My Washington DC story

In Washington DC, 1984

In 1984, I was awarded a Fulbright Scholarship for graduate study in the USA. I was in my mid-thirties at the time, and had been teaching English in the Sultanate of Oman for three years, having previously taught in Sri Lankan schools and a university for more than 10 years.

I was admitted to the American University (AU) in Washington, DC for a masters in Linguistics. Having been an avid reader of the Readers' Digest since I was 11, and other free publications distributed by the US Information Service in Sri Lanka (a now defunct magazine called Free World and a magazine for English teachers, Forum, which is still in publication), I was steeped in the American lifestyle. I felt fortunate to be in the capital city, instead of being assigned to a school in a lesser known area.

The American University was an expensive private school, attended mainly by the spoilt children of the rich and the offspring of diplomats. I could never have gone there without the scholarship. The presence of students from more than 100 countries brought a rich tapestry of colors and languages to campus, an experience rare at other universities.


The American University, Washington DC
I arrived a week after classes had begun and was fortunate to find the last place on the sixth floor in a co-ed dorm. I was the oldest resident, one of only two graduate students among mainly freshman undergraduates, who were away from home for the first time and out to have fun. I shared a large room with six other students, one of whom happened to be the President of the university's Gay and Lesbian Association. For someone coming from Sri Lanka, where homosexual practices were frowned upon, this was a novel experience to say the least. Gary was a friendly person whose preoccupation certainly wasn't his studies. His phone would ring continuously from 6pm onwards, visitors would drop by for loud chats and laughter, and, most mornings, his bed would be occupied by a beautiful young woman. (I never managed to understand this phenomenon.) The hormone levels in the dorm were sky high and the sound of running feet and banging doors could be heard at all hours as young men and women chased each other. The result was that I had no sleep for almost two weeks. This was finally solved when I began reading a book by Henry Widdowson, a household name in applied linguistics.) Half way through the book, I fell asleep for 12 hours straight!

I had complained about the noise and the lack of sleep and was given the choice of moving to an apartment complex that the university was leasing. The only problem was that I would have to find a roommate because I couldn't afford the high rent. A couple of days earlier, an Indian student had been complaining to me about his roommate and the need to find a new place. I soon found him in the library and he agreed to become my roommate. That's how Govindan Parayil and I became friends.

The apartment complex was at the corner of Wisconsin Avenue and Van Dyke, a 10 minute walk from campus, uptown from the Washington Cathedral which was still under construction, and only a bus ride from the great Museums and the Washington Mall. We had an apartment on the seventh floor, surrounded by elderly, long time residents of the complex as well as students. Sidwell Friends School, which President Obama's children attend, was right next door, and in those carefree, less-security obsessed days, I used to jog on their running track. (The complex appears to have been torn down. I believe the Embassy of Taiwan now stands where it used to be.) When the leaves of the surrounding trees fell during autumn, we could see the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Congress Building all lit up at night. For someone who grew up in Sri Lanka, the sight was magical.

Soon, our apartment became a favorite rendezvous for friends and classmates, who came for a chat and a taste of Govindan's splendid meals. Most of my classmates were international students, and some were Fulbright scholars like me. I recall Janeth Hernandez from Bolivia, Selina Mohsin from Bangladesh, Gunawan from Indonesia, a Smith from Zimbabwe, Mala Somasunderam from Malaysia, and Xiumin Huang from China. Xiumin was the first Mainland Chinese student in our program and soon transferred to Computer Science, but we remained friends because she rented an apartment in the same complex.

Lectures were in the evening because most students were part-timers, so I had the whole day to myself. I soon got a job in the university library at the minimum wage. I was asked to shelve bound magazines and books in the library's basement. These bound volumes were very heavy but I had an Indian student named Arun to work with, and he was an easy going, happy guy whose good humour made the work much easier. At the end of one year, I was given a pay raise of .05 cents per hour!


With Govindan, at the National Cemetery in Arlington. 1985

I also had a host family. Myra (Mike) Schlesinger had worked at the US Embassy in Colombo in the 1950s, and she and her husband, the famed CBC announcer Joe Schlesinger, welcomed me to their beautiful home on Loughboro Road just a few minutes walk from the campus.

Looking back, the three semesters I spent at the American University were probably the happiest years of my life. For me, the studies were a breeze. The Museums (the Air and Space Museum was my favorite) were all free. Life before e-mail, the Internet, and cell phones seemed fuller. The neighborhood where we lived were residential and safe at any time. On my walk to campus, I would be passing tress heavy with cherry blossoms in the summer, and with icicles in the winter. The Sunday ritual was to attend mass at the university chapel with Marceline Hepie, a flamboyant friend from the Ivory Coast. Despite all my efforts, searching on the Internet and the occasional Ivorian I meet, I have not been able to connect with him.

Among my American classmates, Bim Schauffler and Ellen Stucker were the closest to us, and I still keep in touch with Ellen. They were both serious students, having to pay tuition from their earnings. Among the internationals, Mala was the exception. The daughter of a Malaysian diplomat, she lived a style quite different from the rest of us. Once, she gave me a gold plated toothbrush as a Christmas gift! Her ambition was to marry a millionaire and lead a life a leisure, which she accomplished in style: she visited me in Hong Kong about ten years ago, traveling from Malaysia where she lives, and even her nanny traveled first class. Recently, I found Selina through the Net, and she is now the High Commissioner (Ambassador) for Bangladesh in the Maldives. Xiumin never returned to China; she married Scott Overall, a lawyer, and now lives in Maryland.

I left AU at the end of 1985 to begin doctoral studies at the University of Pennsylvania. But, when Fawzia began to work in the DC area in the late 1990s and bought a house in Maryland, my ties to the area were renewed. Our son Ry lives there now, so my visits to the DC area will continue. AU has invited me back for their summer workshops twice, when the MA TESOL Program there began an Alumni Association, I was invited to be the first President.

Perhaps the most enduring friendship from my AU days has been that with Govindan. In fact, my decision to take-up a position in Hong Kong due to his encouragement (he already had a job at HKUST), and we have remained good friends. I was the Bestman at his wedding and the Godfather of his son. Govind is now the Vice-Rector at the United Nations University in Tokyo and stopped by for a visit a couple of weeks ago.


Govindan at the Bistro, HKUST, February 2009

A Ballad of Pak Tam Chung

By Patrick Ng Pak-Kay

Hakka folk of Sheung Yiu
Hailed from Guandong’s Danshui, farther afield
In the days of yore
Wedlock united clans of different locales -
“Sense of place” came to the fore
In how the union was known by all.
Settling in Pak Tram Chung, the Hakka
Were amicable with the seafaring Tanka.
Radios were to the latter a boon
Only since the early sixties, in case of typhoons. (10)
Batteries were bought from Sai Kung bazaar
(Transmission really ranged that far)
As the then colonial government
Needed to make various announcements.
Pak Tam Chung was humid and hot.
And in summers past, grandma’s lot
At night was to fan children to sleep
After which her own slumber wasn’t deep
As smothered inside stuffy mosquito nets
With no plumbing or electricity just yet (20)
The weather was the be-all and end-all
Rustics were at nature’s beck and call.
Solace in religion was sought
And Roman Catholicism coexisted with folk faiths
As villages of different persuasions wrought
A rural chapel, also shrines of another spiritual way.
Sai Kung was the Catholic fathers’ earliest base
In Hong Kong, where, in Cantonese, they presented their case
So, Yin Tin Tsai island had its old chapel, bearing witness
To a history of worship and church largesse (30)
Flour and schooling for fisher folk-poor, but good Catholics nonetheless.
In village life, strife was rare -
Save bickering between mother and daughter-in-law;
And gambling troubles for me there.
Gossip filled the leisure hours-jaw-jaw
About weddings and funerals, the usual fare.
A corpse would be buried for years five or seven
After which the bones-“gold” in local jargon -
Would be exhumed and to an urn transferred:
An umbrella would be held over the grave when it occurred. (40)
“Pray, time to get up” would be intoned
Air and sun would dry the spread-out bones
Before consigning of “gold” to a new, portable home.
Dry-soil burial-plots were deemed premium,
To ensure an eventual clean-picked outcome.
Of course, “Feng Shui” plots were keenly sought -
Except by the Catholic clan of Sheung You, who had a Christian God.
“Ching Ming” in late Spring was not observed-
Though “Chung Yeung” was when dog and chicken meat were served
To filial progeny honouring their ancestors. (50)
Chickens roamed everywhere in the outdoor quarters,
Odour of avian feces was the order of the day,
Droppings for fertilizer would be scooped up and saved;
Ash at the stove would be mixed with human “produce”,
Pre-eminently eligible for a similar use.
Daily regimen entailed rising before the sun did,
Supper at five, and eight would mandate sleepy eyelids.
Babbling brooks in the vicinity,
Would be used to do laundry;
Men would take their baths there - (60)
But for reasons of modesty,
“Bath enclosures” womenfolk would require
Indoors, to where they would retire.
Soap bars were available at the bazaar,
Bathwater was heated at the stove in winter,
Firewood would be turned to cinders –
As collectables from the hillsides thither.
A single village school, “Pui Choi Primary”
Educated children in the vicinity;
But for education at secondary level, (70)
To Kowloon or downtown Sai Kung they had to travel.
Public health was overseen
By Springtime’s government vaccination teams;
Diseases were treated by folk experience -
The Chinese herbal deliverance.
Big-bus service commenced in the fifties,
Servicing the section from “Yau Lei Store”
To the pier in Kowloon City;
Public light bus was to follow, a decade later,
What is now “Wong Chun Chun Thai Restaurant” it did reach, (80)
To closer ties between Kowloon City and Sai Kung it did cater –
Goods were traded, such as animal feed,
Between the two townships, to meet a mutual need,
Many Hakka settled in Kowloon City,
Also Chiu Chow traders, prominent in rice commodity;
Commerce besides in poultry-farming and agricultural produce;
Also kerosene, and stoves for its use.
Cordial business relations between Chiu Chow and Hakka,
With Cantonese serving as their Lingua Franca –
Transport links had enabled the brisk barter. (90)
Further back in time, things were far grimmer –
Wartime tumult saw determined local guerillas
Struggle against Japanese occupiers
Who, once, Sheung Yiu village commandeered
For barracks, though control of Sai Kung wasn’t keenly sought –
With an implacable hostile populace, a war was better not fought
Over land of limited strategic import.
The will of the occupiers was lukewarm
In Sai Kung, where even the then colonial Governor
Had briefly hid, in the wake of the invasion storm - (100)
Sir Mark Young had the support of the “East River” Militia,
Whose spirit was, decades later, to be memorialized
In stone at a calmer, scenic Tai Mong Tsai.

In the memories of strife were thus,
The chronicling of traditional wedding is equally a must –
The extravagant rites, rituals and elaborate fuss.
As a gambit, the ministering, match-making matron’s liaising
Might consist in voluble, artful praising
Of the prospective bride’s attributes and qualities
To the face of the would-be groom’s parents, (110)
In line with the customary code of proprieties.
The other direction’s intercession errand
(If done to both houses’ approving satisfaction)
Would then complete the auspicious pact –
The young girl being now “spoken for” in folk fashion,
Thanks to the match-maker’s no lack of tact.
A “betrothal gift” the maiden’s home would then receive,
Courtesy of the groom-to-be’s household
Which, later on, on the big day would in turn receive
He bride’s dowry, arriving with the bridal sedan to unload. (120)
The actual nuptial proceedings took time to unfold –
Grandly three whole days and three eves, all told.
Day one was spent gladly expecting the bridal sedan
Amid fanfare of cymbals, gongs and cornets to dazzle and confound,
To arrive on the shoulders of hired porters.
The reception protocol and the protracted feasting would demand
Much ado with busy bustle throughout the quarters –
The slaughter of livestock and the cooking thereof,
With children running, playing, and score of roundtables to take care of,
Not to mention heaps of firewood and the fetching of water – (130)
Pots, pans, woks on roaring stoves, the hotter the better,
Fit for a village to feast through Hakka-style nine-coursers,
Amid the din and the cacophony of clacking tiles-
Games of mahjong and tin-gau: Whole-hog hollering being a must –
As de rigueur as the tender staid new dame’s maidenly weeping, upon embarking on her sedan trip (fate to trust),
Bidding irrevocable farewell to parents and assuming a new surname,
Tears of the bride belied the groom’s gang of lads,
Happy Hakka “hill ditties”, blared out at the reception –
Rustic lyrics of courtship as sweetly cloying as (140)
Those dumplings to be consumed by the groom to his satisfaction
As officiated by the “lucky aunt” appointed for the occasion –
A matron deemed usually blessed in health, wealth, sons and grandsons.
Day two’s evening would make the bridal chamber scene of nuptial consummation,
And day three would see the commencement of the bride’s new life –
Obeisance rituals, tea ceremony, and kitchen duty for the new wife.
Village elders welded authority considerable through informal,
Men of the intelligentsia enjoyed a respect most traditional.
Catholic priests exerted influence through the Sheung Yiu chapel,
Whose convenient access was provided only since the late forties (150)
By the “revival bridge”, obviating the need to ford this
“King’s creek” hazardously on foot, next to the present
“Fat Kee store”, whose namesake resident
Of the locale, Ol' Guy Ah Fat, a public-spirited draughtsman,
Drew up the bridge-plan and contacted the local government,
Requesting steel bars, cement and other resources,
And arranging for casual labourers to join forces
In the construction, paying them not in cash,
But in kind, namely, stacks of rice stashed
By the post-war colonial administration. (160)
The ‘king’ who was honoured by the creek’s name
Was the mountain deity, in pantheistic tradition,
Who still has a shrine beneath huge banyan trees,
Where offerings are still in evidence, though his claim
To souls is now answered by fewer, but the chapel, formerly of the Holy See,
Is now also converted to a canoeing facility
For the sporting benefit of caritas boy scouts,
As the diocese congregation has long since moved out,
Leaving a shadow of local spiritual clout.
Spirit-appeasing theatre shows were a tradition before the war, (170)
When at night on the fourteen day of the seventh moon,
Aggrieved ghosts were said to rise up from the earth’s core,
And to wander aimlessly, pitiful souls in sore
Need of consolation in the form of offerings of food,
Burnt, neither-world ‘money’, and theatrical spectacle,
In the mid-summer night breeze, an eerie mood
Prevailed, where red candles flickered,
And colourful banners fluttered,
And actors and ‘actresses’ (of the male gender)
Wailed to loud musical accompaniment (180)
Under a hot, noisy, crowded make-shift canopy,
Losing themselves in the magic of the moment,
These troupes of theatrical artistes used to ply
Their itinerary on boats, touring here and there,
And were particularly in demand that time of year.
The Wong clan itself, originally of Sheung Yiu village,
Had already moved to “Guo Lo Long” (“crossroads cottage”)
Back in the thirties, preferring to let
Out the original premises at “Sheung Yiu” because they couldn’t get
Fresh water for domestic use in winter there, (190)
When the hillside streams dried up seasonally,
(Even though ‘Wong Yi Chau” nearby had a well for their water cares,
Its capacity was too modest for feasibility.)
So on to “Guo Lo Long” they moved –
A hundred-year-old, large stone cottage,
Still lived-in to this day, now sometimes dubbed “Honeysuckle cottage”.
Situated at the concourse of (formerly) vital trails,
Before the ‘thirties it had never failed
To thrive as a crossroads multiplex mall
Containing various shops, for buying and selling to be done by all, (200)
Including also an inn for the traveling weary,
Making it the heart and soul of the vicinity.
But from the thirties on, half was re-requisitioned for the clan’s private dwelling use,
And from the sixties, this bustling ‘crossroads cottage’ fell into disuse,
As lime-, brick- and tile-manufacturing sunk into terminal death-drive –
The mainstay livelihood of the Wong clan.
But “Guo Lo Long” was to be miraculously revived
On just the cusp of the twenty-first century,
When a Wong clan descendant reclaimed the property,
Refurbishing the building back to hospitable utility. (210)



Patrick Ng


Sunrise over Pak Tam Chung

The bridge

"A Ballad of Pak Tam Chung" - The full version

Patrick Ng gave me the complete version of the poem a few weeks ago and I'll be uploading it soon. Part I ended at line 103 and the complete version extends to 210 lines.

I thank Matthew Sung for word processing the additional lines of the poem.

David & Jay

In August 1995, I arrived in Hong Kong to take up a position at the Chinese University. A flat in the staff quarters was assigned to me, but the flat was still occupied and for almost a month I was housed at the Royal Park Hotel in Shatin. That's where I met David Johns, who had arrived from Canada also to take up a position at the Chinese University. When we eventually moved on campus, we were both assigned to flats in Residence 8.

Originally from Britain, David had spent most of his career teaching in Canada, but he still liked cricket. Soon, we were soon playing for the Chinese University's cricket team, often at the Sek Kong Grounds belonging to the RAF, and also traveling down to the Sandy Bay grounds at the University of Hong Kong and other grounds such as Mission Road. David did not own a car for some time, so he rode in mine or in the grand old Mercedes that Mano Arumanayagam owned. We would come home exhausted from these games. After a hot bath, we would get together either at his flat or mine for more beer and dinner. David is a fine cook and I too could come up with a decent curry dinner those days.

Later, David was joined by Jennifer (Jay) and we became good friends. Cricket isn't a particularly interesting game for spectators (some claim watching grass grow is more interesting!) and Jay, along with a few other spouses, would accompany the players to matches, spending leisurely afternoons at the grounds. Vera, the wife of Rob Jones, usually kept score, helped by Fawzia. Jay, along with a few other spouses, read, chatted or relaxed under the nearest shade.

David and me at Shaffi's Curry House in Sek Kong grounds.

Sek Kong was our favorite grounds. It was only a 20-minute drive north of the Chinese University, along the Tai Po Road, Tolo Highway, and Lam Kam Road which ran along a beautiful valley of village houses and orchards. We would go through the entrance manned by Gurkha guards and would drop in at Shaffi's Curry House for a quick bite and a beer before the game began. I have written earlier on this blog about the cricket at Sek Kong, so will not describe those wonderful days again. But another mention of the great meals at Shaffis after the cricket is justified.

Vera, Fawzia, Jay and other ladies at Sek Kong grounds. 1996. Vera and Fawzia are keeping scores.

David & Jay eventually moved to Residence 15 on campus but we saw each other often. Jay is a trained nurse and her advice on my diet was a great help in controlling my diabetes. Some of the best and most wholesome meals I've had in Hong Kong were enjoyed at their home. The pot roast was the best.

They have two children, Christopher and Annelise, and we had Roy, all of the same age. We often discussed the challenges of bringing them up. We discovered that, in temperament and behavior, Annelise and Roy were quite similar. Jay's parents were in Brisbane during this period and my parents were in Sri Lanka, so we also shared the challenges of caring for elderly parents living away from us.

My decision to buy a house in Sai Kung was motivated by a dinner at Jaspas with David and Jay. Similarly, when David was offered the Chairmanship of the Sports Science Department, he sought my advice on whether to accept it. I told him he should , because he may otherwise have to work under an incompetent boss. Our friendship was such that they gave me a spare key to their flat so that I could rest there in the midst of a long teaching day on campus.

Jay had a group of women friends and they often hiked together. She also edited the newsletter on behalf of the Chinese University's Women's Organization (CUWO), to which I occasionally contributed a short piece. David was a fitness buff, a keen cyclist and a sailor, and later became the Commodore of the university's Yacht Club.

They planned their retirement carefully, choosing a lovely site in Saanich north of Victoria for their home. Taking their time and working closely with an architect, they built their dream home. When they left Hong Kong in 2006, I organized a farewell cruise on Victoria Harbour which was joined by 30 of our mutual friends. It was a memorable goodbye to a lovely couple.

Me at their lovely home in North Saanich, Vancouver Island, March 2007

Two year ago, I took the ferry from Seattle to Victoria, where I was met by David and Jay. We drove north to their home, which overlooks the water and has the greatest view of any house I've been to. I spent a few enjoyable days there, taking a ferry ride to a nearby island and also going back to Victoria for a stroll around town and a visit to the museum.


With Jay. Visiting a nearby park. March 2007

Not everyone enjoys retirement. The absence of a schedule, the loss of work responsibilities, and the availability of endless free time may not be easy to cope with. But David and Jay have adjusted well, David with numerous projects around the garden and Jay busy with a gardening club. They now have a dog, Coco, which must be good company.

Driving through campus, I often go past their former flat, and old memories keep flooding back.


David with Coco


A Christmas 2008 photo of David & Jay