It's a numbers game

Today is polling day for the citizens of Kuala Terengganu to elect their representative to parliament. I have not been following the campaign process closely. It’s only through the accidental reading of newspapers and occasional visits to so-po blogs that I get to know of what’s happening. It never ceases to amaze me the silly things that political leaders (from both sides) say during campaigning, all in the name of political expediency.

Anyway, this post is not about the KT by-election. It’s about something that happened during the time I was based in Dungun some years ago.

It was the year 2000 and I was working for a KL-based construction company. We got a sub-contract job to carry out mechanical works at a water treatment plant in Dungun, Terengganu. At that time, PAS had just taken over the state government and part of the changes they made was to ban gambling. This meant that all the licensed operators of the 4-digit betting franchise (Magnum, Sports Toto and the like) had to close shop.

This however, did not deter one of my staff from finding ways to continue his habit of `buying’ numbers. Sandra, my site supervisor, is a die-hard 4D player. Don’t let the female-sounding name mislead you. Sandra is a full-blooded Indian chap. I’ve seen his IC… it reads Sandra A/L Govindasamy.

Where there is a will, there is always a way. Sure enough, it didn’t take long for Sandra to find an operator who was willing to take his bets. The closure of betting shops had created a black market among the local Chinese population of Dungun. The 4-digit operators had gone underground.

On certain days of the week, Sandra would leave the job site earlier than normal because he need to meet his `agent’ and place the bets before closing time. I tolerated this routine because Sandra would cover for the missing hours on other days. As long as our work progress was not affected, it was fine by me.

On one occasion, a team of colleagues came over from Kuala Lumpur to help us out during a critical shutdown procedure over a few days. The team included our Project Manager, David Chong.

It was a 4-D betting day but since the boss was around, Sandra couldn’t simply leave the work site unnoticed. At around 4pm, Sandra approached David and sheepishly asked, “David, can I knock off early please? I need to go somewhere.”

David looked at Sandra with a stern face and replied, “Why? You want to go and buy numbers hah?”. David already know of this habit of one of his longest-serving employees.

“Err… yes,” Sandra replied with a wide grin.

“Got place to buy numbers, meh? I thought all the 4-D shops closed down already?” David asked back.

“Got… black market,” Sandra told him.

David thought about it for a while and then agreed to let Sandra go. But not before saying, “Here’s RM10. Buy my car number for me also.”

Seeing that the boss had joined in the game, a few of the other KL guys decided to tumpang sekaki and asked Sandra to place bets for them too.

David looked at me and asked, “So Fadhil, want to buy your car number? Never mind, I belanja.”

I politely declined. I was driving the company’s project car at the time, a Proton Wira bearing the registration number WHH 1798.

The following day, the team gathered at our favourite makan place for breakfast before going to the worksite. As normal, I would buy the daily newspaper before going for breakfast. While I am not a numbers player, I liked to check the 4-D results just to see how often my friends strike something. It was also interesting to assess how often my car number has cropped up as winner. If I had been a regular numbers player, I would have lost a lot of money putting bets on that number. Until that particular day, that is.

When we reached our favourite breakfast spot, the other team members were already there. As I reached their table, I said aloud, “Whoever bought my car number yesterday would strike big.” I passed them the day’s paper, already turned out to show the 4-D results page. The Magnum 4D results box showed 1798 winning the first prize.

David studied the page and then looked at me in disbelief. He muttered, “If only you had said `YES’ yesterday, I would have bought your number. We all can makan besar tonight.”

Heheheh… no regrets, my friend. That’s what the luck of the draw is all about. Sometimes you strike… but generally most times you don’t.

Barisan Nasional recaptured Terengganu state in the 2004 general elections and retained it last year. I have been to Terengganu a few times since I last worked in Dungun but I cannot recall if the 4-D betting shops have been allowed to resume business by the BN government. Even if they have not, I’m willing to bet that the illegal black market operations would continue to thrive and survive. It’s a supply and demand game, right?

Autumn in the land of the rising sun

I was browsing through the pictures posted by my sister-in-law in her Facebook profile recently. She posted some beautiful photos of the autumn season in Epping Forest, located north-east of London.

When I was a student in the UK, of the four seasons, I loved autumn the most. Apart from the colourful sight of the falling leaves, this particular season always give me a calm and relaxed feeling.

I managed to experience this season again when I was selected to attend a course in Japan in 1990, courtesy of the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA). The course started in late August and ended in December. The training was held at JICA's International Centre in Kitakyushu and was made up of only eight participants from different countries.

The overall course was very well structured, with a combination of site/factory visits in addition to classroom lectures. We were also provided with optional classes to study the Japanese language. Towards the middle of November, there was a one-week break in studies followed by a guided tour cum factory visits to the capital of Tokyo. The official schedule was for the whole class to travel by train from Kitakyushu to Tokyo and put up at one of JICA's training centres in the capital. Since there were some free days before the official Tokyo trip, me and three other coursemates (Tino from Argentina, Malou from Philippines and Wipa from Thailand) decided to seek permission if we could travel ahead and meet up with the rest of the class in Tokyo at the designated time. Our intention was to go for some sightseeing on our own.

The first time we forwarded our request, our course coordinator Mr. Manabe, was very reluctant to give permission. He didn't actually turn us down but since the Japanese find it difficult to say a flat-out `No', Mr. Manabe was giving this and that reasons why we should not venture out on our own.

When word got back that our request was not likely to get approval, my friend Tino was a bit cheesed off and was about to blow his top (Among Tino's words - Who do they think we are?! Kids that have to follow their every rule?!). I managed to calm him down by saying that I'll try to negotiate with Mr. Manabe in person.

I arranged for a suitable time to see our course coordinator and explained to him our intentions and hear his concerns. I told him that we wanted to visit the cities of Osaka and Kyoto because we've heard so much about them. Our training here was sponsored by JICA and it was highly unlikely that any of us would be able to come to Japan again on our own. We wanted to see as much of Japan as we can before flying home. Mr. Manabe understood my reasoning but he was worried that we could get lost in Osaka or Kyoto. Osaka is a huge city, second only to Tokyo.

I helped put his mind at ease by saying that my basic Japanese (gained from those optional language classes) has been passable so far. I could count quite well, so asking about train/taxi fares or prices of items is not a problem. Asking for directions should also not be difficult because the Japanese are very helpful people. I probably clinched the deal by adding that Japan is the safest country that I've been to. I can walk alone at night without the fear of getting mugged.

At the end of my pitch, Manabe-san looked at me and smiled. Okay, he said, but let us help you book the hotels at Osaka and Kyoto so that you don't get sent to the expensive ones.

And so, at this time of the year in 1990, me and three friends went traveling on our own to visit Osaka, Kyoto and a few other places around those cities. We took the so-called bullet train (Shinkansen) from Kokura Station in Kitakyushu to Shin-Osaka. I can't recall how fast the train went.... but it was very fast!

It was my idea to visit Osaka because I very much wanted to visit Osaka Castle, having been much influenced by watching the telemovie, Shogun (Richard Chamberlain acted the leading role). The castle is located over a large sprawling park right in the middle of the city. Walking through the castle park reminded me of scenes from the many samurai movies that I watched over the years.

Osaka Castle Park

After Osaka, we made a stop at the town of Nara before heading to Kyoto. My Thai friend Wipa, wanted so much to see this place because she read about a beautiful buddhist Golden Temple. I cannot describe the beauty of the Japanese gardens and parks in Nara. As it was autumn, the changing colour of the leaves on the trees was breathtaking. We spent a whole afternoon sightseeing in Nara before taking an evening train to Kyoto.

A very young yours truly and coursemate Wipa Hirunsurong in Nara

Kyoto is the ancient capital of Japan. It is a very historical city with many gardens and old Japanese architecture. If you want to have a feel of the old Japan, then Kyoto is the place to be.

A garden in Kyoto

After exploring Kyoto for a day (hardly enough, I assure you), we took another bullet train to the busy city of Tokyo. The highlight of this train journey was when we reached an area near the foot of Mt. Fuji. The train track passed an area about 20 to 30 km from the mountain and the view of this dormant volcano from our train window was awesome. The mountain is near conical in shape with its peak covered with the white of snow. Having previously seen this mountain only on postcards or pictures, the first-hand view was something else. If not for the plans to visit Tokyo, I would've made a stop right there and spent more time exploring the towns at the foot of this famous Japanese landmark.

We reached Tokyo a few days earlier than when the other half of our class was scheduled to arrive. We had planned it that way because we wanted the opportunity to tour the city on our own. We visited so many interesting places : Shinjuku, Akihabara, Tokyo Disneyland.... but those stories are for another day.

The Streets of London

As some of you may have noticed, I've recently updated my blogroll to include newly found friends in blogosphere. One of these is Kak Teh, whose Choc-a-Bloc Blog, has a large and loyal following. I'm one of those who regularly visit her blog but have never left any comment until last week.

Kak Teh is considered a veteran blogger, having kept a weblog since December 2004. She resides in London and her posts about life in that city and the UK, in general, are very interesting.

I've stayed in London before, as a student of course, but only for a short period of six months. But what a memorable six months it was. It was supposed to be the first year of my A-levels but I practically didn't study anything during that period. Not a good example, you might say, but that's just me... no need to hide it.

I first arrived in London sometime in January of 1980. Bloody freezing cold. I was part of a large group of students sent to the UK before our MCE results were out. While most of the students were sent to established colleges all over the UK (where other Malaysian students have studied before), a group of 13 including yours truly, were enrolled at a private college in Greenwich, London for the first time. The Malaysian Students Department (MSD) was sort of testing to see if this college was up to the mark. As I mentioned earlier, there wasn't much studying done, and after a few months, we reported back to MSD and asked to be transferred to a better college for the next term.

Upon arriving in London, this group of 13 naive boys were first housed in an old boarding house called Blackheath Hall in the south-eastern suburb of the city. Although the hall had central heating, it was still drab and dreary. The walk from the hall to our college was about 20 minutes, past open public fields. The stay at Blackheath was temporary, only for about 2 weeks, if I recall correctly. In that period, we were tasked to find permanent accommodation on our own. Since there were no Malaysian seniors at the college, you can imagine how difficult it was because we had no-one we could refer to for advice. Nonetheless, we were told by other foreign students to search the advertisements in the evening papers.

After Blackheath, I stayed at two different places in an area called New Cross. It was a bit far from college but the rent was cheap and we had many other foreign students as neighbours. The daily journey from our rented flat to college was a single bus ride for about half-an-hour. While the particular college we went to was nothing to brag about, the sub-district of Greenwich is actually a beautiful and historical place. There are many places of interest within walking distance of each other but the most memorable one that I went to was the Royal Observatory. This is the origin of the Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) and the Prime Meridian or Zero Longitude that divides the globe into east and west.

Gabriel on the right is standing in the west, Khairul in the middle straddles
Zero Longitude while Silla is standing in the east.
Pic taken at Greenwich Royal Observatory in 1980.

The GMT has now been replaced by the Coordinated Universal Time (UTC), but to me, Malaysia is and will always be +8 hours GMT.

The financial allowance that we got from MSD at that time was not particularly lavish, especially if you consider the relatively high cost of living in the city of London. Most weekends were therefore spent at home or at most, browsing around the shopping areas of south-eastern districts such as Lewisham and Brockley. Occasionally, we would take the bus or underground train to go to central London. The first stop would of course be the Malaysian Hall at Bryanston Square near Marble Arch for the subsidised lunch at only 50 pence. After lunch, we would walk the length of the famous shopping road of Oxford Street, not actually buying anything. Some years back, I read that Malaysian Hall was going to close down because the lease was up. I wonder if it's still there.

One evening, during early spring, my two friends and I, decided to explore the West End area of London. Although called `west', the area is actually located in central London and is famous for its many tourist attractions such as museums, theatres, cinemas, restaurants and nightclubs. In short, it's the entertainment centre of London. We spent the earlier part of the evening strolling the area of Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square, and later decided to catch a late-night movie at one of the cinemas. I can't recall the title of the movie but most probably it was one with an adult rating. After the movie, we walked around trying to find a place to buy fish and chips. It was after finishing the meal sitting on a park bench, that we realised that the buses and trains have stopped for the night. Crap! How were we going to get home? Taking a taxi would be too expensive and we weren't sure we had enough money left anyway.

The only other option was to walk back home. Since I was fairly confident of the route (as travelled by bus earlier in the day), we decided to take the walk although we were not sure how far we actually had to travel. And so that night, three young Malaysian chaps braved the unknown to walk from central London to the southeast district of New Cross. After all these years, I can still retrace the route that we took. From Leicester Square, we walked past The Strand, crossed the River Thames on Waterloo Bridge to get to South Bank, down Waterloo Road to The Elephant & Castle roundabout, down New Kent Road that led to Old Kent Road (also known as the A2), on to New Cross Road before finally turning to Pepys Road where our flat was located.

The route took us through tough working-class neighbourhoods. I re-traced the path we took using Google Earth and measured it at 8.3km. In hindsight, it was probably a crazy thing we did that night.

The path of a night stroll in London, re-traced on a Google Earth image

I haven't had the opportunity to visit London again since I finished university. Sure hope that someday I would be able to do so.

Update 16 March 2022 : The link to Kak Teh's blog has been removed although her blog still exists. Other online links were also removed to avoid possible error messages.

Lessons in life

Earlier today, I read this lovely post about Deepavali from blogger friend Hliza who remembers her schoolmate from younger days by the name of Sumathi. Hliza's story reminded me of my own experience of having a close friend who was not of the same race. I narrated that experience as a comment in Hliza's blog and thought that I could share the story here too.

My best friend when I was in Standard Three of primary school was an Indian boy named Suresh Kumar. One day, Suresh invited me to attend his birthday party at his house after school. When I got back home, I told my mother about it but she did not allow me to go. The reason given was that I need to bring something as a birthday present and we didn't have time to buy any. I told mom that my friend said it was okay if I didn't bring presents but mom wasn't budging.

You can imagine how disheartened I was... and I was sulking the whole afternoon. Later that day, Suresh came over to my house, bringing a small tupperware containing a piece of his birthday cake and some other goodies. He wanted to know why I didn't come. I simply mentioned that I didn't have permission to go. For this simple gesture alone, I will remember Suresh for the rest of my life.

When my father returned from work that evening, he found out about it. He sort of chided my mom for not allowing me to go. The very least, my father said, was that my mom could've bought a box of chocolates for me to bring as a birthday present. It was the first time I remember my father backing me on something.

I suspect the real reason my mother forbade me to go was something entirely different. But I do not blame her for it. It was a typical mother's concern at the time.

Nowadays, when my own sons get invited to the birthday parties of their non-Malay friends, I have no objections at all. A few years back, when we were staying at Taman Melawati in Kuala Lumpur, my youngest son got invited to a birthday party of his Chinese classmate named Nicholas. As we dropped off our son in front of the friend's house, my wife began to remind him about being careful about what to eat at the party. I gently cut her off by saying that she should not worry. I was confident that there wouldn't be any issue about food on two counts... firstly, my son is mature enough to know what he can or cannot eat. Secondly, I was sure that Nicholas' parents, having invited their son's Malay friends, would be wise enough not to serve food that Muslims could not eat.

Race relations is quite a complicated subject in this country of ours, especially in the light of recent events. Despite all the government campaigns and slogans, the oft-repeated buzzwords of `perpaduan' and `muhibbah' may end up being just that... slogans with no real meaning. Why is this so? I think it's because we have a sprinkling of bigots in power... on all sides. It's very difficult to change the opinions of such people and I wouldn't deny them their right to hold on to such opinions. The very least I can do is to make my own children understand and appreciate the diversity of all the various races in Malaysia. If other parents can also make this small but significant effort, then there is hope yet for all of us.

Finally, my thanks to Hliza for sharing her childhood memories that made me remember mine.

To Suresh Kumar, hope you are keeping well my friend, wherever you are. You're one friend with the heart of gold.

Update 01 Dec 2021 : Hliza's blog has been made private, hence the link is removed.

A rose by any other name

This morning, Capt. Yusof Ahmad posted an interesting story in his blog, The Ancient Mariner, about the Vietnamese refugee ship Hai Hong that arrived in Malaysia in 1978. I was in secondary school back then and remember this incident vaguely. I commented in the Captain's blog that his post reminded me of an old school friend because she had the nickname Hai Hong.

But before I reveal who actually Hai Hong was, I would just like to recap a reply that I made some time back to Jabishah, a regular commenter in this blog. Jabishah remarked that she feels uncomfortable calling me Oldstock. I replied that she need not worry about calling me by that name because it was coined by friends a long time ago when I was at boarding school in MRSM Kuantan.

For those of you who have spent time in boarding school, I'm sure you have come across friends who have weird, interesting and amusing nicknames. Perhaps, like me, you have one yourself. To an outsider, some of these nicknames may appear demeaning but if you do not take offence or feel slighted, then such names are just part of a growing-up phase. No doubt, some people get stuck with their nicknames right up till adulthood.

There were so many interesting nicknames when I was in school, and this was not limited to boys only. Even the girls have nicknames that are known throughout the school. The reason most nicknames are easily understood is that they usually refer to physical appearance. Rosli Mamak, for instance, has a dark complexion. Norazharuddin Jepun could pass off as a Japanese without much problem. Bakar Buta is not really blind but he has eyes that are open as very thin slits. Raihan Buncit was slightly rounded around the waistline.

There were, however, some guys whose nicknames really defy explanation. I have friends who are called Nyamuk, Konteng, Bull, Monggol, Batak and Mat Bunian. I had female schoolmates who were called Cone and Sergeant. There was this story about one of the Biology teachers who overheard the boys calling a friend by the name of Badang, a character in Malay folklore that gained superhuman strength after eating the vomit of a jinn. The teacher asked who the owner of this nickname was, and when Badang identified himself, she let out a gasp in disbelief. You see, Badang was actually a thin and spindly guy... not the tough chap that she first assumed. I was told the whole class had a good laugh and Badang did not feel the least offended.

Back then, one of the activities that the Freshie Week Committee conducted was a `know your seniors' game. The task involved all Form 1 newcomers to identify some seniors based on a list that had two columns of forty or so nicknames, one each for male and female. It's not enough for the freshies just to write the seniors real name, they had to get their signatures as well. Some seniors purposely made it difficult by not owning up or simply glaring back at the juniors when asked. Can you imagine a timid 13-year old boy braving himself to approach a senior student to ask, `Abang ni nama Buncit ye?'. Buncit could have glared back and the freshie would probably shed tears... luckily for them, Buncit is a kind-hearted soul. Once the owner of a nickname is identified, you could see a crowd of the freshies gathering around the senior asking for his or her signature, not unlike a superstar signing autographs for his/her fans.

And now back to the story of a former classmate who was called Hai Hong. I really don't know how she got that name and neither had I the opportunity to ask. I attach below, an extract of the note she wrote in my autograph book, the evening after we had sat for our Geography paper during the MCE exams of 1979. That was almost 30 years ago...

To the lovely Norhayati Shaharuddin from Gopeng Perak, may you and your family be in the best of health, wherever you are. Thanks, Hai Hong, for being a friend.

Update 01 Dec 2021 :

a) The links to the blogs belonging to Capt Yusof Ahmad and Jabishah have been removed. These two blogs still exist but are not updated. Capt Yusof has departed quite some years ago.

b) I have since reconnected with all my friends whose nicknames are mentioned here, with the exception of Rosli Mamak (whom I believe lives in Alor Setar) and Badang (who passed away in May 2007).

c) My friend Norhayati, who is subject of this post, has told me how she got the Hai Hong nickname.