Aisyah Zaatiyah 2?

Selepas Semusim di Karang Setra

Anjing-anjing – atau serigalakah itu? – melolong tidak henti-henti, sejak pulang dari masjid tadi, sampailah sekarang, lewat tengah malam, sedang aku menulis di bawah cahaya pelita. Neng Seri, bocah comel berkaki tempang yang suka berceloteh itu pernah bercerita, lolongan itu memanggil bulan turun menerangi hutan-hutan rimba. Ah, kiranya ada bulan yang benar-benar dapat turun menerangi kelam pulau tersumpah ini!

Sudah semusim aku di sini. Menghamba diri di Karang Setra. Selamat tinggal kepada pakaian-pakaian mewah, barang kemas, harum-haruman, permaidani tebal dan sofa empuk. Aku lihat cermin sompek di sudut meja, nampak bayang wajahku samar-samar. Aku tarik pelita ...

Assalamualaikum.

Tadi seorang rakan menyebut tentang sequel Harum Cinta Aisyah. Langsung saya teringat perca cerpen yang pernah saya mulakan sedikit waktu dahulu, tetapi saya pinggirkan begitu sahaja selepas selesai barang semuka. Saya baca-baca semula, timbul hasrat untuk menyudahkan. Tidak, saya tidak percaya dengan teater sequel, setidak-tidaknya untuk peringkat kemampuan saya. Belum cukup hebat untuk itu. Berapa banyak produksi - filem, terutamanya - yang gah pada versi pertama, tetapi tiba-tiba kemunculan sequel demi sequel atau prequel yang pincang terus menenggelamkan semua yang cemerlang-cemerlang dulunya? Malah boleh pula menjadi seperti noda untuk reputasi penulis, lucu bukan, kalah bersaing dengan diri sendiri?

Saya belum sehebat JK Rowling dengan Harry Potternya atau Allahyarham P Ramlee dengan Bujang Lapok dan Do Re Mi beliau. =)

InsyaAllah, saya kepingin mengusahakan cerpen sahaja untuk sequel. Kalau ada rezeki, mungkin terpacul di mana-mana media.. penghujung tahun ini, tahun hadapan? Seperti cerpen yang saya hantar ke Fokus SPM - mungkin 6-7 bulan lepas, sampai sudah lupa dan 'halalkan' sahaja ia berkubur tanpa nisan dalam kotak mel editor - tiba-tiba dikhabarkan tersiar untuk edisi Mac. Alhamdulillah.

Cerpen itu satira tentang masyarakat yang obses dengan dunia hiburan dan realiti TV, prejudis dengan setiap yang berbau Islami, tuntas leka dengan tafsiran Islam yang mereka suka, versi ringan tanpa berat-berat beban. InsyaAllah hujung April ini saya kongsikan bersama pembaca. Hak penerbitan majalah mesti dihormati, seperti pesan Kak Nisah Haron kan =D

Balik kepada sequel yang saya sebut-sebut tadi, ah, saya pun belum pasti apa yang mahu dikaryakan. Lumrah, bila-bila dan apa-apa pun yang saya tulis - puisi, cerpen, drama, lirik, hatta karangan untuk peperiksaan dan esei TOK untuk Diploma IB - saya hanya tahu apa yang akan keluar apabila saya menulisnya. Ilham itu datang secara real-time, saya kurang pandai merangka-rangka lebih awal. Paling tidak pun hanya memacakkan tiang-tiang untuk menjadi garispandu, tetapi susun atur papan dinding, lengkok alang apatah lagi ukiran pada daun tingkap, hanya akan jelas setelah tangan menyentuhnya.

Namun yang samar-samar saya nampak, isu kerja-kerja kemanusiaan - Relief Work - yang bertindih papas dengan operasi misionari. Dilema di mana mahu berbudi - di perantauan nan getir atau di tanah tumpah darah sendiri yang tidak kurang memerlukan pengorbanan? Pertembungan budaya dan tradisi dengan pemodenan dan industri, harga apakah yang mesti dilangsaikan untuk mengecap kemajuan? Benarkah kemajuan itu yang didamba-damba oleh sebuah umat yang dicap mundur untuk membeli bahagia? Dan ya, tidak semua orang berharta dan berkuasa itu hatinya sudah bertukar menjadi tulang-tulang dibakar matahari.

Soalan terakhir yang saya sendiri belum pasti jawapannya, cinta baru untuk Aisyah?

Salam sastera,
meow~

Of Changes

Assalamualaikum.

People change.
They grow taller, thinner, fatter (God forbid!), prettier, gentler, plumper.
They lose their grouchiness, gain gravity and grace, or convert into an introvert after years of self-identifying as an extrovert.

They undergo transformations of thoughts - they may agree fervently on a particular matter for a time, and gradually found more and more reason to think otherwise, as time goes by. It's very normal, however drastic the change of principles, of stands, of opinions, might be.

Only, the thing is, if one writes one's thoughts for the public to view, the changes would be clearly visible, and may bring judgements. Apparently matters which doesn't seem private initially can also involve issues of privacy.

But then again, waddaheck.

Kan?

(Sometimes, I do write aimlessly. I'm aimless, am I not? Aimless. And I'm not supposed to have a voice, not supposed to lead anywhere, because I'm aimless. Like a stray cat. Anyone who doesn't follow convention, by convention, SOMEONE'S CONVENTION, is AIMLESS. How beautiful that word is.)

Kan?

I couldn't wait for you to return, then we can laugh and cry and laugh and cry and laugh again at the laughable world, and our laughable selves!


Memang aimless punya tulisan. =D

meow~

Ayam Masak Kicap, Redefined

Assalamualaikum.

I understand it'll be quite off-the-norm for me to put a recipe (of all things!) here, but well, the kitchen is a major part of one's life, especially when one is living on a tight budget and sometimes feel the urge to exercise creativity with minimal use of words or speeches.

Note the word 'creativity'. Hence bear in mind folks, I don't think culinary conservatives would be too thrilled with it. If you've got an outlandish taste (and accompanying zeal for gastronomical experiments) like me - well, the next steps after reading the recipe is up to your preference.

Olive oil (I actually opened my cupboard to discover that there is NO bottle of sunflower oil - the last time I made something with it was, erm, two weeks ago? And I didn't remember whether I had finished it off or left it outside the cupboard. I don't want to take the risk of poaching my flatmates' oil - though one particular bottle looks suspiciously like mine. So, I went for a more elegant, albeit COSTLY alternative.)

Half a large onion - the red (magenta?) type, not the orange bawang besar type. Chop into moderate slices.

5-6 pieces of garlic. Crushed.

Chicken. I used about four large pieces - the kind you'll get if you ask the butcher to cut the chicken leg (LEG, not DRUMSTICKS) into three pieces. Chop into smaller lumps of flesh and bone. I got visions of silat gayong brick-smashing feats when I was doing the above. Energy has to be efficiently transferred from the left palm to the back of the large kitchen knife to smartly slice through the bones. I haven't tried yet, but theoretically, I guess beef might also work instead of chicken.

Sweetcorn - about two handfuls of it.

Lada kering. Cut - or tear - into small pieces, then put into a bowl of boiling water to soften them up, clean the dusty interior, and make it much easier to separate the seeds (Folks say that if you eat them, it'll stick inside your appendix, giving you appendicitis in no time. But apart from that, I don't think they taste that good to eat either.) Rinse and get rid of the seeds.

Gula melaka. A piece would do. You know, the kind of 'one piece' that you get encircled in a hard leafy 'cage'. Aha, before I forgot, I must mention that as a true-blue Kelantanese, I can hardly restrain myself from putting sugar in ALL kinds of cooking. But this time I'm inspired to use an alternative, gula melaka or palm sugar. Got it from Chinatown near the Manchester city centre, in case anyone wondered.

Dark soy sauce. Not too much, as it's VERY dark and VERY masin. Very cheap as well. You got it right, I bought it from Chinatown.

Tomato ketchup. Mix it up with the aforesaid soy sauce.

OK, now for the real cookery process. Use a wok or a cooking pot. Tumis (is the English word for this 'saute'? Or 'lightly fry'?) the chopped onion and garlic in the olive oil. After a few minutes, add in the lada kering. It's best to do this when none of your Orang Putih flatmates are around, the vapours tend to make them sneeze, cough, and flash very nasty looks at you.

Then, add in the chicken, gula melaka, and the soysauce-ketchup potion. Add in some more water - I used about three cups of water for half a cup of aforesaid potion. Let it boil beautifully.

When the chicken don't look raw anymore, but you still don't feel like turning off the stove - I guess you get what I mean - add in the sweetcorn. I left the dish on low heat, letting it simmer for about fifteen minutes more before I decided that it's time to taste it. Alhamdulillah, my experiment works.

For a final touch, when serving it (to no one else but me, actually, since I'm staying 'alone' in a university flat), I squeezed juice from half a limau nipis. Eat with rice and fresh iceberg lettuce.

What a blast of flavour. Sour, sweet, salty, savoury, spicy, and whatnots all at the same time. I have a passion for flavours, and I loved strong ones. It's hard to define, I don't really like overly sweet or very salty food - but there's something about strong flavours, complementing each other, that is often the final determinant whether a particular dish would sweep me off my feet (into the plate?) or not. But I wasn't very nitpicky anyway, as my friends would testify, I would eat almost anything with equal relish =p (I must state here that usually friends who invited me for meals did great jobs - a necessary disclaimer to avoid losing all those invitations)

OK, enough rambling for now =)

salam,
meow~

Tak Emas Bungkal Diasah, Tak Kayu Tangga Dibelah

assalamualaikum.

Entri di bawah saya tulis ke sebuah mailing list, respon kepada artikel ini Grace Under Fire yang dikongsi seorang kawan di situ.



1)

Feminisme. Cool. Applause to Dr Wan Azizah. Padan benar waktu terbaca artikel ini, sebaik sahaja usai Simposium IMAM Dublin 2008 (yang Project Managernya adalah perempuan yang bukan sahaja lengkap ciri-ciri Muslimah idaman tetapi juga berkaliber dan berwawasan - orangnya VP IMAM Eire SC, hehe, ops, saya VP IMAM UK SC, jangan silap perhitungan); dan baru sahaja dapat melihat sendiri nama puan doktor terpampang di atas papan 'wall of fame' RCSI sebagai atara pemenang Gold Medal untuk tahun 1977.

Mereka bukan malaikat, sahabiah atau para bonda kaum Mukminin. Namun melihat Dr Wan Azizah dan Nurul Izzah mencapai kedudukan terbilang dalam lapangan politik negara, tidak dapat tidak mercup rasa bangga. Terutamanya dalam kejayaan Izzah, alah limau oleh benalu.

Dalam keadaan Muslimah asyik ketawa mengekek-ngekek sambil bergosip, meleleh liur melihat artis kacak dan fesyen mendakap pinggul dalam majalah-majalah hiburan dan fesyen, atau dalam ruang lain larut dalam dunia fikrah yang simplistik sambil meneguk sepenuhnya apa-apa yang diajar orang tanpa merasakan perlu untuk mengambil tahu soal praktikaliti dan realiti semasa, becok bercekcok tentang isu-isu remeh dan temeh, meminggir daripada intelektualiti dan aktivisme 'biarlah Muslimin saja yang ke depan, kita berukhwah di belakang sudahlah...', nah tampil dua Muslimah berkerudung sempurna berakhlak santun (malah saya yakin ada 'tarbiyah') yang mampu cemerlang dalam pengajian, gemilang dalam kepimpinan dan terbilang dalam perikemanusiaan. Ah, ketepikan pendirian politik apatah lagi kepartian, saya bukan mahu menggulati soal itu sekarang - jangan ada siapa-siapa yang paranoid menegur melarang berpolitik sebagai respon kepada kenyataan saya ini!

Saya selalu menyuarakan gusar, apabila melihat media - baik yang mainstream mahupun yang alternatif - masih seperti terkesip-kesip memuatkan tulisan intelek lagi berkarisma daripada golongan Muslimah, dalam apa sahaja isu. Saya tidak rasa para penyunting mengamalkan diskriminasi gender - walaupun itu mungkin. Lebih besar kebarangkalian, golongan Muslimah yang terkesip-kesip untuk menulis atau bersuara. Bukan tidak ada, ada, tapi, balik-balik yang itu-itu juga. Boleh dihitung dengan jari Muslimah (jenis emas padu, bukan plastik atau emas saduran) yang bersuara atau menulis tentang isu-isu umat, isu-isu besar, memimpin cambahan idea, menggerakkan aktivisme, terutamanya untuk hal berkaitan masalah kemanusiaan berkaitan wanita (dan anak-anak serta belia) yang sepatutnya dipandang dan ditangani daripada perspektif Islami - hak asasi, pendidikan dari kecil sampailah masuk universiti, keadilan sosial, kekeluargaan, pembangunan terancang, politik, polisi kerajaan, dan sebagainya. Yang banyak bunyi adalah wanita yang belum bersyahadah atau Muslimah jenis plastik atau emas saduran.

Tak boleh salahkan mereka juga, mereka banyak membaca, banyak pengetahuan, dan mahu mengambil tahu, mahu berbudi, hanya hidayah dan taufiq Allah belum meresap hati-hati mereka lantas pandangan yang diberi tandus nilai Islami. Tapi apa kesannya? Kesan paling jelas tentulah pandangan-pandangan ini menjelajah media dan menerobos akal budi umat, mempengaruhi untuk memandang dunia daripada sudut yang serupa. Kemudian timbul persepsi bahawa Muslimah yang akur Islam ini 'ortodoks', memang tak intelektual dan tertindas, Muslimah 'moden' itulah yang paling merdeka, bebas, lagi berakal sihat. Bahawa pengamalan Islam versi (atau pergerakan Islam) ini lelaki sahaja yang dialu-alukan mengeluarkan pendapat dan didengar cakap mereka. (Er, sebenarnya memang betul juga kan, to a certain extent?)

2)

Belum tentu pelajar yang 'ikut peraturan', tak mahu aktif dalam mana-mana gerakan mainstream itu manusia mandom yang tak ada potensi.
Tentu sekali wanita yang lemah lembut, tak bising, tak agresif, tidak boleh disimpulkan sebagai wanita inferior dan pasif yang memerlukan emansipasi atau hanya akan mengangguk kepada suami. Kehebatan itu pada iman, ilmu, dan akhlak. Cara menterjemah dalam aktiviti sehari-hari itu, cerita lain.

Apapun, asal besi pengapak kayu, asal emas menjadi penduk.

3)

Tembikar tidak berkilau sebelum dibakar.

4)

Tak mara berdayung; bergalah; patah galah bercemat, sesudahnya sampai juga ke hulu.

meow~


GLOSARI
alah limau kepada benalu - (hehe, cari sendiri kalau nak tahu.)
asal besi pengapak kayu, asal emas menjadi penduk - Darjat seseorang dapat ditentukan pada sifat perangainya. (Penduk adalah salut sarung keris)
tak mara berdayung; bergalah; patah galah bercemat, sesudahnya sampai juga ke hulu - Segala daya upaya akan dilakukan, untuk menyampaikan maksudnya. (Bercemat maknanya menarik perahu dengan tali yang diikatkan kepada perahu itu.)

rawak - tiga hari sebelum ReAwakening

Assalamualaikum.

Hari ini padat dengan perjalanan, fikrah, idea dan penghargaan.

Pagi-pagi sekitar jam sebelas, saya dikejutkan dengan satu lagi terjemahan baru "teknik dakwah masa kini". Nampaknya kita boleh berhemah sebaik mungkin, menghormati anjuran-anjuran pertubuhan lain, tapi adalah suatu kesilapan apabila kita menyangka pertubuhan lain itu juga akan mengamalkan akhlak seumpama kita. Mantap, tahniah kalian! Tahniah!

Hari berlalu terasa sangat cepat. Teman menjemput berhampiran stesen kereta api Sheffield..

"...dibah, nanti dari depan stesen tren, ko gerak arah.. em, apa eh arah antara barat dengan utara tu.. barat utara ke..?"
"barat laut la"
"aa barat laut, apa-apa la, kau berdiri depan stesen tu, lepas tu jalaan arah barat laut..."

Matlamat asal ringkas, hanya mahu menjenguk di mana ASDA, cara-cara pemunggahan barang, dan paling penting lokasi Muslim Welfare House Sheffield serta infrastruktur dalamannya. Tempat tidur (terutamanya muslimat, muslimin tentu sahaja tak kisah berlagak macho rela tersadai di mana-mana sahaja), bilik air, tempat ceramah. Alhamdulillah, semuanya baik.

Akan tetapi nampaknya begitu banyak 'tambahan-tambahan' kepada matlamat ringkas itu. Berjalan kaki (rasa seperti pusing satu Sheffield) naik bukit turun bukit, keluar masuk pekarangan hospital, dan menyelesaikan misteri ''di mana bas no 52 berhenti?" Pelik sungguh apabila satu demi satu perhentian bas yang kami jenguk tidak nampak nombor 52. Rupa-rupanya papan tanda nombor-nombor bas itu boleh dipusing, ada dua belah muka, dan kami hanya tengok satu muka lantas putus asa. Nasib baik kawan beri makan nasi lauk sup kambing sebelum dibawa merayap jaaaaaaauhhhh-jaaaaaaauhhhh tadi.

Sepanjang jalan - dari kompleks beli-belah sampai ke meja makan, sampai ke taman-taman Sheffield dan kembali ke meja makan, bermacam-macam isu yang dibincangkan dan diperdebatkan. Dapat kawan baru pula tidak semena-mena, bertemu di depan masjid, terus diajak bersama. Hehe. Entahlah, saya selesa benar dengan suasana begini. Berbual tidak merapu-rapu, sentiasa ada inti untuk saya berfikir.

Kawan yang kemalangan minggu sudah, luka telah tinggal parut dan bengkak yang kian surut. Haih. Naluri morbid saya terfikir, alangkah excitingnya kalau saya dapat tengok kecederaan itu first-hand! Biasalah, pelajar-pelajar perubatan ini ada yang menjadi sedikit kurang normal. Bukan seronok kerana orang cedera, tetapi seronok kerana dapat melihat tragedi dalam buku teks menjelma di alam nyata dan berpeluang mengaplikasikan pengetahuan. Seperti cerita seorang kakak, pelajar tahun empat perubatan,

"...malam tu masa oncall kt MRI, kitorang tgh bosan, tunggu... tak de orang kena stab ke malam ni, tiba-tiba datang tiga orang sekaligus." MRI, atau nama penuhnya Manchester Royal Infirmary, sebuah hospital besar di seberang jalan di hadapan kompleks perumahan saya, memang disarati kes yang pelbagai, kerana populasi pusat dan sekitaran bandar raya Manchester ini yang bervariasi. Penyakit yang aneh-aneh. HIV-AIDS. Kanser. Wad A&E (Accidents and Emergency) seringkali menjadi medan yang mengujakan.

Kembali ke Sheffield. Terima kasih kepada tuan rumah yang begitu baik hati membawa kami berjalan, berjalan-jalan, masak sedap-sedap dan sabar pula mendengar sambil melayan kami bercakap tidak henti-henti. Saya selalu tepergok dengan sikap manusia yang mengecewakan, malah menyedihkan, tetapi Allah sentiasa mempertemukan saya dengan budi baik dan kejujuran yang sungguh-sungguh menyentuh.

Oh ya, saya masih belum menunaikan 'janji' untuk berkisah tentang sahabat-sahabat di Crookes =).

Mungkin tidak berkait dengan entri secara langsung, tapi saya suka video dan lagu ini.




Tiga hari lagi sebelum ReAwakening.

Ya Allah, mudahkanlah dan berkatilah urusan kami keseluruhannya. Lembutkanlah hati-hati kami, dan hati-hati orang yang Engkau tentukan untuk mendapat manfaat daripada usaha ini, untuk terbuka dan menerima ilmu, taufiq serta hidayahMu.


salam,
meow~

i'm here

Salam. I don't need to put captions here for I know you'll remember each and every moments, they're countless really, these images are just some tiny fractions of them all. So far we - our friendship - has passed the test of time, space, misunderstandings and disagreements, changes and differences. Let us not fail it this time.

On your own part, for your own trials, you've passed the test of time, space, misunderstandings and disagreements, changes and differences, even false allegations and the neverending pain of human fallacies, human failures to respect that another's choice might not be the same as theirs and still be right. (sounds like IB mission statement, huh? =) )

Let you pass it, again, as you've done before, with flying colors. Seek what you need, and may you find what is best for you, whether or not it is what you initially seek.

I, and the others, will always love you.

We're here.

I'm here. Waiting. And praying.

And Allah, The Most Great is nearer than a hand's reach.


meow~

1984 - The Wrecked Rebel

Assalamualaikum.

The setting was done in very minimalistic style. Props that consists of little more than a few tables and chairs, with one long table serving either as a makeshift bed (plus a mattress and a piece of white knit material that was supposed to be a bedsheet) or a torture bench (plus a desklight and a wire-less headphone, the main 'torture device'.) There's the telescreens, two of them, represented by two monitors on stands that would show the face of Big Brother whenever they are 'activated'. The incognito face, a collage of multiple patches, with mismatched eyes, one blue and one black, hung ominously with the warning "BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU" overhead the stage, in between three banners vertically proclaiming the three deathless Ingsoc slogans; the mantra of Oceania, FREEDOM IS SLAVERY, WAR IS PEACE, IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.

Last Wednesday, I had been to watch 1984, one of the plays presented during the University of Manchester's Drama Festival. It was based on George Orwell's novel of the same title. There was a whole array of tantalizing shows around since mid-Feb, including Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues, but I had to prioritize, what with all the work that I have to do, and made do by squeezing one 1984 presentation into my timetable.

As the would-be audience wander around outside the theatre, actors and crews wearing black suits and hard black military caps stood in attention or walked with military-approved upright postures among us.

"Comrades! The show is about to begin. Line up in a single file and enter the theatre, one by one. In a single line!"

Cool.


Mind-Control


The show began with images of war depicted on the big screen at the back of the stage. Then comes the Two-Minute hate, during which the actors wearing Party overalls sat on chairs cursing the fabled revolutionary leader Anthony Goldstein, led by a man in black overalls as a member of the Inner Party (O'Brien). The emotion produced by the facial expressions and the screams of hate are intense, I can feel the air vibrating. By the way, I forgot to mention that I managed to grab a front seat (as always hehe).

Winston Smith was played by a gaunt white young man, with a perpetual expression of confusion and distrust. At the beginning of the play I felt that he rather exaggerated the pain of varicose veins in his leg, it looks more like his leg was broken by the way he limped and grimaced. The story was told by his monologues, his hesitant writing in his diary which he read out loud in a convincingly shaky voice that grew louder and louder as he seemingly became more confident, protesting how the Party manipulated the minds of the people, "...last week the chocolate ration increased to 30%, then this week it increased to 25%, it's always increase with the Party, never decrease..." then all those confidence disappeared as the telescreen suddenly called all Party members to stand in front of it, whence he hastily hid the diary under a stool and shuffled to the front of the screen.

There's Parsons, the simple-minded man, sort of a comic relief, a portrayal of blind loyalty and almost pathetic innocence. "Guess what, Winston? The chocolate rations increased to 25% this week! Isn't it good?" He happily talked about how his daughter played the role of one of the Spies - children playing the role of eavesdropping and spying on family members, denouncing anyone who said the wrong thing or simply looked suspicious to their naive indoctrinated little eyes. Ironically, almost expectedly, it was his daughter who denounced him at the end, over the claims that he muttered 'Down with Big Brother' in his sleep. Even then he was apologetic, "...I'm glad they caught me before it's too late, that's what I'll tell them in the tribunal, thank you for saving me.." only to end up dragged, screaming, to the notorious Room 101.

Syme the intellectual was not spared. Voraciously slicing down the vocabulary of the language into fewer and fewer words, "...soon, no one will ever revolt or protest, because even if they have the idea, they wouldn't know how to express it!" He seemed to know exactly the mind-controlling plans of the Inner Party, and to understand perfectly his role in the department of linguistics towards achieving that goal. Winston's prediction was correct; 'they' didn't let Syme get away either. Remember Hang Nadim anyone?

Language and literature play timeless roles in waking up people's minds, fuelling revolutions and idealisms, or suppressing them altogether. When the media is kept under chains and shackles, it is not difficult to feed the people with all sorts of lies and dramas which they will believe without hesitance. When the media belches all sorts of nonsense and rubbish, one can bet one's little finger that the people's minds will be full or rubbish as well. Just forget about idealisms, revolutions, or even substantial thinking.

The Inner Party knew exactly what it is doing when it produces mass quantities of pulp art and literature - meaningless love songs and paperback churned out by machines with no human role whatsoever in producing them, a lot containing porn and violence - for the Proles (proletariats, the 80% of people in Oceania who are not members of the Party, regarded as 'animals who eat and breed' by the Party). This part is not included exactly in the play, except for the melodious "...'twas an 'opeless fancy..." sung over and over again in several scenes.

I mentioned it for I think there's a not-so-subtle sarcasm there, when Orwell the author told us how the pulp arts and literature were produced by machines without human intervention at all. In other words, when arts and literature lose their sacred role of sanctifying and fuelling human intelligence and spirituality, they're not human anymore, they're dehumanized, they're not fit for human consumption. And twisting the analogy in another way would reveal that humans who produce pulps in place of arts and literature are actually dehumanized, less human, undeserving to be humans.


Revolt

Julia, Winston's counterpart, a young lady with the Junior Anti-Sex League belt tied around her slender waist. Her way of rebellion is sexual, by breaking the strict moral code imposed by the Party. She initiated Winston into his first act of actual rebellion in the bushes in the countryside. There's graphic sexual scenes in the play, them kissing passionately (although the act has a 'wooden', dispassionate, even vulgar characteristic in it - most probably intended), them lying together only half-dressed on the aforementioned makeshift bed. "... the more men you have done this before, the more I loved you." as Winston said to her during their first encounter.

People who are oppressed might resort to anything in order to show rebellion. Those with idealisms, might fight with ideas and structured actions, fruitful or not. Those without idealisms, only the notion of rebellion, the protest for injustice, would resort to their lower nature.

Winston, however, is a man of ideas. He began with questions, unanswered doubts and gut-wrenching confusions of the lines between the past and the present. He succumbed to sexual rebellion because - well, for one thing, he's a man whose needs hasn't been satisfied by his frigid ex-wife - and because that's the only outlet through which he can exert his protests.

When given the chance to have idealisms, through O'Brien's offer, he accepted without much ado. And driven by love (or lust?), without much thinking, Julia jumped into it. "...whatever you do, I'll join in." Uh. If there's anything I despise about people in love, it's about immediately adopting the other person's views and decisions without proper contemplation.

Even wifely loyalty is not a good enough excuse, and I mean it. =D

Winston Smith stated his willingness to do anything - murder, lie, break chaos, even throw sulphuric acid on a child's face - as long as disruption to the Party's ideals and schemes can be achieved. Machiavellian? Shows how people who are desperate for a change from the oppressive status quo are willing to descend to pretty much the same level, simply because they want to
protest, want to change. Rings a bell, anyone?

And in the end, it makes the fight against evil no less evil than the evil itself. There's no virtue in using murder to resurrect the dead.

Deceit and Pain

In the end, of course, Winston was caught. The old man who provided what he thought was a sanctuary where he can read 'Goldstein's manifesto', where he can enjoy Julia's company (and intimacy), was actually a Thought Police who would grab anyone who're not thinking in the prescribed manner. O'Brien who gave him the manifesto was involved with the Thought Police. Even the Brotherhood of revolutionaries doesn't exist. The manifesto doesn't exist, O'Brien wrote it. Goldstein doesn't exist. Refutation is futile. It's hopeless. Every time Winston screamed realistically, jerking spasmodically with pain upon O'Brien's fingerclicking (just how it was supposed to inflict pain in relation to the headphone on Winston's head, I don't think it matters), the audience is reminded of the power the Party had and the descent of hope in the future of men. As O'Brien said, "...Power is the end in itself. We seek power for power's sake." So was Winston and O'Brien's rendesvous in the place where there is no darkness. In the chamber of torture, in the Ministry of Love, where the light is never turned off symbolising perpetual pain and domination over the prisoners.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely, for human beings.

As Winston cowered on the floor in fear, in the depiction of his ordeal in Room 101 - in the play they don't use the cage fixed on his face, they simply darken the stage and put him in an imaginary place, with an overhead voice telling him about the rats, about what the rats would do to him, with a horrible crunching noise, that impending doom of the rats coming to tear his flesh to pieces - we were again reminded of the brittleness of human nature. The brittleness of everything that men fought for, in the absence of power.

"....Power is the ability to make other people suffer.." as Winston said to O'Brien, while he was laid on the torture bench at the latter's mercy, before he was sent to Room 101, where he finally denounced everything that made he feel worthy as a human, where he finally crossed the invisible line that kept his mind in one piece however shattered it might have been, finally reducing it to little more than the contents of pulp literature for the Proles.

"...Pain alone won't break people. A lot of persons can bear pain, intense pain. But for everyone, there is just something that they cannot tolerate. It has nothing to do with cowardice or courage. There is just something that they cannot bear. For some people, it's being buried alive. Or being starved to death. For some people.. it might be.. rats."

The Last Stand?

The human struggle is futile and brittle, the struggle of the hoi polloi, the powerless mass who themselves are dependent upon the oppressive power. Freedom is slavery, for in being slaves, they wouldn't have to compromise their superficial freedom as opposed to a life of pain and imprisonment. War is peace, for when a people is constantly threatened with an outside menace, perpetually kept in fear, they would be docile, too concerned with their own survival than in any efforts to fight. Focusing on an outside menace would also keep the people's attention away from the rot inside that must not be noticed for the benefit of the Powers That Be. Ignorance is strength, although for whose strength, definitely not the people's. The people's ignorance, not knowing things, would strengthen the hold that the bearers of power exercised over them. Strengthen the hierarchies within a society and the stability that goes with it, regardless of the individual freedom and justice. They don't even know that something is wrong, why would they protest to get their rights?

The human struggle is futile and brittle, the struggle of the hoi polloi, the powerless mass who themselves are dependent upon the oppressive power. The power that holds economic supremacy and political superiority, rendering the people irreversibly dependent. The power who utilised all means possible to maintain their herd - deception, mind-control, higher-level conspiracies - the big hands that arrange everything for the little men, constructing a Matrix of sorts, where the men feel that they're in control, that they're doing something, when they actually aren't. Even the Brotherhood of revolutionaries doesn't exist. The manifesto doesn't exist, O'Brien wrote it. Goldstein doesn't exist. Refutation is futile. It's hopeless.

The human struggle is futile and brittle. The fighters as individuals are human beings, who would break under pressure. As O'Brien confirmed Winston's statement, "...Yes, power means the ability to make people suffer. To inflict pain and humiliation." As what was, and is still happening, everywhere in the world. How idealistic one can be in the mind, one would still succumb to the physical constraints. Secret detentions where no one, not even the detainees, know where on earth they are and what will happen to them. Governments who are not totalitarian in principle but exercising principles of one - media control, glib languages, endorsement of hedonism, detention and torture, double-standard treatment of its people, utilization of fear techniques to keep the people toeing the line - this rang true of more than one country in this big world, countries that claim to be civilised.

The less aware mass would fall under the mind-control. The ones whose minds are awake would be physically broken until the mind gave away, like Winston who, in the end of the play, was cheering for Big Brother with a psychotically-happy expression that is enough to make a revolutioner weep.

I'm not offering any solution. After all, these dark pictures are simply reflections of a low-cost play one Wednesday night.

And yes, I think the best 'special effect' was when O'Brien put his fingers into Winston's mouth and pulled out his 'tooth' (something white, a brief glimpse told me it looked more like a piece of chalk) and threw it somewhere under the audience's chair.

"...Your teeth are rotten. Look at that. And so is the rest of you and your rebellion."

peace,
meow~


Post-Script:


"Oranges and lemons"
say the Bells of St.Clement's
"You owe me five farthings"
say the Bells of St Martin's
"When will you pay me?"
say the Bells of Old Bailey
"When I grow rich"
say the Bells of Shoreditch....


And yes, again, these rhymes are not prominent in the book (and the play) for no reason. This site is one of those that explained its, erm, not-very-angelic history.