Postman on rounds

Being grey has it’s own merits. Nobody is interested in you, whenever and wherever you come and go, all just give you a wide berth. That is good in my line of business, being unnoticed by all, is an advantage (survival). Slow, but yet still potent, this they are all unaware, that is the name of the game, to be blended into the masses and be grey at all times.

Yangon, is a metropolis, from all parts of Myanmar, we would come. Today, foreigners also are flocking in, to turn a few bucks (millions, if possible), as not many places left in this world where the turf is nearly virgin. They are treading rather carefully, as their investments can remain just investments without yielding dividends.  This slight busyness and buzz allows me to navigate more freely around town. In my line of work, this is important. More foreigners with different skin colours are even an advantage, as all eyes will be viewed upon them. My company would ask my assistance to run some errands in this corporate frenzy city. They eye for a hefty slice of the cake, which would be of benefit the Crown and also bring employment to our younger generation. Win, win situation, I suppose.  

The shame about Yangon today, in my humble view is that, more and more box shaped high rise buildings are blooming down town. No more shop houses, no more teak structures, no more dwellings of that era. It seemed the romance of yesteryear are all but gone, out of the window once and for all. Not only high rise buildings looked ugly, they are unfriendly and impersonal. I really do not know how the local investors are getting away, as many residents complained that their ceilings were raining more than the monsoon and structures were more of sand and lime with cement being the smallest, in the concoction.  I shudder to think of an earthquake here. These buildings were in a different league compared to its counterpart in Tokyo, London or New York and even Kolkata for that matter. We have lost wonderful scenes where people sat outside their houses, in their thin cotton dresses drinking green tea or smoking cheroots while watching their boys playing street soccer with worn down tennis ball and girls acted as guests to a tea party or attending to their food stalls of flowers and leaves in make believe clay wares. Gone are the tenants sitting by the roadside catching the evening cool breeze and fanning themselves with bamboo fans when lacking it.

I was rather sad to be on my game, now walking the streets, lined up with cars on both sides of the pavements, lack of souls, except for a few rats weaving their way by the gutters. Driving was slower than walking, as cars cannot pass each other due to lack of road space under thirteen feet in total. I would pick up or drop envelopes by the side of a paan stall in a designated street, while enjoying one myself, easing the strain. My habit now is to have a dry run once or twice round the block, just to satisfy myself that no interested party is on me. The dry runs were always different, while studying the surroundings from the corner of my eyes, not missing a beat around me. I also made sure in advance that I have a tight reason for being where I was. Even if caught red handed, I already prepared an account that would make them think twice before pulling me in. Before each assignment, I would painstakingly go through my story, line by line, always giving the benefit to my, would be investigators that they are smart and no fools at this game. I had been fortunate up to now. Similar to the bomb disposers or pilots during the Second World War, there would be an average figure before the game was up. Thus, the trick was to wise up before that magic figure. I am sure the company also is aware of this fact too. I was never lucky with lottery, and I don’t aim to push my luck here either.  On completion of a job, I would not quickly drive out, but rather place myself at a tea shop, drinking tea and smoke a cheroot while surveying the territory, just to make sure all was well and the need not to apply plan B. I think this is good protocol.  Cool and steady, wins the race.

I also would revisit the area again, possibly with the wife, do a wee bit of shopping there or browse around the shops. This should give the opposition to off scent me. After all, it’s just an old man with his wife browsing for a good buy. No harm done to anybody. The wife is also happy that I did not moan or protest to her browsing. Let’s leave it at that.

This type of errands were of private business issues and I know for a fact that the opposition was some other companies, not of a governmental nature. This made me happy. No harm done, as far as I am concerned. Besides, all necessary will and my last testament had been concluded with my lawyer, fully signed and sealed. My office was always the million tea shops I kept changing, and the lawyer wondered why I never stepped into his office.  This way, he would enjoy some tea and food at times, while I need not be exposed to his staff or any busybody onlookers, if any. Everybody turns up on top.

Routine was generally maintained. Walking in the mornings, take the wife marketing, play with the dog and talk rubbish at the car workshop in the late afternoons. This was how I played my day. That is of course, unless, an instruction had been placed on me by the company.

One morning, while waiting in the car for my wife, a young man came by my side and handed a small piece of paper with a series of five letter figures. I placed it in my breast pocket and continued my usual chores. On reaching home, I translated back into plain language, by the use of an Oxford traveler’s dictionary and a current calendar. It called for my imminent trip to Chiang Mai and collect some papers be dropped as usual beside a paan stall near 21^st Street in China Town. This needed my immediate attention. I tore the codes plus its translation into small pieces and flushed it down my toilet. Then, I telephoned my best friend Peter Mo Kyaw and persuaded him to join me for a golfing trip to Chiang Mai.

Come next Friday, after arranging Thai visa, we booked and took an Air Mandalay flight on AR72 propeller flight there. It was just over an hour flight, which was uneventful. Even though still yapping with Peter on a couple of rounds at the Royal Chiang Mai Golf Course, in the back of my mind, I was detailing my plans for the pick up there. What sprang to mind was, why this was not allocated to a Thai company, is there no one, or, none left for the courier job. That gave me goose pimples as I know for a fact that no answers will be forth coming from Chiang Mai or Yangon companies.

We both checked into our three stars tourist, Pornping Hotel on Charoenpathet Road at 660 Bhatt a night including breakfast. Peter had a habit of an afternoon nap, thus need to finalize my plans then.  The pick up was at Loi Kroh Road, near the Ping River, from a Thai Farmers Bank main entrance doorway newsstand. I did my dry run that same afternoon as it was walking distance, five minutes from the hotel. I bought an English language ‘Nation’ newspaper and crossed the road and sat at a drinks stall, drinking Singha beer, while keeping tabs on the going on outside the bank. There were close circuit television (cctv) cameras at the bank’s entrance and on both sides of the road, on the lamp poles. Satisfied, I slowly walked back to the hotel.

The next morning, we had our game of golf and ate at the clubhouse. In the afternoon, while Peter had his nap, I did my work. I bought a Nation newspaper and picked up the brown envelope by the bank entrance. There was a sudden flurry of activities there and the police were swarming everywhere. I just took my time and inserted the envelope inside the newspaper. I crossed the road and sat at the drinks stall with my beer. The policeman did come over and checked me also. He saw a graying old man with his Singha beer and a newspaper, thus shifted his interest to two young men chatting away and pulled them in for suspicion. I finished my beer and slowly walked back to my hotel.

In my room, I placed the envelope under the carpet by the bathroom door and checked the carpet was flat again and not bulging. Evening was spent walking by the night stalls on the roads, beside the river. Food there was also cheap and the variety was endless. We had our dinner there, which Peter paid and walked some more browsing the stalls with their wares. By eleven p.m., we were back in our beds, energizing for our golf game, the next morning.

Day two, golf in the morning went well. For a change, we settled for lunch by the roadside near the hotel. The food was good and cheap, and I paid for this meal as he settled the night before. I kept an open eye through out and observe nothing was out of the ordinary. In the afternoon, while he slept, I ventured back to outside the bank, bought my Nation newspaper and sucked by beer across the road. Thirty minutes went slowly by, while my eyes did the surveying and my heart pounded. All was quiet on the western front, and my job done. After by beer, I slowly got up and strolled back to my hotel, the front desk was kind enough to recheck our flight out, the next late morning. That evening, it was a repeat of the previous night. We had our long walk by the river and he bought a few ‘branded’ sport shirts (actually, fakes) and settled for our last dinner at Chiang Mai.

I now knew why I was contracted in for this pick up. There were no postmen left in Thailand, to do the job. Must be all inside by now, courtesy of the Thai Government.  Have to take it easy here, as do not to join them inside, even though meals and lodgings were free. I sometime feel we ought to be highlighted about the job at hand, then again, we were told the assignment were to be carried out alone. The best bit that I liked was the mention of ‘not too dangerous.’ We were no James Bond or our man Flint, just a simple postman, not even knowing the contents and how important they were.

Come Monday morning, all packed, we made the most of the hotel’s breakfast as included in the hotel charge.

Peter shot a question " Why buy newspapers?  It’s free here in the hotel."

I quickly had to have a logical answer, I shot back, " That would be stealing and to up keep of our names are important, don't you think? "

I could sense his satisfaction to my reply. We boarded our taxi to the airport, to be timely for our flight back home. At the Chiang Mai International Airport, my heart started to pound again. The envelope was inside the old Nation newspaper, tugged neatly in the outside pocket of my golf bag, well in view of the Customs. This was the best place I could think of, for a swift pass by the officials there. Checking in went without a hitch and we quickly stepped inside the departure lounge, for a last minute shopping, to bear gifts on our return home. I purchased, a light brown colour, Thai silk shawl for my wife, while Peter went for a duty free single malt whisky, actually two bottles, one, I carried on his behalf.

The planes on the tarmac were all jet planes, while ours, belonging to Air Mandalay was a twin propeller powered, French ATR72. Peter worried about a safe flight, while I hoped that my golf bag with the envelope inside the Nation newspaper was safe. Once our plane took off, we both were grinning with delight, for different reasons, I must add. The one hour flight was nothing to shout about and the in flight service was bare minimum. On landing at Yangon Mingalardon International Airport, we were smiling again, obviously for our own different reasons. I was in no way worried about the formalities on arrival Yangon, just a wee bit apprehensive that my envelope in my golf bag. I was much relieved to see my golf bag intact on the carousel belt. We both collected our possessions, and whizzed through Customs. At the arrival gate, Peter’s son was waiting to pick us up. I bummed a ride back home with them, at peace with myself.

I said my thank you to them and into the arms of my loving wife. The first thing I did was handed her silk shawl, which she liked, then unpacked and last but least, checked my golf bag and the old Nation newspaper was still there. Inside, the brown envelope was still intact, and cannot help a smile on my face. That evening, sleep came naturally with just one more thing to attend. I think, I slept without thinking for the first time since undertaking the job.

After a good leisurely breakfast, I started my car and made my way into town around ten, to miss the heavy morning rush, with the brown envelope safely tucked into my breast pocket. Parking was difficult as usual in town, therefore I slipped into Strand road, where I managed to secure a parking lot. Thus, began my long walk, slow but steady to 21^st Street and commenced my dry run. I did three dry runs and I did not want a slip up at the last. As been taught, with eyes and ears wide open, checked 20^th to 22^nd streets, at my slow and leisurely pace. No quarters were given to my systematic and through check out. The high rise buildings still offer indifference. I can sense that people were now even more aloft and cannot be bothered apart from their own apartments. No one in the street level apartments even peeked their heads into the street, should someone drop dead, they would still be there for days.  How times changed, and I cannot see any kids playing in the streets except for the rows and rows of cars parked on both sides. There were some empty slots, well guarded with chairs and stones, warning would be takers that this parking slot does not belong to them. Now, cigarettes, cheroots and telephone can be got according to the posters and signs of the street level apartments.

Approaching my paan stall by the 21^st street, I was extra careful. I dropped my brown envelope into the gunnysack beside the stall and ordered a paan to my concoction details. The Indian stall keeper did not notice anything out of the order, he was busy preparing the paan leaves in the bucket for the day’s sale. Thence, walked slowly, ever watching to a tea shop by the Sule Pagoda road. I sat myself and ordered a sweet tea, sipping and smoking my slender cheroot. Half hour passed, no commotion, only then did I walk back to my car for a journey back to my home. 

I made a trip to Los Angles, staying with my sea buddy friend, Stanley Khoo of yesteryear, to pick up an envelope in front of our American and Iron Curtain company friends, in Chinatown. After which, I proceeded to Singapore to deliver the same. That’s another story.

For your guidance, Battle of Britain was won, by the Royal Air Force (RAF), during the last war. The squadron with the highest kills was Squadron 303, flown by Poles and the Wing Commander was Canadian. The Poles, were a brave lot, firing at 100 yards, while their English counterparts opened up at 400 yards only. On the ground, Indians, Burmese, Canadian, Australian, New Zealanders, South Africans, etc. etc. from the Empire fought with bravery and most even laid down with their lives for the Crown.

I now am calling it a day, before the law of averages gets me, and do not want to reach that magic figure and be a fallen soul for the company. We foreigners, have done our part and thus, handing in my cap and brass badge back to the company. After all, this is a voluntary service and I still wish to re-retire and enjoy balance of my life remaining.

The postman had done his rounds.

Of grapes and wines

A humble fruiting berry by the name of ‘grape’ is grown from the woody vines of  botanical  genus Vitis, so history tells us.  Also made to understand that grapes are non-climacteric type of fruit generally occurring in clusters of 15 to 300 berries and the colors can be crimson, dark blue, pink, green, orange, black and yellow. They can be eaten raw and tastes vary from sweet to bitter and to sour. The cultivation of the domesticated grapes dates back 6000 to 8000 years ago in the near-east, while some writes that its cultivation started in the Neolithic area between 6000 and 6500 BC. From geography, we understand that China produces around 9.6 tons yearly and the figure is climbing from year to year. Its uses are numerous in berry and dried form, even its seeds, it is slso said to be rather useful and is the most important fruit crop in the world. Like its vines, believe migration was to east and more importantly northwards right up through the Rhine valley.

My perception is that we are all born and started life similar to the humble grape, while it can be cultured to the one’s own taste. The ultimate for me is to turn an ugly duckling to a beautiful white swan in all its glory. Like the grape, I believe that correct cultivation is important in its infancy to turn it into whatever color and flavor that we intend to. Regular watering, pruning, correct soil and regular ‘singing’ to it should turn the berry into our dream grape together with the right climate.

Likewise, we are today what we are, was due to the injection of tenderness and education that were lovingly or unlovingly nourished into us at a tender age while growing up.  Some remain an ugly duckling, even worst turn into a vulture when grown while some shines into a worthy person to oneself and to the world at large too. One might ask is it growing up the culprit or its ingrown personality. Got to blame it on someone or something.  Hard to say, really!

According to my research, believe there are around eighty kinds of grapes. Likewise, we humans are also made up of verity type of flavors. To start of, we can either be male or female. Then basically, white, yellow, brown or black. Just to complicate it, we can be angels the likes of Joan of Arc and Florence Nightingale or men like Dale Carnegie or Gandhi etc . etc.  But to be an ordinary (like myself) is already a great gift. Funny though, we might be able to hide our true selves for a certain period, however, with time it all shows through. As the saying goes, a leopard never changes its spots. I wonder why is that?

Seriously, while growing up, maybe like also the humble grape, should something be not right, I am sure addressing it right there and then should steer us back onto a right course. If correction be left late, we may face a spot of bother. It is said that better late than never might also help. Self assessment and correction plays a big part there. Here, I presume it is arguable. Should we look at the souls in the places of correction and the likes, maybe self assessment and correction may not be the answer, view some are returning guests, some put it nearly sixty percent returning within five years. Maybe, it’s the free lodging and daily hot meals.  One never knows. Your verdict?

However, with regard to self assessment and correction, I suppose self analogy might be a good illustration. To cut a long story short, the only boy of the three siblings, and no living parents, I was somewhat short changed in terms of will with no written evidence and unable to fend for myself with two votes to one plus the umpires were a wee bit questionable, a loosing battle which ever you look at it.  Furthermore, also a slow academic learner and marrying in my early twenties realized that unless one changes for the better, what to come of the family? That period of time in my humble life was totally in shambles.  Looking back, I was really thankful for that unpleasant phase as bells and lights rung and flashed red to better myself. Academic and professional qualifications came with time and so did my climb to better myself for my family of three. I am grateful to my better half, for her tireless toiling the soil, pruning and watering with love, tenderness and patience. I am what I am today, because of self assessment and correction. Rich? That I am not, but a little comfortable, yes! Now, in my golden years I rather leave things as they are and do not wish to glance back. Be done with, once and for all.

Sometime ago, I accompanied my wife to a high end supermarket in the name of Market Place in Yangon. Among goods on display, fruits were presented   galore there.  By the entrance, grapes under many names were advertised. Out of which, I was pleasantly surprised to see Myanmar grapes were also one of the participants.  I tried one of the Myanmar  berries, the inside flesh was moist and sweet, however the outside skin was tough, thick and bitterly sour. This was where its competition ends. The American and Australian grapes are more expensive, however, not only were they sweet in flesh with very thin skin but were also seedless. Myanmar grapes can do better with better research, toiling and or better pruning. Something is missing, for sure though. People shopping here knew things were a little more expensive than other places, but do like quality stuff. As such, buyers flock to the foreign grapes even though more expensive compared to the cheaper Myanmar tough skinned grapes. Similarly also, we cannot be just people, we have to be individuals  that are worthy to one self and to others. We cannot be self centered, selfish beings  who cannot see further than one’s eye brows. We owe it to ourselves to self improvement on our road to a successful life. Otherwise, we will be similar to the Myanmar grapes. Human beings that we are for sure, but will remain an ugly duckling compared the white swans.  Nobody really cares. Sad, really.

I have known a few such beings, living a life of a lie and the clock of success seems to have stopped for them. Alone and unwilling to change with very little friends, just trotting on for that day only. I was really sorry for them, as they hold their own reigns and they themselves have the key for the change. Success is not to mean big bucks but rather a meaningful life for themselves.   As they shy away from reality, I see no hope for them.  Some turn to drinks or outside simulations and does not live a full life, while some may live long, but not a full or meaningful life.  Any, which way, but loose.

Now, to wines. I understand that wines can be made from a variety of fermented fruits.  For the purpose of this article, we are just concentrating on Red wines made from grapes. According to my humble research, grape wines were first recorded in Georgia in the Caucuses, also about six thousand years ago. They were alcoholic and were written that first uses in religious rituals. Red wines were quite closely related to representation to blood in Egyptian period and in Greek and Roman times.  In Christianity, it was represented as the blood of Jesus. Call it what you may, and was freely consumed since the seventh century, so history tells us. Bordeaux, Cabernet Sauvignons, Merlot, Gamay, Pinot noir etc. etc. There are so many types of red wines today.  Produced in Germany, France, Spain, America, Australia and so many, many more countries including China. Full bodied or light.

It is ashnoshing to see what the humble grape vine can produce. It reaches all over the world and should weather and soils be right, one can bet that vineyards are toiled there. Truly fascinating.  On the route from Heho to Taungyi, there are vineyards also, operated understand by a German producer. Whether it will reach the world’s tables, it is yet to be seen. Don’t think so, though !

I would say to be born without any blemish and be nurtured lovingly right up to completion of your academic qualifications would be the grape stage and entering the adulthood and marriage would be the wine stage. Both are equally important to be of full bloom.  Another odd situation is a type of person living by the sword, tit for tat and no quarters given what ever the reason maybe, and would rather also die by the sword. Not a very nice type of person by any means, but they do make good soldiers. Like the wines, it takes all sorts to make the world go round.

Grapes , wines and people are so much alike, except we have our brains to right our wrongs in life should we catch it in time, even the wines or grapes, we can shape them to a certain extent. Thus, it is important to use our grey matter to right our wrongs before its too late.  It takes so much to be a good wine. Proper aging, right temperature, correct distilling etc etc. Corking and bottling is also important, it takes so many steps to be a successful wine.  The producers will know whether their wines has made the grade or not, but the public at large would surely pass judgment about its standing and worthiness.

In our world, just like the wine, adulthood and marriage up to our dying days will be measured by our own self improvement. We can remain a few dollars wine or be a vintage and an expensive one. Mellowness, smoothness and bouquet plus other million requirements to our wellbeing can only be reached with timely and right correction.

So much like wines, we can be good while tender and turns truly bitter with age. Some wines are fun to be enjoyed and likewise we, humans are also fun loving with zest up to a certain age, however dries up with age and cannot withstand the test of time. In short, not a very good vintage.

Born into this world we are, however, making the grade is a different matter all together. Depending on where we live, the measurement of success is arguable. Making it in the middle of Zambia cannot be compared the same as having success in New York. The importance is making the grade to one’s surrounding.

This article is not the way to make pots of money and have a dashy blond by your side. It is just to tell ourselves of self improvement come what may. I understand the untouchable caste made it right up to the position of president in India. While a black man, made the grade to the highest office in the world, President of the USA. These are rather rare I admit, however, it does show we can make it if we really want. The other day, my speech therapist showed me her painting of a flying seagull with only one leg. It just reinforced my perception. If you really, really want it bad enough, it surely will.

Even though we may be brought into this world under similar conditions, like the wines, it is important to make the grade also, wherever we are. White or black, grapes or wines, it would be best to at least make the grade, at least to be true to one self.

Similar to other things in this world, a lot can be learnt from grapes and wines, which is so applicable to our lives.

A glass of Burgundy, anyone?

An unrest soul (revised)

Chapter 1 : The beginning

Chapter 2 : Life as a sailor

Chapter 3 : Nature calls

Chapter 4 : Anchoring in the new land

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CHAPTER ONE : THE BEGINNING

Forty-five Rupees a month was my salary plus free boarding and meals. I worked on a river barge, up and down the Hooghly river from Diamond Harbour to Kidderpore Docks (KPD Docks) through Garden Reach locks in Kolkata (Calcutta). As a ropeman, I attend to the making fast of fore and aft ropes and also assist the Serang on maneuvering, when called for. I also slave for the mechanic by shoveling coal into the furnace for her boiler, as the river barge was steam powered. Needless to say I also conduct daily marketing, peeling of potatoes and cutting of onions and vegetables, and wash and cook the rice, twice with the chocolate coloured water of the river and final wash with fresh water from the barge’s tank. However, the honor of cooking curry was left to the Serang, a great esteem to the boss for preparation as he sees fit.  In short, I was the helper, jack of all trade in a total of three complement. For all this, I get a dry place to sleep onboard and two meals of vegetables, rice and gravy plus a mug of tea in the mornings. Meat was always meant for the  Serang (barge master) and mechanic. Afraid not for me.

My name is Ko Ko (big brother) being the eldest and I counted myself lucky for a thirteen years old lad, as my counterparts slept under the moon and stars, some on the walk paths of Howrah Bridge, come rain or shine. Good picking for mosquitoes no doubt and deceases galore. I presume the bodily discharges were done into the river of life from which I bathe, clean my body and teeth plus all wares onboard. How could have I done that?  A bit too late now, come to think of it.

Having had to leave my family due to being a financial burden to my parents, I joined the army of thousands of Indians repatriated back to India in 1962 even though my Hindi was non-existent. The colour of my skin nor my features mattered little to the Immigration Officers in Rangoon (Yangon) and Calcutta (Kolkata) who did not even lifted their eyes or blinked. Walking the streets hungry for days with no aspirations led me to the docks where a kindly old  Serang took pity on me and granted a job on his barge. 

Willing to work, keeping one’s mouth shut and an able body was the qualification required, which I met with flying colours. Skin colour, language, race or creed does not come into play for the company. As long as one’s able to work, cheaply at that, you were half way home. Knowing to read and write could be more of a liability than an access as posing questions was not part of the agenda. I kept the job for four years and seven months, thankful for having a job and a place to lay down my body.  From June to September, monsoon rains were hard, harsh and hazardous to health with death was on the cards. As I did not possess any trades, this job was a blessing. Working hours were from early morning till shut eyes, no fix timings depending on the business seven days a week.  This period of my early adult life, how hard it may have been served as a springboard to my future ventures.

Our river barge was owned by the Calcutta Dock Board and while working on the it I befriended Mohammed De Souza, an office boy working for the British India Steam Navigation Company, (BI) for short, would paint about their ships port of calls. We would sit on our barge bow for hours on late evenings and watch at vessels entering and leaving Garden Reach locks, passing comments about their services and compliment. We would sit and marvel Dutch, Russian, Japanese, British, Indian and Greek etc. etc. flagged ships and seeing two white bands on black funnel would arouse my dreams, as it belong to British India (BI), my friend’s company.  In a way, the long talks also served as part of my education about ships.  All sea going ships looked majestic to me with well maintained boats are a thing of beauty in my eyes. We could see officers in their whites and sailors in brown overalls going about their chores onboard. The rust free ships sides and well varnished wood works sparkled under the moon light. The sights reinforced my love affair with ships and one day hopped that I would work on such tubs, taking me to far away places that one could only read and watch its pictures in awe. The masts and derricks were so tall that I could not fathom how men could build such fine works of arts molded in steel.

One early Sunday morning, while barge work slackened, I was on my knees holy- stoning the wheelhouse deck, Mohammed De Souza walked in and announced, “ Last Friday was bad, one efficient deck hand (EDH) was signed off from the ‘Chindwara’ due to reoccurring malaria, everybody was busy trying to secure a right replacement ”. So he said, while resting his laurels beside the Serang’s chair with an air of authority.

 I aired out that, “ I can avail my humble services should the ship require ” looking up from the wet deck I was working on.

After a few more conversation, I found out that I could try for the vacant position with talking to the Marine Superintendent of their company. I was granted a few hours leave by the Serang the next morning, but not before his lecture, “ I don’t know what this world is coming into. You, young men of today seems to have a lot more things to do. What should I do if the company instruct me to cast off for Diamond Harbor, but go, go and don’t take too long and finish fast what you have to do. Be back before lunch, you still have a lot of chores to do, understood? ”

I was early waiting for the Marine Superintendent at the offices of B.I. by the dockside. By nine sharp, the Englishman with a pot belly walked in with his well-starched white khaki uniform. I bided by turn and even though still morning the heat was sweltering. The interview took only a few minutes, what he said was double Dutch to me, however I did keep smiling and at last he handed a short hand written letter and instructed me to see the Master and First Mate of the Chindwara. The BI ship in question was made fast to No.4 KPD, where cargo operations were underway crates and large cases being loaded with long-shoremen ashore and sailors onboard. I walked up the aluminum gangway and the Indian quartermaster took me up to the Master’s day room seeing the note in my hand. The Captain said, “ Go and see the Chief Officer with this letter you brought ”.

Next thing I knew, I was grinded by the First Mate left, right and centre . However, my knowledge of ropes helped and my four years and seven months experience onboard the river barge counted, thank God! I blundered, “ I am willing to start as a deck boy ” in my pidgin English which made him smile for the first time. After all, I would be cheaper and the boswain interview was final. The questions kept coming and I answered as well as I could in Hindi and broken English. Knowing to read and write English helped, but I was not yet near that mark. At long last, the Indian boswain nodded his head and the Chief Officer thundered, “ Ko Ko, you can start work first thing tomorrow morning, see the boswain, he will update you on your pay, terms, period of service, allocation of cabin and work required ”.   The English Chief Officer in his well pressed white uniform turn round and continued, “ Should the boswain finds you not shaping up, you’ll be off at the next port call, do I make myself clear? ”.

I smilingly replied, “ Very clear Sir, I will be a hard worker ”.

I was briefed for the next hour by the boswain and my head was spinning with delight and popping fireworks.  I found out that the  Chindwara would set sail coming Wednesday at 0800 hours for Rangoon. The rest of the morning was used up by arranging my documents to be in order, but was back at the barge by 1145 hours. After my stint in the galley corner and once all the washing up were done, I informed my Serang of my next employment and my termination of work on his barge. All was taken in by him with a stern face, and I was informed that termination of my work ends at 2000 hours that day, however, I was free to kip there for the night (free of charge).

That evening, I took Mohammed to dinner by the roadside food outlet by the Khidipur docks. We feasted on fish head curry with chapatti,  as for desserts we had kulfi plus tea.  The bill came to fourteen rupees and eighty paise. I promised Mohammed that we would keep in touch and thanked him for the tip. I never felt so gratified in my life and the fire works did not stop popping off in my head.

That evening, everything was calm onboard the barge and I slept well. Early next morning, strangely, the Serang served me tea and after which I said my goodbyes to both of them, the Serang handed five rupees as a going away present from both of them. I was really touched. After shedding a few tears, I was off to the Chindhara at no.4 KPD less than an hour walk while the pigeons and crows flew overhead tweeted searching for their breakfasts.

This Tuesday, 0730 hours sharp, I was waiting for the boswain in the Chindhara’s deck crew mess. The sailors talked, drink tea and laughed in their work overalls and asked me to be seated by the bench. I had no problems with the rest of the deck crew as I did not hamper their ranks and besides, I was the youngest and lowest rank of them all. In my best pants and ruffled cotton shirt, I was eager and anxious waiting for my new beginning. 

CHAPTER TWO : LIFE AS A SAILOR

Thus, a new dawn have begun.

The Chindhara was 7525 gross registered tons (grt) and had 20 cabins on each side (port and starboard) for passengers. Three holds forward of accommodation and two aft of it. I shared a cabin with two other efficient deck hands (EDH) and our cabins were at the aft most two decks below. The deck officers were mostly English, from London, Bristol and Liverpool, whereas the Engineers were mainly from Scotland, namely Glasgow, Edinborough and also from South Shields. All crew were Indian except for the deck boy being Burmese, that’s me however with an Indian passport. The schedule was the same, Calcutta, Rangoon, Moulmein, Penang, Singapore and thence again to Calcutta. Whatever, for the first time I had my own bunk, three square meals including breakfast, overalls and safety boots supplied by the ship and paid at the end of each month. This was heaven, no comparable.

Returning to Rangoon did not stir anything in me as my parents and my two siblings already left and long gone some years ago for Kyauk Mae, a town in Shan States in search of greener pastures. They left Rangoon due to its cramped living quarters and competition was tough with not enough work. My father was a metalworker and mother sold flowers in the Pazundaung market. I shudder to think what had become of my two younger sisters. They choose Kyauk Mae Town as father hailed from there. Still, Shan States should offer cooler weather with wide open spaces. As to availability and abundance of work there, I do not know enough to comment. I’ll leave it at that.

All places in the schedule were just another port on route and it does not ring any bells for me.  Singapore would be an exception, as this was the port where I lost my virginity. For ten Singapore dollars would buy me a short time in Arab Street. This was where I first tasted the pleasure of the flesh, good at first as being a new experience. It was lust and nothing else. However, it did ease some pressure off, which brewed inside me. After some time, the novelty wore off and I felt it was not money well spent.

The Chindhara, did offer some bright spots for me. I was most happy to note that there were two Burmese Cadets onboard. I did not felt alone anymore speaking the language I have not practiced for a number of years. We all learnt a lot of seamanship from the boswain, who was also an eager teacher. Splicing of ropes and wires, chipping, painting and varnishing etc. etc. This also served as a climb up the ladder to efficient deck hand (EDH) and then onto being a quartermaster (QM).  It took more than three years for my climb. It did not matter as the ship was my home and home was the ship. I was now by myself with no family to cling to, I would spare a helping hand to any sailor or officer, as I have no place to go to, with time on my side and was happy to render any assistance.

Being a quartermaster and taking watches gained me time on the wheel and through talking with the officer-on-watch (OOW), a lot of navigation knowledge were also passed. The knowledge were invaluable as it also served as my sea-time required if I decided to sit for the second mate examination. Books and navigation plus seamanship notes were handed down by the second and third mates, they were kind. The food was great too. This was where I first tasted lamb and sweet was the meat. Growing stronger, and a knowledge to match, I felt it was high time to move on. Thus during a call at Rangoon, I signed off, to sign again on the Derbyshire as a quartermaster. The ship belongs to Bibby Line and the northbound schedule was Rangoon, Colombo, Aden, London and Southampton. The pay was good and in Pound Sterling, thus no more losses in conversion. The ship was a passenger cargo ship with two holds forward and two holds aft. The officers were British with four Burmese Cadets. Deck and Saloon crew were Indian, and Engine Room crew were all Chinese. I was at home with the Burmese Cadets and also got on well with all officers, Indian and Chinese crew. This was important, as I could enjoy both the Indian as well as Chinese cuisines. When the Cadets were on day work, the Indian crew cook would prepare chicken curry, Burmese style. We, all five would enjoy the meal on the crew galley deck away from the prying eyes and knowledge of the Chief Officer. This secret rendezvous would be once or twice a voyage at the most. One needed to be careful.

The sea passage was between 22 to 27 days from Rangoon to London depending on bunkering port on route, thus it gave me a lot of time to think. Furthermore, as four hours on any watch would be on lookout duty in the dark, thinking was the only friend on the bridge wing or on crow’s nest. The cadets voiced out that they would be signing off in London to attend Sir John Cass College to sit for their second mate examination. On average, the time required would be around 6/9 months to a year. As I had served nearly three years on the Derbyshire, I was thinking seriously to join the cadets in London and seek greener pastures also. I was in two minds and I concluded that a final decision would be made by the time  while in Biscay and inform the boswain and the Chief Officer of my decision, to enable them take appropriate measures.

The Derbyshire was my second real home that I have known. Working hours were fair and the overtime rates were good. The crowd onboard and food were nothing to complain about. However, what helped me made a decision was life onboard was artificial and I was not getting any younger. I needed to secure a job ashore with good prospect, which I could do for 20/30 years and also start a family while at it if possible. India, Burma, Malaysia or Singapore did not give me good vibrations. Life in Britain need be tested out and Pound Sterling was strong everywhere, that’s a plus. Should I also appear for the second mate examinations should things did not work out ashore, there was always the sea to fall back on. My decision was final at last.

I did inform the First Mate and boswain of my wish to sign off in London and they both agreed that it was the right move to appear for the second mate examination, should I wanted to be a Deck Officer. However, should things not worked out, they were willing to endorse to the company to accept me with open arms. It was a most pleasant gesture. I just hoped that people ashore were half as nice of them.

The Derbyshire berthed alongside no.7 Millwall docks at 0600 hours on a cold, foggy February morning. The rain was more of a shower of sleet, slow and steady. The port stay there was 3 days and the next port of call was Southampton. I signed off into the unknown together with the four cadets in the early dull afternoon, cold wet and wee bit down.

Some of the crew donated warm clothing including a duffel coat, which I could not thank them enough. The hidden surprise was Boon Fat Chan, greaser also signed off to venture a better life in Germany. Such were the unexpected. This I presume was life.

So, the curtains drew open to my next phase of living ashore.

CHAPTER THREE : NATURE CALLS

The cadets found a house closer to Tower Hill tube station, economizing on rent and to be closer to Sir John Cass College. The house had three bedrooms and the dining room was converted into a forth bedroom. For myself, I found a bed sit on the first (top) floor which was roomy, bright and warm, five minutes walking distance to Aldgate East tube station. Rent wise, it was twenty-five pounds a week and felt like living in small Pakistan rather than in London. It was alright my me, and according to Mrs. Abu Bakar, I was her only tenant. The toilet was next door and the bath was coin operated. Heating was by gas and all amenities looked new including a television set. What’s there to complain? I did not enroll into Sir John Cass as first wish to try my luck ashore doing something worthwhile.

The first thing I did was to convert my saving of few gold coins into cash. The savings were consistent since my Calcutta days. I found a jeweler at Mile End and converted into Pound Sterling. As my coins were British (George’s head), thus current bank rates applied. With a few thousand pounds in my pocket, I opened a Deposit Account with the local Lloyds Bank.  Now, money can continue make more money. Furthermore, should I be mugged, the only thing they will get is a booklet guarded by a black horse, ha ha! Work wise, I found a store requiring a salesman near my digs. Mrs. Abu Baker first cousin owned an Indian Delight restaurant one station away, thus I also worked there in the evenings from 1830 hours to 2130 hours. The beauty here was I could take all left over’s by customers, making my dinner requirements well taken care of.  Holding two jobs, my income was reasonable and more than I make as a quartermaster onboard, not too much though.

I met our Burmese cadets on Sunday afternoons for a cook out. The curry was pig or fish head as only a few pence each. It was the cheapest at the butcher’s and we all learnt cooking trial by error. After some time, we mastered it. It was always enjoyable and eating by hand (traditional) makes it more delicious. By the month of May, we were all settled in. My life style was stable for the time being, but must look out for more dignified method of making a living. One Sunday, the cadets told me that ‘Prospects of Whitby’ pub was a must to be ventured. I am no drinker but just for an evening out, I accompanied them on a Saturday, just for the experience and a bit of fun.

The pub was by way of Wapping tube station. The pub offered a band specializing on Calypso music. One of the band member was a Burmese, an ex–merchant seaman playing the ukulele. The crowd was cosmopolitan and the pub well supported. The atmosphere was magnetic with the band played five nights a week. From the corner of my eyes, I spied a Chinese waitress serving the frenzy crowd and somehow stirred an interest in me. She must be 34-24-34, but quite attractive with average height, slim in body with pleasant personality wearing a cream coloured blouse and a black woolen long flowing skirt with matching boots. With fair unblemished soft skin and uncomplicated hairdo, no wonder the pub hired her. An English pub with an Asian band playing Calypso music and songs plus a young Chinese waitress made quite a contrast but nice and infectious. The cadets enjoyed the atmosphere, and so did I. It was a melting pot and the waitress presence electrified me, a feeling I had not sensed before. I managed to chat a few words to her and the cadets knew I had a yen for her. Talking with the eyes, you know.

Next Saturday, we all went back there for a drink. Knowingly, they returned back by themselves after an enjoyable evening leaving me to exercise my options. I lingered back and waited outside after the last bell. It was cold. She came out ten minutes after closing and I escorted her back to her digs in the heart of Soho without much of a fuss. I was relieved she did not shy away from my gentlemanly advances.  We managed to talk on our way to her flat and I found out that she was from Hong Kong, arrived London alone about a year ago holding a British passport. Like myself, she held two jobs to supplement her gross income. She was also a non-drinker, similar to myself and does not believe in playing around. Cheers !

From then on, I picked her up after work every Saturday and Sunday night, which increased to daily after six months. Her name was Mai Li, but better known by all as Joyce. She accepted my invitation would join me for our weekly cook out at the cadets place but unwilling to eat by hand like us, preferring fork and spoon or chop sticks.

Within a year, the cadets were all gone, managing to secure their second mate tickets. Alone, I now spent more time with Joyce and I enjoyed it and yearned to be with her all of my free time. Spring, summer, autumn and winter all went round and came back, but I still wanted her compannion and hungry for more and more. She was an accountant by training and worked as a sales girl cum bookkeeper at the Lu Ming Chinese Emporium, below her digs. Some evenings, we would enjoy a duck rice or wontan mi, in Soho two streets away or Indian food, which I took from the restaurant where I worked. The nearest tube station for Joyce was Leicester Square and there after a good twenty minutes walk. To me, the walk was not tedious or exhausting, I think my feelings showed.

According to Joyce, all things sold at Lu Ming Chinese Emporium do not go unnoticed by the ‘Elders’. The amount one donates to the community, to the old folks home, to the hospital, to help the poor etc. etc. were monitored by them. Put a foot wrong, some one would be there in a jiffy to ‘help’ you amend, otherwise you can kiss goodbye to your business. This have been the tradition for hundred of years and only the societies know who the “Elders’ are. Their replacements and terms of employment are shrouded in secrecy maybe behind a Soho bamboo curtain.  Keeping within the rules, all businesses prospered. Pubs would have patronages, clubs can do their own things, no muggings in Soho and the ladies of the night can go about their businesses. Police work will be within acceptable limits and everybody happy. The system is such that no windfall of money for any businesses and all profits must be within reasons. Strange, is it not?

Joyce, a careful dresser does not maintain a large wardrobe. To her, clothes must be practical, durable and if possible be evergreen, suitable for all seasons. Labels and boutiques are not a must, however willing to pay more if it got style and be long lasting. Waste not and want not were always on her mind and must be ready to move in an instant notice was her theme. Marks and Spencer seems to be her wardrobe store. To me, Joyce is a type of woman I would like to share my life. She is sophisticated, beautiful, presentable, well educated, caring, homely, stringent with money and a good partner. She made sure I did not spend unnecessarily and without good reason. All in all, a good woman.

After two years of going out together, on cold, long wet nights, she would spend some evenings with me at my digs, as it was closer to the Prospect of Whitby. I would hold her close under the blankets and sit by the gas fire discussing and making plans long into the night. It was a joy to have someone talking on the same frequency and in my eyes she could do no wrong. Mrs. Abu Baker children also liked Joyce as she would at times baby sit her two daughters, free of charge of course. This was no big deal as the girls were angels, placing them in front of the television set was enough to put them to sleep. Feeding them was also not a chore as they were not fussy eaters. I could see and sense that she was family orientated which met my requirements whole heartily.

Seasons withered, and now I worked for William Hill & Sons, the bookmaker at Mile End. The pay was better and my golden rule was to never to place a bet, no matter how good the odds were. On a cold January day, while sitting with Joyce by the gas fire, I opened up and told my life story. Starting from my trip to Calcutta with no formal education and no family as such, back ‘home’ in Rangoon. I told her about being alone and not being allergic to hard work, right up to the present moment. I gave her the whole nine yards. All Joyce had to say was ‘ I like the fighting spirit in a man’. Under the blue glow of a gas fire, warm under the blankets gave me enough courage to propose. I quietly asked her, “ Will you marry this lonely man? ”

She opened her half closed eyes fully and looking surprised she smiled and replied,  “ I was under the impression you would never ask. ”

So hitched we did at the Mile End Registry on 18th February at 1000 hours. Cold was the wind and rains drizzled under cloudy skies. The day was horrid and miserable, however it did not dampen our hearts She also let me into her little secret and told me that I was the first man she ever had, and I was in no way angry about it. Quite relieved and overjoyed, actually!

Joyce moved in with me as the room was quite large on the first floor. I only bought a double bed from Aldgate East furnishing store and the rest was history. Mrs. Abu Baker did not ask for more rental as no extra room was needed with Mr. Abu Baker endorsing it. Besides, she was happy with Joyce for looking after their two young daughters for free. We were one big happy family. Joyce was twenty-three and I was twenty-eight. Joyce continued to send twenty five percent of her income to her mum and dad residing back in Hong Kong with her brother. This was the way of the Chinese, parents would reside with their son only.  While savings grew for both of us, we still cannot afford a house in west London nor around Swiss Cottage area in the northwest, respectable part of town. It was not worth buying through a building society also as the interests were high and meaningful jobs were rather bleak for me on the right side of London especially for someone like me without formal educational requirements.

One day, a letter came from Joyce’s cousin residing in Ottawa painting about earning power and superior living conditions there compared to London. The prospects of immigrating there were bright and a worthwhile consideration for both of us, so she wrote. Her waiting of tables at the Prospect of Whitby, kept me informed about my Burmese sailor friends. Out of the four Bibby Line cadets, two joined the Rangoon Pilot Service and the remainder two joined the national line as Masters after gaining their necessary tickets. I presume being with the family and having one’s own command was more important than money. Maybe so, God knows!

CHAPTER FOUR : ANCHORING IN THE NEW LAND

I went to the local library and did some research there. Most of the Chinese immigrants were in Toronto and Vancouver. Having said that, Ottawa is their capital with a population under million souls. While Canadian and English made up of the bulk of population there with over 40% according to the demographics and Chinese only made up of 4% of the people. However, Easterners including Anglo Africans made up around 12%, thus they would not be so much out of place and could blend into the main population. Furthermore it was a new country and setting up roots there might be the right thing to do.

After much deliberation between Joyce and myself, weighing pros and cons up to the late hours of the night, we came to the conclusion that immigrating to Ottawa would be the best option to better ourselves and start a family. With our both savings pooled, we could start up a Chinese supermarket there, which can be deemed our own. Our fighting spunk could make it a success within a year. A population around a million which is much diverse, serving not only to the Chinese, but also to Thais, Vietnamese, Indians, Filipinos, Russians, Middle Easterners etc. etc. from a warehouse near the port would be our winning ticket. The weather’s there is also cold in London, thus no difference there, except the amenities would be better and more modern. Joyce already experienced running Lu Ming, here in London, therefore running an emporium supermarket in Ottawa should be a piece of cake, not too difficult might be the correct term. I would name it Eastern Supermarket and should our savings be insufficient, I am sure the bank there would gladly supplement the balance.

Once set up there, I would like to fly back to Burma and look for my parents back in Kyauk Mae Town, Shan States in Burma and bring them along including my sisters back to Ottawa, which my wife supported whole heartily. After all, it was the right thing to do as they made me what I am today and they also struggled and suffered a hard life.  It was high time I make up, and let them retire in old age, comfortably in Canada, if possible. With my child in Joyce’s tummy, I would like to start a homestead there and anchor my unrest soul, once and for all.

August ought to be beautiful and warm in Ottawa.

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Shipping Business

In our department, there are a total of eight individuals. Eight very different living souls with much diverse dreams and expectations. We run four cargo steamers, hopefully for a profit.  All doing a job in expectation for realizing their own goals.  The company was registered as Seabridge Shipping Company, affectionally known as SSC in the trade. The company main shares of 70% is owned by the First Myanmar National Bank, and 10% each by a Myanmar Chinese in the name of U Shwe Maung and other is U Nay Win of Chinese Indian decent. The remainder 10% was allocated to the company staff, afloat and ashore equally.  This was a management ploy, so that all staff work for the betterment of the company, and likewise also to bear the wreath if performance was not up to expectations.  We have six board directors, of which two from the bank, to look after its interests.  The General Manager is a German national under the name of Hans Manfred, who also is a board of director.  It is a tight boat with 24 total compliment making sure the 4 ships run efficiently, with a minimum of costs at all times. 

All 64 shares of the each ship are owned by SSC, and great care was taken on securing them. The 4 ships are from Chinese yards and about 2/3 years old at a cost of under U$10 million each, second hand. Two of each set are sister ships, to keep spares and running costs down. Both sets around 7/8000 dwt each, with 3 holds, and 2 Liebherr cranes of 50 tons each on starboard side, having a reach of 5 meters from the ship’s side. Draft fully landen is around 6 meters, with 4/500 teus in and on holds. MAN B&W engine consumption is (Marine Heavy Oil) MHO 12 tons and (Marine Diesel Oil) MDO 1.0 ton a day, delivering up to 14 knots an hour. With 25 reefer plugs onboard, our multipurpose cargo ships are good work horses. Incidentally, the cranes are used in Yangon only.

2 of the ships are deployed on the far eastern trade up to Shanghai with transshipment arrangements to Hong Kong, Japanese and Taiwanese ports, plus 2 are on Colombo trade via Singapore connecting Europe and USA. All ships are not economically viable to serve up to Japan, plus States side, and also to the Continent, due to its capacity. In short, it does not enjoy the economy of scale.

In the port city of Yangon, ships are berthed at Thaketa wharf, as down town wharfs are still prone to under the table payments and slow performance. Besides, SSC owns 8% of the wharf, and we do have some say in the operations. Shippers, receivers and their agents are happy, which is a great plus for us.  The estuary of Pago River joining Yangon River is somewhat draft limited, thus the shallow drafts of our vessels are not discriminated to the restriction. We are the only tenant, apart from National Line coasters at Thaketa, thus our berthings are a premium.

Now, back to our office, Jerry Ba.  He is the youngest and at the age of 20 years and 3 months, he’s the most junior in our department. Young in age and that slim boyish look bait the ladies. His aim is to score by hook or crook.  With no permanent girl friend and not wanting any, his ideal glory is to brag first thing Monday mornings, that he scored during weekend. He finds the greatest satisfaction that he is able to fish, at his will. Jerry Ba is in charge of all our department filings, including upkeep of voyage data’s and schedules. He also make coffee and make sure correspondences are well responded in time.  He is much aware that his chance to climb the corporate ladder is non-existent, as he is right at the bottom. Being a realistic man, he would stick with this job till he can secure a position, where the pay would be higher and his prospects brighter. He makes no bones about it.

Then we have Daw Ohnmar, she’s about 36 years old with a husband and one daughter and a bit in the tummy.  She has no ambition to aim for any additional greatness. She is just happy to go through life as it is.  All thing expenses, including disbursements are decided by her whether to settle promptly or otherwise, including invoices from all ships and ports of calls. She is a content woman, with a loving husband in the automobile trade. She can see through whether the expenses are necessary and authentic, a person who would stand firm on her stance, thus foreign agents and ship’s command sweet talk to her, always. Their motto is, best not awaken a sleeping tigeress.

The other team members are Daw Hla Hla and Daw Mya Mu, both spinsters around mid forties, one is in charge of manifests and all things documents relating to exports, while the other is handling everything to do with imports. Both were affectionately known the twins.  Very straight forward and correct in their dealings, and are great friends too.  Now a wee bit on the plum side, and been with the company about twenty years, sex now is a non player as far as they are concerned, and life reflect around their work only. They aim to stick it out until retirement, and want to return back to their villages, and be mini philanthropists in terms of services only, as financially not too strong.  Their heroes are the likes of Warren Buffett, William Wilberforce, Bill Gates and Bill Clinton. The twins are well liked, and their thoughts are sincerely sought after by many including customers.  With no more thoughts lingering on promotions, however, any additional increases in pay are much welcomed by them. 

The next team member is U Thaung, Manager by rank and also handles all matters relating to container control with the assistance of Jerry Ba. Around 6000 carrier owned containers (coc), a third of which are on lease plus Connecting Carrier Agreements (CCA) with Maersk, Mediterranean  Shipping Company (MSC) and Neptune Orient  Lines (NOL). U Thaung is a busy man, also lovingly known as CC (container control) in the company. A married man with two grown up sons, one working with a local foreign bank, and the young one is a trainee pilot with a commercial airline. A wife, two years his senior having a group of friends with a yen for bingo, is anchored to his post each day, as he feel spending time with an automatic yapping machine at home,  is not worth triggering his high blood pressure. In his early fifties and graying, if he doesn’t kick the bucket early, like to retire up north in Taunggyi, where he’s got a sister and fade away into the sun set. Fat chance !

June Tin Tin and Ms. Moe Moe were both appointed by myself as Assistant Sales Manger and Sales Executive Officer. Both very aggressive sales women and no nonsense dishes, well connected with our customers, mean what they say and say what they mean.  It is their job to secure cargo for our boxes, and make sure at least 350 of our twenty foot equivalent (TEUs) are utilized on every ship, every voyage, and coordinate import boxes are also at maximum with our oversea agents. Their salaries are on performance basis, with a bonus should they be able hit our target.  Pleasant personalities coupled with smooth talking, plus looks and not shying away from a drink or two, opens many a door. Being single and an understanding family also helps. We all three would have a chat every morning, on lifting’s and the market in general.  They also have to be on the lookout what other shipping lines are doing, and be well advised on the freight rates, as market situation can change, subject to trade and demand and supply of commodities.  They are out for sales by 1000 hours, and finishing time depends on how much boxes they able secure. As both still under thirty, therefore long working hours are not a hassle, and their main agenda being to be well compensated at the end of the each month. Reefer boxes and garments are always welcomed together light cargoes. Both their resilience are astonishing.  I think it’s one of the best investment the company made.

And there is me, as Head of the Operations with a finger in every pie, making sure our income are at an optimum for every voyage and better then our competition. Old and graying, not much use around the house anymore, weekday home dinners is no more a chore for the wife, as evening entertainments are part and parcel of the job. Being well liked and being part of the gang also, bring in boxes.  Given a shoulder to cry on and lending a helping hand, are appreciated by all.  Understanding the market is so important, and one needs to be at the right place, at the right time, every time.  My two girls and the lad, are now all married. Thank god their partners are not in the business of shipping. I would see my four grand children at weekend lunches, and also thankful for their monthly cash supports. It all helps, and I am sure my likely pension together with their monthly supports, will see this old man and woman through.  There should not be a slowing down our life style, and health is the only thing to be watchful, to enjoy the fruits of our labor.

Today’s internet, wi-fi, emails and mobile phones are a necessity evil.  You are 24/7 on the job, and the only advantage of Sundays is that you don’t need to dress up for the office.  At times, it was also a blessing in disguise, as your customers gave you cargo at weekends. The only trick is to meet their deadlines. Not so an easy task by any means. Another good point is emergencies can be addressed promptly, and you are available at all times. Good? Bad?, I leave it to your better judgment.

The chief money man is, Mr. Mutu De Silva, a  man  of  Anglo Indian background  is our Chief Accountant.  A Chartered Accountant by training  and also a board member.  Happy with  all  figures, including those.  A married  man  but  always  willing  to   study figures in the flesh too.  The amount of energy the man has is staggering.

My job is for every voyage to be profitable and I would at times blare on the telephone to our Marine & Engineering Superintendent  " MES, we lost a total of 2.3 days last voyage of the Irrawaddy, due to repeated over heating of exhaust and slow response of clearing ship from ports " and continued " this is totally unacceptable  ".  

This would constitute all necessary action by him with the captain.  After all, he will enjoy the shares like all of us, and in return, we expect nothing but the best from him and his crew.  We have three sets of crew for each ship, one onboard, one on leave, and one set on stand by ashore (at home).  Their salaries are a bit higher than the market rate, and all floating staff are expected to stay onboard at all times during their six months sea duration.  After one year of complete service, onboard and stand by, means the shares become enjoyable or its reverse.  Full pay onboard, and half pay during stand by and leave. They are on six months onboard, three months leave, and up to three months on stand by.  The salary details are worked out in detail by the Chief Accountant. While onboard, their advances are limited to two months salary. Their bonuses are computed separately by MES and his team.  Our sailors can either take it or leave it, as there are too many fish in the sea.

MES is a seasoned master by trade and his Assistant MES is an ex-Chief Engineer who is known as Axe. As the name would suggest, should performance be under par, they are promptly removed, no if and no but.  The ships are expected to make 12 knots at sea and twenty percent reduction in speed means forty percent reduction in fuel cost is drilled to our Masters and Chief Engineers.  All four ships prime movers and generators are similar, thus ease of operation plus maintenance and spares were able to be maintained at a minimum. Spares stock onboard and or ashore means sleeping capital, thus spares are kept to what the law demands only.

SSC is well liked in the trade, as schedules are always maintained and shippers able prepare their exports with no extra leeway, saving on costs and man power.  The company twenty four hands are a close knit community, and does run like a well oiled machine.  There is only one secretary to take care of the board, with the company chauffeur doubling as a public relation man and assistant the secretary when not driving guests.  The board members drive themselves and no office car as such. Hans Manfred, run a small office with the latest cutting edge technology machines. Anyway, he is mainly on his feet, as no boys or shapely broads to assist his paper work and office chores.

Holidays? Yes, we do take two weeks off in a year. It must be well coordinated in advance with the whole office, and one goes on holiday with a cell phone. With internet and wi-fi available 24/7, it would be prudent to also take along your laptop or tablet, otherwise one will be going into internet cafes like a yo-yo. A sort of a working holiday, if you like!

I am thinking seriously of dropping Colombo from our westbound schedule, as India bound boxes are heavy with pulses are coupled with low freights and nil outbound from there.  Besides, there are too many local shipping lines to contend with. Income wise also, it does not justify the means. Our Europe bound boxes can be catered, also from Singapore with our CCA with Maersk and MSC.  In and outbound USA cargoes are catered through Neptune Orient Lines (NOL). I must make a trip to Bangkok to meet Maersk and also to Singapore and have a talk with NOL. The more I think about it, the trip ought to be sooner than later, as time is money and currently the Colombo call is bleeding us.

Singapore to Colombo is 1695 miles, and for our ship it means 7.1 days and on return to Yangon, with the difference between Singapore to Yangon is another 0.7 day, thus a saving of 7.8 days in total.  That’s a lot of cherries, considering vessel, bunker, port and wages costs against its container freight income. This is not considering depreciation and container leasing and reposition costs. Must get it done real fast. I am very confident that June Tin Tin and Ms. Moe Moe will be able to fill up the vacuum.  I want more garment boxes, and the girls must secure more new accounts. I must also make sure more of my time is allotted to them also.

There is a change in the timber industry. With no more logs to be shipped due to new (United Nations) U.N. guidelines, must check the sawn timber trade to Europe. Myanmar is on a modernization spree for 26 years lost time. This means a buying frenzy and every likelihood of increase in imports, thus also must make a point to visit the buying departments.

So much to do and unknowingly I grumbled out loud " getting too old for this, it’s a young man game now ". 

Daw Ohnmar slowly said " you said the same last year ", which brought me back to my senses.

I turned by back to them and gazed at the pouring monsoon rain out from my window. Like the rain, business also pours, but only for a limited time. Must make sure to catch it.

Each year was the same, trying to meet lifting and earnings to target. How long can this go on? , with each year, it is getting more difficult. Must cut and run before the game is over or it will out run me.

This evening, I will go home early and shall buy a bouquet of choice carnations, on the corner of 24^th street in China Town and lift my wife off her feet and wispier ‘I love you’,  she will be chuckled to death as this is not her birthday or our anniversary, and then take her for a long dinner at a posh restaurant. Just the two of us.

I must remember tomorrow, request help from Hans Manfred to take a trip to Copenhagen and Geneva and see Maersk and MSC.

After all, it’s summer there, and should be nice.