Hari Raya Greeting – 1 Syawal 1433

I wish my Muslim visitors Selamat Harai Raya , maaf zahir batin. On many occasions I could have inadvertently slighted my visitors, Muslims and non-Muslims alike, in my lighted-hearted comments. Forgive me.

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Pakcik reminisces ( Pt 25 b) - The gift

15th August 1964
To
15th August, 2012

That house and those durian trees

(Click on the picture to enlarge)

His greatest gift

Do you remember

My love

Forty eight years ago

Today

In that house

That very house

Those durian trees

Stood witness

As I accepted you

My love

His greatest gift

To hold in trust

Let us pray
We will see more of today

For the innumerable gifts I owe Him
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Pakcik reminisces ( Pt 25 a) - The flags

The house phone rang and Makcik, sensing that it was hers, quickly ran inside to answer. I could imagine the usual opening question she would get from this particular friend. Her light-hearted response was, “ Tengah pasang bendera,lah! ( fixing flags !)” Indeed she had been busy fixing Malaysian flags, one was already flapping merrily in the strong morning sea breeze in front of the house; and as if that was not enough she was now fixing a second one upstairs. As long as my memory goes she never failed to be busy fixing her Malaysian flags at about this time of the year when we were in KL.
Malaysian flags in August . Is Makcik that patriotic?

I remember when we first moved to this part of the world nineteen years ago I had to get a couple of flags from Mydin in town for her.

You see, within these three weeks the two of us will be quietly celebrating in our private way the three most important events in our life. The first will fall on 15th August, time to reminisce and offer prayers of gratitude.

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Red Okra

On 10th April (click HERE) I wrote the wonder vegetable in the name of lady’s finger (or okra or kacang bendel). Our plant expert, sdr TEMUK, in his posting on 28th April (click HERE) introduced us RED okra which was totally new to many of us. He went as far sending Pacik a few seeds. We (note the ‘we’ as I truly cannot claim credit for the real work!) had them planted.

Watch the development in the following pictures:

Before being transplanted

Growing well on the ground

First couple of red okra

A good nine-inch okra

Believe it or not the first fruit is about nine inches long! It will be left to become seeds for more plants and more seeds. On my retirement from work at Almanar Pakcik will then start my red okra seed business, earning something like five ringgits a seed!

To Sdr Temuk, please accept our thanks for introducing this plant in the ground of our home, very likely the first of its kind in the whole of the East Coast. We hope to get a few okra for tomorrow’s ‘buka puasa’.

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With a sigh (Pt 13) – See the difference

Watch the two pictures below. Can you see a major difference between Picture A and Picture B?

Picture A

Picture B

The four thirteen-year old children above are among a group of ten Form 1 pupils attending classes at Almanar. They are from Darul Akhyar ( the home for orphans and children of poor family) situated one kilometer away from our home (click HERE).


Selected early this year from various localities in the state these less fortunate children go to the same school as Arif of our previous posting. In the month of March ten of them began classes at Almanar. They are made up of eight cute little girls and two healthy boys who are often mistaken for twins.

Ten Form 1 children from Darul Akhyar

________________________________________


At this point let me go back to ‘see-the-difference’ above.


Does the difference lie in their dresses, smiles, standing positions or something else?


You are spot on if you notice that the three children in the second picture, unlike those ten in Picture A, have glasses on. The next natural question is why three children are with glasses and not all the four. There is a story behind this.


In the class-room ten days ago I suddenly became aware of great haste among a few of them copying notes from their neighbours’ books instead of copying what I had written on the white board. Experience told me that there were short-sighted children among the ten kids. But I never bargained for an unusual occurrence of four out of ten having eyesight problems. This must be a record of sort. And this had not caught my attention until that day.


Apparently their teachers knew of their problems but no help was promised or forthcoming. I have often wondered if a school should not in the first instance be made responsible for detecting eyesight problems among children. A class room is a good place to detect short-sightedness. The case can be serious when one sitting in the front row chooses to copy from a neighour’s book and those in the back quite happily copy straight from the board.


It hurts me to see this problem. What happened ten days ago was not the first time. It was pointless for me to question why the school management seemed oblivious to the plight faced by these children. So when the class was over that day I drove the four kids to a familiar optometrist. Two days later the four had their glasses. But the story did not end there.


Three days later, the day I planned to have the group of four photographed for this posting, one girl turned up looking crestfallen. “ Pakcik, cermin saya kena curi.” ( Pakcik, my glasses have been stolen.) Apparently at the end of her first day at school with her new glasses she left them in her school beg to go to the school prayer room. It was not until she was in the school van on the way home when she discovered her new glasses were missing. Thr van driver was kind enough to take her back to school to do a search. But all was in vain.


Once again I drove this girl to the optometrist for a new pair.  "Saya dah bazirkan duit Pakcik” ( I have wasted Pakcik’s money) She moaned bitterly on our way back to her ‘home’. I realised how hurt she was. Money was everything to this child. My hope is that they would see what their success in their studies means to me; and hopefully these children would one day see the light at the end of the tunnel and grow to appreciate the true worth of money.
___________________________


That story explains why one girl in Picture B is without glasses. Today they all can clearly see the white board and, for a change, clearly see Pakcik’s face which is not so bad after all despite warts and wrinkles! I can now lie on my back after ‘tarawih’ prayers drawing a long sigh.




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Will I have a chance ( Pt 3) – Hindsight

All alone at Nuri "What lies ahead?"

When we first wrote on 19th April this year about the boy we conveniently call Arif (click HERE) it was meant to be a single entry about a boy who created history for Almanar. In his family he is the fifth of five siblings in a row attending tuition classes at Almanar. We featured him again on 10th July (click HERE) when his family encouraged him to participate in the NST Spelling It Right (SIR). His school, unlike many other schools, did not see it of any advantage to send a team to take part in such a competition. That should be the end of our story about Arif. But an unexpected event prompted Pakcik to write this Part 3.


About ten days ago Arif’s school had what they called a ‘ko-ko day’ (one day for co-curricular activities?) I think it was hindsight or a sudden realisation that spelling competition was not an activity to be belittled. So, one such competition for pupils of Form 1, 2 and 3 was included in the programme for that day. Of course I was personally quite pleased to know that this school could finally see the benefits of encouraging this kind of activity among pupils whose English is well below par compared to those in the urban areas.


What pleased me most was the news that the winner of that competition was none other than our gutsy Arif. It does not matter if we prefer to call him ‘jagoh kampong’. This boy had exhibited enough courage to make him stand out head and shoulder above many of his age group. It is good enough reason for Pakcik to get this entry written.


In the afternoon of the first day of fasting Arif turned up with two sisters, bringing along some ‘kueh buka puasa’ (something to break the fast) for Pakcik and Makcik. His elder sister also wished to bid farewell to us before leaving soon to continue her Masters degree in IT. Here is another strong-willed member of his family, fully determined to continue her favourite discipline up to Ph D.

Arif and two of his four sisters

When Pakcik questioned Arif whether it true about his winning the spelling competition, he sheepishly admitted. For that performance he earned himself a towel!


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,

All in the family ( Pt 5 ) – Looking for a challenge

Today our No 3 turns forty. I would not call him, at forty, a young man any more. But he is still my boy despite him having three children of his own.

L to R - No 1, No 2 & No 3

I have to look so far back in time to get the feel of turning forty when I, too, had three children then. Just as he is today I had then served fifteen years with a multinational company but was struggling in the rat race. The challenge was tremendous. Perhaps I was not so good myself. My No 3 has done that long too with a multinational, but this month, at forty, he has said good bye to his first job, his first love. Somehow when he broke the news of the change he is making, I understood it fully well. This ‘boy’ needs a challenge.

When he was barely thirteen I had him go through a three-hour psychometric test by an expert, an Englishman of considerable experience in this field. Having evaluated all the responses from my No 3, he began to explain in great detail what he could conclude. He knew I would not be happy as a parent with his conclusion. The gist of what he explained was that the boy was intelligent but would not do well academically at a university. It sounded like sugar-coating a bitter pill.


“The world is his university,” was a sentence I will never forget. Thence I continued to observe if indeed this boy would learn through life and prosper.


Over the years I watched my No 3 ’s progress and I began to notice the truth in that psychometric test result. In his final he obtained just a Third Class degree. I knew that a couple of his best friends, non Malaysians, were in the First Class; and he was among the minority.


In a way I was to blame for his laissez faire attitude ( sikap tidak apa) towards studies. I wanted him to acquire whatever useful experience (as his father did) while studying abroad. I told him that such experience was worth more than just spending time to get a First Class. So that was what he took literally!


I can say today that, putting the psychometric test aside, his academic performance could have been the result of him being too distracted with activities outside the confines of his lecture halls. Amongst others, he was a DJ at the university radio station, a tutor for the Pimlico Connection (a volunteer program to help local primary schools), spent hours at a time in the dark rooms of the university photography club, worked as a chef at a Mongolian restaurant in a posh area in London, picked up scuba diving, skipped lectures for the snooker halls etc. During a university vacation in summer he took a cheap flight which, for a minimal extra fee, flew him and a Chinese friend all the way from UK to Australia. From there he returned home to shock us all with his tale of his horror, bungee jumping down under.

From about 80 m high

Surprisingly, before the lack-lustre result of his final exam was known, he delighted us with job offers from three multinational companies. That was achieved on the basis of interviews only, making the ultimate lack luster final university performance of little consequence.


My next surprise was when he made his choice from the three job offers. He picked one which was most remote from what he learnt through the years at the university. I was somewhat disappointed as I expected that he would have selected a job to match his qualification.  But he proved me wrong. He prospered. Indeed, ‘the world is his university’ came clearly and strongly to my mind.


And this month of July, turning forty, my No 3 is holding a position in an establishment which is again totally alien to his primary qualification and working experience gained so far. He now says that after fifteen years he has had enough of it and he is looking forward to a fresh challenge. As parents we pray that his new challenge will be as rewarding as the first one.


As much as we wish him many returns of the day we pray that he will continue to accept that all the good things in life , and the life itself, are from HIM.
________________________


As I write this posting I keep reminding myself that each child that comes to Almanar deserves to get appropriate guidance, not necessarily being judged by his/her academic potential alone. 

Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kemanusiaan.

Will I have a chance (Pt 2) ? – SIR, Spelling it Right

On 19.04.12 I posted (click here) about Arif. Being the fifth of his siblings to take tuition at Almanar he is special to me. Makcik and Pakcik have a special liking for this boy because he resembles Arif, one of our grandsons. For that reason we call this boy Arif (His real name Ermin).

All alone at Nuri "What lies ahead?"

Immediately after class at Almanar about ten days ago, he approached Pakcik to say that he would be joining the spelling competition (Spell It Right – SIR) organised by the NST.

 Having seen it advertised, his parents liked him to join the competition. It appeared that his secondary school with 2,000 pupils did not know or did not care to encourage, let alone to organise a group. His principle was surprised to hear from him about his intention. He would be the only one to volunteer, thus representing his school whilst many other schools in this state had organised teams to participate. (Is there any wonder why I have such a poor opinion of the management of his school?)

 I knew Arif wished for words of encouragement from Pakcik and that he got without reservation from me. Subsequently, we sat down to discuss how he should approach the competition. But I knew it too well that he would not have an earthly chance, a mere Form 2 pupils among the giants of secondary pupils from other schools. Many contestants from SBPs (full boarding schools) were seen to arrive with supporters in bus-loads. 





I made it a point that I brought Makcik along to the competition and sat together with his mother and two elder sisters, ex-Almanar pupils. We were there bright and early, well ahead of others. 

Contestant No 162 between mother and Makcik
There were well over 100 competitors. And there among strangers sat our brave Arif.

Before the competition started the Master of Ceremony asked all participants to have the position of microphone adjusted to suit their height and the head phone properly fixed. They were also told to say ‘hello, hello’ to be sure that the system was working satisfactorily.

And finally it began. Arif must have been about number one hundred to be called to the stage. I was very pleased to see him walk up with confidence, with No 162 clearly displayed over his chest.

Having fixed the sound system he surprised the audience when he said, “Good afternoon, judges.” There were involuntary gasps from the audience. The judges responded with obvious surprise and appreciation on hearing that pleasant greeting instead of the expected “Hello,Hello” heard from a hundred other contestants.

Much to our expectation our Arif did not win anything; but he won the hearts of many. He will have his chance one day, hopefully, for a much bigger thing in life than winning a spelling competition. He is Almanar’s pride, Pakcik's pride, one with spirit and true guts.


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In my mind’s eye (Pt 1)

Menanti

Yang hijau rimbun tegak megah

Yang mencacak kering menanti patah

Ditepi pusara tangan ditadah

Memohon ihsan dari Allah

 
 
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With a sigh ( Pt 12 ) – English for Employment

Note:

This posting was prepared last week but a more personal matter took precedence. I regret for the delay.
__________________________________________________________  

                                       From NST 18-6-2012

 The front page of NST of 18th June carried an eye-catching headline, “Undergrads to boost their English skills”.


It seems that from September a new system will help to prepare local undergrads for the working world. According to the report, essentially, students will learn English according to three tiers –

English for Employment,


Intensive English and


General English

This was reported to be a ‘strategic plan to enhance proficiency in English among public university students’.


Then it went on to report that ‘university faculties can also opt to conduct the “English For Specific Discipline” subject to enhance students’ comprehension of their field of study’.
It went on to talk about ‘classroom learning’ and ‘beyond classroom learning’.


And so on , and so forth ……..
Towards the end the report went on to say, ‘all these roadmaps are designed to boost students’ confidence in communicating in English.
“Subsequently, this will heighten their competency level and create holistic human capital.”
_______________________________
At the end I had to ask myself what I was reading about. Do we now realise the inadequacy of the standard of English in our education system? Must we devise ‘roadmaps’ like the famous ‘roadmaps’ towards peace in the Middle East?
This is indeed a very futuristic and fantastic plan which aims to prepare a graduate for the working world. I never knew there were so many parts and categories in learning English. I was never taught that English for Employment. During the thirty years of my working life I used the same English to say good morning to all levels of office colleagues, used the same language in conversation at the bus stops, and used the same in the board room – of course, minus the four-letter word and those associated with it. I was stumped only on one occasion when a fashionable English lady begged to excuse herself from our dinner table ‘to powder her nose’. That seemingly innocent phrase prompted me to give a furtive glance at her face wondering what had gone wrong with the powder on her nose! I should have attended a course in English for Social Occasions. That phrase is not unlike the Malay expression ‘ Saya rasa hendak kesungai ( I would like to go to the river).’
And here I am drawing a long sigh, unable to make head or tail of the newspaper report. Perhaps some enlightened visitors may be able to tell Pakcik in a simple English language what the ‘roadmaps’ are all about.



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All in the Family (Pt 4) – A Midnight Journey

Prologue

Muslims have just been refreshed with the wonders of Prophet Muhammad’s Midnight Journey. This posting has nothing to do with that mother of all journeys – but it does spiritually taking journey in its broad term.

___________________________


It was just a few seconds past midnight. Still wide awake and sitting on a chair I had a story book in hand. Suddenly Ning’s ( my ‘sleeping beauty’) phone rang. “At this hour, it isn’t likely to be light and breezy,” I told myself. I was all ears for what was coming.

 “Ya, Ki ? ” was her acknowledgment. That was her sister, Zakiah. The next response sounded more alarming. Then I knew it was not good. Their brother, Harith, 63, was found unconscious while resting at home and they were all waiting for the arrival of an ambulance. Hardly ten minutes later came another call, one that told us what we most feared. It was another death in the family.

 Ten months ago, in the very morning of Hari Raya, with visitors beginning to arrive, we received news of the demise of Ning’s mother, Pakcik’s mother-in-law, a wonderful 88-year old lady who chose to remain a single mother for 54 years to dedicate her life to look after her four children.( Click here for the 2011 Hari Raya- not-to-be ) Much earlier, a few months before Merdeka celebration in 1957, Ning’s father died at 39 at a time when the years ahead were full of optimism.

Taken in 1951
The initial family of five - two plus three (before the arrival of number four)

Ning (centre) and Harith,the little one on her right 

As a result of that untimely death during our Hari Raya last year, we spent a good seven hours on the road beginning at about mid-day. This time it was a similarly long drive along the same route but beginning at midnight; and this time I had to be extra careful not to be overcome by sleepiness with my ‘sleeping beauty’ beside me. Just before five thirty I was finding it hard to keep my eyes open. Since we were then fast approaching a ‘Rest’ area on the Karak Highway, a quick decision told me to swerve in. I got into one of the many vacant parking bays, leaned my back and had a ten-minute shut-eye. Then we said our Subuh prayers and preceded peacefully with me, the driver, now fully awake and refreshed after the short nap, the ‘wuduk’ water clearing the cobwebs and the short religious ‘exercise’.

 So Ning has lost one of her three loving siblings. It was painful for me to see the initial shock she had to go through yet again; knowing that she had lost a father 65 years ago, a loving mother last year and now a brother. (Incidentally, this seems to suggest that one day I should have a posting on an old book, ‘Tiga Beradek di England’. This small book was written in a child’s language as narrated by a little girl about her sea journey to England in early 1951. ‘Ning’ was supposed to be the little girl narrating the voyage.)

 So, as one can imagine, this is a segment of Pakcik’s ‘All in the Family’ series which I have created without any intention of glorifying any achievements in my family. I wish to record selected events or milestones in my journey through life; a journey unlike any other journey with an ETA – expected time of arrival. Just be prepared for the real one that is sure to start, with a fixed schedule but undisclosed ETD – expected time of departure.

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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.
___________________________


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.
______________________


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.
__________________


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?”
_____________________
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.

_________________________

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?



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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.







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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.

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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.


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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.

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