I just saw a Discovery Channel show which, in part, featured a 600 pound man in America who was contemplating bariatic surgery. I really can't imagine how he swelled to that enormous size; but I guess in the good ol' U.S. of A., with so many calorie-dense food choices, it's really possible for "creeping obesity" to creep up on you. The man, a former professional sumo wrestler, had some touch decisions to make. Not to act would mean eventual stroke, diabetes and a host of other medical horrors. But to go under the knife is also not without risk. Hope he makes the decision to go under the knife because sometimes natural methods to lose weight just don't always work.

Fishing for "Dalag" or Snakehead at U.P., Diliman, Quezon City, Philippines

I learned the fine art of angling in Canberra, Australia, when I was in high school there (my mother was the Philippine Ambassador to that country from 1979 to 1981). Afer catching my first carp at Lake Burley Griffin, I was hooked, for life, really, and caught tons of carp thereafter from that beautiful, pristine lake set amidst the Australian bush.

However, now that I'm all grown up now (I'm 43 as of this writing) and back in my native Philippines I've got to admit that anglers Down Under are downright lucky to have such productive surroundings. They have barra up in Queensland, salmon fishing in Tasmania, some fantastic rock fishing along the New South Wales coast and great trout fishing along the Snowy River in the Snowy Mountains.

Here in the good ol' Philippines, anglers face a great struggle to catch fish, as they are frequently beat to the door by those who make their living from it. This is a picture of a "dalag" or "snakehead" fish I caught right on a small creek by the pathway leading to the College of Fine Arts at the University of the Philippines at Diliman, Quezon City. As the picture shows, however, a determined angler can still catch fish in the overfished Philippines; proving that where there's a will, there's still a way. But more on that, later.

With a population of 100 million made up of mostly economically disadvantaged people, fishing for fun takes second priority to ekeing out a living in this country. What this mostly means is that the majority of people fish for food to augment a slim diet. On a practical basis, this means is that a lot if local aquatic ecosystems are wiped out by poor people who stake out every square metere of water and resort to a variety of techniques that people in the West would be horrified at. For example, undersized fish are routinely caught and -- and rather than returned to the water to grow -- are kept and thrown into the pot to make tasty Philippine sour soup called "paksiw" or "sinigang." Electrocution of fish using car batteries is another technique used to wipe out entire schools of fish as is also dynamite fishing. Fish culture in plastic cages in lakes result in fish pellets and antibiotics leaking into the entire ecosystem and kill fish in the entire body of water. It's not the fault of the people that unsustainable techniques are used when their corrupt leaders continually let them down; forcing them into a vicious cycle of poverty and short-term solutions (to fill their hungry bellies) such fish electrocution or dynamite fishing.

While the solution is a change in leadership from the top all the way to the bottom through the continous and aggressive intervention of an enlightened citizenry; we're not about to see a whole lot of that anytime soon, as these things take time and patience. As the Americans have discovered in Iraq and Afghanistan, nation building is hard, takes generations to achieve, and needs political will, both from the top-down and bottom-up to address fundamental issues. We've obtained our independence from the U.S.A. since 1946, but this country is still poor, corrupt, and more importantly, the vast majority of its ctizens are overly tolerant of the status quo. I've written about rage elsewhere in "The Roving Eye," and I tell you, there's not enough of it in this country. I wish there was enough of it to rock the world of that tin-pot despot "President" Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, but she's banking on the fact that the more ambitious segment of our society has emigrated to seek a better life outside the Philippines (that's at least 10% of our population); leaving behind a passive, cowed population run by a ruthless greedy guts military, political and business elite who couldn't care less about spreading the wealth.

None of this was on my mind yesterday, (a Sunday) however. As I slipped down the embankment on the side road leading to Fine Arts, I had nothing but fishing on my mind. A stressful week of turning over my responsibilities as General Manager of Sanctuary Real Estate Development Corporation to my replacement (I remain as President, however) made me yearn for natural surroundings and a place to practice "zen" fishing - or fishing to attain true tranquility and peace of mind. I was actually headed towards the Lakeshore, Mexico, Pampanga late in the afternoon to fish there, when I decided to try the University of the Philippines (a tougher nut to crack than Lakeshore, because the fish are far fewer and warier, as the water is really shallow) at the last minute. I'm glad I did.

I put together a simple number 2 hook outfit with a single bullet-shaped lead sinker and a swivel as a stopper, and a single earthworm as bait. I was dressed in a dark T-shirt and dark blue jeans so as not to present any alarming profiles over the horizon (this can scare away the fish). And lobbed the bait over the to the other side. I waited patiently, watching for the line to tighten. After about thirty minutes, it did and I let more line run out by opening the bail of my reel. And then I struck.

Fish!

A fish was on the end of my line, and putting up a monumental struggle that sent shock waves throughout the little creek. I had probably scared away the rest of the fish there, but I had my fish and I had succeeded in obtaining my piece of mind in the beautiful, idyllic surroundings of the University of the Philippines (U.P.) at Diliman (where I graduated from).

The commotion attracted the attention of bystanders, including one who approached me and engaged me in conversation for the better part of an hour on the the topic of religion (it was, after all a Sunday, and I hadn't gone to church for months, so I admit my resistance crumbled). Turned out he was a lay preacher, so I got an earful about how "all forms of government are from Satan. The only true government is God's." Admittedly, that's not a very practical outlook for those of us who believe that imperfect governments can continue to be improved upon on this here Planet Earth. Hell (if you'll excuse the term), I was only in U.P. that day not to save Humanity from itself, but just to do a little recreational angling. Besides, it was already getting dark, and I wanted to go home.

How could I extricate myself gracefully from the situation without offending a representative (of God's?) on a Sunday afternoon?

I thrust the dalag in his hands, and said, "Here. It's yours. It's my gift to you. Just hold it so I can take a picture of the dalag for my readers in my blog, "The Roving Eye." He agreed and allowed me to take a picture of his hand holding the dalag, although he refused to let me take a picture of the rest of his body and his face; for fear, he said, of reprisals from the government of Preisdent Arroyo for supporting a government of God's and not one run by People.

"I will make a sinigang soup from this fish," he added, shaking my hand and smiling.

We parted as friends.

Meet "Lucky," the Vietnamese Pot-bellied Pig

Outside a small Spanish restaurant called "Ambos Mundos 1888," in 780 Florentino Street, Sta. Cruz, Manila, Philippines, where old antique watches are palmed off by scores of shady characters to watch dealers; one can find a bevy of black Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs sprawled on the sidewalk, oblivious to the stares of passers-by.

One such porcine specimen named, "Lucky," has a huge snout, with a gut to match. I checked into the restaurant and ordered a beer and some Chinese noodles or "pancit" (Even though the restaurant is Spanish, it also offers some Chinese-style dishes - you go figure!), the better to more closely observe Lucky, fascinated as I was with such a unique representative of the Animal Kingdom.

I found out from the restaurant staff that "Ambos Mundos 1888" has been around since 1888 and has been an instituton in Sta Cruz for a long time. Across the restaurant was a Chinese restaurant, owned by the owner's cousin. The Chinese restaurant was also guarded by two more Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs - both also sprawled on the ground and totally insensible to their immediate surroundings.

I can testify, that everytime that I pass by Florentino Torres Street, that all four Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs (on both sides of the street), including Lucky, are always fast asleep. Thus, when at the precise instant that I was talking to the waiter, I also noticed Lucky suddenly standing up to contemplate the other side of the street with complete and unassailable dignity. Luckily for Lucky and I, I just so happened to be carrying my digital camera and snapped him for posterity. This moment, the decison to take a photograph by the photographer, is what legendary photojournalist Henri Cartier-Bresson used to call "the decisive moment." And so it was - a decisive moment for me to immortalize Lucky's contemplative mode - for posterity - in cyberspace. Note the stiff bristles along the ridge of Lucky's back. I tried scratching Lucky's side, and it was like scratching sandpaper! But if you zoom in on his head, you'll detect a hint of vulnerability and sensititvity through his long eyelashes which belie his seemingly gruff exterior. In the rough menu on the background you can also see that the restaurant offers "Chocolate Eh," which is hot Spanish chocolate served in tiny cups and are inensely sweet and chocolatey. In the upper photo, you'll see clay pots for cooking a Spanish-colonial-era dish called "bibingka," which is ricke cakes made with coconut, eggs and butter and which are perfect with the "Choclate Eh." I found out that all the leftovers of the two restaurant are fed to Lucky and his cousins. I'm happy for them. It's what you would call a really great deal. In return for their board and lodging, the Vietnamese pigs offer an entertainment factor to passers-by and manage to attract their fair share of walk-in and regular customers. Now that's smart marketing.

On Writer's Block, Road Rage and San Miguel Gin ...

By Chanda Shahani

It's been a long, dry spell. Conflicts in the community, troubles among friends and a general feeling of malaise all contributed over the years to the writer's equivalent of erectile dysfunction: it's called writer's block. Having writer's block is like having being constipated with so much pressure to let something (anything!) out – but despite all the stress and the straining – nothing to show at all for your sustained efforts.

A decisive way to break the writer's block is to get out of the funk. Rage is a great way of breaking the vicious cycle of depression and writer's block. Hint: Let somebody pick on you, until you explode into a rage, or pick a fight, and goad the other side into goading you into exploding into a rage. Either way is fine. The rage builds up to volcanic proportions and you explode like a time bomb way past its appointed second. I suffer from periodic episodes of road rage in the chaotic, streets of Manila, the Philippines. In this Wild Wild West where you can be minding your business, driving on your lane, peacefully wishing the world well, a taxi can cut into your lane and suddenly stop to pick up a passenger, forcing you to come to a screeching halt. Bam! You see red, and you explode into road rage. The good old hormones kick in, and you blare your horn and wave the dirty finger. The taxi driver, seeing you in action, decides to taunt you by oh .. so ever slowly ... accelerating at five miles an hour only to stop dead in his tracks ... the better to enrage you, my dear. He presses his nose against the driver's window and leers wildly before waving HIS dirty finger at you– and speeding off into the distance before you can catch him.

The best course of action for a writer afflicted with periodic episodes of road rage and writer's block, is to bring a notebook along and write furiously, while the blood still remains pounding in his head, and homicidal implulses race through his brain, into his muscles, giving instructions to act. As the rage courses through your cholesterol-choked veins, you suddenly feel alive, the master of your destiny. Rage is power. Rage is control. Rage can really improve your writing. By the way, it's best to write your thoughts down furiously, before nature's chemical fix wears off.

But I must confess that as I write this, I am not in front of any steering wheel. There is no maniacal taxi driver right now to get my gonads pumping furiously. But, I am, nevertheless, enraged as I write this, thinking of all my remembered duels on the highway with testosterone-fueled taxi drivers, truck drivers, bus drivers, car drivers, horse and cart drivers, buffalo drivers, motorcycle drivers and bicyclists, not to mention inconsiderate dogs, cats, pedestrians, vendors etcetera, etcetera. What actually fuels me as I write this is that other remedy for writers: alcohol. More precisely in my case, it's Ginebra San Miguel 80% proof gin, a drink that is so strong that you can use it to fuel your car in an emergency, or use it as an accelerant to burn your house down, and collect the insurance from it.

Yep. I must thank Ginebra San Miguel gin for putting me into a rage, and breaking my writer's block of several years standing. I do not recommend this as a long term solution, because it can lead to alcoholism. But, as far as self-medication goes, it's not bad at all to motivate you to get something into the computer and on-line. I've posted a picture of the very cheap but fiery Ginebra San Miguel gin beside my blank laptop screen, to show you what fuelled this blog. As you can see, there is a picture of the Saint Michael slaying a devil with his sword and sending him reeling back into the fiery depths of Hell. Well, Ginebra San Miguel is just as fiery as you swallow it, burning its way down to the the pit of your stomach.

I thank you kindly, San Miguel (also known as Saint Michael) for helping me slay the writer's block conundrum. I know you're anxiously hovering over me somewhere up there; making sure that I don't overmedicate on your very own gin from now on. But I do think that I can stand on my own two feet from now on, and write without periodic assistance from “the juice,” or obnoxious Manila taxi drivers. The dry spell's been broken, as you can see from this blog.

CHEERS!

For readers and contributors: My E-mail address

To all readers and contributors - please send all correspondence to:

dilimandiary@yahoo.com

Attention: The Editor

Welcome to the Roving Eye ...

Hello! My name is Chanda R. Shahani. I live in Makati City, Philippines and I am a former reporter from the Philippine Star. I am also a certified scuba diver (PADI). I currently run a real estate company, the Sanctuary Real Estate Development Corporation, and have started a small Ebay business under the name digi.apo which sells Vintage Seiko Watches - mostly divers watches.

I am starting this blog, partly to keep my hand in the journalism field and partly because despite my long absence from the field of journalism, I've never really lost my roving eye for fascinating details.

"The Roving Eye ..." is a celebration of all the fascinating details that a roving eye can encounter - and write about. "The Roving Eye ..." will write about everything ... Food, fishing, watches, politics, business, love, war ... you name it.

I also welcome submissions from other guest writers to my blog.

Take care everybody.

All contributors and readers may send their correspondence to: dilimandiary@yahoo.com
Attention: The Editor