A new dress for New year

A gift from a thoughtful friend, out of sight but not out of mind.


Thank you (Uncle) Lee,

May you be blessed with a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

NEW BEGINNINGS

My garden underwent a massive hard pruning and tidying last week.

It was getting to be an eyesore. To add insult to injury, a friend who had not visited for sometime, commented that it looked more like a jungle from JUMANJI! (the movie). I just don't understand, the garden looks great in photos! In fact my daughter tells me that pics of her in my garden would get her friends to ask which resort or retreat she was at!

However the remark my friend made was the straw that broke the camel's back and I went on a rampage...with a lot of help from Babang...my vacationing nephew who practically owes me his first one year pay for all the favours I've done him. And of course the promise of some monetary reward to help finance his upcoming road trip with his school friends got me a very willing and very obedient mat bangla to order around as I please.

The garden took the brunt of whatever pent up emotions I had boiling in me. I can hardly call it writer's block (I'm not even a decent writer) and the weeks of feeling under the weather wasn't going away anytime soon. One day I just woke up and felt the need to rejuvenate!

First went all the small pots. Save the plants which were worth saving, re-pot in bigger pots with new earth, add in some humus and soil conditioner, Walla! good as new! I hope to see, in a few weeks time, what difference all the back breaking exercise did. At one time I was so hung up on anything small and cute; small plants, small pots, small knick knacks. Suddenly I felt it was all clutter and had to rid myself of everything small. So now I'm into big plants and big pots phase of my gardening life.

Next went everything of which I had more than 3. Choose the plants carefully, throw the rest! Brutal, yes! But they would be better off as humus than potted miseries.

Then, it was re positioning the pots. Some plants which prefer shade had been left to shield itself from the scorching sun, and some which prefers sunbathing all day all season had been left in the shade.

All that done, I had to seriously think what else I should get rid of so that I'm left with a low maintenance garden. The durian tree which has not borne any fruits thus far has been given fair warning for the past 3 years, to no avail! Yet, when it comes to crunch time, I just can't help feeling..yes...just 1 more year, I'll wait 1 more year. So that means having to slave over it's shedding leaves for another 365 days! And the leaves are so small, like ikan sepat!

That meant getting rid of the fast growing Ridani or Rangoon Creeper. Cut back real short and hope I remember to keep it trimmed every month so that it won't grow wild all over my prized bunga pisang! ( I don't know what the scientific or common name is, but my mother tells me that's what it is called cos the flowers, if you can call them flowers, really smell like bananas!)

The debris left behind after the exercise was a huge mount about 5 feet high! So far I have had no revelation on how to clear this! My resident biologist who is back for holidays has given stern warning on the effects of open burning on global warning. And I'm not too keen on leaving my carbon footprints when world leaders have failed to decide on how best to handle this issue at Copenhagen. Besides the smoke would play havoc on my asthma.

So, for now, my heavily pruned garden is still messy with the debris. Wish David (Blaine/ Copperfield) was here to spoof it all away!

But, sitting down on my antique garden swing and admiring the view, I'm proud of my efforts. It's a new year and time for new beginnings. I must not be afraid to reduce my clutter, just so it would be easier to maintain in the future.

I bought a book on this...and it says anything you haven't touched or used in the last 6 months maybe categorised as excess baggage you need to shed.

DARE I?

Ma`al Hijrah 1431

Hari ini 1 Muharram tahun 1431 Hijriah!

Many of my Chinese friends would unknowingly refer Hari Raya Aidil Fitri as New Year. `Happy New Year!' they would wish referring to Aidil Fitri celebrations. In fact, this wish is more appropriate for Ma`al Hijrah which falls on the first day of the first month of Muharram, one of the four holy months in the Muslim calendar.

For the uninitiated, Muslim calendar is lunar based. Months are either as short as 29 or as long as 30 days and the year is either 354 or 355 days. The first year of Hijrah was marked by the event of the Prophet Muhammad's emigration from Mekah to Medina (then known as Yathrib).

The Hijrah is a very important event in the history of Islam as it marked the beginning of a system of governance and a way of life away from the persecution of the non-Muslim Quraish of Mekah.

SALAM MA`AL HIJRAH, MAY THIS YEAR OF 1431H BRINGS FORTH PEACE AND HAPPINESS TO ALL!



Note : Puasa pada 9 dan 10 Muharram adalah antara puasa sunat yang afdhal.

The hermit crab

My blog like my garden, has been left unattended for the past few weeks.

My blog and my garden are my sanctuaries. In my blog I get to say and write whatever and whenever I please. I feel peaceful putting (virtual) pen to (virtual) paper. I get the same peaceful feelings when I'm out there in the early morning sunshine, pulling out weed or moving flower pots around.

Nobody harassed me to write or not to write, neither was I was forced out of my garden. But the past few weeks drained both my physical and mental well being. Nothing earth shattering happened, but the crab in me crawled back into her shell.

Has the crab been reinvented? Re engineered? Remodelled?

I am waiting to find out.

SOMETIMES...

Sometimes, I miss all the things that money can buy;
a holiday away from the maddening crowd,

then I remember that it would be the solitude I seek
and not the place I pick

.

Contemplation in solitude is free and God-given,
it is wherever I want to find it
in my prayers
in my supplication in the still silence of the night.

Sometime i miss...
the music from an expensive stereo set
or a full orchestra
then I hear the sounds of the birds chirping in the early morning light

the cooing of the pigeon that fly low in search of food




the call of the azan 5 times daily from the nearby mosque

the recital of the holy verses from the mouth of a child

and I remember that this is all the music my soul needs.

Sometimes I think of...
the bright lights and the fast paced city life,

always wanting more,
always wanting something better;
fancy clothes and expensive restaurants

Then I remember that time travels fast enough as it is
that no matter how expensive the food, you can only eat your fill.
that all what matters now, will one day be left behind
that in the dark and silent world of the grave
what counts is how you fared as a servant of your Master

Sometimes I crave for...
the attention, the passionate embrace of a lover
then I remember that everybody leaves everybody sometime or another
that the only enduring love is that of God for His creations,
that this is truly love in its purest from,
never ending, never fading, all embracing, all consuming.
And that is all the love that I need.

I'm just human and sometimes I forget that I'm truly blessed.

photo credits to deviations from deviant art

My beautiful friend

PERCEPTION; HAVE YOU MISSED ANYTHING LATELY?

Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007. The man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approx. 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.

4 minutes later:
the violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk..

6 minutes:
A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

10 minutes:
A 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. Every parent, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly.


45 minutes:
The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

1 hour:
He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities. The questions raised: in a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made.... How many other things are we missing?


Hear him play...would you have stopped to listen ?

GO KISS THE WORLD~ SUBROTO BAGCHI

A speech so inspiring, it'll be a loss for any parent to miss this and miss being an inspiration in the lives of ther children
(Sorry about the irregular spacing...copied from a friend's mail)

(SUBROTO BAGCHI, CEO MINDTREE and author of runaway best sellers, The High Performance Entrepreneur, Go Kiss the World and The Professional.)


I was the last child of a small-time government servant, in a family of
five brothers. My earliest memory of my father is as that of a District
Employment Officer in Koraput, Orissa. It was, and remains as back of
beyond as you can imagine. There was no electricity; no primary school
nearby and water did not flow out of a tap. As a result, I did not go to
school until the age of eight; I was home-schooled. My father used to get
transferred every year. The family belongings fit into the back of a jeep
- so the family moved from place to place and without any trouble, my
Mother would set up an establishment and get us going. Raised by a widow
who had come as a refugee from the then East Bengal , she was a matriculate
when she married my Father.

My parents set the foundation of my life and the value system, which makes
me what I am today and largely, defines what success means to me today.

As District Employment Officer, my father was given a jeep by the
government. There was no garage in the Office, so the jeep was parked in
our house. My father refused to use it to commute to the office. He told
us that the jeep is an expensive resource given by the government- he
reiterated to us that it was not "his jeep" but the government's jeep.
Insisting that he would use it only to tour the interiors, he would walk
to his office on normal days. He also made sure that we never sat in the
government jeep - we could sit in it only when it was stationary.

That was our early childhood lesson in governance - a lesson that
corporate managers learn the hard way, some never do.

The driver of the jeep was treated with respect due to any other member of
my Father's office. As small children, we were taught not to call him by
his name. We had to use the suffix 'dada' whenever we were to refer to him
in public or private. When I grew up to own a car and a driver by the name
of Raju was appointed - I repeated the lesson to my two small daughters.
They have, as a result, grown up to call Raju, 'Raju Uncle' - very
different from many of their friends who refer to their family driver, as
'my driver'. When I hear that term from a school- or college-going person,
I cringe.

To me, the lesson was significant - you treat small people with more
respect than how you treat big people. It is more important to respect
your subordinates than your superiors.

Our day used to start with the family huddling around my Mother's chulha -
an earthen fire place she would build at each place of posting where she
would cook for the family. There was neither gas, nor electrical
stoves.The morning routine started with tea. As the brew was served,
Father would ask us to read aloud the editorial page of The Statesman's
'muffosil' edition - delivered one day late. We did not understand much of
what we were reading. But the ritual was meant for us to know that the
world was larger than Koraput district and the English I speak today,
despite having studied in an Oriya medium school, has to do with that
routine. After reading the newspaper aloud, we were told to fold it
neatly. Father taught us a simple lesson.

He used to say, "You should leave your newspaper and your toilet, the way
you expect to find it". That lesson was about showing consideration to
others. Business begins and ends with that simple precept.

Being small children, we were always enamored with advertisements in the
newspaper for transistor radios - we did not have one. We saw other people
having radios in their homes and each time there was an advertisement of
Philips, Murphy or Bush radios, we would ask Father when we could get one.
Each time, my Father would reply that we did not need one because he
already had five radios - alluding to his five sons.

We also did not have a house of our own and would occasionally ask Father
as to when, like others, we would live in our own house. He would give a
similar reply," We do not need a house of our own. I already own five
houses". His replies did not gladden our hearts in that instant.

Nonetheless, we learnt that it is important not to measure personal
success and sense of well being through material possessions.

Government houses seldom came with fences. Mother and I collected twigs
and built a small fence. After lunch, my Mother would never sleep. She
would take her kitchen utensils and with those she and I would dig the
rocky, white ant infested surrounding. We planted flowering bushes. The
white ants destroyed them. My mother brought ash from her chulha and mixed
it in the earth and we planted the seedlings all over again. This time,
they bloomed. At that time, my father's transfer order came. A few
neighbors told my mother why she was taking so much pain to beautify a
government house, why she was planting seeds that would only benefit the
next occupant. My mother replied that it did not matter to her that she
would not see the flowers in full bloom. She said, "I have to create a
bloom in a desert and whenever I am given a new place, I must leave it
more beautiful than what I had inherited".

That was my first lesson in success. It is not about what you create for
yourself, it is what you leave behind that defines success.

My mother began developing a cataract in her eyes when I was very small.
At that time, the eldest among my brothers got a teaching job at the
University in Bhubaneswar and had to prepare for the civil services
examination. So, it was decided that my Mother would move to cook for him
and, as her appendage, I had to move too. For the first time in my life I
saw electricity in homes and water coming out of a tap. It was around 1965
and the country was going to war with Pakistan . My mother was having
problems reading and in any case, being Bengali, she did not know the
Oriya script. So, in addition to my daily chores, my job was to read her
the local newspaper - end to end. That created in me a sense of
connectedness with a larger world. I began taking interest in many
different things. While reading out news about the war, I felt that I was
fighting the war myself. She and I discussed the daily news and built a
bond with the larger universe. In it, we became part of a larger reality.
Till date, I measure my success in terms of that sense of larger
connectedness. Meanwhile, the war raged and India was fighting on both
fronts. Lal Bahadur Shastri, the then Prime Minster, coined the term "Jai
Jawan, Jai Kishan" and galvanized the nation in to patriotic fervor. Other
than reading out the newspaper to my mother, I had no clue about how I
could be part of the action. So, after reading her the newspaper, every
day I would land up near the University's water tank, which served the
community. I would spend hours under it, imagining that there could be
spies who would come to poison the water and I had to watch for them. I
would daydream about catching one and how the next day, I would be
featured in the newspaper. Unfortunately for me, the spies at war ignored
the sleepy town of Bhubaneswar and I never got a chance to catch one in
action. Yet, that act unlocked my imagination.

Imagination is everything. If we can imagine a future, we can create it,
if we can create that future, others will live in it. That is the essence
of success.

Over the next few years, my mother's eyesight dimmed but in me she created
a larger vision, a vision with which I continue to see the world and, I
sense, through my eyes, she was seeing too. As the next few years
unfolded, her vision deteriorated and she was operated for cataract. I
remember, when she returned after her operation and she saw my face
clearly for the first time, she was astonished. She said, "Oh my God, I
did not know you were so fair". I remain mighty pleased with that
adulation even till date. Within weeks of getting her sight back, she
developed a corneal ulcer and, overnight, became blind in both eyes. That
was 1969. She died in 2002. In all those 32 years of living with
blindness, she never complained about her fate even once. Curious to know
what she saw with blind eyes, I asked her once if she sees darkness. She
replied, "No, I do not see darkness. I only see light even with my eyes
closed". Until she was eighty years of age, she did her morning yoga
everyday, swept her own room and washed her own clothes.

To me, success is about the sense of independence; it is about not seeing
the world but seeing the light.

Over the many intervening years, I grew up, studied, joined the industry
and began to carve my life's own journey. I began my life as a clerk in a
government office, went on to become a Management Trainee with the DCM
group and eventually found my life's calling with the IT industry when
fourth generation computers came to India in 1981. Life took me places - I
worked with outstanding people, challenging assignments and traveled all
over the world.

In 1992, while I was posted in the US , I learnt that my father, living a
retired life with my eldest brother, had suffered a third degree burn
injury and was admitted in the Safderjung Hospital in Delhi . I flew back
to attend to him - he remained for a few days in critical stage, bandaged
from neck to toe. The Safderjung Hospital is a cockroach infested, dirty,
inhuman place. The overworked, under-resourced sisters in the burn ward
are both victims and perpetrators of dehumanized life at its worst. One
morning, while attending to my Father, I realized that the blood bottle
was empty and fearing that air would go into his vein, I asked the
attending nurse to change it. She bluntly told me to do it myself. In that
horrible theater of death, I was in pain and frustration and anger.
Finally when she relented and came, my Father opened his eyes and murmured
to her, "Why have you not gone home yet?" Here was a man on his deathbed
but more concerned about the overworked nurse than his own state. I was
stunned at his stoic self.

There I learnt that there is no limit to how concerned you can be for
another human being and what the limit of inclusion is you can create.

My father died the next day. He was a man whose success was defined by his
principles, his frugality, his universalism and his sense of inclusion.

Above all, he taught me that success is your ability to rise above your
discomfort, whatever may be your current state. You can, if you want,
raise your consciousness above your immediate surroundings. Success is not
about building material comforts - the transistor that he never could buy
or the house that he never owned. His success was about the legacy he
left, the memetic continuity of his ideals that grew beyond the smallness
of a ill-paid, unrecognized government servant's world.

My father was a fervent believer in the British Raj. He sincerely doubted
the capability of the post-independence Indian political parties to govern
the country. To him, the lowering of the Union Jack was a sad event. My
Mother was the exact opposite. When Subhash Bose quit the Indian National
Congress and came to Dacca , my mother, then a schoolgirl, garlanded him.
She learnt to spin khadi and joined an underground movement that trained
her in using daggers and swords. Consequently, our household saw diversity
in the political outlook of the two. On major issues concerning the world,
the Old Man and the Old Lady had differing opinions.

In them, we learnt the power of disagreements, of dialogue and the essence
of living with diversity in thinking.

Success is not about the ability to create a definitive dogmatic end
state; it is about the unfolding of thought processes, of dialogue and
continuum.

Two years back, at the age of eighty-two, Mother had a paralytic stroke
and was lying in a government hospital in Bhubaneswar . I flew down from
the US where I was serving my second stint, to see her. I spent two weeks
with her in the hospital as she remained in a paralytic state. She was
neither getting better nor moving on. Eventually I had to return to work.
While leaving her behind, I kissed her face. In that paralytic state and a
garbled voice, she said,

"Why are you kissing me, go kiss the world." Her river was nearing its
journey, at the confluence of life and death, this woman who came to India
as a refugee, raised by a widowed Mother, no more educated than high
school, married to an anonymous government servant whose last salary was
Rupees Three Hundred, robbed of her eyesight by fate and crowned by
adversity was telling me to go and kiss the world!

Success to me is about Vision. It is the ability to rise above the
immediacy of pain. It is about imagination. It is about sensitivity to
small people. It is about building inclusion. It is about connectedness to
a larger world existence. It is about personal tenacity. It is about
giving back more to life than you take out of it. It is about creating
extra-ordinary success with ordinary lives.

Thank you very much; I wish you good luck and God's speed. Go! kiss the
world.

(My take on the speech:

Note: Although the parents may seem to be simple people, they hold world class vision and values that would shame many in this materialistic world. World class parents do produce world class progeny, I guess it's true that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree)

Are you ready to be tested?

A short neurological test 1- Find the C below.. Please do not use any cursor help. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO COOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOO 2- If you already found the C, now find the 6 below. 9999999999999999999 9999999999999999 999999999999 9999999999999999999 9999999999999999 999999999999 9999999999999999999 9999999999999999 999999999999 6999999999999999999 9999999999999999 999999999999 9999999999999999999 9999999999999999 999999999999 9999999999999999999 9999999999999999 999999999999 3 - Now find the N below. It's a little more difficult. MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMNMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMM This is NOT a joke. If you were able to pass these 3 tests, you can cancel your annual visit to your neurologist. Your brain is great and you're far from having a close relationship with Alzheimer. Congratulations! Oh. One more test.... Find the 44th USA President. Well, congratulations, you're not colour blind either! SENIOR CITIZENS ARE THE NATION'S LEADING CARRIERS OF AIDS! HEARING AIDS BAND AIDS ROLL AIDS WALKING AIDS MEDICAL AIDS GOVERNMENT AIDS MOST OF ALL, MONETARY AIDS TO THEIR KIDS! Not forgetting HIV (Hair is Vanishing) Give me the grace to see a joke, To get some humour out of life, And pass it on to other folk. I'm only sending this to my 'old' friends. I love to see you smile !

Questions for the wise old owl

Kring kring ......

.

`Hello'

And it's your best friend at the other end of the line `Hi, it's me, can I talk to you?'

`Yeah sure, what's up?'

`What do you think if I say I want a divorce?'
(And I'm thinking if you are asking me this question, you DON"T want a divorce! You just think you do)

OMG! Another one million dollar question! (Nowadays it could actually be worth more than this cos a divorce would ultimately require splitting up the couple's marital assets which could easily run into millions given the price of real estate in KL these days)

So as a friend what kind of advise do you give?

My answer was ` Are you free right now? Let's have lunch at so-so..'

Hmmmm....



Barbara Streisand sang in Women in Love:

The road is narrow and long
When eyes meet eyes
and the feeling is strong

How true it is...The myth of living happily ever after, soon after being swept off your feet by Prince Charming is now just that....a myth. On the other hand, the dream of snaring the sweet, submissive, compliant and ever obliging Princess quickly evaporates into thin air.


Good and long lasting marriages were not made like that. These require a lot of sacrifices, a lot of love and plenty of hard work, lots of laughter and shared tears to grow strong and solid. Much like a tree, the annual rings acquired through beautiful weather, drought and stormy rains make the wood beautiful and priceless...you can't get it any other way, just the hard way.

(The cross section of a tree...beautiful isn't it? But the tree has gone through so much character building)

Some see and count sacrifices only in material form. Most men think, working their fingers to the bone providing comfort to the family as the ultimate sacrifice. What precious little time left is heavily invested on their teh tarik buddies, their futsal sessions and their fishing or golfing trips. In fact nowadays, these are actually considered healthy social activities. Better than frequenting clubs and massage parlours, some might even volunteer.


Whereas women, with or without careers, are expected to be the nurturer, the family caretaker, the cook, the mother and provide laundry services to boot. And God forbid if she asks too many questions (5 at a time is considered max!) or if she's no good in bed cos she's just too tired running around making sure all i's are dotted and all t's crossed. Mum, wife ; omnipresent. (Yes, until she drops dead, that is)

This lopsided arrangement will ultimately bring the couple to the forked road. So where do you go from there?

When confronted with the same question again after lunch, I told my friend, ` I am not in a position to offer a solution to your problem. In a marriage, however much you consult with others, the only two opinions that matter is the both of yours'. All I can do is offer a different perspective to what you see as the root cause of the problem.'

Some basic rules:

1) When you are wronged by the other party, drop the holier than thou attitude. If it happened to him/her, it can happen to you too. The other party is just unlucky.

2) When there is any doubt, give the partner the benefit.

3) Do not look a gift horse in its mouth

(MY! this horse needs a dentist desperately)

4) If you ask too many questions, be prepared to be taken for the ride of your life.

5) Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.

6) Cliche' as it may sound, be prepared to forgive (though you may never forget)

(Now, what did they say? oh yes, broken pieces never make a whole)

7) No matter how strongly convicted you are, never decide in the heat of the moment. Give yourself the time and space, you owe it to yourself.

The wise old owl rests her case. Anymore simple rules to mend a broken heart?

Who you gonna call?

'Hello?'
>
> 'Hi, honey. This is Daddy. Is Mommy near
> the phone?'
>
>
> 'No Daddy. She's upstairs in the bedroom with Uncle
> Paul.'
>
> ***Brief Pause***
>
> Daddy says, 'But honey, you haven't got an Uncle
> Paul.'
>
>
> 'Oh yes I do, and he's upstairs in the room with
> Mommy, right now.'
>
>
>
>
> ***Brief Pause.***
>
> 'Uh, okay then, this is what I want you to do. Put the
> phone down on the table,
> run upstairs and knock on the bedroom door and shout to
> Mommy that Daddy's
> car just pulled into the driveway.'
>
> 'Okay Daddy, just a minute.'
> A few minutes later the little girl comes back to the
> phone.
>
>
>
> 'I did it Daddy'
> And what happened honey?'
>
> 'Well, Mommy got all scared, jumped out of bed with no
> clothes on and ran around
> screaming. Then she tripped over the rug, hit her head on
> the dresser and now she
> isn't moving at all!'
>
> 'Oh my God!!! What about your Uncle Paul?'
>
> 'He jumped out of the bed with no clothes on, too. He
> was all scared and he jumped
> out of the back window and into the swimming
> pool. But I guess he didn't know that
> you took out the water last week to clean it. He hit the
> bottom of the pool and I think
> he's dead.'
>
>
>
> ***Long Pause***
>
>
>
>
> ***Longer Pause***
>
>
>
>
> ***Even Longer Pause***
>
>
> Then Daddy says, 'Swimming pool ?? We dont have a
> swimming pool !! Ah, is this 486-5731 ??'
>
>
> No, this is 486-5713.... .
>
> 'SORRY WRONG NUMBER

AN EXPLOSION OF LUST

Save for a few lines in contradiction with my faith, i think this short poem is deep and powerful.


Explosion of lust - Marcus.Graham

An Explosion of lust
The brightness of brights
on the blackest of nights
Children run like ants
i'm blind , i'm blind they scream
as a flood of ash takes the city
the red Poseidon looks into my eyes
eyes are open
mind is closed
look through all the faults i've made
god is my grenade
and we all speak with guns in out mouths
fading smiles glisten with mold and absence of any emotion
a decade passes and all are bodies turn to dust
Feel no love.. factories hold together my heart so broken
i feel the tears of the ocean
sweep under my eyelids like a tsunami flooding through me
as the explosion goes back into me
and what was loved is now all forgotten
no eyes can judge me because all men are blind
i'm the cheapest vodka
i'm the weakest saviour
my body is your broken temple..
and you are my distorted prayer
i'm a turtle trapped inside my own shell
dreaming of a kiss that could never be
love has always been imaginary
All that was once in place is now shattered glass
Love is the atom bomb
Your words are like napalm
Never has anything been more true
as my bones begin to shatter
and the world shatters too
i read my final transcript
and have my last communion
watch the wave of ash go over my head
and hope that god will save me when i'm dead.

KETULUSAN HATI- PADA YANG MAHA PENCIPTA

Ya Rabb, kabulkan permintaan ku ini.

Sudi kah Kau menerima ku?

Cat betrayal

The players could easily be a woman and her man...

GOT IT?

Did I read that sign right?
TOILET OUT OF ORDER. PLEASE USE FLOOR BELOW


In a Laundromat:
AUTOMATIC WASHING MACHINES: PLEASE REMOVE ALL YOUR CLOTHES WHEN THE LIGHT GOES OUT


In a London department store:
BARGAIN BASEMENT UPSTAIRS


In an office:
WOULD THE PERSON WHO TOOK THE STEP LADDER YESTERDAY PLEASE BRING IT BACK OR FURTHER STEPS WILL BE TAKEN


In an office:
AFTER TEA BREAK STAFF SHOULD EMPTY THE TEAPOT AND STAND UPSIDE DOWN ON THE DRAINING BOARD


Outside a secondhand shop:
WE EXCHANGE ANYTHING - BICYCLES, WASHING MACHINES, ETC. WHY NOT BRING YOUR WIFE ALONG AND GET A WONDERFUL BARGAIN?


Notice in health food shop window:
CLOSED DUE TO ILLNESS


Spotted in a safari park:(I sure hope so)
ELEPHANTS PLEASE STAY IN YOUR CAR


Seen during a conference:
FOR ANYONE WHO HAS CHILDREN AND DOESN'T KNOW IT, THERE IS A DAY CARE ON THE 1ST FLOOR


Notice in a farmer's field:
THE FARMER ALLOWS WALKERS TO CROSS THE FIELD FOR FREE, BUT THE BULL CHARGES.


Message on a leaflet:
IF YOU CANNOT READ, THIS LEAFLET WILL TELL YOU HOW TO GET LESSONS


On a repair shop door:
WE CAN REPAIR ANYTHING. (PLEASE KNOCK HARD ON THE DOOR - THE BELL DOESN'T
WORK)

I WILL SURVIVE!

Recent events in my life has forced me to take another look at how people perceive me.

Sometimes in trying to be polite as what we perceive society expect from us, we run the risk of being ambiguous to the extent of being misunderstood. Things that should be clearly said or explained are given the run-around-the-banana-tree treatment, till they sometime seems to make no sense at all, or at best, unclear. Is it the Malay dilemma or is it just me?

Malays are very well known for `berbudi bahasa' to the hilt. I dare say we are the only race who are expected to sacrifice our offspring rather than let old traditions die...(Biar mati anak, jangan mati adat) and being rude, obnoxious or narcissistic is just not Malay culture. But in reality, does anyone appreciate a martyr?

We try to live the best way we know how, or how we were brought up to behave, or how we taught ourselves derived from our experience. And one thing which I have learnt from first hand experience is nobody is going to fight your war for you, do it for yourself. Still I am bound by my Malayness, so I do it in my own polite, roundabout way.

Now I learn a new lesson, sometime you need to be rude, rough, lack empathy and shout your way through to get your point across, demand an answer!

All this because, some people think, when you are nice and sweet and request for explanation nicely and stand up for your rights politely, you are perceived to be meek and weak, something soft and nice to be trodden upon. In short, someone to victimise.

Well, not anymore, brother! Thanks for the wake-up call!

There's always sunshine after the rain

PS/ I would like to welcome the latest addition to the family, a baby boy safely delivered to my sis by C section today.

Well adik, since I rescued you from a life in Nibong Tebal, you owe me this right to name your son.
Welcome to the world, Muhammad Aniq Irfan, may you be blessed with God's guidance in all aspects of your life.

She~the Enigma

She
May be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She
May be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

She
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell

She
Who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She
May be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember till the day I die

She
May be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years
Me
I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is

She
She, oh she

A Speech Worth Reading and Sharing

(This was a speech made by Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Anna Quindlen at the graduation ceremony of an American university where she was awarded an Honorary PhD.)

"I'm a novelist. My work is human nature. Real life is all I know. Don't ever confuse the two, your life and your work. You will walk out of here this afternoon with only one thing that no one else has. There will be hundreds of people out there with your same degree: there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you will be the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk or your life on a bus or in a car or at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart. Not just your bank accounts but also your soul.

People don't talk about the soul very much anymore. It's so much easier to write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume is cold comfort on a winter's night, or when you're sad, or broke, or lonely, or when you've received your test results and they're not so good.

Here is my resume: I am a good mother to three children. I have tried never to let my work stand in the way of being a good parent. I no longer consider myself the centre of the universe. I show up. I listen. I try to laugh. I am a good friend to my husband. I have tried to make marriage vows mean what they say. I am a good friend to my friends and them to me. Without them, there would be nothing to say to you today, because I would be a cardboard cut out. But I call them on the phone and I meet them for lunch. I would be rotten, at best mediocre, at my job if those other things were not true.

You cannot be really first rate at your work if your work is all you are. So here's what I wanted to tell you today: Get a life. A real life, not a manic pursuit of the next promotion, the bigger pay cheque, the larger house. Do you think you'd care so very much about those things if you blew an aneurysm one afternoon or found a lump in your breast?

Get a life in which you notice the smell of salt water pushing itself on a breeze at the seaside, a life in which you stop and watch how a red-tailed hawk circles over the water, or the way a baby scowls with concentration when she tries to pick up a sweet with her thumb and first finger.

Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Pick up the phone. Send an email. Write a letter. Get a life in which you are generous. And realize that life is the best thing ever, and that you have no business taking it for granted.. Care so deeply about its goodness that you want to spread it around. Take money you would have spent on beer and give it to charity. Work in a soup kitchen. Be a big brother or sister. All of you want to do well. But if you do not do good too, then doing well will never be enough.

It is so easy to waste our lives, our days, our hours, and our minutes. It is so easy to take for granted the colour of our kids' eyes, the way the melody in a symphony rises and falls and disappears and rises again. It is so easy to exist instead of to live.

I learned to live many years ago. I learned to love the journey, not the destination. I learned that it is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only guarantee you get. I learned to look at all the good in the world and try to give some of it back because I believed in it, completely and utterly. And I tried to do that, in part, by telling others what I had learned. By telling them this: Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the fuzz on a baby's ear. Read in the back yard with the sun on your face.

Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness, because if you do, you will live it with joy and passion as it ought to be lived"

Reflections

1 Syawal...hari kemenangan untuk semua umat Islam yang telah berjaya menghambakan diri mematuhi syari`at Islam agama yang syumul.

Berpuasa sepanjang Ramadhan bukanlah sekadar menahan diri dari makan, minum, bersetubuh di siang hari dan perbuatan-perbuatan lain yang membatalkannya.

Namun untuk kebanyakan dari kita, itulah saja yang kita buat.

Sepanjang Ramadhan, hatiku menangis hiba menyaksikan pelbagai pembaziran yang dilakukan atas nama PUASA! Di rata-rata surau, mesjid lebih-lebih lagi di kawasan yang agak mewah persekitarannya, persiapan iftar lebih daripada keperluan. Iftar, solat, kemudian moreh. Hasilnya, banyak makanan terbuang sebab perut masing-masing sendat berisi.

(Dan aku berfikir, tentu ada insan yang berbuka puasa ala kadar dan akan menangis kesyukuran jika dapat menjamah makanan yang terbuang begini)

Bukan seorang dua yang berbisik pada ku di Syawal ini, ` berat badan ku bertambah di bulan puasa' dan `waktu tak puasa, makan nasi sekali sehari, bulan puasa makan nasi 2 kali sehari' juga 'keadaan kesihatan ku lebih baik di bulan puasa'.

Omongan ini membuat aku ketawa di depan yang berucap, tapi membuat aku berfikir sendiri bila berseorangan. Yang pastinya, ia berlaku kepada ramai dari kita, walaupun kita mungkin tidak mengaku, termasuk aku sendiri.

Soalnya...apakah puasa kita tadi memenuhi apa yang disyari`atkan?

Datang 1 Syawal dan hari-hari berikutnya..open house demi open house, makan , makan dan makan lagi. Walaupun tidak dipaksa menyambut jemputan ke majlis begini, semakin perit dan berat untuk kita melakukan Puasa 6 hari di bulan Syawal yang akan memberi kita-kita pahala seperti berpuasa setahun penuh!

Pada yang terasa, aku ingin sarankan. Tahun depan jika kita masih bernyawa, buat lah open house di hari pertama Syawal sahaja.

Aku bersyarah pada diriku jua!

Esok hari pertama aku berpuasa insyaAllah, setelah 12 hari Syawal menjelma. Semoga Allah menerima puasa Ramadhan ku dan memberi kelonggaran dan keampunan atas segala kelemahan diriku. Dan semoga Allah melapangkan hati ku dari hiba melihat segala kepincangan yang aku tidak berkuasa menyekatnya.

Jumaat 21 Ramadhan 1430 Hijriah

Hati tetiba rasa hiba dengan kedatangan hari pertama dari sepuluh terakhir Ramadhan tahun ini. Bukan hiba kerana bahang puasa makin menekan, tapi hiba kerana dalam sedikit masa sahaja lagi, bulan yang dijanjikan Allah penuh rahmat, maghfirah dan keampunan akan berlalu meninggalkan kita semua.

Siapa yang dapat menjamin bahawa datang Ramadhan yang tahun depan, dia masih ada, bukan cuma tinggal nama; dikenang orang yang terdekat cuma, tiada riuh rendah bertarawikh bersama, tiada kegirangan bersiap kuih muih dan baju raya, tiada menghulur tangan meminta ampun maaf.

Perasaan hiba ini bertandang sejak setahun lepas. Ketika hari-hari terakhir Ramadhan tahun lepas, perasaan begini juga menghantui diriku. Semakin riuh rendah disogokkan dengan iklan Hari Raya, semakin hiba aku. Ya Allah! Aku ingin sentiasa di dalam bulan rahmat MU.

Pada awal Ramadhan ustaz ku berpesan , Nabi Muhammad telah mengaminkan doa Jibril, Celakalah orang yang tidak diampunkan dosa nya setelah Ramadhan berakhir.

Penghambaan diri secara mutlak sepanjang Ramadhan kepada Yang Maha Esa sahaja yang memungkinkan dosa diampunkan, bukan semudah menadah tangan meminta itu ini. Penghambaan secara total, menyeluruh, padu, penuh syahdu dalam menjalani ibadah puasa di siang hari dan menghidupkan malam-malamnya dengan pembersihan jiwa melalui Qiyamullail, membaca Al Quran dan zikrullah, semoga ibadah kita diterima.

Tergolongkah aku dalam golongan yang di rahmati Allah? Sisa-sisa Ramadhan ini, masih bolehkah aku mempertingkatkan kedudukan ku di samping MU? Ya Allah, kerdilnya aku! Aku cumalah seorang musafir yang sesat di perjalanan dan ingin kembali ke Sirattul Mustaqeem, pimpinlah aku ya Allah!

Aku masih berharap dan berdoa aku tidak tergolong di kalangan hamba mu yang alpa, yang hati nya mati walupun jasadnya masih bernyawa.

Pesan Ustaz ku lagi, hati mati kerana:

1) Kamu kenal Allah, tetapi kamu tidak tunai hak kepada Allah

2) Kamu kata kasih kepada Rasulallah saw, tetapi kamu tinggal sunnah nya.

3) Kamu baca Al Quran tetapi kamu tidak beramal dengannya

4) Kamu makan nikmat Allah, tetapi kamu tidak bersyukur kepada pemberi nikmat

5) Kamu tahu syaitan itu jahat, tetapi kamu tidak lari daripadanya.

6) Kamu inginkan syurga tetapi kamu tidak berusaha untuk mendapatnya.


Wahai diri, muhasabah lah hati, agar dapat ku kawal nafsu dengan puasa ini, agar dapat ku bentuk peribadi dengan menahan diri, agar dapat ku menjadi hamba abdi yang sejati.

"Wahai Tuhan kami, jadikanlah hari kami yang terbaik adalah hari kami bertemu MU"



DO`A

Hanya pada MU
Aku meminta
Sesungguhnya Kau pemurah
Ampuni segala dosa ku

Kesejahteraan
Kedamaian
keimanan
ketakwaan
pinta ku dari mu Tuhan

Selawat serta salam buat Nabi junjungan
kepada muslimin dan juga muslimat
Ya Allah ya Tuhanku
aku mendengar seruan
dan hanya kepadaMU aku beriman

keranaMU aku disini
kepada Mu aku kembali
apabila tiba saat nya nanti

sehingga tiba detik itu
aku memohon hanya dari MU
Kau peliharailah diriku

Dengan nama Mu
Allah YANG AGUNG
YANG PENGASIH
YANG PENGAMPUN
kepada MU
aku berlindung

In one of my sober moods...

Did James Dean like chocolates?

One of my varied interest which, I must confess, I am not very good at (YET) is cooking.

Tapi I tak suka cooking yang bangsa you have to spend berjam-jam kat dapor tu. Where is the fun in that? I like the kind yang people masak, then I makan! And comment! Macam Food Critique gitu!

Seronoknya kalau dari dulu I tak menyusahkan kepala buat Math. I should have taken journalism! As a journalist I maybe suited to the Life and Times section kot? Tapi nak buat macam mana...the rebel in me would not kow tow to deadlines. So there goes...

(That's handsome James Dean in Rebel without a cause-incidentally adik2 yang tak kenai Dean, he's the one who said Live Fast, Die Young and leave a good-looking corpse. I tell you...that's why he died at 24!)

Anyway, cooking yang menjadi kegemaran I ialah desserts macam blueberry pie, apple pie, apple crumble, chocolate cake and cornish pie, pizza dan yang sewaktu dengannya,...get the drift? I suka yang boleh cepat-cepat masak and cepat-cepat boleh keluar dari kitchen. And I suka yang end product dia bukan setakat boleh dimakan, tapi juga chantique!

So that's why I am learning how to make chocolates now. Before long, I tak payah menggemukkan badan on Cadbury or Hershey's but my own brand of handmade and homemade chocolate.

Sapa nak rasa, boleh mai rumah masa Raya nanti. And when the blog is ready, feel free to browse and order from the Merry Chocolatiers!

!



(Walaupun gambar ni bukan choc I buat tapi I kidnap from Black Dinah Chocolatiers, I sumpah...coklat I pun nampak macam gini gak!)

So what's the connection between James Dean and chocolate making? I don't know...Ask me another day...)

Sapa kata perempuan lemah?

My day started early yesterday.

At 7, I was hanging my laundry, at 8 I was feeding the cats, At 8.30 I was at the airport to pick up Yanti (my youngest sister by the same mother and father, not some INDON girl my mum adopted), by 8.45 we were at MakNgah's house for jejak kasih session (Mak Ngah is a leading contender for the Neng Yatimah award, she weeps buckets for every reason you can think of and every reason you can't think of. Since she was the one who kept house for us when Yanti was a baby, you can imagine the river she cried yesterday having not seen Yanti since a year ago)

At 9.15 we were in the auto car wash (everybody was beginning to suspect that Proton has come out with a new color for SAGA- off white, kinda yellowish, streakish...you get it?) By 9.30 we were already in PLUS highway heading to SP.

The real agenda was to visit Bapak at the hospital, but visiting time isn't until 1.00pm so there was time to kill. After all bapak was undergoing bronchoscopy, and he was not expected out of the O.T till mid day.

At 10.10 we were at Cik Ja's house to pick her and Ida, and by 11.10 we were in USM to visit Ayang, she had just finished her lectures and we squeezed her into the car and went back to her room. Oh penat nya!

(The mother plus 4 fairyGodmothers at Desasiswa Tekun USM)

This little boy couldn't understand what the big deal is in stopping him from visiting kak Yang's room...We made him stand guard at the entrance, after all the sign did not refer to any age limit. (HEHEHE! Saja nak bully, syok!)

By 12.15 we headed back to SP, visited Bapak and was informed he was well enough to be discharged the next day, but he would have to undergo MRI on Sunday. Alhamdulillah, GOD is Great and Beneficient especially in Ramadhan!

By 3.00 we were visiting Kak Fizah's chocolate factory as Yanti wanted to buy Raya gift packs for the Teganu folks. This year is Teganu's turn...so tak yah lah buat muka sedih, kena balik Teganu gak!

By 5 we were at Ja's for solat and to take a breather. By 6.15 we were on the highway again heading to Astar for ifthar with Man's family at Spring Leaf. SIL kami belanja makan lah weh! Immediately after, I unloaded Yanti and Makngah to Man and hurried back to catch Maghrib and Tarawikh.

So much for what I planned. After Maghrib, I put my head on the pillow to straighten my spinal cord and when I woke up it was 12 midnight, the telephone was screaming cos BIG boss was back and nak masuk rumah tak boleh sebab rumah was latched from inside. There flew my Tarawikh for the first time this Ramadhan.

Betul lah ~MANUSIA MERANCANG, ALLAH MERANCANG,
TAPI PERANCANGAN ALLAH LAH LEBIH BAIK"

BUKAN HATI TAK CINTA

Yesterday was 31 August and our 52nd Independence day.

There was no entry from me to mark the day.

Bukan sebab hari tu tak bermakna that I did not immortalize the day with an entry, just that a lot of thought was racing through my mind.

52 tahun! Sekiranya negara ini adalah seorang insan, pada umur 52 tahun, seseorang itu telah sepatutnya mencapai tahap kematangan yang memberangsangkan. Sesetengah dari kita pun telah menjangkau usia emas dan berada dalam kategori sama tua atau sama muda dengan Malaysia, it depends on how you look at it. Do you feel that your life on earth has been too long or too short?

Yang penting bukanlah mencapai kemerdekaan secara lahiriah semata. To attain is not as difficult as to maintain, I always believe. The hard work is in actually preserving and improving!

Kemerdekaan yang hakiki adalah yang di dalam hati. Kemerdekaan yang sebenar adalah dalam penghambaan diri kepada Yang Maha Esa. True freedom, true victory lies in submission to GOD Rabbul `Alamin. How can you not be free, when there is only GOD in your life, everything including, solat, ibadah, hidup dan mati lillah hi rabbil `alamin? (iftitah)

Apakah anak-anak muda negara in telah mengisi kemerdekaan negara dan diri dengan sebaiknya? Pencarian di utube menyedihkan. What a terrible loss to the family , what a terrible loss of potential to the nation, what a terrible waste of time and resources, what a terrible waste of life!

Nama-nama aruah yang terkorban dek aksi merempit , apis, emy, wan, pudin...rata-rata anak Melayu yang sia-sia menggadai nyawa...untuk apa? Untuk di kenang aksi mereka dalam cyberspace dengan kata-kata RIP! RIP? Tak pernah ke kamu dengar...it 's not how you die, but what you die for!? Di mana cinta kamu kepada ibubapa, kepada kekasih, kepada negara, kepada agama untuk diabadikan dengan RIP! Dan kalau analogi di teruskan ke amalan ibadah yang lain, adakah boleh disifatkan kurang ajar kalau ditanyakan bahawa boleh kah kamu berharap untuk berehat dalam aman di sana?

Semurah itu kah nyawa? Pada umur begini, the ball is at your feet...tendanglah ke arah mana yang nak kamu tuju, kenapa jalan begini yang kamu cari?

Pada adik-adik, anak-anak sekelian, hargailah nyawa, isi kan lah jiwa kamu dengan segala yang berfaedah. Jalan ke arah sana masih panjang tapi jangan digadaikan dengan sesuatu keseronokan yang bersifat sementara. Ingatlah bahawa setiap kita di beri modal oleh Allah iaitu MASA, dan bila tiba detiknya, tidak akan dipercepatkan ataupun dilambatkan walaupun sesaat.

Al Ankabut (The Spider) Surah 29 Ayat 64 cites:

What is the life of this world but amusement and play? but verily the
Home in the Hereafter,- that is life indeed, if they but knew.

Tafseer by Abdullah Yusuf Ali

AN ETERNITY IS A LONG TIME TO SPEND IN REGRET!

The original unsung hero(ine)

It was school holidays again! And mak was planning for us to take a train trip to visit my aunties and uncle in KL. For many nights after hearing the news, I had been having sleepless nights, taut with anticipation of the adventure to come. Maklum lah orang kampong nak pi KL, syoknya tak terkira, walaupun itu bukanlah kali pertama

The day finally arrived. Our group consisted of Tok Abah (my dear departed, al Fatihah), mak, and her motley crew made up of my brother Man, my sister Ja, my (then) youngest sister Ida and yours truly. Ida must have been about 3 ½- 4 years old then. ( Remember this, as it is an essential part of this story) She was such a baby and was my parents’ favorite.
Maklum lah, budak tu suka menyanyi, tak lah sedap sangat, tapi teramat lah suka mendendangkan lagu bila duduk kat celah mak bapak I kat dalam kereta Datsun 1200 bearing no plate KC1789 tu. Lagipun tak silap I, kereta tu tak der radio, so bila kami naik kereta je, my father would make a gesture as if he’s turning a knob on my sister’s mouth kinda like he’s switching on the radio, and apa lagi! she unashamedly would count that as an invitation to start her dendang sessions.

I have to tell about our luggage! My parents bought it specially for the trip, I think. It was box shaped, about 2 ft by 5 ft (I swear, it was enormous!) and blue in colour with small black specks. My father had written our address very nicely on the luggage `59 Jalan Pajar, Alor Setar, Kedah’. (My father has one of the nicest handwriting I have ever come across, even to this day)(Later, the same bag carried my belongings when I enrolled in a boarding school on top of a small hill in Seremban)

All our clothes were packed tightly into that one luggage as Mak had to carry it single handed, with me, being the eldest at only 10 and not much good for anything, and Tok Abah, even then, was too old. Tok Abah was a lovable grandfather who loved to be on the go somewhere, yet the minute he reached the place, he would be missing home; and I suspect, Mak Tok, though he never said it.

The journey to KL was long. And there were no air conditioned coaches then (if I am not wrong, but even if they had, we could not have afforded it). Sitting by the window with the wind blowing in your face seemed and sounded romantic, but wait until you try it, you will know that your face will end up blackened from the soot produced by the engine.

If you want to reach KL from Alor Setar those days, you had to board the train from Alor Setar bright and early and make a quick change to another train at Bukit Mertajam. In my mind, as a kid,I pictured it as if the railway lines were built starting from both ends and somehow the engineers only found out they missed each other at Bukit Mertajam!

(Does it look like railway tracks or a ladder in a snake and ladder gone wrong?)

This is how Alor Setar looks now and very much how it looked then. 4 decades on and not much addition to the sleepy not so hollow, but I love my town. Did you all know Alor Setar as a city is older than Washington D.C? Yes it is, no kidding! This year it is 274 years old, whereas Washington D.C is only 218 if I am not mistaken.

(View from the top of Menara Telekom, the world's 19th tallest telecom tower...hmmm not bad eh? for a sleepy not so hollow)

(The façade of the station~ how quaint it still is)

(Tracks that carry me down memory lane)

The journey went by quite uneventfully, The highlight of a train ride then was when the train made its way across Tasik Merah, Taiping, Chugging along at low speed right across the lake was really something! And the scenery, SubhanAllah, I could swear there was no other place that looked as beautiful especially if you were to make the journey at dusk.

There were no express train service then, so we passed each little train station /stops, sometimes seemingly right in the middle of nowhere.

Ipoh train station was and is a magnificent piece of architecture, It being the biggest train station north of peninsular, the train normally makes a longer stopover there. There we would have got some refreshments ; kopi O panas in small plastic bags or boiled groundnuts (from Menglembu, doubtlessly) and maybe nasi lemak bungkus. The clanging of the train master’s bells, the cries of the peddlers advertising their wares, the sights, sounds and smell of the station still lives on in my mind.

(Ipoh station-locals call it the Taj Mahal)

Mak woke us up when we reached Rawang, to gather all our belongings as the next stop would be our destination, the (old) KL train station. Ah! What can I say about KL train station that has not already been said or written?

(According to some travelogs, it was built by the British, but the architecture is distinctly Moorish and it is just beautiful)

At the station we were welcomed by my aunts and the children, Norli and Zamri,. Although cousins by birth, the distance apart and the infrequent meetings made for a bashful encounter at first. My aunts, Mak Kakak (Mak’s eldest sister by the same mother, dearly departed, al Fatihah) and Chu Zaiton, (Mak’s adopted sister and cousin) tried to push us kids together, but kids being kids, we got closer on our own accord, after days spent together exploring the grounds of the Army Camp at Padang Tembak, close to Gurney and Keramat. (Ami Noordin, my uncle was an army captain stationed there)

The school holidays passed by with us trudging the grounds and climbing and tumbling the undulating terrain of the camp grounds. Mak Kakak was a fantastic cook, whipping up delicious dishes and cookies. Of course she had to dispense the cookies herself and surreptitiously kept the jar out of sight for fear of everything running out faster than the holidays!

We were joined by another uncle’s children during the days. (Mamu Osman is mak’s elder brother . He was a taxi driver and lived close by in Kg Baru. Nimi, Niza,and Ta were frequent features in Mak Kakak's house.

One very distinct memory was us throwing small pebbles on top of the corrugated zinc roof of the squatter houses built down the slopes. What a pain we must have been, cos there were so many of us, and even if each were to throw one small pebble, imagine the ruckus we made! Every time the people came out scolding we would run away hiding. Then the same would be repeated over and over again, tirelessly,. We had such fun making them angry! The recklessness of youth!

ALL good things must come to an end. It was time for us to make the journey home. School was starting in a couple of days time and we had to make trip back as planned.

No more feeling bashful, tears streamed down at parting time with promises to meet again during Hari Raya. And the journey home went by much as it did when we were traveling to KL, except we were traveling in the opposite direction.

When we reached Nibong Tebal, Mak asked us to gather our things to ensure nothing was left behind. So we busily helped with whatever were stowed in the overhead racks. Just as the train jolted forward, Mak asked, `Ida pi mana?’ Frantically we looked around and she, the little songstress was nowhere on the train!

The train started pushing forward….and she was still missing!

I heard from somewhere down there on the platform, some Apek was crying, `Woi, anak sapa ni!, anak sapa ni!?’ I heard that voice over and over again, GOD bless him. Looking out the window of the now moving train, albeit slowly moving, there she was, in her very short dress, and a hat if I am not mistaken, completely innocent and waving at the train, smiling.

I rushed to the doorway of the coach we were in, and without thinking jumped off the train and in a single swift motion swept her into my arms and jumped back onto the train which was gathering speed!. Luckily I had the practise as a hurdler in school. It must have have taken only 40-50 seconds but it seemed a lifetime in slow motion in my mind.

Mak was unspeakably relieved to have the little songstress safely in her arms. Everybody was speechless at what both she and I did. And thankful, no doubt!

When we reached home, the drama on the platform was the conversation topic for many days, months and recollected faithfully over years to come. Everybody was so busy talking and narrating, but nobody thought of nominating me for the Hang Tuah award. Kalau tak glemer lah aku! Boleh masuk surat kabar.

Well my dear sister, if you are reading this, then we both know who you should idlolise as your lifetime hero(ine). You see, if not for me, you might be staying with some Apek for the rest of your life in Nibong Tebal and singing Long Fan, Long Lau.... instead of Cibidi, bidi, cibidi bang, bang, cibidi bang, bang, cibidi bong bong…nyet,nyet,nyet...

YOU OWE ME BIG TIME SISTA!