Notes to close this month of July

July is a birthday month for me. Nothing really spectacular happened this time around except for the experience of my first gout attack. As I ponder on the addition of another year that the Almighty has extended me, I cannot help but reflect on other events that happened in our country this month.

While birth is the beginning of one's journey in this world, death signifies the end. The deaths of two personalities brought about controversies, albeit for different reasons. I wasn't intending to post about something sombre but the following are my observations on this, and other issues.

1. Will be missing those sentimental TV ads

The talented film director/producer Yasmin Ahmad, passed away on 25 July 2009. She collapsed during a business meeting at Sri Pentas (TV3) and slipped into a coma. Although surgery was done at Damansara Specialist Hospital, Yasmin did not make it.

It is not necessary for me to list out her achievements in film-making. Her movies won international awards but failed to gain the recognition of her peers in the local film industry. Why is this so? We can only speculate.

Her movies touched on subject matters that most other local producers dare not explore. Things like inter-racial romance and religious understanding. Some consider her movies to be controversial but to me, she's simply telling the true face of our society... the prejudices, the mistrust, the differences, the cooperation and the understanding. It is a pity that there are some among us who cannot see beyond our narrow self-interest.

Even in death, allahyarham Yasmin is tailed by controversy. A local Malay daily newspaper published stories of her in an apparently distasteful manner and this has prompted journalists from other publications to launch a protest to that paper's publisher. What surprised me was that it took the demise of a talented individual for the journalistic circle in Malaysia to realise the lousy reporting standards some journalists and editors have practiced. If something good can come out of this, then the nation owes Yasmin a lot more. May Allah swt bless her soul.

Yasmin's death reminded me of what happened to my cousin a few years ago. The way my cousin died is very similar. She was a lecturer at UiTM and was having dinner with some friends at a restaurant in Subang Jaya. During the after-dinner chat, she felt a sharp pain in her head and then collapsed. Her friends rushed her to the nearby SJMC. The doctors said a blood vessel in her brain had burst. She went into a coma and two days later, left us forever. She was in her late 40's.

2. Death under interrogation?

On the 16th of the month, the nation was shocked to read of the death of Teoh Beng Hock, the political aide of a Selangor Exco. Teoh's body was found on the fifth floor podium roof of a building that housed the Malaysian Anti Corruption Commission's Selangor headquarters.

Teoh had been summoned by MACC to answer questions relating to an investigation of purported misuse of the state assemblymen's allocations. The circumstances of his death are most mysterious. Did he fall? Was he pushed? Was he killed first and then thrown out of a higher window? Is is suicide?

The general public were told not to speculate and not to make it a political issue. Under these conditions, how not to speculate? You tell me. And of course it's a political issue because the deceased was a political aide and the MACC investigation involves politicians!

An inquest is presently in progress, although some parties had pressured for a Royal Commission of Inquiry. I'm not sure if that would make any difference because, as I recall, the last RCI conducted on a top lawyer (who said that a video recording of a person, looked and sounded like him, but was not him) doesn't seem to be getting anywhere.

Nonetheless, I do hope the authorities get to the truth of the matter. Whoever caused Teoh Beng Hock's death must be brought to book.

3. The necessity of recycling

Still on the subject of death. Around two weeks ago, my mother told me that the grave of my youngest brother who died at birth, would be unearthed and his remains be repacked and shifted elsewhere. He is buried at a very small plot in the Muslim cemetery of Pusara Aman in Singapore.

Due to scarcity of land, the Singaporean authorities have decided that the graves of Muslims who have been dead for more than twenty years, would be unearthed. The remains from eight graves would be grouped and re-buried together in a presumably much smaller plot. This would free the original cemetery to be re-used for future `occupants'.

You have to hand it to the Singaporeans to come up with ideas on recyling. They are already experts on recycling sewage water. They are now doing the same for burial plots. Muslims in Malaysia should count their blessings.

The exhumation was carried out on a working day and my mother informed me too late for me to take leave. Otherwise I would have liked to be there. I've been to my brother's grave only two or three times. I didn't get to see him when he was born... I was studying in the UK at the time. If he is alive today, he would be 29-years old.

To Mohd Taufik, the little brother that I have not met... if by the grace of Allah swt, we cross paths in the hereafter, do say hello to your eldest brother, will you?

4. No escape from the taxman

The two things in life that you cannot run away from are death and taxes. And it seems that the taxman is not giving me a break at all.

When I completed my income tax returns at the end of April, I calculated that my total monthly tax deductions is more than the tax payable. I was therefore, expecting a refund from the Inland Revenue Board. However, in early May, I received a letter from IRB saying that my account does not show any credit that can be refunded. But the letter does not give any details on how much I owe them.

Last week, IRB sent me another letter saying that they have instructed my employer to further deduct from my salary, a total of RM4,986.01 spread over the next 7 months. How they arrived at this amount, they didn't say. No calculations, no details, no explanation. Nothing. Just the instruction to cut.

The folks at IRB must be so heartless. The language in their letters is so dry. They should include an explanation or two on why they are taking away more of our money. At the very least, they should include the name of the person in charge of our account so that we can call for clarification. So much for the new administration's `Rakyat Didahulukan, Pencapaian Diutamakan' approach.

5. Art and charity

One way to reduce the amount of tax you pay to the government is to donate to charity. But this applies only to charities that have obtained the approval of IRB. The charity that I want to talk about next is not on IRB's approved list... maybe not yet, I do hope sometime in future (actually I'm just making a feeble attempt to link the previous thread with this one).

I was most heartened to read that blogger-friend Pak Zawi is helping to organize a sort of online bidding process for a piece of drawing done by En. Mazeri Othman aka Deen. The objective of the bidding is to set up a benevolent fund known as Tabung Kebajikan Tok Sangkut. The first piece on offer is an oil painting named Grandma's Mangosteen.

Do pop over to Pak Zawi's blog to learn more about the charity. Alternatively Pak Zawi has set up a special blog to handle the online bidding here -> Tok Sangkut Benevolent Fund. Your's truly has made the second bid.

The artist Deen also has his own blog that can be accessed here -> Exploring and relaxing the countryside.

It's nice to end this post with the story of an honourable effort. Let us see what the month of August, our merdeka month, has in store for us.

Getting better

Thanks to all blogger friends and readers who wished me well. The pain in my left leg is almost gone now and I was already back at work today. Only a hint of the swelling is left and I believe it should disappear by tomorrow.

This incident has added another leaf in the `Pain' chapter of my life experience history. I do hope to avoid another such experience, if at all possible. The lesson has been learnt... I have to watch what I eat.

So consumption of red meats, anchovies, beans, lentils and certain seafood need to be controlled so that the cholesterol and uric acid levels can be kept in check. Hmm... this can be quite a challenging task. And with the Muslim fasting month coming up, how can I not be tempted by all those delicious juadah buka puasa?

Since my leg is better today, we went out for dinner at the BBQ Chicken Restaurant located within the Tesco Hypermarket in Plentong. I guess I'll be eating more chicken now and this place claims to use 100% olive oil in their preparation. My second son Harith, is back home for a one week semester break from UiTM. He invited along a roommate of his from Kota Kinabalu to spend the break with us here in JB. So it's the first time I'm treating them out for dinner since they got here on Saturday.

Again, thanks for all your kind thoughts, tips and suggestions.

Knocked out by a bout of gout

It had to happen. Probably better sooner than later.

On Sunday morning, I woke up with an aching pain in my left leg, around the ankle joint. It is the type of pain that you get when you've sprained the ankle, except that I don't think that my ankle is sprained because there is no tell-tale swelling. The day before, I did some hard trekking at the project site which involved climbing some steep slopes and hacking through undergrowth. But apart from being slightly out of breath, I didn't think I hurt myself.

As Sunday wore on, the pain got worse and it became impossible to walk properly because I couldn't put any weight on my left foot without feeling severe distress. The clinic that I normally go to is not open on Sundays, so I had to tough it out by taking some Panadol Extend.

Waking up this morning, the pain hadn't gone away. With my son to provide temporary crutch support, I hobbled into the clinic to the amusement of my doctor. My ailment is gout-related, he says, although the full symptoms of gout such as swelling toe-joints is not visible. The heavy stress on my legs during work on Saturday may have been the trigger that flared this pain.

He gave me a jab of painkiller and some other tablets to be taken later. I was told to rest and not move around too much.

Apart from the throbbing pain in my leg, starting from the ankle joint and going up to my buttocks, the rest of me is okay. I am not feverish or feeling poorly in any way. It is the lack of mobility that is truly depressing, and at 47 years-old, feeling like an invalid is not cool at all. For the first time in my life, daily solat prayers had to be performed sitting on a stool.

As some of you may have read in an earlier post, my annual blood test results revealed that I have high levels of uric acid and as such, is prone to gout attacks. Subsequently, I have revised my diet to reduce red meat, ikan bilis and tempe while having more fresh salads that include capsicums, cherry tomatoes and carrots. Apparently, the change in diet regime is too late in preventing this first painful encounter. Nevertheless, we shall strive on.

As I type this entry, the pulsating pain in my left leg has reduced significantly but the signs of a slight swelling around the ankle is now visible. Hopefully, the whole thing will go away soon.

Finger lickin' delicious

Headnote : My reference to a particular animal in this post is not intended to offend any persons or that animal.

Talking about the UK in the previous post brought back some memories of life as a student in a far away land. We sure did a lot of dumb things back then but hey, it's all part of the learning process. You can call us naive or, to use a current Malay word, poyo.

In the 1980s, a lot of Malaysian students were sent to the UK for further studies because it was still relatively cheap. The monetary exchange rate was less than half of today's rate. The students who scored good results in the MCE/SPM exams were offered scholarships. Year after year, hundreds of wide-eyed boys and girls, most of whom never set foot outside Malaysia, were packed off onto airplanes to land at Heathrow Airport in London.

We were barely 17-years old at the time and almost every one of us had to face the culture shock. We were about to enter adulthood in an unfamiliar country with nobody to guide us except ourselves. We had to learn how to manage our money, cook our own meals, pay bills, make new friends, take care of our health, suppress the feeling of homesickness while at the same time, not forget the main objective of being there, and that is to study. For Muslim students, even eating can become a problem. At some of the towns, getting halal meat was not easy. We were also warned to read the ingredients label of most basic foodstuff such bread and biscuits. I hadn't known what lard was until I lived in the UK.

Most coped with the situation fair enough but there were a few who get swept away by the currents of change. Hanyut is the Malay term for it.

While living away from parents has its difficulties, the freedom from supervision and control is very exciting. It is the time for adventure and opportunities. No adult to tell us not to do this or not to do that. It is the time to rebel, if that happens to be your fancy. For the boys, keeping long hair is the `in' thing. Sporting short and neatly-trimmed hair is simply not cool. From the photos of overseas students that I now see in local newspapers during Hari Raya time, the situation is still the same I guess.

With the absence of parental control, the behavioural standard of us boys vary a great deal. The very pious amongst us are strict and reserved. They also do the good deed of reminding friends and fellow countrymen to obey the rules and not go astray. Then there's the middle-of-the-road guys who take things easy. There were also, of course, the other extreme of guys with the couldn't-care-less attitude.

Perhaps to illustrate the varying degrees, I use the example of food. The pious group will always ensure that the food they eat is 100% halal. Meat products like chicken or beef must come from animals slaughtered according to Muslim rites. Some of the guys in the easy-going group have no qualms about eating non-halal chicken, beef or mutton. The don't-care-about-it guys never bother to read the labels for the doubtful ingredients although they will avoid eating pork or the other porcine products.

You may observe that the not-too-good Malay men can be caught committing all the sins you care to name except one. They would steal, drink liquor, gamble away their money and sleep around... but even the worst-behaved among them would stop short of eating pork, at least not knowingly. Such is the cultural taboo since very young.

But once in a while, there comes along certain individuals who break convention. And this now leads me to the story that I want to tell...

My second year of A-levels was spent at the small town of Wrexham in North Wales. There were around 40 Malaysian students at the time, quite a sizeable number. There were no halal meat shops in Wrexham and we had to buy our chicken, beef and mutton from the largest nearby city, Liverpool which was more than an hour's train ride away. Because of this distance, we cannot be eating meat as often as we like.

When I first arrived at Wrexham in the autumn of 1980, there was a shortage of available accommodation. For the first few months, I had to share a small flat with 6 other Malaysian students. Our flat is located next door to a Chinese Takeaway shop. For those unfamiliar, the Chinese Takeaway is a food outlet that can be found almost anywhere in Britian, even in small towns. It sells a variety of Chinese dishes listed in a numbered menu displayed at the front of the shop. You place your order at the counter, wait for a few minutes while your order is being cooked and then packed for you to take home. If you have a copy of the menu at home, you can also call the shop and simply quote the number on the menu if you find the name of the dish difficult to pronounce. You then walk in, say 20 minutes later, to pick up the package. Very convenient.

Being next door to such an outlet meant that it was convenient for us too. Sometimes we were lazy to cook and the takeaway food was cheap. So we simply ordered. Our dish of choice was egg fried rice. Yes, I know what some of you are thinking... halal ke? Did I not mention something about naivety in the early part of this post? I did check with the cook that the fried rice contained only eggs and no meat and that only vegetable oil was used. Lame excuse, I know... but that's the way it was.

From a simple egg fried rice dish, some of my housemates later progressed to ordering dishes with chicken or beef. Then they got bolder by ordering weird-sounding dishes as long as it does not contain pork.

One evening, I got home from class just in time to see my roomate finish eating his takeaway dinner sitting in the living room in front of the TV. He had finished munching on some meat on a thin bone and was tastily licking the juices off his fingers. The following is what I recall of my conversation with him... it was in Malay and I'm not putting up the English translation because the impact would be lost. We'll identify this friend of mine as `F'.

Me : Engkau makan apa tu?

F : BBQ spare ribs. First time aku order dari kedai sebelah.

Me (looking puzzled) : Engkau tahu tak spare ribs tu daging apa?

F (slightly surprised) : Eh... bukan daging lembu ke?

Me : Engkau tak tanya?

F : Kalau bukan lembu, daging apa?

Me : Babi.

F : Eh... tak lah!

At this point, another housemate by the name of Gabriel, an Iban from Sarawak, walked into the room.

Me : Kalau kau tak caya, kau tanya Gabe.

F : Gabe, BBQ spare ribs daging apa?

Gabe : Wei... itu daging babi la brader.

A short moment of silence.

F : Nak buat macamana... dah termakan.

Me : So, apa rasanya BBQ spare ribs yang kau makan tu?

F (grinning) : Heheheh.... sedaaaap!

Adeh, hampeh betul kawan aku seorang ni.

Speaking the Queen's English

Here's another post on the English language but this in a less serious note. But before I tell my story, a bit of background on the land of tea and biscuits, our former colonial masters, the United Kingdom.

The United Kingdom is a nation made up of four distinct and culturally different countries; England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. Politically, they are one nation but not quite a federation like Malaysia or the United States. They do however, have the advantage of sending four separate teams to qualify for the football World Cup. Their full and proper name is The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Quite a mouthful, right?

All the people of the UK speak English of course, but with distinctive accents. If you have lived in the UK for some time, it is not terribly difficult to distinguish them. I did my A-levels at a college in Wales and am therefore familiar with the Welsh accent. The Welsh, in fact, do have their own written and spoken language but I can hardly speak a word, despite having lived there for almost a year. It is a language that makes miserly use of vowels and for a foreigner like me, even reading a sentence is next to impossible. Might as well have been Greek.

Of the three non-native English countries, the Scottish accent is perhaps the most difficult to comprehend. I won't even attempt to describe it. If you are a Man United fan and have seen Sir Alex Ferguson's interviews on TV, you'll know what I mean. I'll give you full marks if you can fully catch what he says in the first instance.

Okay... now back to the story that I wish to tell.

In 1993, or thereabouts, I was working in a consulting engineering firm carrying out a project in Johor Bahru. Our site management team included two very experienced British expatriates. Jim Payne, our Project Manager, is an Englishman while the other Brit is a Scotsman named David Morgan. Mr. Morgan was our Senior Project Engineer who was primarily in-charge of site construction matters. He's a real hands-on guy with a no-nonsense approach.

Mr. Payne on the other hand, is a cool and composed gentleman not prone to any temperamental outbursts. He has worked in many countries before settling for a final project in Malaysia. I reported directly to Jim and assisted him in the project management tasks, especially in liasion with local counterparts. I learned some of my report-writing skills from this kind man.

One particular afternoon, Jim and I were in the office discussing about work when David stomped in with a pissed-off look on his face, grumbling loudly about something.

Jim calmly said, `What's the matter, David? Why don't you tell us what's wrong?'

David immediately went into a tirade about bloody this and bloody that and bloody everything else, mumbling and grumbling all the way. This went on for a few minutes and included some choice words that I rather not repeat here.

At the end of David's outburst, Jim turned to me with a puzzled look on his face and asked, `What did David just say?'

I couldn't stop myself from grinning! I sort of caught the gist of David's rant and proceeded to explain to Jim in plain and clear English. Apparently, David was unhappy with the work of one of our sub-contractors and had instructed him to rectify the work. The sub-contractor didn't think he had done anything wrong and had argued back. They ended up quarrelling with each other when neither party wanted to give in.

At the end of my explanation to Jim, I looked at David for confirmation, `Am I right, David?'

`Bloody right!', was his terse response. Heheheh...

`No problems, David,' I said. `I'll settle this matter for you.'

In all honesty, my sub-contractor probably got into an argument with Mr. Morgan because he couldn't understand half of what was said. If even Jim can't make sense of what David said, what more a local Class F chap?

So there's my story of an Englishman who had to ask a Malay guy what a Scotsman was saying. True story, I kid you not.