A grand old man... again

Last weekend, we made the trip to Kota Tinggi to visit the latest addition to our very large extended family. Our nephew's wife, Melati Razak, has safely given birth to her third child a few weeks ago. She now has a son to add to her two daughters. Our nephew is so happy to have a boy with whom he can probably later talk about football or table tennis or other sports.

Our grand-nephew was born on the daybreak of Friday 21 September 2012 and has been named Muhammad Hidayat Asraf. The sister to this baby named Nurul Aqilah, is the one I wrote about in a previous post in February 2009, titled A Grand Old Man. At that time, the sister is the 10th great-grandchild of the Hj. Mohd Amin clan. Three and a half years down the road, the new baby boy holds the 22nd position. My wife and I now have 22 kids calling us `Tok'.

Muhammad Hidayat was delivered a few days delayed from his due date. I told the mother that the baby purposely did not want to come out earlier because he wanted to wait for a special day. He shares the same birthday as his grand-aunt, Mrs Oldstock.

Oldstock with latest grand-nephew and 3-year old grand-niece

Regrets...

"I should have listened to you," she says.

The soft sigh is only just audible. She looks out of the restaurant window but her eyes do not seem focussed on anything in particular. The gleam of tears pooling down the corners of her eyes can be clearly seen. I feel like holding my hand out to wipe those tears away but I am not sure how she will react. So I remain still... and silent.

The small boy sitting next to her happily munches down a slice of pizza. He doesn't bother his mother much, just occasionally asking her about this or that ingredient he finds on the topping. Seems like the first time he is tasting pizza and he is liking it.

She turns her head to look at me and continues, "He divorced me almost one year after I gave birth. He said that his first wife gave him an ultimatum. Either me or her. Of course I lose out. The family of the first wife is rich. They are the ones who support his business. If he leaves her, his business will go down."

"And what do I have? Compared to her, I may have youth and beauty... but that counts for nothing now. I am not rich. I cannot compete with the first wife on that. So I try other ways... I wanted to be a good wife, I treated him well, I loved him as much as I could. But in the end, the power of money beats everything."

"Men are only concerned about themselves. About their own comfort and happiness. About short-term gains. They don't care if they make life miserable for others!"

There is now a bit of sting in her voice. I don't want to add fuel to the fire so I continue to remain silent. She turns to look outside again... biting her lip as if trying to stop herself from further outburst.

I look closely at the son, slowly chewing on his food and oblivious to his mother's anger. Very well-behaved young man. He is around 4-years old, slight build towards skinny and with very fair skin. A thick crown of hair with facial features undoubtedly oriental. I have met the boy's father only once before but it is as clear as day that the boy has his father's looks.

"I know what you're thinking," she says as her eyes dart from me to the boy and back. "Every time I go out to the local market with my son, people always say the boy looks like his father... anak Salim Apek. He has taken everything from me. Even my son cannot have a bit of my look in him!"

I let time pass by a bit before finally responding, "Looks are not everything... but I guess you do not believe me. You place too much importance on looks. Did you not use your looks to catch his attention in the first place?" The next sentence in my mind is, and look where that has taken you. But I leave that part unspoken.

She shoots a spiteful look at me and say, "You are cruel, you know... but very kind." A hint of smile is finally evident, but it disappears almost instantly. She shakes her head and repeats, "I should have listened to you, all those years ago."

"So what do you want to do now?" I ask.

"I am broke," she says. "He has not given us any money for the past two years. After the divorce, he provided the maintenance quite regularly but then he started to slack. Business problems, he said. I had to go back to court to get him resume paying. The judge has already given the order but he gets away with a thousand of excuses. I cannot afford to pay the lawyer any more to fight him."

"You know, the last time he came to see his son was during hari raya last year? The boy was just 3-years old then. Look at him now. I don't think the boy even knows that he has a father."

"I need to find work. But at the same time, I can't afford to pay someone to look after my son."

She looks lovingly at the young man, pats him gently on the head and with an unwavering voice say, "I am going to give him up."

Go ahead... make my day

It was a Saturday afternoon and I was sitting in my site office cabin, looking at some paperwork. My Safety Supervisor popped his head past the door of the office and asked, "Boss, are you interested in shooting?"

"What, you mean shooting as in guns?", I asked back.

Yes, came the reply. He explained to me that the company we hire to handle the security at the project site is holding a shooting practice for their staff at a nearby shooting range and he thought that I might be interested to watch. Perhaps, if we are lucky, they may even allow us to handle the weapons. I have never done any real gun shooting before so I decided it might be a good experience to see them practice.

The shooting range was about 12 km from the project site. When we arrived, the practice session was already under way. We could hear the loud boom of shotguns being fired away. I was introduced to the security company's senior staff and also to the Royal Malaysian Police officers who were there to oversee the practice. I was told that all live firearms practice were carried out under RMP supervision.

There were four shooting lanes prepared in the open field. Each line had a simple table where the firearm and ammunition was placed. Down the other end at 25m away is the target board on which the printed bull's-eye paper is stapled on. After some of the security staff had done a few rounds, we were then invited to have a go.

Before holding the shotgun, a police officer briefed us on the safety and handling aspects. A senior staff of the security company acted as my instructor and stood behind me to guide me through the whole process. The shotgun being used was a Mossberg Maverick pump gun. Three rounds were first loaded into the chamber and I was shown how to place the gun against my cheek and look down the barrel to aim. When I was ready, my instructor told me to release the safety, place my finger round the trigger and fire.

I squeezed the trigger and heard a loud Boom! I immediately felt the hard kick of the shotgun's recoil on my shoulder. Whoa! Although I felt the pain, there was also a rush of thrill.

I couldn't see if I had hit the target but I heard my instructor tell me to pump the gun to eject the spent shell and load a new round into the chamber. Aim a bit lower, he said. I then fired off another two rounds, re-load the gun with 3 new rounds and shoot again. Aim, squeeze, boom, pump and aim again. Total of 6 shots.

At the end of the firing, the guns were checked to make sure no live rounds remain in them and safety lock re-instated. We then walked down to the target end to view our handiwork. The target paper was peppered with tiny holes caused by the pellets from the shotgun ammo. My first shot was a bit high but the remaining 5 shots all hit the paper, with a few quite close to the centre. Not bad, my instructor said. If my target had been an animal or a criminal, 'pasti rebah' were his words. Not that I really want to be in a situation to be letting off a firearm at any man or animal.

I thought that was the end of our session but I was told to hang on for while because they'll be practising with handguns next. There were two types of automatic pistols on offer, a Sig Sauer and a Glock. I chose the Glock. A similar briefing was held before we were allowed to hold the guns. My instructor showed me how to load the bullet clip into the gun, hold it properly and aim at the target. When I was ready, he told me to release the safety and fire away.

The gun let out a bang as I squeezed off my first shot. I couldn't see where it went. Again, my instructor told me to aim lower. I re-aimed and let off the remaining 9 rounds in rapid succession. At the end of the firing, we were shown how to unload the empty clip and the instructor checked to make sure no live round remain in the gun.

We then made our way down to the target end. Fresh target paper had replaced the ones we punctured during the shotgun session. My target paper showed 6 small holes. That meant 4 shots had gone haywire. But of the 6, two shots were just about 3 inches from the centre bull's eye. Not bad for a first-timer, not bad at all. The instructor said that I had a natural skill for aiming and shooting.

Well, natural or not, and exciting as it was... I don't think I'll take up shooting as a serious hobby. I still have this uncertainty about guns. Maybe I'll take up archery instead.

The briefing...

The pump gun and ammo

Aim, squueze and fire!

A Johor delicacy named after another place

In my earlier post about the cookbook Nostalgia Medan Selera, I included a photograph of the book turned to a page showing the recipe called Mee Siam. The main element of this dish is rice vermicelli (or better known as beehoon) cooked in a mixture of dried shrimps, shrimp paste and blended dried chillies. Other ingredients fried together in the mix include onions, fresh prawns, bean sprouts with final garnishing of diced pre-fried bean curds and chopped chives. But this is no ordinary fried beehoon. What makes it unique is the special gravy made with fermented beans (tauco) and tamarind juice.

Although called mee siam, the Siamese have no inkling of what it is. The dish takes its name from the rice vermicelli which originates from Thailand.

Another Johor favourite with a misleading name is Mee Bandung. If you are in a restaurant in Bandung, Indonesia and happen to order this dish, all you'll get is a very puzzled look from the waiter.

The Muar district of Johor claims to make the best mee bandung in the state. In the old town of Muar (also known as Bandar Maharani), there are a few places that specializes in serving this noodle dish but our favourite has always been Mee Bandung Abu Bakar Hanipah at Jalan Abdullah, right in the middle of town. Last Sunday, we were in Tangkak to visit my brother-in-law. On the way back, we decided to make a detour into Muar town just for the fun of it... and of course, stop by for a plate of mee bandung.

En. Abu Bakar operates from a small stall within a Chinese coffee shop. I first visited this place back in the mid-80's and the taste of his mee bandung has remained the same, delicious as always. These days, he has two other branches in Muar, run by his son and daughter, but he still remains at the modest stall where it started. He has even expanded his business to sell his homemade bandung mix, neatly packed for storage in your fridge. With this paste, you can now make your own mee bandung at home by just adding the fresh ingredients and yet still maintain that authentic taste. It is a recipe handed down to him from his father since 1930.

En. Abu Bakar is a friendly old man. When he was not busy, he came to our table for a chat. We found out that the popular mee bandung muar stall near our home in JB is run by his nephew. That explains the very similar taste. At the end of our meal, I requested for photo shot with him and he willingly obliged. The wall of the kopitiam is adorned with pictures of celebrities and VIPs who have dropped by to savour his dish.

If you happen to be in Muar town in day time, try to look for Wah San Coffeeshop at Jalan Abdullah. Finding a parking space during weekdays can be quite a torture but the mee bandung is really worth it. And the coffee is quite good too.

Old shophouses along Jalan Abdullah

Wah San Kopitiam from the front

A nice teatime meal of mee bandung, satay and kopi muor

Celebrity pics on the wall. See if you can recognize any

The man himself flanked by the missus and yours truly

Interlude

It has been a while since we had an interlude...

Two men at the Pearly Gates

Two men waiting at the Pearly Gates strike up a conversation.

"How'd you die?" the first man asks the second.

"I froze to death," says the second.

"That's awful," says the first man. "How does it feel to freeze to death?"

"It's very uncomfortable at first," says the second man. "You get the shakes, and you get pains in all your fingers and toes. But eventually, it's a very calm way to go. You get numb and you kind of drift off, as if you're sleeping. How about you, how did you die?"

"I had a heart attack," says the first man. "You see, I knew my wife was cheating on me, so one day I showed up at home unexpectedly. I ran up to the bedroom, and found her alone, knitting. I rushed down to the basement, but no one was hiding there. I ran up to the second floor, but found no one there either. I went as fast as I could to the attic, and just as I got there, I had a massive heart attack and died."

The second man shakes his head. "That's so ironic," he says.

"What do you mean?" asks the first man.

"If you had only stopped to look in the freezer, we'd both be still alive."

Moral of the story : You don't want to die of a heart attack in your own house, so keep fit.