Cars and Other Problems

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I had tea with a good friend, K, at the Dome in KLCC yesterday. A lot of conversation about friends, family and work. After a day at the office, a relaxing break with a good cup of tea, some tidbits and a good view (you know what I mean here) was just the thing we needed. A cup of tea at the Dome? Oh, please, make that a cup of macchiato or cappuccino. Did I get the spelling right? Maybe not. Small cups but big prices.

Now, about half an hour into the session, K asked me if I could give him an opinion on something that’s been on his mind. Fire away I said, I am good at listening and sometimes I could be good at imparting suggestions that might solve a problem or two.

The problem has got to do with transportation. His. Or rather his family.

He drives to work in a seven year-old Nissan Terrano. His better half uses a Naza Ria to ferry the kids to school, meet her friends, buy groceries etc., you get what I mean. Now, the Naza Ria is a bit too big for her daily errands, she’d love a smaller car.

“A Kia Picanto would do fine”, she said.

Now, he’s got four kids, plus a maid and let’s make one thing clear, the Naza Ria is a must for the journeys back to their hometowns in the east coast. Maybe three or four times a year. Now, one option is, sell the Terrano, get the Picanto for the wife and he drives the Naza Ria to work. But the Naza Ria is a 2.5 litre monster and it doesn’t make sense for him to drive it daily to work, plus the parking at Rohas Perkasa is a bit tight for such a machine. The Picanto is relatively cheap and Mrs. K did mention that she’d be happy with it. Less expenses, not that it mattered. Or get a Nissan X Trail instead of the Picanto, they could use it interchangeably with the Naza Ria. Or a Honda Accord. He mentioned about Honda Jazz but he was not too crazy about paying such an amount, a hundred thousand or so ringgits, I think, for such a small car. OK, reason enough.

But then he thought he might as well go for one of those BMW 3 series, at about two hundred and thirty thousand AND another car, a smaller one, for the wife. The Naza Ria would then be strictly for the whole family. But then he always wanted a Merc, and one of those E 220 or something like that goes for about two hundred and eighty thousand ringgits and it is “only” fifty thousand more the Beemer. Hey, if you have the means, by all means, heh heh. But then he thought that the expenditure might be a bit unnecessary and thinks that the Picanto option is the best. Maybe, I said. But then he has to drive the Naza Ria to work. Somehow during the discussion the Volvo XC90 popped up, did I get that right? The very fact that I could not name the models show that I am not in the market to purchase such cars. Hmmmm……

Visions of me test driving BMW’s, Mercs, Volvos and Hondas played around in my head. Hey, he asked me for advise, he might as well take me along for the test drive.

I said, “How about the BMW AND the Picanto? It’s cheaper then the Merc and you get a third car”

“It might work”, he said, “But then a Honda is cheaper than the BMW and we’d only use it in the Klang Valley”.

Makes sense.

We even asked Yasmin, a waitress at Dome, on which is the best option. She was stumped, no help really.

“Why can’t you have two vehicles, any combination, wife drives car, Naza Ria for family outing, you get a bike, park it at the LRT station and take the train to work?”

No can do, he can’t be seen riding a bike to work. Makes sense, his clients might see him, you know how these corporate people are. Well, I don’t have that image problem. Besides, he doesn’t have a license for motorbikes. Then, let me ride the bike then, a superbike please, you just pay for it.

But then, maintaining three cars is a huge task. Plus, some of the cars, the insurance and road tax might average up to three hundred a month over the year. That is not so much of a problem as he gets a monthly allowance for the car. So that’s that. We went around in circles, rectangles and every imaginable shape imaginable.

Boy, the problem some people have….. I wish I have his problem.

“Dear, do we get the pink Cadillac or the black Bentley?”

“Get the Kalashnikov, darling. It’s cheaper, tougher and doesn’t need marker plates. Plus it speaks Russian. Might come in handy should we go to Moscow.”

This guy is loaded. If I were kidnap him, do you think his wife would pay a ransom to get him back? Enough for me to get a fancy car or two? I don’t make a very ambitious criminal, do I?

So I finally suggested that he buys a Smith & Wesson and shoot himself in the head. Even Yasmin agrees.

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Dear Diary, Maybe Not....

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Everyday, for the last two years or so, I’d spend a few minutes writing down what I did and what happened within the last 24 hours. Just for a few minutes, either before leaving for home or after coming in from lunch. Just for a few minutes though. Skimming through my so-called diary, I’d smile most of the time and wonder sometimes.

Wonder sometimes? I mean, the entry for February 29 this year reads, “Rott Weiler asked me to tea. No thank you.” I have forgotten who on earth Rott Weiler is but I know he is no one I am fond of. Most likely it’s a he, hardly a she around that I’d mind having tea with. God, who was it……..?

Most are mundane things, but I do slot in many things about work and it does help in doing the weekly report sometimes. Most are not though, there are about the days and places I played golf and with whom. The late night teh tarik sessions, where, when and with whom. There was an entry on a conversation with an old friend, how he lost his wife and how he got back on his feet again. I met her a few times many many years ago and she was a very pleasant lass, that much I remember.

There are references to CNN, actually a guy who could not stop talking. Then there are references to a Mr. 10% - for only 10% of what he said could be believed and also to Mr. Flicker, a guy who cheats at golf. There are references to my conversation with my friend Red, on a few things that concerned us. Even on things that did not concern us for that matter........

The entries for this last week was just filled with entries about work and my brother, who showed up at my house a few times over the few days. He’s turning out to be a good tukang urut. My left arm feels a lot better in years after he’s been at it. He’d hold my elbow in one hand, hold my palm in the other, crank it until something inside my elbow feels like it’s latching into something else, let go of the palm and massage my elbow while still holding it in the other hand, while it is still "latched". It hurts, but of the good kind, you know what I mean. No, I'm lying, it really hurts actually..... I grimaced, sweated and swore at him. He just laughed. Which made me swore a lot more. It was painful but not as painful as what the late Mat Beruang did. Yup, that’s what they called him. I went to him once once years ago and that was it, I could not stand the pain. One guy was with me that day sprained his ankle playing football and when Mat Beruang was doing the number on his ankle, he said “Aduh, tak nak main bola lagi….”* It was that bad.

Well, we have tomorrow off and on Monday, I’ll have more to write about. But I can tell you that it will continue sounding like "Lifestyles of the Not So Rich and Not So Famous".



* “Ouch, I don’t want to play football anymore….”

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Unless The House Is On Fire

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One of the best advice I have ever heard is this :

Do not shout at each other unless the house is on fire.

That is a good piece of advice, I reckon. I heard it at my cousin’s wedding about 20 years ago. Whenever possible, I’d dish it out at any other relatives’ weddings that I attend. I guess it does make sense.

A typical conversation that obeys the law could go like this :

“SAYANG!!!”

“YES PUMPKIN?!!!”

“THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!!! I THINK WE BETTER GET OUT NOW!!!”

“I THINK SO TOO!!!”

“OK, LET’S GO!!!”

“OK, RIGHT BEHIND YOU!!!”

“SAYANG?!!!”

“YES CUPCAKE?!!!”

“I LOVE YOU!!!”

“I LOVE YOU TOO!!!”

Stove fires and cigarette lighters do not count. Put too many technicalities and it will ruin the spirit of the advice.

Another piece of good advice, be the first to apologize if one of you cries. Fifteen years too late for me, that one.

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Bits and Pieces

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It has been a week since I wrote anything. Nothing much has happened since then. My birthday came and went. The kids were too busy enjoying themselves in Pangkor to really really get excited about my birthday like they usually do but everyone did remember eventually. Some others too, that surprised me. Spent most of the time in Pangkor on the beach helping Nazzim, Sofia and their cousin catching crabs, then let them go, then caught them again and let them go again. I must be missing something there. On the second day I underestimated the power of sun and got sunburned all over. Try wearing just a spandex and spend a day at the beach. Ouch. Couple with forgetting to drink lots of water, blazing air-con and I got rashes all over (maybe from being too long in the sea too) and I didn’t feel too well soon after but the usual remedy of chugging down tons and tons of water worked well and I was fine the next day.

The only thing bad about it was there was no golf but then it was a holiday for the kids. God, I never knew that you could bring so much sand into the room, the bed, the bath tub and the shower when there seemed to be none when we left the beach. Snorkeling was fun but at the first location there were serious thoughts that both me and my biras could not reach the boat after we went out in search of the fish. Paddle, swim or chug as we might, the boat never seemed to get any nearer, I swear. Thank goodness for life jackets. But then we did have the option (an absolutely last resort actually) of calling the boat over to pick us up but that would have been embarrassing to say the least. At least I am a certified non-swimmer (there is such a thing!!) but I thought my biras could swim…… I was very close to knowing how to swim but then my swimming instructor got pregnant.

An update on my relative who is going through divorce, now that they have gone to court, the wife says that she does not want a divorce. Pity, some things that have been said previously really really put down her husband and from what I heard, he’s had enough. The biggest losers, the kids. To top things up, they had a discussion between the pair and their parent(s) and Lina’s name came up, on some things she purportedly said. She blew her top and no amount of patching or mending could ever pacify her. Bye bye relative. Hello ex-someone. Big mistake, ex-relative, please do not mess with Lina, I should know, I’ve been married to her for 15 years.

Can’t wait to play golf again, especially now that I think I have improved. Slow back swing and slow down swing, heh heh. I wish it was that simple. Is golf an overrated game? I guess it is, maybe it is a subject for discussion later in this blogsite. But one thing that I have noticed, some people are crazy about golf while others are crazy about fishing, big bikes or bowling. There’s not much difference really. Having written all this, thus I will be regarded as a traitor by the golfing fraternity. Ah well, as long as they still let me play. Lucky thing Lina lets me play all the golf I want.

Ah well, a game in sight this weekend, goofing on the job to write this piece, planning to vamoose from office the moment the clock strikes five today and running out of money with 2 weeks to go before payday, I’ve got no complains. Would you?

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Happy Birthday, Sweet Sixteen

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No, I’m not sixteen but today is my “real” birthday. My "official" birthday, the one on my birth certificate, is in three days time, on the 10th.

I asked my mother why is that the case and she told me that they had to shift my birthday a few days back since they were late in registering my birth and in order to avoid being fined, they reported my birth late. RM 25 was a big sum then. It’s quite common actually. I know of a high school mate whose real birth date was a different year altogether. And of course my buddies Red, Wak Tam and Samek knows of a few who are three or four years older than they really are, don’t we guys? Furthermore, at that time, many more were born at home, delivered by midwives, and not by doctors and nurses in a hospital and I don’t think the midwives were a stickler for dates.

I have heard the story many times. My mother was performing her maghrib prayers and only her mother and aunt were around since all the men were at a big kenduri or “hol” in nearby Rasah. The two old ladies noticed that my mother stood a long time after each “rukuk” and sure enough, she was starting to feel the initial pain, caused by yours truly. She finished her prayers and told the two ladies and of course it caused a panic. My grandmother’s house then was not what it is now, it was surrounded by rubber trees and I guess the midwife’s house was a quite a distance away too. Telephones? Uh, no phones then. No phones now for that matter. So my grandaunt went to the front of the house to see if anyone was available and to my good fortune, a granduncle, one of the few people who owned a car back then, was late on his way to the “hol” and she flagged him down and shanghaied him to summon the midwife to attend to my birth.

My mother was not too sure of the actual date but she told me that it was a few days before the date on the birth certificate. The only thing she remember is that it was on a Thursday. I took at look at one of those hundred year calendars and true enough I was born on a Thursday.

More than a few times when she was telling that story, my younger brother would be around. Now, my younger brother is actually a cousin whom we adopted when he was one week old. So my mother would say, “Oh you were the easiest, no pain at all!!” and he would skip away happily knowing that he didn’t caused any distress to his mother when he came into this world. But that is a different story.

Well, in another three days, I hope Lina, Nazzim and Sofia remembers…. Never mind, Happy Birthday, self…..

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Malay Movie Magic

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After damning the Malay movie/drama scene previously, maybe it is time for me to ease off a bit. Let's see if the local movie scene would let me.

I think Datuk (Dato'?) Yusof Haslam has got the formula right - Sembilu - Kisah Cinta Awie - Aiyooooooo............. Kaboom, he's a millionaire. Or a few more millions. God, Kisah Cinta Awie... But it worked. Droves of Malysians went to the cinema and as if also to atone for our sins in previous lives, Sembilu 2. Aiyo, Kisah2 Cinta Awie, I don't care for kisah cinta anybody pun but it seemed that a lot of people do kisah. Do care. Hooray for Awie and Erra Fazira nee Fazira Wan Chek. Hooray for Yusof Haslam too.

Datuk Jins Shamsudin got the formula right too for a while with his 'Esok" series but I think his pickings were not as rich as Kisah Cinta Awie. And of course those who are of the right age, who could forget Hail Amir and Uji Rashid. And his nemesis, Deddy M Borhan. Yaaay!!!!! Sometime in the mid-80's I think, I was at the entrance of Pertama Complex with Joe Longo and a few others, figuring out where to go next when Hail Amir came from within, on his way out. He had his movie star smile on, nodding his head left and right, well, to everyone on his left and right and in a few seconds, rue the day when he got within twenty feet of us. He never knew what hit him.

"E eh, Hail Amir, pendek jugak!!!!"

We could see Hail Amir's face turned red and he quickly went down the steps and outta there before you could say midget.

Aiyo Joe, what la you.... He said it out LOUD!!!!

"Teruuuklah engkau Joe....."

"Eh, sorrylah, I was really surprised, he looked taller in he movies. It wasn't on purpose. I was really really surprised to see him so short in person!"

I believed him. We all did. We knew when Joe Longo was joking and when Joe Longo was serious. But Joe Longo could also be cruel when he wanted to be. Eh Joe, but then it was the age of platform shoes laaa. Six inches some more. At least six inches. Some of those shoes, you could get vertigo by just looking at them. Plus bell bottom trousers. Ever wondered why the roads were so clean then? Line up a few movies stars in bell bottoms and get them to walk along the roads. They'd sweep it clean before you could say DBKL. We managed to convince him that Hail Amir was wearing moccassins that day.

Anyway, That series of four or so segments in the late eighties from that song by Ali Nor (Batu Kikir Jambatan Bosi) or someone like that was good. Four short segments and kill it before someone starts to act badly. The original series about Kampung Seri Wangi (Imuda, Busu, Pak Uda etc.) were good too until they started bringing in other actors who shouted too much in trying to be funny and the over-use of regional dialects and the series started going to Ong Choi (as in my previous entry). The series 2+1 with Imuda and a few others were OK until some recon actors decided to use the series to relaunch their careers. Bukan kereta aje yang ada recon, actors pun ada tau.....

Oh oh, I saw Mami Jarum on a ferry to Pangkor a while back and I think it was insanely hilarious. Not Oscar material but funnylah, made me laugh. And anything that takes my mind of seasickness surely can't be that bad. Surely orang Penang not like that kut? Aih, takkan laaaah..........

My friend Ayam Serama* must be angry, he's from Penang.

*a useless jungle fowl that has no meat, can't crow properly and is only for show.

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Trip Back to the Old 'Hood (Part 1)

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Over the weekend I took my mother visiting to the place where I grew up, in Kampung Bukit Kuda, Kelang. The story goes that a long time ago there was a white horse that had the run of the place but I doubt the reality of the story. I mean, a horse in Kelang. And a white horse at that. Come on.

We went to the house of a good friend of my mother’s, a certain Cik Nor, as we call her. She lives in one of the two big brick houses there, the other one belonging to a certain Cik Yun. When I was growing up, being able to enter either house was a treat and I never failed to be amazed at how nice, big, bright and cosy were those houses, very much unlike our semi-wooden house. Usually I’d get to enter courtesy of WI, the Women’s Institution, of which my mother was a member and Cik Nor would be leading the group in their cooking or sewing activities. Other chances would be provided by Cik Nor’s son, Rahman, or Man as we know him. Naturally, we know him as Man Cik Nor.

Man is one year older than me and being from the local rich family, he was well known and respected, yes respected, but he carried himself well growing up. He was Cik Nor’s step grandson actually but she looked after him since he was a baby and is like a mother to him. He used to stutter a bit when he was young but lost the stutter as he grew up. Being the from village’s well to do family was no handicap to him and he was a tough bugger actually, placing his foot under the passing bicycles of friends, showing his toughness but that stopped when one of the bikes had rather under-inflated tyres and as a result it was the metal rim that actually ran over his foot and he did a rather good impression of one of the three stooges, jumping around on one foot and no more Mr. Tough Guy acts.

Near Cik Nor’s house was the surau and the surau that they have now is a beautiful brick surau, unlike the old one which was made of wood and built on stilts. The surau was located next to a muddy stream with nipah trees on both sides and that place had a spooky reputation and no kid in his right mind would pass by the Alur, as we call it, after dark. But somehow the surau, being a place of worship, must have negated that assumption because we’d have no qualms about being by the Alur, as long as we were in the surau’s vicinity. That was also the surau where I learned to read the Quran, then taught by an ustazah, Kak Iti. She would have about twenty kids around her reading the Quran and would be personally coaching one of the kids in front of her but she could detect a mistake made by the others and would remotely correct whoever it was within the group. I remember her son, who was a few years younger than me and at that time we thought he was a strange kid, with us not knowing better, because he’d be able to run around the surau with us one minute and the next minute, one of us would have to lead him to his place, for he would be unable to see. He’d sit down for a bit, read, or rather recite from memory, phrases from the holy book and a few minutes later would be running around again and then the earlier events where one of us would have to lead him to his place, would repeat itself. He would eventually go totally blind when he was in his late teens for I remember seeing him with a white cane in Kelang town a few years later.

That was also the surau where we kids enjoyed praying together and do silly things to each other. More of the silly things actually. One of the kids, who could not stand the pranks the other kids was playing on him, started crying aloud like a siren and to this day he is known as Fuad Bomba.

My old house was about 300 metres away from Cik Nor’s house – it’s not there anymore, another house has take its place but the old cherry tree was there. It used to be that the lowest branches were just a few feet off the ground and if we were to sit underneath it quietly at night, it was a perfect place to scare anyone passing by. I was just sliding into the motions making that a career when my elder brother, wanting to teach me a lesson and also intending to steer me towards a better future, pulled the scare on me instead and I screamed all the way home, through the hedges, into the cactus tree, dented the Volkswagen and nearly tore down the door in terror.

A few years later, until I left, I used to have to run the last 50 metres home as fast as I could, thanks to Ong Choi, my best friend Ah Chong’s dog. It was a good thing that the bridge that spanned the drain in front of his house was made of wood with empty spaces between each timber. Now, Ong Choi, whenever he wants to cross, would have to step gingerly on each timber, lest his paws would go through the space between the timbers. That delay provided us with was just enough time to save our lives, by the time he gets over the bridge, we’d be safely home, knocking like mad on the door. Good thing Ong Choi never never really dared to venture far from his house, otherwise I’d be growing up with a few pieces of me missing. Ong Choi was part German Shepherd and part nasty. Ah Chong himself had part of his right ear bitten off by, yes, Ong Choi. The whole kampung heard Mok, Ah Chong’s father, beating the doggy bag out of Ong Choi after the incident.

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