fuel and generation costs more accurately and in real time. The base tariff, which stays fixed for a few years, has now been set at 45.4 sen per kilowatt-hour (kWh), up from 39.95 sen. This is part of what's called Regulatory Period 4 (RP4), which runs until the end of 2027.

On top of that, there’ll be monthly adjustments to the final tariff depending on fuel prices. If fuel costs go up, the tariff can also go up, but by no more than three sen per kWh each month. Anything beyond that will need Cabinet approval. So it’s not entirely free-floating, but still a lot more responsive than before.

Also, our electricity bills are going to look a bit different. The current five-tiered domestic tariff structure is being replaced with a more itemised one. Usage will now be broken down into energy, capacity, network and retail charges. It’s meant to be more transparent, though I suspect most people won't be bothered with the details unless something looks unusually high.

There’s a small bonus for those who don’t use much electricity. Households using 1,000 kWh or less a month will qualify for a monthly rebate under the Energy Efficiency Incentive (EEI) which is reflected on the bill. And for small businesses like shops or offices using below 200 kWh a month, there's a similar rebate too. It’s to encourage everyone to be a little more energy-conscious.

The Time-of-Use (TOU) scheme is also being expanded. Entire weekends now count as off-peak hours, plus a long window from 10pm to 2pm on weekdays. If we can shift our high-usage appliances or machines to those periods, we might save a bit more.

While domestic users may not feel the pinch straight away, businesses might. Under the new structure, users are now grouped by voltage levels (low, medium, and high) with heavier users paying more across the board. Manufacturers and service providers who rely heavily on machinery or air-conditioning may face tighter margins due to both the base rate hike and monthly volatility.

This is where companies may want to rethink their electricity use. For some, installing solar panels might be viable but that’s not always an option, especially for those renting space or operating in multi-tenant buildings. Still, there are other energy-saving solutions out there.

The good news is that exploring these alternatives doesn’t just help cut electricity bills. It also supports ESG (Environmental, Social and Governance) commitments. More companies are being asked to show progress on sustainability. Improving energy efficiency is one of the simplest, most measurable things that can be done. Whether reporting to the board, regulators or just doing the right thing,  it all counts.

Anyway, electricity bills are going to look a bit different soon. It might take some adjusting. But for those who can adapt and take energy seriously, it could turn out to be a real opportunity in disguise.

Where art meets chess

On behalf of the Penang Chess Association, I wish to express our heartfelt thanks to Ernest Zacharevic for allowing us to use his iconic mural, Children on a Bicycle, as the central image for this year’s 23rd ASEAN+ Age-Group Chess Championships that begins on Wednesday. It’s hard to imagine a more fitting representation. After all, this tournament is for the young (and the young at heart). The mural, like the Championships itself, celebrates youth, movement, imagination and the simple joy of discovery. In many ways, it reflects what these players bring to the board: boldness, curiosity and a spirit that’s always on the move. We’re honoured to have Ernest’s art grace our event.

A squall in the dark

I saw this story on The Star’s online portal last night, about a violent squall that had hit Penang early yesterday morning, bringing sudden bursts of strong wind with heavy rain. A squall’s brief but intense. According to the paper, weather apps with satellite imagery had tracked the storm as it blew in from the Straits of Malacca, hitting Balik Pulau on the island’s western side around 4am before spreading across the island and then onto the mainland. Winds topped 50km/h.

What made me take notice was that I’d had trouble sleeping yesterday morning, even though I was very tired after returning from Kuala Lumpur. I woke around 2.45am, tossed and turned, and then had to deal with a pesky mosquito that somehow found its way into the bedroom.

Then at 4.25am, I heard the wind pick up. No lightning, just faint thunder and a slow build-up of wind that suddenly turned strong. I usually leave the window slightly ajar for fresh air, but all at once the wind forced its way through the gap and flung it wide open. I rushed to shut it, but the wind pushed back. Had to shut it again and this time made sure it was properly fastened.

And then came the rain. It started off gently but turned into a proper downpour in seconds. I was just settling in again when, at 4.40am, my phone—which was charging—suddenly lit up and then went dead. The whole room plunged into darkness. I couldn’t even make out the shapes of the furniture. Complete power failure.

I crept to the window and, yes, the entire street was blacked out except for one house farther away, which I knew had a backup power supply. Oh shit, I muttered, when’s the power coming back? But I didn’t have to wait long. Right at 5am, everything came back on.

So I crawled back into bed again and this time, finally managed to get some sleep until I woke at seven to the sound of dying raindrops.

20th Malaysia chess festival is on

The 20th Malaysia Chess Festival is confirmed for 12-21 September 2025. Due to some technical issues, the venue for all events this year will be the KL Gateway Mall in Jalan Kerinchi, Kampung Kerinchi, 59200 Kuala Lumpur. To reach there, take the LRT Kelana Jaya Line and stop at Universiti station (KJ19). The schedule for all the events is shown below.

Nepal 2025, Day Five

By now, I had come to expect that a stupa doesn’t always have to be made of concrete or brick, just as a Sīma hall doesn’t necessarily need to be an enclosed building...it can simply be a designated open space beneath the sky. During our Lumbini trip, we saw several examples of these stupas that looked more like grassy mounds, unshaped and unassuming, yet sacred. The stupa at Ramagrama was one such place.

When we arrived at the grounds in Ramagrama, the first thing we noticed was its sheer simplicity. Just a massive grassy mound rising from the earth, measuring 10 metres high and 23.5 metres in diameter, with a great old tree growing beside it, its roots winding around the base. There were no ornate structures, no grand gates or golden spires. Only a wooden boardwalk that circled the stupa, inviting pilgrims to walk in mindfulness.

We were drawn to a shaded spot beneath the tree and settled there for a short session of meditation and contemplation. The sun was unforgiving and the wooden walkway, baking under the heat, proved too much for bare feet. I chose instead to walk barefoot on the soft grass beside the path and had wisely forewarned my friends from the Nandaka Vihara to do the same. Bhante Dhammasubho, our Chief Abbot, along with the rest of our group, noted my advice as we circumambulated the stupa three times, knowing that this wasn’t just any stupa.

Ramagrama holds a special place in Buddhist history. After the Buddha’s Mahāparinibbāna, his cremated remains were divided among eight kingdoms. The Koliyas of Ramagrama received one portion, and they enshrined the relics in this stupa here. What makes this site so unique is that, unlike the other seven original stupas, which were later opened by Emperor Asoka for relic redistribution across his vast empire, Ramagrama’s stupa was left untouched. Legend has it that when Asoka arrived, intent on opening the mound, he was stopped by a Nāga, a serpent guardian of the relics. And so, this is believed to be the only original stupa that still contains the Buddha’s mortal remains, unbroken and undisturbed.

The site itself was rediscovered in 1899. Excavations carried out over the years, particularly by the Nepal Department of Archaeology, revealed layers of construction dating back to the Mauryan, Sunga, Kushana and Gupta periods. Pottery shards, ancient greyware and monastic remains give us glimpses of a long history of continuous devotion.

Interestingly, both Faxian and Xuanzang, the Chinese pilgrims who journeyed through this region centuries ago, recorded Ramagrama in their travelogues. Xuanzang in particular noted the Nāga legend and described seeing a stupa, a pillar and a temple, all of which were once located on an island formed by the meandering Jharahi River.

Although Ramagrama has been on UNESCO’s tentative list of World Heritage Sites since 1996, nothing much has been done to advance its eventual listing. Hopefully, more can be done to enhance Ramagrama's visibility. This is not just as an archaeological site, but a place of deep spiritual heritage. Ramagrama reminds us that sacredness doesn’t always need a grand structure or elaborate ceremony. Sometimes, a simple mound of earth that's been left untouched for over two millennia can speak louder than any artificial monument.

The visit to Ramagrama ended our stay in Lumbini. In the afternoon, we flew back to Kathmandu and along the way, as the flight approached Tribhuvan International Airport, we spotted just above the vast blanket of clouds the unmistakable tip of Mount Everest. Observing Everest from this distance had a humbling effect. There it was, piercing the clouds in silent majesty, reminding us how small we are in the grand scale of nature. To see the world’s highest peak was to be reminded that there are still things far greater than ourselves. It felt like a fitting end to a journey of spiritual reflection.

AGGCC awaits next week

 

With the 23rd ASEAN+ age group chess championships starting in a week's time, the Penang Chess Association has released this message from the Prime Minister, Anwar Ibrahim. It's confirmed that three of his grandchildren, will be competing in the age-group events. Last year, two of them had played in the Eastern Asia youth chess championships but this time, all three grandsons will be playing in the Under-10, Under-12 and Under-14 sections. 

The event will take place in the Berjaya Penang Hotel in Burmah Road from 2nd to 10th July. The standard chess competition shall be from the 2nd to the 8th, the rapid chess event on the 9th and followed by the blitz chess on the 10th.

Excursions, floods and memories

Ah, the kids I know today. They really have no idea how good their lives are. Their parents try their utmost to give them the best: the things they themselves never had growing up. And I don't mean just toys or gadgets. I mean experiences, opportunities, little luxuries. If the parents once missed out, they’re determined to make sure their children don’t. My wife and I were no different. We also wanted to provide as much as we could for our son and daughter. Whatever they wished for, within reasonable limits, we tried our best to fulfil.

Take holidays and excursions, for example. These days, it’s almost a given that modern parents will take their toddlers, two or three years old, on overseas holidays. Some of them have been on planes more times by the age of five than I had been before turning thirty! Ask any of them, “Been to Taiwan?” and they’ll rattle off place names like it is nothing. In my time, there was no such thing. An overseas holiday? That was practically in my dreams. Even local holidays were rare, especially when your family didn’t own a car. Flying was out of the question. Driving, likewise. The most we could hope for was a train journey.

And it was indeed by train that I remember going on my very first holiday. It must have been the late 1950s before I started kindergarten. I couldn’t have been older than six. My parents had decided to take me to Taiping, and we travelled from the old Prai railway station. In those days, there was no Penang Bridge, so we first had to take the trishaw to the ferry terminal and then the railway ferry across to the mainland. I still recall the metallic groan and the rocking of the ferry as it docked. From there, we boarded the night mail train. I must’ve slept most of the way, lulled by the rhythmic clack-clack of the wheels on the track because the next thing I knew, I was being gently woken up at Taiping station. Ten o'clock, maybe?

My father led the way through the quiet streets to a boarding house somewhere in town. I remember climbing up to the first floor and entering a small, modest room where we stayed the night. That trip, short as it was, became etched in my memory, because of its rarity. That was my first and only proper family holiday in the 1950s. 

I do recall another brief trip, this time with my mother and an aunt. It was an overnight visit to Cameron Highlands. We travelled by bus, just an ordinary, no-frills vehicle with thinly cushioned seats and rigid, non-reclining backrests. In those days, the bus had to travel south along the old highway and at Tapah, turn northwards through a winding road to Ringlet before reaching Tanah Rata. I think we arrived at Tanah Rata around four or five in the morning, the journey took so long. It was well before sunrise and I was well covered for the bracing cold pre-dawn air. The only place we visited was a sort of morning market. Cameron Highlands was, and still is, known for its freshest produce, and the women stocked up on vegetables and hardy flowers that I remember lasted impressively long. And that was it. After their little shopping spree, it was time to board the bus back to Penang. There wasn’t even a chance to wander around or take in the cool mountain air properly.

After these trips, once I began kindergarten in 1960, the idea of holidays seemed to disappear. There were school and play to think about, but to be more honest about the state of affairs in the family, money was tight.

Still, school life wasn’t without its small joys. During primary school and continuing into my early secondary school years up until Form Three, there were the year-end school excursions. Do schools even do this anymore? I rather doubt it. But back then, these excursions were the highlight of the year. Every kid looked forward to them. We’d pile into a chartered bus and set off on a grand tour around Penang island, stopping at places like Telok Bahang, Sungei Pinang and Balek Pulau. I think Ayer Itam was also part of the route, but my memory’s a bit fuzzy on that. It wasn’t the destination so much as the sense of going somewhere, of being away from school, of laughing with friends while there'd always someone at the back of the bus who is the joker of the lot.

But by the time I reached Form Four, those excursions stopped. Maybe the school had changed its policies. Or perhaps we’d just outgrown them. From then on, if we wanted to travel, it had to be on our own initiative.

And I did, eventually. After sitting for the MCE examination, the Malaysian Certificate of Education, which had replaced the old Senior Cambridge, I took a trip to Kuala Lumpur with my cousin Swee Kheng. It was my first real adventure without my parents, and I was buzzing with excitement. We took the train again, naturally. KL felt like another world then. Big, busy, noisy....and wet from the monsoon rain. We stayed with his brother who had a rented room at a high-rise flat, name escapes me now, which was a landmark building in the heart of town. I still remember the dark corridors, the echoing stairwells, the view from the window looking down onto a city that never seemed to sleep.

But that excitement quickly gave way to something else. When we awoke the next morning, the world had changed. The streets below were submerged. Water had swallowed the roads and crept into shoplots. We were stranded, marooned in a city that had come to a standstill.

This was the great Kuala Lumpur flood of 1971. The Klang, Batu and Gombak rivers had burst their banks. More than 180,000 people were affected. We watched from above as cars stalled and people waded waist-deep through the streets. There was little we could do except wait. Eventually, when the waters receded enough, we made our way to Section 8 in Petaling Jaya to visit my godparents. I remember the relief of getting out of the flood zone. We stayed there for a day or two and then it was time to return home.

That trip, though unintended in its drama, taught me a lot. About resilience. About finding your way in the world. About how travel, even the most modest kind, can leave lasting impressions. These weren’t trips with photo albums or souvenirs. But they live on in the memory.

And so I look at the children of today and think: yes, they may have more. But perhaps they miss something too. The thrill of the ordinary. The excitement of small journeys. The magic of train rides, ferry crossings and cheap boarding houses with dark, damp staircases. The joy of simply going somewhere, anywhere, and calling it an adventure.

Nepal 2025, Day Four (IV: Kudan)

Our final stop for the day was Kudan, located some six kilometres south of Kapilvastu. It was already late in the afternoon, and the site was close to closing. But the security guard, upon seeing that we were accompanied by a monk, none other than our Nandaka Vihara’s Chief Abbot, Bhante Dhammasubho, graciously waved us in.

As we entered, the first thing that caught our attention was a grassy mound off to the left. It was a stupa dedicated to Rahula, the Buddha’s only son from his early life as Prince Siddhartha. It was here, at this very place in Kudan, known in ancient times as Nigrodharama, that Rahula was ordained as a novice monk. He was only eight years old at the time. According to the texts, Rahula had asked his father for his inheritance and instead of wealth or title, the Buddha offered him something far greater: the Dhamma. Rahula was then ordained by the Buddha’s chief disciple, Sariputta. Today, a small Hindu shrine stands atop that stupa. A curiosity indeed, this shrine, a little out of place in the whole scheme of things.

We wandered further in and rounded another stupa, this one constructed of ancient bricks, its base clearly visible despite centuries of weathering. This stupa marks another significant moment, the first meeting between the Buddha and his father, King Suddhodana, after the Great Renunciation. The king, who had grieved for years over his son’s sudden departure, now saw him returned not as the heir to a kingdom but as the Enlightened One. It was here that the Buddha began sharing his teachings with the royal household and the Sakyans.

Perhaps it was the twilight but I felt a certain stillness about Kudan. The ruins are spread over a peaceful patch of land. There was only a little crowd and thus, little distractions. The quietness felt different, as if it remembered the footsteps of monks long past.

Archaeologically, excavations here have uncovered remnants from several historical periods. This was once a thriving monastic centre. The foundations of stupas, an old well, the outlines of a large pond...they all suggest that Kudan played a vital role in the early spread of the Buddha’s teachings. Some accounts even suggest that this area was linked to the establishment of the Bhikkhuni Sangha, the order of nuns under Mahāpajāpati Gotamī, the Buddha’s stepmother and foster mother.

As we left the grounds, sunlight had almost disappeared. The remaining, lingering light turned golden, catching the contours of the ruins in soft relief. I paused for a moment, thinking about Rahula and how this unassuming little place witnessed such deeply personal and spiritual moments in the Buddha’s life. Kudan is understated but it speaks of family, renunciation, reconciliation and the first seeds of the Sangha and that, to me, makes it every bit as sacred as the more well-trodden pilgrimage sites.

Leaving Kudan, we retreated to the Buddha Maya Garden Hotel in Lumbini, everyone deep in our own thoughts. What a day this has been, visiting the Lumbini Gardens, the mahavana forest, Kapilvastu and Kudan. On Day Five of our travels, we shall end our pilgrimage to Lumbini with a visit to the Ramagrama stupa.