Oh Raihan!!!

It was one of the most wonderful summer breaks that I can remember, when we as a family drove around Malaysia enjoying the sights of the homeland, cherishing every moment while we showed the children this and that and tirelessly answered the whys and whats. It was lovely – and sad too because it was probably the last holiday we had together as a family. But what is also memorable about this particlular holiday was that as a family, we all fell in love with the singing sensation of that time – Raihan.

Instead of the usual evergreens or the children’s Boyzone or rap music, we were all wrapped in silence as we enjoyed the soothing tunes of Raihan. The tape was played again and again and before we knew it, the children were reciting Sifat 20 and knew the names of the prophets by heart. And for this, I humbly thank Raihan for a wonderful way of making their way to my children’s hearts and minds in just a matter of days, instilling in them what would have taken me years to do. This ritual we continued in our drives around the UK during the weekends. And everytime we listened to Raihan, we also remembered our wonderful summer break together.

raihan in london

Raihan’s Sifat 20 transported me back to my childhood days, with memories of Mak reciting to us the 20 qualities of God as we drifted to the land of Nod. I never got to anywhere past fifteen. It was the same with all the names of the prophets. It would have helped had Mak sang to us, the way she did the syairs.

Cik Am & Cik Batman

When the world famous nasyid group made their first performance in London, I made sure that we were right there in the front row. And what a sensation, what a performance! I missed their second and third concert here, but nothing can keep me away from the Islam Expo at Alexander Palace this weekend, where Raihan is performing on the opening night - 6th July. Cik Am sms’ed and confirmed that Yes, Raihan will be performing in London before going to Toronto on the 8th and then to Trinidad and Tobago on 10th July. That’s the way to go....World!!! (or is that someone else?)

Am a little sad that Nazrey Johaney, the lead singer has left but a warm wlecome to Nordin Jaafar who will be joining the group during their tour.

Now, don’t say I didn’t give advance warning of Raihan’s performance in London!

Of Engelbert and the merisik party

So Engelbert has laryngitis! I know so because a very disappointed fan sms’ed AND ym’ed me all the way from Malaysia about the cancellation. What a pity! But all is not lost ‘cos the legend nursing the sore throat should be fulfiling his promise to his fans this Wednesday. So, my piece about him will have to wait.

That leaves me with very little to blog about. Well, we did got out for a meal – i.e. Jane Sunshine and hubby, me and hubby plus birthday girl, ewok, to celebrate her birthday. We were having steamboat tomyam when someone said, what’s the latest from Malaysia? This person also mentioned Erra and Yusri’s break-up and that brought a look of surprise from my husband – a look that says: are they someone we know?

Well, we did talk about all sorts of things, this and that and I brought up the subject of Dato’ K and our Cik Siti, and the six million dollar question: are they finally tying the knot?

The Malaysian newspapers were abuzzed with the story yesterday that Dato’ K and entourage had finally gone to meet her family. I was rather bemused by the description of the intention of the visit.

According to The Star:
"It was not immediately known what the purpose of the visit was but speculation was rife that Khalid was there to merisik, which is a customary visit by a groom aspirant to seek the parents' consent for an engagement with their daughter. "

And the NST reported:
"Khalid and his family members were believed to be there to merisik (enquire), a Malay custom leading to formal engagement for marriage."

See how problematic the word merisik is. What is merisik? And in the case of our Cik Siti what else is there to merisik? Everything that needs to know about the singing sensation is all there in the media archives. Just google, no?

A brief vox pop around our tomyam table brought all sorts of answers: snoop, spy, enquire, to ask discreetly.

This is a brief explanation from- http://www.geocities.com/malayculture/cus_wedd.htm
Merisik
When it is time for a young man to get married his family will look around to identify a number of potential candidates. Having decided upon one particular young lady, then, the merisik of investigation process takes place. For this ceremony one or more representatives (wakil) of the young man’s family will pay a friendly visit to the family of the young woman whom they have in mind as his potential bride. The visit is purely for the purpose of further investigation. Its allows the visitors to see the young lady. A hint will be given to her parents regarding the purpose of the visit, and their reaction will be assessed. The girl’s parents may also give the visitors some idea as to whether or not their daughter will be interested in the match. The merisik does not constitute a formal proposal. Following the visit both sides can begin to think more seriously about the possibility or otherwise of the union. It is possible that no progress may take place, and the young man’s parents or representatives will then look for another possible candidate.

From today’s press, we were told that it was just a casual visit by Dato K’s entourage to Cik Siti’s. She wasn't even there. Sure. For someone like her, nothing can be casual and nothing can be discreet or quiet. With scores of paparazis and reporters on the look out, even perhaps renting rooms in houses nearby, any attempt to ‘enquire discreetly’ is almost a mission impossible.

Personally, I quite like the idea of merisik. It conjures a lot of fun and game playing in the mind. You get this image of two mak ciks visiting a house they have never visited before to carry out their task on behalf of the interested party. It is quite possible too that the interested male is in his car parked somewhere a few yards away. Usually they will enlist the help of an aunt of the subject – i.e. the girl or the 'flower' in the garden.

The mother, who is roped in, will then entertain the party, calling upon the unsuspecting daughter to serve tea and preferably some cakes that she herself made.

The conversation would go like this:

Mak cik 1: Yang ni yang mana?
Mother: Yang mana lagi. Saya ada yang ni saja laaa yang belum lepaih....
Mak Cik 2 : (eyeing girl from top to bottom) Dah ada kawan kaaaaaa?
Mother: Ish, budak-budak la ni. Kawan tu ramai laaaa. Tapi tak ada sapa spesial.
Mak Cik1: Isshhh (while munching kueh thatgirl made) sapa masak kueh ni, sedaaap!
Mother: Sapa lagi...anak saya laaa!

I can almost imagine the girl’s discomfort, shaking in her sarong while pouring out the tea
while being scrutinised by two elderly mak ciks and a nervous and anxious mum.

The conversation above is quite straight foreward, very straight to the point, unlike the story that my mother told me of a merisik party that went wrong.

A mother was in her garden when she was approached by two ladies who told her how much they liked the flower in her garden. Without further ado, out came her cutter and she snipped off some roses for the friendly but very astonished mak ciks.

But seriously, what is it that the merisiking party wants to know?

First and foremost of course, whether the girl is single and not ‘seeing’ anyone else. (Even 'chatting' online will be a minus point!)
Whether she can cook – thus, some girls are asked to prepare something. I would have failed miserably on this score. Most mothers are concerned that their sons are kept well fed. I suggest the take aways. I did that several years until we got tired of kebabs.
Can she sew? This day and age – perhaps not a very important requirement.
Is she working/prepared to leave her job/able to bear children?
Is she still unplucked and unvisited by any other bees?
Aha! Now, I was told that some mak ciks can tell even by the way a girl walks, an expert glance at her heels or her forehead.

Whatever the intention of the entourage to Cik Siti's mansion, be it for a cup of coffee to moist their throat after a long journey to the east coast, I wish them well. But, please, please make the announcement soon and end the miseries of the paparazis.

I owe you one, Pak!

The answer to Kak Cik’s question that had been plaguing me since my return from the Holy City, came in a flash just as I was folding the mat after Subuh prayers. I knew then that I’ve got the right answer and I don’t have to feel so bad now.

During our conversation after my one week Umrah, Kak Cik asked whether anyone who looked like Pak appeared before me at all. I said no. And deep inside I was disappointed as Kak Cik continued her story that during her Haj, someone who looked remarkeably like Pak appeared before her almost every day. So, why was I denied this? I have heard that things like this do happen in Mekah, but no one who looked anything remotely like Pak appeared. In fact, when she was in the Masjidil Haram after finishing her Quran, she looked up to find someone who looked like Tok. I never had this experience and I was beginning to feel a tad denied. Didn't know there was any favouritism in the family. May be a week was too short for anyone to make any appearance.

But now I have my answer. The very reason Pak appeared before Kak Cik was that Kak Cik was the only one who was not present when Pak left us. We were all there, all around him. Kak was there, so was Abang, Lilah and of course Ajie, still so young and already losing Pak. I remember that day so well. I had been called home as Pak wasn’t getting any better, but when I arrived Pak could still talk. He asked, “Where’s Kak Cik?” and I replied, "Her plane will be landing at four". Pak adjusted his glasses, looked up at the old clock that he religiously wound every other day and simply said, “Tak sempat dah”. True enough, he went at two and Kak Cik arrived a little too late. The same explanation for Tok’s appearance. Kak Cik was in Mekah when Tok left us.

Pak himself never made it to Mekah. He had been ill all his life but Mak made sure that she performed the Haj on his behalf during one of her trips there. But I remembered him in my doa as I stood there before the Ka'abah and I prayed that his soul is placed amongst those blessed.

When I think about Pak I think about unresolved issues – there were things I wish Pak had done for me and there were things that I wish I had done for him. I never had the kind of Pak who would accompany his kids to tuition or take them to the park. And I remember how I ached for that but knew the impossibility of it all. Pak hardly left the house after his accident, and it was really not his fault. But I remember feeling pangs of jealousy whenever I see friends being driven by their fathers. But Pak made up for all these in other ways. He waited for us while we watched late night movies on telly and switched off the lights while we scrambled into bed and pulled the blankets over our heads. Once or twice in the middle of the night, Pak would come into the bedroom and cover us again with the blankets that had slipped on to the floor. Once, he came just in time to see the blanket nearly on fire after falling on to a burning mosquito coil.

He also rescued us from housework by helping Mak in the kitchen and even signed our report cards without his glasses on! He’d repeat his war time stories as we sat by his couch listening for the umpteenth time how he rescued a young British soldier from the advancing Japanese party. We got used to the smell of his Curve Cut tobbaco and took turns to put Tokohon plasters on his aching back.

Pak was a product of the colonial system and demanded that we spoke and wrote in English all the time. Our letters were corrected in red and returned and we read and read anything and everything that had writings on them. We fought over the newspaper to finish the crossword puzzles and he finished my badly turned out scones that I made in Domestic Science class. I remember that I was in tears when the scones turned out all hard. But Pak ate them all.

All these Pak did for me and I couldn’t even fulfil his one simple wish. Everytime we told him that we were going to town to buy the latest songs on record, he’d ask for Sri Mersing. “Get me Sri Mersing,” he’d holler as we cycled fast past the front gates. Of course we didn’t get him Sri Mersing. It was so.. so, ...er uncool. We’d be searching for the Beatles or Engelbert Humperdink and heaven helped us if anyone heard us asking for Sri Mersing!

So, that is one regret. Hmmm, no wonder Pak didn’t want to see me.

Anyway, Pak would have been pleased to know I am where I am now. I left four years after he left us and I brought with me, in that one suitcase of memories, a small piece of his blanket, still smelling of Curve Cut Tobacco and Tokohon plasters.

PS

Pak would have loved this rendition of Sri Mersing by Siti Nurhaliza. Thanks MA.

Apologies and etc

Apologies
I believe, I owe everyone an explanation, especially those who humoured my non entry below! Thank you. It all started when I was still in London, frantically trying to post pictures of events during Malaysia Week in Covent Garden. It was a futile attempt and I thought I had deleted the posting – but – hey presto! Thank you!

So, here I am back in hot and humid Kuala Lumpur trying to compete with headless chickens running around not knowing what to do. It has been my intention to visit my ailing Mak and MAS’s ridiculously cheap fare made that possible, leaving all my sayang mamas behind with packages of Brahim’s curry and asam pedas.

During this visit too, I have been offered the opportunity to perform my umrah, Insyaallah and that will be tomorrow. I have not spoken about it mainly because I needed to see the visa. Alhamdulillah, I have got it now and I need your doas to accompany me there.

It is true what people say about how we as human beings can only plan, but it is HE who decides what happens. Mak fell ill, seriously on the third day after my arrival and was hospitalized. Unlike my other siblings, I had never looked after her and I believe this was my pay back time. Let me recall my moments with her.

Moments with Mak
My flight from London was uneventful and I landed at 2.30 pm. By four I was at the front door and was delighted to see Mak walking slowly to the door to greet me. But she was coughing. She was very happy that I was going to perform my umrah and couldn’t stop recounting those journeys she herself made several times. I was on the phone with Mak Andeh, when she came over and started caressing my back. And she held my hand, slipping in a couple of RM50 notes. She said, it was for me to spend for my Umrah and from then on, I couldn’t speak for the lump that rose in my throat.

Moments with Mak can be summarized as one full of anxieties, guilt, sadness and spurts of joy and laughter. There were times when her coughing made her gasp for breathe and left her weak and quite frustrated. During times when I ventured out to Kuala Lumpur, I received calls from my siblings to come back as she was unwell. And went back, I did to find her smiling her sweet smile on the sofa and chiding me for escaping to the city. It was apparent that she wanted me around and not traipsing all over Kuala Lumpur like I used to. But there were things that needed to be done.

I attended a three hour crash course on Umrah at the Tabung Haji building last Sunday and felt a lot more confident. But after that I received a text message saying that Mak was admitted to Putra Jaya Hospital. Thank God for the ERL and I was there in no time.

I didn’t know it was possible for her to look even more frail than before. But there she was surrounded by my siblings and nephews and nieces. She was there more than for just her coughs. Her lungs were showing things we didn’t know exist and a condition we didn’t want to acknowledge.

So, It was my turn to stay over at the hospital to look after her. Shamlessly I pleaded with my sister to stay back with me and we persuaded the Head Nurse to allow both of us to stay. So, while one of us stayed by her bedside, one would be in the TV room. It was during one of my breaks that I watched My Team being demolished by Malaysia. Not impressed at all.

Mak coughed throughout the night and the needle they inserted for her blood transfusion was beginning to hurt her. She cried out in pain and shamelessly, I cried too not knowing how to take the pain away from her. The next day, I was left on my own to tend to Mak.
The cough mixture she was given helped and we had a wonderful chat about how wonderful her voyage on the Bunga Raya was in the late sixties.

She spoke about the excitement and the joy, even about forgetting all of us at home, when she embarked on her first pilgrimage. It was fun, by ship, she said.

“When we reached Aidan (for that was how she pronounced it) little boats with goodies approached the Bunga Raya and they would hoist long poles with basket to show their wares. We’d put our money in and lower down the basket,” she said, her memory of that afternoon at the port, as clear as it had happened yesterday.

She recalled how, at seven months pregnant, she persisted to perform the Haj, she told about her delivery in the small white tent in Arafah, aided by a midwife from Perak. She reminded me of doas and what to say and do where. I could listen to her forever, sitting there by her hospital bed, just the two of us. This pricesless moment with Mak was hundred times better that the three hour session I had with the Ustaz. This was my Mak telling me what to do and what to expect.

I spent another evening alone with her, watching her sleep as the medication they gave her took effect. There were times I could read the book on how to perform the Umrah, and there were times I could mark exam papers that I had brought back with me. But most of the time, I sat there looking at her, wondering where did the strong woman in that small frame go. She was quiet the whole day, not as chatty when I came to take over from my sisters. My immediate task: Help Mak put on the nappies. And with that they left.

With four children, I should be an expert at putting disposable nappies. But the next few minutes showed how wrong I was to assume. One look at the nappy, my face crumpled as I didn’t know which side should be at the bottom. And one look at my face, my Mak went into stitches laughing so hard that it could have been a scene from a sit com. We tried this way and that and still it didn’t look right. And it didn’t help that Mak was rolling with laughter, wiping tears from her face. Two wasted nappies and I decided to swallow my pride and called in the nurse. Phew! At least I made her laugh.

The next morning, the doctors made their rounds. And for the first time I asked them about the true nature of her illness. And Yes, we are talking about the BIG C, said one doctor, handing me a tissue as I burst into sobs. It then became official. And from that moment on, I am more determined to make my journey there and be there before the Kaabah and pray that my Mak be spared of any kind of pain. Please doa for me and with me.


Kak Teh meminta ampun dan maaf daripada semua kalau ada silap dan salah dan terkasar bahasa.

SELAMAT MENYAMBUT HARI IBU

Salam semua,
Antara sedar dan tak sedar, banyak yang Kak Teh terfikir tentang apa yang nak blog untuk Hari Ibu. Dua tiga hari ni, Kak Teh demam teruk juga...mula-mula ingatkan Hayfever yang memang Kak Teh dapat setiap tahun menjelang musim bunga dan musim panas. Tapi lama-lama, badan panas sejuk, tulang sengal-sengal..kepala semakin berat. Sahlah Kak Teh dapat flu. Jadi, sebab tulah, satu apapun tak dapat tulis untuk Hari Ibu.

Dalam keadaan begini, terlentang tidur banyak juga yang datang melayan fikiran. Teringat Mak yang lebih sakit, lapan ribu batu jauhnya. Masa Kak Teh balik tahun lalu, Mak sakit kuat. Malah orang semua dah baca YAssin. Kak, Kak Cik, Abang, Ajie dan Lilah semuanya tak jauh dari Mak. Semua berjaga siang malam. Kak Teh saja yang jauh, dengar cerita dari jauh. Cuma dapat menangis dan berdoa sempat jumpa Mak. Alhamdulillah, Kak Teh dapat beli tiket dan terbang pulang.

Sampai saja ke rumah, Mak nampaknya macam tak ada harapan. Dia pandang lama muka Kak Teh, dia kata, "Anak Mak dah balik, anak Mak dah balik." Kak Teh dah tak berdaya kata apa-apa. Kak Teh ingat itulah mungkin kata-katanya yang terakhir. Tapi dengan takdir Tuhan, Mak menjadi segar semula. Dapat berjalan dan makan seperti biasa. Kak, yang menjaga Mak siang malam, jatuh sakit pula dan terpaksa tidur di bilik lain, takut jangkit pada Mak pulak.

Dan Kak pesan, jangan bagi tau Mak dia sakit, sebab nanti Mak risau. Tapi Mak, seperti mak mak lain, dia tau. Dia kata, "Lebih baik Mak yang sakit daripada anak-anak Mak sakit. Mak tak sanggup tengok anak-anak Mak sakit,"

Kak Teh bayangkan, kalaulah Mak tau Kak teh sakit, dia pun tak boleh duduk diam. Selalunya kalau anak-anak sakit, Mak masak moi - atau nasi bubur dengan sup ayam. Apabila makan, terus selimut dan terus kebah. Baik cepat. Mak akan usap-usap kepala.

Masa Mak sakit dulu, anak-anak yang jaga Mak. Memang tak sama.

Mak ialah seorang yang bersih dan cermat. Makanan yang dibawa kepadanya mestilah dalam talam yang beralas. Semuanya mesti beralas. Selepas mandi, dia nak pakaian yang sudah diseterika dan bersih. Dan mesti pakai minyak wangi. Dia kata, "Mak dah lah sakit, jangan bagi orang tengok macam orang sakit." Betul jugak, kan?

Semasa dia menjaga emak dia sendiri (Tok Kak Teh), teruk juga sebab masa tu umur Mak Kak teh dah dekat 70 tahun. Tok dah tak boleh jalan. Tapi cerewet. Tapi semuanya dia nak buat sendiri. Letak saja flask air panas dengan kopi, dia buat sendiri. Ambil baju yang dah kering dari luar, dia sendiri yang lipat. Orang lain lipat tak cantik. Semuanya tak kena.

dengan mak

Pix by Nadya Shahabudin

Kalau Mak dah tension, dia pergi ke pekan Alor Star, tengok-tengok kain murah buat baju. Dia pi Pekan Rabu, beli barang. Kalau tension tu menjadi-jadi, Mak terbang ke Kuala Lumpur, dok dengan Kak Cik atau Lilah atau Ajie.

Bukan orang tak tau Tok. Dia rajin berleter. Daripada Mak berdosa melawan dia, Mak keluarlah - pi release tension. Biar Mak Som jaga Tok. Mak Som tu tak berapa dengar, jadi, apa Tok kata dia tak ambil kesah.

Semasa Tok dah teruk sangat, belakang Tok dah dapat bedsores. Kesian. Semua ni pun, Kak Teh dengar khabar dari jauh. Lagi banyak Tok menggaru, lebih banyak keluar daging-daging belakang dia. Keisan.

Tiap-tiap malam, sebelum tidur, Mak akan hampiri Tok. Dia kata," Mak, Yun minta ampun minta maaf, Mak. Yun terpaksa ikat tangan Mak. Kalau tak ikat nanti Mak garu lagi," Menangis Kak Teh dengar Kak Cik cerita kat Kak Teh dalam telefon. Sabarnya Mak. Esok dia lepaskan balik ikatan tu. Jadi, tok tak menggaru sangat. Kalau doktor datang balut pun, dia garu jugak.

Masa Tok sakit, masa menjaga Tok, Mak tak pernah sakit. Malah, dia tak boleh sakit. Sebab tu lah selepas Tok pergi, dia mula sakit. Baru dia boleh let go!

Kak Teh terfikir, bolehkah kita jaga Mak , macam Mak jaga Mak dia?

Di sini, Kak Teh nak ucapkan beribu terima kasih kepda Kak Cik, Lilah, Ajie, Kak dan Abang kerana menjaga Mak. Kak Teh jauh, cuma boleh hantar duit beli vitamin, duit tambang kapal terbang dia nak ke sana sini, dan Kak Teh tetap berdoa supaya Tuhan ringankan beban sakit Mak.

Dalam dua tiga hari ni kata-kata ini bermain di kepala Kak Teh:

Pimpinlah tangan Mak semasa Mak boleh lagi berjalan,
Bercakaplah dengan Mak semasa Mak boleh lagi dengar,
Tenunglah mata Mak semasa Mak masih lagi boleh melihat,
Ucaplah sayang kepada Mak, semasa dia masih lagi boleh faham.

Dari nak tulis sikit, dah jadi banyak, sehinggakan sup ayam panas yang anak letak tepi komputer dah jadi sejuk. Sang suami buatkan sup macam Mak buat dulu.

SELAMAT HARI IBU KEPADA SEMUA IBU-IBU DI SINI.

PS
Mak, anak Mak nak balik tak lama lagi, tunggu, ya?

Syaer Untuk Sang Suami

Dengarlah semua Kak Teh bermadah,
di hari yang mulia, mengarang sudah,
usia suami setahun lagi bertambah,
namun si dia sikitpun tak gelabah.

Berhari-hari gundah gulana,
hadiah tak beli nak buat guana
nak belanja makan, entah kat mana,
India, Arab, Melayu atau Cina?

Teringat sewaktu berjumpa dulu,
tampan dan segak tersenyum selalu,
lucu dan lawak tetapi pemalu,
bila bertemu lidah pun kelu.

Kak Teh terpikat pandang pertama,
duduk berdepan, kerja bersama,
diajak keluar tak berapa lama,
berdentum dentam jantung berirama!

Selang bulan tahun berganti,
kasih mula berputik di hati,
namun tugas memisahkan kami
setahun lamanya menggigit jari!

Aduhai kasih, aduhai sayang,
siang malam terbayang-bayang,
tidur tak nyenyak makan tak kenyang,
teringatkan kekasih yang belum pulang.

Kepulangan membawa ke jinjang pelamin,
Syukur kepada Allah Rabbul ‘alamin,
Dibawa terus ke negara atas angin,
memulakan hidup di negara dingin.

Dialah suami, dialah kawan,
teman bercerita, hati nan rawan,
lucu berjenaka yang itu tak tahan,
lawak yang lama jadi ulang-ulangan.

Dipendekkan cerita di pagi hari,
Sukanya hati tiada terperi,
Anak empat sudah diberi,
Lengkaplah keluarga lagi berseri.


Ku ucapkan selamat suami tersayang,
bacalah syair yang baru dikarang,
sebagai hadiah yang bukan sebarang,
tapi ikhlas dari hati ku, sayang.

Of traditional uruts and bad back

I think I’ve done it again. A sharp twinge in the back when I bent down to pick up something yesterday told me I should be back on my back and contemplate the ceiling once again. Instead, I have other things to do.

A massage would be good, so I am told. But the very thought of hands; foreign, alien hands up and down my ample body – oh TIDAAAAAK!!!

I remember times when Mak needed a massage. With a bottle of minyak angin Pak Awang loceng, which soon reeked throughout the whole house, we’d rub it down her soft white skin. Mak worked hard, from morning she’d be preparing kueh to sell and then there’s all of us to look after.

When we were smaller, she’d ask us to step on her back. And we’d do so ever so gingerly lest we break her back. Right now, I wouldn’t dream of asking my children to do that. They’d break my back into half.

Talking about massage, even after each childbirth, I refused to have any massage, raising quite a few eye brows that I should be so bold as to disregard such practice. However, now I see a lot of my younger friends here, who would pay an arm and a leg to get some mak ciks over and do the traditional massage after they gave birth. All they needed to do was pay for the flight of the Mak Cik, give her a room and pay for her services. Once the word gets around that there’s a mak cik urut, she’d be doing the circuit, with more than enough money to take back – in sterling!

Anyway, with my bad back and all, as soon as I publish this entry I’d be ouching my way to Harrods. No, not to shop. But, as chance would have it, Harrods is launching its Malaysian Spa at Urban Retreat at 4pm today. It is a week long festival which brings together the spas from Spa Villa Kuala Lumpur, Tanjung Jara and Pangkur Laut – all in Knightsbridge.

This is what you get at Urban Retreat:

Campur-Campur
The name Campur-Campur means “a blending of varieties” in Malay. Combining the best techniques of Malay and Thai massage, our special creation uses touch, tone and aromatherapy to deliver a memorable and sensory experience. The scent of lemon grass and pandan leaves fills the air as steamed herbs are pressed along the body using a traditional steam pouch.


Traditional Malay Massage
The art of traditional Malay massage is passed on from generation to generation. The technique consists of long kneading strokes that focus on the muscles and specially selected pressure points in the body. This treatment uses oil made with local herbs such as turmeric, cinnamon, garlic, onion and citronella blended to invigorate the circulation. The treatment is concluded with an ancient remedy mixed in an earthen pot filled with scented herbal roots and flower buds. This special tonic is believed to be the secret of Anti-Aging.

Ulik Nyiur (Malay Hair Treatment) 50 minutes £xxxx
This therapeutic traditional Malay hair treatment begins with a head and shoulder massage using specially brewed herbal oil, followed by an application of freshly blended coconut crème. This treatment helps condition the hair and scalp, maintaining its lustre, condition and colour.

Bamboo Tapping Tui-na An Mo
One of the major differences between Chinese massage and other massage techniques is the emphasis on the acu-points and directional flow of the subtle channels in the body. Tui-na massage is more than a system of relaxation and tension release. Although attention is also placed on the tendo-muscular system, the focus on subtle channels allows one to influence the organs on a deeper level and treat complex complaints. Bamboo Tapping is well-known in martial art circles. It is believed that by tapping the body with bamboo bundles, it will bring energy to the surface and improve the immunity of the body.

Chinese Pearl, Rice and Egg Undulation Facial
A perfect complexion is prized by the Chinese and so this traditional and effective treatment was quickly annexed by the Malay people from their neighbours. In keeping with ancient Chinese tradition, warm hard-boiled eggs are rolled on the face simultaneously with focused and specific strokes. This treatment quickly soothes facial breakouts and settles inflammation. The egg massage is followed by a pearl and rice facial for a superior clear and complexion.

During the Malaysian Spa Festival additional exclusive retail items will be available at Urban Retreat, create your own Malay Spa experience at home with Aroma incense cones (£9), Minyak Puteri or Princess Oil (£14), Baros Rapi Herbal Scrub (£24) and Malaysian Scented Soaps (£12).

The Malaysian Spa Festival runs from May 2nd—28th for bookings call 020 7893 8333.

Will certainly update once I am back from there. If I dont break my back further at Harrods, it'll be my already very fragile bank account.

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!)