NOT a food blog
My brothers and I are products of inter-cultural love stories that have spanned several generations. While our identity cards insist that we are Indians, the reality is that our blood runs thick with a multitude of Malayan colours. My mother’s forefathers sought their fortune in this land a long time ago, before the flash of immigration in the last century, while my father’s roots, two generations before his, were set in India.
My brothers and I are a product of an inter-cultural love story in the nineteen sixties. He was a patient in a hospital in Perak, and she, the nurse. They fell in love despite the protests of their respective families, but over the decades eventually won the hearts of their future families. They will attest that it was not easy to overcome the racial bias that existed then, but they will also tell you that they succeeded in overcoming it by being true to themselves and by demonstrating unconditional love.
I will believe this and I will live this.
Happy Independence Day, Malaysia.
Food, for me, is a means to an end and not an end in itself.
Food, for me, represents the love of family, the fellowship of friends, and the community and communality it brings.