Where The Wild Things Are

A close friend of mine, wrote me an opening line in my YM, “Hi. I’m bored reading medical journals on diabetes.”

Not too sure how to respond to that message I reciprocated with a mere 'hi' and lifted my eyes from the laptop monitor and gazed outside the window where the road became gradually deserted and there was a lazy drizzle amidst the backdrop of a shady Friday.

Returning to the monitor, I absent-mindedly typed in her YM window, “Great. That should add up to your knowledge about insulin and pancreas.”

My mind wasn’t really focusing on that impromptu topic. I was actually thinking about how a senior journalist with a mainstream English-language daily newspaper and who have written hundreds of articles on or about the local governments eventually ended up, writing literatures for new drugs. Perhaps drugs are more psychedelic than clotted monsoon drains or inadequate parking yards.

We have not met for a while now, but she and her daughter, Khalidah are always on my mind – she, for her resourcefulness and her daughter, for her imaginative mind.

One day, some years ago, Khalidah who was then lived with her grannies in Alor Star and attending her first year of schooling called her mom to ask a question pertaining to the pillar of the Islamic faith. It was about her ‘Agama’ paper in school – a multiple-choice answers question. More or less:

The Islamic faith is the belief towards (choose the most correct answer/s):

A. The God and His prophets
B. Idols
C. Some trees.
D. The Quran and the prophets.

And Khalidah selected B and C as the most correct answers. Now, that was pretty wild.

Her mom and I were laughing over late afternoon tea that day.

I didn’t blame Khalidah. Some weeks prior to the incident I gave her a book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. In that children book the author wrote about how a large tree provided all sorts of help to a boy – from his childhood days right to his old age. Perhaps that has prompted Khalidah to think the pillar of faith also lies on some trees.

“Yeah some trees are big and mighty,” I told my friend, “and look impeding and godly.”

But I could not understand why her ustaz did not explain the existence of God via dalil `akli’ and `naqli’. He should have done that before even began to speak about the pillar of faith to the six-year old kids.

Most kids possess those wild imaginations about things they see or listen to. And not all kids have the chance to attend the Islamic kindergartens. Our religious teachers in the primary school must not imagine the kids already knew the basic.

For the kids, the entire world is the place where the wild things are and for adults like you and me, we imagine the untamed forests as the place for where strange and wild creatures roam and dwell.

At times I imagine if we could live in a world where even beasts could be helpful and friendly, or even sincere and honest. Unfortunately, even symbolically, we are not just simpy too far from such imagination, instead the ordinary people, especially those whom we have placed our trust upon them and whom we view as the giants of the society are fast becoming real beasts and have reduced us into their “big-gulps”.

I guess many things have changed since the publication of Maurice Sendak’s , Where The Wild Things Are in 1963. The changes have occurred in all kind of world, imaginative or otherwise. In our very own little world, our powerful politicians who are supposedly to be the defenders of our cultures and traditions could no longer be bothered if these once preserved cultures and traditions of ours were steadily making their way to the graveyard of history.

Will there be anything left for us to imagine in time to come? Here and now, where the wild things really are and are really wild.

Meanwhile: The video adaptation. The Universal's movie is yet to be released.

Sovereignty & The Art of Building Latrine Toilets

A minister told him the Island was Temasik.He then left Riau and as he landed upon the island, he sighted a strange looking animal. The accompanying minister explained to him that the animal was probably a lion and Sang Nila Utama named the island as Singapura – singa means lion and pura means city. Much Later, the island belonged to the Sultanate of Johore until somebody by the name of Sultan Hussein decided to relinquished its ownership to Stamford Raffles, who rewrote history to become the founder of Singapore.
Of course we regained the island when Singapore became a part of Federation of Malaysia. But then due to political differences and etc, our first Prime Minister acted on his own relinquished our ownership of the island in 1965, and probably for good. At that time, we just thought about politics and no one talked about sovereignty.
Thus, if you were to look at the physical map of the Republic of Singapore, you would be able to see most physical features are named after some Malay words except the tiny rocky islands which the Malays who settled on the main and around the island of Temasik (later Singapura), from all over Malay Archipelago considered as not fit for any human purpose.
Apart from all the inhibited satellite islands, there is one which is called Pulau Batu Putih. Since the island is the size of a soccer field no one bothered to live there. But back in 1851 the British decided to erect a lighthouse on that island in view of the increased merchant shipping activities. It went on and on for a century without anyone talked about the sovereignty except in 1953 when, in response to the query of the Singapore Colonial Government, the Office of the Johor State Secretery, denied any claim on the ownership.
Finally here we were, in most recent time, disputing on the sovereignty of that tiny uninhibited island. But, as we all knew, Singapore is awarded the Pulau Batu Putih measuring the size of a soccer field while Malaysia is awarded the Middle Rocks.
Imagine having sovereignty over two clusters of rocks 250 meter apart with a varying height above sea level from 0.6 meter to 1.2 meters, depending on the tides.
Naturally we can’t build anything on this new sovereign land of ours since its surface area is smaller than the backyard of a small terrace house. But since we have spent so much money to gather the so-called the best legal brains in The Hague, maybe we ought to optimize it by building a maritime free-fall latrine toilet to be utilized by our fishermen or even by members of our maritime authorities.
It is time we show some real activities there before someone else claims ownership and sovereignty over this millions-ringgit rocky island. And of course this is also to ensure that our “win-win” situation, as our ministers (the Prime Minister included) have put it, lives up to the expectation of such word.

Pak Lomak & The Moon

There were times, whenever I chanced upon the full moon riding high on a clear evening sky, the first notes from the harmonium (a portable organ similar to the accordion and which they called it peti harmonium in Malay) sprang to mind. The tune was none other than the famous work written by Pak Lomak. That first few introductory notes were then followed by the sound of the maracas and the tabla.

Although I was growing up in the era of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising and as time passed by listened to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, They Might be Giant’s Destination Moon, R.E.M’s Man on The Moon, Grateful Dead’s Yellow Moon and learned to appreciate some other earlier songs about the moon such as The Marcel’s Blue Moon or The Capri’s There’s A Moon Out Tonight etc etc, for me, nothing could beat “bulan mengambang, Pak Ngah lah yang balik…ahai lah sayang…”

Pak Ngah Balik is a beautiful work, very melodious and had such abstract lyrics. All were written and composed by Pak Lomak. His name was synonymous with Ghazal music in the same way as Dave Brubeck was to Jazz and he was probably the earliest Malay composer/lyricist/performer to immortalize the subject of the full moon in a song.

Naturally, the full moon means so many things to so many people. The late P. Ramlee described the beauty of a girl whom he felt was unattainable too difficult to get, in his song “Engkau Laksana Bulan.” Since there is no way for a guy to get such a gal, the Malays created a proverb, “Bagai pungguk rindukan bulan”. However, if the gal fell for the guy, then it is like the “Bulan jatuh ke riba”. Whenever this happens, it’s like “Malam Bulan di Pagar Bintang”. But if the gal was to eventually think the guy was another boring creature, she would just leave him and every night he would see the eclipse of the moon.

And so I was driving home a couple of nights ago after having late night drink with some guys when I sighted the full moon riding high upon the cloudless sky. That song, Pak Ngah Balik came into my mind again. But earlier during the day, Tun Dr. Mahathir had announced that he was quitting UMNO. That got me into thinking into how the full moon must have had tremendous impact on him.

The first time Dr. Mahathir made such an announcement was while delivering his speech at the UMNO General Assembly in 2002. (Remember when he cried and Hishamuddin and Rafidah rushed towards him?). It was the 28th June and I remember that full moon shining brightly on that night.

Maybe we could have missed many more political incidents that could have taken place during the nights where there was full moon. One night when Pak Lomak came home from Singapore in 1946, he found some documents pertaining to the formation of Malayan Union being distributed and quickly summoned some people for an emergency meeting to discuss what to do to about this latest British political manoeuvre. Was it the night of the full moon?

There is no way we can find out. Maybe that incident could have prompted him to write the song Pak Ngah Balik and the central character in that short ballad, Pak Ngah could have been some guy who had gone to hunt the British werewolf in Malaya.

With the full moon around, anything is quite possible.

Fables of Dawn

'Fables of Dawn' is the title of the selected poems by Latiff Mohidin (translated by Salleh Ben Joned). The above picture depicts the Mekong River taken at Luang Prabang, some 425 km north of Vientiane, the city which Latiff wrote his immortal poem on 1st Feb 1966. The only time I met Latiff in person was many years ago. He was having tea with a senior NST columnist and I was with an editor of a weekly tabloid. And as for the record, the book 'Fables of Dawn' was given to me as a gift from a friend whom in the course of our friendship had introduced me to such books as 'The Little Prince' and 'Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha'.

River Mekong

I
River Mekong
I choose your name
because i feel so alone
I'll bury my heart
in your murky depths
my right leg
in the direction of the moon
my left, the sun
I'll let my heart
be carried by your current
my name to the open sea
my voice to the mountains

II
River Mekong
your breath is so calm
your winding flow is so relaxed
on your bank
a mother weeps
calling out to her lost son
and when she merges
her face with your face
you could smile
your unperturbed smile

III
River Mekong
Let not your shimmering ripples
dazzle me
on your silt bed I can see
many blooms of blood
and stones with open wounds
as night approaches
a storm will come from the north
your banks will collapse
and your current will be stronger
than the falls of Niagara

The White Rose & The Swastika

My earliest recollection of the symbol swastika is in the form of a cube soap bar used by my aunt to wash dirty laundry over a wooden jagged washing board. (Incidentally there was another brand of washing soap called “Tank Brand” ). As I grew up and learned some history in school I came to realize that this common geometrical shape is actually a symbol associated with one Adolf Hitler. Of course it was a matter of time for me to eventually know who Hitler was and his Nazi Germany or the Third Reich.
For many of us, we would remember him and his campaingns as someone else’s history – the initiation of the World War II, the remapping of political Europe, the genocide knowns as the Holocaust and many other evil acts.
Under Hitler, the swastika flag became the German national flag and later the flag of territories and nations it conquered.
This is an excerpt from the book, The White Rose & The Swastika as Jutta Marshall, the author of the book, who was born in Vienna and spent her wartime childhood under the Nazi doctrination had her first taste of school:

A middle-aged stout lady with glasses rose from her desk at the front of the classroom.
“Heil Hitler. Frau Schweighofer!” she said in a piercing voice. “And you must be Jutta. Come, I’ll show you to your seat.”
I had to let go of Mama’s hand and suddenly felt scared and very much alone among the thirty-odd boys and girls around me, all older and bigger than myself. Starting with the pupils at the back of the class the teacher then read out all our names and you had to jump and shout: ‘Present. Frau Hartmann!’
Then followed a song called Deutschland, Deutschland, Uber Alles, which seemed to go for a long time. The tune was familiar but I didn’t know the words, so I just copied the other children as they stood looking ahead with right arms outstretched.
“Stand up to me and look at the Fuhrer’s picture!” the teacher barked at the girl next to me. Then:
“Eric, tell the new ones the name of our Fuhrer!”
“Adolf Hitler, Frau Hartmann!” like the shot of a bullet came the reply from the back of the class.
“Now give me the Fuhrer’s salute!” commanded Fau Hartmann.
“Heil Hitler! Chanted the class, all jumping up with right hands raised.

There are so many ways one can remember Hitler. Good ways. Bad ways. For those who play the piano (by ear or via musical notations), some images from the Roman Polanski’s film would probably emerge as Szpilman (Adrien Brody) played Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor.

Vielen dank (for reading this piece).

Note: The water colour painting is by Adolf Hilter: “Shelter in Fournes”

Troubles Melt Like Lemondrops

I remember watching Finding Forrester, a movie about a reclusive author of a Pulitzer Prize winning book teaches a young black man to harness his writing skills. As time moves on, they learn from each other as they conquer something significant in their lives. The musical score for this somewhat touching, yet inspirational movie reminds me of some great entertainers and their signature songs.

If only troubles could melt like lemondrops, then I shall think to myself, what a wonderful world.

This is a “just so posting”. The picture in this posting is from The Cat That Walked By Himself (Just So Stories – Rudyard Kipling).

Meanwhile, enjoy the clip.

Sabah: Bathing With Crocodiles

While strolling in some Bangkok bazaar years ago, I spotted an almost life-size stuffed crocodile. I fancied buying it for a bolster. Imagine hugging a crocodile as you sleep snugly at nights. But eventually the idea was dropped considering I was on a shoestring budget.

Crocodiles and alligators are really cute-looking animals. They would have been perfect pets if not for the fact that the reptiles are in the habit of turning humans into their sumptuous dinner treat. Just think for a moment, a deep green-coloured crocodile sprawling lazily in your living room as you watch Manchester United entertains Chelsea at the Old Trafford or the animal basking in your tiny garden terrace-house garden under the bright morning sun as you are getting ready to leave for work.

But for some people, having morning bath with crocodiles is something they need to leave with. No. I’m not talking about the Everglades in Florida or the crocodile territories in Australia. Nor do I talk about the movie Crocodile Dundee or Steve Irwin, the real crocodile hunter who died tragically not too long ago (not due to crocodiles attack though), but rather about some teachers in certain parts of more isolated small towns of Sabah where tap water seems like a big dream.

I was told by a young Kadazan lady teacher who teaches in that sort of small town. Each morning she has to take her bath by dipping herself in a muddy river infested by crocodiles. It is a risky business but not too many people in Malaysia could skip bathing even for a single day.

Whenever she and those who have to bathe in the river sighted the reptiles, they would quickly leave the water.

Now this story was narrated to me last year, 2007. How do you like that? After Sabah has joined Malaysia for a good 44 years this sort of scenario still exist. Alright. Maybe, just maybe, this is one isolated case in Sabah.

But some weeks ago, a Barisan Nasional Sabah State Assemblyman for Tanjung Batu told Malaysians another shocking revelation about how teachers need to sit cross-legged as though they are practicing yoga lotus-position while teaching in the Sekolah Kebangsaan Kalabakan (about 60km from Tawau) and the students sprawling on the school floors like crocodiles. They have a school but not the basic school-furniture.

Today in the Parliament, the BN member for Kalabakan, Dato’ Seri Abdul Ghapur Salleh (who resigned from his freshly-appointment as a Federal Deputy Minister in the new Cabinet) voiced out his dissatisfaction on the Federal Government treatment on Sabah, “Sabah is still being treated like a stepchild and the complains of the people of the state entered the right ears and exited the left ears”.

Last week, Dato’ Anifah Aman (BN-Kimanis) mentioned that the story about some BN Members of Parliament wanting to cross-over reflects the sentiment of the Sabah people.

And today too, Dato’ Abdul Rahman Dahalan (BN-Kota Belud) asked Abdul Ghapur (in Parliament) if is he in agreement on the cancellation of the Penang Bridge project and the allocation be given to Sabah instead.

It seems the Sabah people and their elected representatives are beginning to feel tired on the excuse of not enough budget by the Federal Government.

Well, I guess it isn’t easy dealing with crocodiles especially when they are bigger and more vicious than those found in Kinabatangan and its tributaries.

On Empty Rice Bowl

We’ve been eating nothing else but rice even way before Merdeka. Once people used to say, if you can’t fight or perform a certain task well, it is like you didn’t eat enough rice. In Malaysia, in-spite of all the talks about dieting, most of us eat rice at least twice a day. If you are a nasi lemak fan, maybe you would eat rice three times a day. For some folks in some states, rice is their standard breakfast. Not just nasi lemak but nasi dagang, nasi kerabu as well as various delicacies made from glutinous rice.

Malaysia is a rice country. We eat the ordinary white rice, the nasi tomato, nasi biryani, nasi minyak, nasi kandar, Hainanese chicken rice, rice porridge and the lesser known nasi rawan. For the nasi goreng, although we don’t have such things as nasi goreng Johor or nasi goreng Penang, we do have nasi goreng Thai, nasi goreng Pattaya and even nasi goreng USA.

Without doubt, rice is the centre of our existence. No Malays, nor Chinese, or Indians in Malaysia, no matter how much Mat Salleh they are trying to be, would be able to survice without eating rice for a long period of time. Even the non-rice eating immigrants of Malaya, like the Arabs finally adopted themselves in having rice as their staple food.

When the British were around, they didn’t think much about the economy of rice. You eat rice so you plant rice. There was no effort on the behalf of the colonial government to enhance either the yield per acre or the acreage itself. Even the pricing was left to the simple acts of buying and selling of the commodity. The long-term effect of supply demand of rice was never really on their agenda.

When we took over, we too didn’t pay much attention to this aspect of rice economy. We were happy with the statistics – 70 percent of which we produce our own and the rest relying on the importation from other rice producing countries. We thought it is cheaper to import rather than to be self-subsistent and we thought this trend is going to last till the end of time.

For 50 years we failed to correct this. We have forgotten that we cannot rely on others for a commodity as strategic as this. Now the Thai Government is beginning to talk about creating a rice cartel in the same way as OPEC does for oil.

If such cartel were to materialized, which I think it might just be around the corner now, the price of the importation of rice from Thailand or other rice exporting countries would be several times higher than even if we were to produce the insufficient balance on our own.

The question now is: Are we, the people, would have to pay for the differences in the price of rice, or will the Government allow further subsidies?

Given the fact that our own rice bowl is steadily depleting because the older generation of paddy planters are slowly dying and the new generation don’t really think it would be worth their effort economically to continue what their fathers had done, the future of rice certainly looks gloomy.

It is rather funny that while we are Merdeka from the British, we are never “merdeka” from relying on others to feed us with our very own staple food.

The Purple Cow

If you have money you can make the ghosts and devils turn your grindstone. But since I don't have money, at least not the amount I would like to have, therefore I just apply myself to writing blogs.
Sighting of ghosts is a rare occurence these days, but I'm sure the devils are out there somewhere masquerading in many forms. All you need is a little imagination to see these sinister creatures. Maybe that was why Einstein said imagination is more important than knowledge.
Speaking about imagination brings me to the subject of this first posting which is The Purple Cow. Maybe you think it is about Seth Godin's book on how to transform your business by being remarkable. But since I don't have any business of any kind, therefore whatever Godin has written in his book would be pretty useless, as far as im concerned. As such, the chances of getting the ghosts and devils to turn my grindstone is like sighting this chimerical purplish bovine for real.
So while you can never spot one, you can always read about some other purple cows. Here is one, written by Gellet Burges:

I never saw a purple cow
I never hope to see one
But I can tell you anyhow
I'd rather see than be one