A celebration of sorts

Birthdays tend not to become too important an event especially when the figures get too big and the candles too many on the cake, posing a fire hazard. I remember my first few birthday celebrations, and oh that was so long ago. I remember Mak and her agar-agar bunga batu which was always a hit with my friends. Then there’s the kek kukus and noodles galore. All these served in her latest collection of Pyrex and syrup in those Tupperware tumblers in various shapes and colours. My school friends would turn up in their best frocks, their mode of transport being mini bikes neatly parked outside our gates.

And how we enjoyed the games of musical chairs and passing the parcel. Such simple pleasures.

I remember too some birthday surprises, one in particular that nearly gave my husband a heart attack. It was the day we were supposed to go for an important parent teachers’ meeting and he suddenly refused to go. Clearly upset, I made a unilateral decision to go by myself when a close friend called me up for tea at Whiteleys. We had tea and a bit of a rant about the strange behaviour of my other half. My daughter then phoned to say that the meeting was cancelled. So we decided to go to this friend’s place instead and drown my sorrows in a game of scrabble. I was certainly in no mood to go home.

When the door to her apartment opened, there stood my husband slaving over several legs of lamb roasting in the oven. The children and some friends were also there for the birthday surprise which nearly turned into a disaster, and one friend even came with a birthday cake the shape of a pair of voluptuous boobs that still gives me nightmares and an inferiority complex.

One year it was a drive to the countryside for lunch at a friend’s country house hotel by the Thames. It was lunch in style with some close friends and after the afternoon walk in the vast 100 year old listed garden, we settled down for tea before the long drive back into London. It was then that the French Chef walked in with a birthday cake, my name correctly spelt on the icing. What a day it was.

Anyway, this year’s quiet celebration wasn’t too bad at all. The children decided that a tomyam steamboat at Holiday Villa would be a good idea as the day was cold and there were snow flurries too. They invited some friends and Hafiz called up Uncle Jimmy and family.

It was the night after Raihan performed at the Royal Albert Hall. I was there to see their performance for Islamic Relief and what a performance they gave. And because I couldn’t have enough of their acapella, I invited them over for a bit of Tom Yam too.

Dato J was in charge of the steamboat and that was only the starters. Then we had nasi goreng kampong and mee goreng mamak. You wouldn’t believe what was served for dessert! Raihan kindly performed Assolatuwassalam - a favourite of mine!
And the family presented me with this new laptop that I am typing on.

Thank you Raihan! And thank you my sayang mamas!

A day at the CNY celebrations

Yesterday I felt all excited about going out. True, I wasn’t all dressed up in a new floral frock that Ah Gek had made, but I was like 12 or thirteen and Margaret Chan again getting ready for my Chinese New year rounds. My sayang mama accompanied me before his silat class and we made our first stop at the Victoria &Albert Museum where Dato Jimmy Choo was given pride of place to exhibit his shoes and meet his fans to wish them a prosperous New Year. The crowd in front of the V& A had gathered for the promised of a spectacular entrance of the lion dance but the troupe took their time. It was freezing cold outside. It was also very brief; a few kids screamed with fright but many warmed up to the ‘lion’. Taufiq noted that none of the members of the troupe was Chinese. In fact, he further noted that the one holding up the head was a singh, prompting him to say that it was a ‘singha dance’ which I thought was very funny. Good sense of humour that, my sayang mama.

We followed the lion as it pranced about amongst the precious exhibits of the V&A and what a din the drums made in the usually quiet and sober surroundings of the museum. We then ended up in the room with our famous shoe designer and family. Fans were already crowding around him wanting to take pictures with him but Kak Teh managed to get this from him to you:

Looking around the hall, I saw a game I used to play and it brought such sweet memories. The Chinese Chess. When I was living with Tok the year Mak left for Mekah, I befriended the daughters of the Chinese contractor who rented the house that Pak built for Mak just next to Tok’s house. Everyday, after school, I’d rush with my homework and join the two girls whose name I forgot, but who also taught me the song Pu Yau that I sang wholeheartedly in the bathroom. With the chores done for Tok, such as the tulang belud and hemming up the baju kurungs that she made for her clients, Kak Cik and I would go over to the house and sit outside and play Chinese Chess. I believe I was quite good at it but now I have even forgotten the moves or the characters. So I persuaded Mrs JC to show me how.

When ewok came with some friends, we made our way to Trafalgar Square joining throngs of other revellers to celebrate the start of Shanghai Week. We had of course missed the Shaolin monks but we were in time to see some Chinese Dance by an all English girls troupe, and a very talented violinist. And we saw a very foolish martial artiste break several bricks with his head and an even more foolish one demonstrating a very effective method of birth control by having someone hit his you know where with a very long rod! I swear to you, as it was also shown on the big screen, every male had their legs crossed at that time, while letting our a chorus of groans.

Having seen enough of sadistic acts, we made our way to Leicester Square and a much bigger crowd had gathered to watch a display of fireworks. We managed to get a dragon which became everyone's favourite accessory for the day.

The operatic song coming from the square just before the fireworks brought my memories back to the time when a dance troupe would play night after night just down the road.

Kak Cik and I would persuade Tok to let us go and see. The actors wore very heavy make-up with fierce looking faces and beards almost touching the floor. I never knew what the plays were all about, but I remember being very scared of the character with the long beard. Even on nights when we didn't go, we could hear the soulful rendition carried by the wind into our bedroom.


Alas the fireworks was a disappointment. They could have waited for the sky to become darker for it to be more effective. So, apart from the din and the shouts from the crowd, it looked more like a community effort to burn their rubbish in the square – with smoke rising to the sky. And so it was time to go. We took our dragons and made our way to Mawar for a bit of koayteow and roti canai.

HOPE YOU ALL HAD A GREAT DAY!

And Jackson Makes Five

The place was The Dorchester. The company was awesome. The Mr Fix-it was a genious.

He was just what you’d expect him to be. And more. It is not likely that I’ll meet a more soft spoken person than Jermaine Jackson of the Jacksons Five, lately of Celebrity Big Brother – he with the big heart and noble mission to help the needy children of the world.

It is very seldom that my children are impressed with the assignments that I do. But on that particular afternoon, the youngest cancelled his appointment, the second took half day off work and the third left uni after lunch time.

Jermaine or Muhammad Abdul Aziz looked very smart when he walked to our table. But he also looked very tired, especially after the rounds of meetings and interviews.

“Yes, I don’t mind going back to Big Brother house again,” he said jokingly when I remarked that the house must have been the only place where he must have had the most rest, away from fans and journalists. Even when we were talking, there were people who walked up to shake hands with him.

Yes, there was hardly time to rest after the big hoo haa in CBB where Bollywood actress Shilpa Shetty was subjected to the most appalling treatment by some of the housemates. And it was Jermaine’s calming effect that shone through during moments when Shilpa nearly broke down.
In my book, he is the real winner.

Since he embraced Islam in the late eighties, Jermaine admitted to finding such peace and calmness in himself that inevitably radiate to people around him.

“I’ve become a better son, a better brother, a better father and a better husband,” he said.

“God had blessed our family with this talent and it is just right that we should use our talent to give back to society – especially those in need,” he said, referring to his charity, Earthcare International Foundation. He spoke about the children of Africa whom he hopes will benefit from his charity work. He spoke about the environment and his concern about the human abuse of the world that Allah had created.

So, it will be in Dubai next year that he and his brothers will get together for an event to celebrate achievements by individuals who had done so much for humanity. But for now there’s plenty of work to be done to bring awareness and get people to come together and “erase scars of disease, famine, poverty and conflict from the landscape and soul of Africa and developing countries.”

And all too soon, it was goodbye and thank you for your time, Mr Jackson. As for the children who were fuming because I had sent them away during the interview, they were more than pacified when Mrs Jackson, Haleema, stopped and chatted to them.

And yes, here’s a message from Mr Jackson:

Just Messing About A Date

I had a date, well, more of a janji to meet my shoemaker friend. Approaching his shop, I noticed a lot of people, movie people, busying themselves like what movie people do. With big cameras, and cables all over the place. Didn't know what it was all about and proceeded to knock on door of shoemaker shop.
When the door was opened I saw shoemaker at the end of what must seem like miles and miles of legs. Those long shapely pins belong to, (I was told later) actress Debra Messing, who happened to be filming "The Wedding Date" outside.

Anyway to cut story short – the result of that filming is this movie which I must now make a point to watch. The beautiful actress (I was later informed by my children) stars in "Wills and Grace", the popular American sitcom. Shoemaker and I were duly, albeit, quietly informed of her illustrious background before we could make intelligent conversation. Actually Debra,…er, Ms Messing didn’t know they were filming in front of this ‘shop’ and was so thrilled that during her break, she decided to knock on the door. Thus started what must look like a comedy. Shoemaker opened the door thinking it was me. He was of course delighted it wasn’t....cos right there on his doorstep was this apparition – six foot and something with that long flowing hair and famous flash of a smile (instead of a frumpy makcik blur).

Before she left, I said: Er, my children would really love a photograph of you.(For your info, I have used this line so many times before on Natalie Umbruglia, Ivana Trump and others I met there. It is so well worn, like my shoes. Must really find another line.) Anyway, my children were so disgusted with this one. They think I was wrapping myself too tightly around her in case she struggled and broke free…..
She escaped from my clutches, with a pair of JC shoes, I think, and was heard to be muttering, "Get me way from Mak Cik Blurrrrr!"
Err..that's the long and short of it.
Have a nice weekend.

(PS I should have also wrapped myself around her delicious co star Dermot Mulroney...ish! tak malu Mak Cik Blur!!)

Fashion (non)sense

It was a really bad start. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t even apply but the invitation came anyway. I am one sartorially challenged person and I suspect my presence at these functions was needed to challenge any designer who claims he/she can change and transform a person’s sense or style of dressing. Good luck to them.
So, off I went in a mismatched tudung and attire much to the horror of my children.

First stop, at my shoemaker friend’s shop. He was busy entertaining clients from Hong Kong. The clock was a-ticking and I was a-tapping my badly wornout shoes, (not unlike iJun’s.)

After what seemed like a life time of muah-muah, kiss kiss, bye darling, bye sweetheart, we flagged down a taxi to go to the Roof Garden, where Eric Way, Cherie Blair’s dresser was holding his show. The time was 12.15 and the show would have started and I’d miss the pictures badly needed for my piece. Shoemaker was hungry and seemed oblivious to the miles and miles of traffic along Bayswater Road. I pacified him with the last two bars of Galaxy I had in my bag.

Once there, it was already 1240 and I was sure Eric was already taking his bow while we searched for the entrance. The handphone rang, the shoemaker did a sprint. “Hurry! They are holding up the show for me!” We ran helter skelter, shoemaker, mrs shoemaker, ms shoemaker and me in my badly wornout shoes. Shoemaker knocked on someone’s door – thinking it was the venue, but was rescued by someone who came out searching for the lost party.

Phew! I have had enough of fashion shows. I must be getting on a bit when events like these don’t thrill me anymore.

I remember my first London Fashion Week. It was sheer foolhardy to apply as a photographer. You are put in this dock where it’s a dog eat dog situation. Fashion photographers are one of a kind. You go there and see Xs in masking tape all over the place, reserved areas for the best shots. And if you should be foolish enough to go in front, and they see a strand of your hair straying into their lenses, you’d better wish the ground opens up beneath you. There’d be a chorus of "Hoi!! Get out of the way!"

I was there, clutching my small Canon Ixus, surrounded by mothers of all cameras with grandmothers of all lenses, being elbowed left, right and centre. I remember getting just Naomi Cambell’s heels, Jodie Kidd’s knees and the rest all blurred or blank.

Fashion shows never start on time. It’s the prerogative of designers. The higher they are on the who’s who list, the longer you wait for the show to begin. So, in the meantime you look around to see who comes in what to these events.

The most fascinating creatures to watch are the so called fashion writers. They hardly practice what they preach in their columns. Coordinates do not come any where near in their vocabularies. And my children worry about my dress sense! Watch Hilary Alexander.

Then there’s the model wannabes. Tall lanky teenagers who swan around the place in the hope of getting noticed.

Then finally, the models. In those days, in my days, anyway, models are those with the vital statistics of 36-25-36, right? With bulge and curves in the right place. Nowadays, they advertise at anorexic anonymous for models. Its almost like watching death on a catwalk. There’s no need for hairstyling or proper make-up. The more outrageous you look, the better. Once I went to one show and decided that my teenage daughter could just jump out of bed and would still look good on the catwalk.

I am very proud of our Malaysian models. I was fortunate enough to meet Camelia, our Camelia, at one of these shows. Even as a guest, after a 13 hour flight, she stood out as a real beauty. And there's of course Nasha...what a gem! I've watched her outdoing models on the catwalk here. She can be truly dazzling! (BTW, that's Kak Teh with Nasha.No prize for guessing which one is Nasha.)

And yes, the clothes. You tend to forget the very reason you come to these places when there's so much distractions. They don’t make clothes anymore. They make statements. Wasn’t there once a design which transforms into a table? I went to see one up and coming designer. She used stick-ons to create a pattern on the bodies of the models. And I will never forget Hilary Alexander’s witty remark:Wow! That’s a lovely dress you’re not wearing!

Back to the show at the Roof Garden. Now, this was one classy show at a classy place. Eric used Malaysian batik on some of his very sleek evening numbers, complete with batik shoes and handbags by Lewre.

I went home lamenting my long gone waist. What a waist!
Badly taken pix and bad layout by Kak Teh. Sleek evening numbers by Eric Way & Beautiful shoes by Lewre.