Ramblings on...working life for me in Doha

I sent this years ago (2007)...it caused a stir in Doha since people in Doha did not like what I wrote. Maybe because it was not the pretty picture it was meant to be. Perhaps the authority on this would be those from Missing_in_Obsecurity since they stayed nearly two years. 

I am re-sending this to all of you but re-titled as Ramblings...working in Doha

I have had two very brief tours of duty in Doha. The first was for a one month stint and the second (current) is for 3 months. Therefore, I am not an expert in this yet. However, I wish to share the following details:

1. Salary Scale - those working in the Oil and Gas Industry have got it made They are reeling in money. But those in the Construction Industry are not. A Project Manager working for a local company in Doha can earn somewhere in the region of RM15K per month
2. Accommodation - A room in a two bed-roomed apartment. Normally, a two bedroomed apartment can cost around RM6K
3. Transport - A car with free petrol and maintenance. You should be given a petrol card with a maximum of RM250 per month ceiling 
4. Holiday - 30 days paid leave per year upon completion of the first year
5. Medical - Free medical since this is provided for by the government
6. Ticket - 1 Free return ticket per year in economy. However, it is usual that you will have to pay for it first. Upon the completion of your one year service, you will be reimbursed.

General Information

1. BE WARNED: even though it is tax free here, the exchange rate will kill you. For every QYR 10K you will loose close to RM1K.
2. Food is plentiful, though somewhat more expensive compared to KL. So is clothing.
3. Entertainment. I cannot vouch for that since I do not partake in it. Mine was a walk along the Corniche and some of the Souqs (markets)
4. Shopping. Very few and far in between. Vellagio is the biggest. But it is still smaller than Subang Parade. The rest? Mere supermarkets which cannot even rival Giant in Subang Jaya.
5. Doha is predominantly a MALE city. Everywhere you go you will only see this gender. The other species do NOT go out that much. Count your lucky stars if you can see ten of them at any one time.
6. Cars are cheap. So is petrol.
7. Summers are scorchers. It is like walking in a pre-heated oven
8. Schools are expensive. RM2K per month for a Standard 1 equivalent. Of course, I have not asked the Indian, Pakistani or Phillipine Schools.
9. DO NOT TAKE PHOTOGRAPHS of local Qatari women or GOVERNMENT BUILDINGS especially Qatar Petroleum. I can vouch for myself with photographs to boot. 
10. DO NOT GO TO PRIVATE CLINICS. They cost an arm and a leg. Registration is RM100. Examination RM100. Medicine RM100. I have my receipts to show you that

Resident Permit

1. You arrive with a one month Visit Visa - normally
2. Your employer will take your passport from day one. So make a copy of it.
3. They will send you to a photo shop to take your mug shot. I was sent in a van load of Bangladeshis to a place in the Industrial Area.
4. Then send you for a blood group test in a Private Clinic
5. Later, much later, you will be sent to the Medical Department. It is always crowded. So, make sure you bring your company representative with you. He might be able to cut short the queue. Here they will take your blood and test it for HIV and others. Next X-Ray. If you have TB, you will not be allowed to work in Doha.
6. If your blood test and X-ray comes out clean, you will then be sent to the Immigration Department. They will take your finger prints - all ten of them.
7. Soon after you will receive a card - your Resident Permit. This is the only official document which everyone here uses. Note that you cannot make a duplicate key without this Resident Permit. 
8. Once you have your Resident Permit, your passport will also have a stamp denoting that you have a permit to work in Doha.

Going Home

1. Before you go home, at least 4 weeks before, make sure you CAN go home.
2. If you have a Police Case, you must clear it from the Public Prosecution Office. Or else, you will not be able to leave the country.
3. Get your exit permit done 1 week or so before your flight. I dont know how it works but if your company has more than 25 staff, the company can get this done in 2.5 hours by sending it on-line to the Immigration Department.
4. If you are on visit visa and have overstayed, make sure you have the receipts with you which indicates that the company has paid the fines. I think it is RM10 per day. Or was it RM100.

Working life

1. Most construction companies employs Arab Speaking nationalities as their Project Managers
2. Most of the Engineers are also of Arab Speaking nationalities. A small minority are Phillipines. There are a few Malaysians around
3. Most companies employ men at site. Four level of workers: Arab Nationalities, Phillipines, Indians from India and the workers from Vietnam, China, Bangladesh, Pakistan...
4. Shouting is common. VERY COMMON. Like in India and Pakistan, whoever shouts the loudest will win the argument - be it in board meetings, site meetings...
5. Profanities is also common. But I have not heard it being uttered by the Arab Nationalities.
6. Computer Literacy is very low.
7. English is horrible. Tolerable at best. Reminds me of India and Pakistan.
8. We faired better.

Just some of the pointers if you are thinking of working in Doha for the time being

Ramblings on...8mm, VHS, VCD, LD and DVD

The revved engine...louder and louder. It sounded as if it was coming from the back. My head cocked to the right. But there wasn't any sign of any super fast cars...

My kids were sniggling.

"It came from the video, dad!", they exclaimed in unison.

In this cavernous moving house, the semi-sense-surround hi-fi was uncannily realistic. Pity the 9 inch screen which came with this monsterous vehicle I named as Star-trek instead of Starship Enterprise.

I was first introduced to the big screen in my "kampung" (village) on the grounds of the "balai raya" (community hall). It was not daily or weekly and not even monthly. The truck loaded with the equipment comes and goes as they please. But one occassion left an indelible mark - a mock sailing boat with blue sails and the words "Parti Perikatan" (solidarity party). When was that? 1965?

Next came black and white tv. Since my "kampung" did not have electricity until 1970, we had to go to my grandmother's sister's house in town before my dad bought one himself. It was more of a weekly affair. Once you reach the "town board limit" you will notice houses crammed with people watching tv. Black and white tvs then. The audience were neighbours intruding onto the privacy of the family. They watched from purposely opened doors and windows. Their favourites would be the films that RTM airs every Saturdays - I think.

I "discovered" colour tv when I left home. I bought it at Sainsbury on hire purchase for £199. This lasted till 1985 when smoke billowed from the rear of the tv.

But in 1979 I was introduced to 8mm movies by a rich senior who owned a Carl Zeis Jenna camera.  The beginning of "home movies". I bought one for £59.95. Most were very old black and white movies like Basil Rathbone's role in a number of Sherlock Home movies...The sound was "tinny". The movie flickered. No screen, just a bedsheet over a wall.

I couldn't afford a VHS (anyone remember what it stood for? Video Home System?) until much, much later...1990 back on home turf.

There were VHS and Betamax at that time. I opted for VHS. Most of the films were rented. Old movies, new movies, Hindi Movies, English Movies...What was it? RM10 per week per 3 movies. The Epic movie at that time was Ghandi! The other memorable ones to me were the Star Trek Movies, Long Kiss Good Night, Far Pavillion... Some, were bought. Few were originals, majority were copies. Only the cartoon series for the kids were originals. These were viewed time and again.

I did buy and use a VHS portable camera for RM2000. I lugged this around with my SLR cameras to record for posterity. The trip to Europe, in and around Malaysia. It lasted three years. Why? The VHS portable camera was in need of repairs which would have burned a big hole in my pocket - half the price of a new VHS portable camera!

Alas, all these VHS tapes suffered due to mildew. None survived
Next came VCD (video compact disc?). Again, I started renting. But since the kids were watching them over and over again, it made no sense to rent. So, I started collecting some originals (cartoons) and some favourite movies - a replacement for the VHS. To compliment the VCD player, I started with Digital Cameras. I converted still pictures (from the Digital Camera) into "movies" with sound track. One VCD of Delhi, Pakistan, Doha, and some of Malaysia. Worse than photo albums (which every once in a while you tend to flick through), these VCD home movies were only seen no more than twice in its lifetime. I still have them...but stored somewhere. This time around I thought I was being practical so I copied all the VCDs in a 2.5Tb hard-drive

To compliment the VCD player, I was silly enough to purchase an LD (was it Laser Disc?) player. Of course the picture quality was excellent - even on cathode ray tubes - TVs. I wonder what it would be like if I hook them up now to the Plasma Screens with High Definition quality... Anyway, at first the movies were also rented. Very select few since the rental rates were very high, at first. I purchased a few - Star Trek movies, Classical Spaghetti Westerns and Ghandi. These are undoubtedly originals since each movie cost more than RM100 to buy. When did the LD era disappear? Sometime in 2000 I think. Why?

DVDs (digital video discs) replaced VCDs and LDs! Quality? Some says it is the same as LD but I seriously doubt that. The best thing about DVDs is that one DVD Disc can hold one full length feature film or three cartoons. Pirated ones...are only feasible after the movie has hit the silver screen for about 6 months. If you buy a day or two after these are screened then the either the quality of the picture or the sound or on ocassions both will be bad.

The main reason, for me at least, why VCD and DVD are so good is that you can even use your PC to view them. Imagine doing that with VHS... Before 7" screens appeared in the market, I always brought both the notebooks and plugged them into the cigarette lighter socket for the kids to "enjoy" their trip.

Anyway, I now have the same VCD collections but in DVD format. All those early efforts of "stitching" up the VCD movies (usually in two discs) before storing them into the 2.5Tb was just a waste since the DVDs were all full feature length movies...some with snippets of how the movie was made and trailers.

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Ramblings on...Rumah Emak Tua (My Grandmother's House) in Kampung Parit Sakai, Jalan Kereta Lembu

The 2nd of two houses; a lengthy chronicle if you wish to read.

Why "Emak Tua" (old mother)? My sister and I have only one mother - Zaharah Paiman - but we were brought up by my dad's only brother who was staying with our grandparents. I do not remember who coined it but it makes sense to call our granny "emak tua" (old mom as opposed to older mom). It did pose some problem though. People thought my dad had two wives!

The land was just over an acre but now slightly reduced (with compensation) since the Government built a slip road from the highway and broadened the road once known as Jalan Kereta Lembu. I loved this track and the ride though you will trip onto the mounds every few feet!

It sits on the intersection with Jalan Dato Kusai (formerly Jalan Kereta Lembu) and the highway with a narrow slip road to the property. Facing the lot, on the left is a piece which was left unattended for eons and on the right is our chinese neighbour "okah" (plantation owner) till now.

The land was left barren for a long time when the house was demolished. Not even the pond which my grandfather dug (a trademark of his) with his own bare hands .I planted oil palm recently after slash and burn technique. 4 rows in front and 16 deep. The last I saw the house in existence was late 90s early 2000. Zamri went a few times to meet the tenant.

It is 60 feet wide or so and the original house was built end to end and about 20 deep.

The lawn was deep and wide. There was a rectangular "kolam" (pond) measuring 15 x 20 x 10 feet deep on the left, sited 20 feet away from the house with a vertical ladder. We bathed here. Once I missed a step and almost drowned. I didn't know how to swim until I was 25. Uncle propped up, somtimes upto, three bamboo cannons here at the pond's edge - water is needed for the cannons. In this pond I stashed hundreds of fishes which I caught. When they widened the ditch it cut off the pond at an angle. No more fishes of mine - a sad occassion indeed.

There were 2 rambutan trees, a starfruit, clump of bamboos and pulasan (never tried it then) shading the pond. We were both forbidden from eating them since it was "too cold" and could cause asthma. On the right was a huge  "kuini". A bridge sat in the middle -  over a tiny drain at first - during the time when bullock carts ply the dirt track. During my years there the drain was widened twice when the road was widened and the road level increased with a form of crusher run. The "kuini" was felled to allow my uncle to park his small mazda. The pinang trees, spaced 8 feet apart acted as the boundary. These were later cut down to widen the earth drains and road. I believe there were "bunga raya" in between these.

Straight from the bridge was a porch dividing the main house from the secondary and the kitchen. A flight of 6 steps of partial semi-circular in shape leads to the main house and one step into the secondary.

The porch was wide and deep enough to house a car. It was cemented and extended to meet the kitchen. Just beside the main house and the "ceremonial steps" was a water tank with a glass opening just above a tap of sort. It measured 6x6x5 feet high since I could not climb it then. I know I bathed from it, and later when I learned of fishing I dumped "ikan betok", "seluang" and "ikan sepat" in this tank. From the window of the main house overlooking this tank I would actually spend hours "re-fishing" and letting them off again.

I remembered many a times when grandad was my barber here on the porch. Here too where tears were shed when they bade farewell to me and my sister on our infrequent journeys with our parents to Pontian. Joyful respite came yearly when uncle strung up 6 to ten feet of crackers.

The send off for my grandparents for their pilgrimage was also from here. Cousins, aunties and uncles of my father lined the steps to send them.

The most poignant was when my grandfather was brought down from the main house on his final journey. They stopped long here in this ceremonial porch to announce the almost final rites. I believed it was our "ketua kampung" (who was our neighbour in front) who announced the decree that should the decease have wronged others, forgive him; should he have debt, collect from the descendents. Each step was accompanied by the salutations to the Lord.

Another vivid memory which is impossible to erase. In the middle of this porch stood a lambretta - my grandfather's pride and joy. He told everyone that it was mine. I rode a few times on it. But, the last I saw it was in 74 on the day I received my MCE. Last I heard it was buried in a pond by dissatisfied lodger.

The cemented courtyard leading from the porch to the kitchen had a huge "jambu air. I spent many moments up the tree having my fill. Best eaten with soy sauce mixed with chilli padi and sugar. A fence from the back wall of the main house, passed this courtyard terminated at the back of the kitchen wall prevented poultry from soiling the courtyard. At the bottom of the jambu air grandmother planted chillies and a clump of lemon grass.

The main house was "deep" - 30 feet by 20 - half the width of the frontage. The furthest end was a bed space. A four poster bed in "brass" but oxidised beyond recognition. There were no doors except up from the steps. A dingy, dark space at times when the windows were shut. Here was my father's suite of slightly over half a century ago. It was at this end that my grandfather was prepared before internment.

The remaining half, nearer half, had a table fit for 8 and another similar four poster bed. When uncle was bethrothed, he occupied the main house.

The whole length and width of the house was framed with very tall windows (7ft high). Yards of plain coloured curtains were used. Once a year these we replaced strung from cables hitched to nail heads instead of the non-existent curtain track. During Eid, "marhaban" (choir praising the Almighty) would be heard here. The congregation would line the windows to enjoy the breeze - no electric fans.

There was a double door on the backwall midway between this long main house. A simple ladder lead unceremoniously to the ground leading straight to the "bangsal" or barn.

We had the pleasure of celebrating my uncle's second wedding. The generator was used to light up the whole house. The bridal suite was transformed yet again. I believed red velvet was the theme. The embroidery was crafted by a distant cousin who was - I believed - a "pondan". The house was filled by families who slept in rows on nothing but pandan mats. One vivid recollection: on the first wedding night in Gersik in the bride's home my sister and I would not let my uncle stay behind in this foreign house. After what seemed liked hours of bawling, we won. We stayed back and slept with the married couple - or did we? My mom should remember.

This was later my skating rink. I discovered two sets of roller skates in the attic. My sister and I dared not stand so we squatted. The seated will either be pushed or pulled. We left tyre marks on this unpolished timber floor.

My auntie's cousins and sister stayed in the main house a while before moving to "rumah abah".

After the departure of my grandad nobody - except uncle - dared to sleep in the main house. Upon consultation, he was told to demolish the room at the end and add another perpendicular room which ends 5 feet from the pond. This new room was the living room with glass louvres. By then we had electricity. And by then there was this empty space which was left vacant except for the foundation stones.

Below the main house (I need not bend or stoop) was where we kept "things". Dodol paddles, bamboo poles...were slotted between double joists.

The timber plank walls battened vertically were left raw at furst. Grandad smeared engine oil when he had problems with termites.

Down to the secondary house. It could house two double beds end to end with space enough for another. By that virtue it would have been at least 21 feet long. The width was enough for walking around the bed. The first bed nearest a door from the single step was for grandad. On one wall he wrote in white chalk the arabic words "ijasta" (aliph jim sim ta) and "poteh". I never did know why nor their significance.

I slept on the other bed which had a ladder leading to an attic. On this ladder was an accident which haunts me. It was at night, maybe during the month long wake, with lights blazing powered by an old monstrous generator that I fired a rocket to an aunty "Habsah". It was a fourite rocket. When fired a parachuted toy would drift down from the sky. Luckily my auntie escaped unscathed.

The attic was where I discovered treasures of old. Coins from the colonial days, japanese currency with bananas on them, medals, the roller skates, stamps, old books... The attic had one window overlooking the lawn and another on the side. It measured 15x15 or so. I did salvage some. I do not know whether I still have these or not. (Will look for them and write to you)

At the bottom of the ladder is a short annex with one door to the garage which housed my uncle's mazda and triumph motorcycle. I "learned" to steer and changed the gear in this car. I don't remember him ever washing his car. The other leads to the kitchen complex. On the left of this annex is another water tank measuring 6x4x5 (hence the annexe is 4 feet wide and 4 feet long).

The kitchen was in three parts. The preparation and dining at grade level, the raised platform and the cooking place at the rear.

The preparation area had the tank (with the ubiquotous glass and tap of sorts) and drainage under the annexe into the ditch. Grandmother spent her time cleaning fish and poultry here whilst pounding or rolling on stone mill. It was here that I saw her suffering from the "sengat ikan sembilang" - catfish. Uncle loved this menu of "assam pedas" whilst I adored the eggs. Eversince then I swore I would never have a bite. To this day I abstained from this specie and that of fresh water fishes.

The tank, main source of water was later emptied to be used as a shower room once piped drinking water was made available.

There was a door to the courtyard on the left. A circular marble table with chairs for 4 and two airing cupboards. A window opens on to the courtyard where she literally picked the chillies from.

Then the door into the cooking area which was at grade too.

A cooking top with 4 inch sides of wood raised 4 feet from grade. Below the top was the place for firewood. I don't remember how many dishes she can cook at any one time - I think 3. The ashes will be cover the top held in by the 4 inch sides. I recalled that she would scoop the thick ashes and used some for the chillies. Many delicious meals were boiled, fried or braised on this earthen stove. Perhaps the smell of smoke or the ashes were the eSsential ingredients missing from our present menus. Certainly it was the long drawn preparation that gave the dishes the excellent taste - from the gathering of firewood, to lighting up, ensuring an even flame... Rice, as I learned to boil it, had its problems. Close the lid just seconds before it boils over, then just before it dries up leave the ambers only close the lid and weigh the lid down. Timing!

The other raised half! Full of history as well. It is a vast expanse measuring 15 wide and 20 feet or more deep. Sometimes we had dinner here. But its mostly for siesta. The whole stretch of windows opens over the ditch. This ditch was one source of fish for my bait of earthworms.

On this platform my grandparents would sit and chat with other womenfolk and her sisters. On this platform too I picked up Javanese without being asked.

My first cousin had a swing slung from the ceiling joist. We would take turns. On one occassion, it was my grandad's turn. He was playing with her in her swing of "kain pelekat" when he declared "something smells fishy". Thinking that it could be dead fish which I caught, he started searching with - of all things - his nose. To his dismay it was my cousin's poop on his nose. On another note, my grandad was frantically looking for his smokong pipe everywhere only to be told that it was stuck between his teeth. Frustrated, he picked up an axe and that was the end of it.

My sibling and I spent days during school holidays recovering from asthma here. The proximity to the kitchen - where my grandmother spent most of her life satisfying our hunger - was the main reason.

Another very poignant moment was tha parting of uncle's first wife. She was very young. Suffered from breast cancer. My grandparents would have nothing to do with hospital medicine so they stole her from her ward and brought home. A mattress of "kekabu" (similar to cotton but grows on huge trees) lined her deathbed. I know not how long she suffered. The timber slats for the platform were removed to be used as bedpan. My only memory was of her lying there motionless with her eyelids covered with coins.

In the backyard, behind the main house, was a barn for the generator and we cooked during festivities. To the left was a pond filled with "nipah" (sago plant). Behind it was the rubber processing plant. Water from this facility would collect in this pond. We had two presses ("beris getah" as it was pronounced): one provides coorugation after passing the first which was a flattener.

Behind the cooking area was the outhouse. This was just two planks over a ditch which acts our border with "okah" the chinese neighbour. There were nipah leave walls on all sides enough to hide our modesty.

On the way to the outhouse would be a lime or lemon tree. Green round fruit. Probably satsumas. Best pressed and mixed with sugar. I spent, at one time, hours in the toilet since I ate a mountain load. Parallel to it, beside the ditch was a slanting old "rambai" tree. Another favourite fruit that caused me hours in the outhouse

Just after this tree and before the outhouse was the chicken coup.

Beyond the outhouse were the rubber trees. Halfway to the end, a ditch was dug as a form of irrigation measures. I was told that the durian trees which I foolishly felled were planted 2 generations before my grandad. I spent nights with uncle accompanied by screaming mosquitoes waiting for the king to drop. We had a simple hut then. We lit up the night with fire stack and threw crackers to fend off purported tigers (I saw or heard none).

This magnificently long house was covered with woven nipah attap until the advent of zinc. No ceiling until the arrival of asbestos sheets.

A lengthy essay - from the morning to sunset - using only my thumb to type.

If I had erred or missed my sibling should correct me.

I would love to build a model of this "rumah emak tua" and that of "rumah abah" as was requested by my cousin. Time will tell.

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Ramblings on... Abah's House (My Grandfather's House) in Kampung Parit Sakai, Jalan Kereta Lembu

There used to be two houses in this sleepy hollow of Kampung Parit Sakai, Jalan Kereta Lembu. And plus one pondok (hut) too. One is "rumah emak tua" (old mother's house) and the other is "rumah abah" (Abah's house)
Let us start with "rumah abah" in this my legacy.

It is about 300 feet away from Pt. Sakai itself and another 300 feet from "rumah emak tua". It sits on an acre of rubber trees.

A "bridge" made from two pinang trunks used to connect the "road" (it wasn't even a road then. It was a bullock cart trail hence Jalan Kereta Lembu). He bought sand as the track from the bridge to the house, then back up the other way to meet the bridge - creating a square. Within this square, he dug a rectangular pond measuring 10 feet wide, 20 feet long and 10 feet deep.  The circumference of this perfectly formed straight edged pond were ringed with upturned glass bottles - earliest and first form of conservation. And that was in the late 50s mind you! (I sold one or two to buy ice cream, then replaced them.) The water wasn't that breckish.

There were two "jambu cermai" trees at the entrance to complete his plaza. It was really shady.  It actually shaded the pond itself - his most excellent design skills. You need not climb to pick the fruits. He actually designed the trees - training the branches with weights. The "jambu cermai" were puny ones, red in colour, a little sour - best eaten with soy sauce, sugar and chillies.

Just beside the house were rambutan trees, flanking the house. One was yellow, the other red. Then behind, there were "chiku" and "cermai buluh"

Beyond that was a "bangsal" where we cooked "dodol". Did he rear chickens? It must be the other house. The outhouse were a couple of trunks over a narrow dug out trench just behind the bangsal.

Behind this bangsal were the rubber trees segregated by a deep 3 feet wide trench.

Generally, it was a symmetrical setting or layout

Now the house itself.

Square in plan with a central water tank opened to the sky. There were glass windows to see inside and "taps" to run the water.

On the left is the entrance portico. Straight in was the dining. To the right of the entrance was the lounge. Behind the lounge was one sleeping area with a straight stairways up to 1st floor. On the left was the kitchen. The entrance portico, lounge and sleeping area was built on "concrete" whilst the dining and kitchen were on raised timber platforms. My favourite dish was squishy rice made into balls and dipped into masak asam pedas with belimbing cermai

I can't remember much what was upstairs except that the open balcony was directly above the entrance portico with ballustrades.

Everything in timber except the water tank. It used to be untreated. Then, angered by termites he smothered the timber with oil. Black as hell!

You can see the silvery moon in this tank, its light diffused through the glassed openings.  Free natural lighting during moonlit, cloudless nights. And a cooler during the day!

I don't know how long he built it, the cost nor number of labourers he engaged - if at all.

I don't think he stayed there long. It was a summer house for him and a gift to his eldest son. My dad bought the land. He moved out the moment he was told that my dad gave the land to his only younger brother.

Now, nothing remains. Neither the bullock cart trail nor the pond much less the pond. It was demolished eons ago. No more rubber trees. Unkempt oil palm smallholding now.

I missed this picturesque scene. The taste of the jambu, the cool dip in the pond, the shimmering light...

He died at the age of 60 when I was still very young. He looked a lot like Charles Bronson - the face, the height, the muscles, even his tantrums.

Al-fatehah.

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Ramblings on...my grandfather

I touched on this subject in my ramblings on "Rumah Abah" and "Rumah Emak Tua"

He was about 5 feet tall, well built with rippling muscles. He looked a lot like Charles Bronson - face, size, built, muscles.

I remembered that he was hot tempered. He didn't use rotan but "belimbing cermai" - after removing the leaves. My dad always reminded me of one incident - after failing to locate his pipe, he turned to my dad who pointed that the pipe was snug between his lips. Upon being told, he went in, took an axe and chopped his pipe to pieces.

Everyone was "afraid" of him. He was, according to kampung folks, skilled in "silat" and a "pawang". But he never showed his skills to me. Nor did I see any "keris" or "kemenyan". In the old house on a wall near his bed he wrote with a chalk the words "ijasta" (in arabic) above the words "potih" - presumably a translation. Nobody dared to ask or erase it. I remember reading it in 1974 ages after the house was left vacant.

During the Indonesian Confrontation he spent nights patrolling the village alone armed only with a torch light.

His vocation? A farmer of sorts. But an excellent one. He really looked after the lands. "Rumah Emak Tua" was on an acre of rubber trees. But you will be hardpressed to find grass or weeds. So too was the other acre of land where "Rumah Abah" stood. The last 4 acres was "Kebun Polani". He cleared the "jungle" before he died.

He had green fingers. My vivid memory of both "jambu cermai" serves as testaments to his prowess as a farmer and landscaper. He trained the trees! And he "kahwin" the trees too!

I may be wrong, but he was the carpenter for both the houses! And one was a double storey timber house with features which are uncommon! Water tank in the middle of the house? A magificent builder who was into green design and conservation long before anyone thought of it.

Income? I really don't know. I don't remember him tapping rubber. Except that he clears land, plant fruit trees and hill rice.

He went for Pilgrimage alone at first in winter. (I wore his "expensive" overcoat when I was in UK). In exchange, he gave dad his land - Jalan Paip. He told stories of his time in the boat and pilgrimage. He said that ice formed from one of the corners of the Holy Ka'aba.

Both husband and wife went together eons later.

Everyone was angry when he took a young second wife. Their marriage lasted a "short while". My parents bought JC1968 - the morris minor still parked at home - to impress and woo him back.

His brothers and sisters? I don't remember all. Atuk Anjang Ibrahim, Atuk Andak Mahmud, Atuk Embong Said and Atuk Busu Mendik were frequently visited (during Eid). Zakariah? Name is familiar but unsure of the connection. And another one in Air Hitam Batu 15. And there is Tan Sri Osman Saat! Connection? Probably Isa.

He was playful. My sister and I operated on him, used him as a motorcycle...

My memories of him are scanty at best.

On his last days...

I know I waited in a car at the hospital overlooking the ward.

I recalled the water running down the slats and me being under the house.

I remembered Busu Abbas (village headman, imam and his cousin) orating the last rites.

I remembered NOT sending him to his last resting place.

I recalled the 30 continuous days of wake, the 100th and 1000th

And I cannot forget my father - after his prayers - continued praying 4 rakaat for his father after promising on his death bed that he will replace (khadak) those which he did not.

I recollect the last tears I shed at both their graves after taking my MCE results...

Al Fatehah

Ramblings...

Have you noticed our peculiar toilets in the KLIA express trains? Press a button to open the door. Press a button  to close from the inside but you must lock with a lever before you sit. The signage asking you to lock can be seen if you do it standing up.


But if you sit first (urgent business) you won't see the signage!!! Or did I miss that???


Couldn't you have one button to close and the same to lock.


Weird technology


I have never used it before until this morning. Usually I do "it" in the airport itself...


Did I tell you that I worked on the airport from Dec 1995 till Dec 1998? The longest ever in any one place! One km from end to end of the contact pier; the same for the main terminal building (if memory serves me).


I was there pouring the deepest raft, climbed the conical columns, installed the black jacuzzi in the VVIP lounge, hung the tryptich (or was it more?) of the falling ball, climbed the control tower every month to take photos


My son was my assitant photographer on a number of occassions. I was an "old" man when I finished!


I started the "underground" - newsletter on used photostat paper. Circulation was 200 - the total staffing in the company. With the help of my best friend, we took "pot shots" at others.


I think I will do that again! How to maintain anonymity? Blogs of course! So watch out


The ramblings of an old man. Half my staff are my son's age! I think I will revive my title of "wak" again. It's a javanese word for older uncle as opposed to "paman" which connotes a younger uncle.

It took me 28 minutes to type this. It used to be a lot lesser than that. Perhaps it is attributable to rheumetism or is it because of the tiny keys which is being thumped at with a huge thumb?


Oh well. I am here now! In KL for an hour's meeting. Then back to JB. And I have to wait till 5pm to go back because I will not make the 3pm flight since its Friday today. Oh! I do serve my Lord though not as subservient as a lowly vassal should


Bye

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device via Vodafone-Celcom Mobile.

Ramblings on...bullock carts, bicycles, bikes and cars

Gleaming red fire truck with running boards, hand winch, sparkling chromed front lights... Probably circa 1950s or earlier. This particular antique is parked in the courtyard of a hotel ball room in Desaru.


I stood there gawking...


Back in my "kampung" transportation was crude whilst I was learning the ropes.


I rode many a times on bullock carts - 2nd major form of transportation. Sometimes either one or two of the beast of burden would be hitched to a two wheeled timber cart. At first, timber wheels shod with "zinc shoes". Later stiff rubber soles. Much, much later rubber tyres.


The cart designs were something else to behold! Some with benches on the outside "slung" from the side walls. The  most common are devoid of any except for the driver.


The timber floors were  an inch thick. It meets a 1 feet or so high wall (where they hang the benches from - either outside or inside). Above these are open (window) timber frames that holds the "attap" (thatched roof).


The attap roof design too were many - depending on the owner. Some simple - barn type - others "minangkabau" (shaped like the horns of a bull). Some of the gable end walls were adorned with shiny studs, others painted with sceneries.


My kampung road was aptly called "Jalan Kereta Lembu" or bullock cart road.  The tyre track would divide this single lane "highway" into sections. Cow grass, track, more cow grass, track and more cow grass. Cow grass - of course! (I don't think I need to explain the obvious, right?)


Bicycles - 2nd most important form of transportation! All shapes and sizes. Both my knees bore scars to this day. One such scar is huge. I dare not remove the pus infected wound then thus leaving behind a piece of cloth measuring 1 inch by 1/2 inch. It is "leathery" now.

I learned to ride on huge monsters. It could, as we normally would, carry 6. One on the front wheel "drum" (the thing that juts out and holds the spokes) holding on for dear life to the handle bar whilst making sure his toes are not mangled by the spokes, one on the handle bar making sure that he doesn't obstruct the "driver's" view, one on the pillion bar, the driver seated on the driver's seat, one on the pillion and the last person on the rear wheel drums clinging to the one on the rear seat.


Girls? Some rode like boys but others position themselves so demurely that they seemed to ride "side saddle". I can't recall when the ladies bikes were first introduced. Ladies are expected to sit side saddle if and when they are ferried around.


My grandfather gave me his pride and joy - Raleigh. It was dark green, smaller than the monsters with a leather pouch (for his pipe and tobacco - he claimed), similar green coloured pneumatic pump, but no pillion rider. It really was a gentlemen's bike. We dote on this manly apparatus daily, washing, drying and polishing it with real TLC.


It was hung from the ceiling joist upon his demise. Where is it now? The last I saw it was a few days before I left home - a very long time ago.


We cycled up and down aimlessly dodging potholes and the ever present mounds of either fresh dung or sun-dried cow dungs.


Schooling started too soon for me. Two forms of transportation were available. (Two different schools occupied the same premises. Each school took turns - one morning, the other in the afternoon.) If mine was in the morning, my only would uncle drive me in his pride and joy: Mazda. I believe it was the precursor to a Mazda 323. I actually learned to "drive" with this car - sort of. I get to steer once a while and also change gears on cue.


After school I was picked up by this particular trishaw - Pak Cik (uncle) Seman. He lived in our "kampung". Every other year, my school starts in the afternoon. He will send me to and pick me up from school in the evenings come rain or shine. At times, he will let me pedal the trishaw - 3 miles from home to school. He serviced my family till I was in Form 3.


My dad had a black Vauxhall. Huge monster - with running boards. I don't remember much of it except from the now sepia tone photographs depicting the now strange scenes of Penang and Singapore. It ferried my mom, dad, uncle, grandparents, grandmother's two sisters me and my only sister - nine bodies


Then dad bought himself a Norton whilst my grandfather bought a Vespa scooter. My only memory of the Norton was me hugging the huge petrol tank. But the Vespa? Fond memories of my sister and me standing on the floor board riding up and down the track. After every evening trip, we would wash it, polish it with TLC.  He had one accident only - he missed the turn from Jalan Sulaiman into Jalan Daud and found himself in the monsoon drain unscathed; except for his pride. Before his time was up, he bequeathed it to me. The last I saw it was, like the Raleigh, before I left home. I was told that it was dumped into a pond by dissatisfied "tenants".


Next was a Grey Morris Minor 1100cc. Plate number JC 1968. Dad bought in 1962 from Wearnes Brothers in Malacca. Up north to Penang and Kelantan as well as down south to Mersing and Singapore. I don't remember it ever being hot until 1995 when I used it for a while to ferry me to KLIA. I changed the engine, added air conditioning, refurbished the interior, and painted it white


In the earlier formative years, all four of us sat in front. I sat myself on a folded pillow over the hand brake. My duty would be to hit the high beam when needed. It was smack in the middle beside the clutch. My leg was long enough to reach. When it was time to sleep, a rolled mattress - a "permanent" fixture on the floor - formed enough room for two to sleep on.


Accidents? Though dad drove it for eons to Sagil (4 years), Lenga (6 years) or Sarang Buaya (5 years) or Air Hitam (10 years) daily, KL every year and other places it never suffered, not even a dent. Come my turn, a SJ bus rammed its left rear mangling only the "steel" curved bumper. They coughed up RM500 after 3 years. I suffered a whip lash. Just before KLIA I used it to ferry chicken and beef with bushels of lemon grass in the early morning and in the evening sent thousands of "sate".


My first and only bicycle was a gift - I scored well for my Lower Certificate of Education. It was a Red Ladies Raleigh. I learned to do wheelies at the expanse of the "absorbers". It was never designed to do that until much, much later with the advent of spring shock absorbers for bicycles.  Except for rainy days, it was my mode of transport. Tanjung every afternoon after Ugama School,  twice a week to Hospital for tuition - Ou Yang brothers, dates with either of my best friends MHJ to Cathay and Rex, and the late SK to Tanjung. Dates with the opposite sex came during the cramming period for MCE. It was my way of purportedly managing stress.


I was envious of bikes with stretched handle bars or lowered back tyres, stretched wish bone forks...a poor man's Harley Davidson...choppers, they were called. The last I rode on mine was to the graveyard clutching my Malaysian Certificate of Education temporary slip.


It is still here with rusted rims, torn saddle...untouched for more than 36 years.


Next was a green Kawasaki KE125. I was 16 then. A provisional license was what I had and entitled to. Plate number was GDP79N. I rode to daily to Banbury, once to Stratford-on-Avon to watch a play in Shakespear's birthplace,  London and Reading to buy provisions only available from Chinese shops like herbs, "tofu" (soya bean curd), "belachan" (prawn paste).... After school, I would play on dirt tracks in Headingly or Cowly. Snow was tricky but a few scrapes were my proud markings. Not the much dreamt of leather jacket but a cheap denim jacket over cardigan, shirt and long johns to keep the cold at bay. Full faced helmet in green completed the ensemble.


On my jacket, I painted in oil a skull at the back. A stylised skull was my calling card in my early essays, paintings - two "o's" over a triangle (sometimes Greek "delta") above Roman numerals for three. My jeans had white stripes painted on. I was the only foreigner with a bike. I dreamt of owning a Honda 500cc Trail for the purpose of riding home. Picture this, a lone 5 foot 3 inch, 52 kg Malay riding on a Honda 500 in denim with leather satchels as luggage riding all the way from Oxford to Muar...


Unrealistic dreams,  and vanity were my downfall...


I had it for two years before it was stolen by my under aged neighbour who sold it off. As a result, I appeared, for the first time before a magistrate. To this day, I occasionally had nightmares...on this, the love of my life then, the one and only bike ever. I lost 500 quid for this second hand bike since it wasn't insured for fire and theft.


Next was a RM2000 second hand Morris Mini. Plate Number BAA897. It was painted maroon red with black stripes. The floor board was riddled with holes which I later welded and waterproofed. A small fan was all I had to battle the KL heat. The furthest was to Pontian. It was my first SOHO or perhaps SOCO (small office, car office). Books requiring translations, reference books on terminology from MABIM, reams of papers assorted pens in the very narrow boot. Half inch thick plywood would be my table when placed on the steering wheel.


Many a time I had to push start by myself. What a sight! With the driver's door ajar,  one hand on the wheel pushing and another on the pillar pulling, I would run then jump in hitting the clutch and engaging second gear once enough momentum is achieved.


A memorable incident on April Fool's Day. As usual, I dorn my work clothes and headed for my car parked in front of a one bedroomed walk up flat. It was gone. I was frantic. Went up and down the hostel, to the dining hall... It was nowhere to be seen. One of the graduate student finally owned up. It was dragged and pushed to the community dust bin area hidden from view.


Next was a "signal red" Nissan Sunny 130Y as an addition to the stable. The bigger bonnet held the same messy papers, books... Jumping from one car to the other made a difference. It was like coming out of an oven and into a freezer. By the way, my first dent was established on the first day I picked it up from the showroom. We were supposed to celebrate the first brand new car. I decided not to drive it. So I parked in a family friend's car workshop. I drove it straight into the pit. Two wheels hanging over the pit! Months later another accident. I backed into a lorry in Kajang. Half the bonnet needed a face lift.


The Mini had to go. With the proceeds of 1K, I paid a deposit for a 1.5 litre Proton Knight in black. It went as far north as Langkawi and south to Kota Tinggi. To the east, Kuantan. My eldest son occasionally doused the back seat with his. Again, it was my SOHO too, but with a difference. A laptop of sorts. It had no batteries. Occasionally, I would drop the back seat and sleep full length (diagonally of course). Plate Number 8970.


The Sunny was sold off and the Knight was sent to Muar for two years. A battered second hand Fort Cortina L for 200 quid came next. It went from Bristol to as far as the Lake District, Liverpool and Blackpool in the north. Frequent trips to Huddersfield. But the furthest was Europe. Bristol to Cambridge, Hook of Holland, Floriade, Belgium, near Stuttgart, Innsbruck, down to Venice, back up to Zurich then to Disneyland before the last leg at Lands End (or was it Brighton?).


A number of times, I had to solicit help from other drivers and the AA to start the car up. Usually in the mornings. One incident which I wrote elsewhere involved driving on the wrong side of the road - somewhere in Austria. All along the European trip we stocked up the boot with Maggi Mee, rice to cook and peanuts in sambal.


It was sold off for 200 quid to Ms. Mamoyane Mohale. Not bad huh!


The Knight had a new partner soon after; a red basic Kancil - plate number 8970. It was the first batch I think. I used it extensively as a work horse. To KLIA daily for 6 months, Tronoh and back twice a week for a year. Finally, grazing and resting here in JB. The Kancil met a grotesque accident in Tronoh. I did a legal u-turn, first stopping on the grass verge before executing a u-turn. A motorcycle from behind rammed into the back door soon after I passed the dividing lines. I cradled this helmetless 19 year old student now toothless on my lap whilst pleading for passers by to stop. I spent an hour in the police station in my blood soiled garment. I cannot forget the smell of blood. I appeared 5 years later in a magistrate court for the insurance hearing. The grown man with his father and lawyer did not get what they wanted.


To this date you will find cement dust, bits of marble and tiles in the boot - testimonies of failed attempt at being a "tiny" contractor.


Not content with a Knight (mid size) and a Kancil (really tiny) I added a Renault Espace, bearing a plate number of 8970. It went far and wide. Alor Star to the North, Trengganu to the East and Singapore to the South. It was sheer luxury and spacious. I touched 160 more often then not. But it was costly to maintain. Only one accident though - smashed a dog into smithereens along the highway near Rawang.


My dreams of installing a tv remained as dreams for a long time. To while away the long trips we had two notebooks plugged into the cigarette lighter. Both notebooks suffered. 20k for both notebooks lasted 2 years of heavy usage in the van as video players and SOCO.


The Knight was converted into an auto by a Muar workshop. The Espace was the reason why. Jumping from the auto Espace into manual Knight or Kancil poses problems with the left leg.


Not content with three in the stable, I added a gold auto 1.5 Proton Satria to reveal my hidden "sporty" nature. Plate Number 8970. However, it wasn't a stallion that could deliver that macho need for speed. It was left to my eldest son for his daily routine and is still using it today.


In Pakistan I was allocated a driver for a dual system brand new Suzuki wagon. A few trips up Mangla, and Peshawar in this family car. It wasn't comfortable but useful. Later a second hand truck bed (was it a Hilux?) with a purpotedly armed driver was at my disposal. Mangla Hills in Snow, Murree Hills, and the now forgotten housing development near the Suad Valley were the places we went. It ferried my youngest born from the Hospital on Eid-ul-Qurbani. This was the same vehicle that sent me and mine on my last, tearful day in Islamabad.


In Doha I was allocated a virginal Honda Civic. It was in this car that I drove on that fateful day to Messaid...ending in incarceration for 36 hours.


Only the trusted Kancil and Satria remained to this date. Of course JC1968 is still purring back in Muar cocooned in a  cotton blanket. Once a week, she purred for my 83 year old father who smiles from ear to ear everytime she turns at the flick of the modified Toyota switch.


Current stable, for a mid-level income earner, includes...not  SLK or S Class or E Class but a 7 year old grey 1.3 litre Proton Saga now clocking in at 220k kilometers and a newly commissioned pride and joy a cavernous 2.5 litre Starship Enterprise...but without warp drive!!!


Dedicated to SOHOians everywhere.

Ramblings on...short stint in Singapore

The first time I worked in Singapore was in 1986. I shared a 3 bedroom HDB flat with Manfred (a German) in Ang Mo Kio. I worked in Lulla-Motion Pte Ltd. The owner is (was? I don't have any news on him since) Nari Lulla (hence the name).

I drove my dad's Toyota Corolla from the apartment to the office in Toa Payoh for 6 months before I was sent to KL's office.

Lunch were from muslim shops (difficult to find). Dinner was extravagant. Sometimes vegetarian...in places like Newton Circus, Orchard Road, Seletar, even JB... Weekends? Time to fill up on petrol and good food.  Why petrol? Same problem as now - pricey. I stayed with my uncle Edros and family near the hospital on my weekend sojourns. Muar trips were monthly on winding and bumpy A roads. No highways except from seremban to KL - I think.

Customs and immigration (CIQ) were a breeze then.

Exchange was just over 1 to 1.2 - I think.

In the good ole days of mid-1960s my grandparents shopped in Singapore. I think these were yearly affairs. To avoid tax, we wore three layers of clothing in the sweltering sun. Fruits were consumed like gluttons before the border. Arab Street, Bugis Street...were the favourite haunts. Cheap hotels near Woodlands were by the score.

Then there were the sending off from the port for those going off on their pilgrimage. These were sombre affairs. The feelings were mutual: those on the ships and those on shore. We might never see each other again! A very long trip - for some, more than three months. On my gradparent's trip, I remembered that I was still crying for two days. After the gut wrenching send-off at the port, we headed home...but we stopped at the Johor Baru mosque perched on a hill. I beleived I could see the ship. A harrowing experience for me then.

Decades passed.

My return to singapore was after Chinese New Year in 2008. I brought my family in our battered proton loaded with junk food, mineral water, diapers... Purpose - reconnaissance. My new place of work was Marina Bay. (Back in 1986 I don't think it was there. I still have a sketch of mine from across the water depicting the lions and Raffles). We drove around with one thing in mind - we can never be lost in singapore. It is an island right? If you smell the sea, then you are going the wrong way.

I did not recognise Orchard Road until I saw CKTang. A lot of differences of course.

To my dismay, the trip home was very long and arduous indeed. We got stuck at the causeway. We arrived at 8:00pm in Woodlands and reached Larkin at midnite. The junk food, mineral water and diapers helped!

This I must share: We witnessed, for the first time in our lives, a motorcycle traffic jam! Miles of them 3 abreast. With horns blaring out of boredom and inconsideration

We went again twice before I started commuting in earnest.

We tried the 2nd link too. Driving on a weekend was next to nothing. Weekdays? The tolls! It was 2.5 times (please don't quote me) more expensive via the 2nd link.

On my first day I arrived at 9am though I left Larkin at 5am. Traffic jam from just passed Danga Mall. So I walked all the way to Woodlands MRTt station. Distance of around 4km. Took MRT to Marina Nay. Going back was the same. Reached home at 10pm.

Next day I drove the long but quiet back lanes passed the grave yards behind the hospital and parked at City Ssquare (rm20!). Walked to Woodlands. All these because the Jemaah Islamiah detainee escaped detention. It lasted a month.

I walked the farthest in my entire life (I think) during my brief stint in Singapore.

Most of that first month I walked a lot. First stop was half way point to perform my duty. I managed to control my "ablution water" (mandatory for prayers to be accepted). Somtimes I do it at the MRT Station on the bridge over the drains. A few times at the entrance to the race course.

Once, I had a big problem. I had to use newspaper. A harrowing experience indeed. The first and my last. From then on, I carry a back pack consisting of breakfast (plentiful at JB CIQ), lunch prepared by my dutiful house bound wife, a 2 litre can of drinking water, a rain coat and a prayer mat.

I slept on the train: sometimes on the floor oblivious of others standing, squatting around me. Sometimes I missed the van (provided by the company) ploughing the remaining 1km.

Praying was not a problem to me. Lessons learned from Pakistan and Doha. At the office, I do it along the walkway, empty meeting rooms... Lunch, though there was a covered mixed canteen with hawkers from all races, I chose my wife's over them. SGD8 for rice, chicken and vegetable! That's rm20!

I discovered the Keretapi Tanah Melayu soon after buying a road map. That was a blessing - at least for the journeys home. From marina, take the MRT. Change lines at Raffles Square (or was it another station further down). Disembark, walk 1km to the KTM station. Nice place.

There's always the 6pm and 8pm train. Never did take the 8pm one. Slow but steady and surely. Stops at Singapore CIQ at 7pm. Time for my duties just outside the toilet in a niche. Nobody else dared to follow me for two months. The only problem with trains was that on Fridays it is standing room only unless you booked a seat in advance. Initially I bought daily tickets. Then weekly. Finally the first and only monthly ticket.

I reached home normally by the last prayer of 8:30pm.

Only after realising late that the salary I was receiving wasn't kosher that I started to look for a lower salary back on home turf. Look at it this way; I was there for the money like thousands of others. McD crew gets 800 in JB too. But in singapore you get MYR2K - the exchange rate!!!

I did plan to rent and bring the family to Lion City. Checked the papers for rentals. Heck! I could live in the most expensive apartment in JB and still have change in my pocket. 2k for HDB flat in Woodlands was one quote I received. Then there is the parking, the ERP, the petrol, the school fees...

But when I resigned, I realised there were more problems. Taxation! I think I paid slightly more than 30%.

Nothing beats working in India and Pakistan. The chauffeur driven company car, the majestic accommodation with a platoon of gardner, guards, cook, maids... Perhaps, Doha and Dubai were better than Singapore - tax free. Self drive company car. Housed with one other in Doha but ten others in Dubai (but with a cook and maid).
Chalk it to experience.

Would I want to do it again in Singapore? Maybe - if there is MRT from JB. Soon, I hope. India and Pakistan - most definitely. Doha - highly unlikely. Dubai - possible. UK - possible.

Time is no longer on my side. I think I have to stop rolling (stones gathers no moss). Plant my feet firmly in my own backyard and let my mind wander across the limitless space of cyberspace reading of places I could have gone, experiences I could have undergone myself...and beat my drums saying that I have been there, seen it, done it...

I envy you - the ronins...expatriates

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Ramblings on...photography

The first time I stopped in this mosque was 40 odd years ago. On that trip, based on a few formerly old black and white family photos (that we still have) which have turned into sepia, we drove in a vauxhall all the way from Muar to Penang. If memory serves, that was the only trip up north that I can remember in the vauxhall.

This mosque is, like all other old mosques, unique and has it's own character. Somehow, It somewhat mimics that of the Masjid India in KL - the one at the confluence - doesn't it?

Ages ago in mid-80s, armed with a trusted and battered Cannon A1, I started my archives on Mosques - only on the Mimbar (pulpi) and the Minaret. They were shot on Agfa 32  transparencies using 24 mm f1.8 lens with compensated daylight. Alas, I lost these to mildew even though they were  hermeataclly sealed but without temperature control.

Again in mid-90s, this time with an 18mm lens mounted on EOS 5 (a huge leap in upgrading), I reignited my passion. This time, after transparencies I had them printed and catalogued in 8R. Alas, non of the media survived. This time around it was the turn of the termites.

My first attempt at photography was based on a rented Rollei TLR back in early 70s on our last trip to Kelantan. Black and whites then. A few rolls was all I could muster. I still have pictures of Teluk Chempedak, Pantai Cinta Berahi (now known as Pantai Cahaya Bulan: the need for a name change was unfounded but it was not up to the masses)...

In the mid-70s I used an instamatic to snap anything and everything. My trigger happy fingers could not be stopped.

Then came my first SLR! A canon AE-1 that came with the ubiquotous 50mm f1.8 lens. Others had Minoltas (Zahimi) and Nikons (Zahrol). One had a Carl Zeiss Jenna camera with - of course Carl Zeiss lens - working like clock work without the need for batteries. It was handed down from his Royal father to him; Tengku Marwan.

My favourites were flowers; wild or otherwise. My furthest was Floriade in Holland! The Liverpool International Garden Festival included.

From the early 80s onwards, I added the Canon A-1 with additional lenses with zooming capabilities - the shortest was 14-24mm, the longest 100-300mm. And to give that added macho or James Bond feel  I used a 3x converter. I was well and truly endowed! These were bought after I managed to secure 3 wedding contracts within 2 months.

Of course I had tons of slides for special topics. To save money, I used 8R contact prints. My first shop was Pertama Foto in Pertama Complex. I did get not only good service but personal one as well.

Then in mid-90s, I took the role of official photographer for KLIA Main Terminal Building Project. For 3 years, I spent 3 days (approved leave of course) a month climbing the conical columns, mounted the roof using a "cherry picker", crawled on the Baggage Handling System, almost thrashed a company Pajero climbing hills, down ravines and walked up the Control Tower with Zulkifli (20 minutes each way with special monthly permission from KLIAB). I lugged 2 cameras (AE-1 and A1) with all lenses, tripod, 3 flash guns and tripod. Of course I covered the visits of dignitaries as well - Mahathir, Anuar, Burmese Ambassador...

There is just this one photo of the cameraman! Taken by NST. Animated Samy Velu with demure F.K.Kwan and me smack in between but behind them sticking out like a sore thumb.

My "coup-de-gras" were photo shoots from the air. One helicopter ride for each year of KLIA.

With a camera you have right of way everywhere. My eldest accompanied me to the VVIP rooms in KLIA to shoot the magnificent interiors - a handywork of Robert Susilo, K.C.Sim, Huat Lim et al.

For three years I did that. Each month, I raked in about 5k from printing 20 sets of 8R. My cousin (Kilau) assisted me in getting them printed and delivered. Of course I gave him a piece of the cake. My client saved 10k a month by "employing" me.

At the end of the project I treated myself to an EOS-5. I used that to document other projects - Taman Botani, Taman Selatan, UTP Tronoh... I had two more helicopter rides during Core Island project. (Alas, no more helicopter rides since)

With the advent of digital camera these SLRs were no longer used. The last I used any was in Islamabad. In Delhi, I took a few also. The rest were all digital.

Of course, the most horrifying - which debunked the earlier theory that the camera is a passport or carte blanche - incident was in 2007 when I was locked up for a night and under literal "house arrest" for a month. Qatar Petroleum incident!

I did sneak out a few shots from my nokia of the night in the lock-up. By then, my newly acquired olympus digital camera was already confiscated.

Phobia? Never. I still take simple shots. Only this time using the berry or ericsson phones.

Alas time and neglect claimed the AE-1, A1, EOS5 and EOS500. My only daughter discovered them early this year in the attic.

Not antic enough to count as museum pieces. Yet...they represent my "snapshots" of my time in this - to me at least - tangible world

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device via Vodafone-Celcom Mobile.

Ramblings on...handphones

No, my ramblings were, and will continue to be, more of briefs...perhaps even thongs. . At least until my thumb ceases to function due to athritis, or they wrench this berry from me.

At least the spelling mistakes are acceptable (though there is a spell checker for berries). Grammatical errors are...excusable.

And...my typing skills - using one thumb - improves. At least when I tap on the computer key board I now have 3 fingers (two forefingers and a thumb!!!)

This berry is an interesting toy until I can decide (finally) to buy an ipad. It is my camera, phone, diary, web Surfer, address book, task...

I started with 555 way back then - those thin notebooks for IOUs. Then the pvc organiser before a leather one. Bulky and messy at times. The need to discard or file them was a bit too much for me.

Then came technology - the motorolla "brick". A few phone numbers in there as my address book. No more "black books"!

They get better by the day don't they?

Next step was an Alcatel. My introduction to fax modem and the internet. I had a Nokia communicator for a while. Better than the Alcatel and perhaps the precussor to the Berry.

Only the Motorolla was purchased. Other phones were, like this Berry, from my employers and/or Client.

My series of rambling were typed on this berry with a thumb...spending no more than 60 minutes whilst sitting in a train, cab, park bench...before senility sets in. At least not long enough to bore you (typing with one athritic thumb is a slow arduous process) but longer than SMS to form a story.

At least these ramblings, too me at least are my snapshots of my brief time here amongst families, friends and even enemies - after reading my incoherent ramblings.

Ramblings on...word processors

Whilst waiting for you to pray...

As teachers, my parents had lots of stuff to reproduce for their school children. In the beginning, what they did was very basic. Scribe over the "pictures" on two or three pages at a time before going over them again with pencil. They were innovative enough, probably from directives or "circulars" from the Ministry to carve patterns on stencils, ink them and then stamp on the papers - technology akin to batek printing. Perhaps the advent of tracing paper preceeded or even concurrent with this "technology" assisted them further.

Then came the typewriter followed by cyclostyle machines. Machines as big as a 20 inch tv. By the time you finished copying you will be covered in ink since the ink comes in cartridges which you have to squeeze into a reservoir on the machine whilst making sure that it forms a consistent layer on the "bed". You type the words or somtimes scribe them (handwriting and drawings) on the cyclostyle base.

When did carbon paper appear? The same time as typewriter? I don't think so. But it helped. What did they use to "erase"? I remembered a "blue" liquid was used to "erase" typwritten text. Then came "backspace" on typewriters to type over the errors. Before, you would have to manually pull or push the roller to find your error and "go over" them.

My parents retired at the beginning of the birth of photostat machines.

Of course, my first thesis was typed using a £60 typewriter from Boots. Liquid paper was my salvation. The last thesis was carved out by my only sibling two years later on the same typewriter before it was "loaned" to friends.

In 1984, my first £299 Amstrad CPC464 running on magnetic cassettes as the storage medium paired with a £500 Brother Daisywheel printer paved the way to my first SOHO. The word processor must first be loaded from a different cassette.

The keys were more responsive than typewriters. But not a single GUI (graphic user interface), nor a mouse... So you had to remember "Ctrl + C", "Ctrl + V"... I believe this was the basis for "Wordstar", "MS Word" and myriad of other application software.


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Ramblings on...highway to nowhere

Eons ago, sometime in 1992, I decided to "beach comb" from Penang all the way down to Klang in Selagor.

It was late at night

I was on this beautiful, straight, fairly busy 2 lane road - somewhere in the state of Perak. The sign board states Klang as the final destination with a few familiar turnoffs along the way - Kuala Selangor, Tanjung Malim...

Perhaps I did not notice the last turn off but I was on a raised platform finished with "crusher run". Thinking nothing of it, I followed in the dark this highway to "nowhere". Occassionaly, I would pass a car or two going in the opposite direction.

Once in a while, I had reassurance that there were human beings...small clumps of lights from 2 or 3 houses. The distinct smell of breckish water from the mangrove swamp provided further assurance that the "sea" was nearby.

Two hours on, the crunching sound from millions of crushed stones gave way to a consistent droning sound - "tarred road".  A bridge spanning 300 meters or so was a welcome relief. Midway, a carpet of the familiar yellow glow from sodium lamps and the ghostly fluorescent lights presents absolute proof that my "ordeal" was finally over.

Where was I? Teluk Ansun! Nay Teluk intan...

Either I missed the signboards saying "Construction in Progress" or there were none.

The next was a need to commute. From UEP Subang Jaya to KLIA! What is it now "Elite"? For six months I went in from a Quarry site near USJ 10 (not far from the junction to Proton) and all the way to "Bunga Raya Complex". Crusher run with quarry dust...some stretches only sand base.

There were sectional completion phases, I assumed. At one stage the entry point from KLIA (or exit point from Subang) was a furniture factory near the current Dengkil R&R stop.

That was in 1998.

Today, I got caught - AGAIN! Near home town at that!. Shameful really.

With family on tow, I headed for Desaru. JB to Ulu Tiram then Kota Tinggi before Desaru. But before Ulu Tiram - in huge bold letters on green background - was a sign board proclaiming loudly Senai-Desaru Expressway! Of course I was blind! I did read Pasir Gudang, Tanjung Langsat! But Desaru?

It was a welcomed respite. I would miss the huge RMK9 roadworks at Ulu Tiram, the JKR road widening to Kota Tinggi...I shot off at 180 all the way. No cars or motor cycles...

15 minutes was all I had of blissful driving. I saw the sign board, R&R! Must stop. Kids wanted lunch. It was unoccupied. Shell and BP. Relief!

5km further down, a sign board "Pasir Gudang and Masai". Where was Desaru?

Concrete dividers reduced the two lane to one. A "clover leaf" junction loomed ahead. Still no Desaru. The road ahead was blocked. The concrete dividers conveniently herded me into the clover leaf.

At the toll, after paying 20 sen short of the green plastic paper we call money, I blew my top. Not really! But I was disappointed when the "juru toll" (toll collector) proposes two solutions "Pasir Gudang" or make a u-turn for Desaru.

Disgusted, I made a u-turn. I exited and joined the crawling traffic. The snarling traffic allowed me the opportunity to look closely at all the sign boards - on the opposite lane. I saw the same misleading sign board "Senai - Desaru Expressway". But further down on yellow "JKR" signboard it offered the following (partially covered) "Desaru", below it was "Pasir Gudang" and bottom most "Masai".

Lessons? Get Lasik! Or do I have to change my RAM or get a new quad core processor...to replace my obsolete brain

Ramblings on...satay

Wafting in the air, the distinct aroma of lemon grass, molass and singed meat... sate' or satay. Malaysia's and Indonesia's answer to barbecued meat or kebab!


Is it from the root word "saute" - fried lightly or briefly? But the meat or chicken - for satay or sate' - is skewed and then barbecued. Very different methods of cooking, if you ask me


My introduction to this delicacy started a very, very long time ago. My grandmother prepared this every year without fail to celebrate Eid-ul-Fitr. The lemon grass in the herbal garden came in handy. But the beef? Probably from the market which was 2.5 miles away. There were no chicken sate' then'.


She slaved over the "open hearth" to feed us and the congregation - those attending the Eid-ul-Fitri prayer will feast on it. The "surau" (mussola or small mosque) holds no more than 30. So, she normally prepared 300 sticks of sate'.


But what fascinated me to this day is this vivid image which I have not been able to shake loose. An old man carrying two wooden boxes straddling on a bamboo pool. When he sets up shop, it is a sight to behold.


He unpacks one box containing tiny wooden stools no more than ankle high and wide enough only for your berth. He lights up a small kerosene lamp on this particular box. Behold a "table" and three "chairs" for a "candle-lit" dinner.


Then the other wooden box filled with the tools of his trade - a "pandan" fan, a small charcoal griller, charcoal briquettes in a milo can... Voila! An instant kitchen.


He starts the fire instantaneously - or was it? From underneath your table he brings out the "lidi" (the "stems" from coconut fronds) skewed meat already marinated in recipe of sugar, lemon grass, corriander... He places them on his "make shift stove", fanned it furiously whilst occassionally basting it with another secret concoction of oil, sugar and part of the marinate. He will have to control the temperature by actually turning the sate on its sides frequently.


He plied his trade along Jalan Daud only or so he said. I missed him.


The aroma of slightly burnt dried lemon grass, burnt molasses and singed meat coupled with this typically romantic Malaysian scene of a couple sitting on stools with a kerosene lamp is beyond comparison. Candle lit dinner in a fancy restaurant, sparkling champagne crystal goblet, folded satin napkin, squeaky clean bone china plates, polished silver cutlery...can never equal that of my own picturesque scene.


Gone are those days...


Here in Muar, to this day (although a sombre day for me today when I write this for I have to bid my last farewell to my uncle) you can enjoy sate from breakfast to supper. Yes! Breakfast! Only in Muar!


Of course, on our family's not so routine trips to KL, we must stop in Kajang to savour their sate.


Fifteen years ago, I ventured into sate. I persuaded my mom to part with the family recipe. I started of with one stall in Jalan Kelang Lama in front of a Mamak Restaurant. I hired two Indonesian families to prepare the marinate, cut the meat, skewed the meat and prepared the sauce whilst I opened my stall after 7pm every day. Business was good. None could tell the difference when I burned both mine and that of the now hugely famous Sate Kajang - Except the price. Mine was 40sen each theirs was 50sen


I started off at 5am to buy all the stuff, hands them over to the Indonesian before I wandered off to look for odd jobs. Times were hard for me then. At 630pm I picked up the sate in my dad's Morris Minor and opened my stall till 1am. I finished cleaning up my RM3K aluminum stall around 2am.


Cash business! On a good day I raked in about RM300. Profit was 33%.


Three months later I added two more stalls - in front of UM and Taman Seputih. I hired more staff and rented a freezer. Frozen sate!


Daily takings increased three fold!


Once a week I would open up at Pasar Malam in Jalan Kucai.


I catered too! One was 30,000 sticks in UM, another of 50,000 sticks in Esso Tower, and a number of birthday parties. This lasted nearly a year.


Alas, I had no staying power! I sold off the stalls valued as slightly above scrap metal, the pots and pans, plastic tiffin sets...


(Prof. Lik Meng, can you grade this yarn? Better or worse than the last tale? The ending could be better)
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Ramblings on...painting

The last I saw a masterpiece was in 1977 in the Louvre - Mona Lisa. The others in the gallery, to me at least, pale into insignificance. And the last real painting I did was in the summer of 1976.

My dad was my inspiration. He drew beautiful lifel-like figures. His colours were muted pastels but his skin tones were exact.  My uncle "commissioned" him to paint in watercolour for his (I think SPM) countless yearly failed examinations. You were, at that time, given time to prepare your composition a week or two in advance. So my dad will execute a beautiful painting for my uncle in water colour. On the day of the examination, uncle would switch what he painted with dad's. I don't know how he came about those official watermarked empty drawing papers I will never know. Anyway, art was the only paper he passed every time. In the end he managed to pull through with the other subjects

Then came Tan Jun Kwang in standard one. I marvelled at his efforts. There is just this one memorable photograph of me doing just that - courtesy of Chong Chen Fah. Another was Hidhir (sounds correct) who produces cartoon images without batting an eye. My favourite was Dr. Zero. That was in Standard 5 - I think.

Another compelling source of inspiration was my mom's eldest sister's family of artists. I studied their techniques, lived with them for two weeks back when I was in Form 3 and copied their strokes - the late Misbahrulmunir (Abah), Khairulannuar (Ayum), Najib, Fahmi et al. This was in water colour. They used water colour in  a combination - as a wash and thick, like oil painting. One particular technique which I adopted were the rendering of leaves on trees and the fluffy clouds.

I thought nothing of painting until in Form 4, I declared my intentions - as a Science Stream student - in a hall full of other same batch of students, that I would (attested by Chong Chen Far the head prefect those days - why would he remember that?) take Art for my Malaysian Certificate of Education (MCE). I was the only one! Or was I? There were no classes on Arts and Craft for Science Stream students and I had to drop Religious Studies for two years. Of course it caused a stir since although I was physically sitting in the Religious Class I was lost in my  own world of colours, lines, shades...

I borrowed library books next door to my classroom looking for techniques in pencil, pen, crayon, water colour and the new found poster colours. I chose poster colours above others since it afforded both a wash effect and thick applications.

Of course I had ample practises on human figures. My model; a small jointed manikin. No nude subjects to practise my keen, roaming eyes though there were thousands of nude figures found in the library books on artists like Rembrandt, Michellanglo, da Vinci, Gaugin, Degas... I could never, till  now, appreciate Picasso and those subscribing to cubism or modern art.

The only memory I have left of  my MCE exam was on Art. The topic was still-life.

It was a transparent glass bottle, and a banana (I think) on a crumpled brown paper draped over a table. I executed my "rendition" of the crumpled paper with much ease since thick poster colour application cracks under the sun. My bottle had the exact transparency... The banana was accurately depicted with the necessary highlights and shading to breathe life to an inanimate object. It was my masterpiece which accorded me with an A2 grade - a triumph for me and all Science Stream Students in High School Muar

Whilst waiting for the MCE result armed with an easel, sable brushes (RM15 each at that time was a handsome price to pay) and oil paint from a shop in Malacca,  I painted my "life" away. Still life, sceneries, potraits...some on primed canvas whilst others on primed plywood.

There was a painting of the "Tanjung" not far from the District Officer's Residence with the tide crashing part of the way on sprawling mangrove roots from scrawny mangrove trees, a shameful looking beach with upturned bottles, plastic bags strewn all over...

One was of Parit Sakai itself near the old "Balai Raya" (Community Hall). One side was lined with equally spaced trees with white barks and scraggy leaves (what were they?). On the opposite bank was "Bongkok's" delapidated shophouse hidden behind rambutan trees and clump of unkempt bamboos along the edge of the still water.

One of my still life on plywood was that of what I did during my MCE - an attempt to replicate in oil for what was done in poster colour.

Another was a half-potrait of a haggard looking, deep lines and wrinkled face of a vietnamese lady in her 40s (but looked more like in her 60s) staring into nothingness, oblivious of her surroundings. The original was a black and white newspaper clipping.

None of my masterpieces remained due largely to termites (my sister can testify to these).

During the very long hot summer of 76 I did the same. One was of Magdalen Bridge. It helped me to while away the time. Each stone was accurately proportioned and given the mass it needed, the lone punter with his bowler hat shading his eyes, the lazy ripples beneath the boat... It took me all of summer to complete this. It was my intention to paint the deer park in Autumn with browning leaves from very old deciduous trees, hints of green conifers, whithering tulips lining the ankle deep decaying leaves on winding track... Though I made several charcoal sketches, I did not pursue.

During this time I discovered another faster drying medium similar to oil and poster colour - acrylic. It was as good as oil, poster colour and water colour. But expensive.

This was my medium for nearly 4 years. But they were all for my architectural design presentation drawings. Alas none were brought back. I painstakingly rendered each stone, granite or bricks using this medium. Window panes were "glassy" enough to mimick the real glass, trees were leafy and green, snow was fluffy...

I must say that they did look good...as a picture! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder - and so they were; to me at least,

At the same time I concentrated more on line drawings with pens or pencils. These were sketches of churches, historical buildings, detailing...

Some of my works of art were  mounted on boards and displayed above "dud" fireplaces in Liverpool, Huddersfield, Ashton-under-Lyne but never framed (could not afford them)... Alas, only my own faint memories of these self-classified masterpieces remained. None of my visitors commented on them for their interest lies elsewhere - audiophile

Back on home turf I turned up sketches in pen. The only few that survived the constant nomadic life are 3 sketches from 1987 of Singapore - Marina Bay, Orchard Road and Newton Circus. My passion came about from one of my visit to this budding (then) artist who lived in Bangsar - the late Ibrahim (?). Line drawings on canvas for a living!!!

I left all these behind with the new found love of photography. Except my doodling! These were habits way back when I first started: equally spaced horizontal and verical lines, equally spaced wavy and zig-zag lines, equally sized circles, triangles and squares...

I wonder whether I can produce another masterpiece at this age...

(This rambling is dedicated to a new found friend who will not comment on my English - though it is his mother tongue - but loves the way I "chronicled" my life)