A reporter, after reading Selva's obituaries in the S'pore papers was snooping around.
Who was this Selva ? Was he `somebody'? In the context of S'pore's societal psyche,
the reporter was probably wondering was Selva some powerful or important person,
perhaps a high flier or worse, some over-achiever ?
Strangers who visited the website dedicated to Selva were curious as to why this flood
of out-pouring of emotions. Who was Selva ? What was so great about this chap, Selva ?
Well, Selva was no marytr, no hero nor some activist.
He climbed no mountains, saved no one nor did he fought for any cause.
I can tell you what else he was not. He was no fake.
He was no braggart even though he was making good money.
He was not pretentious when he was actually an intellect.
He was no self righteous hypocrite who preached but people were listening to him.
Selva being effaceable by nature, seek no attention, no praise, no glory nor fame.
To put it simply, Selva was someone who was honest with himself and was true to himself.
A genuine person. A dying breed. A man of substance.
He never sought to lionize his time on earth and yet during his wake and funeral,
outsiders got the impression that he was some very influential person.
That's the irony of it all. For someone who sought to stay out of the limelight, he
became the spotlight and shines so brightly even after he is gone.
I would not judge a person by how many drinks he had but by how he drank them.
Selva drank very happily. His glass runneth over and his joy, his warmth, his
big-heartedness, his laughter and his smile touched and affected everyone.
Very fondly remembered by many and loved by many.
It was no wonder that on the night of Selva's wake, we, his friends drank. We smiled,
we talked, we joked, we laughed and we sang with red eyes because we knew Selva
would't have it any other way.
Well, if you still don't get it, you just don't get it. No furthur explanations needed.
Here's the lyrics of Selva's all-time favourite song.
Wish You Were Here
So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here,
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
( Pink Floyd 1975,lyrics by Roger Waters )
Pat Gan
