All in the Family ( Pt 3 ) – The X-File

                      
Prologue:


This is probably the longest single posting in this blog. I can have it in two or three installments with the risk of interrupting the reader’s train of thought. So here I take the risk of boring my dear visitors. Be honest to tell Pakcik if in future this should preferably be in more than one whole length. Thank you.
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With Makcik as my sleeping partner the two of us drove to Raub very early on Saturday 9th June for a wedding that we could ill afford to miss.


An equally strong reason was purely sentimental. We had a strong urge to see, possibly for the last time, an old wooden house in a village named Dong some twenty kilometers away on the main road from Raub to Gua Musang. Dong may indeed sound a ‘gong’ to many people who followed the famous bizarre murder committed by a ‘charmer’ named Mona Effendi. That was several years ago and our Dong has nothing to do with that.


Indeed, Dong had been intimately known to us many years before that sensational murder case. There was an old loving couple who spent their lives in a wooden house we used to visit and spent many a night. The devoted wife whom we called ‘Wan’ passed away a couple of years ahead of her life partner whom we called ‘Tok’. My last visit to Dong and to that very house was more than thirty years ago. That was when I accompanied the old man’s body to his final resting place beside his wife’s.
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Arriving early in Raub we had over an hour to spare before the wedding. As we would have another long drive back to Kuala Terengganu that same day we decided to visit the old house first. To be sure of the day I repeat Sarurday 9th June, not a day earlier or later.


Over the years the road from Raub to Gua Musang had been straightened and widened, making it difficult for me to locate the spot where a narrow path used to lead to the house we used to know too well. What I could remember was the fence of a small school running alongside the path.


It was just a matter of a few minutes before we reached Dong. I had to slow down, stopping at times, to be sure that we would not pass the path, if there was still one.

Soon a road-block came into sight. But that did not matter in the least. We kept inching our way until, when we thought we were about where the path should roughly be, we came to check point.


We must have been noticed to drive in a suspicious manner. Two uniformed JPJ (Road Transport Dept) personnels scrutinized our car and one of them came around to ask for my driving license. With confidence I produced my recently renewed driving license and my Identity Card as well, though the latter was not asked for.


After seeing my driving license the man dropped the bomb-shell, “Lesen kereta encik dah mati (your road tax has expired)”.


Not wanting to believe what I heard I stepped out and walked ahead of the car to see for myself the road tax on the windscreen. It read ‘ 8 June 2012’ and today was 11 am on Saturday 9th June 2012 – just eleven hours past the expiry date!


Loudly and with disbelief I told myself how sure I was that road tax would last another couple of months.Dutifully I moved my car aside and approached the officer-in-charge who was sitting beside a small table under the shade of trees by the roadside.


I pleaded to be excused as I was totally unaware of the expiry date of the road tax and it was a matter of less than one day. Very firmly he declared that he was very sorry about that but he was not in the position to let me go on this kind of offence. He then picked up his pen and was ready to prepare the top sheet of his book of summons. Then to clear his conscience, perhaps, he lifted his face to look straight into my eyes. Politely he asked why I was driving slowly within sight of his road-block (meaning driving suspiciously out of guilty conscience?)


That was an opening for me to detail the very strong reason why we both had to revisit the dear old man’s house.
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At this point for the benefit of my readers I should say something about our loveable man, ‘Tok’ who died some twenty years ago at the age of eighty plus. I came to know him when he was in his seventy. He was a very popular figure in the village. People talked, and still do, of him with awe and admiration. Apart from his admirable personality in general he was believed to possess a lot of ‘mystical’ knowledge, being associated with warriors of the famed Mat Kilau (the Pahang warrior with unusual or supernatural abilities in the physical and spiritual realms.)


His light-heartedness and the wealth of old stories he had to tell were reasons enough for me to enjoy his company. During one of my many sittings with him he told me how, as a member of a land survey team, he was taken to the old Kuala Lumpur to carry out some survey work of the area where Foch Avenue ( now Jalan Cheng Lok) is. It was hard not to be convinced of his visits to various places as he often gave known landmarks of places he talked about.


Following the May 13th incident in 1969 Tok was requested by the villagers to reactivate his teaching of ‘silat’ (Malay art of self defense) of which he was known to have special skills, and which he had ceased to teach for a long time.


Relatively tall and thinly built Tok was very tough, with obvious agility and strength. It was hard to believe how on his own he managed to run his fruit farm. Villagers believed he did not work alone but with help from his ‘invisible’ friends. Close to his house he built quite a sizeable pond where he reared fresh-water fish. The pond was linked to a small stream running outside his land.


Not once during our acquaintance he ever boasted of his ‘unusual’ abilities. He never gave a hint that he wished to talk about it to me. But people around him talked of various strange and unexplainable incidents.


A very close friend of his, called Meon, told me a number of strange stories. On one occasion a stranger entered the old man’s house intending to cart away some brass wares. The stranger was found later wandering in the house unable to find his way out. The whole ground of his house was known to be similarly ‘fenced’. One with ill intention could enter his land but would not be able to find his way out. Meon also related to Pakcik his personal experience which took place one dark evening. With one mutual friend he went to the fish pond to get some fish for dinner. To their surprise their torch-lights showed nothing in the pond but snakes slithering all over.

Tok’s youngest of three sons talked of his father’s special knowledge. At one time the son was interested in acquiring from his father one skill which would enable him to open a locked door without a key. He knew that his father possessed that ‘special’ knowledge. On hearing the son’s request the old father agreed; it had to be on two strict conditions. Firstly, he was never to abuse the special skill in any way other than on emergency, and, secondly, the son would not be allowed to meet him for a minimum period of several months immediately after being taught the skill. The first condition was acceptable to the son but, knowing the age of the old man and the need to see him regularly, the second condition was not acceptable. So he lived without acquiring the skill. How I wish I had acquired some of these skills to put some fear in Almanar children!


Although Tok has gone for so long no one in the family would pull down whatever left of the old man’s old house. His youngest son, who passed away last year, conveniently built his weekend home on the available ground behind the old wooden relic, reportedly after having failed to have it demolished. Unfortunately, he is no longer around for me to ascertain whether it was a fact that an attempt had been made to demolish the house. The idea was abandoned when the worker engaged became seriously ill and refused to carry out the work.

What is left of Tok's old house  

__________________________   

Now we go back to where we left with Pakcik and the JPJ officer who was about to issue a ticket for my traffic offense.



Almost immediately after hearing what I had to say in earnest of my sole reason for driving slowly, and still looking in my face, the officer raised his right hand which was holding the pen. He pointed at one direction very close where we were.



“Baiklah encik, boleh pergi. Lorong tu ada dekat situ, sebelah sekolah. (Alright you may go, sir. The path is just there beside the school.) Then he added by saying that there was nothing he could do to help should there be another road-check on my long way home later.

So I was let off scot-free!

_______________________________


While driving the 500 km home after the wedding that afternoon, I was praying that there would not be another road block. At the same time I felt strangely sure that all would be well. But I could not contain my thought over the earlier incident. At one point I turned to Makcik to say,
“What happened this morning was rather odd. Allah made the officer change his mind in the last second. Was it because of our Tok? Or was it a pure coincidence?”
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May Allah bless Tok, Wan and his three sons. After all Tok and Wan were Makkcik’s grandparents, and the second of his three sons, the only one I never had a chance to meet in my life, was none other than my own late father-in-law.

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p/s:
This morning I went to have the road tax renewed. It is valid from 10th June while the previous one ended on 8th June. Have I gained one day's grace for all the trouble, or a gift from heaven for the trouble taken in memory of our beloved Tok?



Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kemanusiaan

Perginya Tun Abdul Razak

“ Hassan, Tun kita dah meninggal. ( Our Tun has departed)”. That was a brief few words which we pray we do not hear too often among us, the Group of ’55.






Sixty years ago, during the British colonial era I joined an ‘ English School’ after completing my ‘Malay School (Sekolah Melayu)’ and ‘Sekolah Arab ( Arabic/ Islamic religious school)’. The school only had one class of Standard 7 ( equivalent to the current Form 3). In those days we did not have the luxury of choice of schools, the likes of Sekolah Integrasi, Sekolah Elit, Sekolah Imtiaz, Sekolah Menengah Sains, Sekolah Cluster and so on and so forth today, not to count the various international schools. For the first time I was in a co-ed school.






The English School I joined had only one class of Standard 7 (current Form 3). A boy named Tun Abdul Razak (with hereditary title Tun, just like Megat, Wan etc) was there with over forty others comprising of Malays, Chinese and Indian boys and girls. A total of 42 of us survived the following three years to sit for the Cambridge Senior Certificate School examination (SPM exam of today) in 1955.






The Malayans (not Malaysians) of those days did not pride themselves with children passing an exam with all A grades etc. Getting a Grade One (of three pass grades) was most enviable and achieved by very few. Even getting a Grade Three was lauded; and a fail was acceptable to start life with. All national newspapers would carry the pass lists every year. No comparison was made between the success of one school and another and no state claimed to hold record passes.






Our ‘Tun’, with his towering figure, was a jovial boy and a crowd puller. With a third grade in the Standard 9 ( now Form 5) Cambridge examination in 1955 he earned himself a job with the state government. At the end of his service he retired as a successful family man. He was then holding the respectable post of Assistant District Officer (ADO).






Our dear Tun often joined us for lunch, a cheerful person as ever although of late his health was failing. His loving wife preceded him a year ago. So now we have lost our Tun, number 16th to have left of the original total of 42. We were friends for a good SIXTY years; and now I am left with lots of pleasant memories but with nothing to offer but prayers that our Tun will be among those blessed by Him.







Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kemanusiaan

A forced rest

In brief:

There was more stealing of telephone cable for copper. Almanar line was down for four days; hence my excess to the cyber world was out. I have just heard that one of the two culprits was beaten up and died after three days in ICU with broken skull.

Stremyx line is well and healthy now but Pakcik, on the other hand, is under the weather. Hopefully, it would not too long before the old computer can begin to spin something.

Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kemanusiaan

Pakcik reminisces ( Pt 24 ) – My Brickfields, the Little India,

Overview

Today is 13th May, a date which brings back sad memories of this day forty years ago – May, 1969 (click here for the earlier posting). Fate had it that I was made to play a role following the tragic incident of that day. Brickfields happened to be the focal point for me. Coincidentally this little enclave of Kuala Lumpur, now the Little India, played an important role in the early days of Pakcik’s family as well.

One posting may not do justice to the importance of Brickfields to me and family. So this one is likely to be followed by another at a suitable time later

 Kuala Lumpur 13th May, 1969

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My recent trip to K Lumpur

By coincidence I got swept by the flood of traffic along Lornie Drive ( now Jalan Syed Putra ) into Brickfields Road (now Jalan Tun Sambathan). A sense of panic was beginning to creep in when, to my relief, I caught sight of a vaguely familiar school grounds and buildings I knew so well as La Salle (Primary) School. Hence I knew where I was driving and heading for. In those days I could probably proceed blindfolded from that point. As expected a row of old two-storey shop building came into view on my left. There used to be the large Anthonian bookstore which I frequented long, long ago before the birth of today’s larger bookstores.

Following that building there should be a familiar hotel on my right just before coming to a three-way junction. I had intended to turn left into Traverse Road and to Bangsar, but I found myself too late and was again swept staright ahead.  Had I turned left I should pass a building which housed a clinic used to be run by a Dr Rashid Malal, a distinguished Malayan amateur golfer. This fellow member of RSGC (Royal Selangor Golf Club) was our family doctor for years and years.


So I missed that left turn and had to go straight. Immediately on my left I could see in my mind's eye the picture of an oil depot with a tank farm containing some six huge cylindrical steel tanks standing upright in a bund wall. (The wall was designed to contain oil spillage in case of an incident which should never happen) Those huge tanks contained petrol, diesel and kerosene which supplied consumers in and around Kuala Lumpur. I was made to be in full charge of that complex during the infamous May 13th 1969 riot to make sure that the police and the military vehicles would have uninterrupted supplies of fuel. I was a civilian with a curfew sticker on my car driving the deserted and eery streets of Kuala Lumpur. 

All those oil tanks had gone and now I was approaching KL Central instead.  Gone was the parcel office of KL Post Office where I had to go sometimes to collect parcels posted from abroad which needed to be checked by Customs office for dutiable goods. On my right I should see a long row of two-storey shop building  where I used to have lunches. In particular there was a Makcik shop, a very good family restaurant serving genuine Malay foods. I am certain that Malay shop was long gone.

I wonder if I did pass Scott road and the old cinema. Before I knew it I was again being swept by traffic into the road leading to Pudu Raya and into Mountbatten Road (now Jalan Raja Chulan - Oop, I am wrong said GUiKP in his comment below. It should be Jalan Tun Perak. You see, I still live in the past, Batu Road, Foch Avenue etc.) From there all was familiar again. At last I was out of the wood.

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How did Brickfield become so prominent in the life of my family?


Fifty years ago this year I started my working career in Singapore where the multinational I worked for had its  regional head office. From time to time I was to travel to its KL office which was not very far from Brickfields, and also to visit  the oil depot mentioned above. For my convenience, on each of my trips to KL a room was booked at a reasonably good hotel within a walking distance from the depot and also from a ‘taman selera’, a well frequented row of food stalls along the road past La Salle school. I belive this 'taman selera' is still in existence.


On one of my visits to KL office I returned to the hotel fairly early and without the normal company of an office colleague.  Early in the evening I drove to the ‘taman selera’ and returned to the hotel immediately after having my supper.  I decided to stay in to catch up with my work.

It was near midnight when there came gentle taps on my door. I wonder who could the late visitor be. Immediately on opening the door there was whiff of perfume and a young pretty face was smiling straight into my eyes. “ Saya datang kalau encik hendak apa apa. Saya boleh tolong.” was her gentle stream of words. I knew what a suitable answer ought to come out from me.

My oh my! Did this bachelor executive look lonely enough and still hungry after after that supper? He was sorry that he had too much work to finish! Or shouldx she be invited to finish off his work? Anyway that was his last stay at that hotel, a place and an incidence to remember. 

Insya Allah I will have more serious subjects to write about in due course.


Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kemanusiaan.

Natural growth

I have no skill in planting anything. Dig a hole and bury the roots and let the plant grow, if it decides to grow. Water it if necessary at the beginning. At least that is my philosophy - rooted in laziness according to Makcik. Makcik, of course, has her own views and her own ways.


More than a year ago, I took out from the pots a few of her orchid plants and wrapped them round a couple of casuarina trees (pokok ru) around our house with some coconut husk to keep the roots covered and damp. Speaking out with authority, I convinced Makcik that plants would grow well in their natural ways. No one goes around the deep jungle watering orchids of all kinds and giving fertilizers. After all that was how I planted those casuarina trees in the grounds of our house. They grew sky high forcing us to have a few shortened down to roof height. My reasoning sounds logical enough I am sure. Believe it or not look at the results of FREE growing.

On casuarina stem

 

On casuarina stem

Whatever-is-called growing healthy on coconut trunk- old leaves hanging down 

One of these days Almanar will offer courses on Natural Growth ( plants, not children)! We will need to call on expertts like Temuk to be our guest lecturers.



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Child abduction

The two of us were in KL last week for a couple of days. On Friday our grand-daughter, a Standard Six pupil of Sekolah Kebangsaan Bukit Damansara (SKBD), was all very bubbly and excited to tell us something on alighting from her school bus. A man tried to abduct a Standard Five girl from her school.

In that incident a man approached one girl to tell her that her mother was not well and he was to take her home. The girl had the presence to get the school office to contact her home. That was fortunate for the family.

The school was quick to call a meeting of parents on the following day to brief what had taken place and security measures to be made with immediate effect. Altogether THREE abduction attempts had been made at that school within one week.   

Sunday papers carried this news and that of a successful abduction at another school about six kilometers away,but the abductors were not as lucky at SKBD. The following Sunday papers carried the news. 

Sunday Star 29/4

SKBD which is about two kilometers from our house in Damansara Heights.

The culprits seemed to have done their homework, having a good idea of their intended victims. For a start it is easy to assess a child’s backgrounds studying in this particular school. One simply needs to watch which child is being sent and fetched by which chauffer-driven car and to which home the child is taken back to; and there are many big cars and luxurious homes in this particular locality. As our grandchildren belong to the minority group who board school buses we draw some comfort from this fact. Nevertheless, as we have three grandchildren in that particular school we are no less concerned.

We hope visitors to this blog will bear in mind this new threat to our small children.

 Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kkemanusiaan

End of the Tunnel ( Pt 17 ) - I have lost one

Today, at three I was preparing for my afternoon class at Almanar. For want of time I had planned to do two classes concurrently, a kind of juggling from one class-room to another. Then my hand-phone rang.

“ Assalaamu Alaikum, Pakcik. Ini ayah Syaliza ( This is Syaliza’s father),” the voice began. Instantaneously I sensed what was coming. “Syaliza dah meninggal dunia ( Syaliza has passed away) …..” The rest was history.

The father himself chose to call knowing how close her daughter was to us. Syaliza Dhamira joined Almanar at the beginning of 2000, twelve years ago and was at Almanar for three years. A quiet and unassuming person Syaliza always wore a pleasant smile on her face and was in full control of herself. Quite appropriately she qualified to become a nurse at a university hospital.

As expected, three years ago she was happily married. Sadly, however, a year later Syaliza was diagnosed having a rare cancer. Just as well she worked for a university hospital which possesses cancer treatment facility. It could not cure her but that made it all easy for her. If only she had been given some more time she would have been sent for treatment outside the country. But that was not to be.

Over the last two years Syaliza never showed her illness. She was unbelievably composed when she first related to Pakcik of her illness. And three months ago she made sure that Makcik and Pakcik were invited to her brother’s wedding.

Her brother's wedding wedding

At the wedding of her brother, Aalim, intuitively I was more interested in recording her presence than the brother’s wedding. (Her brother, attending a better secondary school, was with Almanar too for a brief period.) I captured her presence without knowing that these pictures will be for us to look back at her with love and with prayers in our heart.

With her dear husband

Standing close to Makcik's right shoulder

Never in the eighteen years of Almanar’s history it ever crossed my mind that one day I would be sending one of its pupils to the grave, as I did this afternoon. May Allah shower her with mercy. Alfatihah.

Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kemanusiaan.

Will I have a chance ( Pt 1 )?

Look at him sitting at the table on the ‘wakaf’(open-sided hut) of our house all by himself with books in front but eyes staring into space, perhaps wondering,
Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kemanusiaan.

“Will I have a chance? And what will I be?”


For reasons of our own Makcik and Pakcik call this Form Two boy Arif, after the name of one of our grandchildren. He joined Almanar at the beginning of his Form One. He was the only pupil from his school who wished to join Almanar tuition but later was joined by another dozen. Because he attends afternoon school he is free in the morning to be at Almanar. I have strong personal reasons for wanting to have him, even if it means I would attend to him alone.

Arif is not from a poor family. He is clever and performed reasonably well in his UPSR exam. I cannot help feeling that he is with Almanar largely due to his parents and his sisters’ influence. You see, eleven years ago his eldest sister joined Almanar, and that was followed by three other sisters.

So Arif is the FIFTH in the family to join Almanar, a record for us. His eldest has just graduated.

Sometimes Arif comes alone to our house to study. He is encouraged to do this because I wish to see him succeed. Will he have a chance? Indeed he will, insya Allah, if only he can reduce the time he spends on Face-book!

That we have Arif, number five in succession from a family, is a sort of encouraging vote of confidence in us.

What Pakcik Received ( Pt 3) – Lady’s fingers

I mentioned before that this series (What Pakcik Received) will carry what I find it interesting/amusing among my incoming emails from friends. Here is one that came in very recently.

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You can try for yourself to see whether it works..

Benefit of eating Okra, Bhindi, Lady’s fingers.

*A guy has been suffering from constipation for the past 20 years and recently from acid reflux. He did not realise that the treatment could be so simple -= OKRA! ( or Lady’s Fingers). He started eating okra within the last 2 months and since then has not taken any more medicine. All he did was to consume 6 pieces of OKRA every day.

He is normal now and his blood sugar has dropped from 135 to 98, with his cholesterol and acid reflux also under control. Here are some facts on okra ( from the research of Ms. Sylvia Zook, PhD nutrition). University of Illinois.*

*”Okra is a powerhouse of valuable nutrients, nearly half of which is soluble fiber in the form of gums and pectin. Soluble fiber helps to lower serum cholesterol, reducing the risk of heart diseases.

The other half is insoluble fiber which helps to keep the intestinal tract healthy, decreasing the risk of some forms of cancer, especially colo-rectal cancer.*

*Nearly 10% of the recommended level of vitamin B6 and Folic acid is also present in a half cup of cooked okra. Okra is a rich source of many nutrients, including fiber, vitamin B6 and folic acid.

He got the following numbers from the University of Illinois Extra. Please check there for more details.

*Okra Nutrition (half –cup cooked okra)
• Calories = 25
• Dietary Fiber = 2 grams
• Protein = 1.5 grams
• Carbohydrates = 5.8 grams
• Vitamin A = 460 IU
• Vitamin C = 13 mg
• Folic acid = 36.5 micrograms
• Calcium = 50 mg
• Iron = 0.4 mg
• Potassium = 256 mg
• Magnesium = 46 mg*

*These numbers should be used as a guideline only, and if you are on a medically-restricted diet please consult your physician and/or dietician.

Ms Sylvia W Zook, PhD (nutritionist) had very kindly provided the following thought-provoking comments on the many benefits of this versatile vegetable.

They are well worth reading.

1. The superior fiber found in okra helps to stabilise blood sugar as it curbs the rate at which sugar is absorbed from the intestinal tract.

2. Okra’s mucilage not only binds cholesterol but bile acid carrying toxins dumped into it by the filtering liver. But it doesn’t stop there .. *

3. Many alternative health practitioners believe all diseases begin in the colon. The okra fiber, absorbing water and ensuring bulk in stools, helps prevent constipation. Fiber in general is helpful for this but okra is one of the best, along with ground flax seed and psyllium. Unlike harsh wheat bran, which can irritate or injure the intestinal tract, okra’s mucilage soothes, and okra facilitates elimination more comfortably by its slippery characteristic many people abhor.

In other words, this incredibly valuable vegetable not only binds excess cholesterol and toxins (in bile acids) which cause numerous health problems, if not evacuated, but also assures their easy passage from the body. The veggie is completely non-toxic, non-habit forming (except for the many who greatly enjoy eating it), has no adverse side effects, is full of nutrients, and is economically within reach of most.

4. Further contributing to the health of the intestinal tract, okra fiber ( as well as flax and psyllium) has no equal among fibers for feeding the good bacteria (probiotics).

5. To retain most of okra’s nutrients and self-digesting enzymes, it should be cooked as little as possible, e.g. with low heat or lightly steamed. Some eat it raw.

Some important benefits of consuming okra:

*Stabilises blood sugar level.
Lowers serum cholesterol level.
Prevents constipation.

Keeps intestinal tract healthy.
Feeds good bacteria residing in us all. *


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I made no pretense whatsoever that I know those gms and mms mentioned. But lady’s finger is common and I like it and see no reason to dispute anyone who says it is good. Now Makcik is thinking of growing this easy-to-grow plant in a big way, on commercial scale, perhaps! Then we will invite everyone to Almanar to be treated of ..... whatever. (I wonder if anyone knows such plant known as gentleman’s finger to keep the effect of lady's finger imbalance.)

Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kemanusiaan

End of the tunnel ( Pt 16 ) – Some distance ahead

Six years ago a new secondary school was declared open about ten kilometers away. As the school needed initial bulks of students at various forms, the principals of two existing secondary schools closest to it saw the rare opportunity to improve the performance of their respective schools. Drastic steps were taken to rid of their problematic pupils, especially those in the bottom classes. I was horrified and saddened to notice how a number of pupils, who were living within walking distance from these schools, were being mercilessly forced to move to the new school, causing unnecessary transport problems to them and their poor parents. No body cared for their plight. None of the victims’ parents, simple kampong folks, dared to raise their legitimate grouses. Thus transfers were made with signs of objections arrogantly ignored. It was all done in the name of improving school performance!

It was no secret that the new school was at times referred to as 'sekolah buangan'! ( school for the rejects ).

‘No skin off my nose’ was my attitude then. But I was saddened enough to approach the principal of the new school a few months later. Would the principal consider help from Almanar? Unfortunately, no, the principal had his plans. Three years later I heard the principal had been transferred and, as expected, thus far the initial performance of the school had been far from satisfactory. I made another approach and to my surprise the new principal was more amiable to external help. So three years ago Almanar sponsored the cost of transporting a group of students of poor families to and back from Almanar, whilst a few parents helped to transport others in their cars in turn.

Somehow, unavoidable reasons put a stop to that after about two years, though a few children from that school still maintain their presence at Almanar today.

Until a week ago I thought that was the end of the episode which had a glimmer of initial promise. But, most unexpectedly, I received an invitation by card and words of mouth to attend a prize-giving ceremony at the above school. It was a pleasant surprise indeed and I made a point to attend.

The school had achieved its best PMR results. Five ( repeat f i v e ) pupils out of 90 had all 8 As, a result worthy of being scoffed at when schools elsewhere in the country had all As literally by hundreds. Nevertheless, in this particular instance the result was significant enough achievement to be celebrated. And I shared their joy because those children were part of the group that came to Almanar. The chorus of “Pakcik, Pakcik …” I heard on my arrival was an invaluable present to me, something they could never understand. And they were all too eager to pose for their Pakcik. Today, they are proud pupils of once a 'sekolah buangan'.

These are my children and for them I pray that, in the distance, there is light at the end of the tunnel.


Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kemanusiaan.

Of Timun China and Jambu Golok

Once again I am posting a visitor’s comment with my response.

Awang Goneng (AG) left the following comment against Pakcik’s Three (not tea) for Two (click here).

“ Abang Ngah: You do draw the crowd - cats, poets, investors and grateful children with timung china. Reading the comments is as good as reading your blog.

When I went to Kampung Raja to visit my grandad all those years ago when ferries roamed the rivers and tigers the jungle, he (grandpaw) would make his pre-lunch orders. Go to the pohong ttèrè (that's what they call jambu golok in Besut) and pluck the shoots. Go to the kitchen and ask them to cut the timung china. You know of course that the pucuk tèrrè (guava shoots) was to accompany the budu, but I don't think many people nowadays know that the timung china (watermelon) was eaten with rice in Trengganu in them wild days. Perhaps the three timungs arrived on your doorstep just as you were scooping out the steaming rice? So timely. That was better than durian runtuh - until we get the real durian runtuh when Pak Wan Sharif belanja us all.”

Erratum:

“ Sorry, a mistake: in my rush I wrote this, "pucuk tèrrè (guava shoots)". It's actually the shoots of the cashew tree. Jambu Golok. Is that Golok the place in what is now Southern Thailand, or is that the heavy cleaver ?”

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Indeed, one time in the distant past it was a known practice for Terengganu folks to have watermelon with rice. The instance I read AG’s remark my memory flashed back, way back sixty years ago when my late mother’s own habit made me learn to take watermelon with rice. I have nothing to feel ashamed of to admit that, today, I still enjoy timun china with my meals. But, until AG made his remarks, I had all but forgotten that I had been perpetuating something of the past.

When I come to think of it I realise that today one can still see some old folks having timun china with rice at a party where timun china is laid out on the table. One has to watch this to realise the old habit dies hard.

As for AG’s trips to Kampong Raja, Besut, I remember those days when passengers disembarked from their bus and stood beside it while the ferry took them across the river. To us, children, it was a great fun to stand close to the edge to watch the current, imagining the sighting of hungry crocodiles. Yes, Mi, I remember all too well that very special old gentleman, Tokwan Ahmad Hakim. He liked to spin humorous tales about Orang Batak and how I laughed!

Thank you, AG for mentioning all those long forgotten facts.

You questioned where the name jambu golok originated from. Does Golok comes from the place of Southern Thailand, or ‘golok’ the ‘heavy cleaver’? Having cracked my aged brain over this very highly academic subject, I can only arrive at one conclusion that ‘golok’ comes from the heavy cleaver (or chopper – golok)

The jambu golok plant (photographed today)

Flowers and young shoots ( photographed today)

The jambu golok fruit

The difficult part is how to explain my rationale that it is the heavy cleaver, not the Golok of Southern Thailand. Firstly, I must assume that everyone knows the special shape of this fruit. As far as I know, jambu golok is perhaps the only fruit on earth which has its nut grown outside the main body of the fruit, in a kind of appendix. If we rest one of these fruit on its side we can see how it resembles the outline of a cleaver ( a chopper ). The crooked nut ( cashew nut ) which is attached to the broad end of the fruit represents the handle of the cleaver.

Any semblance of a cleaver ??

Try harder!

How else could the old folks of Terengganu design the intricate designs of songket, brass tapak sirih, keropok lekor and so forth without the kind of fertile imagination to make them think of an appropriate and simple name for that jambu fruit? For its unique structure and shape this fruit carries at least four names that I know;

Panggil Jambu golok boleh

Gajus pun boleh

Janggus boleh jugok

Ketereh pun boleh jugok

Kalau pandai orang puteh

Dengan cashew nut kita berlagok

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And finally, it is my turn to wonder, and leave it to my visitors to tell me why the following fruit are so named.

Timun china

Jambu kling

Pisang kelat kling

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Three (not Tea) for Two

We were in the middle of our maghrib prayers when a few gentle knocks were heard at our front door. Whoever was there probably realised that it was not quite the right time to be persistent.

It took quite a while before I was downstairs to switch on the light outside and to open the main door. Instinctively I knew that the visitor would not be standing there. Indeed, no one was within sight. But something was on the floor

Three medium size water melons were staring me in the face.

I understood what this was meant to be. In the past I had had durian, fish, rambutan and so on – an offering, my humble gift . Unwritten was the message, “Thank you Pakcik and Makcik.”

Three water melons just for the two of us!

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A few minutes later an sms message arrived, “ Pakcik, I left 3 melons outside your door, Mustapha.”

The boy’s father grows water melons. The likes of that family may not necessarily be people of means, but they do not forget easily what good you do for them.

That is what we can never buy from the market

Thank you, Mustapha, was my reply.

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Awakened - Enlightened

Taken 6 pm 15/3/12

I woke up this morning to find in my email the following poem. It came from our house guest who arrived with her family quarter to midnight last night. On arrival she commented hearing in the dark the sound of waves beating the shore – hence this poem, perhaps

Sleep well, Rudy, Ninot and your three lovely girls.

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UNTITLED

had forgotten the sound of the waves
Crashing, hitting, arriving
Against the wide ranging beach


sandy white

At the edge of our little world

How tiny we are, the space we live in

Compared to the vastness

they travess

Powerful winds

Reminds one of our insignificance

The forces of the universe

Supreme creation

To be so close

To the edge of time and matter

Where it does not matter

Awakened. Enlightened.

Al-Manar , Terengganu

5.29

Sent from my iPhone

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Moment to Reflect ( Pt 9 ) – Leopold Weiss and the Quran

Just over twenty years ago ( Feb 20^th, 1992 ) died an extraordinary person who accepted Islam and whose translation of AlQuran has been a major book of reference to many. In 1900 Muhammad Asad was born Leopold Weiss, the son of a Jewish barrister and grandson of an orthodox rabbi. He was a confidant of many major Muslim figures of the century including King Abdul Aziz of Saudi Arabia. He was given the citizenship of Pakistan for his contributions to that country. But this great Islamic thinker chose to die in near obscurity in a small coastal town of Spain, about 500 years after the expulsion of the Muslim Moors and the Jews from Spain.

Three months after his death ( may Allah bless his soul for all his contributions to Islam) I bought the book ,The Road to Mecca, a book I dearly keep ,written by a man I greatly admire.

One very fascinating aspect which triggered his acceptance of Islam was the way he discerned the words of Quran expressed in the faces of distinguished looking people traveling in the Berlin subway. In brief I will take excerpts from that book.

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In Sept 1926 traveling with his wife, Elsa, in the Berlin subway Leopold Weiss’s “eyes fell on a well-dressed man with a beautiful brief-case on his knee and a large diamond ring on his finger,” representing “the picture of prosperity which one encountered everywhere in Central Europe”. But the man’s face did not seem to be “a happy face. He appeared to be worried.”

Leopold Weiss turned away from looking at the man and saw “ a lady of some elegance. She also had a strangely unhappy expression on her face, as if contemplating or experiencing something that caused her pain: nevertheless, her mouth was fixed in the stiff semblance of a smile which, I was certain, must have been habitual”, said Leopold Weiss.

Looking around he could see faces in every one of which he “could discern an expression of hidden suffering, so hidden that the owner of the face seemed to be quite unaware of.”

He mentioned to his wife the impression he saw in those faces. “She too began to look around her with the careful eyes of a painter accustomed to study human features.” His wife concurred.

When he returned home he happened to glance on the copy of an open Quran lying on his desk. On picking it up to put it away, “and just as I was about to close it, my eyes fell on the page before me and I read:

Surah 102 : Verses 1 - 8

‘You are obsessed by greed for more and more

Until you go down to your graves.

Nay, but you will come to know!

Nay, but you will come to know!

Nay, if you but knew it will be the knowledge of certainty,

You would indeed see the hell you are in.

In time, indeed, you shall see it with the eye of certainty:

And on that Day you will be asked what you have done with

The boon of life’ ”

( Surah 102: verses 1-8)

He went on to say, “ For that moment I was speechless. I think the book shook in my hands. Then I handed it to Elsa. ‘Read this. Is it not an answer to what we saw in the subway?’ ”

To Leopold Weiss “it was an answer: an answer so decisive that all doubt was suddenly at an end. I knew, beyond doubt, that it was a God-inspired book I was holding in my hand.” He accepted Islam and became Muhammad Asad.

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19 years ago

To this great human being, AlQuran was what the Book should be, an absolute book of guidance.

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Semoga renungan kita menghasilkan satu titik bermulanya satu perjuangan.

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You are my sunshine

You are my sunshine, an old song, as old as I am;

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine You make me happy when skies are gray You'll never know dear, how much I love you Please don't take my sunshine away”

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It was Sunday morning, the sun was shining bright and I was waiting for a van which hopefully would, for a change, bring a load of bright and enthusiastic children. I was truly looking for a break in the grey skies, as the song goes. Of late the attendance and quality of children had been depressing, to say the least.

And that morning I was to start giving tuition to a new group of Form One pupils from the nearby home for poor children and orphans. Because of transport problems faced by the home we were almost two months behind schedule. At long last they had acquired two vans to transport their children. And there I was waiting the arrival of one vanload of new pupils.

Five minutes before eight the van arrived. The moment it stopped high-spirited children scrambled down. I counted only ten of them, two healthy looking boys and eight girls sweetly dressed in baju kurong and dark head-cover. I was not disappointed to see just ten of them if only they were as good as they were cheerful.

They are my sunshine

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I addressed them in English, directing them to the classroom and so on, half expecting to see them blinking at me. Surprise, surprise, they could grasp what I had been saying!

As usual I made them fill in the standard form which records family data and past exam results etc, following which I spent about an hour or so interviewing them individually.

The first person who came forward had something familiar about her face. I looked at the form duly completed by her. Her father, an ex army had passed away. Her UPSR results were far from creditable, grade ‘D’ in English and ‘C’ in Maths and Science, not so encouraging after all. She has six siblings. I could hardly believe to see the name of one of her six siblings, Ana Sarda. There could not possibly be a second person by that name. Yes, that was it. Her face resembled the one Ana Sarda, a girl Makcik and Pakcik will never ever forget.

More than ten years ago Ana Sarda came into our life. To bring out the best of that gutsy girl Pakcik sought special permission from her father, who was still alive then, to allow her to stay in our house for a few months before her PMR examination. It all ended happily.To-day she is a qualified teacher serving in a rural school in Tawau.

Ana Sarda, if you are reading this posting, be sure Pakcik will feature you in my ‘End of the tunnel’ series one of these days, perhaps when you will call at our house ( your house, too, even for a brief period) one day with a wedding invitation card in your hand! AlFatihah for your loving father.

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So this new girl is indeed that very girl’s sister, hence the facial resemblance. If Pakcik could help her sister then, perhaps I could do it for her now.

The real surprise, one least expected, was in store for Pakcik that morning; four of the ten new intakes passed UPSR with grade ‘A’ in English and three with grade ‘B’. Almanar never had it so good.

Indeed, they are my sunshine …....

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When skies are grey

………………..

……………….

Please don't take my sunshine away……

Can we have our class up here on the tree house?

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