in our own[g] way of saying it

Lawok. Pelawok. Pok Lawok.

2010-09-14T21:36:00.000+08:00

I have not written in this blog for a long time. Ideas dried up. Then, something just came my way. A joke, (satire, comedy call it whatever) on the web, landed one Hasan Skodeng in court. Skodeng is a Terengganu word for peeping, and Hassan may be ‘orang Tranung’ – who else is as ‘bengong’ to claim to be a peeping Tom. Maybe he had spent a fair amount of time on toilet ceiling or on spycam but that was none of our business.

In Terengganu, a joke is a ‘lawok’; to make a joke is to ‘buat lawok’ or ‘wak lawok’ (please don’t mistake it for Wak Seman or Wak Parjo). A joker however is not a ‘pelawok.’ Pelawok to Terengganuan is a liar. Penipu, pembohong, putar alam or as some put it (for this I must profusely apologize to the Indians) ‘Keling’. Now we know exactly why Indians find such term degrading.

When a Terengganuan says to you, ‘Mung ning memang pelawok’ don’t think that he regarded you as a Raja Lawak material. He meant ‘you bloody liar, you!’

A joker to Terenganuan is a Pok Lawok (standard spelling – Pak Lawak).
Terengganuan regards liars and jokers as equal; the same way they regarded most if not all ‘ahli politik’. But if you know Terengganuan well (I’d be more comfortable to call them and myself ‘orang Tranung’), you know they are easy going and humorous. Maybe that is the reason why they equate one with the other. They laugh at and never believe any of them anyway.

A crocs and the memory of a pair of plastic shoe

2009-09-10T18:11:00.000+08:00

Some years ago I had a pair of white plastic school shoe. It was cheap. Then I think it cost only less than two ringgit. It was practical. I can not wash it on weekends as I do to my canvass Bata. I only need to just to wipe it with ‘sabun toko’ then rinse it and wipe it dry just before going to school. Never a need to spend time to ‘kapur’ it. I can also walk in the puddle with it.

But the plastic shoe came at the time our family was at the most difficult time. Ayah was working far away in Padang Kubu. I tried to recall that difficult time but I guess some memory had been blacked out. In bits and pieces I recall going to school in selipar jepun and get a scolding from a teacher. Which che’gu? Slipped my mind too.

Maybe our mind had a way of erasing those hard time from the memory bank and keep only the better time for recollection.

Imagine my reaction to ‘Crocs’ - the ugly plastic shoe that everyone seems to long for if not already have. Never mind if they were Maidin’s China made look-alikes – Crocs wannabe I call them.

It’s ugly. And it’s plastic. Period.

But it’s comfortable. Bloody comfortable. Still its ugly. And it’s still plastic.

First Adlan had one. Then Alia, then Atin. And Amir too wants one. Then Yati had one. And two and three. Or is it now four?

Then I made the mistake. I walked into a Crocs Store. Worst still I tried on a pair. D**n it. It’s so light like I wasn’t wearing a shoe at all. It was so @#&&+ comfortable. Ahhh! Now I need some justification for splashing 200 plus ringgit for a pair of plastic shoe.

But it’s plastic? Nope! This one came with a canvass upper.

But it’s ugly? Hmmmm… this isn’t exactly the ugly one.

And so once again I wear a pair of plastic shoe. And I am walking happily….. ever after.

2009-08-05T13:55:00.001+08:00

MBKT sent us this form to fill and return. I'm sure most of warga kota would be happy to oblige. Somehow I wonder why must this simple request to the 'rakyat' be accompanied by some level of "amaran" as well. "Jika Tuan/Puan tidak mengembalikan penyata ini dalam masa yang ditentukan, Tuan/Puan boleh diambil tindakan di bawah Seksyen 140 Akta Kerajaan Tempatan."

Are we rakyat so, so disrespectful to the ruling elites that we must be threatened every steps of the way?

Can they not explain nicely why such form filling is important to the City and nicely ask for cooperations.

Yes we see that a private company is involved now and that's the more reason to be tactful.

What 'warisan' will we be left with finally?

2009-07-28T22:24:00.003+08:00

This is a city proudly proclaimed as Bandaraya Warisan Pesisir Air ; a heritage waterfront city. But at the rate the destruction of the old city fabric is taking place, what 'warisan' will we be left with finally?

The perils of an 'usahawan’

2009-07-26T13:19:00.002+08:00

One advertisement, government sponsored, says, ‘kita bukan along, kita mahu tolong’ or more or less to that effect. I’d take that with more than a pinch a salt. In fact I would take it with a sack of salt, ‘se karung’ for effect.

I have been an usahawan for more than twenty years now. Still, in the so many years I am not without the nagging feeling that my life is being made miserable by the so many agencies and institutions that rules our so called usahawan life. EPF, SOCSO, Lembaga Hasil Dalam Negeri, Kastam, SSM (Suruhanjaya Syarikat Malaysia) among the many. Now they are all so trigger happy to compound and to sue. Certainly our courts are so free, so it seems. Or is it in their KPI – I must compound not less that 20 companies within a month or else I and my boss the ‘pengarah’ will not ‘naik pangkat.’

EPF and now SOCSO will now sue for delay in contributing. Even after you have paid albeit late and paid penalties for the late payment. They don’t care if you can’t pay your staff salary, they don’t care if their salary was paid late because you have no or not enough money, to them come hell or high water, EPF must be paid. And hell and high water awaits those who delay, what more those who fail.

SOCSO now threaten to sue you for your staff not reporting an accident or death. And sue you the same if the report is made late. ‘Buat salah, tak buat pun salah.’ SSM so happy and proud to impose a two thousands ringgit fine and then threat you with court action for not filing your return.

Then there is the income tax, scouring for mistakes in your tax return some five to seven years earlier. And how can you win when they say your business expenses was not business expenses. It is always our words against theirs and theirs are always to only one right.

The list seems almost endless.

So what are we to them ‘pegawai-pegawai kerajaan?

Are we usahawan all liars and cheaters? Is that how they see us? Definitely that’s how they treat us.

Maybe the first rule to being an usahawan is to be a perfect human being, a ‘maqsum’ who committed no mistakes, one who is well versed and obedient in all aspects of laws and regulations. And given the current rate of laws and regulations change in this country, you end up studying statute books and little time to be an usahawan.

Sadly, we all [at least most of us] became usahawan first and learnt the rope and the whips as we journey such perilous journey.

Sometimes, and many times you look at people like politicians and project brokers and the new breed of ‘sumbangan amal’ solicitors selling tables, zooming around in brand new mercs and beemers, building multi million dollar house in cash, knowing they never pay taxes, knowing they have no business or office or employees to look after. You knowing that EPF, SOCSO, even SPRM never bothers them, you wonder why did you became in the first place an usahawan.

Wonder, if I am the only one.

Death and PPSMI remembered.

2009-07-19T15:07:00.001+08:00

This is not really a new news. On 8th July 2009, the government had finally decided to kill off PPSMI or Pengajaran dan Pembelajaran Sains dan Matematik Dalam Bahasa Inggeris. Slowly really. The euthanasia taking effect in 2012.– a policy perhaps so well thought (at least by one person) supported by the sycophant and the well meaning but so badly implemented is finally on the way to its rest. Of course with the sycophant again clamoring loud – it’s a good decision.

Well and good I thought until my 10 year old son said, ‘Bakpe pulok?’ He’s been scoring well in Mathematic and Science and the thought of it to be taught in Bahasa Melayu confuse him. My son is right I guess. We the parent had been fiddling with their lives. Maybe a little too much.

So now, to bring knowledge to the rakyat we can perhaps go back to translating. I got my contract translation hanging for years half done. Time to dust the cover, again. I think.

Now, to digress a little.

This is one story about death, translated from Jeffrey Archer’s To Cut A Long Story Short. Archer admitted that it was not his original because story has been told since long ago in the Sufi traditions. I heard them too long before I found the book. and I think it is an interesting story to share.

So here’s my take on the story.

Pada zaman dahulu, di Kota Baghdad, seorang saudagar telah mengarahkan khadamnya pergi ke pasar. Tidak berapa lama kemudian khadam itu pulang dengan wajah yang pucat dan dibasahi peluh.

‘Kenapa?’ Tanya sang Saudagar yang kehairanan.

Si Khadam tidak menjawab. Sebaliknya dengan nafas yang tercungap-cungap dia berkata, ‘berikan kuda tuan hamba kepada hamba. Hamba mahu lari ke Kota Bukhara.’

‘Baiklah kata Sang Saudagar. Tapi jelaskan dulu kenapa tuan hamba tergesa-gesa.’

‘Hamba terserempak dengan Maut tadi. Dia terperanjat melihat hamba. Hamba masih muda. Hamba ingin lari ke Kota Bukhara supaya dia tidak dapat mencari hamba.’

Sebaik diberikan kuda, Si Khadam terus dengan pantas memacu kuda ke Kota Bukhara.

Si Saudagar langsung ke pasar. Ditengah-tengah orang ramai Saudagar berjumpa dengan Maut lalu menegurnya. ‘Wahai Maut!, apakah benar kamu mencari Si Khadam? Kurang moleklah kamu menyergah dia ditengah orang ramai disini.’

‘Maafkan hamba,’ jawab Maut. ‘Hamba tidak berniat mengejutkan Si Khadam. Hamba pun sebenarnya terkejut bertemu dia di sini.’

‘Kenapa begitu? Tanya Saudagar.

‘Sebab hamba patutnya bertemu dia di Kota Bukhara esok.’

Al-fatihah To a legend that passes away

2009-06-26T12:42:00.000+08:00

Michael Jackson passed away this morning. Since eleven, he had spent his life singing, making music and making millions of people emotional or happy.

It was wonderful as a Muslim to know that he left this world with the God’s greatest gift of being a brother Muslim. May he find his place amongst those blessed by Allah.

For him Mikhail, Al-Fatihah.

Kapas in my mind…..

2009-06-10T14:20:00.002+08:00

I finally took that dip.

How can I not?

When you had the chance to be waist deep in crystal clear water, with school of fish, thousands and thousands of them, swarming after the dissolving biscuit in your hand, time it seems, passes away so very slowly.

And as you doze off napping under the shades on the soft sand, worries were light years away.

You were in the moments you could savor for a lifetime. Moments otherwise only captured on Lonely Planet and Samantha Brown on TV.

You could have been in Sipadan, Mauritius or Redang.

I had that moment.

I found that bliss was only fifteen minute boat ride away in Pulau Kapas. To think that my last visit was some fifteen years past and I had let all those time slipped by me.

I would not have take that dip in the water had it not been for my kids and the other half endless pestering and I am glad they did.

Pulau Kapas

2009-06-10T14:17:00.000+08:00

........ up, must come down

2009-06-03T19:27:00.000+08:00

Yesterday,

the one year old state's stadium came tumbling down.

I got endless ring from concerned friends inquiring if it was my building. It was not.

My sister asked 'What happened?'

I said 'What goes up must come down.'

The only plausible answer that came to mind.

She laughed.

I could have laughed too but couldn't.

The other architect's pain is equally mine.

Serung and seghia.

2009-05-20T21:29:00.002+08:00

What sends shiver down your spine is ‘seghia’ in Terengganuspeak. ‘Seghia aku lalu tepi rumah Mek Joh tu, ramoknye betul dia be’le.’ It physically describe when you are ‘meremang bulu roma’ or ‘naik bulu tengkok.’

When one is said to ‘be’le’ (bela ) it means he or she kept a ‘pelesit, hantu raya, polong, rimau’ or the likes. In Kemasek those many years ago, a person is said to be’le something when his eyes is bloodshot, walk with hand clasping at the back ‘gendong’ing something. We see nothing of course but he was carrying a toyol. To test, jelir lidah (put out your tounge) at him and he will turn around and stare at you with eyes blood shot.

There was one old lady in Kemasek said to be harbouring a pelesit, a grasshopper like creature that sucks on ones blood, sent to terrorize one’s enemy usually the other women.

Then there was one said to be’le a rimau. Yes a tiger. This was not harimau jadian like the one in Maya Karin’s movie but a real one he uses to guard his kebun from wild boar and as a transport. Just don’t try to steal his timun china or ubi setela.

‘Serung’ more or less means the same. It can mean fear of something or that niggling feeling of despise or dislike at someone presence, act or behavior.

‘Serung saya denge budok-budok puang le ning. Manjanya cakak denge laki kite!’

The bicycle story

2009-04-13T17:19:00.003+08:00

Admittedly I’m quite into cycling these days. The only form of exercise doctor recommended for 40 plus people other than swimming. I can’t afford to build a private pool and swimming in public is quite an embarrassment – with ‘perut boroi’ and all. Mine is a Giant TCR bought 5 years ago, Yati got her TCR-3 RB [road bike] replacing the heavy MTB [mountain bike – for the uninitiated] only recently.

The first ever bike we had was Along’s in her standard six. It was a Raleigh I think. A ‘basikal puang’ (a lady bicycle) rewarding her Penilaian 5 As. When she went to STF it was handed down to me and later to Ajik and A. Before that all we had was the old ‘Norton’ a ‘basikal tua’ we used to learn cycling. That Norton was the family workhorse capable of loading ‘kayu api’ or several gunny load of ‘ubi setela’ from Tanah Belia. It could also take Ayah and three of us – usually two at the rear carrier and one perched on the bar. Unlike the present tricycles kids have these days, we learnt cycling the hard way with an oversized bicycles riding ‘celah batang’ until you learn the art of balancing and move to riding on the saddle. But because of the bicycle height and the foot hardly touching the pedals a sudden stop results in great knock to the groin.

The current bicycles are much more advanced than the bicycles Mr. Frank Bowden produced on Raleigh Street in Nottingham England in 1888. It now comes with advanced frame materials like carbon or lightweight aluminum alloy. If the old ‘basikal tua’ weigh a ton, the new bike weighs a mere 9kg. That, we are not talking about the state of the art competition road bikes yet.

Bicycles now are downright minimalist – basic engineering components meant for lightness and speed. They used to be well adorned with side mirror, mud guard, rear reflector, dynamo powered light, thumb-bell and fitted with a back carrier and a front basket. Those with babies even had a rattan child seat on the bar.

If bicycles now are recreational, they were once a symbol of effluence. Those who can afford bicycles are those well off, son of government officers or those in the employment of British companies. At the least, a clerk or a teacher. To own and flaunt a Raleigh is like flaunting a Honda if not a Beemer these days. Ayah then must have fitted the bills; son of the Government Forrester working for Bukit Besi Mining Company.

Ask Mak about this.

She once told us (after much persuasion of course) that she fell for Ayah when he and Ayah Da Hadi used to cycle around kampong. At that time Mak was recently moving from Kuala Terengganu and staying in the house near the Pondok Polis. The house later known as Rumah Che'gu Man Ayam. Aki Man had just taken a job as a bus driver with Thong Aik after resigning from the police force. Then Ayah had been widowed and the new kampung lass, a young beauty from Kuala Terengganu was quite a sensation. Those bicycle rides were not without reason. The rest was our history.

Funny Mak never learn to cycle to these very days.

The first candat of lifetime

2009-04-12T17:44:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, starting at 2am we had every conceivable dish made from sotong. Sotong goring kunyit, mi goring sotong, sotong bakar and for the finale - ketupat sotong. All caught from the first ever candat trip for me.

Sounds good? Well I haven’t talk about the mabuk part yet.

We went out in three boats. In mine were me, Yati, Amir Kecik, Amir, Kak Ani, Sarah and her brother, [Khir decided not to join – takut mabuk], Saiful and his wife Yah and Pok Sang and the Juragan and his assistant.

We set out at about 530 from Jeti Pelancungan Marang and after an hour ride reached the candat zone. By then there I counted 31 boats. It was still early in the season and the real nest was not discovered yet. The number of boats could reach a hundred at the peak of season, I was told. From the mainland it looks like a row lights from a pasar malam. Trips a few nights earlier came back empty handed, but then again this was all about luck and rezeki.

Yati waited to go candat 19 years since moving to Terengganu but this for me is a trip 46 years in waiting. After a week of heavy rain, the weather was just perfect for this candat adventure. It was a night of full moon and calm but bubbly sea.

Those with fishing gears, mostly gleaming new gear – now that fishing has set as a new craze in the family; started fishing, Ma caught a few kerisi and suddenly the tekong started to land the sotongs. Soon everyone scrambled to candat. I too, until then uninterested in the fishing put aside my camera, asked for a line and began. Sara caught the first one. I got mine soon after. After two sotongs, the bubbly sea took its toll on me. I threw up – big time. Funnily I felt good after the vomit and continued. There were excitement all around when everybody started to bring in the sotongs.

At 900pm dinner was cooked – with lauk sotong of course. It smells terribly delicious but I can only entertain my nostril.

At 1030pm some has had enough and gone to slumber.

At 1230am Amir had her second serving of nasi and gulai sotong. Soon we all decided to ‘angkat sauh’ and head home. In Amir’s word, this was his best ever candat since he first started in 97 – this must be beginners luck for the likes of me.

Gosh this candat thing, mabuk laut included was fun. The mabuk and vomiting makes it tough. I wonder how it would be if the sea was rougher and I am grateful that for us this was not for living.

Next time at Pasar Tani, I won’t be complaining of expensive sotong anymore.

In defense of taxi drivers.

2009-04-01T15:42:00.004+08:00

I took taxis often and I am generally happy with them. They are in a way your private chauffer that enable you to leave your car at home and sleep through the traffic jam or long boring journey to or from KLIA. Of course I never rode in a Brabus or a Rolls Royce, my standard can’t be much of a benchmark. Still the taxis are to me just fine.

I love to talk to them. What their previous work was, the kind of income they are making and the general chat about family, how many kids or wives and all those nonsense. I always believe that if we treat a person with kindness, talk to them as friends would, the response would be reciprocal. You would be surprised at the information and entertainment quality of these chats. I find it even fair and at times necessary to tip them a little. After all that’s what we do at the hotels and restaurants. After all, in our students days we used to work part times in restaurants and those tips were greatly valued. It was never the amount but the appreciation that matters.

This morning [31.3.09] on radio, three deejays were discussing newspaper report of Malaysian taxi-service. Utusan Malaysia even front-paged ‘Khidmat Teksi Teruk.’ So they exchanged opinion. The lady deejay excitedly related her bad experience over 2-ringgit extra than normal 6-ringgit meter charge, and the gentlemen deejay came with great idea of proposing a GPS based tracking and metering system. He even expounded on, ‘No GPS no taxi!’

The tone of their talk, insinuating that taxi drivers are rotten, manipulative, breed, pissed me off. Granted not all are angels but they deserve some humane respect at the least.

I wanted to call and give them a piece of my mind but I am just not into the talk show thing. So I write.

One. The extra 2-ringgit charge could be due to several factors. In cities, the distance back and forth from two points may not be the same due to actual distance traveled. The road going and back may not be exactly the same. At the current rate of RM2 for the first kilometer and RM1 for subsequent 1.5 kilometer, the variation of RM2 is only for an additional 3 kilometer. With KL road network, that is only the length of getting pass the traffic light and back. The time of the day when there are traffic jam or slow down due to heavy traffic may incur extra time charge. To accuse the cabby for overcharging without giving a full fact and to lash out at the poor soul is simply unfair.

Two. To propose a GPS based metering system is a brilliant idea that can only come from a company out to bring the proposal to the government to make into law. Like the flashing light on speeding buses law. Come on. We already had too much regulation that was ill-thought and benefited only certain well-related companies. Please don’t promote another one because the cost will eventually end up hurting the consumers pocket without improving the system. In Seoul, all the taxis use GPS navigation but from my personal experience, they hardly know how to use them and we still can’t get to where we want to go. I don’t see our cabbies a better lot from them either.

The deejays may be part of the society intellectuals with no time and tolerance for the less fortunate and the bit of chaos and imperfection in the society. But it helps if they could ponder.

Taxi drivers are ordinary Malaysians who largely came from the lower income bracket of the society, from Government pensioners, ex policemen and soldiers; people who lead a proverbial ‘kais pagi makan pagi’ kind of living. They had to work doubly or even three times harder than most of us 8-hours a day workers without any benefit of EPF or SOCSO to bridge them in time of difficulty. The exorbitant daily rentals they had to pay the taxi companies, fuel, services and maintenance takes most of their earning away leaving little for children and family at home. See any rich taxi drivers? My point exactly.

If we, or if the deejays wants so much to champion a cause, like to address the issue of taxi service, try looking into their plight. Try highlighting the few who own hundreds of taxi permits, see how they live and compare with the real taxi drivers life. Do some arithmetic. See how far a taxi driver has to travel daily to just meet the rental. Maybe some intellectual in universities can research their life. And maybe some politicians can start championing their cause.

I can bet the radio deejays will chicken from talking about such subject.

Oh those days we were sick.

2009-03-25T09:58:00.000+08:00

As I am writing this Alan is warded at KMC. His cough is getting so bad and so long now Yati is so worried. Mak said his batuk is ‘ggegor’ – shaking his body badly.

Other than that he’s fine. He still eat as much. In hospital he even walloped the ikan kembung masak sup air, something he never touch at home. Maybe its got to do with doctor’s order for him to lose at least 7kg.

On day one, he was supposed to have his blood taken for test. The first attempt by the nurses failed. He cried, screamed, struggled and acted like someone was going to amputate his arm. The nurse gave-up. ‘Ni mesti anak bongsu ni kak ye?’ she remarked.

So a couple of hour later I have to drag him to the lab. He kept questioning, ‘kenapa nak ambik darah Alan?, kenapa nak ambik banyak sangat?.’ To that I answered, ‘Nak buat test macam dalam CSI.’

‘Tak sakit, macam semut gigit je,’ the nurse said.

‘Sakitlah!. Macam seribu semut gigit,’ he retorted. The nurses giggled.

I wonder if all his tantrum was a sandiwara. In between his sob, and cries of ‘sakit, sakit’ he still managed to demand, ‘can I have my PSP?.’ What else can you say in such situation but ‘okay, whatever.’

Those years ago when we were sick and hospitalized, the most we can ask for was ‘anggur dalam tin.’ The bribery rate has certainly gone much higher.

Hmmm….. those were the days.

There is only Allah

2009-03-16T12:08:00.000+08:00

And if indeed thou ask them who it is that sends down rain from the sky, and gives life thereafter to the earth after its death, they will certainly reply ‘Allah!’ Say, Alhamdulillah (praise be to Allah)!’ But most of them understand not. [Al-Ankabut 29:63}

We are in another predicament because Christians wants to call their god Allah. I mean they want to translate the word god to Allah. Some are fighting against it. Some ulama however have no problem with it. I am inclined with the later.

This is my view.

When we say our shahadah, we proclaim that there is no god but Allah. He is to us the only one God. So to me, to us Muslims there can only be one name for Him. That name is Allah.

What about the gods of others? The gods of the Christians, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Zorrostrians, Freethinkers, even atheists?

Their God is Allah. For there is no god but Allah. It doesn’t matter if they think or believe or taught that there are more than one god because the God remain one – Allah. It doesn’t matter if they call their gods Siva, Vishnu, Holy Spirit, Dewata Mulia Raya or whatever. Their gods can’t be the God, Allah.

That was what I believe what my ‘tok guru’ taught me.

So if they want to use the name of Allah for their god, well and good. Now they know, they acknowledge that only the name Allah is fit for God.

Imagine a non-muslim saying my god is Allah. He is finally agreeing to what our Prophet Mohammad had been saying more than fourteen hundred years ago. If fact Mohammad had only proclaimed what all the prophets were proclaiming since time immemorial. If they are now convinced that the god is Allah, what left is to convince them that Mohammad is the Prophet of Allah.

May as well I end this with Wallahualam (Only Allah is All Knowing)

Do we have to be made to cry.

2009-03-09T08:34:00.004+08:00

Some few thousands people, decided to gather and march to protest against use of English as teaching medium for Mathematic and Science. Politics aside, they represent the voice of dissent and dissatisfaction crying loud across the country on an ill-thought policy.

Yes they were always two sides to it, those who support and those who are not. I speak English, my children too; but in the kampong we live in, children are struggling, parents are at a dead end.

Of course it was the ‘government’ decision, they can do it, they can force the rakyat to accept it. They can if they want do a Shih Huang Ti or Kamal Atarturk, burn all non-complying books, chop off the head of hard headed opposition and stand as a true leader, cruel or otherwise.

But in this state of affair the leader even lost their balls. Leadership is like non-existent.

Against the background, it was also a protest symbolic against the current state of leadership nihilism.

And so they march. The march and the voice were then met with a barrage of batons and tear gas.

It made many of us cry. Those who were in the line of fire. And those who can only watch from afar.

Yes those tears were for this beloved country.

But do they have to tear gas us to it?

2009-02-21T22:15:00.000+08:00

Hanging on to faith

2009-02-15T22:19:00.003+08:00

I wonder.

I wonder why is it every ten years or so, economic recession will come calling? And at the same ten years the political scene will be in a shamble? Why is it both the economic and political turmoil come every decade in pair like an evil twin?

I was still in school when the first recession in 76 came. The second ten years later in 85 to 86 was felt because I was a graduate and I had lost my job. It was such a bad year that architecture students in their fifth year couldn’t even find a place to do their practical. That was the time we had the Chow Kit incident, the UMNO Team A (Mahathir-Anuar) and Team B (Razaleigh-Musa) battle and the eventual pengharaman of UMNO.

Then again in 97, we had then the Asian Financial Crisis. Anuar was sacked from his DPM post after tasting the Pemangku Perdana Menteri seat for the few months Dr M was in Argentina horsing. I had then just started on my business and the rising interest was painful.

Now another crisis is visiting and we have our politicians busy quarreling.

Do they (politicians of opposing parties) secretly sit together someplace secret discussing ways and means to keep the rakyat attention away from the economic shambles? 'Hey, things are so bad on our side, can we start something messy? Let there be a little chaos. We'll send some of you to Kamunting, to make it look real.' Do they plan all these so that the rakyat are busy debating legal principles and power of the royalty. Anything so long it’s not economy? A placebo to numb the pain of those (hundreds of thousands of them) finding themselves unemployed or soon staring at the face of it?

I felt badly this time of economic uncertainty too. If a fortnight ago I felt all the confidence of bridging through this meltdown, now I felt unsure. The world economy has this time affected us directly. A fax to my office late evening two days ago put halt to everything I counted on to carry us through. I may be still putting up a brave face. I may still count on the strength of my faith. But I am also very afraid.

This is the time we should be putting the brain and the best part of our mind to work. To keep jobs, to keep paying salaries and to keep some dapur berasap (many a kitchen smoking).

I can only hang on to faith.

A note for friends in Perak

2009-02-07T23:47:00.003+08:00

I am troubled.

I know I share this apprehension with friends all over Malaysia. Friends who felt that something is terribly wrong. The feeling that we are spiraling into political dumps. Where is democracy when the voice of the rakyat is meaningless; when power to rule can be decided by the few and forced down the throat of the masses.

I do not have the answer.

I seek solace in the knowledge that it is all temporary.

I find this much meaningful than any.

Say: "O Allah. Lord of Power (And Rule), Thou givest power to whom Thou pleasest, and Thou strippest off power from whom Thou pleasest: Thou enduest with honour whom Thou pleasest, and Thou bringest low whom Thou pleasest: In Thy hand is all good. Verily, over all things Thou hast power.

[Abdullah Yusuf Ali translation of ayat 3:26 Al-Imran]

Khir and Sarah wedding

2009-01-25T08:57:00.002+08:00

Khir and Sarah marriage was solemnized at about 10pm 23^rd January 2009. The ijab and qabul by the bride's father recorded on Facebook for posterity. Never mind Khir's fumbling the first try. 'Ni ketar ni,' the bride's father said.

At reception at the mertua’s house the next day, Ayah was as usual reluctant to go up the dais to do the tepung tawar but he did eventually with some persuasion. Then somebody (I think it was Mad Leh) shouted from the crowd. ‘Ni menantu paling lama tunggu ni.’ Most who know, laughed. The family indeed had waited so long for this.

At 36, Khir managed to be the longest holding bachelor in the family. Over the years, no amount of persuasion could make him see any girls that family tried to introduce. To the point that the anak-anak sedara were so used with Khir’s standard answer to ‘Ayah Khir bila nak kawin? – esok’

And then suddenly the girl who walked in to his office walked right into his heart, as the father of the bride jokingly remarked, ‘masuk perangkap.’

To Khir and Sarah Anis Sulaiman, congratulation. May your marriage be blessed with happiness and many beautiful child.

And by the way, the anak-anak sedara is still discussing whether to call her Cik or Auntie.

Let me be TNB boss.

2009-01-24T07:38:00.003+08:00

TNB has just announced a loss of 944 million ringgit.

I can only take a deep, very very deep breath and exhale slowly.

Years ago, Misbun Sidek was the hope of Malaysia at the All England. I can’t remember the year exactly but it must be in 82 because I was staying in Taman Melawati then. Those years, long before the advent of Astro, live telecast was only on radio. So we stayed up late for the hope that Misbun would do well. It was only the early round but all our hope was dashed because of his quick exit in straight set, garnering only a few points. So angry were we that we screamed in frustration.

‘Kalau nak bagi kalah 15-0 bagi aku wakil Malaysia lagi baik.’ (If its only to lose 15-0, better let me play for Malaysia), someone said. ‘Mung pandai ke main?’ (Do you know how to play?) I asked. ‘Kalau setakat kalah 15-0 aku main pun kalah 15-0’ (if it’s just to lose 15-0, I can get the same score) he retorted.

Today I said, let me be the CEO of TNB. I will surely make TNB lose as much. TNB can pay me just half or a quarter of what paid to Khaleb so I could make the loss slightly less.

Are they not fortunate? Those CEOs, I mean. Sitting in such posh offices, the cars, the first class travel, good hotels, huge salaries and they can be still drawing fat check even after the company losing hundreds of millions.

On the other hand, businessmen like us struggled to earn just enough every month to pay our staff salaries and when the collection fall short be the last and least to be paid.

If the whole point of business is to lose so much money, might as well let anyone be the CEO. Pok Mat, Pok Awang, Ah Leong or Mutu can be just as effective with so much smaller paycheck.

If I can take the place of Misbun to lose 15-0, surely I can take Khaleb’s place to lose 944 million.

Just let me be TNB boss.

Kalu dok menang gok saja sangatlah …..

2009-01-24T07:29:00.001+08:00

Kalu dok menang gok saja sangatlah …..

Now is already the aftermath of a war. The police troops numbering six thousands (official figure) or twelve thousands (some claim) has gone home. The street is now starngely quiet. Even the party flags only recently waving proudly in the late monsoon gust are packed and stored for the next battle someplace else.

Last night when we drove around town (oops… Bandaraya), Yati remarked, ‘This is Kuala Terengganu that we knew.’

Perhaps as well Farah can now take off her ‘Ni Tranung ke Gaza’ notation on her Facebook wall.

I had refrained from making any comments on the election before the election. Too much has already been said and written.

But it was now over. PAS and Pakatan Rakyat winning it was only reinforcing the knowledge, hope and fear of many depending on which side of the divide they were.

I grew up in a fiercely parochial UMNO family. I watched and took pride in all UMNO winning the elections as early as my memory of attending the rapat umum during that historical first Barisan election. I remember Barisan (then both UMNO and PAS) bashing Kasim Ahmad on his poem of ‘tuhan sudah mati.’ I recall the impact of hate Utusan Malaysia created on the person of Tengku Razaleigh when he donned the tengkolok with what looked like a Christian’s cross in a Sabah campaign; with it igniting the fear of the Muslims, thus killing the hope of Semangat 46. I remember too the Lim Kok Wing led advertisement in the 1999 election, the advertorial in televisions, the full page picture of gnarling Lim Kit Siang, angry Anwar and ferocious Haji Hadi. Those were the days when newspaper played a major role in igniting the feeling of the masses.

But 1999 was also the turning point. With the extreme overkill, rakyat began to see and loath the popular media. I felt the same too. Oppositions saw the power of new media, the web and captured its potential to seriously challenge the establishment.

Sadly, Barisan’s campaign strategist in this is age of Youtube are still living in the cocoon of yesteryears. Internet has enabled anyone to check on any news to learn about what is exactly happening and what was truly said. Full text of statements, remarks and speeches can be downloaded to neutralize the venom of selective reporting. Body language can now be viewed and believed.

In those years, I recall my father (then a key UMNO campaigner) dashing everywhere to solve voters problem. Those who complain of not having electricity will have the tiang letrik put up almost immediately by then LLN. All for that important one vote. The actual power supply can wait till the next complain in the next election, if ever.

We now live in a much richer Malaysia. The election gifts are very much in practice albeit in grander scale. To UMNO, what is sadly happening is the negative impact it created. While a hundred contractor walked away happily with projects, the other seventy thousand nine hundred voters squirmed, ‘doh kita ni buleh mende?’ (so what do we get?)

In this KT by-election, the result was not really that bad. Thirty over thousands still for whatever reasons crossed the dacing. The cup can always be seen as half empty or half full.

The lost of Barisan was very much anticipated. Barisan though early on declaring themselves the underdog (so much for self esteem) did however put up a grand fight. Cost some say goes to a hundred million. It was of course a rumor but even a quarter of it is a serious amount of money.

A friend who came all the way from Kedah to help in the campaign (apart from ‘tunjuk muka’ and carrying a project envelop) drop by at 3 pm, on the election day, exhausted. ‘Dah kalah dah’ he said. ‘For that amount of money’ he said ‘Barisan should have worked out a magic.’ ‘What magic?’ I asked. ‘duit banyak ni tak payah teruk-teruk kempen. Hang bagi duit je kat pengundi suruh pangkah Barisan. Kalau hang bagi seribu sorang pun ada baki lagi dua puluh juta.’

Hahaha… we all laughed. A painful laugh.

That kind of sums up the mood in the run up to the big day. When asked ‘Barisan boleh menang ke dok?’ many simply answered, ‘kalu dok menang gok, saje sangatlah.

It is. Apparently

Funny

2009-01-24T07:27:00.002+08:00

Funny.

Nye buleh lok ......

Problemlah gini......

2009-01-24T07:23:00.003+08:00

Just can't get the posting online.

So by the time I figure it out, KT by-election will be long gone history....
Or those few write-up will be up together.....

Let see if this go through.

Once the spotlight dies.

2009-01-13T18:39:00.001+08:00

As for the righteous, they will be in the Gardens and Springs. Taking joy in the things their Lord gives them, because before then, they lived a good live. They were in the habit of sleeping but little at night. And in the hour of early dawn, they (were found) praying for Forgiveness; And in their wealth and possessions (was remembered) the right of the needy, him who asked, and him who (for some reason) was prevented (from asking).
Al-Dariyat 51:15-19

Election is perhaps the best time to see the kind of thing one would do to be in the spotlight of the media. Kissing babies, transporting the sick in one’s gleaming car to hospital, visiting the poor and desolate, walking through mud and when one is backed by the power and wealth; distributing goodies in all forms – new road premix, new projects, new school halls and new everything that is thinkable. The other side, not to be outdone does the same only in a lesser way.

This is also the time when the poor and the needy is brought out to surface – kind of multiple episodes of ‘Bersama mu’ in fast forward. The poor now became the object of celebration.

I have hated the exploitation. I refused to attend ceremonies involving the poor walking up stage to receive assistance to the thunderous clap of the audience. I often do even if it is for good cause like charity and zakat. I hate watching some poor soul crying on the numerous television programs. What are we clapping about? I often asked. That they are poor?

I hate it even more, when it is done for votes.

Like always, once past the finish line they will be back to where they always are, forgotten. Perhaps until the next election.

I know I will never know, whether those care and concern shown were genuine but I want to believe that they are. All those act of love were sincere and straight from their heart.

But what am I in all that?

I hope that those images I saw of them around me will wake me up. Touch the softer side of my heart.

I hope I can be there with once the media spotlight dies.

The price of a chair.

2009-01-06T08:51:00.000+08:00

How much is a chair?

Herman Miller’s Aeron Chair, designed by Don Chadwick my all time favourite (but can’t afford just yet) is RM 8K plus. Last year before the oil goes up price. The quote I get for Charles Eames good quality China mari reproduction is RM 3900. The same sold at X, is going at RM 12K. Italy mari? Hardly. Itay mari also nowadays China buat, Italy pergi, Malaysia mari.

A chair in parliament?

Is it comfortable to begin with? It doesn’t look too comfortable really, the backseat look too upright. But how much it cost really?

RM 400 million.

Ha..ha…

That’s only part payment mind you. The fact that Terengganu got back the royalty just before the KT by-election make it the outright price to pay, it seems.

Right? Wrong? Maybe?

Oh, whatever.

After such a high price, is the chair truly worth it?

Again, is it comfortable to begin with?

You and me, the common among the ordinary may just never find out. But then again who knows. With some among our chosen MPs dozing off soundly, it just can’t be but comfy.

New year, happenings and resolutions.

2009-01-04T23:08:00.000+08:00

In 1995, the first of Muharram, came on the first day of June. That was the day I officially dated the start of my company. On that date it moved to its own rented office from a little corner in a rented house in Kubang Ikan.

Muharram 0f 1430 Hijriah came close to January 1, 2009. We are now in our own building. I look back to those many struggling years and I could not help smiling.

Even after these many years I am still struggling.

That’s a fact of life.

The weather in Kuala Terengganu is gloomy. It‘s been dark and raining since late October and may well continue till Chap Goh Mei.

And everything else is not much cheerful either.

The economy is bad and getting even worse. Good thing they cut the interest rate by 0.25 percent though it makes no impact on the bottom line. Knowing banks, the sunny day friends, they will jack up the rate to cover for the loss later. Petrol too was down but nothing follows. And Air Asia doing without the fuel surcharge helps lessen the flight bills for frequent traveler like myself.

I’m getting more job applications. Friends say some friends are now struggling to pay salaries. Well I have been like that like forever. But unlike some of them, I don’t have the Mercs or Beemers to pay yet.

The P-36 Kuala Terengganu by-election is coming.

And so are DPM, ministers, wanita, pemuda and puteris. Along Jalan Sultan Mahmud, the puteris has just turned a listless home-stay into a pink carnival. The giant dacings and the red and white keris flags now dominate. The moon on the green flags will be coming soon. When? I’m not sure.

There is now many-many more policemen on the street. We have three makeshift pondok polis at both ends of our street including one right in-front of the office. And a MBKT signboard next to my gate proclaiming ‘KAWASAN LARANGAN’ – talk about feeling safe.

Yes I do want to feel safe. The bridge near my office has been the scene of many ‘war’ between PAS and UMNO – fighting to put up their flags every elections. Stupid fools. Can’t they just be game about everything? Take a side of the bridge each, put all the flags they can hoist. Have fun, have a few shouting match across the divider then go away for a cup of coffee.

Talk about feeling safe.

I wish there were that many policemen (some say six thousands) as for this election as when thief broke into my car in Gombak and Shah Alam. I wish that many make shift pondok could be put up on street where murderous snatch thieves and break-ins were rampant. Some wish!

Suddenly, KT is no longer the quiet town it has always been. The home-stay signboard seems to sprout like some ‘cendawan selepas hujan.’ And friends are calling for a place to stay. ‘Helping in the campaign’ they say. ‘Tunjuk muka’, says other. ‘Sambil-sambil lobi projek’, they add. The need for temporary lodges has pushed up the rental rates. Some were offered as much as 5 to 6K per house for a month. With some catch of course, half is for the broker….. some wanita. Wonder if the Kak Fida know about these ground level fleecing.

I’ll be 46 in a matter of days. And I m quite tired. So I made a resolution to take things a little easier and make it easier to my architects too. I’ll take in more people to look after the newer works so we can all breathe a little and continue going home after five thirty. That means more money to pay salaries every months but that’s the price I would gladly pay. I still have faith that for everyone of them their rezeki has already been destined their way.

And I’ll hold on to that Merc order for a while too ………

Of derak and doktong

2008-10-11T20:14:00.003+08:00

I am aware of doktong, it’s Terengganu word for bertandang or short visit to neighbor’s house though not necessarily in a positive tinge. We don’t use the word melawat or n’awak (not n’awok – careful with the pronunciation) because it is normally used to mean paying last respect.

Che’ Mang tak dok dumoh, ye gi n’awak orang mati, arwoh Aji Usok laki Aji Yang. (Encik Man is not at home, he went to pay his last respect to the late Haji Yusof, husband of Hajjah Mariam)

The word doktong is normally used in anger or in spite.

Tu lah mung, ari-ari gi doktong rumoh Jaroh. Nasi laki mung pong mung dok nanok. (That’s so you, everyday dropping in at Zaharah’s house. You don’t even cook for your husband.)

D’erak is also about visiting. Funny I only learn of the word this Raya, in Salwa’s skype message. It (according to Shida) means visiting – a day long, ‘sapa garek’ (right up to Maghrib) hopping from one house to another.

Kita orang KL ni, kalu balik Raya sariang gi derak jelah. Dokleh dok dumoh, sedara mara rama nok kena jupe. (We KLite’s. when back for Raya, will be visiting a whole day long. Can’t stay home with all the relatives to visit)

And so, with all the people berderak at my house, we just can’t go doktong etek.

But it’s been a wonderful Raya.

ps
Happy 47th Birthday to Along. Thanks for always being the 'big' sister.

This raya that was

2008-10-08T15:50:00.002+08:00

This Raya will go a long way in our memory, to me and Yati.

It began on a slow note on Day One with only us, the singles, Ajik and Along’s family.

Then Day Two hit with a bang. Full quorum but for Amanda.

The living room of Aki’s house was packed to the brim. The duit raya giving session turned so noisy it’s like a pasar borong. For the day and night dining, lucky we had the ‘khemah’ installed all along since Ramadan.

For me, this Raya began two days before. We took the long trip down to Kemasek. Something I had not done for years lately. Fifteen years ago, when I came back to Terengganu, I made the annual trip to personally hand over the zakat and raya goodies to the deserving. Then they were like 30 of them. Now after like seven-eight years hiatus, only with Ayah standing in as my wakil, they were only a dozen or so deserving people left. Many has passed away. Their once homes dilapidated and empty.

I took this trip to show my children once again what was once their father’s kampong, Mak Wan’s house – where I was born, the beach and Kuala Kemasek.

Funny enough they, Alia especially, remember so well the gerai goreng pisang that Ayah Khir ‘langgor’ some years ago. And Alan parrotting her as though he was there when he was only born years later.

Day Three. The family bowling tournament. Soon to be made an annual raya event. The most unlikely strike coming from Along beating even Julian ... Ha..ha.

And 'longkang' champ - Noyoo. Seems like everyone ended with something to brag about that day.

The finale must be Khir’s engagement to Sarah on Day Four. A first of its kind of reception because I was then forced to be the ‘jurucakap’ – that kind of put me in the 'orang tua-tua' bracket now. Lucky the other side made it really easy.

At least I didn’t have to recite any pantun or bermadah. Like some that was proposed …

Naik jambatan Pulau Pinang
Kami datang nak meminang.

In case it may be needed someday, now with twenty-two and counting anak-anak sedara growing so fast, think I better start practicing now.

To Yati, for all the staying up late getting the food and the house ready for the next day for several days, your tireless single effort to keep everyone fed (not to mention the endless request for mushroom soup, nuggets, sausages and maggie goreng) despite the usual raya fare on the table all day long, all the while keeping yourself looking radiant and beautiful, and your sheer exhaustion at the end of each day, you have been remarkably wonderful.

To all that made this raya so memorable, thank you.

Lost shoe and broken windshield

2008-09-15T12:07:00.003+08:00

I chided Alia when she asked, ‘kasut ayah kena curi kat masjid ke?’

No. ‘Kena curi’ was not a right word I would use especially if it happened at mosques. I would rather consider it mis-taken – by someone whose need was greater than mine. Or I could have misplaced them among the thousand pairs of shoes.

One Friday at UIA mosque, I recall Yat laughing at me seeing me walking bare footed fully dressed with a tie-on. Without shoes, I had to cancel my appointment at UIA that day.

In another incident, one Friday at Masjid Batu Caves my borrowed car was broken, my briefcase gone. That wasn’t so painful. What painful was the reporting and the long ‘interrogation’ by the IO. Another hour I would have shouted, ‘hell, I broke my own car and stole my own thing.’ Worst, they told me, ‘biasalah tu Encik, boleh kata setiap Jumaat kereta kena pecah kat situ, hari ni saja ada tiga.’ Darn! So often? What have they been doing? Compiling statistic?

Another time at Surau Seksyen 9 Shah Alam after the Fajr prayer, I discovered my Carnival passenger window neatly smashed. Gone were my wallet and all. Careless of me thinking that nothing could happen during the short prayer time. After the Batu Caves, I could then laugh when the IO asked me over the phone, ‘Encik ada gantung baju dalam kereta tak?

A short distance from Simpang Empat Kemasek, is a new Balai Polis. Once, it was only a wooden pondok polis with two wooden barrack at the back. I remember only one mata-mata, Pok Long Polis, as we dearly call him going round the village on his bicycle. Crime then was unheard of but for the petty case of curi telor ayam come funfair season.

Well, there was one murder in Kemasek in that many years. The golok fight under the tembesu tree at the bridge near Bukit Rimau Menangis. Last time I checked, the tembesu tree still standing. That will be good for another ghost story.

Compare that to the insecurity we now feel as we walk on the street or while sleeping at night. I wish now I can respect the crime prevention today as I had respected Pok Long Polis back then.

Alas, time has changed.

But then we had neither cars worth breaking into, nor shoes worth stealing too.

So what do you remember of Kemasek most?

2008-09-14T17:45:00.003+08:00

Kemasek.

The one little village on the way from Kuala Terengganu to Kuala Lumpur.

Once our home. Now not even a stop.
Not if not for the time traffic light turned red at Simpang Empat.

A quick glance.

There was once the Balairaya where we chased spiders underneath while Mak was busy showing off her cooking skill during WI meet. Or when Ayah had his gathering of Persatuan Belia Angkatan Tenaga Muda or Red Cross assembly. No more the Pusat Pemeriksaan Jabatan Hutan that Ayah Su and Che Su used to stay a while. Nor is the field where we had the election campaigns or the wayang penerangan.

On the Pasaraya site, once stood some of the finer houses of Kemasek, among them the house of Awang Hitam the Juragan and Che Ngah Dayang - oh her nasi dagang kelosong daun pisang. The old mahkamah however is still there, on the hill behind the post office, shrouded by the much bigger trees that I once remember, haunted some says, always a mystery. That’s one place I don’t recall going. Not even in the craziest of time.

N’akut gok sebenornya.

At the very simpang, I recall once we the school children were made to line the street in the scorching sun, to wave flags and shout ‘Daulat Tuanku’ when the then outgoing King was returning. I remember too very clearly that the black Rolls Royce simply whizzed by and we were like looking left, right and then that’s it.

And then there are many more.

But what is it that you remember?

CEO blog

2008-09-08T16:04:00.001+08:00

Hey, I should have my own CEO blog. I wonder sometimes if I should.

Afterall I m a Chief Executive Officer too even if I never had such title on my call card. I am a chief that execute my own work and an officer though I don’t work for anyone now. Clients notwithstanding of course. Having to work and look after 50 plus staff should’ve made me one I think. It wasn’t a small establishment too at some point come to think of it.

Now that Tony of Air Asia has a blog, other CEO s would soon be itching to blog too; just like the politicians post 08 election. And let us see who has the patience to keep writing.

Of course, at any scale, my business is a speck compared to Air Asia. I don’t owe banks as much as they do too… ha..ha… and if wealth is measured in the positive and negatives in bank balance my loan nowhere as big I think I’m richer.

But Pak Mat and Pak Awang too are wealthier than me. Anytime. They are debt free when I’ve a few million in the negatives. So much ha?

Well, maybe I should.

Who cares?

After all it’s all about writing. Not really about anyone reading it.

Season of sumpah

2008-08-26T20:43:00.005+08:00

So everyone who’s anyone is taking to the mosque for a sumpah session. And they all swear for the calamity to fall on themselves or others. Nauzubillah.

Soon, I’m afraid we will all be going through the curse of seven generations a la Mahsuri, and this beautiful country will for a long while be –‘padang jarang padang tekukur.’

Decades ago, I remember Terengganuan were fond of swearing ‘tobat kafir serani’ – to the effect of saying I swear lest I am a disbeliever or a Christian.

That swearing is something I had not heard for so many years now. Not even among the children. Maybe better understanding of Islam has significantly reduced if not almost purged the swearing and cursing. That the swearing is making a comeback is an indication otherwise. That some ‘learned’ people are resorting to it is downright alarming.

I don’t believe that swearing is even encouraged in Islam whatever some ulama may say. I am not an ulama, far from it; but I know enough to form an opinion that it is not.

Remember how Allah s w t had chided Rasulullah saw when he swore not to have honey only to please his wives?

O Prophet! Why holdest thou to be forbidden that which God has made lawful to thee? Thou seekest to please thou consorts. But God is Oft-forgiving, Most Merciful
(at-Tahrim 66:01)

Remember how Allah s w t had called for the ummah to break away from the bond of oath?

God has already ordained for you, (O Men), the dissolution of your oath: and God is your protector and He is full of knowledge and wisdom.
(at-Tahrim 66:02)

Remember how Allah swt had warned against those who go round swearing and taking oath in His Names?

Heed not the type of despicable man – ready with oath,
A slanderer, going about with calumnies,
(Habitually) hindering (all) good, transgressing beyond bounds, deep in sin
(al-Qalam 68: 10-12)

Okay, so some ulama said that sumpah lian (oath of calamity) is in the Quran. But my reading of it is about the accusation of a husband on his allegedly unfaithful wife.

And for those who launch a charge against their spouses, and have no evidence but their own, their solitary evidence (can be received) if they bear witness four times (with an oath) by God that they are telling the truth,

And the fifth (oath) that they solemnly invoke the curse of God on themselves if they tell a lie.
(an-Nur 24:6,7)

If it sound so easy, similarly easy was the way out for the wife as the accused party.

But it would avert the punishment from the wife, if she bears witness four times (with an oath) by God, that (her husband) is telling a lie.

And the fifth (oath) that they solemnly invoke the curse of God on themselves if (her accuser) is telling the truth.
(an-Nur 24:8,9)

I am not an ulama nor do I know about taklik and hukum but in my limited knowledge, I see it more as Allah’s way of putting stop to any fitnah – accusation and slander. For in Islam fitnah is worse than murder.

Fitnah and oppression are worse than slaughter.
(al-Baqarah 2:217)

Enough is enough. Why can’t we too do the same? Put a stop to it.

When we were young, and when we swear to escape punishment by saying ‘tobat lillah aku do wak, supoh kapir serani’- the elder and wise among us will say, ‘Awang, dok baik tobat gitu.’

To them that now do, I say the same too.

‘Awang, dok baik tobat gitu.’

Footnote
Translation of Quran from Abdullah Yusuf Ali

Kaca, kuca dan k’uca.

2008-08-25T18:37:00.001+08:00

To kaca is to disturb.

To kuca is to stir.

K’uca is a state after thing had been kaca-d or kuca-d; messed or muddled up.
In worst scenario it’s said to be k’uca hanya.

Jangang kaca orang tengoh kuca bubo tu. Kang jadi k’uca hanya pulok. (Don’t disturb people stirring the broth. It will mess thing up)

To describe k’uca hanya is to look at our room when we were young. Mak used to say ‘gi gok kemah bilek mung tu, hanya banya – macang kapa pecoh (go tidy up your room, it’s so messed – like a wrecked ship). Or another time, ‘macang tepak ayang t’elor’ (like the where hen lay eggs)

C’amek

2008-08-23T08:37:00.001+08:00

Another word of the same genre I missed in my last blog is c’amek.

It’s something every kids (and politicians too…ha..haha..) loves to do.

To c’amek is to put your hand into something – like how kids love to put their tiny fingers into the bowl of cake mixture.

More aptly, c’amek is to meddle in someone else’s affair; all usually to a disastrous effect. The English proverb of ‘too many cook spoils a broth’ came to mind.

To c’amek is also likened to ‘tikus baiki labu’ (a rat mending a pumpkin). A perfectly working something spoiled by a touch of someone unskilled. ‘Lapu tu nyale molek doh. Mung gi c’amek wak mende gok? Doh padang pulok doh.’ (The lamp was working well. Why do you meddle with it? Now its swicthed off)

On a more serious note, Islam has a very strong view about the meddling of the ignorant (jahil) in everything. The list may well include those unskilled and incompetent and those giving views on subjects way out of their league. There was a quote that I remember well, ‘give not your affair to the ignorant lest a disaster is forthcoming.

So if there’s a meddling from someone you know well as incompetent in things you know best, just tell them ‘shut-up!’

P’etak sikek je

2008-08-17T16:05:00.001+08:00

Everyone seems to talk about the Saiful’s story these days. I’ll just p’etak on it too.

To p’etak is to touch. A quick one.

When a person is so busy he may only p’etak this and p’etak that.

In such a commotion things may just go awry. ‘P’etak tu dok jadi p’etak ning pong dok jadi gok.’ (That doesn’t work, that too doesn’t)

The opposite that is to touch with due care is to m’etek.

Nok wak kueh tat macang Mok Wang wat tu payoh sikek, kerja m’etek. (To make tart like Mak Wan is a bit difficult. It’s arduous work.)

People say a lie may lead to another lie. A lie is a mother to all evil. Siakap senohong gelama ikan duri, mula-mula cakap bohong, lama-lama mencuri.

When a person gets in a difficult situation to wiggle out from a lie, he may resort to create another lie. Unless he is a compulsive liar or someone suffering from severe delusion, he may fumble when pressured. He may fumble even without pressure - like mentioning a future date for a past incident. The same description of ‘p’etak tu dok jadi p’etak ning pong dok jadi gok’ may apply.

A good example is the Saiful’s sorry story. That he had been s…mized several times without any blot indicates that he was never even ‘p’etak’. So he conveniently changed the occurrences from several times to just one, and the date from the past to the (okay it’s a slip of tongue) future.

Him or the story?

I just do not know which is sorrier. Itu je!

Good times and beautiful thing.

2008-08-10T07:37:00.002+08:00

This was a hectic weekend. (Any un-hectic weekend? ha..ha..)

Thursday was in KT, trying to finalize the ‘temporary buildings’ detail and cut off ‘half a million, can you?’ from the already cheap design. Friday was in Rasa-rasa because I forgot my office key and A’s akad nikah later at night.

Rushed home to catch the end of the Beijing Olympic opening. At least managed to see the run by wire and the lighting of the torch.

Spectacular.

The whole of China must have cracked their head at producing another Olympic torch lighting original, something the whole world can associate with. The other one memorable was the single archery shot in Barcelona Olympic.

They came up with the concept of unrolling scroll and a chapter from Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. Perfect. The paper scroll was undoubtedly Chinese.

As the athlete was raised by wire and air-run along the Bird’s Nest perimeter, I can almost see Chow Yuen Fat and Michele Yeoh running atop the bamboo forest. Once, when the spotlight moves ahead of the scroll, I thought I saw a dragon chasing a globe. Wish they had a female athlete with him. It would have been an ideal finishing touch.

Saturday was a long drive to KT. Attended the kenduri at Rusila then to office working on the talks to UIA Architecture students on Gerbang Persilatan Terengganu.

The lecture was well received (I think). I only wish I had more time to dig up the store for old drawings and pictures. But 1997 was a decade away, and we had moved office twice. Many things were lost. Made a mental note to keep all the sketches safe next time.

The lecture, more than anything else was a right jolt to the memory.

Postcard-perfect memory

2008-07-28T22:09:00.001+08:00

I had seen it.

A black and white postcard of a single coconut tree on the rock at Pantai Kemasek under the glass cabinet of one photo shop that I could not remember where. I knew I had seen it as I was sure seen it in a book of collection of Malaya postcards, or something like that, I think.

I remember that postcard as much as I remember that coconut tree. Coconut tree don’t grow on rocks but this one did. That makes it special. That someone in the time when cameras were rare and owned by the few that recognized its significance makes it even more special.

I wonder sometimes, why I tend to remember all these pictures in my mind’s eye. I can’t remember names and faces to the chagrin of my contacts and business partners, even friends – bad for business they said, but I can recall vivid details of things from my life years ago.

Like the way lights penetrated through the ‘kerawang’ of one rumah Tok Ngah next to rumah Awang Hitam in Kemasek. Yes Tok Ngah the ‘tilam kekabu maker’ if you can still remember. Remember her going about the kampong delivering a roll of tilam on her head?

Like the streaks of white and red lines on the rocks of Bukit Batu Taping?

Like the breaking of waves on the rocky cliff seen from the top of that same hill that I often climbed alone some school holidays years ago?

Remember Tokeh Abung?

The crazy Taiwan University graduate that cycles round the kampong talking, giving speech out loud only to himself?

And should I add that he wore a pair of the famous architect Phillip Johnson’s like glass to accentuate his intellectual disposition?

Remember Mok Su Che Sek?

Oh her? Her pet rooster?

I promised myself I’d write about her someday but just couldn’t get around to it. I know I must for she was my nanny and years later when I return to Terengganu she found me.

We have all left Kemasek years ago. It now is only a town we pass by on the way. But memories of the growing up years linger. The courthouse on the hill, still standing the last time I passes by.

The balairaya that is no longer there.

The house of Tok Penghulu Wan Hamid, the house of Mak Wan Gayah where I was born and the house of Pak Man Porong.

Majlis Tempatan Kemaman Utara?

The long timber bridge linking Kampung Feri to Kuala Kemasek?

There can never be enough space in one’s writing to capture all that recollection.. But nevertheless I must. I owe it to them children.

The coconut tree had fallen off ages ago. Nothing was left to proof its existence save for that one postcard. For that I must seek.

For, that postcard was the epitome of a picture perfect memory.

They keep the Mercs after all.

2008-07-26T08:24:00.001+08:00

Maybe it was another dosage of P. Ramlee’s tale of the sons of Ismet Ulam Raja of the faraway land of Isketambola last night.

I am in the mood to ‘ngarok’ today.

Thursday was a hard day. I had a screw-up since morning in Cemerong I was in the mood to ‘carok’ but did not.

Late yesterday’s news, MB said he got the okay from the Leader to use them for Excos. This morning news, the Leader said it was only for the foreign dignitaries.

So soon at the new Sultan Mahmud International Airport you will see this notice. ‘Welcome to the Nation Of Terengganu. All foreign dignitaries from Malaysia may proceed to the lobby where we have 14 new E-200 lining up for your use.’

‘Karok….karok......’

A VIP visit.

2008-07-26T08:20:00.001+08:00

Crankshaft was a blog I visited often. So to be commented by ‘her’ was an honor.

Much like when someone asks ‘would you like a ride in my new Merc?’

Unbelievable.

The Merc? I was totally wrong after all.

2008-07-20T22:17:00.001+08:00

As I am writing this, Bernama newsflash reads ‘pembelian kereta Mercedes bukan guna wang royalti kata MB Terengganu

A short while ago [19th June 08] I wrote about some more than 10 new S-Class moving north towards Kuala Terengganu. I also wrote about the possibility of them being purchased for the State Excos [having been ordered by the previous administration]. I was wrong. Those were Mercedes E-200 Kompressor and the decision to purchase them, based on Star report, ‘was made several months ago’ so said the SS. I was double wrong.

So I want to be the first to congratulate the State Government of Terengganu. Now the excos would no longer be second best or feel inferior to most of the local contractors and consultants who are driving much more expensive S-Class, Brabus and Beemers especially X-5. Now at least they can join the site meetings where the site office cabins (for the mega projects I mean) normally appeared like a second-hand luxury car show rooms. Now too they can be waited by their drivers at the new Sultan Mahmud Airport without being asked to drive away to make way for the more important Mercs in the queue.

After all, the state only spend 3.4 million and its not duit royalti or wang ehsang. The money must have come from other sources like from cukai tanah, cukai balak or cukai pasir or perhaps federal grants.

So you jealous people out there….. shut up! Be a politician and when you come to power, do the same.

What about me?

Too late to be a politician but I’ll go out and get one myself.

A little on minyak and tahi minyak.

2008-06-22T08:22:00.001+08:00

Some of us may still recall rumah Che/Aki in Kampung Baru Tok Kaya Kanan, Kemasek. [I just love to say that ‘Tok Kaya Kanan/Kiri thing] On the back lambor, was a dapur kayu with two tungku. Che’s very own kitchen. Here was her domain that she treasures despite having in the later years a dapur minyak and even a rice cooker. Underneath the sand-filled stove was her store of kayu api. Firewood she collected from the broken branches of trees, tempurung (coconut shells) and sabut (coconut husk) around the house, I recall too of her in her late years, hunched but still going round collecting the kindling. Her canisters for her own baulu and kuih bangkit were from the discarded tin milo and dumex that the cucus consumed aplenty. She was living the life of a true environmentalist long before we were talking recycling.

She too makes her own tikar mengkuang from the mengkuang plants at her backyard. She would brave the swamp to cut the leaves, soak them, strip them, dye them and daily bit by bit on the front lambor, made them into mats. I remember when I first rented my house in Setapak, before I can afford a mattress, the tikar was a treasured possession.

What I remember most in the kitchen however was the periok of her coconut oil.

She would without fail when coconuts were plenty, cook her own coconut oil. The oil then was used for cooking, hair oil and minyak urut too.

The cooking of the coconut oil was always awaited. Any thing ‘makan-able’ was awaited. After the oil was filtered, the waste was the tahi minyak. It can be made into a sambal tahi minyak mixed with fried shredded coconut (that is the origin of the phrase tahi minyak gaul nyior) eaten with nasi kapit or plain rice or eaten just like that.

First on tahi minyak.

Tahi means shit. Minyak means oil. Tahi minyak is however not oily shit but leftover from the making of coconut oil.

But tahi minyak can mean something else. To say to a person that he is a tahi minyak, like in 'mung ni tahi minyak sungguh' is like saying you are shit but you can’t be discarded because you could still be useful.

Now on minyak.

Who is not angry at the recent oil price increase?

I know two. Check Utusan Malaysia the day after the bomb dropped. Utusan ran a full color page of crowds protesting; vehicles queuing at petrol stations, people with empty jerry cans looking for some last minute cheap oil. No one was smiling. But at the top right hand corner of the same page was the picture of two men looking cheerful captured to prosperity. I wish they were not ‘that’ happy but they were happily smiling so they must be.

They were obviously the tahi minyak. If you know what I mean.

For whom those luxury rides?

2008-06-21T08:17:00.001+08:00

Two days ago (19.6.08), we took a drive down south to Jay Bee. On the road from KT to Kemaman something peculiar happened. I noticed it. Saiful noticed it too. Along the way they were like more than 10 S-Class Mercedes going north I think to Kuala Terengganu.

Wow, I think aloud.

Is business so good now those numbers of Merc were ordered.

By whom? I wonder.

I haven’t heard of any mega job going to Terengganu contractors lately.

Or the dealers just pre-empt the ordering having heard Pak Lah giving back the oil royalty?

Or was it true the previous ‘kerajaan’ had ordered them for the excos?

In this ‘change your lifestyle’ and ‘ten percent cut’ climate?

Let’s just wait and see……

Of bahang bahan-bahan

2008-05-25T19:32:00.001+08:00

Material or goods in Bahasa Malaysia is bahan. Terengganuan pronounced it bahang with a g at the end.

Bahang in standard Bahasa Malaysia means heat, like the heat from a furnace.

Bahang bahan(g)-bahan(g) thus can means either to steal the goods or the heat of the materials.

To ‘merasa bahang’ (feel the heat) can mean to be affected; by events or something. It’s much like the proverb ‘siapa makan cili dia terasa pedas’ (he who eats chili shall feel the heat). But bahang in Terengganuspeak is strike. To ‘bahang’ someone is to hit him either by hand or by words like in scolding. Sometimes Terengganuan says ‘tibang’ to suggest the same.

‘Abis lebang-lebang belakang dia kene bahang denge tok laki die.’(Her back is blue-black being hit by her husband)

‘Pucak lesi Mamat parok kena bahang dengan boh die.’ (Mamat was pale after a scolding by his boss)

Bahang too can mean to steal or in a more politically correct term misappropriate.

‘Doh wang ehsang tu dok wi ke kerajaang negeri, nye pakak bahang sek-sek die je lah.’ (With the royalty money not channeled to the State Government, it was being misappropriated by the cronies)

‘Bahang rambang’ meaning to hit at random is a term Terengganuan used to describe blind accusation, similar to ‘serkap jarang.’ or Javanese ‘hentam keromo.’

‘Doh bakpe mung kate gitu ke Derih? Dok baik mung bahang rambang je kate kokrang.’ (Why do you say that about Derih? It’s not right to accuse people blindly.)

‘Aku pong dok tahu sape buak. Doh dia tanye angat, aku bahang rambang je lah.’ (I’ve no idea really. Since he asked, I just answered blindly)

Just by chance

2008-05-24T23:34:00.003+08:00

"Oi...Get your filthy hands off my desert!"
"What 'e say?"
Brezhnev took Afghanistan.
Begin took Beirut.
Galtieri took the Union Jack.
And Maggie, over lunch one day,
Took a cruiser with all hands.

Apparently, to make him give it back.

(Get Your Filthy Hands Off My Desert. Pink Floyd / Roger Waters 1985)

In the movie, Forest Gump, the character played by Tom Hank by sheer stroke of luck appeared at the defining moments of history, influencing some important event in popular culture; among them, the origin of Elvis’s gyrating pelvis, the Nixon’s ping-pong diplomacy and Lennon’s Imagine.

Just by chance or pure coincidence though unlike Gump, it seems that all my overseas visit coincided with some important event or other.

My first Sydney visit in 98 was on the day Anwar Ibrahim was arrested, Australian diplomatic opposition almost led to a diplomatic scuffle with Malaysia. That event led to the infamous black-eye incidence. My Jakarta 2005 visit was during the Ambalat Incidence, with street protest against Malaysia on the street of Jakarta. Sometimes earlier, some few months after the visit to the Hadyai’s Kre Sek Mosque, came the bloodbath that marked the beginning of the end of peace in Southern Thai.

My visit to (actually my return from) Singapore 23.5.08 was on the day International Court Of Justice delivered the verdict. It was the day Pulau Batu Puteh legally became Singapore’s Pedra Branca. I was at the Changi departure lounge when all homecoming Malaysian eyes were fixed on the TV screen. I could not bother as I was exhausted. After all that piece of rock is to me nothing more than a piece of rock.

At KLIA’s arrival hall, someone concerned Malaysian broke the news. It was confirmed by some breaking news on the electronic media later.

The International Court of Justice has decided in favour of Singapore in a 28-year sovereignty dispute with Malaysia over Pulau Batu Puteh - a tiny but strategic uninhabited island the size of half a football field.

[Malaysiakini 23.5.08]

I don’t know Batu Puteh more than a picture of rock with some Singaporean’s helipad and communication tower on it. That’s all. People, the patriotic kind would nevertheless lecture me on matter of national pride and sovereignty. To them I would say ‘why wait a hundred over years to react? It would be a non-issue had we cleverly persisted and retain the southern island some decades ago. A read into Lee Kuan Yew’s memoir of the last decisive moments in the 1963 separation brokering doesn’t help quell the sense of betrayal at all. Never mind the apologetic later written ‘Duri Dalam Daging’.

For now, let’s just let the issue dies down. A lost is a lost and can never be a win, much less a win-win. (Sorry Dato’ Seri Rais, I don’t agree with you) A sense of winning however will satiate some quarters and no one I hope would be raising any keris, tombak or lembing.

Roger Waters wrote the Final Cut after the Falkland War, as a personal protest against Margaret Thatcher’s senseless war venture thousands of miles away in South America. But Falkland was (and is still claimed as) British land and the Union Jack must be defended by all means necessary.

Pedra Branca was lost in the court room. We certainly need not now raise arm and inadvertently go south the same Thatcher’s way.

I pray.

Doh kite seme ni nok makang ape?

2008-05-15T18:22:00.003+08:00

Don’t read if you think this is seditious.

The crime of seditious libel was defined and established in England during the 1606 case "De Libellis Famosis". The case defined seditious libel as criticism of public persons, the government, or King. (Wikipedia)

But to criticise and hurt the feeling of the non public person, the ordinary man on the street, the rakyat jelata is seditious too, I think. In democracy, is not the rakyat the true government? Just that they don’t have some big time lawyer arguing for them one can go about hurting their feeling. They too can change a government.

Sedition, is a big, big word these few days. Whatever it means, I don’t want to be charged as seditious and hauled to court. So this blog is dedicated only to my children, and that of my siblings, and probably in the future, the children of their children. The rest, read on your own free will.

The price of rice, our only staple food is up. Among the cause, as the article implied; too much is being consumed. Terenganuan and Kelantanese eat up to four times of rice a day. ‘Please don’t eat rice that many times’ our good minister said, more or less.

Sometimes last year, when petrol price went up, another minister said, ‘change your life style.’ Of course he can keep the Cheyenne in the garage and drive a 325i instead. But what do the rakyat change their kapchai to?

I was at the nasi dagang stall that day. An old man reading a newspaper at a table in front of me remarked angrily, ‘Menteri bodo! Doh nok suruh kite seme ni makang apa?

So what are we supposed to eat?

I want my children to know their own history well. Our family was not always well off. There were times, when we were younger, when aki was jobless or in-between jobs, we suffered. Yes, we still manage to eat but it was all basic. We were lucky because Wan was always creative with food and it all tastes so good. Or was it because we were always so hungry the food was good always. She too works wonder with ubi kayu or ubi stele. When ubi is available, it was time for ubi rebus, goreng ubi or kueh keria. Otherwise, all we had was rice. So it was rice in the morning, afternoon and dinner and all that was in between. It was the cheapest and the only food affordable.

For breakfast it was the left-over from previous dinner (nasi dingin) turned to nasi goreng or nasi lemak, for lunch nasi, for tea maybe some dried rice turned to lok-lik and for dinner nasi again. And if ever we turn hungry in between we turn to the periok for what else but nasi. Chicken and beef rarely available if any will be considered a feast.

The minister must have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, ‘beranak dalam beras’ some Terengganuan says; to have a choice of bread and pudding for breakfast and tea. That s why he can by choice not to have nasi that many times a day. Unfortunately we didn’t as certainly many more, even now. Many that I know around me are still as poor, depending only on a single kind of food to live another day.

I am telling this to my children.

Even if you feel that you are rich, look around you, please look around you, at your friends in school, the friends in your neighborhood.

Look!

You don’t even have to look that hard, to see so many that are poor.

They eat rice four times a day because they don’t and could not have McD and Secret Recipe in between. They eat rice four times a day not because they are being excessive but because that is all they can have, that is all their mother left for them in the periok when the mother is out washing cloth at somebody’s house.

I know you could not feel their suffering because you just couldn’t. But even if you couldn’t, do not ever make fun of them. Never say anything that can be mistaken as making fun of them. Never ever tell them to eat less of the least that they are able to. Please do not do that. Not now. Not ever. Not even after you have become a minister. To say that hurt the poor. To say that is in a way seditious too.

Gong

2008-05-06T14:14:00.000+08:00

A gong is drum like brass musical instrument used in traditional music. A single strike will emit a ‘gonnngggg’ sound with a rippling echo. Berdengung I think is apt to describe the effect.

Beating of a gong is now extensively used to signify opening of events like the opening of an upacara or like starting of trading day on the Bursa (KLSE). In the old movies, a gong is sounded just prior to a proclamation; normally reading of a king’s order. Old Malay hikayat, (this one, Hikayat Awang Sulong Merah Muda) beautifully described the effect of gong once sounded on rakyat jelata .

Yang capek datang bertongkat
Yang buta meraba-raba
Yang tuli leka bertanya
Yang kecil terambin lintang
Yang jarak tolak tolakan
Yang pendek tinjau meninjau
Yang kurap mengekor angin

(I have no idea what the last phrase mean)

In Kemasek, there is a village called Gong Chengal and in Kuala Terengganu a Gong Tok Nasik. There are also Gong Pak Chang near Kedai Buluh and Gong Pak Jin in Gong Badak. If I may deduce, the former was founded by the father of Hassan and the later by the father of a genie. Whether there is anymore jin living there I would not know. That gong in a village name refer to a higher piece of land or an elevated plateau as against ‘mengabang’ meaning a water logged area. Gong Badak unknown to many is located next to Mengabang Badak.

Gong to Terengganuan refers to a person, proud, big headed, an egoist – one in English idiom described as proud as a peacock. Imagine the peacock dance, just like the cock, cocky.

Awang tu, padang muka dia kalah pilihang raye, Baru jadi wakil rakyat sepenggal pong, gong do’oh lalu doh.

A gong person, like the land (as in Gong Badak) is elevated above and sounds equally berdengung if he ever utter anything. Maybe it was his nose that is elevated because a gong can be as what the Malay proverb describe as ‘hidung tinggi’ (high nose or tall nose?)

When writing a gong, be careful to space the a from the gong else it means something significantly significant. Agong means great. A gong on that respect is not an agong no matter how he pretend to be.

My father loves to dismiss a person as ubi atas gong especially to the kind that is stubborn or those that refuse to listen to other’s opinion, one that thinks that only he is right. I have no idea if is a Terengganu proverb because I could not find any official writing on it.

A short take

2008-04-27T23:10:00.003+08:00

I suppose I should be continuing from my previous blog ‘to be a councillor’ but I just want to do a quick one for now.

A quick one?

A short one?

To Kedahan, water in short depth is cangkat. Or changkat depending on the new or old school spelling. Standard terminology is cetek. In Terengganuspeak its tohor.

So a person who is shallow (superficial, frivolous, insignificant) in thought is changkat, his analysis is cetek. Never heard anyone being termed tohor however. Not even in Terengganu.

And of course there’s the other cangkat.

Cangkat Jering in Taiping or Cangkat Tambi Dolah in KL.

Is it referring to short road or once a water-logged area?

Want to solve English problem among school children? What about introducing English Literature at primary age. Get them all to read Shakespeare.

Good frend for Iesvs sake forbeare,
To digg the dvst encloased heare.
Blest be ye man yt spares thes stones,
And cvrst be he yt moves my bones.

….ooops. That was from his tombstone. Not his play.

That kind of thinking is kind of cangkat.

I think.

To be a councilor

2008-04-21T00:30:00.003+08:00

PETALING JAYA: Deputy Prime Minister Datuk Seri Najib Razak yesterday voiced his support for a proposal to have members of the Institute of Engineers Malaysia serving as local councillors.

That is an excerpt from NST yesterday 20th April 2008.

I couldn’t help but smile. At least I can now say proudly, I have been there, done that.

In that same report, IEM President said that his members are willing to serve all states. That means the opposition (now Pakatan Rakyat) states too. Maybe that’s because an engineer is now a state Menteri Besar in Perak.

I had been there as a councilor in Kuala Terengganu once for a short while during the tail end of PAS rules, for about four months. It was out of sincere desire to help and against my better judgement. Come 2004, it was all over. Making up for the ‘punishment’ I had to endure afterward when the state goes back to Barisan, was the exposure to the system, fathoming the depth of problems, learning first hand why things simply can’t get done and more than anything else making friends with the top to the bottom of the municipal power rung. What I could not understand to these days was the blind hatred from the other side of the political divide.

I must say now that I accepted the councilor post innocently, thinking that it was nothing more than a professional seat as allocated in the Local Government Act. The first sign of trouble was when friends started to desert me, saying things like I was being groomed for the higher position in the party. What party? I had not been a member of any party. I was later informed that PAS Youth objected to my appointment saying that I had been an UMNO man. Yes and no. I was quite visible during Dato Seri Wan Mokhtar’s administration, doing some visible projects for the state. No I was not a party member. My father did however without fail paid my UMNO membership subscription but that was in the old UMNO. Post 1988, I was told my application to UMNO Baru was not entertained. Well, I never get my membership card to say the least but it never bothers me. When PAS rule was over I was in turn branded a PAS man. So I was both an UMNO and PAS ‘member’ without even being in membership. That was cool. Anyway that story would be reserved for my autobiography.

This blog article is for me to share my experience.

As a practicing professional, an architect or an engineer can’t be an effective councilor. At least, me. Too often I had to excuse myself from the meeting because it is legally and morally wrong to be involved and worse to decide in meetings where my projects were being discussed. I could participate in technical meetings and seek to be excused when any of my project was up for deliberation. But technical meeting was only at the third level in importance. The way it was structured, I almost couldn’t participate at all in the full council meeting because that one project I was doing is lumped with the rest of the papers and I could not be involved at all. So the few of us professional councilor ended having tea when the full council was in session, practically leaving it to the quasi-politicians.

The councilor post however was powerful enough to move something. I believe I had successfully introduced the compulsory requirement for architects to have an appointment letter from the client before his plan could be accepted. I did that because many architects had complained of clients running away with the approved plan without paying the fee. At least that appointment letter can be used to take them to court later if need be. I too was part of the effort to implement (or was it to continue implementing?) the one day building plan approval and to rightly reinterpret the term temporary building much to the chagrin of the legal advisor. Temporary building could then be built better. Again this is not about self promotion and the fun ended so soon. I will keep the story to another day.

What kind of people were in the council?
The strongest voice I would say was the government appointee by way of their post, District Officer for instance. The Yang Di Pertua normally was the political appointee and in my time the state assemblymen himself. So was the majority of the seats - filled with Ketua Cawangan, Ketua Wanita (or was it Muslimah) and Ketua Pemuda. I was jolted when someone interjected with ‘Yang Di Pertua, ini kawasan saya. Rumah ni rumah orang kita.' (This is my area. The house belong to our people.) The meeting in general was sombre. Few actually raise their voices except when it was about ‘kawasan saya’ or ‘orang kita’. Fewer bother to read the Act and By-Laws depending in turn on every words of the legal advisor, happy waiting for a deadlock and vote by show of hand. That’s power mind you. Agitated, I at least forced the Majlis to provide them with a set of the by-laws and got a nice attache to go with it. And then there were the few loud professionals – us.

How much can you achieve?
How much depended on three things. One, the political willingness. Two, the council’s money and three, the capacity of the officer. Four if I would add is trust. In general, councils are poor and running on tight budget. Majlis in our time could not even afford laptop and projector, much less equip the officer with digital camera and transport. We even had to move a motion in the council meeting for the officers to be well equipped and the budget be found for it. (Fortunately or unfortunately power change happened so soon and we could not see the result. Anyway the Majlis under the new Barisan government seems flushed with new four wheelers it could have been attributed to us too (wink). The lack of fund forced us to be flexible. We introduced a system whereby applicants had to invite and drive the officers from the office to the project site for inspection. This system was almost shot down for fear of corruption. The liberal among us interjected that given our capacity we can’t afford to be choosy at the expense of efficiency. We too had to stress that the law is hard enough and anyone if corrupted can be brought down legally. That was the issue of trust. Trust is also about empowerment. More power could actually be delegated to the technical officers, reducing the load on the council and in the final count tremendously improve the delivery.

What I found heartening was the sincerity and sacrifice of the officers, working within a limiting environment, poorly equipped, badly understaffed and worse, distrusted. The few had to attend the so many meetings and functions leaving them with little time to work effectively. The time is also consumed by the systems of meetings, deliberation of minutes and approval. Some quarters complained that the council is being used to deliberately delay or reject applications despite obtaining technical support and approvals. I must state that I did not find so despite the system working exactly that way. The officers if given trust and empowered could achieve much more. I was very sure of that.

To be continued.

To be branded.
Do I want to do it again?
How professionals can contribute.

Selak

2008-04-20T14:15:00.001+08:00

Selak spelt with e tanda means lock, both verb and noun. It also means bolt using either keys or some other kind of locking accessories. My favorite one is using a piece of wood laid across the door. ‘Galang’ was the correct term I think. The difference between the two is that selak requires ‘tupai’ on one side while ‘galang’ requires two. That tupai is not a squirrel.

Spelt with e takdok tanda, it became selak, meaning to lift usually of something clothlike – selak kain (to lift the skirt), selak kelambu (to part the mosquito net).

Usop balik rumah lewat malam. Mek Jah isterinya dahpun tidur. Usop selak kelambu. Napok Mek Jah tergolek. Slo, slo dia selak kain Mek Jah….. (Oops. I’m not translating this)

In Terengganuspeak, selak with e tanda can also mean to pass out, shocked or desperate.

‘Mek Ngah selak dengo anok dia jatuh moto.’ (Mek Ngah fainted hearing her son fall off the motorbike)

‘Habih sekapung selak dengo cerita Tok M’ulu kena igak.’ (The whole village was shocked to hear the village headman arrested)

‘Selaklah gining. Jeput orang makang lepah loho. Ning puko dua belah doh. Berah dok basoh agi, api dok ingak agi, ayang dok m’eleh agi.’ (We are desperate now. We invited people to eat after the noon prayer. Now at twelve the rice is not yet washed. The fire not yet lit. The chicken not yet slaughtered)

The a in selak is so uniquely pronounced it is a dilemma to either write with a or o. Some Terengganuan preferred o over a, spelling selok while others a over o, spelling selak. It can only be resolved if written in phonetic which I have no idea of so I would not try.

To spell as selok (with e tanda) in standard Bahasa will bring a different meaning. To selok (also with e tanda) is to dig into something, like into the pocket. Sometimes it is spelt as seluk. Suluk if you come across is further off. Bersuluk means to went away; as of becoming a hermit.

Senyak senyak Usop pung selok dalang kain. Tibe-tibe kain hok sakut di tiang tu jatoh. Usop k’ejuk. Derah-derah dia keluo bilek. Dang ambik pitih sepuloh rial je. Mek Jah tergolek teruh. Nye tido selok-selok kediri. Dok sedo setarang baroh pong.

After a pound of my flesh

2008-04-14T14:04:00.001+08:00

In Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, 1596, the insistence by the Jewish moneylender, Shylock for the payment of Antonio's flesh was the central plot of the 18th century play. Shylock insisted that ‘The pound of flesh which I demand of him Is deerely bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it.’ It now carries the meaning of ‘something which is owed that is ruthlessly required to be paid back..’ The figurative use of the phrase refer to 'any lawful but nevertheless unreasonable recompense’ - to quote from Wikipedia.

Imagine being booked by a policeman for a traffic offence. You paid the compound fines and yet you have to appear in court for another round of punishment for the same offence because the law says you have committed an offence and that offence in punishable. I use the phrase ‘the law says’ to denote an interpretation by this one person. Okay, I am not a lawyer. But as I understand the law, an offense once punished can’t be punished again. A compound is a punishment so I should not be hauled to the court again for the same offence. Or was my understanding all wrong?

Last Thursday, EPF visited me. Handed me a summon to sign. I was to appear in Court this Monday 14 April 2008. The offence was for not making EPF contribution to one of my staff in May 2007. That was almost a year ago. I checked my record and proved that payment was made. Late of course but paid all the same. I was willing to pay all the fines and dividends, but the dividend statement is forthcoming. Not my fault fully. Still the EPF guy is insistent.

So I checked the EPF Act.

Clause 43(2) says I’m liable if I fail to pay within time.
So I’m guilty on that ‘within time’ count. But why can’t I resort to the other clauses which somehow accept delay to the contributions provided that I pay the dividends and interest on top of the contributions?

Clause 45(3) says if I don’t pay within time I can be liable to pay for dividends.
Clause 45(4) says if I don’t pay the dividends I’m liable to imprisonment (3 years maximum) or fine (maximum 10K).

Furher down,

Clause 49 says I’m also liable for interest for unpaid contribution.

So my understanding is I can be charged only if I don’t pay the contribution or if I don’t pay the dividend. Repeat, if I don’t pay the dividend! Not for late contributions.

So why take me to court?

‘Well, you have not contributed to the Feb, March and April’ he said.

‘Sir! Yes I was late for Feb and March. But April wasn’t even due till 15 this month, a day after my due appearance in court. Don’t charge me for an offence I was yet to commit. And still you can’t bring me to court for the two months that was not even in the charge sheet.’

That I think is a blackmail. Okay, arm-twisting, if blackmail was too harsh a word.

The fictional episode is one of the many events that we must all face because we had chosen to leave the comfort of withdrawing salaries to one that pay salaries. Migrating from being an employee to an employer.

Most of the laws governing employment, especially EPF Law regards all employers as someone with a deep pocket and an ever flowing fountain of cash. EPF contributions must be made not later than the 15th every month, come hell or high water. Damn you if can’t scrape enough to meet the salary. Damn you too if your salary payment was made after 15th. Pay EPF first. Fill the coffer and leave your staff hanging dry if you have to.

So all of you budding entrepreneur, beware, be afraid, be very afraid. Be not like me. Pay EPF religiously. You have to.

The law as it is, was intended to protect employees from some unscrupulous employers. But not all employers are bad as not all are rich. Many are simply entrepreneur who struggles to make ends meet. Yet they contributed to the socio economy by employing people when these people were otherwise jobless. Not all employees are bad too, not all will willingly kill the goose that lay the golden eggs, not all will haul their employer to court for reason of late EPF contributions. But EPF will; in the name of the employee, haul the employer. The way things are, some quarters in EPF considers all late contributor as bad employer, penalties alone are no longer enough. The way things are, some quarters in EPF will be happy that employers close shop, so that none pay EPF late. Nevermind if the employees end up jobless.

Maybe some explanation is necessary.

Late contribution can be due to several reasons. One, the employee preparing the payment made a mistake or forgotten about the dateline. Two, the money wasn’t there. At least not yet.

The law maker in drafting the law I believe saw that possibility. So they wisely introduced a penalty clause. Any employer who’s late because of some employee inefficiency or was simply broke at that point in time can at least when they can afford it pay the penalties, escape the hassle of court appearance and continue doing business.

For unfortunate employer like me, summoning me to court means punishment not once but thrice. They have taken claim, collected my money and now after my pound of flesh.

Figuratively.

Bilang membilang.

2008-03-29T23:42:00.003+08:00

I have a problem with numbers, with arithmetic, kira-kira, bilang-bilang. The problem will never make me great because to be ‘terbilang’ I must first be good at ‘membilang.’ Of I course I don't want to be great by 'tembelang.'

I could not count something say from one to a hundred without forgetting the actual count if distracted. Most of the time I have to start all over again. Okay, I admit sometimes I find it difficult to even remember how many rakaat has I prayed especially in the zohor and asar prayer. It is hard to have a full concentration or ‘khusyu’. Moreover with my frequent travel and the equally frequent jamak and qasar, I sometimes unconsciously qasar the solat at kariah too.

Of this forgetfulness and anomaly with number, I laugh at myself everytime I see the rerun of P. Ramlee’s Nujum Pak Belalang when the crook in the cave could not count pass three and resort to everything his partner said including eh..eh and kepala hotak kau.

I have problem remembering names too.

Anyway, I counted six entries in my blog since the day after the election. Things were so fascinating, I just have to record them as it happen; as I saw them happening. Tomorrow I might see them in a different light and write about them differently. The frequency surprises the lazy me.

Now I feel I must put another blog about the final chapter of the MB saga. ‘Selesai dohlah’ was not so the end after all.

On Friday, I was in KL. By chance, met some important Terengganu guys at Masjid Negara. They asked me, ‘Mengadap ke?’ I knew they were just joking because I believe it was they who were. When I told them I was taking the evening flight home, they asked, ‘ Sambut Tuanku esok?’ I laughed. They laughed too. The Terengganuans were finally laughing, happy at the turn of event.

The mood home was a surprise to me. Almost all cars in town tied the yellow ribbon. My father’s Jeep had not one but three (put there he said by the guys at Pasar Tani), so was all the office and my staff’s car. Someone even sponsored the yellow ribbon and because the demand was so good limited them to not more than ‘sekaki’ each only.

The rakyat, the ordinary non political people are responding with a sense of relief and gladness. The ordinary people I think don’t really care who is the MB as long as we have a MB. The delay of two weeks was embarrassing and the mood is jittery.

The yellow ribbon became a symbol of relief as much as the expression of love for the Sultan and the State.

So what has counting got to do with all this?

This morning 25000 turned up at the airport to greet the King. That’s what Malaysiakini said. 30000 said Siasah. 20000, said Harakahdaily, conservative this time. 25000 said Star, 10000 said Utusan. I know there was no counting booth to add the number safely but the stark difference was outrageously funny.

The people I asked about the turnout simply answered, ’ramai’ meaning many.

So maybe, when the people at the newsroom can no longer count, we could just tell them to resort to the logic of Pak Belalang.

‘Eh, eh’

‘Eh,eh untuk kau, eh,eh untuk aku.’ Lepas eh, eh apa?

‘Kepala hotak kau!’

‘Kepala hotak kau untuk kau, kepala hotak kau untuk aku.’

That is for the people who’s handicapped at counting, I mean, in the older days, they might just get telor temelang.

Selesai doh lah.

2008-03-27T23:20:00.001+08:00

My breaking news came from Sedi. His sms read ‘Slamat Mat Said jadi MB.’

I was on the way home from Masjid Terapung. Not exactly from the mosque. I was on the way there when I made a u-turn seeing lots of cars there today. More than the normal malang jemaat (malam Jumaat – Friday night) crowd. I just remembered that they were having a munajat to pray for the Sultan.

I decided to just go home. Ustaz Aziz won’t be giving ceramah anyway.

In front of the shophouse, some strange looking people were there. Strange because I don’t normally see them before. I have been a Friday night regular at the mosque here and I didn’t see them around before. One was in songkok and kain pelikat, much like the guy Sepol said appeared in the riot video both at Batu Burok and Rusila. Ah, my imagination.

So today finally UMNO supreme council endorsed Dato Mohd Said as MB, ending I hope the long stand-off between palace and ruling party. I said I hope, because I m not sure if its truly the end. Politicians will stay and fight another day. What else can they do eh?

Tomorrow, the gere, the kopitiam and wakaf dam will be abuzz with a different gossip. Who’s back in the exco?, who’s not? What’s the new scandal?

As for the MB drama? It’s old news.

Cakak mende gok agi? Selesai doh….

Deafening silence

2008-03-27T09:32:00.002+08:00

The hurt that you try to hide is killing me
I drink a thousand lies,

To freeze the past in time

[machine head – deafening silence 2001]

Deafening silence – A silence or lack of response that reveal something significant.

In Tranung the closest to it perhaps is ‘senyap kkatup’ – so quiet you hear pin drop, your own heart beating.

There is another kind of silence. When everybody and everything in all the commotion suddenly became momentarily quiet. So quiet it’s hair raising – ‘naik bulu roma’. Here, we say, ‘malaikat lalu’ - an angel just passes by.

I wonder why the national papers are silent on Terengganu.

Here, we are still left to wonder. Depending on and perhaps ‘drinking’ the gossips. Siasah Online said Pak Lah has backed down and agreed to Dato Mohd Said but NST Online says the 22 Aduns are still adamant. Nothing on Malaysiakini. Not so ‘kini’ afterall huh? Can Pak Lah agree to a non UMNO MB? I mean, I thought Dato Mohd Said was reportedly sacked from UMNO. Rumors too that two former exco and MB were stripped of datokship. Truth or just rumors?

Hey! Can someone tell us what is going on?

Or has Zaid Ibrahim successfully moved all the attention away leaving us rakyat in the dark once again.

Or is something else significant cooking?

Guane ghamok teranung kite?

2008-03-26T07:45:00.002+08:00

As of now, Dato’ Mohd Said has assumed the office of Menteri Besar, becoming an MB for what may be (in his own word – as reported in media) a short spell. Dato’ Idris Jusoh on the other hand has called a press conference saying he will respect the decision but so.

Like many orang Tranung I am confused because NST Online and Malaysiakini gave a differing version. Can somebody put the whole press conference on Youtube please, so we can opined for ourselves.

Now is a hard time to be in Teranung. No, not because we are the second poorest people in the nation, or because of the oil stop flowing, but because calls from friends and families are streaming in non stop.

Guane keadaaang? (How’s thing?)

Mung ade baju melayu itang dok agi? Nok wak mende? Wak gi akat supoh! (Have you got the black baju melayu? What for? To attend swearing in ceremony?)

Mung dok gi berarok ke? (You are not demonstrating?)

Doh mung dok beloh Derih ke Mat Said? (So are you on Dato Idris or Dato Mat Said side?)

And this SMS among the many circulating around.

Kepada semua rakyat Terengganu, Tanda sokongan kita sebagai rakyat menyokong penuh Institusi Beraja & taat setia kita kepada Raja, pasangkan riben kuning pada kenderaan……., bertindak segera supaya Tuanku kita tidak diperlekehkan.

Bring to mind the song, ‘Tie a yellow ribbon, on the old oak tree….’

I find it even tougher to answer my curious children.

This episode will go as a watershed in Terengganu history. The older generation may recall the similar event in the Pas led government in 1959-1961. The then Menteri Besar, Mohd Daud Samad faced a vote of no confidence from the Dewan after two Pas YBs switched camp to UMNO. This time around, Dato Mohd Said may be sacked from UMNO and faced a vote of no confidence from UMNO itself. Opposition can’t do anything because their numbers are insignificant. Unless of course there’s a larger support to Dato’Mohd Said from within UMNO and all of them are sacked too. That is unlikely to happen given the current national climate.

But even now I’m not sure of ‘unlikely to happen’, Terengganu lost to Pas in 1999 was unlikely to happen, six states falling to oppositions in 2008 was ‘unlikely to happen’, but it does happen.

So I know I can’t read the political scenario and be a pundit, much less be a politician.

Maybe I should just go shop for a yellow ribbon.

The reason to blog

2008-03-24T00:44:00.001+08:00

Welcome to the unreal cyber world.

It is heartening that not long after being regarded in the same basket as bored housewives, the youth ministry is toying with a proposal to start of all thing – a blog. Imagine some high level ministry guy donning pink polka dot apron to work….. (ah! you may not get my drift).

I don’t belong in the elite blogger group that triumphantly claimed to have moved the political consciousness of the nation nor do I belong to the nemesis Putra (or is it Puteri?) cyber trooper. I, if anything, is one among the millions who for some spare minutes of our day sat in front of the laptop typing something that is of no value to others but ourselves, not even hoping for our words to be found in the cyberspace. We derive joy in letting go of what we felt, strongly or otherwise. We care not for the feedback or the backlash of others. Blogs are our personal notes put on cyberspace, nothing more, nothing less. Once in a while we pat ourselves in the back, seeing a hit on our page, someone somewhere in Banjarmasin chanced on our words and wrote back.

Blogs are special. They are because they are not bound by rules or bias except by what is personal. We, bloggers are not afraid because we chose not to be bound by any rules or guidelines. We would be in journalism if we do.

We too are aware of the spectre of law (that put fear in our soul) often impressed by those in power. We knew well that the law says we have to be responsible for even an independent phantom opinion on our blog but that if it ever happen will give us (and we would cheekily accept) our time in court or our brush with fame.

So, the idea of ministerial blog is if my opinion is worth anything, an inane proposition. Imagine a JPA advert in NST; Situation Vacant – Blogger. (Ha..ha… I’m already laughing to myself). Place of work – Kemaman Kopitiam; work hour – as you fight insomnia at 237 am.

I would have a much greater respect for the dear minister if he begin by starting his own blog, using the free blogspot template and (in the word of Anna Scott in Notting Hill) fire away. I would even have a much higher respect to him if he is willing to put on an open forum, airing comments all and sundry.

A blogger read another blogger, many, many other bloggers for that matters. That’s why we have a link at the side of our page. (oops I don’t). We click from a blog to another because we look not for some lengthy Pullitzer’s material but some simple sweet, forthright, honest, bold and hilarious pieces. We could sense a fake and move to another click.

Please, dear minister, understand what blogging is all about, undertand the soul of a blog. Less it will end up like the plenty outdated .gov webs.

See you then.

Teka teki aishah

2008-03-22T09:11:00.000+08:00

Mak, Aishah ada satu soalan.

Ok.

Nombor apa yang orang tak suka?

Emmm… nombor tujuh?

Salah.

Nombor 3?

Salah.

Nombor lapan?

Salah.

Nombor satu? dua? sembilan? Enam? Empat? Lima?

Salah. Salah. Salah……

Dah tu nombor apa?

Mak nak beli ke?

Ok Mak beli.

Nombor yang anda dail telah ditamatkan perkhidmatan.

The reason for it all

2008-03-22T08:50:00.001+08:00

Raison d'être is a phrase borrowed from French where it means simply "reason for being"; in English use it also comes to suggest a degree of rationalization, as "The claimed reason for the existence of something or someone". A raison in nature may also symbolize wisdom or knowledge.

Che’ Jak was our lecturer in UTM. He was to many of us who graduated from there a philosophical sifu; in his own special, slightly crazy yet wise way. Of the many thing about him, I remember his story about a food shop he found somewhere along his travel. The shop was nice, the place clean, the service was fast, with a smile and the food was good. The owner himself moving from table to table, smiling, cracking little jokes, laughing a little to the customers enquiring if everything was okay. He seems so cheerful and happy.

Pleased with what he saw Che Jak told himself to return again someday.

When that day came several years later, he sat at the same table as the last time; observing. The shop was still the same but the same owner was now sitting at the till, busy collecting money. The shop was still full of customers but the owner was no longer smiling, cracking little jokes or laughing. He was no longer a cheerful self.

Why? Che Jak asked us.

There were many reasons and arguments put forth that day. They were all correct he said. But more than anything else, the reason for the happiness he said was because the shop owner was in the beginning doing a service to the people, his customers. The later unhappiness came because he was now no longer doing service but a business. He had lost the reason to be happy.

I find the similitude from the above, in the days after the election. Strange enough from both camps of the victors and losers, winners and whiners.

In the aftermath of the election, the bickering by the winners over the exco seats, and the coveted MB or chief minister position would embarrass a third grader fighting for a cekelat. The losers and whiners too, not to be left out, hit out at the people they once so called served, threatening them with the end of the world. Maybe that was what the press said but that was how it seems.

It brings to light the sheer arrogance and hypocrisy from the people called politicians (some if not all) to what they really were.

Strange because only a fortnight earlier they were screaming for a chance to serve or continue to serve the people.

So was all the hoo ha, all those promises meant to serve the rakyat jelata or themselves? What has positions got to do with serving? Must you be in position to do good? Is the collective power not good enough?

I do hope at the end of it all, sensibility sets in. The people need leaders, a good one at that. Not some selfish self serving dot dot dot. Not ever again I hope.

I pray those smiles they flashed during those grueling campaign will come back. And insyaAllah it will bring smiles to the wajah (faces) of the people too; happy, knowing that at the end of it all they chose to be wiser.

The day after

2008-03-14T17:59:00.002+08:00

Its been a long while since the last blog. Why? Oh that’s for another time.

I passed by Kemasek the day after the famous 8th March 08 election. The day that all feng-shui believers will look back at in disgust and disbelief. The 8th was not ‘ong’ at all, at least not to Pak Lah and his Barisan’s men. Already, my phone is being filled with smses of jokes and gurindams, making fun of the unfortunate losers; but I m not putting them down here. You can find them easily on the web somewhere.

Despite the tsunami that swept away five states, six if Kuala Lumpur is included, Terengganu remained in Barisan’s hand. As was the Kemasek state seat . This is one place I often joked that Barisan can win even with a ‘batang nyior’ as a candidate. I was not being disrespectful. I knew how loyal the folks here were to UMNO and Barisan. I knew because my family was a firm believer in UMNO. My father was once one of the kampong stalwarts of the party, having been for years the ‘wakil calon’ for the YB and once he claimed almost to be the candidate for the party. I said was because I was not sure where the allegiance is anymore, certainly not since 98.

The traffic light junction in Kemasek (the only one) still look festive with the party flags from both sides flying in the strong wind. The blue on the upperhand, of course. It looks fun.

In my much younger day, election was fun. It was time to help cooking kanji paste to glue the posters on coconut trees, challenging one on the other side on who could go higher, hanging out at the party posts, truly bangsal wrapped in party flags, having free biscuits and tea and helping to print t-shirts and banners. The flags and banners would be much sought after, for kain sahang, and the billboard plywood for gok ayang, good till the next four years. It was way before election paraphernalia were imported from China.

Elections every time held had for us some measure of memory.

I remember the first Barisan’s rally in front of the balairaya. It was the first post Perikatan election and the kapal layar (or was it perahu layar) was replaced by the dacing. [I wonder why dacing is still used as a symbol when SI system was introduced not much later and all dacing were banned from marketplace – talk about being outdated/outmoded] Then it was against Kasim Ahmad’s parti p’ala lembu (how the people called Parti Sosialis Malaya). I remember the scathing attack on Kasim not for his socialist ideology but because of his poem ‘Tuhan Sudah Mati’

That year PAS was part of the pioneering Barisan.

In another time, even earlier, I remember how Che would quietly told us when we asked she voted kapal layar against Aki’s instruction to vote bulan bintang.

And later in another time when the young Hj Hadi helmed the rejunevated PAS I remember how Ayah Mat’s family would be avoiding us because they were pro PAS and we were all the instruments of thaghut. But that was a passing fad I believe and air dicincang takkan putus.

In 78, my father spent his time campaigning for Barisan and ended sacked from his job – such sacrifice.

In 99, I recalled how embarrassed I was because my son Amir, then about six but well into reading Harakah for his age, asked his Aki for a flag and when given an UMNO flag refused and said, ‘Amir nok d’era PAS.’ That year, under the current of reformasi, Barisan took a beating and Terengganu was lost.

My family has all left Kemasek. Most in KT with the rest scattered from KL to south of peninsula. We have become at most politically conscious yet distance from the thick of politicking. We had seen how ayah had spent the best years of his life, once putting life at the golok’s end (that’s again another story) for his party, retired and watched in disgust at the excesses of his party men. We became non political because he encouraged us to be professional and businessmen instead. That way we can help people he said, albeit in our own small way.

We passed by many more villages along the way and see flags, posters and bunting some with funny quips being slowly brought down and put to fire. The battle for seats how ridiculous it sometime seems was now over.

Elections, the many of them seems to pass just a while away.

Makan time and unity

2007-08-29T23:55:00.000+08:00

I love it when the family get together for makan, or makang as we being Terengganuan now say it. Be it in Raya, kenduri, get together or simply having a meal at Mak’s house. With such a big close family every meal’s a feast.

The last one at Bora Asmara in Sungai Pencala was really great, with almost a full attendance of 15 out of 20 cucus. The noise and commotion was exceptional and the outlet proprietor must have had a foresight to give us the sound proof glass cabana or we could have shattered other diners longing for a romantic night.

Happy birthday Adlan and Atin.

Given free go at the menu, the cucus table went almost fully western, while elders tried out the balinese dancing fish and ‘bandrek’.

But as usual, some can’t take what others are having. I learnt this having in-law from Kedah and ‘biras’ from everywhere else. I still can’t accept mempelam with ‘menisang’ (otherwise known as gula melaka) and santan kelapa (like we Terengganuan take durian with) though I learnt to appreciate sepat pekasam and telor ikan masin and the Kedah side is being slowly but surely converted to the taste of budu. They even have it as kuah to our horror when we Terengganuan use it only as a dip. From my brother in-law Shah I learnt to accept gulai with its purest of the pure tempoyak though I cant take the sambal cili hijau. Yasmin is great with Malay kueh and cakes. She and Ajik is opening a new restaurant in Kota Damansara.and I think it would be great.

At home, when we were in numbers, pot luck was often the order of the day. The dishes can be overwhelmingly national. Those who are adventurous can try all and those who can’t take someone else food simply go for another hidang or another table.

That brings me to a related issue.

With the Merdeka day coming, everyone that writes, writes about merdeka, patriotism and unity. Someone saw Melayu eating with Melayu, Chinese eating with Chinese and Indian eating with Indian and cried ‘hey that’s a cause for social disunity.’

Makan either together or separately was to me a perfectly acceptable social behavior. I don’t want to eat with the same people or having the same food every time. I can’t be joining my Chinese friend when he wanted Bah Kut Teh and I would not invite my Indian friend for lunch when I was having beefsteak.

National unity is like family unity. It is about family members being allowed to do things they enjoy doing, whatever or with whoever. Likewise to makan anything or everything, whatever or with whoever Accepting, tolerating, forgiving and to some extent keeping your say to yourself.

Back to Bora Asmara, Es kelapa duda was a good pointer to A, I heard he introduced a new beau a week later.

Selamat menyambut Ulangtahun Kemerdekaan ke 50.

Bali measurement

2007-08-19T23:11:00.001+08:00

I was in Bali last week. My ten year due holiday Yati said. But it was not really a holiday, it could not be with all the visits to candi, art market, resorts and construction site of all the thing. At least now I can say I have visited Bali, its temples, beaches, Paparazzi, Ku De Ta, art market and lunched at Bebek Bengil in Ubud, dined at Four Seasons Jimbaran, and had a Bar-B-Q at the beach where the bomb went off. The last one complete with a serenading ‘pemuzik jalanan’ quartet singing Tom Jones, Eagles and Ebeit G Ade. We even had the tremor from Java earthquake to complete the experience. Alhamdulillah nothing untoward happened.

Bali is amazing. It was an abode of living culture. Here celebration and festivals was happening every day and for every reason. We saw the daily temple prayer, marriage celebration and even mass cremation. All and everything was celebrated.

With the growing demand for luxury holiday homes, lands especially those fronting beaches are being put up for sale. At Nusa Dua, the beaches appeared to be owned by the foreign hotels, at least there was a kind of security check at the beachfront.

Everywhere I noticed billboards advertising land for sale.

The measurement unit for land in Bali is ‘are’ (pronounced are-re). I thought it was short for acre, I was wrong.

My guide explained that one ‘are’ is one-hundredth of a hectare. Now I needed a calculator. So I asked how many ‘are’ needed to build a decent house. ‘Like four’ he said, ‘sesudah siap di’kavling’. Oh my …..

An ‘are’ is thus a hectare (2.47 acre x 43560 ft2) or 107593 ft2 divides by 100 which equals to 1075 ft2. Almost equivalent to 100 m2.

What then is kavling?

‘Kavling’ is a term used for sub-divided lot. ‘Tanah kavling’ means a land readily sub-divided from a larger plot to smaller sizes for building houses or in local term ‘villas’.

If anything, here is where you can feel rich. With the current exchange of four hundred ringgit to a million rupiah, we were basically a living millionaire. But to own anything, even a piece of tanah kavling, being a millionaire was inadequate. You needed more. You must have money in the ‘miliyar’.

Global, Glokal redefined.

2007-07-23T09:07:00.000+08:00

I remember well the launch of ‘Melayu Glokal’. I was at Primula then, working, and looks like all my friends were in nice baju melayu, celebrating in a kind of raya-like atmosphere. Poor me for not being in the circle. TPM was launching the concept and I thought, great, some concept it was. I remember reading Thomas Friedman’s The World Is Flat earlier and I thought the concept was already elaborated.

So much for originality.

I spoke to Nik and had the concept revisited from a satirical perspective.

We both were in a way working as consultants to both local and multinationals. Expatriate multinationals and local multinationals too. Maybe the multi in the local multinationals was not truly appropriate, more like Malaysian gone abroad. Multinationals are normally staffed and led by people of multi nationalities.

We both share the predicament of payment difficulty with some Malaysian companies – despite their size, listing status and global face. They tend to be more difficult the bigger they were. They may be appearing as multinational, international set-up but when in comes to paying consultants and contractors, there was the usual dilly-dally, questions and delays. Not to mention the squeezing of fee quantum. Unlike most truly multinationals where fees were agreed and honored to the last cent. Payments were fixed at say 45 days after invoice and the money directly credited into account. No real chasing necessary. The local companies tend to delight in withholding payments, keeping them in short term FD or investing in stocks – also short term. Never mind if the sub-contractors and suppliers were screaming for some cash-flow to keep them going.

In Nik’s experience, he says the local will never make it in the global challenge – as long as they kept to glocal mindset.

So what’s global and what’s glocal?

Global is when one is ready to honor the contract and pay as agreed. No ‘playing’ with other people’s money.

Glokal is when one is downright selfish, regards contract as mere academic exercise, play with other people’ money. Myopic perpetrator of short-term gain.

That was global and glokal redefined.

untitled

2007-06-24T23:46:00.000+08:00

It sometimes takes the misery of others for one to count his blessing, to be thankful and grateful, eternally.

I realize from what I went through today, the parallel in the stories foretold often in the Quran. Muhammmad (peace be upon him) was in many occasions, when lost and dejected by the treatment he received from his own people, be comforted in the stories of the miseries and tragedy of the earlier prophets, of Jesus, Moses, Aaron, Jobs and others.

Only in the light of another’s misery one feel the lightness of one’s own pain.

Today, I sat in the company of two old ladies. Distraught and poor. I held back my tears as I watched them eating a few pieces of biscuits and a cup of plain tea. I could see that they are hungry.

‘ Maaf deh, mak cik dok malu nok mitok, sebab mak cik dok makang lagi.’

I almost choke as I answered them. ‘Malu mende gok mak cik, orang kaya pung dok berhenti m’itok (meminta).’ And I silently add, ‘and had our fair share of rejection too.’

They could not understand it, I am sure. I said it not about others but myself.

To be here, they must have traveled a long way, and another long way awaits them before they could see the door of their home somewhere. Home – if one could call it such.

And as I watched them, I wash away the anger and frustration bottled within me earlier. The anguish of losing something once in a while, as I could now see, is nothing in the scale of true, almost perpetual misery.

of kherling and kherlak

2007-06-23T12:07:00.000+08:00

If there were to be a grouping, the cerelong would be grouped together with kherling and kherlak. Take note that in kherlak, the a is pronounced as a (as in bar) and not as o (as in lock). Some Terengganuan would prefer to spell as kherelak. The grouping of cerelong, kherling and kherlak was as they all refer to matter of using one’s eye.

To cerelong is to stare.

To kherling (jeling in standard Bahasa Melayu) is to ogle or as some say ‘tengok ikut ekor mata’ (to cast a sideway glance / to see from the corner of one’s eye).

To kherlak is to nod off, to momentarily fall asleep.

When Heliza the sweet Terengganu lass entered the final of Akademi Fantasia 5 recently, many commented on how beautiful her eyes are. ‘Kalu dia kherling ke kita, caaiiir bang.’ (If she should cast a sideway glance at us, our heart melts, brother).

But of the previous year winner from Terengganu ….

Faizal tu? Mende gok? Kalu dia nyanying, aku buleh kherlak.’ (That Faizal? What so? I could fall asleep when he sings.)

Of ‘kherlok’ and ‘kherlong'

2007-06-15T22:50:00.000+08:00

‘Kherlok’ describes a state when a person became obviously fearful or intimidated by another person or situation. The best description is of a tortoise withdrawing its head into the shell when in danger. Chicken too, tend to withdraw their head when afraid. Perhaps how the proverb ‘chicken out’ comes about. Kids especially (and elderly too) has a similar reaction to lower their head when afraid, usually when being screwed, gets a lashing or a dressing down. All figuratively.

‘Kherlong’ means greedy, voracious, gluttonous etc. A kherlong person usually will want to take all to him or herself and has little regards about sharing with others. It is however selectively used on someone who is well off but equally greedy.

‘Kherlong sungguh Semek, habih nye wak alik kue, padahal orang laing dok dang makang pong’ (That Semek was so greedy. She took away all the cakes when others have not eaten)

‘Mek Yah lagilah, kherlongnya, je’put atas pinggang aku pung dia ambik.’ (Mek Yah was worse, she’s so gluttonous, she even took the je’put from my plate.)

A closer illustration on the right type of a kherlong personality would be on someone who falsify income statement to qualify for free text book, food assistance program, tekun loan, baja subsidi or specifically in the case of Terengganu, the ‘wang ehsan’. ‘Herang sungguh aku. Hok gi ambik wang ehsang tu, ada hok paka kereta pong. Kherlong nye dia.’ (I’m surprised. Among those that take the ‘wang ehsan’ are those with cars. How voracious is he?’

‘Kherlong’ is sometimes confused with ‘cerelong.’ To ‘cerelong’ is to stare, to eyeball or to look angrily at someone.

‘Maroh sungguh dia kat ku. Meroh mata-mata dia cerelong kat ku.’ (He was furious at me. His eye was blood shot when he stares at me.)

An inspirational illustration.

Mamat budak nakal. Dia cuma takut ayah dia je. Kalu ayah dia cerelong pun dia kherlok doh. Kalu ayah dia deheng, lagilah dia takut, kecik pala-pala dia lari masuk rumah.

Mamat is a naughty boy. He only fears his father. He quiets down just by his father’s stare. If the father snarl, he would be scared shit and quickly ran away into the house.

Note
Je’put is the way we pronounce jemput-jemput or cokodok or cucur kodok.
Deheng is to make a noise in the throat, growling more or less.
Kecik pala-pala directly translated as shrinking head to mean being terrified or scared shit.

A matter of smell.

2007-06-13T20:28:00.000+08:00

Kuala Lumpur has shown its true self. The estuary of mud. Exactly. The June 10 flood had the city soiled. Again?

Lat’s cartoon had me laughing out loud. An amphibian plane flying over Selangor Padang, the pilot announcing ‘we’ll be landing shortly, in DBKL.’ The Datuk Bandar, DID Director, Works Minister, and the Smart Tunnel Engineers, could not even smile I’m sure. Who would? Not after a photo of dejected Pak Lah graced the front page, so soon after a happy one of him gracing the headline a few days earlier.

In one tabloid, a photo of a KL-ite walks pass the muddy road, holding his breath. It must be stinking. The smell of drying mud is normally just ‘hapak’ but with the content of the overflowing river, some carcass incuded, it could be ‘busuk kohong’.

A KL friend, when I called, said there is mud everywhere, it’s good for ‘samak’ he said. It is like somebody wants to samak the whole city. Cruel thought I said. But the flood must have raised their blood pressure level several notches. He must be forgiven for thinking that way.

We have a superfluous way of describing smell. ‘Busuk’ – stinks I think. ‘Busuk kohong’ – stinks to high heaven.

On the lesser degree, there is ‘ko-uh’ to describe the stale air of a damp space. Like the damp carpet in some cheap hotel room. It too of a sweaty body. Not very unlike ‘hapok’ of the Bob Marley hairdo, or the unwashed jeans or ‘spender’ some would say.

But we too love the stinky stuff, the acrid smell of tempoyak, the pungent smell of belacan, or the hapak of ikan pekasam or the durian that had earned the status of ‘taste like heaven but smells like hell’. And then there were budu and cencalok.

The flood would not have happen the engineers say, had the smart tunnel be completed. Or had it not rain that much, the weather man say. The Smart Tunnel would have ensured a flood free city, so they all say. But it floods all the same.

The main work man said, ‘kalau kita tidak mahu banjir berlaku, kita perlu belanja tujuh ke sembilan billion lagi.’

Seven to nine big B? Someone rushes to the drawing board.

Someone else had the proposal ready. Already.

It smells fishy.

Ko-uh.

Of nasi dagang bungkus and sambal belacan

2007-04-11T18:42:00.000+08:00

One thing I noticed among my more successful friends is their keen observation, eye for learning and desire to teach. They may be successful in differing degrees or in different trade but the similarity is there. One that that I noticed most is their keen eye and sharp though witty comment while dining – be at the gerai or in ‘five-star’ restaurants.

I have not written for sometimes because I couldn’t find a subject interesting enough coupled with being busy ‘cari makan’ – moving most of the time. But I was forced now because of a paper I have to present to Part 3 candidates this coming weekend. As always, and as of my other bad habit, I can’t just do one thing at a time. I read like two or three book at one time, moving from one book to another in different places at home or the office. Likewise when writing I move from one subject to the other, in different window. Likewise designing. No wonder clients complain we are rather slow.

Back to the subject of learning.

I met Dato P and To’ Puan yesterday morning at one gerai nasi dagang in Kuala Ibai. The gerai he said he preferred over the more famous Mak Ngah in Cendering for a simple reason; it is much more efficient. ‘Look’ he said, ‘they have the take-away readily packed in ‘kelongsong daun pisang’ and they served you faster. Oh, I didn’t notice that. Well, the nasi dagang may differ but no two nasi dagang taste the same anyway.

Weeks earlier, we had lunch at the new restaurant in town, Restoran Penyu at Bulatan Batu Bersurat (used to be Bulatan Penyu). With us was Ayah Ku. The Chinese fare was good, especially the ‘ikan siakap masak nyonya.’ During the meal, Ayah Ku called one of the waitress, ‘Mek, sambal belacan tak dok ke?’ ‘Tak dok’ she said, we served Chinese food, sambal belacan is not in our menu.’ ‘Tapi kalau ada sambal sedap lagi,’ Ayah Ku added.

Yesterday, when we had lunch there, I recalled the last lunch and ask the waitress, ‘sambal belacan ada?’

She went in and bring out a plate.

This one certainly adapted fast to satisfy their customer. Keep it up and they would go a long way I am sure. I, at least had a good laugh. Similarly, one owner of a gerai tomyam in Cendering became a good friend after I scolded him for asking what we (like ten of us) have eaten after we had cleaned up a large meal. The next time I asked him to ‘kira’ he came with a written bill. Both will be on my list of restaurants / gerai worth going to again.

Another friend had a ‘tissue’ encounter at the old gerai famed for ‘ikan patin masak tempoyak’ in Temerluh. Washing his hand he looked for serviette. None to be seen around. So he went to the counter to enquire. ‘Tissue ada?’ he asked. ‘Ada. Encik ni makan kat mana?’ the girl asked. ‘Sinilah’ he said. So the girl opened her drawer, pull out a piece of serviette. Not exactly one but one already cut to two. ‘Kenapa tak letak tissue dekat sinki?’ he asked. She said, ‘kalau letak situ, semua orang pakai, rugilah saya.’ Clearly furious at the answer, he said, ‘berapa harga tissue sebungkus? Tak pe. Se bungkus ni saya bayar. Awak letak dekat sinki tu. Saya sedekah. Untuk semua orang pakai.’ Turning around he remarked ‘ patutlah awak meniaga tak kaya-kaya, takut sangat nak bersedekah.’

This few anecdotes serves well to show me that successful people are not ordinary people. They live their lives unlike normal people who let things happen and the world passes by.

Those on the way to make it are special people too. They show their willingness to change and adapt and quickly at it.

Me? I don’t know. Really.

it’s R A Y A again

2006-10-23T11:39:00.000+08:00

It’s raya again. It’s that happy feeling. It’s immersing in the ‘rioh-rendah’, bising bangor’, ‘kacau-gege’. The sweet sound of children screaming, laughing (or is somebody crying?). It’s time when the eight house street is jam-packed with cars; of my family and that of my neighbors. And evenings of smoke laden air courtesy of free mercun and bunga-api.

Two grands, 14 children, 9 menantus and 20 cucus.

Everyone is here. Almost. Only Dibah and Julian and their kids Nabil and Aishah; and Bada and Azmi with their kids Arif, Haikal, and Mariam both coming home on the first day of Raya. And Jo of course, in India, after two weeks of buka puasa at home but forced to return because school break’s over.

Today, the last of the ’buka’, ayah will set the buffet early. Saw that he started the table arrangement at 9 this morning. Everyone must have a seat, the ‘kuca ghia’ included. It will be a big buffet as usual. As it was for years. As it was like forever.

Selamat Hari Raya.

of marketing art and puasa buffet

2006-10-19T23:42:00.000+08:00

I have one bad habit. I don’t like doing business with difficult people. There is one famous chicken rice stall in Batu Burok I don’t go anymore because the owner scolded me, saying ‘rugilah saya’ when I ordered a drink from the next stall and not wanting one from her juice machine.

In business, money change hand when a good or service is delivered. A done deal, face to face some people said. In Islam, when the trade and ‘akad’ performed. In Terengganu and elsewhere in Malaysia too these days, I see the seller saying ‘saya jual’ and the buyer saying ‘saya beli’ on the exchange. In Terengganu, even the Chinese shopkeepers practice this akad thing perhaps out of social norm.

I was in Shanghai recently. Because it was an urgent trip I had made all the arrangement through the internet, even paying everything, hotel and air ticket in advance by credit card. On the confirmation slip, all by e-mail, was stated, ‘no refund if changes to the itinerary made in less than 48 hours’ clearly. I was to stay for five days. Maybe I should note that the agent introduced by a friend was a Singapore based agent, specializing in business trips to China, handling business tour from Europe and Middle East mostly. So mostly they deal with Mat Sallehs and Pak Arab. A nice touch was that a Shanghai based agent handled everything, all the e-mails with even her hand phone number just in case you need it. Also stated, ‘if you are busy but still want to see Shanghai, we can arrange a day tour at USD 46 per pax.’ I had no idea how the Baroni Wanyuan Hotel would look like but it turn out to be a nice, sleek new hotel and the junior suite cheaper than KL Hilton’s deluxe room.

There, I had an urgent call for a meeting in Kuala Terengganu and I had to cut short my trip by two days. It was less than 48 hours away. Because I was busy and not having my laptop I had to use the business center at the hotel second floor. In the evening I e-mailed my itinerary change and went back to my room at the ninth floor. Already there was a message on the phone. It was well pass working hour but this one Miss Zoe, had responded and in less than fifteen minutes. What efficiency.

So it was when I get back to Kuala Terengganu, opened my e-mails and found one from Miss Zoe. Enclosed was a refund slips for the unused stay. I was pleasantly surprised. I had changed the itinerary in less than the stipulated time and not expected a refund. After all it was a contract and payment transacted. The explanation was sweet. ‘We would like you to use our service again, Sir. Would you come to Shanghai for the Formula One? We can make the all the arrangement.’

That in a nutshell is a class service. Compare it to this one I had just had .

I had booked for a 7 plus one child pax for buka puasa buffet at Hotel UiTM. When we got there the dining hall was hardly filled, some tables empty and some tables reserved but without the patron. On my group only six adults and a child turned up. I guess it was normal in Klang Valley, getting stuck in the traffic jam and missing the fasting break altogether. It was an okay dinner. Nothing particularly interesting but for the child singer and the often off-key elder singer singing some classic keroncongs on the stage. The interesting part came at paying time.

‘Encik, you must pay for all the eight pax’ said the girl at the counter. ‘But only seven came’ I protested. ‘You should have informed us when you arrived’ she insisted. ‘You didn’t mention that when I made the reservation’ I continued, trying my luck. ‘Sorrylah encik, saya cuma ikut arahan je’ (I am only following orders). She said looking down trying to avoid any eye contact. ‘ ‘Okay I’ll pay,’ I said, ‘but I want you to know that it’s not good for your business.’ So I paid and walked out.

I told myself, I am not coming back.

She, the girl at the counter in this case I think was just a student, being trained on the ropes of serving, etiquette, customer handling etc. I hope that they were not there training only to ‘serve’, clearing dirty dishes or collecting tabs, but the impression I get in that short minute was that. The students training for the front line should be trained on customer handling with other objectives, like making a customer happy even if it means getting out of the norms sometimes, marketing or encouraging customer to return, by saying things like, ‘I’m sorry about this but I hope I’ll see you dining here again’ or an eye contact or at least a smile. Perhaps they had been in this situation often they were retreating as a reaction. Macang k’ura (like a tortoise – retreating its head into its shell), a Terengganuan would say. Situation out of incomplete procedural control and total blur on how to make future sales. What is losing a RM39 for a pax if it could be translated in future business? What about training them to smile and say sorry? It doesn’t cost a cent and it certainly wasn’t meant as an apology. I am certain all marketing books talk about this point now. But then again they don’t read. Do they? The lecturers, not the students I mean.

Perhaps coincidently, there was a story about a three year old girl that successfully bid for a ‘Barbie’ car on the the E-bay for something like USD64000. Imagine the parents panicking. On E-bay rules are rules. After all rules are the only thing that can ensure fairness in a borderless world. But what was touching was the response of the seller when he knew of the mistakes. He said okay and placed the car back on the bid. He may have lost the sale he could have very well enforced and legally too, but he simply take it with a shrug and maybe a smile. In exchange for the understanding was a worldwide free publicity. It’s worth millions.

As a person, I will be talking about these experiences to others. It would be free marketing for the former and a bad publicity to the later. I am making the comparison because I see in the business world, even the one conducted in internet, devoid of real contact (no eye contact, no smiles exchanged), money making rules are being set aside by another better rules, market, market and market. They are refunding money that was contractually their right in exchange for future business. They are also (if you look it from another angle) turning marketing into an art. Some money making rules are placed to be conveniently set aside to make one looks good, for customers to feel appreciated and their delight transformed into future business. Saying things like ‘we normally charge you for this but since this is your first time with us / you are our important customer / the boss not here and I’m in charge /you’re very nice, I’ll waive the charge’ will go a long way.

In Hotel UiTM, they are yet to teach this, but I hope they will do so soon.

PS.
Sincere apology to Hotel UiTM for mentioning name. I wouldn’t do so if it wasn’t my alma mater and I’d like it’s graduate to be better. Oh, and a good discount sometimes.

2006-10-19T23:41:00.000+08:00

wisdom of a cab driver

2006-10-01T23:50:00.000+08:00

Allah bertanya, ‘ Berapa lamakah lamanya kamu tinggal di bumi?’ Mereka menjawab: ‘Kami tinggal (di bumi) sehari atau setengah hari, maka tanyakanlah kepada orang-orang yang menghitung.’ Allah berfirman: ‘Kamu tidak tinggal (di bumi) melainkan sebentar sahaja, kalau kamu mengetahui.’
[Al-Mu’minun 18:112-114]

Some gem of wisdom can be found in some unlikely place. This one from a cab driver on a ride from KL Sentral to Wisma Sejarah yesterday September 26.

I thought I was unfortunate, I had wanted a quiet ride after a long slow bus ride from LCT, but was greeted by an angry man instead. Angry as in talking out loud, venting his frustration at almost everything under the sun, like why the election ballot must be marked with an x (which to him means wrong or no) and not with right or yes, his frustration at Hishamuddin (maybe he thought I was a teacher or some education officer because I asked to be sent to the National Library), his funny belief that oscar and horse-car (kereta kuda) was the same English word, at JKR originally meaning Jagaan Kuda Raja before the British changing it to Jabatan Kerja Raya, at money (at a one ringgit note he was waving) for having value just because it has a dead king’s picture on it, etc.

But this conversation was a gem.

‘Kita ni masa lahir, orang azan kat telinga kita. Betul?’ (When we were born, an azan is proclaimed at our ear. Right?)

‘Uuhhh.’

‘Bila kita mati orang sembahyangkan. Betul?’ (When we die, people pray on us. Right?)

‘Uh…. Uuhhh.’

‘Nampak tak pendeknya umur kita?. Nampak? Dari masa azan sampai sembahyang je umur kita ni.’ (See how short this life is? See? Our life is no longer than the time between azan and prayer.)

Then the above verse of the Quran I came across this morning, kind of put it in a just perspective.

a 'leaking' fast (puasa yang bocor)

2006-09-25T15:23:00.000+08:00

The problem with anak bungsu is that they seems to be overly manja and they nag a lot. Sometime, with teary eye, its hard not to be pitiful. So disciplining them is quite a chore. Add their aunts and grandma as places they turn to when even Mak kept a straight face.

Today was the second day of Ramadan. Maybe because Ayah was around, Alan seems to behave at sahur, finished a plate of nasi goring with a tambah. Yesterday, he was teary eyed at sahur, trying to excuse himself from puasa and going to school. He couldn’t. When I got home though, he was happily playing with Imran and Mira, the two cousins. He seems so okay I asked if he fast. His answer, ‘Alan puasa. Tapi bocor.’ (I fast. But it leaks) Boy, it’s a new vocab I’m learning.

Apparently he held on until almost six. Not more than an hour before the break. That he said was ‘bagus lah tu’; considering the school kept them for a 2 hours assembly under the sun. I wonder what are the teachers doing these days. I knew they don’t learn anything the last two weeks. The exam over and school term has more than a month to end. No wonder the boys just refused to be in school. ‘Wak menda? Bukang belajo pong.’

We may seem like inhumane to deprive our children from the early age of six or seven to go without food, in training them to fast. Waking them up early for sahur and subuh prayer and sometimes going through the ‘sembahyang banyok’ (Alan’s description of solat terawih). That was the way we were brought up and hopefully they on their children too in the future. That way the basic discipline of ibadat can be cemented in their heart. ‘There is no compulsion in religion’ but there may be no religion if there is no compulsion in its adherence.

As for the young, we will continue to ask them, encourage them and force them. Even if we know there would a lot of ‘bocor’ in-between. After all, once we were young too.

one bedo'oh campaign

2006-09-23T10:42:00.000+08:00

TV doesn’t always make you laugh. But when it does, it is certainly hilarious.

I had a good laugh at the latest reading campaign, the ‘Bangsa Membaca Bangsa Berjaya’ advertisement. But don’t get me wrong, I was not at any time laughing at the concept or the urge to us all to be part of a nation of bookworms. I was only laughing at the lack of common sense or if I am to call spade a spade, the stupidity of it.

People reading on the park bench? Okay. Never mind if it is thirty over degrees out there.

People reading while walking in the mall? Still okay. Maybe they are going through the sales catalogues.

People reading in the LRT? Hardly seen but still plausibly okay. I hardly get a seat on LRT these days unless I want to do an 'Adlin' (of the other politeness campaign advert).

But people reading on the escalator? My goodness. It is exactly what Terengganuans would say as ‘bedo’oh!’.

[Bedo’oh, is Terengganu adaptation of Arabic ‘bidaah’, which literally means overdoing a good thing to the point it is becoming excessive and thus from Islamic perspective, forbidden]

I bet whomever did the advert don’t him or herself read. If he does, he would know that the ride on the escalator takes not much more than a minute, and you have to watch your steps, Watch as you step on to it, watch as the tread levels to the upper floor and carefully steps out. A misstep could cause you to fall and if you happen to fall backwards, cause others to go tumbling with you. That leaves you with just a fraction of a minute. So what can you read in that several seconds? Somebody has to tell the good doctor that reading on escalator is DANGEROUS.

Want another laugh? Check out the titles of the books they were reading.

This is the kind of thing that I think censorship board should do well to also look into. I said ‘also’ because this is the kind of bad influence that people should be protected from. Of course this ‘national agenda’ advertisement needed no censorship approval, but somebody approving it must have at least the basic decency to take a look at it.

Ah! Maybe they didn’t even look at it.

Maybe also they had a good look at it but didn’t realize that it was for a ‘reading’ campaign. Ha ha ….

The biography of Che and Nyang

2006-09-01T17:52:00.000+08:00

For sometimes, Alia has been asking me to write about the family lineage on both my and Yati’s side. In would not be an easy assignment because I have a tendency not to bother much about the so called ‘susur-galur’ (family-tree). To top it, I have a problem remembering the many names of the many ‘sedara-mara’ or as someone put it ‘sedara-broya’ (family of crocs ?).

Alia’s Aki, my ayah that is, (I have to note this because up till now Adlan still need a convincing about how an ayah can be aki vice-versa) came from Pekan, Pahang though he grew up in Kemasek. Wan, Alia’s grandma, my Mak, came from Losong, Terengganu. Nyang Man, Wan’s father (Alia’s great grandfather) left Losong to work as a driver first for Polis and later before the end of Emergency for Thong Aik Omnibus Company. It was in Kemasik that Aki and Wan met and married.

Further up the family tree, both sides of Wan and Aki claimed an interesting lineage history. Legend was the line from Wan’s side was from Hadralmaut (now Yemen), shipwrecked, saved by ‘ikan k’acang’ and miraculously delivered to the beach of Terengganu. The family claimed that it is a curse that any of the descendents is forbidden from eating that kind of fish as a gesture of gratefulness. Those that tried or inadvertently eaten one suffers a bad rash. The slight Middle-East blood was apparent that our nose ‘doklah kepek sangat’. On Aki’s side, the claim was that the family originated from Pagar Ruyung in Sumatera, a royal bloodline (albeit royal refugee) traced to Sang Sapurba of Bukit Siguntang. Aki Wel (Nyang Wel to Alia) would talk about this excitedly every time we nudge him into tale-telling perhaps trying to convince his skeptical ‘cucu’ of the history.

Let me keep only to the history to that I heard first hand.

Che and Nyang Man
Hajjah Wan Mandak binti Long (d. 1991) and Haji Abdul Rahman bin Awang (1913 – 1994)

Nyang Man, though born in Terengganu used to grow up in a palace in Pekan. The late Bonda Tuanku he claimed was his ‘bonda angkat’ and the effect of his stay in the vicinity of the palace, were quite visible in his manner. He ‘must’ be properly served at every meal. His plates must be neatly arranged in a ‘talam’ and I can still picture Che sitting ‘bertimpuh’ beside him, not eating together but ever ready to serve him, pouring the water to wash his hand, passing the cup and all that. And meal time must be a quiet time. We the ‘noisy’ cucus better be quiet or else. Nyang was also famed for his temper. ‘Bekeng’, we would say of him. But despite it all, he was a dotting grandfather, he would visit us every day without fail and there would always be some ‘roti bata’ or fruits and the occasional apples, grapes or oranges. Then, those were a luxury and expensive. So the apples must be sliced for everyone to share. His temper were sometimes downright scary that we chose to run away. I recall one day he lost his temper because we were making noise while he was eating. We were so scared that we sneaked away when he started praying. So sacred we didn’t even tell Che’ we were running home. Our house was like 2 kilometers away through a ‘jalan kampong’. Not long after we get home, we could hear his motorbikes and we hide. ‘Pah kuane budok-budok?’ he asked. Apparently when his temper subsided, he was worried of the missing cucus’. Being the only cucus, we had his full love. He would be mad at us one moment we must not be around, and the next moment he would miss us and took us home. Even with his meager bus driver salary, he would ensure that we would always have some pocket money. Even if it was just five sen. There would always be a ten ringgit gift, every time we went back to boarding school and later to universities. He would also ensure that there will always be a ‘duit raya seringgit’ for us all, even after we were working, because that is his ‘duit raya’ and that gift must be accepted even when we were already in his word ‘biar mung kaya doh pong’.

In his younger days, Nyang was a trader plying on ‘Perahu Besar’ between Terengganu and Patani to barter trade in rice. This trade he kept until the early days of Japanese occupation. When war ended, he joined the Police Force as a driver and moved to Dungun where he continued through part of the Emergency. He used to relate the many experience driving the Mat Salleh Tuans and Mems through communist infested Bukit Bauk, all the way to Fraser’s Hill in convoys guarded by the Ferret Scout car. The killing of Sir Henry Gurney in Fraser’s Hill (7th October 1951) he said, happened no long after one of his trip there. Fearful of the constant ambushes in the area of Bentung Pahang, Bukit Bauk Dungun and everywhere else then, he decided to leave the Police Force to be a civilian. His driving experience landed him the job as a bus driver with Thong Aik Omnibus, a job he kept till his retirement in 1971.

I have to make a research as to when Nyang and Che were married. But it would be interesting to note that it was an arranged marriage between ‘dua-tiga pupu’ - distant cousins. Wan was born at the end of war. Despite the seven children, Wan was the eventual ‘anak tunggal’ as others passed away at a very young age. Perhaps it was destined that we the 14 grandchildren would somewhat replaced his six early departed children, at least in making up the number of the cucus he might otherwise had.

When we were staying in Kampung Padang Polis, Nyang was working as a bus driver and Che was next door to our house running a little sundry shop. Perhaps it was that business exposure, ‘helping to count money’ (ha ha…) that put me a business now. That shop I recall, was most memorable for being the stop for the traveling Clorox entourage. Tens of small cars (was it Austins), a blaring van with speaker horn and ladies in white uniform. There were also the Dumex tour where my mother would exchange coupons with plates and dishes and the ‘Minyak Afiat’ sales van with a very catchy jingle. Almost daily also the lorry from the sundry supplier or the ‘bottlers’ (air lamnet and later F&N) would stop by to deliver supply and I got to help choose the ‘goods’ – biskut cotek, biskut lapis, biskut kapek. One incident I would never forget was when my brother, Ajik, then about the age of five, ran to the very middle of the road, stood up and raised his hand to the incoming traffic. It was pure commotion. Che, and everyone else was screaming. And a lorry, the bottlers lorry, screeched to stop. The lorry was thankfully slowing down to stop at the shop. Otherwise it would have been a tragedy. The next day, a timber fence went up around the house.

Che’ used to tell stories about the era of her childhood. One was about the first plane she ever saw. Once, an amphibious plane landed in the Sungai Terengganu near Losong. The whole village was thrilled with such amazing bird. Many including her father took a boat and rowed near to the plane. Excited, she hopped on board. ‘Tapi Che dok tengok menda satu pong, che’ n’usuk dalang perahu, t’takuttang.’ she said laughing, The next time, planes appeared, she related, it was the Japanese Imperial Army bombing the fuel depot in Pulau Kambing. For that she became fearful of planes right up to her old age.

Of Che. I recalled her as a quiet and graceful lady. An exact opposite to Nyang but nevertheless a perfect companion. In her, I see pure strength. How else could she accept losing six children and carried on with life full of gratitude. I remembered once she told me of her dream she had after the lost of her last child, a boy at the age of six. She was so depressed and lost. Until one day she had a beautiful dream. In her dream, she saw a chariot in the sky. On the chariot waving to her was the Prophet. It was I think the greatest gift she ever had and she always said to me that she believed that in the day of judgement, all her children will be waiting for her at the gate of Paradise.

May they both be blessed by Allah and remembered forever in the prayer of us grand and great grandchildren of them. Al-Fatihah.

mail, e-mail and sms

2006-08-27T01:19:00.000+08:00

Oh, I love the way we now communicate. If we refuse to see someone face to face, send sms. And it doesn’t matter if you were an MP, Director of Custom or a diva. The use of sms seems infinite. You can use it to make Mawi a millionaire, send a ‘brand new City vs second-hand Tiara’ jokes, offer ‘massage’ service or threaten somebody. When someone had used the sms to ‘talak’ his wife, I wonder if he can use it also to say ‘aku terima nikahnya’ so and so. And if you were better equipped, like having a ‘communicator’, O2 or a ‘blackberry’ (or the old-fashioned’ lap-tops) send an e-mail. I say lap-tops are old-fashioned because only salesmen (ha ha ha….) lug them around these days. The convenience of the IT technology allows people like me to work something at home or wherever, post it on the internet and when I get to the office, download and continue. But old habits (laziness) is something hard to change. Kalu malah tu malah gok. Even if the government pays for your latest Nokia. I used to keep up with the technology, used to use an O2 but when one day the battery goes jeng and caused a memory wipe-out, I decided to ditch it and went back to a primitive 6230. My staff in particular are happy because my sms instructions are now shorter.

Used to be we send messages by postmen at the post office. Only then, we call them letters. If the messages need to be delivered urgently there was the telegram. (Well Alia, I know you have never seen one but when I was in boarding school like you now, there was a thing call telegram money order and it was a real life-saver.) Posmen rides a red bicycle and goes around delivering letters or the occasional parcel. That image was immortalized in the textbooks of that era.

In Kemasek, there wasn’t even a post office until the late 70’s. We had a wakil pos at a Kedai Haji Salleh. There was a red post box in front of the shop and in the shop was a post counter. You can get your stamps there. Then, stamps wasn’t meant for posting letters only. We kids had a saving program called kad simpanan setem pejabat pos or something like that. Every five cents you saved gets you a stamp that you paste on a card. Once you collected 20 stamps or a ringgit, bring the card to post office and have your deposit recorded in Buku Simpanan Pejabat Pos. Because there was no post office in Kemasek, a full card gets me a trip to Kerteh for the deposit. There were cards for ten cents and twenty cents stamps but with a ten cents a day pocket money, five cents stamp was all we could afford. I have lost the Buku Simpanan but I believe like the thousands of my generations, there were still some balance in them stuck in the unclaimed money fund. But at least those remaining few ringgits now helps finance the nation.

When I was small, I was amazed at how letters were delivered. I had for a long time believed that letters dropped in the post box would find its way through an underground pipe line or something and wallah find its way to the postmen at the other end. Funny eh? Yes, funny, because I believed that until I was seven or eight.

My seven year old son? He can already figure out the wireless network to play his internet game.

menda gok standad standad ning?

2006-08-23T17:46:00.000+08:00

Once again, somebody are making noise. Malaysian universities failed to make it in the top 500 universities in the world. That is by the Shanghai Jiao Tong Top 500 World Universities Ranking. Who is the Shanghai Jiao Tong? I have no idea but I know for sure that name will surface again same time next year. We are so desperate for ‘world’ recognition, don’t we? Solution? Surely we can repeat a resemblance to Malaysian Book Of Record. Move over, Guinness! Get it?

Not that many days ago too, the press had a field day attacking the poor ‘sweetheart’ Syarifah Amani. Some ‘Persatuan Melayu’ from north even calls for her to be stripped of her award. Pity her. Pity Faizal too. Soon the ‘persatuan’ will ask Astro to strip the AF Juara from him because he can only speak Melayu with plenty of ‘g’. ‘Saya tuju kang kemenangang saya ini kepada peminak-peminak saya……’ He said something like that on the podium that night. Did he not?

All the ruckus we make, especially in the national papers, are really not worth the print space. It seems that we dwell on the issue like to ‘lepah gerang’ (lepas geram – standard Melayu). Or do we ‘lepah gerang’ because of the pent-up frustration we have been harboring within? Phew! Some ‘frustration’ we do have inside, it seems.

I remember the earliest time of standard or ‘piawaian’ when crash helmet law was introduced some ages ago. It soon set the people talking about standards, standard this and standard that. ‘Hok ni standad, hok ni dok’ they would argue. ‘Aku tahulah hok ni dok standad, tak dok cok siring’. Oh’ its SIRIM for the uninitiated.

Then we had another ‘standard’ invasion. Malaysia adopted the SI (System Internationale) system of measurement. Kain se ela is now sold se meter. Gula sekati became gula se kilo. No more kaki, inci or ‘hung’, its now millimeter, centimeter and meter. Batu (miles) became kilometer. And batu jalan (milestone) became ….?

Then came the standard Sistem Ejaan Bahasa Melayu. No more ‘2’ to represent plurals as in buah2. It was to be buah-buah. No more ‘e-tanda’ and no more apostrophe at the end of a Dato’. Don’t they linguists know how difficult it is to differentiate between perak (silver) and perak (stupid) when you couldn’t pronounce the e and e-tanda correctly?

For us professionals, we were told that to be world class, we have to be accredited with ISO and for that we have to pay a bundle. Standardizing creativity and artistic sensitivity? Come on! We know it’s about making money. For somebody else at least.

If only we came to our senses and know that we can’t bring everything to uniformity we could know that we need not live by other people’s standards. More importantly we could learn to accept mistakes and the imperfection of others. We could laugh at the ‘stupid(ity)’ of Amani, ‘senyung sokmo’ a la Faizal, and preserved the beauty of our (old fashioned) language. If we can live not by the standards of others, not even the Shanghai Jiao Tong, or some standard of ‘malay-ness’ as proclaimed by any ‘persatuan’ or the ISO, we would be much open and tolerant. And we could save a lot of money, or print space in the newspaper.

After all, in our way of saying it we can always quip, ‘Menda gok standad standad ning?’

games we used to play

2006-06-28T12:43:00.000+08:00

My children, especially Amir and Adlan, and Atin too, have been pestering me without success for years now to get them the PS 2. Or is it now PS 3? But even without it, they have been playing online. When they met their friends, the subject now was ‘Runescapes’ and the treasures, magic potions, weapons or extra lives they had. Apparently they have been playing and chatting on the free channel for sometimes now. And, they have their own ‘skype’ accounts too.

In our days, computer games were unheard of. Even the computer was unheard of. The closest to it, the calculator, I only get to own in the university in 1981. The idea of computer, my earliest memory of it was from a Disney movie, ‘Computer Wear Tennis Shoe’ they used to screen in Hargraeves Hall. The closest real computer I get to see was at my first job (Mas Othman Associates 1984) but the first I got to play with was the Siemen Nixdorf in ITM Computer Lab (1986). Then you even have to take off your shoes before entering the lab. Such a valuable piece of equipment. In UTM earlier (1981) computer lesson was about the punch card. Stacks of them – for just a simple calculation.

In the younger days, games means something that you must first make before you can play with. It also means having to go out to the bush or to the rubber plantation or the river or the beach to get the right materials. Some you gather from wastes before the term ‘recycling’ was even coined. All the games I knew must be played with others. None I can recall that you can enjoy alone. And playing with others could also means it ended with a fight, g’ocoh, g’omo and the likes.

Believe me, the games we played were rather technically difficult to make. Now, I’m not sure I can make them again. Only recently I tried making the ‘sunai daun nyor’ (coconut leave whistle) but couldn’t make a sound out of it. Now, I don’t think I can make a ‘bedil buluh cina’ that can explode, or ‘kipas buah getah’ that can spin or ‘senapang kayu’ that can shoot the ‘peluru pelepah nyor’. The kites, that’s impossibly difficult.

Maybe somebody who still has the skill can organize a workshop and I’d be happy to join.

To be continued.

[salam to chech-mak and ck for dropping the notes. just noticed them. thanks]

gege, g’ego and g’ogeh

2006-06-20T23:33:00.000+08:00

Now is the time of the world cup. It’s simply out of synch not to write anything about it. But that is the problem. When you talk you can’t write. The finger can’t type when you mouth’s gege.

Gege is to describe when one is making noise, usually loudly at something non-issue. ‘Ho nye gege bak Ronaldo dok leh sko go. Die tu reti bile maing bola?’ (What’s he so noisy about Ronaldo not scoring goals. When was he any good at football?)

To gege is to make the headlines? Close.

G’ego is Terengganu for ‘gegar’, meaning shake, shaken, vibrate, pulsate etc. Also literally describe commotion or turmoil. Something that kicks a fuss. ‘Bak pe nye lok Tun M wak kenyataang gitu. G’ego Pok Loh. Habih seme gege kene royak sokong sape.’ (Why let Tun M make that kind of statement. Pak Lah is shaken. Everyone has to loudly now show whose side they now support.) Oops. The statement may has something to do with the current scenario and years from now when my children ask me about that statement, I’ll say, ‘Go google the history.’ If you now google the headlines you will notice that when the world cup started, all the gege of the APs, Proton, Augusta and the scenically (or ‘cynically’ - depending on which side of the causeway you were) crooked bridge seems to quieten considerably. Guess it takes one gege to silence another.

Back to the world cup.

Surely you notice that when players walk in to the pitch, they touch the grass? Notice the goalkeeper running to the end field and shake the woodworks? Ritual or asking the goalpost to be on their side? Seen how many time the woodworks g’egor when hit by the ball? Even Kaka would swear the woodwork was on the Australian's side. See the agony on their face? My point exactly.

To shake is ‘ogeh’. Maybe the goalie just wants to be certain the post sturdy. Dok g’ogeh.

As far as Pak Lah, the papers today headlines MTs’ undivided loyalty. Then he has nothing to worry. He is already politically rock steady it seems. In Terengganu slang, ‘tolok dok d’egih’

budu, caviar and sepat pekasam

2006-06-17T13:31:00.000+08:00

I admit, I watch Akademi Fantasia too. I can’t be sure why. Maybe I just love seeing the misery of the students kicked-out. Never mind their off-key vocal, after all they are just students. I didn’t catch the recent one but was quite disappointed when Atin told me Karen, the ‘amoi’ from Kota Baru was dismissed. That ‘mek’ has quite a good voice (I watched the first concert rerun). They say the boyfriend giving her budu on stage sealed her fate. Was it the ‘boyfriend’ or the ‘budu’?

Budu is the special treat of the East Coast – both Kelantan and Terengganu and wherever their diaspora can be found. Those from the west coast that jokes about it are simply those that have not tasted it. Once you do, you could end up a ‘convert’. When teased, a lady at Pasar Siti Khadijah in Kota Baru had this to say, ‘Abe-abe jange gura bak budu ning, kene sekali ke, nikoh mek Kelate.’ (You guys don’t joke about this budu , once hooked you’ll be courting Kelantan girl to marry). But that, that hooks the guys - was it the budu or ‘mek Kelate’?

For us Terengganuan, budu is taken sparingly as a ‘cicah’ for ‘ikang panggang’ or ‘daging bakar’ – sometimes with a dash of tempoyak and ‘lada jarum’ (cili padi for you orang luar). The convert (my other half - Yati, included) use it as ‘kuah’ (gravy). A friend of mine, a chef-lecturer in UiTM had it in sandwich, mind you, while in England.

Budu is simply preserved anchovies in salt. My father use to make it for our own consumption. In the good ‘bilis’ season, he would buy a basketful of bilis, clean it thoroughly, mix it with salt, place in jar and store. After about a month, the anchovies meat break down to liquid and budu is made. The ‘hampas’ – heads, bones etc settles at bottom of jar. We Terengganuan don’t eat the hampas but the converts do, even as sandwich spread like my good friend. The secret to better budu is the modification; add some ‘menisang’, and ‘asam gelugor’. Can’t reveal too much though.

I believe with proper marketing, say like product placing in James Bond movies, the budu can rub shoulder with caviar one day. After all, you see the caviar factory in Bond’s 1999 The World Is Not Enough and still you yearn for its ‘class’ness. Alan wanted to try caviar so much (pengaruh wayang le tu) he belched at it the first time at the sushi bar.

My father makes ‘ikan jeruk’ too, in the good season preparing for the ‘musing hujang’ or the monsoon when nobody goes out to fish. In the seventies, the only lauk you can get during monsoon was ikan masin, ikan jeruk or the rare ikan sardin. Making it is much simpler , just plenty of salt and a ‘tempayan’ required. Place 3 inches thick salt at the bottom of the tempayan, place the fish, top up another 3 inches of salt. Repeat until the tempayan is full.

The better of the preserved fish must be the sepat pekasam. My mother in law, made them from sepat caught in the ‘bendang’ when it dries up. Unlike ikan jeruk that is preserved in salt, sepat pekasam is preserved in fermented rice. I don’t know the technicality but the sepat pekasam fried with sliced onion and bawang surely up your ‘selera’ several notches. ‘Mak T’tua lalu depang pun dok sedor weh…’

Of Kelantanese market girls - I’ll pen it next time.

the last great blackout

2006-06-11T23:55:00.000+08:00

‘Gelak-guguk’ a Terengganuan would say. Pitch black darkness. It tells not only of having no light whatsoever but of the state of mind, total darkness, clueless, bewildered and lost, not even a glint of hope. And so in that state we rejoice at the flicker of light. For light is freedom. In light we would be ‘terang-derang’ – basked in light. Gelak-guguk is felt when one's black-out, when one fainted due to stress or heat or extreme exhaustion, the same felt when news was censured and prevented from being even told. In the matter of the power black-out happening some 10 years ago, we were now told that we were not told everything or anything at all. There was the (news) blackout and we were for long kept in the dark, gelak guguk.

This is an interesting time for those of us that enjoy the freedom to say things we want to say. We blog in the cyberspace not wanting or even intending to hurt anyone. We did that (the hurting) much too much already in the real world. I say this is an interesting time because the battle of words is taking place among the greatest man of modern Malaysia, ex-PM Tun Mahathir against all that he was against, and it seems to bring to life all his once quiet nemesis. Within a space of mere days we had people like former TNB Chairman, Tan Sri Ani Arope talking about the 1996 IPP agreements, former high court judge Datuk Syed Ahmad Idid Syed Abdullah, talking about his 1996 ‘resignation’ and a couple more smaller voices, from the past - cabinet ministers included. The fact that they were now talking seems to suggest the undoing of a gag that had lasted a decade. And we quietly wish that it would also lift from us the shroud that has for long veiled us from the happenings in this beloved country. We hope that the revelation will bring the light that will end the blackout.

It seems now that the blackout on 29th September 1992, was an event that leads to many things; another blackout in June 1995, and the blackout we now must impose on ourselves now the TNB tariff had gone up. Many things had been up recently, petrol, interest rates, construction materials, car prices (the luxury ones) and my own blood and cholesterol levels, but that because I am older.

Of course we can all listen to our DPM and change our lifestyle. I’ll settle for the 5 series, not the 7. The new Harrier looks good too. Ha….ha.

This is not a political blog and it would never be. It is only a record of what happened then in my ‘parallel universe’.

In all the great blackouts, I was by chance spared the agony of being trapped in jam or in the unconditioned office.

I remember 29th September 1992 well because it was the day I had to move house and had to handle everything myself, depending only on my car and no help from any of my office mates who had promised to help. I was staying at 31 Jalan Bangau Shah Alam and moving to a bungalow at No 6 Jalan Petalawati, both in Section 6. It was a bewildering moments because phones can’t be used, and nobody knew what was happening. There was none to ask either because it was a working day. It was only later at night when electricity was reconnected we learnt of the great blackout. And what a blackout it was. That kind of helplessness of not knowing what was happening was not unlike the days of ‘Chow Kit’s Adam’ and I was wildly wondering if there was another tragedy. Well, 1992 wasn’t that far from the year of uncertainty.

The next blackout in June 1995, I was already in Terengganu. And Terengganu was spared the blackout because of Kenyir Power Station.

So we all hope that there’ll be more news, good news I mean. Let there be light. So from the ‘gelak-guguk’ we would be in ‘terang-derang’. And the last great blackout would be the last.

train ride

2006-06-03T08:18:00.000+08:00

Only 'orang Teranung' have the honour of coming from the only state in Malaysia without train service. It wasn’t really true because once upon a time there used to be one train plying between Bukit Besi and Sura in Dungun. More about it later.

Now when I’m in KL, I hardly drive. Eleven years of jam-free driving in Kuala Terengganu kind of make me paranoia of the long un-moving queues. Of course I don’t mind being driven around even in a jam. It’s a glee (geli?) watching them in the cars around you putting on make-ups, eating sandwich, reading newspaper, talking, smiling, arguing to themselves (oh… on the cellphone maybe) or snoring away. I mean the drivers.

So when in KL, I parked my car, walked across to Setiawangsa LRT station and took a ride everywhere the line can possibly take me. With LRT, I made Sentral’s Strudel as my favourite meeting place. It seems that most clients and consultants don’t mind the train ride there. And meeting with a good sandwich and coffee as company surely beat the cramped meeting rooms and the hours wasted looking for parking bays. And there’s always a choice of mamak fare or the yuppy-ish Hilton/Meridian upstairs.

Train ride changes the way I attend to business. I now would rather don short sleeve shirt, jeans and sneakers. Rucksack replaced the briefcase. I guess at this late age, you don’t care about making a good (or should I say goody-goody) first impression anymore. After all we architects have the ‘artistic license’ to dress differently. And with higher electricity bills, it's time to wardrobe the suits away.

Train rides now include the ERL to KLIA. Its 28 minutes travel time permits me to push my meeting to end just in time. No more have I to make the excuse of leaving the meeting at four to catch the flight at seven-thirty. Okay, I still do that to get away when the meeting was boring and dragging. You know, those young project managers talk too much and spent too much time in meeting room rather than be on site in the mud or climbing the scaffoldings like we do. In Terengganu, we call these meeting room managers, ‘teng kosong’ (empty cans). Put a stone in a tin can, shake it and the noise is loud. Fill it to the brim, shake it, it make no noise at all.

And in KL, there’s also the monorail and the KTM Komuter.

For ‘budak koleq’, those train rides on the Ekspres Sinaran Pagi would hold a thousand memories.

Keretapi Bukit Besi was a far cry from the clean, sleek electronic trains of today. I’m not sure if it was run on diesel or charcoal, but we had fun chasing it to board as it moves out from Sura Gate. And your white shirt ended black when you get to Bukit Besi.

someone noticed this blog. really?

2006-06-03T08:08:00.000+08:00

This is a good moment. It’s 1.43am June 3, 2006. I’m home alone. Yati and the kids gone for their Kedah holiday. I can’t sleep so I switched on my laptop and surf the blog. On Mcoba website, under ‘koleq’s blog’ was a link to this weblog. At the end of it was a figure 83 hits. I wasn’t sure if the hits were through mcoba site or on my blog which could mean the accesses I made to update the blogs which mean nobody else reading it.

But at least I can now tell Alia, ‘See. Someone’s now reading my blog too you know…..’

soh, dok soh and soh doh

2006-05-28T02:42:00.000+08:00

I am one of those (ok, maybe the only one) who uses the mosque especially between the time of maghrib and isya to sit in such a quiet place and in the company of such quiet people. Sometimes when I didn’t fall asleep, I listened to the tok gurus or learn to read the Quran. I admit that I slept a lot while waiting for prayer and listened to maybe some bits and pieces of the teachings, but I guess those bits and pieces if I could properly put to practice is better than having a huge amount of knowledge that I don’t bother to practice. After all my old ustaz told me that if I entered the mosque with niat iktikaf, I get some pahala even if I were sleeping. And I tell you those short sleep are really deep and refreshing sleep. For those who have stress and insomnia, may I suggest the mosque as a remedy? You only need to see the amount of blissful sleep the congregations get during Friday sermon to agree with me. The same remedy is good for some mental block or writer’s block too.

My lepak time in the mosque helped to educate a jahil person like me considerably. At least during those fiqh (spelt fekah in Bahasa) lecture I get to learn something that is soh or dok soh especially in the matter of rituals – prayer, fasting etc.

I remember a soh dok soh joke from my younger days.

Once there were four Chinese mualaf. They stopped by a mosque to pray. The prayer time had passed so they had to pray by themselves. One was appointed the imam. These four were recent convert and not really versed in the aspects of rituals but they tried their very best to fulfill the obligations. Mualaf 1 became the imam. Soon after the takbir a mosquito bit Mualaf 2 on the arm. He gave a slap. Pang. Mosquito’s dead. Soon the bite became itchy and he started to scratch. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Mualaf 3 remembered his feqah lesson. He whispered to Mualaf 2. ‘Jangan garu, dok soh sembahyang.’ (don’t scratch. Your prayer’s nullified) Mualaf 3 remembered that one cannot talk in prayer so he too whispered, ‘ Shhh…. jangan cakap. Dok soh sembahyang.’ (Shhh…. Don’t talk. Your prayer’s nullified) Mualaf 1, the imam heard the whispering at the back. Thankful at Mualaf 3 reminder, he whispered, ‘Mujur aku dok cakap.’ (lucky I didn’t say a word).

tahi minyak gaul nyor

2006-04-28T14:41:00.000+08:00

I had quite a late supper a few days ago. With me was Yati, Abang Hadi, Medal and his side-kick from our Kota Baru office. Talks went from the RM 45 ‘nasi dagang’ to the best ‘nasi himpit’. For many of us, nasi himpit is taken with satay, either in the form of ketupat or the actual compressed rice or rice cake. The gravy would be the grounded groundnut in spicy curry.

Then Abang Hadi began to relate about the exclusive nasi himpit served at his home during raya. This nasi himpit comes not with gravy but with ‘sambal nyor’ or finely grated coconut lightly fried with a right mix of shredded fish. For that kind of nasi himpit, I too have something to add. In my days Che’ my grandmother used to make nasi himpit with ‘sambal tahi minyak’ or ‘sambal nyor’ mixed with a little of the tahi minyak. Even alone tahi minyak mixed with a little sugar can be a good sambal not only for nasi himpit but normal rice too.

For the uninitiated, tahi minyak is a by-product of making cooking oil from santan or coconut milk.

Before palm oil was introduced, we had depended on coconut as a source of cooking oil. That simple home-grown technology ensure that all the coconuts are used and not wasted under tree when it’s old and fallen off. Coconut cooking oil was then sold in big cans and sold measured in a small laddle with a long thin handle. Honestly, I have not seen the instrument again for over like thirty years and I do not know if I could describe it well enough.

Well, producing coconut oil is not really technology. A know how maybe. To make the cooking oil, santan is kept overnight before being placed in a cauldron and boiled over a wood stove. The boiling goes for hours for the santan to change from milk to oil. After a certain temperature or time the change took place and such was described as ‘pecah minyak’ (breaking off oil). This you can observe when cooking ‘gulai’ or curry. I had a nasty experience not to mention embarrassing to my guest when an 8 ringgit a bowl cendol tasted like coconut oil at a premier hotel in Kenyir. The cook must have cooked the not so fresh santan for the cendol to the point the santan was boiled it ‘pecah minyak’.

The separation of oil left behind residues we call tahi minyak. Its oily and a little ‘hangit’ but taste quite distinctively. Mix it with grated coconut and it makes an unbelievably fine ‘sambal’ dish.

Tahi minyak was also a term to describe someone whose word is rather believable and entertaining but can’t be relied on. So when he’s superfluously described as tahi minyak gaul nyor, (tahi minyak mixed with grated coconut) he goes up one higher level. He‘s one smooth operator.

Nasi disaji pula digaduhkan, padi di ladang dilanyak gajah tidak disusahkan

2006-04-07T01:31:00.000+08:00

Nasi disaji pula digaduhkan, padi di ladang dilanyak gajah tidak disusahkan

( a rare Malay proverb – literally translated as ‘rice served questioned, rice (paddy) field trampled by elephant ignored)

In a rare instant, one frail lady caught the attention of national press to the extend of gracing the front page for days and an editorial. She was a makcik I fondly nick-named ‘makcik bersila’ – the Che Ngah Nasi Dagang of Chendering Terengganu. I called her so because she served Nasi Dagang sitting ‘bersila’ on a stainless steel platform. And bersila for her is kind of distinctive because in Terengganu women were supposed to be bersimpuh. I also knew her personally because I frequented her stall often, and her architect grandson used to work for me. For that I get VIP treatment at her stall – like getting free ‘kerapah’ - the extra that the fish head was supposed to be after the meat all ‘cobek’-ed away.

In Kemasek when I was small, there was the famous nasi dagang Che Ngah Dayang. I frequented her stall almost every morning to collect the nasi dagang bungkus for sale at my father’s canteen. When we were in the university and later working in KL, the holiday home would not be complete without a breakfast of her nasi dagang even if it meant queuing at her ‘lambor’ in the early morning. Che Ngah Dayang had a similar style with Che Ngah Cendering. They both served their nasi dagang ‘bersila’. You need to ‘kecek’ her for the extra ‘kerapah’ and she would fondly joke ‘Che Ngah tahu doh mung nok kerapah, Che Ngah wi lah. Tapi jangang makang banyok sangat ‘pala ikang, kang bodo.’ (I know you want the head and bones, I’ll give to you. But don’t eat too much fish head, it can make you dumb.)

I love nasi dagang. Yes, my mother make the best one but it’s by invitation only. Next (not in any particular order) would be Che Ngah in Cendering, Kak Pah in Batu Burok, Haji Yeng in Kuala Ibai or Nasi Dagang Batu Enam. I like it so much that even if I heard of a good nasi dagang in KL or elsewhere I would make it a point to try.

I don’t want to talk about the issue of her RM45.00 fish head because it was already so much debated. But if my opinion is worth anything, I don’t think that the RM 1000.00 compound was fair. For a petty trader like her, a thousand ringgit was h-u-g-e

And if this so called price control is allowed to go, soon we’ll hear the enforcement officer imposing fines on the ‘kopi Hai-Peng’ in Cukai, ‘cendol’ trader at Taman Tun, the 'popia' seller at Lucky Garden or the ‘sup torpedo’ at Jalan Doraisamy. Because they all have something in common, their’s were more expensive than others. Perhaps the enforcement officer should include Coffee-Bean and Starbucks too.

And if the enforcement goes on, we would one day be forced to have only a standard priced ‘mi-segera Mawi’ – at all our favorite stalls.

I do not know what our great friend from Putrajaya has achieved by reporting Che Ngah, make her a subject of national debate, but the proverb I use as the title above I guess fits his action.

lok, lok lek and lok lik

2006-04-03T14:04:00.000+08:00

Lok, in Terengganu slang means to let, not to bother, couldn’t care less or anything similar.

‘Bakpe mung lok adik mung makang beluah tu?’

(Why let your brother messing up with the food?).

‘Loh gi lah, doh mung bijok sangak aku lok je lah.’

(Up to you, since you are so smart, I don’t want to bother.’)

To ‘lok’ could also meant to let the world passes you by. Or to some extend a reflection of apathy.

‘Ho. Nye lok belake. Minyok naik ke, berah naik ke, lok je. Tak dok nok ca’ra pong.’

(‘Huh. They just let it be. The oil price is up, rice price is up, no one bother. No one even care.’).

If ‘lok’ is apathy, ‘lok lek’ describe a state of indecision or fickle mindedness.

‘Nok gerok guane? Bos lok lek, lok lek nok buak putusang. Kita nok buak putusang kang dia dok setuju pulok.’

(‘How to move on? The boss is still undecided. If we decide for him, he might not agree with it.’)

Lok-lik?

That has nothing in common with lok and lok lek.

Lok-lik is a delicacy. A rare one made of dried rice. The older generation must have perfected the art of recycling. Rice, the cooked not the uncooked one, from the balance of our meal were dried in the sun for several days rather than thrown to the waste bin. In fact nothing goes to the waste bin. The balance of rice is kept as ‘nasik dinging’ (overnight rice) that makes a good late night supper or morning breakfast. And any ‘nasi goreng’ connosieour will swear that the best ‘nasi goreng’ must use the ‘nasi dingin’. The waste rice goes to the chicken. The sun-dried rice is later pounded in ‘lesung’, mixed with ‘menisang’ or 'gula melaka' and then stir-fried. Something else (I don’t know what) is added to make it a bit sticky. That cake is called ‘lok-lik’ - a sticky sweet and crunchy delicacy.

Ever heard someone saying ‘mek tu lok lik’ sikit (that lady’s a little ‘lok lik’)?

Oh, he meant she‘s deliciously sweet but a little errr… sticky.

watching tv

2006-02-21T03:33:00.000+08:00

In a small village like Kemasek, television came late, only sometimes in the 70’s. The first television was bought by Tokeh Ah Sa, the village big fishing man, the ‘taiko’ of fishing industry, with his own fleet of fishing boats, ice making facility and lorries. Stories told that the tv was bought when he strikes big on the ‘nombor-ekor’. In his ‘bangsal’ fresh fish were packed with ice in wooden boxes and the waste of the fishing industry, ‘anak ikan’ (small size fishes) as we call it were boiled and later dried under the sun together with the dried salted types. The smell of the ‘bangsal’ was nauseating. When television made its way to this village to Tokeh Ah Sa, the ‘bangsal’ became a cinema of sort. The smell of dried fish became oblivious. In Kampung Baru, where Aki and Che lived, the first television was owned by an enterprising Malay businessman (Pak Cik Jakpo I think) who operated a transport business. He was truly enterprising, that he placed the television at the window, built rows of benches on the ground among the coconut tree and had a ‘mi-goreng’ and ‘keropok’ stall set up.

Until the television, movies came to our village like three times a year, sometimes by ‘van jabatan penerangan’ (information department’s van), or by the traveling Nestle or tobacco company motorcade. Of Jabatan Penerangan, I recall the drama ‘Atap Genting Atap Rembia’ and the propaganda interlude in-between, of the cigarette company, some cheap spaghetti-western cowboy kill red indian flick. Those were the era of Rough-riders and ‘tiga-lima’ cigarettes. Camel and Marlboro were unheard of till a decade later.

There were few then who could afford a set. Those who do found their house as unofficial cinema especially on Thursday evening when Malay movies particularly of P.Ramlee or Mat Sentul were aired. How we laugh at their antics.

For us, there was no television at home. So TV viewing became a reward of sorts. Behave and you get to go to Che’gu Zaid’s house and watch TV – once a week at the most. But we have our favorite like Ultraman. Yes we had that on Saturday at 7pm. To watch that we had to sneak away making excuse of going to the grocery (Pak Li had a TV at his shop then) or delaying our bath at the well till Maghrib and risk the cane or the belt.

Then came ‘SINGER’ with its motto ‘menawan keluarga bahagia’ (capturing the happy family). In later years I joked that SINGER kept the happy family captive with its never-ending installment payment. It was they who until then were selling sewing machines that revolutionize TV ownerships. The sales promotion were good, salesmen make house calls and once you signed the agreement have the TV delivered. Then come the installment collection. Many a time hearts were broken when the sets were carted away for non-payment. Then also was the time when the TV license man came calling, like once or twice a year to find the whole village scrambling to hide their sets away.

Those were the years of TV1 and TV2 and in black and white too.

Color TV came at the time of Hussein Onn as the Prime Minister. It was at Cikgu Zaid’s house that I remember waiting eagerly for the TV to change from black and white to colour as the PM officiate the transition. Well Cikgu Zaid had a colour TV way before others.

Today, there are many-many channels to click at the remote. Soon there’ll be many more. The favorites of the yesteryears are now a part of a classic channel. But something remains the same. Our children love the new Ultraman, and best of it all, we are still laughing at Mat Sentul and P. Ramlee.

kemasek (part 1)

2006-02-20T21:20:00.000+08:00

Kemasek was the little village I was born in and enjoyed for some twelve years before I got shipped to MCKK. It was once an important little town, with a courthouse of its own, a forestry station and a local council. It was the capital of the once Majlis Tempatan Kemaman Utara.

Now, Kemasek was a village lost somewhere between Kijal, famed for its ‘lemang’and Kerteh the oil town. It is a little village on the seaside road one can’t really recall passing. Soon, there will be a highway to Terengganu, cutting through the hinterland. Few will use the seaside road and pass by its decaying village. And it will be all forgotten.

Despite its insignificance, it was a beautiful village with a beautiful beach. The very beach that was once immortalized in the movie ‘Fenomena’ starring M.Nasir and Ramona Rahman. The scene of the foaming waves breaking on the rock outcrops beautifully captured on the screen was the scene I held dear in my heart. How every school holidays, I climbed up Bukit Taping just to be if lucky at eye level with the eagles and to see the white waves below.

Kemasek, to me, lies between two rocky seaside hills. On the south, Bukit Kuala Kemasek and in the north, Bukit Taping. In between along the beach was all there was to the village. Coming along the road from south one passes Kuala Kemasek, Masjid, Sungai Kemasek, Simpang Empat, Balairaya, Pondok Polis (and Pak Long Polis – the village lone ‘mata-mata’), Rumah Tok Penghulu Wan Hamid and then to me nothing more. Next to Rumah Tok Penghulu was Rumah Mak Wan Gayah (oh her unforgettable ‘kueh tak’- jackfruit tart to be exact) with its plentiful ‘jambu air’ where I was born. Across the road from Rumah Tok Penghulu Wan Hamid was Che’ and Aki’s little sundry shop. Our first house next to it. Maybe I should add Rumah Aki Wel, my grandfather on my father’s side at the foot of Bukit Taping with its ‘pokok pauh’ (mango trees)

Am I nostalgic I am writing this?

Kemasek was about ‘nasi dagang’ CheNgah Dayang, sate Pok Daling, ‘paung’ Che Jah and the Chinese New Year ‘kuih bakul’ of Mek Kiat. It was about Tok Bilal Embong, Tok Imam Haji Mat, the mosque officials, the two copra trader Pok Heng Nyor and Pok Mang Nyor, Pok Mat Nyadat the ‘menisang’-man, Tokeh Ah Sa who got the first television in the village, Awang Hitam and Pak Harun the ‘juragan’. Mak Su Che Sek, Mak Su Bunga, all the colourful Man – Mang Porong, Man Ayam, Man Itik, Man Bas (my grandfather), Ah Kuang the bus conductor, Pak De Kapal Selam, Pak De Pistol and maybe I should add Pok Said Setoking.

Those names - I recall them all from my memory, as I note a colourful and memorable past. But this is only a short note. Maybe in freer time I’ll make a longer note of what I recall of the event and individuals. Till then ……

isa masuk doh

2006-02-18T17:15:00.000+08:00

This is one old tale that Aki (my grandfather) used to tell us. I wrote this sometimes back but held myself from posting it. I could not tell it then as it was not a politically appropriate time to do so. On the national news, the headlines were about a politician ‘Isa’ suspended for money politics. To say ‘Isa masuk doh’ was like saying that Isa was to be arrested or punished. But ‘Isa masuk doh’ was a quip we in Terengganu say to mention the Isya prayer time and being the last prayer of the day to configuratively described the end of one’s life. This Isa; the one in the story was not a politician, only a thief – a small timer at that.

The story.

Once upon a time, there was a man named Isa. He was a thief. Not a fancy thief but a small timer. He has no ambition to be a big time crook, or even a village ‘samseng’ but just happy to steal a chicken or two.

Those days in the villages, houses were on stilts. Underneath the house were normally the chicken coop. Some even kept cows and goats below. That was the way at my grandfather’s house. To keep the cows warm, a small bonfire is kept alight. Rather the wood, the bonfire uses coconut husk. It was slow burning and smoky no doubt but the smoke kept mosquito away. How we could sleep in the smoke was a wonder but those were the days.

Because there were no electricity, nobody lighted the ground and anyone like Isa can sneak in and stay there unnoticed waiting for people to sleep and the opportunity to grab the chicken away. Some village kids uses the same method to ‘skodeng’ or to peep especially at the newly-weds or the ‘orang bujang’ – the good looking ‘janda’ or divorcee. It’s not advisable though because some were known to be showered with hot water or worse ‘cuka getah’. Some men had the scar to remind them of the misadventure for the rest of their live.

Without the electricity, there were no loudspeaker for azan. Prayer time depended on the sound of ‘geduk’ or ‘bedok’. Without electricity, nights were early. Village folks normally retire soon after isya’ prayer. That the family were normally large, was not at all a wonder.

One night Isa the thief went under Pak Mat’s house. He had targeted the chicken coop for sometimes and knew there were chicken and eggs for taking. Upstairs, Pak Mat was reciting the Quran waiting for Isya’ prayer. His wife and kids were gathered at the kitchen. Then in the distance the ‘geduk’ was heard.

‘Mari belaka. Isa masuk doh.’ (Come all. Isa is inside) Pak Mat called out to his wife and kids to get ready for prayer. The kids were up quickly. Footsteps heard.

Downstairs, Isa heard his name mentioned. He panicked and dashed out. In Aki’s word ‘Isa pun lari kecik pala – pala.’ (So Isa run away, his head felt small – sorry I can’t find the right word to translate this)

adlan’s first puasa

2005-10-09T17:22:00.000+08:00

Today, Adlan fasted for the first time.

He’s six and he proudly broke his brother’s fasting record having lost to Amir in reading, writing and ‘bersunat’. The big brother had it all done at five but only fasted at seven after being in school. Amir had his circumcision at five when he innocently walked into the operation room ahead of Ayah Mi - his uncle and said yes to the doctor. Adlan was booked for circumcision last holiday when he was five but the doctor refused to do it because he cried too soon. His first day of fasting was certainly costly. At 5.30 pm when we got home, he was begging to break fast and eat, mineral water bottle in his hand. But he must have been too weak to break the seal and a ten ringgit incentive must have prodded him on. I was told he made a few ringgit more from the uncles and sisters.

Children must be the mirror that you see yourself – of you in the younger days. I must say Adlan had beaten me on his first day of fasting. On my very first, I broke the fast some thirty minutes away from the time. And I cheated in the many years later, accidentally drinking during shower or conveniently forgetting that I was fasting. We were taught early that there was neither compulsion nor sin on those who forget so we eat and claim to have forgotten the fast.

In my kampong then, in the fasting month, there was a day we term as ‘na-mat’ (penamat – end) to celebrate the impending end of fasting month. That day there were to be a feast in the masjid. That day was for ‘pot-luck’ - everyone were to bring some kueh for breaking the fast. In that good year, somebody donated a buffalo to be slaughtered. So it was to be a big feast indeed. But then the na-mat was meant only for those who fast. One must be fasting to be rightfully invited. I knew of the kueh-mueh and knew about the kenduri. To get to go, I must fast. The very first fast of my entire life.

So I did. But the challenge of fasting got worse in late afternoon. Your throat dried, your tummy twirling and the aroma of the delicacies tasted so very appetizing. Under the hot afternoon sun you could almost kill for a bite of ais-krim potong your little brother was having.

To make the story short, I failed; just half an hour before the dawn. I must have been a pitiful sight my mother let me eat so close to the time. And ayah decided to take me along anyway.

So when Adlan fasted for the first time, I saw myself and knew that I had lost to my own son.

road to terengganu

2005-09-29T10:49:00.000+08:00

This morning, I send off Yati and the kids plus another van-load of wedding paraphernalia and another car for Mak and Ayah to Kedah. It was to be a wedding for Yati’s niece this Friday.

Traveling, short and long distance for the kids has become quite a norm. They have after all been traveling since babies. The first two Alia and Amir were born in KL and transported to Kedah on the seventh day. Atin and Alan were born in Terengganu and enjoy the grandmother traveling from Kedah to look after them. When Yati was completing her degree in Penang, Alia stayed with Wan in Kemasek and traveled by bus to KL almost every fortnight. She was in a way growing on the road. Because of the nature of our work, we travel often. The kids took every opportunity to join us, ‘ponteng sekolah’ sometimes to be in their other ‘house’ in KL. I guess when they were younger, hotels were a house too. After all it’s better than the actual home, room service, swimming pools and dining at the coffee-house included.

My earliest memory of travel was by bus to Kelang, staying at a Singh-friend of my father. I was not even in school then and my recollection of the trip was the breakfast. They, the Singh family eat chapatti like tons of it.

Then there was the trip sending Aki and Che’ to Haj. We were packed in Ayah Su’s Volkswagen for a day long trip to KL, staying at the Asia Hotel (external shared toilet, thin striped towel and ‘orchid’ soap bar) in Chow Kit and early next morning departed to Port Kelang. The Kapal Haji, the crowd, the pilgrims and the well-wishers were a sight to behold. The flashback was of the sight of man walking up the gantry, bales on the shoulders, cargoes of wooden boxes winched up the hull, teary-eyed, sobbing people, people, people and people. And then suddenly in all the commotion there was the ship siren followed by azan from the ship-deck. The silence was stunning. The ship slowly departed and all around was sobbing. That was in 1968. Thirty years later for my umrah in 1998, the travel was by a Boeing 777 direct Saudia flight to Jeddah.

The road to Terengganu would soon be a full highway. A dream we had been kept waiting for over twenty years, two prime ministers and three ‘menteri-besar’s away. But then the opening of Karak – Kuantan section has improved the travel tremendously. It’s now 5-6 hour unlike previously ten for a slow-sleeping-often stopping driver like me. But it comes with additional cost of toll-charges and speed fine. Ah so-what!

The link to Terengganu was once a snake-beaten winding, nauseating excuse for a road. Somewhere along Karak-Bentong section was through the ‘communist-area’ the Polis Hutan’s roadblock were a familiar sight. I went through it like six-times a year every school holidays and only in my fifth-form year the engineering marvel of the day – the Karak-Bentong Highway was opened, courtesy of Malaysia-Thai Development, the construction company. Those on the old MCKK school-bus to the Piala Perdana Menteri in SMSAS in Kuantan in 1980 will recall how we chugged along the highway. We even cheered when the bus manage to overtake any poor soul for it was to be its last trip away. Pak Cik driver was given a treat by the other school bus drivers to a memorable farewell dinner and retired soon after. The bus was soon replaced by a new air-conditioned coach. And best of all that year we won the Piala Perdana Menteri.

On the long journey to KL and back, my children would normally sleep a peaceful slumber in the Carnival. When they wake-up hungry and bored there are all the R&R to stop and refresh. They would like never believe that it was once a long and a sluggisshly slow winding road to Terengganu.

peperiksaan penilaian

2005-09-07T18:02:00.000+08:00

Alia sat for her ‘peperiksaan penilaian’ for three days since two days ago. Today is her last and she was beaming with confidence. I hope as I told her that it was not ‘over-confidence’. I admire her independence and resolve and the effort she put in. Not only that she wanted so much to be in boarding school, like mak and ayah and almost all her uncles and unties. She had been in touch with friends who’s been there and loved the news of it. Living away from family, among friends, and growing up as an independent person. We pray and hope she make it.

In my days, that was way-way back in 74’, penilaian was held for the standard five students. Now the exam is for the standard six. For many of us then, that exam was just another day and luck played a great part in the result; at least for me. There were then, no special tuitions, no extra class, no motivational workshops, no past years question and no pressure. I guess those who made it, especially from the rural school were simply brilliant and smart. How I could be in the category I also wonder.

These days the number who obtain five A’s run in the thousands. Getting five is almost not a surprise thing anymore – not getting is the surprise. Then, the achievers were rare and celebrated and set to leave home for the best of the secondary schools in the country. Now the achievers are aplenty the boarding schools can’t take them all anymore. Some even refuse to go. After-all home is a much better place and environment to excel.

In my days going to the boarding school means leaving a water well for piped water, pail-type toilet for a flush toilet (though it hardly works), gasoline to electrical light, sleeping on floor to bed and ‘kelambu’ , and mother’s cooking for ‘nasi kawah’. It also means washing my own clothes or recycling them when apek dobi no longer accept my clothes over bad debts. It was a brave and better new world that put your mind fully on study; though I don’t really.

For Alia, I hope that she had given her best. The A’s doesn’t really matter. If ever she make her way to the boarding school then Yat and I would learn how our mothers once felt seeing us away. We may soon miss her.

of title and differing culture

2005-09-04T08:14:00.000+08:00

A friend came back from Kalimantan, Indonesia. His conglomerate was venturing big time there. With the kind of money they invested, they would be a lord of a kind. He now rubs shoulder with the Governor, Wali Kota and Bupati.

So we joke that he would be receiving titles soon. What would it be?

But Indonesia was not land of titles. There were no titles of Datuk, Datuk Seri, Tan Sri or Tun to give away.

On the subject, he related a banter with his Indonesian partner.

“Orang Malaysia memang beruntung, muda-muda lagi sudah digelar Datuk.”

“Orang Indonesia lagi untung sebenarnya, sudah tua pun masih dipanggil Bapak aja.”

You Malaysian are fortunate, you are titled Datuk (grandfather) while you are still young.”

You Indonesian are better, even when you are old, you remain only a Bapak (father).”

israq mi’raj and the parable of a white ant journey

2005-09-03T14:27:00.000+08:00

In the Name of Allah Most Gracious Most Merciful

Glory be to (Allah) Who did take His servant for a journey from the Sacred Mosque to the Farthest Mosque, whose precinct We did bless, - in order that We might show him some of Our Signs for He is the One Who Heareth and Seeth (all things)

(Translation Al Isra 17:1)

Haji Shukri was a man full of good jokes and interesting anecdotes, despite his seemingly serious nature. But that is the way it is. A man is different to a different person. One of his good story, that kind of stick to me was the story of a journey of a white ant.

There was a white ant, perhaps the tiniest of the ants in the ant’s kingdom. This particular white ant live in the house of a corporate man, let’s say somewhere in Kuala Lumpur. One fine day, he went up alone into the man’s closet, climbed up the wall, crossed the hanger rail and found himself in the coat pocket of a Zegna. That particular day, the corporate man was to go on a business trip to Europe and America.

So the ant, in the two weeks that follows, went on a Gulfstream private jet, hopped across the vast Pacific, paid stops in London, Paris and New York, experienced the biting cold winter and soon after find himself back in the closet. In the fortnight, he had seen places, people and environment beyond his comprehension. He had been on journey across the globe, seen things no other ants, white, black, or red had ever seen. If he were to tell the story of his journey to other ants, few would believe him. They were too preoccupied with their world, that any other world they had not seen, for them never exist. The tale of the strange people, places and sights would be laughed at and the poor little red ant will be the butt of jokes. He would be called a joker, a story-teller, a liar and a mad-ant. But the white ant related his story all the same. There were few who believe. They were ants of greater faculty, for they could see the possibility of the vast world.

Israq Mi’raj was a journey of a man, across the sand from the al-Haram in Mekah to al-Aqsa in Jurusalem and ascending thereon to the seven heavens and beyond it to Sidratul-Muntaha. All in the span of a night. That man was Muhammad the Prophet of Islam. That journey was the Israq Mi’raj,

When the story of the journey was first told, Muhammad was ridiculed and called all sorts of names. He was called a joker, a story-teller, a liar and a mad-man. One of the few who believe was man like Abu Bakar. For his firm belief in Muhammad he was called As-Siddiq – The Truth; for he was able to see truth way beyond the faculty of ordinary man.

Today, it was time for Israq Mi’raj again, celebrated every 27th Rejab in every Islamic calendar. It was time the story of the night journey would be told and marveled for the umpteenth time. The believers will believe it and the skeptics will be forever skeptical about it.

Israq Mi’raj is to me a time for reflection, of looking beyond the boundary of the ordinary. Trained as architect, I could not but look at the journey in comparative measure – in scale and in parables. Like the journey of the tiny white ant, Muhammad ascension to heaven would be beyond comprehension if measured in the scale of man. Muhammad was just a man, tiny and insignificant in the scale of the universe, what more if measured in the scale of the Knowledge of Allah. But he was the Prophet of Allah. By design, that journey was for him to witness the vastness of universe and the timelessness of Allah’s plan for His creation. It too was most significant for in it he accepted the command of the five daily prayers, the microcosm of the ascension to all obedient servants.

Now that we easily traveled across the globe, the journey of the white ant in the coat pocket could be believable. It was all a matter of scale and relative experience – essence of a parable. Against that relative parable of the journey of white ant, the journey and the ascension of Muhammad and the whole of Israq Mi’raj would be easily believed and comprehended.

For telling the story Tuan Haji Shukri, thank you.

the mosque in our heart

2005-06-27T16:02:00.000+08:00

Yesterday 25th June 2005 was a remarkable day. I came face to face with a live street demonstration. At forty-something, I had managed to walk away from them all, not even in the tumultuous days of September ‘98. But yesterday was different, the demonstration was held in the middle of Kuala Terengganu banking district, and I had to be at the bank. What was remarkable was that the demonstration was done by the members of the ruling party. I thought only oppositions demonstrate. I was wrong.

The purpose of the street demonstration was, I was told, to counter one held by the opposition few days earlier. I didn’t know about that either. Maybe I was too busy with my own thing. The opposition demonstrated on allegation that the government tore down a mosque in Kampung Bujal somewhere. The pro-government demonstrated to say that they did not. Who then was telling the truth? I didn’t know that either. Both I think has been saying a half truth. Those, I mean the issue, was politics.

The subject of mosques, especially the old, neglected or broken down bring to mind the days when I was a student, going around the country, looking and documenting the remnants of once a splendid architecture. I remember a day in particular, when Adam and I, together with our architecture history lecturer Che’ Jak and his faithful little Suzuki, drove from Jalan Gurney (now Jalan Semarak) across the Banjaran Titiwangsa to Temerluh and Lancang. In Temerluh, it was a visit to a riverside village and to Lancang a small old wooden mosque. Both were similar that both were abandoned. The villagers in Temerluh had moved away to a new settlement to get away from the annual flood. The muddy mark on the wall indicated that flood level had often reached above the floor. And mind you the houses were on tall stilts. The mosque was abandoned because a new mosque had been built. The houses in the village and mosque were both built in timber. Time will see that it falls down ‘menyembah bumi’.

Che’ Jak in his usual manner said that the mosque, any mosque for that matter resides in our heart. There will always be a mosque whenever and wherever we are. It is within that ‘mosque’ in our heart that we prostrated at least five times a day, to pray. That mosque will never be old and abandoned, far will it be ever demolished. To destroy that mosque in the heart is to destroy the virtue of prayer. On the same analogy, the little wooden mosque was abandoned because it was not anymore in the heart of the people. Their heart was in the new building. So that’s where they went to pray.

The street demonstration I encountered or the one before that will never solve any problem. The difference between the two demonstrating groups was like black and white and like ‘langit dan bumi’. The one who called the ruin a mosque will always say that it was a mosque because that was what in their heart and they believe so. The other side will always say it wasn’t. It was not one to them.

One day in a freer time, I would love to revisit the old mosque in Lancang again. But that first visit was twenty one years ago. I doubt if it is still standing.

jailed for a kedah slang

2005-06-21T08:38:00.000+08:00

Ahmad Hafizal would go down in Malaysia’s history as a significant individual. He became a celebrity of sort as the first Malaysian youth to be jailed for not attending the Khidmat Negara or National Service. It made a great headline because he was (at least to me) a very embodiment of character that the National Service sought to shape in every Malaysians school leaver. He had not attended the NS because he had to sacrifice himself, winning the rice for his extremely poor family. In fact he had even sacrificed from the opportunity of education, dropping out of school at a much earlier age to till the land, working in the paddy field, earning a pittance all in the name of his family. Was he not a hero? Larger in character than any that NS can ever help to shape.

If others think that he was sent to jail for the NS, I beg to think differently. I think sent to jail for his slang.

Reading through the events leading to his prosecution, I thought he was prosecuted for his slang. Or more accurately his inability to express himself in the standard language. No!. I do not wish to question the law or the learned judge’s judgment and be prosecuted for contempt of court myself. Certainly I am not that anywhere near to be a hero. But I write about language and its peculiarity and I found something peculiar and even hilarious in the case. It was said that when asked by the judge whether he knew about NS, he answered yes. Whether he knew the consequence of absenteeing, he also said yes. When asked why he did not attend the NS he said he was ‘lazy’. For that he was sent to jail.

I did not attend the trial, but I was certain he answered the questions in Bahasa Melayu, and in Kedah slang to be exact. I knew for certain because with my other half a Kedahan, I met and knew many Kedahans and I have now a fair grip on their slang, how a word can have a different meaning if pronounced differently.

Let’s touch only on the ‘yes’ (ya, tau) and lazy (malas, segan) in Kedah slang.

In standard Bahasa, ‘tau’, or ‘tahu’ means yes. But in Kedah slang ‘tau’ can mean either ‘yes’ or ‘I have no idea’ depending how it was spoken. When Harizal answered ‘tau’ the first two questions, he had meant ‘No, I have no idea’. The court thought he said yes and proceded to the next question.

Imagine the judge asking, ‘Awat hang tak pi Khidmat Negara?’.(Why have you not attended Khidmat Negara?) and getting his response ‘segan’ for an answer. If the judge understood ‘segan’ to mean lazy, then jail was supposedly the right punishment. But ‘segan’ as many of us know can also mean ‘I can’t afford it’. He could not afford the time as he was working and he can’t afford it financially as he was earning for the family. He was just being honest under the circumstances. I could imagine a poor uneducated boy, standing in the defence dock, awed by the whole court proceeding. He would have been a meek, confused, intimidated (by the ambience) and fearful. I have been in the court once myself and found myself awed by its regality. Imagine what thought goes in the poor boy's mind then. If I had been Hafizal myself, I could have been cowed, may be even pissing in my pants. I don’t blame him for answering in short ‘tau’ and ‘segan’. He had just wanted to get it over and done with.

The rest, consequently became history.

posts, titles and evolution of terms

2005-05-13T12:26:00.000+08:00

I read with interest a recent article in Malaysiakini – ‘Bekas imam saman Masjid Darul Ehsan Subang Jaya’. I do not wish to touch on the litigation issue. I am far from qualified to do so. I only want to touch on a small part of the article.

‘….memperkenalkan pengurusan moden… …. jawatan imam kini dikenali sebagai pengurus masjid, bilal sebagai timbalan pengurus masjid dan siak sebagai penolong pengurus masjid’

I remember writing a blog titled ‘thinking of old suraus’. In it I touched on the old suraus independence and contributions of private individuals to the religious need of the society. That was in the yesteryears. Suraus and masjids these days became a prize in middle of a tug of war between people of different ideology. The irony was that both preach on the same Islam and for the love of the same Allah. Love yet fight over it! How appropriate it was when M.Nasir put it in a song ‘Kerana cinta duniamu berperang’ (over love your world’s at war).

I accept that most of our masjids were not best managed and new approach was needed. But must we change the title of imam to manager (pengurus masjid), bilal to deputy mosque manager (timbalan pengurus masjid) and siak to assistant mosque manager (penolong pengurus masjid)? I thought imam was the term for the one who lead the prayer, bilal the one who intone the call to prayer (after Bilal bin Rabah the first man appointed by Rasulullah to call out the azan) and the siak look after the keeping of the masjid. Is not siak more appropriately called manager? But then the siak is lower in rank to the imam so he can only be an assistant. Perhaps they are now to be paid as managers in the government salary scale. That would be good for them and it has my support.

It was thought provoking that we must start anew with a new name, a new term or a new title whenever we try to improve something. When the nation gained independence, we change all our road names. When a non Muslim embraced Islam, he’s expected to take a new name with ‘bin Abdullah (so much so that to convert to Islam was popularly termed ‘masuk Melayu). When a village lad went to town, Samad became Sam, Salmah became Sally and Fatimah became Fatty for overdose of McD and KFC.

So to improve mosques management, the thousand over years old term must be changed. Have we no love for history? Can’t we keep something sacred?

Interestingly, terms now used in our daily life may have had a different meaning previously. The term ‘entrepreneur’ was once meant a person who runs pleasure business – whore house, brothels et al. Then it was used for people who organize entertainments business – music, theatre, concerts etc. Now it was meant for what we all now understand – a person who own, starts and run a business or many businesses. The term ‘khalwat’ used to mean ‘going into seclusion to seek Allah’s company and pleasure alone.’ Now it was meant as ‘going into seclusion to seek pleasure with the other (or maybe the same) sex.’

If used often and repeatedly the new terms may be acceptable. Lies when told often and repeatedly would be accepted as truth. Mussolini and Hitler believed so and played that to the hilt. They almost own the world.

Maybe in the future, when two of us set out to do a solat berjemaah, one will say, ‘Please, I’ll be the ‘makmum’.

‘You be the ‘Pengurus Masjid’

a trip to jakarta (part 2)

2005-05-10T16:52:00.000+08:00

Jakarta was a city of 20 million people – that almost equal the whole of Malaysia’s population. And in the twenty odd millions Malaysians were a few millions Indonesians, - Malaysianised, ‘resident’ised, legal, illegal or otherwise.

From the tinted windscreen of the supir-driven mobil, it was easy to see the economic gap between the rich and the poor. In the air-conditioned walkways of Sogo at Plaza Indonesia, the men were well dressed and every girl looks like a model. On the street a little farther from the Central Business District, at the junctions or at railroad crossings, little kids loiter among the waiting cars, selling something, begging. This I realized was the reality of life. The rich and the poor somehow coexist in balance. Only they don’t always appear together. I saw in Indonesia something very much like in Malaysia. There were the semblance of Petaling Street, Kampung Baru and Kampung Abdullah Hukum; but in Jakarta, they don’t put up a colourful billboard to hoard reality. To do so would mean a massive investment.

An Indonesian friend told me a joke about the rich of Jakarta.

When the poor met one another they asked ‘Hari ini kita makan apa?’ (What do we eat today?)

When the middle class met one another they asked ‘Hari ini kita makan di mana?’ (Where do we eat today?)

When the rich met one another they asked ‘Hari ini kita makan siapa?’ (Who do we eat today?)

It was (I think) a ‘politically’ bad, bad joke. For us Malaysian it was a ‘bisa’ – of the ‘poisonous’ kind. Make a joke like that on the internet and it might be debated in the parliament. My blog could be threatened with some Akta Multimedia. To the Jakartan it was also a ‘bisa’ – of the ‘normal/usual/acceptable’ kind. They could laugh easily at it and at themselves. It was in their world, something they dismissed as ‘gampang aja!’

Gampang? Watch it, don’t say it to anyone around here or you might just end up with a black-eye.

making cakes

2005-05-02T00:22:00.000+08:00

Last night, our two girls were busy in the kitchen. Yati was teaching them how to make cake. Later Atin and Alia proudly offered their first cake to me. It’s a little too sweet for a cake but I kept my mouth shut. No adverse comments on their first effort. There were no comments from the normally sarcastic brothers too; they were already asleep in front of the TV.

The word cake brings two things to my mind. The cake making in the days when I was younger and the famed Mary Antoinette’s ‘Qu'ils mangent de la brioche’ / ‘Well, let them eat cake’ statement. I’d be dealing on the former but let’s touch on Mary’s first.

For those clueless on history, Mary Antoinette was the Austria born queen of King Louis XVI. She was married to the future king at the age of 14. Life in the palace since such tender age certainly had blinded her from the reality of the world and the turmoil of the French populace.

In 1789, French populace had begun a revolution against the King. They had little or nothing to eat while the royals and nobles were having a ball of their time. A ‘ball’ both literally and figuratively speaking. Watch movies like Three Musketeers or Tale of Two Cities and you’ll see the recreated opulence of the time. Then was also the high season for arts and architecture – just looking at the Palace of Versailles. Mary was the earliest of a woman’s (lib)erator. She was the source of French support for American Independence in 1776 to 1789 so much so that France was said to bankrupt for financing America’s war. Perhaps the lady of The Statue of Liberty, a gift from France to America was Mary. That economic disaster led to longer queue for food. When told that the long queue was due to shortage of bread for the people, she remarked the famous ‘Well, let them eat cakes’ remark. That quote was plastered all over Paris the next day. It agitated the people so much they revolted and Mary Antoinette lost her head at the guillotine. At least that was how the history was written.

Now for the history of cake making as I know it.

For Alia and Atin, to make a cake, you pop open a box of ready-mix flour, pour into a basin, add water, stir a little and place in the oven. Check the temperature setting and after a while, ting!, and hey presto, a cake is done.

It wasn’t that simple then.

Che’, our grandmother baked ‘baulu’ (Malay cake) a few times in a year – mostly on the the two Hari Rayas and Chinese New Years. Chinese New Year baulu was meant for Ah Kuang, Aki’s bus conductor, Ah Juat, Mek Kiat or the other Chinese in the village as ‘balasan’ (return gift) for ‘kuih bakul’ (mooncake). The baulu making at any time was for us an event.

The process for baulu making began with collecting ‘sabut’ and ‘tempurung’ (coconut husk and shell) in addition to ‘arang’ (charcoal). These are for the cinder. The cake process in itself began with sieving the flour. Those days flour came in ‘guni gandum’ - big white cloth sacks with a lot of impurities. It starts with beating the eggs. Only egg-white was used. The yolk would be for some other delicacies especially ‘Tok Aji Serban’ or ‘serawa’. The beating was a favourite thing for us. It was a joy hearing the sound of the ‘kepok’ in the batter and watching it ‘naik’. Because the ‘kepok’ must be done in a single direction, Che’ kept a watchful eye over us lest the ‘kepok’ circle goes haywire. Then the flour was added to the egg to complete the dough. When the dough is done, Che’ will carefully pour them into the ‘sarang’ (mould) made of brass. It was time to bake the baulu. To ensure consistent golden crust to the baulu, the brass mould is placed on the ‘tungku’ and heated both from above and below. The cover of the mould was shaped in such a way that cinder could be placed on top. Baking was an important part of the process. Che’ just seem to know the exact time to place the cinder or to extinguish the fire. Anytime sooner would make the baulus uncooked and anytime later would make it ‘hangus’. We kids would pray that it was hangus because the baulus then would be for us. Waiting for ‘kuih hangus’ (burnt cakes) seems to be a universal phenomena. I saw that on some advertisement, on Hollywood movies and whenever Yati baked something. The love for ‘kuih hangus’ must be a universal human experience.

Of cakes and breads, I think it’s interesting to note the difference of terminology between a Terengganuan and Kedahan. We Terengganuan call bread, ‘roti’ and biscuits, ‘biskut’. Kedahan call both bread and biscuit - ‘roti’. My kids would always laugh at their Kedah grandmother whenever she serves them biscuits but call out to them to eat the ‘roti’.

Mary Antoinette must have meant something else when she told the French to eat ‘cakes’. French must then be extremely humorless. They could have laughed at her mistakes but then they had preferred her head.