Global, Glokal redefined.

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

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

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'

‘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.

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

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

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

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.

wisdom of a cab driver

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)

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

‘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

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.