Pillow talk and (im)possible dreams in a house divided

“Ya, it would be good for T to play for a team in Malaysia,” I announced, as if to myself. It was nearly 12 midnight. My pillowmate, quite accustomed to my out of topic and out of context ramblings, especially at this time of the night, just managed a ‘huh’without even looking up from his book.

“Ya, it’d be really good to be able to fix him up with some team – a kind of Malaysia – home and abroad thing,”

“Hmm”, another flick of a page and still no register of interest.

“He should play for Kedah, they’ve got a good....,”

“What? No, he should play for Terengganu! They are better”.

“Better? What if he doesn’t understand them? What would he make of, “Ha, mung pah pah bola tu molek-molek!”?

That made him sit up. When he put the book down, I knew he was ready for this interstate war of the Wans.

“And what made you think he can understand Kedahspeak – “Hang main baik baik, jangan lok lak, jangan dok tertomoih!”

And it went on and on and on....all because T came back with another trophy from the three aside tournament recently. He scored most of the goals and was quite proud of it too. Recently he played with a team of Malaysians in Regents Park and the captain of the other team had already spoken to me about the possibility of T joining him. Aaaah, I can now retire while my T shoots in the goals and rakes in the money! Sven, or is it Scolari, we are waiting for you!

The atmostphere in the Wan household in this part of west London has lately been one that is tense and full of suspense. At this moment, it is not only a house divided -Kedah vs Terengganu- but also Arsenal vs Barcelona. We are heading for a big bloody bust up when these two teams play in Paris on May 17 in the Champions League. We will be ready with mop and bucket, plaster and bandage as T and his older brother H fight it out in our front room.

When Barcelona won recently, confirming their place with Arsenal, H was already gleefully wringing his hands and salivating at the thoughts of the Gunners making a meal out of Barcelona.

T, a Barcelona fan has been quietly dreading this moment. He watched Arsenal sail through to the finals and is now preparing for the worse.

“But they scored rubbish goals, Mama,” he said to me when his brother wasn’t around. I suspect, he said this to reinforce his confidence in the team he has been supporting since he turned his back on Arsenal at the tender age of seven.

H, on the other hand has been a die hard Arsenal fan since he was five. As parents who know nought about football, we learn to cope with the stress, joy and tears everytime Arsenal wins or loses. We sigh with relief when Arsenal wins cos it means H bounding in through the front door and leaping with joy. But, you wouldn’t want to know when Arsenal loses. It is not a pretty sight when a grown-up man cries.

But what do we as parents do? Parents who know nought about football? My husband once tried to console his eldest when Arsenal lost by asking him to change his team. “Daddy, I’ve been supporting Arsenal since I was five!” he said, the hurt obvious in his voice, the pain so plain on his face at the very thought of shifting loyalty. He has every Arsenal jersey that comes on the market and that must have cost us a fortune. He has even queued up in the rain to meet Ian Wright. He was even featured in the sports page of The Independant when Arsenal hailed Arsene Wenger as their manager, and Daddy wants him to change teams????

Personally, I dread the seventeenth of May. Somehow it has a familiar ring to thirteenth of May. Bloodshed no matter what happens. I worry not just for the two brothers on opposite sides but also for us non-football fans parents caught right in the middle.

In the meantime, I am making my move, navigating my way to achieve my goal in the Kedah vs Terengganu game.....

(In the meantime too, we are not sharing pillows!)

A Necessary Evil

I came back yesterday to a house buzzing with news that R was mugged. She was on the way home when she received a text message. She stopped to check her message and before she could read it, the phone was snatched from her hand by a hooded teenager on a bike. My R is not one to be messed around with. She gave chase and even challenged the guy to a fight. Failing that she called the police. She was fuming, but I am just glad that she is alright.

Last week, I wrote the article below which was published in our local newspaper. What happened to R yesterday just goes to show how dangerous it is to be carrying a mobile phone.

"Like most parents I was under the false impression that giving mobile phones to the children was a way to ensure their safety; that they could call in the hopefully unlikely event of a problem. But sadly, the very gadget that is supposed to reassure both parents and children alike, is now increasingly becoming the source of the problem. Almost daily we hear of children being mugged and assaulted while they answer or make phone calls on their way home from school.

My own son was accosted as he walked home from school, by a boy not much older than him. He was asked to surrender his phone but luckily, he stood his grounds and challenged the budding mugger to take it off him. It wasn’t as if he exhibited it for all to see. His sister was less lucky. She answered my phone call as she got off the bus and within minutes it was already in the hands of a teenager who cycled passed her and snatched the phone away. Both incidents left me shaken for I now have to think twice before calling them up to ask them whether they are okay. Just answering a call will attract attention, and certainly trouble.

Mr Patel, our newsagent down the road, reported the latest tragedy in our small town that is fast becoming not a very safe place to live in. A young girl walking to the tube station was kicked and punched by four boys on bicycles. Needless to say, they were just after her phone. By the time Mr Patel got to her, she could hardly stand.

With mobile phones getting fancier and more sophisticated with cameras and video recording devices, they are very much in demand, especially by those who can’t afford them but would like to own them. The mischief and crime related to phone cameras and phone videos have spiralled beyond belief. This includes a sickening fad called happy slapping, the ritual of sadistic members of youth cults whose idea of entertainment is inflicting pain. A victim is slapped, sometimes using the phone as a weapon and then filmed as he or she is continuously assaulted and attacked. This footage is then circulated among members of the group as a source of entertainment.

Quite recently, a happy slap gang, headed by a fifteen year old girl was convicted of manslaughter when they were found guilty of killing a 37 year old man they randomly picked to star in their sordid production.

The girl told members of her gang that she was making a documentary on happy slapping and after a night of drinking, they picked their victim, punched and kicked him while the whole sordid attack was being filmed. They left the victim to die while they went home to watch the recording on the mobile phone.

A 14 year old schoolboy was arrested when staff saw mobile phone footage of a rape attack on an eleven year old girl. And there are many more sickening attacks in what is fast becoming the cult’s own reality TV show. And this trend is spreading across Europe with chilling similarities in what has become a thirst for inflicting pain for entertainment. And all these by the very young members of the community.
Walking home from work yesterday, my youngest after a lot of deliberation phoned to warn me that a group of boys had been seen roaming the place. I could detect the worry in his voice. While he wanted me to go on speaking to him and reassure him that I was alright, he knew that the very sight of the phone would bring the gang straight over to me.


It is certainly not a happy situation but the mobile phone has become an evil necessity."

.

And I was there , too

We were all there together after the wedding. Right there in the living room where we usually congregate – before meals, during meals and after meals. The kids were running around as usual, some people were still at the table, with their seconds or probably thirds. And there’s the usual banter. I was there. I am positive of that.

I had missed the wedding. But I heard about the tears of joy at the mosque during the akad. Within hours, I saw the pictures – all one hundred and something of them. We shared them through YM and Am sent me a link to his online photo album. And I could see what I missed. I could see the fun and joy reflected on the faces of my sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews. Close cousins came all the way from Bukit Pinang to help carry the hantaran. I felt a certain kind of sadness as I hate missing family occassions such as this but such is life when you choose to be away.

And then, some bright spark came up with the bright idea. Why not use the webcam when they were all gathering later for dinner later that night? Hmmm, why not? And so, that was how I got to be there at the family gathering that night. Thanks to the internet and technology!

After the initial problems of not getting the picture and sound quality right, adjusting myself right into the frame, we webcammed!!!! The children fought to be in front of the camera, and there were times only certain parts of someone’s body strayed into the screen, the occassional shot of someone's nostrils and the constant.. . “Dengark dak? dengark dak? Dia tak dengark kut!” On my side, children too fought to be seen, husband held his cats to the camera...what a scene!

At one point, little Hilman pushed his way to the front and said,”Mak Teh nyanyi, Mak Teh! Nyanyi lagu Siti!”

Now, my little nephews think the world of me and if you were to tell them that their Mak Teh can’t walk on water, they’d probably beat you up. So, I struggled with some verses of Siti’s but admitted defeat and offered Alleycats’ “Hingga Akhir Nanti” instead as I am more than familiar with that one. So there I was in the middle of the afternoon in springtime London belting away the song to my little fans some thousands of miles away. Aaaah, such is techology! I had to do this or I won’t have any peace when speaking to my Mak. The first time we tried to webcam with Mak, Mak wasn’t well and I really wanted to see Mak for myself to see the extent of her condition. They set up the internet connection and the webcam, and carried Mak upstairs.

I was nervous ‘cos I wasn’t really ready to see Mak in that condition. But suddenly the frame went blank. Apparently little Nasri had pulled out the plugs! Hmmm

This time, I saw Mak doing the slow walk to the computer, unaided! Alhamdulillah. I felt my chest tightening and worried about how my voice would sound.I wanted to be as cheerful as possible! And she finally sat there, chatting to me as she usually does, while folding the clothes from the washing line. There was still the annoying delay, but this was the best technology could offer and I was thankful for that. She could hear me on the speaker. Telephone conversations are now impossible as she is going a little hard of hearing.

I was there

And then out of the blue, she got up and unsteadily came straight to the screen and so, so close to the camera that I could see her tired eyes and all the wrinkles on her face. I had missed not looking after her and the feeling of guilt took over. I just had to close my eyes and try to stem the flow of hot tears down the cheeks. I could hear her calling out my name, as she usually did to wake me up for revision during exams or for morning prayers. When I opened them I realised that she had reached out to touch my face on the screen, not quite believing that I was not there, with them. So near and yet so far.

So, that was how I got to be there with them that night, the night of the wedding. I even got to speak to my new sister in law and got to see Abang’s endless smiles. And I got to see that look on Mak’s face – the look that says everything when she knew all her children were there with her. Even if it was for a little while.

Of weddings and pantuns...

After last week’s busy schedule, I am feeling a trifle melancholic and just this minute, the reality set in. Last Sunday, in between the April showers and bursts of sunshine, a normally not so busy street in west London came alive with the beating of the kompang by a group of young Malay boys in colourful baju Melayu accompanying the groom along the short walk to the hotel. Inside, the bride was already waiting on the pelamin, and the guests ready seated waiting for the bersanding. I was unnecessarily nervous. I had rehearsed the pantuns several times and when given the cue that the groom and his party were already coming down the stairs, my heart was beating in rythm with the kompang, and even louder! This was my debut as the mak cik kepo, assigned to obstruct the advancing party with pantuns before they were allowed in. It was all in good fun, and I had never even witnesed this in real life. I don’t even know whether in Malaysia this is still done. But here in London, whenever we had a wedding, we tried to make it as traditional as possible, kompangs, pantuns, silat, tarian asyik, majlis merenjis and even the joget lambak. Anything at all to remind us of our roots and at the same time to give our children, a glimpse of our tradition.

It is during occassions like this that we see the Malay community coming together – everyone with an expertise in anything at all will chip in. A group of friends stayed till the wee hours of the morning doing the pelamin, some did the sirih junjung and hantaran, while others prepared the bunga manggar. Although Mak was an expert in all of these, I never inherited any of her skills, so I stuck to what I do best – pantuns and emceeing!

My own wedding was a very modest affair. No silat, no pantuns, not even a pelamin. Just two cushions from Abang’s sofa that was placed on the floor. We sat there facing each other and for the first time, as a wife, I kissed his hands. He, in return, took my hand and held it high in the manner of a boxing champion, causing a lot of laughter, even among the sternest of aunts in the crowd. And that was twenty six years ago, in Abang’s lounge in Bangsar.

Tomorrow, Abang will go through this ceremony again. His second in his lifetime after Kak Piah left him last year. Tomorrow, he will be a husband again and he will have a wife by his side. He had had so many good years with Kak Piah and spent almost everyday of Kak Piah’s last year by her bedside as he watched her succumb to cancer. Kak Piah’s family had been instrumental in searching for someone to bring that smile to his face again. And tomorrow is the the day. And I wont be there. I wont be there to watch the chaos and kelamkabutness in Sungai Merab as Kak Cik delegates everyone around her. I won’t be there to see Abang with his endless smiles or the look of happiness on Mak’s face as she sees her eldest son beaming with joy again. I wont be there to banter with Ajie or Lilah and Kak. I will miss all these. I have been so involved in other people’s weddings – people who have become my family here – but I will miss my own brother’s wedding. I promise, I will be there in spirit!

Pantun untuk Abang

Bunga mawar di atas batu,

Bau semerbak dicium selalu,

Walaupun jauh beribu batu,

Kebahagian Abang adik doakan selalu.

Nasi minyak terlepas lagi,

Simpanlah sikit di dalam peti,

Dengar kata Abang sengeh nampak gigi,

Maklumlah dah jumpa yang berkenan di hati.

What a week!

Tuesday would have been perfect to start the week as it held exciting promises but as it happened, I had to drag myself out that Monday to do the most daunting task ever – a fifteen minute presentation while being filmed. But let me tell you about Tuesday. Work went about as normal but I had a lunch appointment with the BIG BOSS who was in town. Its the first time I met him since he took over the company and I must say he is a pleasant man, but throughout lunch, my mind was straying to what the evening held in store. A group of us girls, er well, some very matured girls, had planned an all girls night out to celebrate the marriage of a friend. So, in our finest bling blings, we trooped off to a Lebanese restaurant, Maroush, where there was a belly dancer. Suffice to say, the mak ciks in attendance of the bride to be, spilled out of the restaurant on to Edgware Road, at about midnight nursing some very aching joints.

Wednesday, well Wednesday 29th was circled in red in my diary – five o’clock to be exact – Brunei Gallery, SOAS. The speaker for the annual dinner was no stranger to anyone, nor the circumstances which cost him his political career. The last time I saw Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim was when I went to cover his visit to Dublin – he as Deputy Prime Minister. Six years behind bars and he is still a crowd puller – especially now that he is on the other side of the political fence.

Thursday was spent preparing for an exhibition. A colleague had this crazy idea that everyone who had anything in print must exhibit their products. So I looked back to see what I had done that I could display in the corner that was reserved for me. Well, there was my fortnightly column ‘London Buzz’ that I started in 2000 and ended when I did my MA. That needed some airing. And all those features and articles for the various newspapers. Compiling them made me feel so nostalgic all of a sudden. All those interesting people that I met during the course of work, all those stories behind the scenes: the brothers who cycled around the world, the couple who made a similar feat at a ripe old age in their 4WD, the brave Siamese twins joined at the hips who were later successfully operated on, the mother who donated part of her liver to save her daughter’s life, tha anguish of the genious Sufiah who later ran away in search of her lost childhood, Malik Mydin’s conquest of the English Channel....and many, many more. All these came back to me as I labelled them carefully, thinking how these experience by just meeting them had enriched my life.

Then there are the features and documentaries that I did for television. The most memorable was a documentary of the above mother who gave part of her liver to her daughter. What a sacrifice. The other was Warisan Warkah Melayu – the story behind the tradition of Malay letter writing. I learnt so much from this experience that it is possible to say, I keep looking back at our roots ever since. It was amazing to see old manuscripts and documents penned by people like Raffles to our sultans and from our sultans to the British or the Dutch. I went to Holland to look at old manuscripts and in Germany I filmed and documented the most beautiful Malay letter, dated 1821 from the Sultan of Terengganu to Baron Van de Capellan – the Dutch Governor General. What fun it was then when I still had the energy to run around and be involved in all these productions. There’s the book published by Routledge, then another that I translated – Legacy of the Malay Letter (which inspired the above documentary) . I also had some very enjoyable moments when I edited and voiced works for children for Linguaphone and Dorling Kindersley. It had taken this one small exhibition to realise that yes, perhaps I had done something in my life – something I can leave behind for my children and grandchildren to see. Then there’s of course the rantauan.tv which a dear friend reproduced on CD and that I must say received quite a bit of attention.

Anyway, Friday was supposed to be THE Friday that I had been waiting for – that would usher in a weekend like no other for me and my beloved. But of course, things had to happen. At the very last minute, I was assigned to write something for the Sunday paper, which I duly did and sent off at about 6.30 London time. With my bag packed for the weekend, all I needed was to wait for my date at Paddington Station.

It was almost like our first date together. I was nervous and full of apprehensions. But all for the wrong reasons. What if the children forgot to feed the cats? What if some one came back late? What if, what if?.....

When I saw him in the crowd, with the weekend bag, carelessly slung over his shoulder, all worries disappeared and I was determined to make this a wonderful weekend together – courtesy of Sayang Mama Number One. We arrived at a very deserted station in Pangbourne at about 9.30 pm, walked to the hotel – a beautiful mock tudor building which in the moonlight looked a very romantic setting indeed. We settled down for dinner which was a bit disappointing but that didn’t spoil the evening. Something else did.

DO NOT DISTURB

The wall was paper thin – the goings on from the next room went on until about 2am. Aparently there was a hen night. I was more forgiving because I understand – remember Maroush? And by the time the noise died down, there was a ring! ring ! from my handphone. The sms simply said – “Story not in, pls resend! “ That was my editor. Thus started what must have been a scene from a sitcom. With no internet facilities in the room, a bad phone connection, I tried dictating my piece down the line. After several times being disconnected, we abandoned the plan and I decided to text the whole article until my fingers ached. Then, I got a brilliant idea – by which time it was 4 am and I decided to wake Sayang Mama Number One in London. The excuse was to wake him up for subuh and,” By the way, can u access my email and resend this story to KL office?” Suffice to say, he wasn't amused, but he wasn’t going to ruin what’s left of our weekend that he paid for.

Daylight revealed a delightful surprise. If Pangbourne station was any indication of what Pangbourne is, then it was quite deceptive. The Bentley garage just outside the station should have given us a clue. So was the housing estate displaying pictures of houses at jaw dropping prices. Anyway, after breakfast (what a difference it made having breakfast without six cats fighting for his attention!) we asked the receptionist about interesting places to see in Pangbourne. That drew a blank look ...there’s the walk along the Thames, and there’s the walk along the Thames. Ya, we will give that a try.

Pieces of Pangbourne

Pangbourne is a quaint little town with big expensive houses with driveways that say NO Entry – Private Property, properties that start from the main road and end with the Thames water lapping up the foot of the garden. An indication of what people here do for recreation – early Saturday morning, the road was already busy with cars with horse trailers. Every other car was transporting horses to a horse show. Over the bridge with a very good view of a very swollen Thames, we could see canoers navigating their way down the river. We walked down a small straight road going to don’t know where but was delightfully surprise to see a small toll house from the days of George III – every perfon (for that was the spelling!) must pay half a shilling while for every aff (ass) it was two shillings! Pangbourne is a kind of place, where people still say hello and good morning as you walk past them.

We then found ourselves in a very old cemetery and a very old church, again with another small pathway leading to the banks of the Thames. It was indeed a long walk and we took pictures and watch the ducks – it had indeed been a while since we had sometime to ourselves like this.

Just the two of us

But that was all Pangbourne could offer and we took the train to Reading and headed straight into the Raj for some naans and briani. It was already summer in Reading with music in the air and people spilling on to the pavement at the Oracle. And of course a Malay must seek out another Malay and we made a phone call to atok and family. It was always nice to catch up with them. I love his children – so talented and so adorable.

The Raj

The last night in Pangbourne was spent composing pantuns - hmm – pantuns in Pangbourne! and reciting them down the line to a friend in London. This was in preparation for the wedding that was to take place at Holiday Villa. I was looking forward to this – obstructing the party from the groom’s side with pantuns of sorts before he could join the bride on the dias. As I was also to be the emcee, more scribblings throughout the night. It was after breakfast that we said goodbye to Pangbourne, back to London for the wedding and suffice to say, fun was had by all!

Kak Teh Radio - Cuba, Try , Testing tengok...

This is just a trial...whether it works or not, I don’t know and I will need your help with this. I have always loved radio and I have tried reviving my interest in this. Sometime ago, along with other friends we started rantauan.tv and because it was just experimental and we didnt have any budget, it went to rest in that place in the seventh sky of cyberspace. But it was such fun doing it – we enlisted the help of members around the world – people we have never met – to bring online some tv programmes. I even had our Prime Minister, Pak Lah to say a few words.

It was hard work, but it was fun. It was time consuming, but it was well worth it. I learnt a lot. How times have changed – the method of putting together a piece for radio has changed so much since the first day I started doing radio, taking reports for the weather forecast.

I have put this interview online before. It was done with an old, precious friend of mine, Zainol whose love for the Malay asli song took him back to Malaysia after 25 years away. From that radio icon on the side bar - you can hear the interview.

I am putting this online again, as I am exploring ways to have my own radio online. I have many interviews, many short features – one of which is the interview with Malay sailors. I put this together and was aired by the BBC so many years ago. There are many others.

It’ll be wonderful to be able to, once in a while listen to something. What do you think?

How can I host this kind of programme on a blog?To those of you are IT literate and know more about this than I do, please help.

Thank you.

PS - I've been told by some friends that they can't hear a thing- hmmm when I use Internet Explorer, I have the same problems. But using Mozilla Firefox - it seems okay. Thanks for the feedback. But I need more suggestions, please.

A few more golds for me today, pls!

UPDATE: YES! YES! YES! (in the manner of that fruity shampoo advert!) Both Chong Wei and Choong Hann made it to the finals!!! And what does that mean? Malaysia BOLEH! Malaysia BOLEH!

Almost every evening after a decent grace between Quran class and a bit of homework, we’d gather in front of Mak Bashah’s house. The ones who got there early would put up the make shift net, tying one end to the coconut tree edging toward’s Ah Gek’s house and the other end to one of the stilts of Mak Bashah’s wooden house. Her compound, when it wasn’t a badminton court, was also where we played rounders and hopscotch. The problem was, if someone was to hit a high ball, we’d have to use the same stick that we used to get the jambu, to retrieve our shuttle cock.

That was my only experience with badminton. I had never excelled in it, nor takenthe trouble to properly understand the game. And with what little knowledge I had, I was soon to cover the All England Badminton in Birmingham for several years, watching badminton greats such as the Sidek brothers, Soon Kit, Ewe Hock and Wan Wah and many others from other countries. After the games, with fever pitch enthusiasm, the group of us covering the game, would return to London and book ourselves a badminton court every Sunday – but the sessions usually ended with a trip to Southall for a bit of lamb briani and tandoori.

Just now – just a few hours ago, I watched Wong Choong Hann and Lee Chong Wei sail through to the semi finals at the Commonwealth games. Choong Wah looked tired and gave us a few tense moments when his Singaporean opponent caught up with him but with Chong Wei, although Anup from India tried his very best, it was smooth sailing. It was nice to hear one of the commentators say, “When we talk about Chong Wei, we are talking about class!”

I just hope that they bring back the gold! At this very moment we have only three. It is occassions like this when we rally around to cheer for the home country, that we feel a sense of belonging. I remember the cheering crowd at the National Indoor Arena in Birmingham cheering on our players, waving the Malaysian flags and singing every patriotic song they could remember. It was wonderful. I remember the time when Malaysia was already in the semi finals playing Indonesia. Half the stadium was filled with Malaysian supporters and what a noisy lot we were! Those were the pre-Malaysia Boleh days.

The last few days, watching the game on TV, shouts of Malaysia Boleh filled the air once again. One commentator said, what a noisy lot the Malaysians are! Hahaha! I certainly agree with that. The shouts of Malaysia Boleh that cheered Malik Mydin across the English Channel are still ringing in my ears and I believe they are still echoing around the white cliff of Dover.

Well, all the best to our players and just for today, bring me back a few more golds, eh?

Here we go again...

Typical, isn’t it? Just two years and a bit into the marriage and he was already canoodling with another floozy! It all started off very well and was meant to be the greatest love story of the century. Just news of her beauty sent him off to seventh heaven, denying him of sleep and food. He survived on those lingering thoughts of her ravishing beauty and was intoxicated by the sweetness of her voice. Love does that to you, doesnt it? All the distance and the turbulent seas didn’t seem to matter and he was prepared to leave his own country to marry the woman that filled his dreams day and night. Such is the power of love! But love in this case was sadly defeated by the stronger power of black magic mumbo jumbos.

I knew she was bad news when she entered the scene, the minute she set eyes on him and planned her moves!. I was aware of the intrigues and goings on in this household but I felt helpless. I was a mere helpless bystander, from a totally different time zone, a totally different world, transported back to unravel the story and study it first hand from an eighteenth century manuscript.

This time last year, this story of a tragic love triangle consumed my very soul and filled every minute of my waking hours and even haunted my dreams as I struggled to finish my dissertation. And when I put the final full stop and made the mad rush to the faculty office, that was the last time I saw it....until yesterday.

The dissertation is based on an early 18th century syair – whose manuscript still neat and in pristine condition is kept in the British Library- unstudied and untouched. The only copy, I am glad to report. For this I must thank a wonderful friend who made this brilliant discovery and suggested that I should study it. And study it I did with my rusty knowledge of Jawi and soon enough my very own lingo started to sound syairish!! See this.

Since my forays into the realm of Traditional Malay Literature, I have been really intrigued by the richness of the language, our language, the different genres, theories and of course the romance – the old, romantic fool that I am. I became besotted with Indraputra and his flirtatious style, Bidasari and her beauty that won over the heart of the King, and many, many more. If only I have more than twenty four hours in a day, I will certainly spend more time in my sleeping bag, on the third floor of the library where most of the old hikayats and syairs are kept. Such beautiful writings but equally beautiful are the interpretations and analysis and studies by Traditional Malay Literature scholars such as Braginsky whose book, The Heritage of Traditional Malay Literature became a bible and a must for Tradional Malay literature students. Then there’s Kloster’s Roaming Through Seductive Gardens, and Sweeny’s Authors and Audiences in Traditional Malay Literature. It is just pure pleasure reading them.

Back to my reunion with my dissertation: I have dusted it and peeled open the pages again refamiliarising myself with the storyline and the characters once again came dancing in my memories,reenacting some of the most beautiful moments that will remain with me forever. One or two chapters derserved to be published, says my professor. And so they will be. Insyaallah.

These are some of the wonderful stanzas that play again and again in my head, a scene when the king is romancing his shy bride during their first meal together:

Menengarkan sembah demikian nyata

sambil tersenyum baginda berkata
“Marilah santap emas juita

biarlah kekanda menemani serta”

Menengarkan titah raja pisari

peracau tunduk berdiam diri
lakunya malu manis berseri

oleh baginda dibasuh jari.

Santap sambil gurau jenaka

berbagai jenis kata direka
segala mengadap terlalu suka

peracau santap sedikit juga.

Sudah santap raja bangsawan

santap sirih di dalam puan
serta mnemakai bau-bauan

sedap manis barang kelakuan.

Setelah jauh malamlah hari

tirai pelaminan dilabuhkan seri
Duduklah baginda raja pisari

terlalu suka membujuk isteri.

Dipeluk dicium seraya berkata:

"Tuanku nyawaku emas juita
Tuanku jadi cahaya mahkota

sudah termeterai di dalam cita”

All together now: Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

Oh Blogger!

These last few days Blogspot has been driving me crazy. First I was getting messages that I cant even access my own blog, it is forbidden. Then, it was under maintainance, then when all other blogs affected are up and running, mine was still a big white screen.

After some nerve wrecking, finger biting moments, it came back, hooray! BUT, my layout has gone a bit crazy! WHAT IS HAPPENING???

I think, this calls for a few stanzas of syair! But am so not in the moodlah, blogspot!

My Indonesian Experience

My children are somewhat bemused that I am speaking with a different kind of Malay over the last few weeks, if not months. They hear me on the phone speaking to someone and give each other looks, that say: Why on earth is she speaking like that?

And Nicholas Saputra has nothing to do with this!

About three months ago, I acquired two Indonesian friends and although it was through work that I found them, I believe they will remain my friends for a long time. And it was with great sadness that I said goodbye to one of them last week. But before she went Ewok and I put on our tourist guide caps and showed her London and took pictures to show to families back home.

Anyway, knowing them has increased my Indonesian vocabulary tremendously and I realised how easily we slipped in and out of the Malay way of speaking to that of Indonesian and then back again. In fact we do that quite naturally when we are speaking to a Chinese tauke sayur or mamak mee goreng. I prefer to look at it this way – that we adapt ourselves quite easily, don’t you think?

During my childhood days in Yan, I got to know a lot of Indonesians whose small settlement in Kampung Aceh I used to visit quite often, especially during the durian season. In my mind’s eyes, I see an enclave so green and cool, under the protective shelter of the Jerai. And I befriended the community whose language I became quite intrigue with as a child. My Acehnese classmate, once in her own territory, would speak a totally different lingo, one that I found very hard to understand. A trip to Kampung Aceh was to me then, like a trip to another foreign land. Much, much later, I came to understand better the reasons they were there. Even from as far back as the Acehnese Sultanate, there were already movements of people from across the straits but that gained momentum in the late 1800’s when conflict with the Dutch drove the Acehnese to migrate and settle in Kedah and other northern states of Malaya. When Aceh was incorporated into the nation state of Indonesia, more left .

I remember quite, quite well how these mild mannered people took to the streets of Yan during the Konfrantasi days. The sleepy town of Yan would echo with the cries of ganyang Sukarno, and fiery and powerful speeches would culminate with the burning of effigies of the leader. Indonesians, I must say, are natural born orators.

One corner of Yan, just by the smelly river leading up to an even smellier market, was the venue for some of the most vocal and influential Indonesian orators – medicine men- selling all kinds of ointments which promised to do wonders to parts of the body that we didn’t even know exist. There used to be large crowds surrounding the medicine man, crowds of men who would leave clutching the miracle in the bottle and hope in their minds.

Anyway, it was not surprising that some of these medicine men were also some of the fiercest orators leading the protest marches along the sleepy town of Yan, under the watchful eyes of Jerai.

These scenes came back to haunt me recently in the story of Gie, brilliantly acted by Nicholas Saputra. Gie, a student activist, an idealist and a romantist, grew up during these turbulent times, witnessing and later participating in street demonstrations against Sukarno. He wrote stirring articles and gave rousing speeches, the likes of which I heard giving fiery speeches at the square by the smelly river.

The Konfrantasi came to an end soon enough and like any sibling rivalries, Indonesia and Malaysia made up and we fell in love with Sofan Sufian, Ratno Timoer and Broery Marantika as their songs and movies flooded our market. The dulcet tones of Broery never failed to stir our deepest emotions – for he was a Batak, wasn’t he? If I am not mistaken, the Bataks do have mesmerising voice.

I was fortunate to work with some very good Indonesian broadcasters during my broadcasting days. Some of them were Bataks with wonderful deep baritone voice. It never ceased to impress me how they could handle even a minute talk without any prepared scripts. It took me years to be able to “talk to the clock” confidently when I ran out of news bulletins to read. But then again , that’s my failure.
Anyway, it was during my stint with the BBC that I met Broery who was then accompanying his wife, Anita Sarawak when she perfomed at the South Bank in the late eighties. I could have sworn that my knees turned into jellies when he opened his mouth to just say hello during the interview. It was also then that I was given the honour to interview the founder and editor of Pujangga Baru and one of Indonesia’s most respected literary figures – Sutan Takdir Alisjahbana, author of books like Layar Terkembang , Kalah dan Menang, to name a few. It was indeed a humbling experience to be able to talk to someone whose influence on literature and language still continues long after his death.
I did my bit of Indonesian broadcast, but my gentle Malay lenggang lengguk (sway) was such a contrast to the more stoccato sounds of the Indonesian diction.
So, the screening of several Indonesian films in the past week did a lot to bring back things Indonesian to me and thus this entry. I did a five day whirlwind duty tour of Indonesia in the late 80’s and I think I am ready for another visit.

Come lah - its free...An Update

ADA APA DENGAN NICHOLAS? - He was there!! and to those of you in Glasgow and Nottingham, Nicholas and co will be heading your way after London.

nicholas saputra

*********************************

Yesterday, after renewing my ID at the university, I walked along the corridors packed with students going about their activities and I felt a tinge of envy. At the
steps leading to the reception, I was stopped by a student campaigning for his elections. Bless him, for he asked: Are you a student? and although I was pleased that he thought I was, I had to be brave and said, No, I am staff, so I cant vote.

It has been a while since I went back to the main campus but yesterday, I walked the corridors again, swiped my card to enter the library and saw familiar faces behind the counters. The small lift with its familiar smell of students, took me up to my usual hideaway – level C - a treasure trove for enthusiasts of Malay and Indonesian literature and more. How I missed this place, how I missed the joy of being alone with the books of my choice.

Anyway, so I was back there yesterday and spent some precious time running my fingers across the stacks and stacks of books which used to be my companion when I was struggling with my dissertation.

Those were the days when nothing else around me mattered – I stopped going to radio workshops, didn’t attend any talks or seminars that were not relevant to my topic and didn’t even socialise. But today, I saw the place buzzing with activities, spring events, summer seminars, festivals etc. etc.and I just wanted to join in.

I attended a talk by an American lady Dr Kristina Nelson, a daughter of presbyterian priest who was so fascinated by the melody of the Quran recital that she studied it and wrote a book called,” The Art of Recital of The Glorious Quran” The talk was later accompanied by Quran recital by 4 Qaris – it was a wonderful experience.

Anyway, this week, another busy week too for there’s the First London Indonesian Film Screening, with screening, talks and discussions with the directors of these Indonesian hits.



Eliana Eliana

Here’s the detail for those interested:
Venue:
School of Oriental & African Studies
Thornhaugh Street, Russell Square
London WC 1H OXG
United Kingdom
Venue : Khalili Lecture Theatre
Venue : L67 Theatre

Thursday, March 9, 2006 (Kahlili Lecture Theatre)
GIE

5.00pm – 5.15pm Registration for Invitation and Audience start
5.15pm – 5.30pm Opening Ceremony
Keynote address: DR. RM Marty Natalegawa B.Sc., M.Phil, Ambassador of the Republic of Indonesia
5.30pm – 7.57pm GIE (147 minutes)
8.00pm – 9.00pm Q&A with the director and actor:
Gie, an Oak Tree standing against the wind

Friday, March 10, 2006 (Khalili Lecture Theatre)

5.00pm – 5.15pm Registration for Invitation and Audience start
5.15pm – 6.38pm Janji Joni (83 minutes)
7.00pm – 8.45pm Eliana Eliana (105 minutes)

Saturday, March 11, 2006

10.30am – 11.00am Registration for Invitation and Audience start
Khalili Lecture Theatre L67 Theatre
11.00am – 13.00pm Kuldesak (110 minutes) Daun di atas Bantal (83 minutes)
14.00pm - 16.15pm Arisan ( 129 minutes) Ada Apa Dengan Cinta (112 minutes)
16.15pm – 17.15pm Discussion:
Gender and Sexuality through the cinema in southeast Asia Discussion:
Contemporary Indonesian Film

So, come lah - its free!

A big nothing ..( I really can't think of a title)

Sometimes we waste alot of precious time, way too much time, thinking and pondering and wrestling with problems or what we thought must be problems that will consume us if we ever close our eyes and sleep. So, we don’t sleep and think and magnify the problems to such a magnitude that the world around us doesn’t matter anymore. Well, I have bags under the eyes to prove it and the problems still never go away – and seeing the bags under the eyes, allow self pity to set in. Well done!

Why am I ranting so? Well I just felt like putting it down on paper (or on screen) and see how it looked like and shame myself enough to move on and be more positive. And be more decisive!

So, that’s it!

While I was wallowing in self pity and certainly on a self destruct mode, I had forgotten the sufferings and misfortune of others. Someone rang and said, “Have you visited so and so? Didn’t you know her child was born with some life threatening disease?” Another call, “Did you know that the baby with the hole in the heart and the damaged left lung just died?” No I haven’t” No, I didn’t know!!!

And I also just heard that a friend just succumbed to cancer, so soon after she became a grandmother.

Compared to all these, my missing a deadline, my trivial mistakes in life – intentional or not, are just a big nothing. And I had allowed myself to wallow and drown in a big pool of nothingness. How clever!

Yesterday, I visited the two ladies I blogged about earlier. And Alhamdulillah, they are well – both are up and about after being given a new lease of life. And one can’t wait to go home. Her son is missing her so much that he has fallen ill and is in hospital. And I am taking this opportunity to thank this blogger and this blogger for making it possible for her to go home with something for her son and family. I really cannot repeat the number of Terima Kasih Bu, Terima kasih Bu and Terima kasih Bu that were uttered. But those are the expressions of gratitude to you. And my thank you to you too.

I really don’t have much more to add for I just want to crawl under the duvet and hide again until it is time for Eastenders and American Idol. Byeee.......

(Get a life, Kak Teh!)

The week that was...

It has been one hell of a week that I don’t know whether I am coming or going. Now I know how a headless chicken feels. There were times when I could sit down and twiddle my thumbs and watch Eastenders and other favorites which now includes American Idol, but I didn’t have time for all that lately and had been ringing up friends asking whether Pauline turned up at the wedding. Weddings in Eastenders tend to have cliffhangers so predictable – either the bride or the groom didn’t turn up or someone does turn up, causing a twist in the plot!

Anyway, in my very own plotless soap opera, it started with a trip somewhere up north to a place I didn’t know exist. It is so far away that I was dreading it but as luck would have it, I was assigned a cameraman that had everyone drooling all over him. It was a three hour drive there and a three hour drive back and by the end of the assignment, we got to know each other quite well. He was also my editor, which helped ‘cos he shot all the visuals and even gave me a lift home.

It was quite an interesting assignment because the place we visited, Corby, has one of the country’s most successful centres for childcare, one which emerged out of the slums. From a town that suffered unemployment from the closure of steelworks there 23 years ago, the community has done very well. The centre not only provides daycare centre and nursery – free of charge – it also provides employment and study opportunities for the parents! It is like having your cake and eating it. Parents leave their children there, then walk down the corridor for their classes on IT or Childcare. With their qualifications, they then become paid workers at the centre. Some had been there since their children were small.

care centre

I hope this centre will be a model for one such centre still in the pipeline in Malaysia and I hope it will become a reality, one that can provide free and quality care for small children to give them a good start in life.

It was during this week that I got to know several Malaysian ladies who are into childcare. They came with Datin Seri Rosmah. During one of the meetings, Tun Dr Siti Hasmah came too and we had lunch of laksa Kedah and keropok lekor. When networking with such ladies, it helps if you have your sunglasses on to deflect the glare from the bling-blings. And also, it could be bad for your waists as most meetings were follwed by delicious and generous helpings of food.

In between other mundane work I joined in the protest marches during the weekends. They were mainly peaceful ones and I am glad for this. The row over the cartoon insults doesn't seem to want to go away. Yes, these are sad and trying times for us. Being at the gathering the first Saturday, I felt the sadness even more. There were speeches, rousing speeches, and there were nasyids, moving ones for the Prophet we love. Last Saturday, I went again. This I did so reluctantly because I felt I had already gone to show my support. But my son wanted to go again and join the march from Trafalgar Square to Hyde Park. My husband was too ill to go with him and I felt I had to accompany him just in case something happened. Marches every else had ended in violence and this is deplorable.

Trafalgar Square last Saturday was packed but very well organised. There were stewards to guide the women to one side, the men to another and those with families and children in the middle. There must have been about 20,000 people but reports just mentioned 10,000. Once again, the streets of London echoed with Allahuakhbar. From behind me, voices of children mingled with those of adults in their rousing and emotional cries. To show that it was meant to be peaceful, the old came in wheelchairs and walking sticks, mothers piggybacked their children, fathers carried them on their shoulders. But police lined the streets and the helicopters hovered above. It was a warm day and by the time we got to Hyde Park, it was asar and after prayers in the park, everyone dispersed. There must have been a hundred coaches outside waiting to bring back people from as far as Scotland.

I sincerely hope the whole thing will stop. We have voiced our anger but at the same time we have to be careful that we don’t bite the bait.

Aah, and then, there’s the London Fashion Week!! Since last year, I stopped sending in applications to attend any fashion shows. But a young up and coming designer from Singapore is now making headlines in the fashion world. He is Ashley Isham and I didn't regret going to his show at all – he has such a flair that does not insult women. I can understand why he is being toasted as the new kid on the block who will go very far. I spoke to Hilary Alexander – the top fashion writer, who was very impressed. It is every designer’s dream to have Hilary at their shows. And she helpfully told me that Ashley has skillfully celebrated 30 years of punk in his
very slick designs! Now, that I didnt know!

ashley with models

But I do know I am losing my touch. Went to the show quite early to secure a good place to take photographs. Was at first disappointed that the seats in one of the tents at the British Natural History Museum were not filled. No familiar faces of celebs there when the music started. I brought my daughter with me as my photograher and prodded her to take pictures as soon as the models came out...in jeans! T Shirts! I was disappointed!! And then of course realised that it was just a rehearsal..and I have wasted the battery!

Anyway, you know when celebrities have arrived when the photographers started flashing their bulbs. I joined in with my small Ixus not knowing who I was snapping – turned out to be Amanda Holden and Lisa B and someone from Eastenders. Other A list celebs went to other shows, I think.

As the show was held on Valentine’s Day, the grand finale had petals of roses falling from the ceiling on to the models, to the tune of Love Is In The Air.

Next stop – Bernard Chandran. It was Bernard’s debut at the LFW and his lovely wife was with him. His collection, needless to say was very impressive – only for those who are tall with thin waists and it helps if you have lots of money as well.

bernard's

In the fashion circuit, if you want to be spotted, and you’ve not entered Britain’s Next Top Model, you’ve got to be brave enough and make yourself visible. There’s the usual Kate Moss lookalikes swanning and sashaying around to get attention. This time, I noticed one wearing a hat so big tilting to one side of her face that I wonder how she enjoyed the shows that she went to. She was there at Ashley's and was stopped a few times by photographers. Then, she turned up at Bernard’s as well – and there was a chorus of groan from those who had spotted her elsewhere too. Her hat, this time was so high that everyone was praying that she wouldn't seat in the front row.

All these happened while I was hoping to recover from the bout of flu that I caught from someone and had conveniently passed on to my husband. So, yesterday, Sunday, I had intended to go to Bluewater and watch my daughter’s performance of traditional Malay dance with the Sri Bulan dance troupe. But I was so dead tired, and Taufiq wanted to play football with a group of Malaysian students and I had no one to go with me. So, I gave it a missed and had a good sleep on the sofa after catching up on American Idol and Eastenders. I’ll post a picture of her perfomance once I get it.

So, that was the week that was. Oh yes, Pauline did turn up at the wedding after going missing for a bit. And yes, there is a cliffhanger. I hope nothing happens this week as I must see what surprise Joe has in store for Pauline. Did I mention that Pat had an affair with Patrick?A lot happened in Eastenders too!

Not a Valentine piece, konon

Different situations and different things tend to trigger off different lyrics in my head. Being able to vocalise them is another question of course. Thus, I need my own space, like the kitchen or preferably the bathroom. The bathroom is certainly the best place, with the perfect ambience and acoustics, shower head in hand, I am always transformed into Tony Braxton with Unbreak My Heart. And such lovely lyrics too.

Lyrics for love songs are not supposed to be logical. How do you unbreak a heart, or uncry the tears? But aaaah, so so beautiful. Can you imagine if someone uncry the tears for you? I'd die and undie several times over!

I do marvel at people who come up with such beautiful words and string them together to make songs that play on our lips and remain in the deep recesses of our minds until something; a smell, a gesture, a word, triggers it off into a full blown song...in tune or out of tune, it doesn’t really matter.

Anyway, there are times in our life, during our vulnerable moments that we think certain songs, certain lyrics must have been penned just for us only, or for us and our loved ones, be it sad or soppy.

The song Devoted to You by Olivia Newton John never fails to transport me back to Cafe De Paris or commonly known as Ho Peng cafe in Light Street. See here. Sitting there. reading my love letters for the umpteenth ttime under the big tree while sipping my coffee. Danny, the office boy would stand by for the next command to put another penny in the juke box – Play It again, Danny. Ah, isnt love a many splendoured thing? hmmm, I feel another song coming up.

Malay songs have beautiful and unforgettable lyrics too. R Azmi is certainly long gone but his songs, ahhh the lyrics!!! Can you imagine someone singing to you...”Lemah terasa seluruh tubuhku, Mleihat tanda di jari manis mu....” (This translation is for Beautiful Stranger) My whole body feels weak, Looking at the symbol on your finger.)
I can almost feel the hurt in that voice, feel the crush of his heart as it went into pieces on the flloor, just at the sight of an engagement ring on his lover’s finger?

P Ramlee, needless to say, was a genius at provoking all kinds of emotions. His Istana Cinta which he wrote with S Sudarmaji is just mindblowing.

Dengan cinta ku bina istana

Kau sentuh runtuh jadi pusara

Cahaya hidup ku jadi gerhana

Bisa jiwa menanggung derita

Ku semai benih kasih sejati

Ku pupuk dengan baja nan asli

Ngapa kau siram racun yang pedih

Ku tuai kini hanya rasa yang sedih

Ku impikan istana janji mu

Ku hias cantik dalam angan-angan
Sebab bencana datang mengganggu

Kini hancur musnah istana impian


But somehow, in some of his songs, P Ramlee could not be serious. Not a hundred percent. Just when you are up in cloud eight and berjiwang habis, he became his comical self again. Look at this :

Diingatan ku terbayang wajah
Abang ku yang gagah,
Baik budi serta ramah tamah,
Handsome macam gajah...


Ish ish ish...ada ke pulak macam gajah? Spoil saja!

And yes..before I forget. How do you reconcile the lyrics of this song? Benci Tapi Rindu? I guess it is possible to hate someone and yest miss him or her. But what a wicked song for a karaoke session! Never mind if you can’t hit the note!

Anyway, am writing this in a rush and many more songs and beautiful lyrics come to mind, such as Masquerade – how on earth did anyone come up with...

Thoughts of leaving disappear, each time I see your eyes
And no matter how hard, I try
To undertand the reason, why we carry on this way,
we’re lost in this masquarade.

Was rushing off to this fashion show and did not have enough time to check typos. Sorry! Will blog abt the Fashion Week later.

PS -

Be happy and take care of each other!

The last time I saw Pak Teh he had this silly grin on his smile, acting like a teenager in love. I even felt a tinge of envy and a lot of other unexplained emotions, but yes, I was happy for him. Since Mak Teh left after a long illness, he looked totally lost. And now, there was hope of a new lease of life.

He approached Mak, his eldest sister to tell her of his intentions.

‘Kak, saya nak kawin,” he announced and explained that the person to take the place of our beloved Mak Teh by his side, was someone he met at the surau. Looking at the state of him, in shirt all crumpled and looking very much neglected, Mak gave her smile of approval. After all, with children all married with their own families and in their own homes, who is to keep Pak Teh company in his twilight years. Yes, he was the same jovial self, clowning around and a joke a minute whenever he was with us, but at the end of the day, he cut a very lonely figure, driving his small Kancil home to an empty house.

It wasn’t a very easy first meeting for me with the new Mak Teh. I had always been jealously possessive of my aunts and uncles. When Tok Su took a second one when the first was still alive, it took me along time to bring myself to accept her. It was made especially difficult because they both have the same name...so it became Tok Su A and Tok Su B.

But this was a totally different situation. I told myself that Mak Teh was gone and never to return. Pak Teh needed looking after. And most important of all he needed companionship. Someone to ‘bergurau senda, berjeling manjalah!” Someone to rub his back and massage the old joints and someone to sit by his side in the Kancil to and from the surau.

And we shouldn’t deny him this. Yes, a replacement need not erase the memories of the old Mak Teh. She is still in our hearts and minds. Some children do jealously guard their fathers, especially from taking the place of their mothers. To a certain extent it must be hard to accept that another woman is taking the place of your mother. But I think this is just pure selfishness, without a care or consideration to the father’s needs.

When I received news that Abang is ready to accept someone in his life, I felt the same mixed emotions. But all for selfish reasons. We are not there all the time for Abang since Kak Piah left. And as Mak wisely puts it, “ Yang pi tu dah tentu pi, yang dok ada ni, sapa nak jaga?’

And from what I heard from the excited clan back home, Abang has the same silly smile on his face, acting like a teenager in love, all over again. And why not?

So, from thousands of miles away, across the oceans and divided by the deep blue seas, I send my sincerest wish and prayers for the couple who is to tie the knot soon. To Abang, be happy, and to the new Kak, welcome to chaotic and most of the time crazy family! And most of all...Take care of our Abang.

Haunting memories

I have decided that nothing scares me more than just an ordinary stare – just a long intense stare, with a hint of a smile. Nothing more. That would be enough to make me shiver in my sarung. No need for any grotesque features with blood, clot eyes or fangs or intestines spilling all over the place. One such stare that haunts me to this day is the look that Mona Fendi gave as she stepped down from the police van in front of the court house. She calmly looked straight into the camera and...smiled!

These are images that were running riot in my mind as I contemplated my trip to a castle last week. At the very last minute, I cancelled the 8pm train on the Sunday, which would have taken me to its doorstep at exactly 9 pm. I would have been met by the caretaker, who would have shown me to my room along the dark narrow corridors, lined with big enormous portraits of previous occupants – portraits that have eyes following your every move. I know this because I have stayed there before – once with the family, which wasn’t too bad but one summer I was there all alone for a whole week. Other guests were placed in different parts of the huge castle in different wings.

This time, I didn’t fancy arriving so late at night, so I took the early morning train from Waterloo and slept all the way. Which as just as well ‘cos all the other participants had the same thing in mind.

My uneasiness and fear were not totally unfounded. Castles do have their resident ghosts after all and taxi drivers would gleefully tell you all the gory detail during the 15 minute trip from the station. I bet they were paid by the local tourist board! Anyway, I was there the second time one summer two years ago. It was a lovely summer and the castle was beautiful with greeneries and flowers of all colours and scents. I was then given a room at the upper most level, up creaky staircases and along narrow corridors. I imagine, it must have been a room for the look out for advancing enemies. They have very thick walls with small windows, from where they could shoot arrows and stop any unwanted guests.

It was after lunch in the big dining room which was once a kitchen, where the maids and butlers and cooks used to eat, that I decided to go up to my room. Walking up the winding staircase, I overheard someone telling a visitor, “This is where the Bishop was found. He spent his last few years in a coffin in the small room underneath the staircase, as a penance for his misdeeds.” How my legs carried me to the fourth floor, I don’t know. But I think I must have flown straight up every night after dinner and lock myself up in the room, with the duvet right over my head. Every night!

This bishop’s portrait is among the many decorating the walls of the castle, his beady eyes following my every move and I’d sit transfixed byhis stare, on the sofa by the big fireplace in the grand hall, sipping my coffee before saying goodnight to the other guests and making my hundered metre dash to my room. By some cruel turn of fate, for the stay last week, I was alloted a room, with the Bishop’s name! How I counted the hours before I could go home.

It is a funny thing about fear – you don't want to see, but you will still do so with your hands half covering your eyes. You don't want to know, yet, you are curious. So, during this trip, I wanted to know more. Apparently, the Bishop isn’t the only one still reluctant to leave his home. There’s also talk of other apparitions – one of them a young dancing girl, who was rumoured to have collapsed after being forced to dance non stop. Suffice to say, I planned a quick retreat from the place soon after.

Once we were invited by friends, owner of a castle like hotel overlooking the Thames up the A40, to spend a weekend there. It is a beautiful place with its 100 year old garden, a maze and yes, you guessed it...a resident ghost. This one is friendly, according to the brochure and goes about her business at the break of dawn by the Thames. The Dutchess who used to own the place, is said to make an appearance at that time. Suffice to say again, I found myself awake just at that time and looking at the spot by the river where the grand Dutches was supposed to appear. Oh well, she must have overslept that morning.

Oh yes, the other thing that will make me pee in my pants would be an alien voice coming from what you think is an ordinary face....Linda Blair in The Exorcist suddenly comes to mind!

Ibu, pray for me...

It is the third day, and there’s already colour in her face. And she is sitting up, scanning her new surrounding, looking at other patients who have visitors. Her eyes light up when she found us. How young and vulnerable she looks. Six months ago, she was with her husband and son thousands of miles from where she is sitting now but a desperate call for help from a cousin brought her to a foreign land whose language she barely understands, whose culture so very alien. And now she is surrounded by mostly strangers. The only person who she could speak to in her own mother tongue is a few beds away, like her, still recovering from an operation - the operation which was only made possible because she came to offer one of her kidneys. How noble – a word I struggled to find because there’s not many selfless acts that we encounter these days.

I had met these two amazing cousins by chance. One was working as a maid but what a wonderful employer she has – one who tended to her during her illness and didn’t allow her to do any heavy work. And one who paid for her private hospital care and treatment. Again, such act of kindness restored my faith in mankind.

How awful it must be to be ill, seriously ill in a foreign land, when all you want is to be surrounded by your loved ones and be pampered. But how wonderful it is that in times like these you find kindness and compassion in strangers.

I remember a Malaysian family who wrote a letter to another Malaysian she didn’t even know – saying they were coming here for a transplant. She was giving part of her liver to her daughter to save her life. They didn’t know anyone here – but when they left, the whole Malaysian community became their friends. We not only visited them, but we cooked for them, we cried with them in their darkest hours and we rejoiced when things looked brighter.

Recently too, a family came for a holiday and suddenly found themselves spending more time in the hospital than sightseeing. The husband fell ill almost immediately on arrival. But these people are fortunate in a sense that they could even fly family and friends to visit. Not many, especially my newfound friends from our neighbouring country, could afford that. Thus, we find ourselves alternating between the two beds, wiping a tear, spooning a drink, massaging an arm and most of the time – just to talk in a language that they can understand and not make them feel totally lost, even in a very friendly environment.

I was away on the day before the transplant, but I received a call, “Ibu, doakan saya, Ibu.” Given the distance, that was all I could do but visited as soon as I could.

I remember the few hours after the transplant, I didn’t really know what to do, how to cope. They were groggy and looked so vulnerable. I could only hold their hands – and even then, one at a time as their beds were so far apart. When one of them woke up, I felt the squeeze in my hand, and saw the grimace of pain in her face. I remember the same tight squeeze of hand when the mother in the liver transplant I mentioned above came to after her operation to save her daughter’s life. The squeeze that signalled the pain as the pain killer ceased to be effective.

Yesterday, one of them was transfered to a ward below. And they worried about each other. So, you can trust Kak Teh to take pictures on her digital, changed into her superwoman outfit and then flew back upstairs to show the picture. That brought a smile to her face.

Today, I am told they can eat something and they yearn for something Malay. Am sure I can manage that! And if you are reading this, please say a prayer for them too.

UPDATE:

I am glad to report that the two ladies are doing very well - sitting up and eating. They are encouraged to walk around a bit. Makanan pun banyak..Alhamdulillah - banyak yang melawat dan bawa makanan - jadi macam pasar malam pulak! Kak Teh dah sampaikan salam dan doa semua di sini dan mereka juga mengucapkan terima kasih. Their beds are now side by side! Alhamdulillah - they are well on the way to recovery.