Tuesday 15 November 2011
Ramblings on...budu
Budu. How is that made? Fermented pulverised fish in brine to preserve it? Much unlike pekasam or even my own favourite cincalok (pulverised fermented prawns - udang pipih).
Back in the 60s, 70s and 80s I get to savour them once in a blue moon. These days...holler and yee shall be served. I blame the transportation system. Back then the only highway worth mentioning was Seremban-KL. Now, the network is near complete. You can eat your fresh stock of budu departing from Besut at 6am and arriving in JB in time to be served for lunch.
Old wives tale: stay away from men who likes "makanan masam" (sour food)! They talk too much and proclaims of voracious sexual appetite.
Aug 16, 2011
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerryR smartphone
Ramblings on...my first school
My Ismail School is now Sek. Ren. Pendidikan Khas Muar (P).
Wait a minute. This was the entrance in 1965. Under that tree, in the first room was Darjah Satu Beruang(?)
The new entrance leads to the hall where we had our huge tiger - our float.
That very low shack was the toilet, right?
The badminton court is still there in between our Std 1 and Std 2.
The hall looks the same.
The shared field is still there. Beyond is still Sekolah Dato
Memories...
9th November 2011, 1130am Ismail School 2
Wait a minute. This was the entrance in 1965. Under that tree, in the first room was Darjah Satu Beruang(?)
The new entrance leads to the hall where we had our huge tiger - our float.
That very low shack was the toilet, right?
The badminton court is still there in between our Std 1 and Std 2.
The hall looks the same.
The shared field is still there. Beyond is still Sekolah Dato
Memories...
9th November 2011, 1130am Ismail School 2
Ramblings on...the devil incarnate
"...you should not worship Satan. Verily, he is a plain enemy to you..."
Oh! By the way, this particular piece will NOT go down well at all! So do NOT read on if you are easily offended.
My version of the Devil or Satan is not run of the mill type of devils with red skin, horns and sharp pointed tail. Neither do they sneak from behind. Nor does it devour you with sharp fangs at night.
It is most appealing and beguiling. In fact, some admits openly that they can't live without them.
These Devil Incarnate are our modern Idols. They are all over. In fact, we welcomed them with open arms in our homes. We placed them in revered positions above the fireplace, in special rooms, on tailor made altars, on specially decorated and designed walls, sited in fit-for-purpose niches...
Some swears that without these Idols, life will be meaningless and devoid of life itself.
Some need two or even all their presence at the same time!
Let me introduce them to you: Televisions, PS2s, PSPs, Computers...
I am no different from you.
Some would have a 52 inch plasma on a wall surrounded by other lesser Idols with different names; blue-ray, dvd player, astro. It would be left switched on for 20 hours a day. There are four different levels of audiences - nay, devotees: pre-schoolers, primary level, teenagers and adults. Prying the devotees away from this powerful Idol is VERY difficult. Sometimes, promises of sweets helps. At other times McD or the Colonel. A fair amount of offering (money ma!) must be placed before it can give you what you want; news, repeated movies, dramas, cartoons...
In another room would sit another Idol - devoted to games. TVs with PS2s or PS3s or Xboxes. When the devotees starts, nothing else matters. Not even the muezzin's pleading can wrench them away. Promises of fire and brimstone doesn't help either.
In a den somewhere you would have another Idol dedicated to www - PC with the ubiquitous Wi-Fi connection. Devotees will be immersed in "work", internet games, "facebook", chats, emails...there is no limit to it's powers. The offering is minuscule as compared to the vices it can provide...including gambling, pornography...
The problem with portable Idol is that it needs the Lord of the Idols - Television - to accompany it. If not, it seems incomplete. So, a laptop is the other devil incarnate.
Even this berry is also an Idol, if it is used for purposes other than "work" or "good deeds".
Only until '85 do I recollect that people stopped chatting or discussing or meetings or annual dinner speeches when they hear the muezzin's call for prayers. We are obliged, by the way, to reply to his call.
Maybe I am deaf or blind, but whatever happened to this "good manners"?
Idol worshipers are warned time and again in the Quran.
What sticks to mind is just one from Surat Yaaseen, verse 60 which translates as "...Did I not command you, O Children of Adam, that you should not worship Satan. Verily, he is a plain enemy to you..."
Almighty Allah, The Most Merciful, I seek Thy forgiveness for myself, my parents, my wife, my children, my kith and kin. I admit that my iman is infinitesimal. But I beg of Thee to shower them all with Thine Guiding Light, for my time is merely borrowed time and it is running short.
5th November 2011, Eid-ul-Adha
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Oh! By the way, this particular piece will NOT go down well at all! So do NOT read on if you are easily offended.
My version of the Devil or Satan is not run of the mill type of devils with red skin, horns and sharp pointed tail. Neither do they sneak from behind. Nor does it devour you with sharp fangs at night.
It is most appealing and beguiling. In fact, some admits openly that they can't live without them.
These Devil Incarnate are our modern Idols. They are all over. In fact, we welcomed them with open arms in our homes. We placed them in revered positions above the fireplace, in special rooms, on tailor made altars, on specially decorated and designed walls, sited in fit-for-purpose niches...
Some swears that without these Idols, life will be meaningless and devoid of life itself.
Some need two or even all their presence at the same time!
Let me introduce them to you: Televisions, PS2s, PSPs, Computers...
I am no different from you.
Some would have a 52 inch plasma on a wall surrounded by other lesser Idols with different names; blue-ray, dvd player, astro. It would be left switched on for 20 hours a day. There are four different levels of audiences - nay, devotees: pre-schoolers, primary level, teenagers and adults. Prying the devotees away from this powerful Idol is VERY difficult. Sometimes, promises of sweets helps. At other times McD or the Colonel. A fair amount of offering (money ma!) must be placed before it can give you what you want; news, repeated movies, dramas, cartoons...
In another room would sit another Idol - devoted to games. TVs with PS2s or PS3s or Xboxes. When the devotees starts, nothing else matters. Not even the muezzin's pleading can wrench them away. Promises of fire and brimstone doesn't help either.
In a den somewhere you would have another Idol dedicated to www - PC with the ubiquitous Wi-Fi connection. Devotees will be immersed in "work", internet games, "facebook", chats, emails...there is no limit to it's powers. The offering is minuscule as compared to the vices it can provide...including gambling, pornography...
The problem with portable Idol is that it needs the Lord of the Idols - Television - to accompany it. If not, it seems incomplete. So, a laptop is the other devil incarnate.
Even this berry is also an Idol, if it is used for purposes other than "work" or "good deeds".
Only until '85 do I recollect that people stopped chatting or discussing or meetings or annual dinner speeches when they hear the muezzin's call for prayers. We are obliged, by the way, to reply to his call.
Maybe I am deaf or blind, but whatever happened to this "good manners"?
Idol worshipers are warned time and again in the Quran.
What sticks to mind is just one from Surat Yaaseen, verse 60 which translates as "...Did I not command you, O Children of Adam, that you should not worship Satan. Verily, he is a plain enemy to you..."
Almighty Allah, The Most Merciful, I seek Thy forgiveness for myself, my parents, my wife, my children, my kith and kin. I admit that my iman is infinitesimal. But I beg of Thee to shower them all with Thine Guiding Light, for my time is merely borrowed time and it is running short.
5th November 2011, Eid-ul-Adha
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Ramblings on...sharing knowledge
"...verily, mankind is loosing. Except for those who believe and do righteous deeds and recommend to one another to the truthful..." Al-Asr, 2 and 3
I am at the end of my time. Accordingly, my place has been set when I was first conceived some 53 years ago. My name has always been on the list. Where, how and when has already been written.
What will I leave behind?
Knowledge? Not much. A little to my children. An autocratic educator that educates with a whip! Or did I? The proof is in the pudding, so they say. I shall wait and give the pudding(s) more time.
A little bit to those who did work with me.
They might remember but then again it doesn't matter since the knowledge that I passed on is probably lesser than the size of a quark. So many things I have learnt, yet I yearn for more!
Go to China if you have to...sayeth a Hadith. I did not. But I did gather some along the way. More of culture (working culture, mostly), way of life, idiosyncracies, language...
What did I do with these information or knowledge or experience? Some, I shared in my incoherent ramblings. Others, I put to daily practise for those who worked with me. Some, I spoon fed them (teach them step-by-step), others I left them by igniting a small spark (giving them ideas), some with a "big bang" (engineering a crisis was the phrase some liked to use).
Unless you are an educator, you would have passed on your knowledge to thousands (from your own class alone 25 students x 30 years) throughout your 30 years of your career - a most revered career indeed. I envy you.
I can recall my classroom teacher of Standard 1, Standards 2 to 5 (my Sulohan Classmates can verify their names), I forgot those of Standard 6 (The Bears can testify), forms 1 to 3 (Rajendran, Zainuddin, Hanafi...can jog my clouded brain due to 20 fags a day), but not so for forms 4 and 5 (FFFers - come forth). Those that I remembered left indelible marks - for life. (Some of them did tell us that we will remember their words for life)
My parents, both primary school teachers, continue to receive adulation from far and wide even after more than twenty years since they left their chalks behind. Their students comes bearing gifts usually during Eid. Once in a blue moon, someone new would appear at their run-down abode and announced that they were students from a particular class or year. You should see their tears! Each drop brings bitter sweet memories. The best students or the worst would jog my parents' fading memory.
I guess that is why they do not want to leave their home of 50 years lest their students can't find their frail teachers.
The best profession indeed! Two or is it three professors in my midst, scores of teachers reading this can testify right?
Nowadays the school children are required to recite their daily "doa's" which are dedicated to their teachers. It wasn't a practise in my era! Would you not want at least 25 people to pray everyday for your well being for 30 years of your life?
What I have of my own religion, is probably smaller than a "string" (latest quantum theory). Even the converts have more knowledge than I despite being born and raised as a Muslim! A pitiful Muslim, I am indeed.
Until the age of 15, I did not even know the meaning of the words I recited by heart. Once, a self-proclaimed Irish agnostic did point that I knew not what the muezzin's call was all about. Shame on me, indeed.
I, like millions of others, recite by heart verses of the Quran in our daily supplication and yet I personally do not know their meaning!
Yes, I have read the Scriptures, Book of Revelations...but I have NOT understood the Quran. My lame excuse was I have to read in Arabic and its translation in English whereas the Bible was in English. How stupid of me!
But it is never too late to learn. Afterall, I managed to pickup Hokkien, Cantonese, Urdu, German, Javanese without attending a single formal classroom... (self-gratification ok?)! Arabic should be a breeze. Unless of course I choose to read only the translation of the Quran first...
My own challenge then was to be able to recite by heart 83 verses. Only decades later, I have started to memorise the meanings. Shameful existence of an ungrateful servant of the Almighty, won't you agree?
Why is that? Overwhelmed by work? My existential being dedicated to gathering wealth here in this borrowed lifetime? How lame can that be?
It is still NEVER too late
23:40, 7th November, JB.
.
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
I am at the end of my time. Accordingly, my place has been set when I was first conceived some 53 years ago. My name has always been on the list. Where, how and when has already been written.
What will I leave behind?
Knowledge? Not much. A little to my children. An autocratic educator that educates with a whip! Or did I? The proof is in the pudding, so they say. I shall wait and give the pudding(s) more time.
A little bit to those who did work with me.
They might remember but then again it doesn't matter since the knowledge that I passed on is probably lesser than the size of a quark. So many things I have learnt, yet I yearn for more!
Go to China if you have to...sayeth a Hadith. I did not. But I did gather some along the way. More of culture (working culture, mostly), way of life, idiosyncracies, language...
What did I do with these information or knowledge or experience? Some, I shared in my incoherent ramblings. Others, I put to daily practise for those who worked with me. Some, I spoon fed them (teach them step-by-step), others I left them by igniting a small spark (giving them ideas), some with a "big bang" (engineering a crisis was the phrase some liked to use).
Unless you are an educator, you would have passed on your knowledge to thousands (from your own class alone 25 students x 30 years) throughout your 30 years of your career - a most revered career indeed. I envy you.
I can recall my classroom teacher of Standard 1, Standards 2 to 5 (my Sulohan Classmates can verify their names), I forgot those of Standard 6 (The Bears can testify), forms 1 to 3 (Rajendran, Zainuddin, Hanafi...can jog my clouded brain due to 20 fags a day), but not so for forms 4 and 5 (FFFers - come forth). Those that I remembered left indelible marks - for life. (Some of them did tell us that we will remember their words for life)
My parents, both primary school teachers, continue to receive adulation from far and wide even after more than twenty years since they left their chalks behind. Their students comes bearing gifts usually during Eid. Once in a blue moon, someone new would appear at their run-down abode and announced that they were students from a particular class or year. You should see their tears! Each drop brings bitter sweet memories. The best students or the worst would jog my parents' fading memory.
I guess that is why they do not want to leave their home of 50 years lest their students can't find their frail teachers.
The best profession indeed! Two or is it three professors in my midst, scores of teachers reading this can testify right?
Nowadays the school children are required to recite their daily "doa's" which are dedicated to their teachers. It wasn't a practise in my era! Would you not want at least 25 people to pray everyday for your well being for 30 years of your life?
What I have of my own religion, is probably smaller than a "string" (latest quantum theory). Even the converts have more knowledge than I despite being born and raised as a Muslim! A pitiful Muslim, I am indeed.
Until the age of 15, I did not even know the meaning of the words I recited by heart. Once, a self-proclaimed Irish agnostic did point that I knew not what the muezzin's call was all about. Shame on me, indeed.
I, like millions of others, recite by heart verses of the Quran in our daily supplication and yet I personally do not know their meaning!
Yes, I have read the Scriptures, Book of Revelations...but I have NOT understood the Quran. My lame excuse was I have to read in Arabic and its translation in English whereas the Bible was in English. How stupid of me!
But it is never too late to learn. Afterall, I managed to pickup Hokkien, Cantonese, Urdu, German, Javanese without attending a single formal classroom... (self-gratification ok?)! Arabic should be a breeze. Unless of course I choose to read only the translation of the Quran first...
My own challenge then was to be able to recite by heart 83 verses. Only decades later, I have started to memorise the meanings. Shameful existence of an ungrateful servant of the Almighty, won't you agree?
Why is that? Overwhelmed by work? My existential being dedicated to gathering wealth here in this borrowed lifetime? How lame can that be?
It is still NEVER too late
23:40, 7th November, JB.
.
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Monday 17 October 2011
Ramblings on...memorable (only to me) software
Remember Amstrad 64...
My first purchase was a cassette tape with a program for word processing. I believed it was on a C15 tape. You can hear the binary codes spewing zeroes and ones when it was loading!
My first word processor was Wordstar - I think. I couldn't memorise all the control key, so I had these enlarged and pasted on a wall. I was typing theses for a living then whilst employed as a house husband and father to my first born!
I read up a bit on Basic, got some magazines as references and modified a simple atari (was it?) game. You fly an aeroplane and shoot down the buildings before you land or crash into them. The sound? What sound. It was tough enough to write the game and you asked for sound? Looking for errors was like looking for a diamond in a bucket full of silica. Picture perfect - I guess, since you have all the colours of the tv but you limited yourself to your prowess as a wannabe programmer!
Then came the Discs not long after, with an upgrade to Amstrad CPC464. These were small compact disc players spinning (Was it?) 2.5 inches discs. Smaller in diameter then the current DVD. No more whirring sounds...it takes minutes rather than hours to load programs. Why bother then for I had use for only one - the word processor!
There were bundled games that came with the CPC464 and a colour monitor to boot. What was the resolution? It was a dedicated colour monitor, so who cares. Mouse? Unheard off at that time.
Anyway, back to the games - none sticks out. Guess I was busy finishing off the theses.
Next was 8088. Most memorable were Wordstar, dB and "dig dug". Icons? What? Black and white or green and white were the colours. Format was 5.25 inches. Sound came from the small speaker in the desktop. Rudimentary at best. But I was totally hooked on "dig dug" (you dig tunnels and let it cave in on "monsters")...from dawn to dusk, at times.
8086 came with colour monitors for me. For my workhorse, a two colour screen laptop from Total Peripherals - there were no batteries for it. Dig Dug and Outpost (build a colony on the moon - paid RM50 from Sogo on its opening day for an original) sticks to mind. Wordstar and dB2 were my favourites. Lotus123 was for the spreadsheet.
Other DOS games? None were memorable enough for me. It was during this era that I dabbled in networking - for the office - to share printers mostly. Dabbling with chkdir, chkdis, dir...in DOS
Was it during 80286 when we had the MSOffice? Gone were wordstar, dB4 and Lotus 123. MS Project, MS Access...were my add-ons.
Wasn't it that time when we had peer-to-peer networking? I had 4 desktops connected at home to play games. My one and only favourite was Command and Conquer - solo or multiplayer mode. I had every new add-ons. The advent of pirated CDs helped a lot. Collections of DOS Games numbered in the hundreds collecting dusts now.
Too many that I didn't have a favourite game? In addition to those from Microsoft, I concentrated on Adobe's stable of software especially Acrobat, and simple 3D software (for me to build simple homes with interior design elements and 3D simulated movies)
I kept upgrading desktops and laptops. With it were, the must have, Windows and MS Office (95, 97, 2003, 2007...) up to 2007. No more CD games cos the internet games are plentiful - so says my kids. X-boxes, PS2s...are much, much better. Gone are DOS (or is it? Only the geeks knows where they reside)
But...and a big but at that...I have NEVER ever had or used anything from the late Steve Jobs.
17 Oct 2010 845pm JB
(Ps. This piece is mundane, boring, lack everything...)
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
My first purchase was a cassette tape with a program for word processing. I believed it was on a C15 tape. You can hear the binary codes spewing zeroes and ones when it was loading!
My first word processor was Wordstar - I think. I couldn't memorise all the control key, so I had these enlarged and pasted on a wall. I was typing theses for a living then whilst employed as a house husband and father to my first born!
I read up a bit on Basic, got some magazines as references and modified a simple atari (was it?) game. You fly an aeroplane and shoot down the buildings before you land or crash into them. The sound? What sound. It was tough enough to write the game and you asked for sound? Looking for errors was like looking for a diamond in a bucket full of silica. Picture perfect - I guess, since you have all the colours of the tv but you limited yourself to your prowess as a wannabe programmer!
Then came the Discs not long after, with an upgrade to Amstrad CPC464. These were small compact disc players spinning (Was it?) 2.5 inches discs. Smaller in diameter then the current DVD. No more whirring sounds...it takes minutes rather than hours to load programs. Why bother then for I had use for only one - the word processor!
There were bundled games that came with the CPC464 and a colour monitor to boot. What was the resolution? It was a dedicated colour monitor, so who cares. Mouse? Unheard off at that time.
Anyway, back to the games - none sticks out. Guess I was busy finishing off the theses.
Next was 8088. Most memorable were Wordstar, dB and "dig dug". Icons? What? Black and white or green and white were the colours. Format was 5.25 inches. Sound came from the small speaker in the desktop. Rudimentary at best. But I was totally hooked on "dig dug" (you dig tunnels and let it cave in on "monsters")...from dawn to dusk, at times.
8086 came with colour monitors for me. For my workhorse, a two colour screen laptop from Total Peripherals - there were no batteries for it. Dig Dug and Outpost (build a colony on the moon - paid RM50 from Sogo on its opening day for an original) sticks to mind. Wordstar and dB2 were my favourites. Lotus123 was for the spreadsheet.
Other DOS games? None were memorable enough for me. It was during this era that I dabbled in networking - for the office - to share printers mostly. Dabbling with chkdir, chkdis, dir...in DOS
Was it during 80286 when we had the MSOffice? Gone were wordstar, dB4 and Lotus 123. MS Project, MS Access...were my add-ons.
Wasn't it that time when we had peer-to-peer networking? I had 4 desktops connected at home to play games. My one and only favourite was Command and Conquer - solo or multiplayer mode. I had every new add-ons. The advent of pirated CDs helped a lot. Collections of DOS Games numbered in the hundreds collecting dusts now.
Too many that I didn't have a favourite game? In addition to those from Microsoft, I concentrated on Adobe's stable of software especially Acrobat, and simple 3D software (for me to build simple homes with interior design elements and 3D simulated movies)
I kept upgrading desktops and laptops. With it were, the must have, Windows and MS Office (95, 97, 2003, 2007...) up to 2007. No more CD games cos the internet games are plentiful - so says my kids. X-boxes, PS2s...are much, much better. Gone are DOS (or is it? Only the geeks knows where they reside)
But...and a big but at that...I have NEVER ever had or used anything from the late Steve Jobs.
17 Oct 2010 845pm JB
(Ps. This piece is mundane, boring, lack everything...)
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Thursday 22 September 2011
(Continuation of) Ramblings on...lineage
In May 2008, on a paid for Family Day outing to Desaru, we chanced upon a Bugis Museum. The building looked respectable but devoid of cars...even monkeys whom we saw everywhere else were absent. It should have been a foregone conclusion, no human, no food. No food no monkeys. A small simple signboard dangled from the door knob announcing that it was "CLOSED". Nothing else! Not closed for lunch, or closed today or closed for renovation.
I have not returned to the museum since then, though I have made annual pilgrimages to Desaru for a bit of Rest and Relaxation.
There is still that nagging feeling though... I knew of one in Klang but did not make any attempts at all to visit. I let slip the notion of visiting the National Museum many a times.
A year ago, on my bi-yearly trip to Pontian with my parents from JB, I sort of noticed briefly, at a glance, a brown signboard with the words Muzium Bugis just below Muzium Nenas.
I neither looked for it nor inquired of its existence.
Pre-determination or destiny? In May of this year, I landed a simple job of attending bi-weekly meetings in Tanjung Bin. On my very first trip, I followed the Muzium Bugis signboard since the JKR signboard behind it indicated the same direction forTanjung Bin
On every trip to site in Tanjung Bin I would go through the same route - Kampung Seri Buniyan, turn right to Tenngayun then turn left and head all the way to the turnoff to Tanjung Bin after passing Sungai Rambah.
And every time, I had to give this turn-off to the Museum a miss.
Not this time though!
After 4 hours of the usual dreary meeting which results in the same "pointing-finger-at-contractor" problem, I purposely skipped the usual sumptuous paid-by-contractor lunch of (mercury laden) seafood in Tanjung Piai and headed for my destiny
The modernised timber looking building sits not far from the estuary in a leafy enclave. I cannot recall the vegetation but it felt cool. Probably the breeze from the Straits of Malacca which was just 100 meters away.
A tower of some sort on the left, a canteen in the middle and this building with the faint letterings of Muzium Bugis which is not bold enough to proudly announce itself.
Only one well maintained Mercedes 280SE but unkempt rear windows with spiderman strung up above what looked like Fuzzy Bear. I parked my 18 year old fit-for-scrap Kancil beside it.
A pair of maindoors were wide open. No curtain aircond unit, hence no aircond. Dimly lit with no sculptured lightings on walls or exhibits akin to typical museums, I guess. "Please remove your shoes" says a stand alone signboard. With no translation? Weird.
An elderly gentlemen of late 60s in a worn-out short sleeve was entertaining a couple in late 40s or early fifties dragging along two boisterous boys of no more than 8 and 10. I walked from wall to wall looking for signs of my ancestors. On the first wall was a double storey full timber house somewhat resembling that which my grandfather built in the 50s. Another wall looked interesting; a family tree. Too far to see clearly.
As I inched closer I noticed all had initials of either YM or YTM and a smattering of DYMM.
I passed the entourage led by the "animated" elderly gentlemen who managed to utter, in mid-sentence, the normal greeting.
The curator?
Tucked under his arm was a manuscript of sort. I paid no attention as they all seemed overly excited. Framed sepia toned photographs adorn most of the walls...Chief Ministers of Johore, Kings of Johore, women and men of significance (to some but not to me), RM1000 bank note, Banana currency, 1 cent Stamps...none were of much interest to me - except perhaps Osman Saat who was someone's home or compound that we frequented every year. I do not remember much but grandad use to address this old lady living in the CMs compound as auntie.
I gave all the "glass" showcases a miss as these were displaying porcelain ware with blue inscriptions or patterns - presumably dated artifacts since I know next to nothing of antiques.
Within 5 minutes I was already disheartened and making for the exit which was also the entrance. By then the "elated" family was already at the exit profusely thanking the curator for pieces of paper which was, I supposed, given to them.
Before I could put on my clinically engineered RM300 shoes (most expensive I have ever had in my life), the assumed curator requested that I signed the visitors book. In capital letters I wrote my name, and the names of my father, grandfather, great grandfather, great great grandfather and great great great grandfather. He swiveled the book around as I finished.
"You have come to the right place. I have your ancestors with me now" as he hurriedly produced the manuscript clutched now in his athritic fingers (so he claims later)
The manuscript was photostated from a typed copy, with a yellowing letter sized front page bound unceremoniously with green binding tape
I flipped page by page. Familiar names but yet unsure. The curator started his probable memorised oration of my last known entry - that of my great great great grandfather upto Daeng Pabitah. Half listening, half concentrating on the manuscript I skipped many pages before I truly discovered familiar names.
A few pages away were links to unfamiliar names of older generations: Orang Kaya DiRaja Daeng Ahmad @ Waaniuh bin Daeng Abdul Rahman bin Daeng Sitar Pulah bin Daeng Perpatih bin Daeng Wajuk @ Indera Purma bin Raja Champa
There were footnotes on most pages citing that the documentation was based on oral tradition
My mind raced forward to my next task - checking other sources, looking for other family members...
There were short excerpts on the origins of some the villages like Parit Sakai, Parit Perupok...and the respective pioneers. Even a story on the Railroad in Muar (where have I read that before?)!
Asked whether I could purchase a copy, he offers profound apologies. I could not make a copy (no photostat machine) either. And a resounding no to take it out. As a last resort, I suggested photograph. He acquiesced.
I zoomed in on very few pages which is of significance to me. With my trusted blackberry, I started recording my families existence right up to Daeng Pabitah (though I have yet to make the connection).
No, I did not thank him profusely as did the last visitor. I actually stormed out with purposeful intent.
22 Sep 2011, 5am, JB
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
PS. there are a few websites on Family Trees on Raja Champa and his descendants. I have yet to start reading up on them like http://www.siapamoyanganda.com/keterangan/wujud_salasilah.html or http://www.geni.com/people/ahmad-bin-daeng-pabita/6000000008781783370
PPS. A debt of gratitude to those before me who preserved the oral traditions.
I have not returned to the museum since then, though I have made annual pilgrimages to Desaru for a bit of Rest and Relaxation.
There is still that nagging feeling though... I knew of one in Klang but did not make any attempts at all to visit. I let slip the notion of visiting the National Museum many a times.
A year ago, on my bi-yearly trip to Pontian with my parents from JB, I sort of noticed briefly, at a glance, a brown signboard with the words Muzium Bugis just below Muzium Nenas.
I neither looked for it nor inquired of its existence.
Pre-determination or destiny? In May of this year, I landed a simple job of attending bi-weekly meetings in Tanjung Bin. On my very first trip, I followed the Muzium Bugis signboard since the JKR signboard behind it indicated the same direction forTanjung Bin
On every trip to site in Tanjung Bin I would go through the same route - Kampung Seri Buniyan, turn right to Tenngayun then turn left and head all the way to the turnoff to Tanjung Bin after passing Sungai Rambah.
And every time, I had to give this turn-off to the Museum a miss.
Not this time though!
After 4 hours of the usual dreary meeting which results in the same "pointing-finger-at-contractor" problem, I purposely skipped the usual sumptuous paid-by-contractor lunch of (mercury laden) seafood in Tanjung Piai and headed for my destiny
The modernised timber looking building sits not far from the estuary in a leafy enclave. I cannot recall the vegetation but it felt cool. Probably the breeze from the Straits of Malacca which was just 100 meters away.
A tower of some sort on the left, a canteen in the middle and this building with the faint letterings of Muzium Bugis which is not bold enough to proudly announce itself.
Only one well maintained Mercedes 280SE but unkempt rear windows with spiderman strung up above what looked like Fuzzy Bear. I parked my 18 year old fit-for-scrap Kancil beside it.
A pair of maindoors were wide open. No curtain aircond unit, hence no aircond. Dimly lit with no sculptured lightings on walls or exhibits akin to typical museums, I guess. "Please remove your shoes" says a stand alone signboard. With no translation? Weird.
An elderly gentlemen of late 60s in a worn-out short sleeve was entertaining a couple in late 40s or early fifties dragging along two boisterous boys of no more than 8 and 10. I walked from wall to wall looking for signs of my ancestors. On the first wall was a double storey full timber house somewhat resembling that which my grandfather built in the 50s. Another wall looked interesting; a family tree. Too far to see clearly.
As I inched closer I noticed all had initials of either YM or YTM and a smattering of DYMM.
I passed the entourage led by the "animated" elderly gentlemen who managed to utter, in mid-sentence, the normal greeting.
The curator?
Tucked under his arm was a manuscript of sort. I paid no attention as they all seemed overly excited. Framed sepia toned photographs adorn most of the walls...Chief Ministers of Johore, Kings of Johore, women and men of significance (to some but not to me), RM1000 bank note, Banana currency, 1 cent Stamps...none were of much interest to me - except perhaps Osman Saat who was someone's home or compound that we frequented every year. I do not remember much but grandad use to address this old lady living in the CMs compound as auntie.
I gave all the "glass" showcases a miss as these were displaying porcelain ware with blue inscriptions or patterns - presumably dated artifacts since I know next to nothing of antiques.
Within 5 minutes I was already disheartened and making for the exit which was also the entrance. By then the "elated" family was already at the exit profusely thanking the curator for pieces of paper which was, I supposed, given to them.
Before I could put on my clinically engineered RM300 shoes (most expensive I have ever had in my life), the assumed curator requested that I signed the visitors book. In capital letters I wrote my name, and the names of my father, grandfather, great grandfather, great great grandfather and great great great grandfather. He swiveled the book around as I finished.
"You have come to the right place. I have your ancestors with me now" as he hurriedly produced the manuscript clutched now in his athritic fingers (so he claims later)
The manuscript was photostated from a typed copy, with a yellowing letter sized front page bound unceremoniously with green binding tape
I flipped page by page. Familiar names but yet unsure. The curator started his probable memorised oration of my last known entry - that of my great great great grandfather upto Daeng Pabitah. Half listening, half concentrating on the manuscript I skipped many pages before I truly discovered familiar names.
A few pages away were links to unfamiliar names of older generations: Orang Kaya DiRaja Daeng Ahmad @ Waaniuh bin Daeng Abdul Rahman bin Daeng Sitar Pulah bin Daeng Perpatih bin Daeng Wajuk @ Indera Purma bin Raja Champa
There were footnotes on most pages citing that the documentation was based on oral tradition
My mind raced forward to my next task - checking other sources, looking for other family members...
There were short excerpts on the origins of some the villages like Parit Sakai, Parit Perupok...and the respective pioneers. Even a story on the Railroad in Muar (where have I read that before?)!
Asked whether I could purchase a copy, he offers profound apologies. I could not make a copy (no photostat machine) either. And a resounding no to take it out. As a last resort, I suggested photograph. He acquiesced.
I zoomed in on very few pages which is of significance to me. With my trusted blackberry, I started recording my families existence right up to Daeng Pabitah (though I have yet to make the connection).
No, I did not thank him profusely as did the last visitor. I actually stormed out with purposeful intent.
22 Sep 2011, 5am, JB
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
PS. there are a few websites on Family Trees on Raja Champa and his descendants. I have yet to start reading up on them like http://www.siapamoyanganda.com/keterangan/wujud_salasilah.html or http://www.geni.com/people/ahmad-bin-daeng-pabita/6000000008781783370
PPS. A debt of gratitude to those before me who preserved the oral traditions.
 |
| The Beginning: Orang Kaya DiRaja Daeng Ahmad @ Waaniuh bin Daeng Abdul Rahman bin Daeng Sitar Pulah bin Daeng Perpatih bin Daeng Wajuk @ Indera Purma bin Raja Chempa |
 |
| From Daeng Wajuk |
 |
| Back to the roots - intermarriage and links with Daeng Fabitah |
 |
| Daeng Kudin was the last name in my family tree before the new discovery |
 |
| Penghulu Daeng Mohd Esa was my great-great grandfather |
 |
| Another branch of the family tree published available from the web |
 |
| The Late YB Dato Hj Daeng Jalok bin Daeng Malibok - Johore's Bugis Expert Genealogist |
Tuesday 13 September 2011
Ramblings on...inherited asthma
Back in the '60s there were no inhalers...
Every school holiday I spent a week or so immobile. Asthma! Living in a "kampung" didn't help either. No water, electricity or phones. Certainly no Clinics private or public.
A few vivid images came to mind for medication purposes.
"Minyak bubut" (ointment consisting of a dead bird - butbut - ground up with oil) was one. My grandmother literally bathed me in it. By the way, this ointment was also for aches, pains, broken bones, slipped discs...a miracle cure for all. No, I am not knocking it but I don't see the logic for one ointment to cure all. It gave some form of relief though. Probably from the tender loving care as well.
Next was Vicks vapour rub (Antioxidant and antimutagenic activity of mannan neoglycoconjugates: Mannan-human serum albumine and mannan-penicillin G acylase [An article from: Mut.Res.-Genetic ... Toxicology and Environmental Mutagenesis])
. It was smothered all over. I was even told to drink it.
Hacks and Hudsons were our staple diet. It helps cos you feel a slight relief when the menthol goes into your lungs. We bought in tubs. Of course the shopkeepers at first thought we were selling these off. If you are wondering whether I still have all of my chompers, I will admit that I have all except four. So...sweets then were ok?
As preventative measures we were to stay away from anything "cold" - fruits of all sorts except durian (these days doctors recommend that we stay away from these Kings), vegetables like cucumber and all types of "choi", and glutinous rice. Off course no ice or ice cream. That is easy cos we don't have electricity.
Interim measures were regimented. I had exotic dried meat: tiger, camel, mouse deer... Another was boiled pigeons as soups. Of course many concoctions of unheard of roots and leaves. One which sticks to mind was raw egg yolk mixed with ghee to be gulped whole.
These didn't help much.
Then came penicillin. When we could afford it, we would go to Jalan Sisi and get a jab. After the jab, I would lay unconscious for a while. Nobody knew then, until I was 14, that I was allergic to it when I was first hospitalised for Asthma
In the late 80s I learnt of ventolin inhaler (AeroChamber Plus Valved Holding Chamber / VHC with FlowSignal Whistle
.) The miracle drug. Side effects were not an issue until later in life when my eldest son developed "essential tremors" or the shakes. Me? Nope.
All of my kids are on this miracle cure until today. Of course we have been in an out of hospitals until they termed us as professional patients. At least one of mine were billeted in either Bristol, Mekkah or Islamabad. Columbia Asia and Puteri Specialist Hospitals in JB (Hospitals In Malaysia, including: List Of Hospitals In Malaysia, Penang Adventist Hospital, Sultan Ismail Specialist Hospital, Hospital Tengku Ampuan ... Sultan Abdul Halim Hospital, Columbia Asia
)are our second home.
My kids and I are asthmatic since it is, unfortunately, inherited.
Such is destiny...
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Every school holiday I spent a week or so immobile. Asthma! Living in a "kampung" didn't help either. No water, electricity or phones. Certainly no Clinics private or public.
A few vivid images came to mind for medication purposes.
"Minyak bubut" (ointment consisting of a dead bird - butbut - ground up with oil) was one. My grandmother literally bathed me in it. By the way, this ointment was also for aches, pains, broken bones, slipped discs...a miracle cure for all. No, I am not knocking it but I don't see the logic for one ointment to cure all. It gave some form of relief though. Probably from the tender loving care as well.
Next was Vicks vapour rub (Antioxidant and antimutagenic activity of mannan neoglycoconjugates: Mannan-human serum albumine and mannan-penicillin G acylase [An article from: Mut.Res.-Genetic ... Toxicology and Environmental Mutagenesis])
. It was smothered all over. I was even told to drink it.Hacks and Hudsons were our staple diet. It helps cos you feel a slight relief when the menthol goes into your lungs. We bought in tubs. Of course the shopkeepers at first thought we were selling these off. If you are wondering whether I still have all of my chompers, I will admit that I have all except four. So...sweets then were ok?
As preventative measures we were to stay away from anything "cold" - fruits of all sorts except durian (these days doctors recommend that we stay away from these Kings), vegetables like cucumber and all types of "choi", and glutinous rice. Off course no ice or ice cream. That is easy cos we don't have electricity.
Interim measures were regimented. I had exotic dried meat: tiger, camel, mouse deer... Another was boiled pigeons as soups. Of course many concoctions of unheard of roots and leaves. One which sticks to mind was raw egg yolk mixed with ghee to be gulped whole.
These didn't help much.
Then came penicillin. When we could afford it, we would go to Jalan Sisi and get a jab. After the jab, I would lay unconscious for a while. Nobody knew then, until I was 14, that I was allergic to it when I was first hospitalised for Asthma
In the late 80s I learnt of ventolin inhaler (AeroChamber Plus Valved Holding Chamber / VHC with FlowSignal Whistle
.) The miracle drug. Side effects were not an issue until later in life when my eldest son developed "essential tremors" or the shakes. Me? Nope.All of my kids are on this miracle cure until today. Of course we have been in an out of hospitals until they termed us as professional patients. At least one of mine were billeted in either Bristol, Mekkah or Islamabad. Columbia Asia and Puteri Specialist Hospitals in JB (Hospitals In Malaysia, including: List Of Hospitals In Malaysia, Penang Adventist Hospital, Sultan Ismail Specialist Hospital, Hospital Tengku Ampuan ... Sultan Abdul Halim Hospital, Columbia Asia
)are our second home.My kids and I are asthmatic since it is, unfortunately, inherited.
Such is destiny...
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
(Brief) Ramblings on...Three Minute Briyanis
The first time I heard of Ibrahim's vacuum packed beriyani dishes was after boarding Bus No 137 in Clapham Common heading towards Thornbury Avenue.
This Malaysian family who has been living in a one bedroomed ground floor flat comprising of husband (working as a postman in Greater London), full time housewife and only son was selling Ibrahim's Beriyani from home. How much? Was it a fiver?
Back then, there was only one way of enjoying this "authentic" beriyani - dunk the whole aluminum packaging into boiling water for 3 minutes. Thirty years later, 30 seconds in a microwave oven will do.
All I remember now is that they tasted much better than the beriyani's that the Pakistani or Indian Restaurants were dishing out in the big cities of Europe in them days.
I can assure you also that it is better than the weekly beriyanis' which my male chef dishes out in Islamabad.
But it can never beat my own concoction nor that of my mom's own secret recipe made with TLC...
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
This Malaysian family who has been living in a one bedroomed ground floor flat comprising of husband (working as a postman in Greater London), full time housewife and only son was selling Ibrahim's Beriyani from home. How much? Was it a fiver?
Back then, there was only one way of enjoying this "authentic" beriyani - dunk the whole aluminum packaging into boiling water for 3 minutes. Thirty years later, 30 seconds in a microwave oven will do.
All I remember now is that they tasted much better than the beriyani's that the Pakistani or Indian Restaurants were dishing out in the big cities of Europe in them days.
I can assure you also that it is better than the weekly beriyanis' which my male chef dishes out in Islamabad.
But it can never beat my own concoction nor that of my mom's own secret recipe made with TLC...
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Friday 9 September 2011
Ramblings on...Tom and Jerry
Some would have known, by my earlier e-mail, that my "friend" or "fiend" is allegedly back home in Malaysia.
AA coined the phrase "MPPL's own Tom and Jerry" a month or so before Ramadan of 2005 before he approved my request for a transfer.
In KLIA we were like that too. So were we in SOGO before that. But it was all an act. Everything was left in the office, none brought home.
But Pakistan was different! Our office was our home and vice versa.
There were many horrifying incidences to recall... Even after more than 4 years, I can't bury the hatchet. Perhaps I was stupid enough to consider that I have not paid my debt - till now.
Most horrendous encounters were witnessed by some of you. Others heard the shouting matches from across the lawn or from behind double brick walls. Then there were stories who heard from others.
The worst - during official hours - was the yelling match in the showroom beside MPPLs office. The cause, months of bottling up, stress, looming opening ceremony, unfinished works...
Ranked second was the yelling match in Chaklala's meeting room - during office hours - with the Pakistani house staff who were in on this meeting. Money not reimbursed for buying foodstuff - hundreds of thousands of rupees of mine and jarvid's own! I should be the one yelling since it was my money
My personal worse was when he kicked me in the back - literally. If not for the back of the chair I would have been hurt. This was in RRAs room after office hours. In Malay tradition it was termed "kurang ajar". Cause? Me chatting on line with Meor asking him to come back or be terminated.
But to top it all...my family and I were the first to be forbidden from eating "his food". Then followed by RRA. In fact nobody was allowed other than those living in his house (I wasn't? Perhaps not my wife and kids) with the exception of his new found "love". I actually bought and cooked for me and mine for a week until I moved. My heartfelt sorrow was shared with Jarvid and Matiullah.
Hence my hasty move into my own flat in front which I was planning to ever since I arrived. I went as far as DHAI area to look for suitable one with the help of Akram and Javid. Our best bet was Safari Villa. The plan was to bring Javid's and Akram's family to live with me and mine. It was never to be. Moving in front helped a great deal. At least I know the boundary between office hours and mine.
My move was not sanctioned by AA. He, accepted it late - a month. In return he assigned the Suzuki car to me! A brand new car. I welcomed it with open arms.
But me being me, after a number of newbies complaining of problems with transportation during their first week, gave up. I let it by...I used it infrequently - shopping once a week and to the doctors. I know it was used for other than intended - late at nights...
Once he came charging in to my own home unannounced and unwelcomed to bark and insisted that I work when I was out cold with fever just before the public screaming session.
Like husband and wife, like Tom and Jerry.
He came to me many a times bemoaning his problems; office and personal. I did what I do best listen and bear it.
Twice he pleaded that I formulate his letters of resignation - once in July and another in December. A ploy to get an increment. I shared this with you...
I always turned the other cheek.
I have retaliated but not in the extreme; NOT a tooth for a tooth, nor an eye for an eye.
Whilst I was in REDD and RRA at the same time, I retaliated. I did magic and turned the tables. All guns cocked and aimed at him. All changes were now documented and attributable to him.
Some knew that it was me behind these contractual time bombs though others were oblivious. Some surrendered!
You see, on my return to Malaysia I upgraded my memory chip, and increased to Terrabytes instead of Gigabytes.
Keep your friends but your enemies closer still. But more befitting but sarcastic: with friends like him, who needs enemies?
I know I should forgive and forget...more so during the season of forgiveness... Have I forgiven him? No. Will I ever? I do not know. Have I forgotten? Not yet and perhaps I never will.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device via Vodafone-Celcom Mobile.
AA coined the phrase "MPPL's own Tom and Jerry" a month or so before Ramadan of 2005 before he approved my request for a transfer.
In KLIA we were like that too. So were we in SOGO before that. But it was all an act. Everything was left in the office, none brought home.
But Pakistan was different! Our office was our home and vice versa.
There were many horrifying incidences to recall... Even after more than 4 years, I can't bury the hatchet. Perhaps I was stupid enough to consider that I have not paid my debt - till now.
Most horrendous encounters were witnessed by some of you. Others heard the shouting matches from across the lawn or from behind double brick walls. Then there were stories who heard from others.
The worst - during official hours - was the yelling match in the showroom beside MPPLs office. The cause, months of bottling up, stress, looming opening ceremony, unfinished works...
Ranked second was the yelling match in Chaklala's meeting room - during office hours - with the Pakistani house staff who were in on this meeting. Money not reimbursed for buying foodstuff - hundreds of thousands of rupees of mine and jarvid's own! I should be the one yelling since it was my money
My personal worse was when he kicked me in the back - literally. If not for the back of the chair I would have been hurt. This was in RRAs room after office hours. In Malay tradition it was termed "kurang ajar". Cause? Me chatting on line with Meor asking him to come back or be terminated.
But to top it all...my family and I were the first to be forbidden from eating "his food". Then followed by RRA. In fact nobody was allowed other than those living in his house (I wasn't? Perhaps not my wife and kids) with the exception of his new found "love". I actually bought and cooked for me and mine for a week until I moved. My heartfelt sorrow was shared with Jarvid and Matiullah.
Hence my hasty move into my own flat in front which I was planning to ever since I arrived. I went as far as DHAI area to look for suitable one with the help of Akram and Javid. Our best bet was Safari Villa. The plan was to bring Javid's and Akram's family to live with me and mine. It was never to be. Moving in front helped a great deal. At least I know the boundary between office hours and mine.
My move was not sanctioned by AA. He, accepted it late - a month. In return he assigned the Suzuki car to me! A brand new car. I welcomed it with open arms.
But me being me, after a number of newbies complaining of problems with transportation during their first week, gave up. I let it by...I used it infrequently - shopping once a week and to the doctors. I know it was used for other than intended - late at nights...
Once he came charging in to my own home unannounced and unwelcomed to bark and insisted that I work when I was out cold with fever just before the public screaming session.
Like husband and wife, like Tom and Jerry.
He came to me many a times bemoaning his problems; office and personal. I did what I do best listen and bear it.
Twice he pleaded that I formulate his letters of resignation - once in July and another in December. A ploy to get an increment. I shared this with you...
I always turned the other cheek.
I have retaliated but not in the extreme; NOT a tooth for a tooth, nor an eye for an eye.
Whilst I was in REDD and RRA at the same time, I retaliated. I did magic and turned the tables. All guns cocked and aimed at him. All changes were now documented and attributable to him.
Some knew that it was me behind these contractual time bombs though others were oblivious. Some surrendered!
You see, on my return to Malaysia I upgraded my memory chip, and increased to Terrabytes instead of Gigabytes.
Keep your friends but your enemies closer still. But more befitting but sarcastic: with friends like him, who needs enemies?
I know I should forgive and forget...more so during the season of forgiveness.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device via Vodafone-Celcom Mobile.
Ramblings on...making more
My mother's mother's mother ran a coffee shop in Pontian in 1920s. My mother's mother's father had a book shop in JB back in 1910 and a shop in Pontian selling cloth. He goes back and forth Indonesia buying and exchanging goods - import export business on a small scale. These disappeared during WW2
So my great grandfather had two jobs? Or was it diversification?
All these are but scant memories for my mother. Was she there at that time? Or was it "stories" from her mother?
During WW2 my dad, just twelve years old, taps rubber in the morning and ran a tiny grocery stall in the afternoon belonging to his mother. He rides his bicycle to Air Hitam load it up coconuts and then pedals his "rubberless tyre" to Sarang Buaya to exchange for rice which he sells from his shop.
My mother's father had a small shop making and selling "songkok" back in the 60s. I can vouch for this since I was there to witness him and my uncles sewing these "songkoks" at home and in the shops. Of course most of my kindreds' "songkok" were "tailored" to fit our lumpy heads, so says he eons ago. But this is a single source income!
My father's only brother teaches in the morning and tends to his rubber small holdings in the afternoons. Like some of my other uncles from my mother's side, majority of whom are educators, they too tap rubber before or after school hours.
Most, if not all, are now collecting their pensions. Their income from their rubber small holdings (now oil palm) outstrips the graduates' salary now.
My mother's eldest brother did many things...He works in the Forestry Department as a lorry driver. In the mornings he buys breakfast and sells them to his colleagues. When he goes home he packs his lorry with goods for his small shop in Kota Tinggi - carpets, books, ointment...
He is the richest of the lot. He owns more than 20 of those low cost houses he built as and when money was available which he then rents them, more than (some say) 20 acres of land and 3 shops. His legacy to his children? Own houses, lands...
My parents? They were school teachers in the mornings. In the afternoons they took on two "kelas dewasa" each. With the proceeds from both they amassed quite a bit.
Me? I had fixed employment. And to supplement these monthly (pitiful to me) income I took on others.
Photography was the easiest. Mostly over the weekends covering weddings. Not much as these were seasonal. I did earn "small change" when I took on Site Progress Photography until 2004.
Back when the Government embarked on BM for all subjects even at Tertiary Level, I translated or edited them for Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka and a handful for Institut Terjemahan Negara. Some were for companies. These were done manually then. Armed with dictionaries and MABIM's attempt at standardising terminologies for every field, I did these in mosques, parks, arcades, restaurants...during any available time I had.
Translating was easier than editing. My command of English was better than that of my own mother tongue - or so I believe. I think in English before I muttered in BM. So, it was much faster for me to translate.
Editing was a different ball game altogether. There were times, when I was unlucky enough to have had to edit works by literal translators! I ended up translating sentence after sentence much to the dismay of my supervisors. At times, it took me twice longer to finish the assignment.
Even today you may come across movies on Astro whose sub-titles are inaccurate. Some are literal translations, others got it all wrong. English is really peculiar isn't it? Innuendos, same phrases but different connotations in England and Australia...I can't stop reading the stupid sub-titles on the teley since only those with Astro can switch off the sub-titles. I curse a lot these days simply because of these silly literal translations.
In all the places I have worked in, I am the self-proclaimed walking, talking (some say too much) thesaurus!
Next came satay for a year at nights after my bungling attempt at being a contractor during the day. By then, there were not that many translation or editing works. Satay was, as some would have it, enough to supplement my bad habit of smoking.
Then came the computer. I was like a duck to water since I was using computers ever since Sinclair came out with Zilog80. MS Office made life easier for me.
It was easier to earn pocket money then. I was good, so I claimed, at Powerpoint, Scheduling, Database and 3D rendering and Walkthrough. Clients were friends of friends who worked in other companies. They commissioned me to prepare presentation files - without or with narration employing my gruff voice, hypertext links, hyperlinked files, buttons, 3D walk through movies... Rest assured I still possess these in CD and HD.
MS Project was my additional income earner. This and Artemis were the only two we had back in 97. Most big contractors were embarking on this new project management tool. MS Project was the easiest of the two to understand and to use. Later Primavera P3 took over the market since KLCC dictated the usage of the same for all their projects. So, I burnt midnight oil to prepare and sell the schedules.
dB4 was my starting point in 92 or so for database. I dropped that when MS Access started in 97 or so. At first, I used it for the company I was working for. Then, challenged by my junior and senior staff, I embarked on a Document Management System. It was crude at first. But eventually, after continuous development over a five year period it got better and better. I started "selling" them off as part of my package as an employee. Later, I packaged as part of my services as a consultant to some of these Contractors.
My clientele included - to name but a few - Sunway, Sri Pelagat, Towry Law, Taisei, Guthrie, AZSB...
These pocket money avenues stopped for a while when I last worked with a GLC in Johore.
All these were not enough. Will it ever be enough? I am never satisfied with what I have. Materialistic SOB aren't I?
One thing is for sure - I had my fair share of "fun" whilst it lasted. The midnight oil, sleepless nights, working holidays, clients who refuses to pay, clients who claimed that they could do better...
Nowadays...everyone is adept at all these. So, there goes supplemental income for me at least!
Perhaps my father was right after all! Nothing beats agriculture. These days, you can earn 100 per day for an hour tapping rubber! I earned 1K per day or 125 per hour in an airconditioned room harassed by my boss and juniors alike! If I tapped rubber, I will only have to contend with mosquitoes...which will shy away if I smoked a lot or use repellents.
I failed to amass the fortune which my dad or uncle made in the 60s.
I am not a millionaire. I will not have a pension. I do have debts though to last another 20 years. My wealth is in having a great family, and very, very few close friends - three to be exact - and the knowledge that I have which I will continue to share with those willing to...listen
Dedicated to my parents and uncle Amir
Composed and bashed on the berry whilst undergoing physioteraphy on 9th September 2011.
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
So my great grandfather had two jobs? Or was it diversification?
All these are but scant memories for my mother. Was she there at that time? Or was it "stories" from her mother?
During WW2 my dad, just twelve years old, taps rubber in the morning and ran a tiny grocery stall in the afternoon belonging to his mother. He rides his bicycle to Air Hitam load it up coconuts and then pedals his "rubberless tyre" to Sarang Buaya to exchange for rice which he sells from his shop.
My mother's father had a small shop making and selling "songkok" back in the 60s. I can vouch for this since I was there to witness him and my uncles sewing these "songkoks" at home and in the shops. Of course most of my kindreds' "songkok" were "tailored" to fit our lumpy heads, so says he eons ago. But this is a single source income!
My father's only brother teaches in the morning and tends to his rubber small holdings in the afternoons. Like some of my other uncles from my mother's side, majority of whom are educators, they too tap rubber before or after school hours.
Most, if not all, are now collecting their pensions. Their income from their rubber small holdings (now oil palm) outstrips the graduates' salary now.
My mother's eldest brother did many things...He works in the Forestry Department as a lorry driver. In the mornings he buys breakfast and sells them to his colleagues. When he goes home he packs his lorry with goods for his small shop in Kota Tinggi - carpets, books, ointment...
He is the richest of the lot. He owns more than 20 of those low cost houses he built as and when money was available which he then rents them, more than (some say) 20 acres of land and 3 shops. His legacy to his children? Own houses, lands...
My parents? They were school teachers in the mornings. In the afternoons they took on two "kelas dewasa" each. With the proceeds from both they amassed quite a bit.
Me? I had fixed employment. And to supplement these monthly (pitiful to me) income I took on others.
Photography was the easiest. Mostly over the weekends covering weddings. Not much as these were seasonal. I did earn "small change" when I took on Site Progress Photography until 2004.
Back when the Government embarked on BM for all subjects even at Tertiary Level, I translated or edited them for Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka and a handful for Institut Terjemahan Negara. Some were for companies. These were done manually then. Armed with dictionaries and MABIM's attempt at standardising terminologies for every field, I did these in mosques, parks, arcades, restaurants...during any available time I had.
Translating was easier than editing. My command of English was better than that of my own mother tongue - or so I believe. I think in English before I muttered in BM. So, it was much faster for me to translate.
Editing was a different ball game altogether. There were times, when I was unlucky enough to have had to edit works by literal translators! I ended up translating sentence after sentence much to the dismay of my supervisors. At times, it took me twice longer to finish the assignment.
Even today you may come across movies on Astro whose sub-titles are inaccurate. Some are literal translations, others got it all wrong. English is really peculiar isn't it? Innuendos, same phrases but different connotations in England and Australia...I can't stop reading the stupid sub-titles on the teley since only those with Astro can switch off the sub-titles. I curse a lot these days simply because of these silly literal translations.
In all the places I have worked in, I am the self-proclaimed walking, talking (some say too much) thesaurus!
Next came satay for a year at nights after my bungling attempt at being a contractor during the day. By then, there were not that many translation or editing works. Satay was, as some would have it, enough to supplement my bad habit of smoking.
Then came the computer. I was like a duck to water since I was using computers ever since Sinclair came out with Zilog80. MS Office made life easier for me.
It was easier to earn pocket money then. I was good, so I claimed, at Powerpoint, Scheduling, Database and 3D rendering and Walkthrough. Clients were friends of friends who worked in other companies. They commissioned me to prepare presentation files - without or with narration employing my gruff voice, hypertext links, hyperlinked files, buttons, 3D walk through movies... Rest assured I still possess these in CD and HD.
MS Project was my additional income earner. This and Artemis were the only two we had back in 97. Most big contractors were embarking on this new project management tool. MS Project was the easiest of the two to understand and to use. Later Primavera P3 took over the market since KLCC dictated the usage of the same for all their projects. So, I burnt midnight oil to prepare and sell the schedules.
dB4 was my starting point in 92 or so for database. I dropped that when MS Access started in 97 or so. At first, I used it for the company I was working for. Then, challenged by my junior and senior staff, I embarked on a Document Management System. It was crude at first. But eventually, after continuous development over a five year period it got better and better. I started "selling" them off as part of my package as an employee. Later, I packaged as part of my services as a consultant to some of these Contractors.
My clientele included - to name but a few - Sunway, Sri Pelagat, Towry Law, Taisei, Guthrie, AZSB...
These pocket money avenues stopped for a while when I last worked with a GLC in Johore.
All these were not enough. Will it ever be enough? I am never satisfied with what I have. Materialistic SOB aren't I?
One thing is for sure - I had my fair share of "fun" whilst it lasted. The midnight oil, sleepless nights, working holidays, clients who refuses to pay, clients who claimed that they could do better...
Nowadays...everyone is adept at all these. So, there goes supplemental income for me at least!
Perhaps my father was right after all! Nothing beats agriculture. These days, you can earn 100 per day for an hour tapping rubber! I earned 1K per day or 125 per hour in an airconditioned room harassed by my boss and juniors alike! If I tapped rubber, I will only have to contend with mosquitoes...which will shy away if I smoked a lot or use repellents.
I failed to amass the fortune which my dad or uncle made in the 60s.
I am not a millionaire. I will not have a pension. I do have debts though to last another 20 years. My wealth is in having a great family, and very, very few close friends - three to be exact - and the knowledge that I have which I will continue to share with those willing to...listen
Dedicated to my parents and uncle Amir
Composed and bashed on the berry whilst undergoing physioteraphy on 9th September 2011.
Sent by Maxis from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Thursday 8 September 2011
Ramblings on...tomorrow for me
I lost my second classmate from high school days this year.
Signs of inevitability. We will all leave this temporary shell which was loaned to us. All we can do is prepare to accept that day of which we know not when.
From MIO, I met Nizam a number of times. I was about to bring him in when his wife had difficulties. I wonder whether the soon-to-be mother and the new life she is carrying are well. Then, early this morning, Johangir called. Unfortunately, he is where I am not. Memories of my incarceration. ..
From Islamabad days, all I have is Khai. Usually, I will bump into him at least every other day. We had breakfast often times. Occassionally Meor, TDC Soho, and Fauzi would call. Meor is very consistent. Once he reaches terra firma he will send word from wherever he is.
From HSM, I met 3 of my school mates in the spate of one month...I wonder where my favourite teacher is at this moment. The last time I talked to her was from behind bars...
Joe, you are always close to me. I hope my weekly pictorial reports did not bore you. Consider my offer of growing old together.
Will you and I be continuing with this medium when we reach 60? 70? 80? The internet is where we gather information, exchange news, interact...but without ever having to run out of saliva or empty our pocket for a coffee which costs 10 times more than what mamak stores can offer. No fear of traffic jams either.
I don't know. In a way I do see myself sitting in front of the pc tapping away slowly (due to rheumatism) whilst groping for the keys (cataract). Perhaps by then, I can afford to buy the technology where all I need do is think of the sentences and think of "pressing" the send button. Steven Hawkings does have something close to that.
Seriously now! Can you see yourself sitting in front of the pc in 10 years? Fred, will you be staring at both screens then or would the kids be doing it for you? LF88 will you still send them to me or your grandson? Joe, will you be in Seremban looking for wi-fi to try and connect?
Me? I hunger for news of friends and families from far flung locations and those just a stone's throw away. We will be sharing stories of our kids and grandchildren. Perhaps some will be lucky enough to be able to declare himself a great grandfather.
One thing is for sure. I don't think I will be using the berry or things similar. Probably I will have a 32 inch touch screen monitor with voice recognition software to stay in touch with you out there. Don't forget, my hearing aid will always be low on battery...the only reason why I won't call you. Anyway, I am hopeless at small talk when engaged in an oral discourse.
Picture this. A decrepid 80 year old man wheeling around in a motorised wheelchair wired to the hilt (pc connections, drips...), wearing a HUD (heads-up-display, sporting an Armani long sleeve shirt, a Pakistani sarong, and Oberman slippers... apparently having a conversation with himself. It could be me...the terror of the hospital ward.
What a sight for sore eyes! Beat that Fred!
Signs of inevitability. We will all leave this temporary shell which was loaned to us. All we can do is prepare to accept that day of which we know not when.
From MIO, I met Nizam a number of times. I was about to bring him in when his wife had difficulties. I wonder whether the soon-to-be mother and the new life she is carrying are well. Then, early this morning, Johangir called. Unfortunately, he is where I am not. Memories of my incarceration. ..
From Islamabad days, all I have is Khai. Usually, I will bump into him at least every other day. We had breakfast often times. Occassionally Meor, TDC Soho, and Fauzi would call. Meor is very consistent. Once he reaches terra firma he will send word from wherever he is.
From HSM, I met 3 of my school mates in the spate of one month...I wonder where my favourite teacher is at this moment. The last time I talked to her was from behind bars...
Joe, you are always close to me. I hope my weekly pictorial reports did not bore you. Consider my offer of growing old together.
Will you and I be continuing with this medium when we reach 60? 70? 80? The internet is where we gather information, exchange news, interact...but without ever having to run out of saliva or empty our pocket for a coffee which costs 10 times more than what mamak stores can offer. No fear of traffic jams either.
I don't know. In a way I do see myself sitting in front of the pc tapping away slowly (due to rheumatism) whilst groping for the keys (cataract). Perhaps by then, I can afford to buy the technology where all I need do is think of the sentences and think of "pressing" the send button. Steven Hawkings does have something close to that.
Seriously now! Can you see yourself sitting in front of the pc in 10 years? Fred, will you be staring at both screens then or would the kids be doing it for you? LF88 will you still send them to me or your grandson? Joe, will you be in Seremban looking for wi-fi to try and connect?
Me? I hunger for news of friends and families from far flung locations and those just a stone's throw away. We will be sharing stories of our kids and grandchildren. Perhaps some will be lucky enough to be able to declare himself a great grandfather.
One thing is for sure. I don't think I will be using the berry or things similar. Probably I will have a 32 inch touch screen monitor with voice recognition software to stay in touch with you out there. Don't forget, my hearing aid will always be low on battery...the only reason why I won't call you. Anyway, I am hopeless at small talk when engaged in an oral discourse.
Picture this. A decrepid 80 year old man wheeling around in a motorised wheelchair wired to the hilt (pc connections, drips...), wearing a HUD (heads-up-display, sporting an Armani long sleeve shirt, a Pakistani sarong, and Oberman slippers... apparently having a conversation with himself. It could be me...the terror of the hospital ward.
What a sight for sore eyes! Beat that Fred!
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device via Vodafone-Celcom Mobile
Wednesday 7 September 2011
Ramblings on...life in Delhi
I had only two weeks to pack before I went off to Delhi in 2003. Everything was arranged, flight, someone to pick me up at the airport, house where I was to live in...
I arrived close to midnight. There was my boss and his driver waiting at the airport - reminiscent of Subang Airport back in the late 70s but noisier due to the maddening crowd. Even at this late hour.
As usual, the first things that had to be stowed away were the foodstuff - "kicap manis" (sweet soy sauce), "belachan" (shrimp paste), "serai" (lemon grass), "ikan masin" (salted fish), "ikan bilis" (dried anchovies), and "lesung" (pestle and mortar). I travelled with these most important items. Alas, the larder was full of exactly the same things... There were eight Malaysians in the same house from the same company. They each brought the same stuff. A week later, I realised that these were non-essentials. Why? The fish market in Delhi had all of these and much much more.Fresh "serai", fresh turmeric, "belachan", "cincalok"...you name it, they have it.
But where did they get the "ikan bawal" (pomfret), "tenggiri" (king fish), "sotong" (squid), "kupang" (mussels)... from? After all, Delhi is in the middle of the Indian Continent! Well, flowin in of course.
So, every Sunday I made my trip to the. Fish Market to buy provisions and Dunhill International (I couldn't stand the "normal" Dunhill since they were made in India. It takes an hour to get there by car.
Pomfret in Assam Pedas, Steamed Tenggiri with Halia, sweet and sour mackerel, crab in chilli sauce...were my repertoire for seafood. Vegetable menu includes cabbage in dried prawn soup, spinach in belachan, stir fried bean sprouts, sauted capsicum with onion and tomatoes, spinach with salted fish. Beef and chicken were not that difficult to get. Most chicken will be slaughtered in plain sight. Beef dripping in blood...not those pinkish meat as a result of thawing.
My culinary skills for beef and chicken were not exciting. Curry, "kormak", '
"Masak kicap", soup (simply boil the meet with halia and onions. Add salt and pepper. It's like making stock), sweet and sour beef with pineapple cubes, beef or chicken casserole were my dishes.
But my piece de resistance is bouillabaise.
Big problem with cooking though when it comes to beef. Our maid was Hindu. So we had one set of utensils, crockeries, knives...to cook beef.
Electricity is not the only problem. Brown-out and black-outs are daily affairs. But water? Without electricity there is no water. They dug deep to collect water. And you are advised NOT to drink from the taps. So everywhere you go, you will have 2 litres of mineral water. The Site Office, Corporate Office and every floor of our home away from home had a water dispenser!
Crucial to everyone would be hand phones. Just a simple handphone that can call and SMS. Mine was alcatel which had a built-in modem. So, I used that to chat with my wife, faster than the provided internet land lines. For site usage, we provided each engineer with a handphone too. Walkie talkies had a limited range of one mile radius.
One huge problem was NOT knowing! The moment you moved into another state, you have to buy a different SIMM! None of us were the wiser on one of our weekend sojourn to Rajashtan. Pratek, my driver, failed to advise me until we arrived two days later in Delhi much to the chagrin of my wife.
By the way, there were 4 different groups of attendants on 12 hour shifts - 2 maids, 2 cleaners (different caste, darker skinned, unkempt), 2 drivers and 2 gardeners. In other words, service was par excellence. Your shirts are washed and ironed, food at the table, drinks sent to you...but what a waste! We spent 12 hours working, 6 hours of sleep and another 6 to catch up on tv, ym with wife and kids.
And me, being stupid, cooked dinner every day!!!
The gardeners and cleaners do not mix with the others. They come to clean the house or water the plants when the others changes shift - around 6 am or so.
Back to food! I could not swallow their curry, beriyani, dhall...
There were two offices: corporate office (walking distance from home) along the main road and site office near Dwarka. But both were organised in the same fashion. They have a strict pecking order. When you dropped your pencil, the office boys comes running to pick it up. Your "chai" is served at the exact time every day.
They address those above their rank with Sir or Ma'am - reminiscent of the British Raj. They have been independent since 1948 but still unable to shake the culture ingrained during colonialism. Why is that? The caste system?
Their written English is laced like our formal Malay letter writing; salutations after salutations, exaltations...it is like reading (some would swear, my letters) the Contract Document.
What is amazing is that the Contract Managers memorizes the FIDIC contract, QAQC Manager memorizes all the ISO requirements, testing requirements and minimum or maximum values, the planners can recount every single predecessor of each line item...
But on site? Totally outdated!
You must employ ladies to carry a pan full of concrete; wheelbarrows are NOT allowed. They cut Y32s with hammer and chisel. They bend steel plates using brute force. You must employ ladies to break stones to form road chippings. Steel plates are cut using hammer and chisel...
I was stupid enough to order wheelbarrows, cutters, oxy-cutters, crimpers...
I received two stern letters: one from the union of labourers and the other from the Ministry of Labour just 48 hours after those modern conveniences arrived on site!
They do have steam rollers, back hoes, tractors, gensets,..but these are like from the days of the Empire.
One very peculiar discovery - they type better, faster and more accurate on their 20 year old Remingtons than on desktop computers!!!
Salary scale back then? Project Managers were earning RM1k. The ladies ferrying concrete were RM3 per day!
One more unique business model: middlemen. To bring rebars from outside of Delhi you will go through 3 middlemen. Not much RM1k each. First to collect the rebar from the mill, then at the gate as you are leaving! Then one more after the weighbridge before entering Delhi.
Traffic? And I thought was a town crammed with bicycles.
Old Raleighs, newer ones, 3 wheelers, huge ones, small ones...most of them from 60s. They carry 3 pax mostly
Trishaws? Majority are rickshaws - the type shopkeepers uses to load guni sacks of rice.
Then the motorcycles of all sorts. Tuk-tuks' are plentiful. Cars of old and new; Hillman, Mazda Capella, Austins...once a while a Pajero, rarely an Estima.
Every car will NOT have wing mirrors. Nobody, and I mean no one, would dare to rest their elbows on the windo ledges! Why? The distance between two cars or lorries or any vehicle is one wing mirror! The other norm is the incessant honking. You cannot avoid it.
To be continued...
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device via Vodafone-Celcom Mobile.
I arrived close to midnight. There was my boss and his driver waiting at the airport - reminiscent of Subang Airport back in the late 70s but noisier due to the maddening crowd. Even at this late hour.
As usual, the first things that had to be stowed away were the foodstuff - "kicap manis" (sweet soy sauce), "belachan" (shrimp paste), "serai" (lemon grass), "ikan masin" (salted fish), "ikan bilis" (dried anchovies), and "lesung" (pestle and mortar). I travelled with these most important items. Alas, the larder was full of exactly the same things... There were eight Malaysians in the same house from the same company. They each brought the same stuff. A week later, I realised that these were non-essentials. Why? The fish market in Delhi had all of these and much much more.Fresh "serai", fresh turmeric, "belachan", "cincalok"...you name it, they have it.
But where did they get the "ikan bawal" (pomfret), "tenggiri" (king fish), "sotong" (squid), "kupang" (mussels)... from? After all, Delhi is in the middle of the Indian Continent! Well, flowin in of course.
So, every Sunday I made my trip to the. Fish Market to buy provisions and Dunhill International (I couldn't stand the "normal" Dunhill since they were made in India. It takes an hour to get there by car.
Pomfret in Assam Pedas, Steamed Tenggiri with Halia, sweet and sour mackerel, crab in chilli sauce...were my repertoire for seafood. Vegetable menu includes cabbage in dried prawn soup, spinach in belachan, stir fried bean sprouts, sauted capsicum with onion and tomatoes, spinach with salted fish. Beef and chicken were not that difficult to get. Most chicken will be slaughtered in plain sight. Beef dripping in blood...not those pinkish meat as a result of thawing.
My culinary skills for beef and chicken were not exciting. Curry, "kormak", '
"Masak kicap", soup (simply boil the meet with halia and onions. Add salt and pepper. It's like making stock), sweet and sour beef with pineapple cubes, beef or chicken casserole were my dishes.
But my piece de resistance is bouillabaise.
Big problem with cooking though when it comes to beef. Our maid was Hindu. So we had one set of utensils, crockeries, knives...to cook beef.
Electricity is not the only problem. Brown-out and black-outs are daily affairs. But water? Without electricity there is no water. They dug deep to collect water. And you are advised NOT to drink from the taps. So everywhere you go, you will have 2 litres of mineral water. The Site Office, Corporate Office and every floor of our home away from home had a water dispenser!
Crucial to everyone would be hand phones. Just a simple handphone that can call and SMS. Mine was alcatel which had a built-in modem. So, I used that to chat with my wife, faster than the provided internet land lines. For site usage, we provided each engineer with a handphone too. Walkie talkies had a limited range of one mile radius.
One huge problem was NOT knowing! The moment you moved into another state, you have to buy a different SIMM! None of us were the wiser on one of our weekend sojourn to Rajashtan. Pratek, my driver, failed to advise me until we arrived two days later in Delhi much to the chagrin of my wife.
By the way, there were 4 different groups of attendants on 12 hour shifts - 2 maids, 2 cleaners (different caste, darker skinned, unkempt), 2 drivers and 2 gardeners. In other words, service was par excellence. Your shirts are washed and ironed, food at the table, drinks sent to you...but what a waste! We spent 12 hours working, 6 hours of sleep and another 6 to catch up on tv, ym with wife and kids.
And me, being stupid, cooked dinner every day!!!
The gardeners and cleaners do not mix with the others. They come to clean the house or water the plants when the others changes shift - around 6 am or so.
Back to food! I could not swallow their curry, beriyani, dhall...
There were two offices: corporate office (walking distance from home) along the main road and site office near Dwarka. But both were organised in the same fashion. They have a strict pecking order. When you dropped your pencil, the office boys comes running to pick it up. Your "chai" is served at the exact time every day.
They address those above their rank with Sir or Ma'am - reminiscent of the British Raj. They have been independent since 1948 but still unable to shake the culture ingrained during colonialism. Why is that? The caste system?
Their written English is laced like our formal Malay letter writing; salutations after salutations, exaltations...it is like reading (some would swear, my letters) the Contract Document.
What is amazing is that the Contract Managers memorizes the FIDIC contract, QAQC Manager memorizes all the ISO requirements, testing requirements and minimum or maximum values, the planners can recount every single predecessor of each line item...
But on site? Totally outdated!
You must employ ladies to carry a pan full of concrete; wheelbarrows are NOT allowed. They cut Y32s with hammer and chisel. They bend steel plates using brute force. You must employ ladies to break stones to form road chippings. Steel plates are cut using hammer and chisel...
I was stupid enough to order wheelbarrows, cutters, oxy-cutters, crimpers...
I received two stern letters: one from the union of labourers and the other from the Ministry of Labour just 48 hours after those modern conveniences arrived on site!
They do have steam rollers, back hoes, tractors, gensets,..but these are like from the days of the Empire.
One very peculiar discovery - they type better, faster and more accurate on their 20 year old Remingtons than on desktop computers!!!
Salary scale back then? Project Managers were earning RM1k. The ladies ferrying concrete were RM3 per day!
One more unique business model: middlemen. To bring rebars from outside of Delhi you will go through 3 middlemen. Not much RM1k each. First to collect the rebar from the mill, then at the gate as you are leaving! Then one more after the weighbridge before entering Delhi.
Traffic? And I thought was a town crammed with bicycles.
Old Raleighs, newer ones, 3 wheelers, huge ones, small ones...most of them from 60s. They carry 3 pax mostly
Trishaws? Majority are rickshaws - the type shopkeepers uses to load guni sacks of rice.
Then the motorcycles of all sorts. Tuk-tuks' are plentiful. Cars of old and new; Hillman, Mazda Capella, Austins...once a while a Pajero, rarely an Estima.
Every car will NOT have wing mirrors. Nobody, and I mean no one, would dare to rest their elbows on the windo ledges! Why? The distance between two cars or lorries or any vehicle is one wing mirror! The other norm is the incessant honking. You cannot avoid it.
To be continued...
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device via Vodafone-Celcom Mobile.
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