(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.



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

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...

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(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

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.

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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

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!

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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...
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