Wedding Tale

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I went to a wedding recently, as my mother's designated driver. There are advantages in being a designated driver, you get to go to weddings of people you don't know at all.

"This is the second child's wedding. They didn't do anything for the first child", my mother said along the way. Meaning no inviting people to a kenduri kawin, makan etc.

"The first one married a technician or something like that, so that didn't merit any kenduri kawin or whatever. They just went to the kadi or brought him over, got the ceremony over with and that was it".

That was what was said, not that they did anything wrong (you know what I mean) but it was just that the groom was a "technician". And did not merit the usual kenduri kawin. The usual havoc associated with such joyful occassions. Did not merit that unforgettable day. I guess only doctors, lawyers, architects and accountants merit a kenduri kawin and a rather "meriah" (joyful) wedding. For the others, there is really no need to go through the trouble.

Aiyo, like this people also got aaaa?

But knowing the laws of nature and Mr. Murphy, it is this "unfavoured" addition to the family that would probably serve the family and take care of the parents in their old age.

Having told the story above, about the only thing we should do is to make it a "tauladan", an example, don't be so bold as to say that we will never do such a thing. Pass forty-four angels.... (Selisih malaikat empat puluh empat....)

Lucky thing I was a glorified technician, kena julang* lagi...... around the camp!!!

* placed on a chair, carried on the shoulders of a few men and paraded around.

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Unforgettable Mr. B

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That summer, I finally worked for Mr. B, for that extra USD 0.50 per hour. That was an additional USD 4 per day, a princely sum, I guess. He had been coaxing me to work for him for weeks by then, I was working for the power plant at the time and each time I’m in UT Hall to take the chiller water samples, he’d beckon me over for a cup of tea.

“Hey Joe, come on over and have a cup of tea first. Don’t worry about Edward, he wouldn’t mind if you sit down and talk with me for a few minutes.” Edward was my supervisor at the power plant.

He called me Joe from day one when he found out that my name was too hard for him to pronounce. He was bad at that, at least Edward made some effort. One day he’d call me Alimin and the next day he would go for Amin and later still it would be something else but none of them would even be close.

Mr. B ran the engineering college. Literally. The dean listens to him. He’s been there like forever. Eighteen years ago he was 68 years old. That makes him on the wrong side of eighty now. He has only one eye, the other one is a glass eye.

“I only have one eye and with one eye, you could not judge distances very well and I find it hard to catch things being thrown at me. I never got around to playing baseball with my sons since I simply couldn’t catch the ball and I feel so bad about it.”

So naturally we’d start throwing things at him. But for the love of me, I can’t recall the reason why he lost the eye.

One crazy thing he wanted to do was asking me to marry his granddaughter. Him, a white anglo-saxon protestant, and a mason at that, wants me, a muslim Malaysian, to marry his granddaughter. Had he lost his marbles then?

“Mr. B, you have got to be kidding, she’s still in high school and I’m sure your son would like to have a say in it.”

“You leave my son to me, Joe.”

Somehow he had convinced Mrs. B to agree with him. My mother is going to kill me if they had their way.

And no, his granddaughter is not ugly, I can assure you of that.

So he settled by putting my photo next to hers on his desk. I guessed he opted for a spiritual marriage. Or was that a ploy of his? I still have pictures of our pictures together. Huh, that shows that I wasn’t really really saying no to his proposal. Playing hard to get probably…..

The first time I went to his house, I had a torrid time with his dog, a huge German Shepherd.

“Don’t worry Joe, she’s still a puppy. But whatever you do, don’t run.”

A puppy my foot. That mutt was nearly waist high and all day long it kept nuzzling my crotch, my back and kept nibbling my ankle. A dog that size does whatever it wants, crotch or whatever it may be. It was drooling all over me and when I finally went home that day I stopped by the highway to get a load of red clay and later that night my new 501, Polo t-shirt and Nike socks had a red syrupy dunking wash. Thank the stars that during each subsequent visit, she’d just insist on one whiff of me and went about her way around the house, waiting for the mailman and the newspaper boy to show up. The mailman and the paper boy would make her go crazy but for some reason, she completely ignored the garbagemen. Mr. B reckoned that her previous owner was a garbageman (he got her when she was about 6 months old) so she might pretty much be used to their scent. But that was only a theory.

He was pretty upset when I finally had to leave. He wanted me to stay. I had to come back home, I just have to see how my mother was doing then, my father passed away the previous year, while I was still away. That was the only reason he let me go.

As a parting gift, I gave him a small carving of an elephant bearing the inscription “When my ship sails out of sight, it does not mean that the journey ends, it only means that the river bends.”

The river has straightened once so far.

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Playing Risk - A Board Game

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Have any of you ever played Risk, a board game of world domination? Actually it's just a silly game but we, that's me, my wife's two brothers, her father and her brother-in-law have been playing it for 14 years. It's a family affair whenever we get together a few times a year and tear each other to pieces.

Imagine, whenever we are at my wife's parents' house, once the kenduri, dinner or supper is over, the five of us would hover around aimlessly until someone says the magic word (meRisking, as in memanjat i.e. climbing) and like magic the table is cleared of plates and saucers and cups, the board is set up and all available players would shyfully take their places. The shyness usually lasts for five minutes, after all, neither Napoleon nor Caesar could have been what they were if they were shy on the battlefield...... Endless mugs of teh tarik would then magically appear, courtesy of my sister-in-law, after her father said that she makes the best teh tarik in the world. She does actually. My wife would then bring us the best tasting cookies, cakes or kuih in the world for us to gnaw upon in our times of anxieties. She does actually. My wife I mean, she does make the best cookies and kuihs. Her father says so too. The ladies of the house would roll their eyes and leave us guys alone. My sister-in-law played once. Once. She could not take the viciousness.

The Genghis Khan among us used to be my brother-in-law Shaz, and his black armies. Whenever we played, never never piss him off or attack him for he would get back to us with a vengeance. He's brutal but he has lost his touch these last few years since his children came into existence simply because he loses concentration with them around, trying to take care of them and play at the same time. But then whupping him does not provide us with the same satisfaction as when he was kid-free.

Since there are only five of us who have the bloodthirsty appetite needed for the game, we plan to rope in my son and his cousin into the game after their UPSR next year. We reckon that they'd probably need two or three games after which they would probably give us a run for our money but I think it will be a while before they could match us in cunning, fakes, feints and ruthlessness. That must sound really bad but it does not actually turn us into a monster or anything like that but once in a while someone might wake up his sleeping wife to complain that there he was, quietly minding his own business and building his army when out of the blue, the black armies attacked him, wiped his armies off the face of the globe and took away his cards. You could do that after wiping someone clean off the world, for those cards are mighty handy when your turn comes and you get to change cards for armies and you could really really mess someone up. But pray hard that he doesn't return the favour the next time you play.

It's played with dices, mission cards and lots of luck. The dices, that's the key thing. Playing Risk has shown me that the dices can turn against you at times and one thing is for sure, you won't see me in the casinos of Genting, Monte Carlo or Macao.

Anyone of you think you are enough of an Alexander The Great to tangle with us?

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Death Not Needed

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Someone I know well is going through a divorce. A messy one. Used to be that they love each other and can’t wait to see each other and now, they are at each other’s throat. They insult people dear to each other, to hell with the in-laws, the outlaws, the young and the old. As long as you are in the line of fire, you are fair game. And the line of fire overlaps our lives. And now all the gory, dirty and undesirable details start to bubble to surface, things six, seven, eight years ago, all the witchcraft, all the cruelties and all the injustices. All the dirty things. Now it seemed nothing good was ever transpired between them. So much bitterness between two people who once meant the world to each other. The sun and the moon. I know, we know, for we were there once. Some of us are still there, some left the place and some were marooned there.

Where are all the promises that were made, the whispered sweet nothings, the seas of fires promised to be crossed, now turned to volleys of vicious flames over what used to be the dearest, sweetest and closest of ties, now a deep and endless abyss? They spoke so softly to each other that we, who were next to them, could not hear them yet over the line they understood and got to each other, to their hearts, for they spoke with their hearts. Now they scream with their hatred.

When in any other instance was the phrase “I love you” ever taken so lightly? When were promises taken more lightly? They can’t bear each other when it used to be that they cannot bear to be away from each other. They would go to sleep with each other as their last thoughts and wake up with each other as their first and only thought.

Now there are the evil deeds, the poisonous words, the vengeful actions and even looks of spite. The misty looks of love are now replaced by stares of hatred. No one wins for once friends are now enemies and once lovers are now foes. My best friend is now my mortal enemy.

The belittling. The facade. In short, the lies. Can two people ever be so wrong when at once they seemed so right? We cheered at the reunion. Now we curse the past. We curse what was once part of us.

The victor? Senselessness. Despair. When love turns to hatred, that could be the only outcome. No victors. Only losers. Just a matter of who is the biggest loser. And hurt the most the only people that both of them profess to love. Till death do us apart?

Death is certainly not needed. We could do it ourselves.

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London Bridge is Falling Down

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This happened at least 10 years ago, before I was transferred to Kuala Lumpur. We were playing soccer against the petroleum engineering department of another oil and gas company at the KSL soccer field in Lutong. I was playing at my usual position, right back and just next to the field was a drain after which lies a road. And near the maze of roads around the soccer field were houses in which a motley crew of people from customs, police and a few other government agencies and private companies live.

Midway through the game, a rather familiar tune came from a few kids playing on the road. The words stayed with me all these years.

London din din fun din dern
Fun din dern
Fun din dern
London din din fun din dern
My fair lady

I think we lost that day.

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Filim Fest

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During the Hari Raya Holidays, I saw the first 20 minutes of "Lang Buana" and the last 20 minutes of "Cinta Kolesterol".

Oh my Zod..... It was sheer stupidity. No, two sheer stupidities.....

I saw my last Malay movie at the theatres in December 1979. It was "Adik Manja" and I had a huge crush on Sasha then. I wonder where is she now....

Anyway, I think I made the right decision. I didn't miss much over the last 25 years.

P.S. No Hari Raya stories. All the same stories one ma....

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Cruel and Unusual Punishment?

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I got my own back at a queue jumper today.

I was at the Masjid Jamek Putra LRT station, waiting for a train to KLCC. In one of the doors, two lines of maybe four or five people were formed. OK, I thought, that’s nice and I joined the queue. Then this girl with her friend, just made their way to the middle of the queue as if the rest of us were not there. I called softly out to her and said, nicely, whispering as a matter of fact, "Miss, you should not do that, there's a queue here." She looked at me and just turned away. OK, she didn’t say anything bad or rude or looked at me as if I owed her money but she still jumped queue. I was debating whether to make a big case out of it when the train came and I can tell you, it was packed.....

About six passengers came out, after a bit of jostling here and there, maybe an equal number went in and when the dust settled I ended up just outside the door, the next one to go in should there be any more space. The girl and her friend made it on board and the only reason I could not go into that train was that she and her friend were on it. But, OK, it takes two to tango and I feel like dancing and but let me tell you, I am a bad dancer - I usually step on my partners’ toes. So, accepting her "invitation", I stepped into the train, pushed against her to avoid the closing doors, raised my right hand up and latched on to the bar up there. And she was right underneath my right arm....... There was just enough space, as a matter of fact, the door caught on to my right shoe the first time it closed and it had to reopen and close again. I had to move in a few more inches to save my heel. Lucky heel, unlucky girl. Some people are so lucky. I am talking about myself. I got on the train. I put the other hand into my pocket to keep it out of the way so that there will be no mistaken notion of me raba-raba, eve-teasing, penny-pinching do anything else to anyone at all.

OK, I showered this morning, put on anti-perspirant (made of natural elaments, no added chemicals) and a few dashes of my Calvin Klein Eternity perfume, no less. It is Eternity, isn’t it? I keep confusing it with Infinity. Anyway, but I still do sweat a bit in the morning heat and there she was, right under my arm. I told her. I hope she will never jump queue again. Especially when there is a maniac like me riding the trains. I hope she learned her lesson. Do not jump queues. I could be a lot meaner than I was this morning but she deserved what she got.

Aah, this is going to be a good day. Better get some work done....

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Malay Movie Mageek

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In all our years of watching (and to a very large extend, not watching) Malay dramas and movies we (my friend Tiri and I) have concluded that most Malay movies must contain certain ingredients, characters, situations to be truly, truly, well, truly....... Malay.

First of all, there must be a Datuk (or Dato’), hence ada Datin dan adalah Anak Datuk (or Anak Dato’). Somehow Tan Sris are rather rare in the movies. The only reason I could think of why it is so is that bunyi “Tan Sri” ni tak commercial. Try saying “Tan Sri”, “Tan Sri”, “Tan Sri” a few times. It does not flow smoothly over the tongue like “Datuk” does. Go ahead, try it. Then try saying “Datuk”, “Datuk”, “Datuk” a few times. See what I mean? “Tun” is worse.

Datuk dengan Datin ni, kalau ada anak, biasanya seorang. One of the occupational hazards of being a Datuk and Datin is maybe that you are cursed to be barren. Kalau perempuan, rupa memang lawa, tak macam rupa Datuk. How is that possible? Maybe anak angkat or maybe the producer could not get a better looking Datuk. I have yet to see an ugly anak Datuk in the movies. An ugly Datuk is common. An ugly Datin not so common, usually the Datin is masih lawa lagi. Jambu lagi. Kalau tak, lama dah Datuk lari.

Anak Datuk ni, samada belajar kat London, atau baru balik dari London atau nak pergi London and untuk apa….? Pandai pun, nak tinggalkan boyfriend. Cakap hampir, haampiiir aje, macam orang London. Dalam drama atau wayang, jarang anak Datuk ni duduk London, sebab kalau duduk London, tak ada masalah dah. Dah hancur, so no problem there then. Kalau tak belajar dekat London, belajar dekat kolej swasta dalam negeri, bawa fail and buku ke hulu ke hilir ke hulu ke hilir and cakap pasal kuliah kuliah kuliah, kuliah kuliah kuliah. Kawan-kawan anak Datuk ni pun lawa lawa but never never lagi lawa dari anak Datuk tu. Hissshhhh, tak boleh!!! Selisih malaikat 44. Kadang-kadang ada “pensyarah” yang anak Datuk ni syokkan and selalu kacau. Of course it goes without saying that the “pensyarah” is a malaikat in disguise, baik nak mampus, pijak semut bukan tak mati, semut kata, "Huh, huh, what was that?" Dresses scruffily but semua orang suka “pensyarah” tu, especially anak Datuk tu.

The Datin is either baik nak mampus or jahat nak mampus. No Datin yang in between hidup lagi dalam wayang-wayang ni. Datin yang OK OK semua dah mati atau menyorok, takut-takut kalau ada producer ajak berlakun. Some busy high tea.

Nama Anak Datuk ni atau heroine mesti Maria or Aliya or Beyonce. Nama glamour2, lagi bagus kalau yang tergeliat lidah kalau disebut. Itulah Persatuan Tijah2 Malaysia nak protest, tak ada satu pun wayang atau drama Melayu dalam Malaysia ni yang anak Datuk atau heroine dia bernama Tijah, Joyah or Leha. Tak payah pakai Tijah, Joyah pun OKlah kalau dapat. Ini tak, asyik nama-nama tu aje yang dipakai. Maria Maria Maria. Aliya Aliya Aliya. Fatin Fatin Fatin. Fatin? Fatin? Fatin? Oooops, silap. Jangan marah ya Fatin2 sekelian. Tersilap category.....

Datuk ni mesti seorang businessman, punyai business, besaaaaaar. Juta-juta aje. USD and not Rupiah ya? Business apa? Biasanya tak disebut tapi yang clear, juta-juta and ada “projek”. “Projek” apa? Biasanya tak disebut tapi yang clear, “projek” tu besaaaaar, itulah sebab business besar. Projek bukan buat longkang tepi highway tau? Tu tak main….

Orang gaji bernama usually is named Mak Mah or Tijah. Note that the orang gaji’s name is never never glamorous. No producer worth worth his marbles is going to have an orang gaji bernama Kamelia or Nadia or Diyana in his movie. Usually the orang gaji has been with the family for 700 years and knows everything about the family that no one else knows, including the family.

Seorang tukang kebun come handyman who deprived a village somewhere of an idiot. Usually named Leman or Usop. Again, the name of the tukang kegun will never never be glamorous like Joe or Rizal or Danial. Always Leman Leman Leman, Leman Leman Leman…. Paling koman pun Fairuz. Usually ugly, a good looking tukang kebun or handyman is an impossibility. Like the Hollywood movies, pool men are usually hunks. Somehow drivers are invisible in Malay movies or dramas.

Minum fresh orange in a coffee house at a hotel. Ini mesti ada. The movie industry in Malaysia is responsible for single-handedly reviving the citrus industry of California and Florida. Bayangkan, tiap-tiap minggu satu negeri tengok orang-orang yang lawa, kacak dan kaya raya minum fresh orange di hotel lima bintang. Subconsciously, this will cause the whole nation to go forth to buy and drink fresh orange, though not necessarily at hotels lah. Technically, Malaysians might be responsible for the re-election of Bush since Malaysians are responsible for the success of agriculture which is an important industry in California and Florida and those two states are strong bastions of Dubya a.k.a. The Defender of the Gulf of Mexico, when he can find it. Get it? When he can find it? I crack myself up!!!!

Oh God, some local movie star is going to kill me for what I wrote above. Kalau movie star cute tak apa…… And that’s only half of it. I’ll keep the rest for another day….

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Only When I Cry

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I felt like crying today. They have this thing at work they call the Management Committee (MC) Paper and I have been nursing this paper for the last week or so, full of colourful graphs and so on, just the way they like it, getting it signed by the appropriate high and mighty folks and suddenly I was told that our operating agreement with our partner made no provisions for us to do what we wanted to do – a sole risk project, meaning if our partner don’t agree with our proposal, we go it alone. I feel like crying. One year’s work down the tube. I really felt like crying.

I can’t remember when was the last time I cried. I did cry when Nazzim was born. I did cry when Sofia was born, I think, but don’t tell her. And I do cry sometimes when I watch movies, sad movies of course. Not necessarily Hindi movies but sad movies. Definitely not Malay movies. Malay movies, I laugh, hysterically, and it doesn’t matter what movie it is. Aaah, I remember crying when I was in college, in my senior year, with a midterm staring at me the next day, a lab report due and I have yet to study. Yeah, I cried then.

I didn’t cry when my father passed away. Didn’t have a chance to. It was ten days later that I knew of his passing. Nothing I could do about it. The family wanted to know if I wanted to come back home and they were worried about me. Worried about my studies. No, worried about my sanity I think. But all of that was in the past. That year, a few of us lost one or both of our parents. Time heals but once in a while I do think about him and wonder if he ever thought about me when I was away. Oh, my father does cry. As a matter of fact, my mother told me that he cried when I left. Maybe he knew that he would never see me again. I didn’t cry that day. I was too excited at the prospect of traveling to a new land, meeting new people and oh, meeting my friends who went off first. I remember him crying when my brother Najib died. Heavens, that was a long time ago!!!

Do real men cry? Aaah, to hell with it. Men do cry. With good reason, I guess. I’d say that I’d cry due to happiness sometimes. I’m pretty sure I’ll cry at Nazzim’s and Sofia’s graduations. At their weddings. At the birth of my first grandchild. God, I hope to live that long. God, I’m starting to think about corny things.

I guess I’d probably cry at some of the sufferings that we see on television and in the papers. With the advent of technology, we see suffering live. No five-second delay necessary. Unfortunately.

I remember when Nazzim was a toddler and I was carrying him and he saw me cry. He kept looking and looking and looking at my tears. I think someone died then but then again I think it could have been a Hindi movie. Or darned dust got into my eyes again…….

And I am certain that I will also cry on other occasions that I would not want to dwell upon. I am sure that I have made people cried. I know I made my parents cried when I was growing up. I know I have made Lina cried, but fortunately, the last time that happened was a long time ago. It was our first few years together and you know how silly can husbands be. But proud to say, I have never laid a hand on her. No reason to and don’t do that.

Anyways, I think I’ll just go over the corner and try to cry.




…………………no tears, none yet………………

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