Teh Tarik Kaw Wunne - A Malaysian Smorgasbord

ZAIM AL-AMIN

Anggun Publishing ___________________________________________ Publish by Anggun Publishing (Anggun Publishing is Imprint True Wealth Sdn Bhd) Tel: 603-7880 1051 Fax: 603-7880 8051 E-mail: [email protected] Website: www.MillionairesPlanet.com Copyright © 2010 by Zaim Al-Amin All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher. First Edition March 2010 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 10 Perpustakaan Negara Malaysia Cataloguing-in-Publication Data Buku ini adalah sebuah fksyen. Semua watak, nama, kejadian, dailog, dan plot adalah hasil imaginasi penulis atau digunakan secara fksyen. Apa jua persamaan dengan orang, organisasi, syarikat, atau kejadian adalah tidak disengajakan. Dicetak oleh: Dolphin Press Sdn Bhd (610809-W) No. 98, Jalan PBS 14/4, Taman Bukit Serdang, 43300 Seri Kembangan, Selangor Darul Ehsan.

About This Book ___________________________________________ This book is a celebration of life as it is. We go through the norm of routine, every day of our lives. Each and every one of us; together with the billions of other fellow inhabitants of this planet. And in the process we try to outdo each other. People try to become smarter, richer, holier or just simply; different. And it’s no great wonder this leads to problems, some of them world-changing problems! This book is a collection of articles by the author from his various observations of real (and at times, hilarious) but otherwise ordinary situations which he himself tries to make some sense of. He touches on everyday issues such as love and relationships to the meaning of life and even sensitive issues such as race and homosexuality. If you are new to this beautiful land, this book will give you the heads up on what makes us Malaysians tick. And all this is captured in the author’s witty, candid and pleasantly nonchalant manner of writing which has become his signature.

This book would never have seen the light of day if not for the continuous support of my beloved family, so a special mention is in order to my lovely wife Nina Norfaizah Jaafar who is my constant source of inspiration, and to my children Daniellia Zainisya, Hilmi Firdaus, Daniellia Zetrisya, Iqmal Firdaus and Daniel Zarfaiez Firdaus. Thank you for believing in me. And special thanks to my dad Kamaruddin Mohamed Dani who passed down his prolific writing skills, and to my late mum Fatimah Zawiyah Daud for all the warmth and comfort without which I wouldn’t be who I am today . This book is also dedicated to all of you; the beautiful citizens of Malaysia.

Table of Contents ___________________________________________ Chapter 1 Chicken in the Kitchen, or, 1 Caklempong, Congkak & Playstation 2 7 13 Chapter 2 Cintailah Bahasa Melayu, or, Another 17 Feather in My Cap 21 27 Chapter 3 Impromptu Lessons in Etiquette 31 37 Chapter 4 Left Turns, Right Turns, or, You 41 Drive Me Crazy 47 51 Chapter 5 Lifestyles of the (un)Rich and (un)Famous 55 Chapter 6 Mas Kahwin and Belanja Hangus, or, What Price Marriage? Chapter 7 Moderate Extremists, or, The Malay-Muslim Dilemma Chapter 8 Not a Boy, Not Yet a Man Chapter 9 Paradise Lost & Paradise Regained, or, Nocturnal Flying Banshees Chapter 10 Of Teh Tarik, Roti Canai & Chappati, or, Spin Again, Earthling …!! Chapter 11 Of Toothache & Smog, or, Me and My Dust Mask Chapter 12 Of The Holy Grail & Knights Templar, or, Templer’s Park & The Last Biskut Lutut

Chapter 13 Of Laksa, Spaghetti, Pasta & Tiramisu, or, Jom Makan Laksa Kuala … 61 Chapter 14 Of Birthdays & Tribute to a Friend, 67 or, A Celebration of Life Chapter 15 Of Parking Lots, Years Gone By 71 Chapter 16 Sindrom Takut Bini, or, How Not To 75 Tell Her About It Chapter 17 Sex and The City, or, Melayu 81 Mudah Lupa … Chapter 18 Transcendence, or, Auld Lang Syne, 85 My Old Friend … Chapter 19 Transcendental Values, or, Can I 89 Wear Jade ...? Chapter 20 Tidurlah Sayang, or, Reflections of 93 a Father on His Daughter’s Birthday Chapter 21 Unwritten Rules of Karaoke 95 Chapter 22 Ordinary People, Ordinary Life, 101 or, Love Revisited Chapter 23 The WOW Day 107 Chapter 24 Of Wedding Anniversaries & Friendship Revisited, or, Down Memory Lane 111 Chapter 25 Love Thy Life, or, Happy Birthday 115 to Me Chapter 26 Handphone Etiquette, or, Will U Just Shut Up ...? 117 Chapter 27 Cintai IT (Ibu Tunggal), or, Lesen Kahwin Lagi ... 121 Chapter 28 A Transvestite’s Tale 125

Chapter 29 A Tribute to the Gay Community 129 Chapter 30 Of Rubber Bracelets, Syringes & 131 Condoms, or, Roll Down Da Rubber, 135 Man 139 Chapter 31 Of Kings, Warriors & Elephants, or, 145 Happy 100th Anniversary, MCKK! 151 155 Chapter 32 Of Papers, Doors & Signboards, or, Here’s a Courteous Welcome to 159 the Rudest City, Sir! 165 169 Chapter 33 Of Haircuts & Manliness, or, On a 175 Hot Day Like This 181 Chapter 34 Of ELISA, HIV +ve and AIDS, or, 185 Love is Blind Chapter 35 A Brand New Day, or, If Tomorrow Never Comes Chapter 36 Of Noisy Neighbours, Pre-nuptial Agreements & Aphrodisiacs, or, The One-Minute Man Chapter 37 Of Gunnysacks & Sempoa, or, Geishas who Speak English Chapter 38 Of Saturday Night Fever, or, My Transcendence into Obsolescence Chapter 39 Of Diaries, Weblogs & New Year Resolutions, or, Mat Gadget 2010 Chapter 40 Of Traffic Situations, Strange Thoughts, or, What Makes the World Go Round Chapter 41 Of ESPs, Sixth Sense & Premonitions, or, Your SPM Results

Chapter 42 Of KL Tower, Petronas & Faber Twin 189 Towers, or, the New ‘Malay Tower’ 193 197 Chapter 43 Of Being Forty and Being Forlorn, or, 201 Four Days in Bed 205 209 Chapter 44 Of Hek-Eleh & Poyo Giler Dowh!, 215 or, Bukan Cintan Ori 219 Chapter 45 Of Strawberries and Blackberries, or, Don’t Worry, Be Happy ...! 223 Chapter 46 Of Bossy Bosses & Angguk-Angguk, Geleng-Geleng, or, Ada-Ada Saja … Chapter 47 Of Taekwondo Classes & Silat Pulut, or, Kenduri Kahwin Now & Then Chapter 48 Of Astronauts and Cosmonauts, or, An Open House in Outer Space Chapter 49 Of French Spiderman & Malaysian Cicakman, or, La France Peut, Monsieur! Chapter 50 Of Brazilians, Russians & Malaysians, or, From Teluk Intan to Turkmenistan

CHAPTER 1 Chicken in the Kitchen, or, Caklempong, Congkak & Playstation 2 It was that stray chicken crossing the road in front of our car that triggered my long train of thoughts. Call it a reactionary response of my subconscious mind if you like. It was like a movie flashback. Not unlike when this cop character played by Shah Rukh Khan stumbled upon an old portrait on the wall and after a series of quick flashbacks, suddenly realised that the crook he was about to kill was his own blood brother. Maybe I’ve watched one too many Hindustani movies, but the sight of that runaway chicken brought vivid flashbacks to my mind. Vivid flashbacks such as chasing chickens out of the kitchen. All of a sudden, I was this nine-year-old kampung boy (Teluk Anson, now Teluk Intan, was a kampung – or village – then), and Grandma would always give me this unenviable task of showing the stray chickens to the door. For a fleeting moment, I could almost feel the energy, the mere radiance of youth manifesting itself; being very much alive and full of optimism – at a time when people were able to take simple values for granted. At a time when families were close knit and neighbours exchanged dishes every day. 1

2 Zaim Al-Amin A time when everyone knew everybody. And a time when each kenduri, or Hari Raya, always meant a big gotong- royong. It was, in short, a celebration of life in its purest sense. My eldest daughter asked me why I was smiling, which promptly jolted me back to the present. I was glad she did not notice tears in my eyes. Hastily, I put the car back into gear and gently pressed the gas pedal. The stray chicken was no longer there, having crossed the road to whatever beckoned it in the first place. This morning, when I took the elevator down my apartment block, a man and his daughter got in. The girl was clad in a familiar kindergarten uniform. We struck up a conversation about our daughters, since mine also went to the same kindergarten a few years ago. Our talk was cut short when the elevator door opened, and we went our separate ways. It struck me then that here was a man I had so often noticed but never bothered to talk to. And perhaps I did that to a lot of people. At best, a lift of the eyebrow, Ziana Zain style, and that was it. And I admit that I’ve been guilty of labelling my other neighbours as ‘the Morris Minor’, ‘the BMW with no rear bumper’ or, simply, ‘WPV 2005’. Suddenly I felt so lonely. For a middle-class professional living in a huge city with a metropolitan population nearing 7 million, that feeling can be strange. What more with the advent of the latest telecommunication devices such as the handphone and the Internet, one should find it hard to fathom such loneliness. Perhaps it’s because of our own desire for privacy. To have our own personal ‘room’. Or ‘space’. We tend to build walls; whether real or imagined. And to transgress these walls would be to invade into one’s privacy. A simple, friendly act

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 3 like dropping by to say ‘Hi’ could constitute trespassing and subject one to liability in tort which in turn could result in a long and tedious litigation process. Pat a neighbour’s kid a little too hard and you’d risk being charged with assault and battery. Try to exchange dishes with your neighbour, and chances are she would either think you’re trying to show off your culinary skills or else trying to poison her and/or her dog. After a while you’d resign to that urban fact and sigh that ignorance is bliss, hence it’s best to ignore. In this era of computers, laptops and PDAs, one tends to take refuge from such self-imposed exile in the form of e-mails, e-messengers and e-chatrooms, basking in the surreal comfort of the cyberworld; a ‘real’ world of make- believe. You believe that you have a lot of friends, but not until you have a punctured tyre (or flat battery, or both) early in the morning, would you wish that you’d known what’s-his-name who lives next door. Your mailbox (I’m referring to the traditional one, not your Facebook!) is empty, save for the occasional utility bills. Even the number of Hari Raya or Deepavali or Chinese New Year cards keep diminishing each year. There’s not enough greeting cards for your wife or kids to hang around the house anymore, unless you choose to print all those Yahoo! and American Greetings cyber cards that flood your e-mail Inbox. I can still vividly remember how I was first introduced to the computer. It was the year 1982, and one of my classmates had this Sinclair ZX 81 Personal Computer. It was a rudimentary piece of machine going by today’s standards (the 386 type), but it was cutting-edge technology at that time. And if you managed to type a love letter to your girlfriend at some faraway boarding school using WordStar and print it on a dot matrix printer, she’d look up to you as

4 Zaim Al-Amin if you were the next Bill Gates. Now, just 26 years later, my nine-year-old daughter is sending e-mails to her friends, all the time wearing that gleeful ‘no big deal’ expression, and your neighbour’s new BMW probably has more electronic gadgets than those on board the Space Shuttle. Or Soyuz (but only if you don’t mind a bumpy ride). Try telling your kids about the era of black and white TV, and they’d bombard you with curious questions or simply shake their head in disbelief. And then tell them that you survived your childhood watching just two TV channels that started at 3.00 p.m. (and then again they were just showing Sports TOTO results for the first one hour) and ended at 11.00 p.m. with just an hour of cartoons each day. Or that you actually endured all those hundreds of episodes of Dallas, Peyton Place, Hawaii Five-O, Six Million Dollar Man and Man From Atlantis. You’d have a tough time convincing them that Charlie’s Angels and Starsky & Hutch are not new. Shock them further by telling them how you spent the better part of your days – playing kites, guli (marbles), dam (checkers), congkak and caklempong, and they’d definitely think you were just trying to pull their legs. Well, I did just that, and even went one step further. One fine weekend, my other half and I designated one whole day ‘going back to basics’. We went camping and brought with us fishing rods and kites (I couldn’t find any congkak, and caklempong would be too ridiculous), and we spent the whole day teaching the kids how to fly kites and to fish. I loved watching their expressions, intently pulling the strings as I had painstakingly instructed, and jumping wildly when the kite soared effortlessly into the cloudy Ampang skies, and later on by the river, jumping even wilder when we managed to get fish. I guess after that they partly believed

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 5 when-I-was-your-age tales. Happy as we were then, I still felt a tinge of sadness. As the old saying goes, ‘Give me a fish, and I will eat for a day, but teach me to fish and I will eat for a lifetime’. But somehow, even as I stood there watching, I just knew this wouldn’t be the case for them. Because come tomorrow, without giving it a second thought it would be back to Playstation 2 …

CHAPTER 2 Cintailah Bahasa Melayu, or, Another Feather in My Cap “Don’t you ever write in Malay?” A friend of mine earnestly asked, for the umpteenth time. Well, how does one reply to that, when for sure an honest answer would have rendered me liable to some kind of tort action (libel and/or slander) for deliberate defamation of my own mother tongue. Instituted, of course, by nothing less than Dewan Bahasa & Pustaka or some other equally furious Malay Language scholars and societies claiming to be the guardians of the language. Now, don’t get me wrong. I hailed from a kampung and am one hundred per cent a kampung boy, (minus the fact that I am allergic to belacan, budu and tempoyak,) and nothing could ever change the fact that I am as Malay as one could ever hope to be. No amount of legal jargon, court attendances, corporate exposures and whatnots could change that fact. I’m a very proud Malay. And by default, a proud Malaysian, too. And despite lingering reminiscence of being a recipient of an award for an English essay during my secondary school days at a famous elite school, I would still be the first one to proclaim that my English is, to put it mildly, seriously 7

8 Zaim Al-Amin lacking. It’s an acute example of ‘the more you know, the more you know what you don’t know’. Or something like that lah. So, who am I to forget my mother tongue? It’s just that sometimes I am simply at a loss to find a good Malay word to express the way I’d like to say things. And, I’m not alone in this. Otherwise, how would you explain (let alone justify) some government authorities who would, for example, unabashedly combine two English words, ‘information’ and ‘entertainment’ in order to (lo and behold) produce a new ‘Malay’ word ‘infotainment’? I take great pride in having a cousin (yes, it’s you, Najib) who is able to converse well in seven languages (perhaps it’s ten by now). However, despite being no scholar in linguistics myself; I cannot dismiss this nagging thought that I do know several languages as well. Come to think of it, perhaps all of us do. Consider this: to start with, most of us know Malay. And English. And for a few of us, another mother tongue plus a smattering of Arabic, Mandarin, Cantonese, Tamil, Urdu and/or Malayalam. And for fewer still, some Thai, Tagalog, Japanese, French and/or Russian even (swear words don’t count!). Congratulate yourself. That in itself would have numbered more than three! I also have this other Malay (and I’m not talking about dialects here) that I use when I’m addressing my parents. And a different kind of Malay which I use when I talk to a Malaysian Chinese. And still a different one when I speak to a Malaysian Indian. Then again, I have this ‘special’ English which I would use when I speak to Malaysians (it’s now oledi even officially called Manglish laaaaa, you know what!); and a different

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 9 kind of English which I reserve for native Englishmen. And last but not least, a different English peculiar to those non- native English speakers (now that we have so many Arabs and South Africans here). Is it only me; or is it us Malaysians who always tend to bend backwards when it comes to speaking to others? We would always go out of our way to accommodate our listeners, as if we should be embarrassed if our listeners cannot understand us due to their own shortcomings. I’ve never encountered an Englishman trying to imitate our so- called Manglish (or Singlish maaaaaa, for that matter) to facilitate our comprehension. He’d rather let us wonder whether his stiff upper lip is a condition, a symptom or a disease. So are we guilty of polluting our own language? Why don’t we just speak Malay the way it is supposed to be spoken? If circumstances does not permit, then it’s better to use another language, rather than risk polluting our beloved language further. Therefore, not using Malay should not be seen as being unMalaysian, or unpatriotic. I for one would very much love to use Malay as far as possible, but sometimes things get so complicated that we end up frustrating ourselves. For instance, have you noticed how the Government Departments (pre-GLCs) always have the knack of making things look so official? Not necessarily to sound legal; but simply ‘official’. You would know what I mean if you have had to fill up forms in Court, at the Land Office or even the Religious Departments. You would inevitably stumble upon words which you never knew existed in the Malay language. Or could it be you who have been ignorant?

10 Zaim Al-Amin I used to resign myself having to accept those funny words as necessary evils in order to make things ‘official’, until one fine day when I asked my paralegal to translate from English to Malay an affidavit in an accident case. I was almost fuming when I saw his work, and was about to accuse him of forgery of his Advanced Diploma in Law, when he meekly produced a legal dictionary published by our very own Dewan Bahasa & Pustaka, a recognised authority on the Malay language. Under the entry ‘State of Injury’ (which was in that affidavit), the purported legal translation was: ‘Negeri Yang Tercedera’. What can a normal citizen do? Such brazen indifference is like a silent killer to any language. Sometimes such seemingly sleazy translation work ultimately creeps its way into blind acceptance. Thus, should we feel a sense of euphoria or sheer annoyance over the abundance of words ‘borrowed’ (or perhaps again; stolen) from other languages like interlokutori, ejakulasi, transnasional and transeksual? Should we feel proud of our semangat ‘kebangsaan’ or of our semangat ‘nasionalisma’? Still on the subject of borrowing words, I recall a time in the not-too-distant past, when most Malay linguists worth their weight in salt were so proud to use words taken from Bahasa Indonesia as the ‘Bahasa Rumpun Nusantara’. We were made to think that we breathe a lot of class when we respectively say kamar and kantor instead of our very own, albeit dull sounding, bilik and pejabat. And poor me; I was so proud to use those in my primary school essays, thinking I was ‘one step beyond’. Even as an adult I used to hold dearly to those words and continued to be proud to say kamar mandi instead of bilik

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 11 mandi or the more simple and general word tandas – until quite recently when I was in Amsterdam, Holland (or is it Belanda?) and saw signages that read Kamar Te Hur and Kantor Te Hur (meaning Room To Let and Office For Rent). Bahasa Nusantara? Help please … Perhaps language is really meant to be universal after all. To transcend the borders of race and nations. Be too casual about it, and a whole race risks losing its identity. Try too hard; and we would end up like that proverbial man who learned to read Braille just so that he could read books to the blind. Or perhaps tomorrow I should simply tune in to Radio Orang Asli to learn a few more native words. Hence add another language, another feather in my cap …

CHAPTER 3 Impromptu Lessons in Etiquette About a year ago, I was walking along the streets of Paseo de Roxas (pronounced ‘Rohas’) in Makati city, Philippines. It was a time of unrest, and although you couldn’t see obvious military activities, you could actually sense the tension in the air. I entered a building, and saw a long line of people. My mind instantly related that to a queue of, say, people waiting to withdraw money from a teller machine. Which would be something quite normal. However, I had a surprise, albeit mild, when I actually saw what they were queuing for: they were actually waiting to board an elevator. It was a paradox to find such order during such tense times, but reassuring nevertheless. So, what’s the big issue, you’d ask. Well, to be frank, I did not read too much into it either. Perhaps, as a nation of people, we have our goods and bads which are, at best, relative to each other. Like the way people clear their own food trays at McDonald’s in European and American cities. But here in good old Kuala Lumpur we tend to agree with Donna Summers that waiters should “... work hard for the money, so hard for the money ...”. So we just leave our trash 13

14 Zaim Al-Amin around so as to ensure that the waiters would never be out of work. Back to the queuing up story. The other day I had to wait for the elevator at Suria KLCC in Kuala Lumpur. And you know how laboriously slow the elevator is, and how ‘unruly’ people can get trying to scramble into the elevator. Why, even frail old ladies with large handbags (and even larger umbrellas) would push their way through and just for that split second, you seriously feel like pushing them back, saved only by the fact that your mum’s image flashes by and restores whatever little virtues you have left. So having missed the first elevator, my two friends and I were the only people waiting for the next one. With so much time to kill, I entertained a devious thought. It hit me that I could try a little ‘experiment’ here. Turning to my buddies I said “Hey, why don’t we pretend to be strangers and queue up?’’ That we quickly did – the three of us formed a queue, and, to our delight, the next person who arrived took a quick look and, without hesitating, lined up behind the ‘queue’. We were gleeful when within a few seconds we were able to form a respectable queue. Even those waiting for the elevator on the other side decided to queue. And when the elevator finally arrived, queuing was the order of the day! It left a lasting thought throughout the day for me. Perhaps it was just a fluke. But then again perhaps that’s human nature. Just like when you start to look up towards the sky in the middle of a street; everyone would also do the same, maybe hoping to see a UFO or some other flying contraption. Or half expecting to see the International Space Station fall out of the sky.

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 15 I’m not going to read too much into this, because it may even be a superficial thing; a mere human reflex to a certain situation. Or simply the sheer need to conform. So much so that there’s no real moral value behind it. Whatever it is, perhaps there’s still a lesson to be learnt, and that is, you basically get back what you give to others. You start to be nasty and push, and others will be tempted to push you back, naturally even a wee bit harder. But give away good things, and before long, you might be receiving better things from others. Call it the law of physics. Or karma. Or whatever. Try it if you’re still sceptical. It will work, even when the elevator does not ...

CHAPTER 4 Left Turns, Right Turns, or, You Drive Me Crazy Can you actually remember how many times, as a driver, you had taken a left turn without first switching on the turning indicator light? Chances are many, many times. In the same breath, how many times have you, on the other hand, cursed another driver when he failed to give such indication? Can’t remember? Well, picture this scenario: you emerge at the top of a T-junction, and you want to turn right. There is a string of vehicles coming from the right, and of course you have to wait until all of them pass by before you can actually turn right. Then, suddenly one of the vehicles turns left, leaving you with a gap but not wide enough for you to pass, which you could have taken advantage of had that particular driver given a signal that he intended to so turn. Deep inside, you curse him, in your own sweet way, conveniently forgetting you were also habitually guilty of committing the same crime. So, why the double standards? Why are we irate at something that we ourselves habitually do? This was what came to mind yesterday afternoon when I desperately 17

18 Zaim Al-Amin wanted to turn right from Jalan 4L, Ampang Jaya to Jalan Kolam Air Lama towards Kelab Darul Ehsan for my usual Sunday afternoon jog. Scores of cars rushed by, then one or two suddenly turned left without signalling. I was quite ready to stick out my finger (the one that denotes obscenity) when I realised I would probably have done what they did. Perhaps they simply did not notice. Perhaps they were oblivious to the fact that they were a nuisance to the other motorists. Perhaps again, it’s ‘human nature’. Aha, how very convenient. If every little inconsiderate act was deemed ‘human nature’ it would certainly make any alien think twice before invading planet Earth. Human nature almost always refers to mankind’s shortcomings. For example, I can’t for the life of me remember anyone saying it is human nature to be compassionate. During one of those power corporate luncheons with the Directors of my company, the CEO was telling us of a book entitled something like Fifty Two Good Values. It was a collection of short stories extracted from the Bible that was used to inculcate one good value in your child for each week of the year, narrated in very simple, yet interesting form. One of them then commented on the unfortunate dearth, or even total absence of such things when it came to values gleaned from the Holy Quran. Come to think of it, how many of us actually know what the Quran talks about? Most of us, as children, would have undergone the Khatam Quran, signifying that we have perfected ‘learning’ the Holy Book which, in actual sense, was merely completing reading through it. That is, merely reading through all the thirty chapters of the Quran, in its original Arabic language ─ when in fact we don’t know a hoot of what it all means. How many of us

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 19 have actually bothered to read the whole text even though it has been translated in a language we are familiar with? To me, reciting the Quran in its original form without knowing what the verses mean is akin to singing Hindustani songs without understanding the lyrics. Maybe one or two words would strike you as familiar, like Pyar Mohabbat or Mere Sanam, but the rest are as good as Double Dutch to you. So, what can Malaysian Muslims hope to achieve by reciting the Quran daily, without even knowing its meaning? Like a Hindustani song, if we sing it well enough, it could bring one to tears; but only because of its melody, not because of its contents. So you may ask what’s the connection between inconsiderate motorists not giving left turn signals and Quranic recitals? Well, maybe it’s another classic example of a major derailment in my train of thoughts, but in the midst of all this reigning confusion over religious issues, deviant teachings, New World Order and the like, it’s time to go back to basics. After all, can anybody tell me which religion in the world does not teach morality? Every religion preaches the same virtues. Hence it’s really sad if you didn’t get the message, but there’s still hope yet. But for those who got the message and are not even trying to understand it, that’s a different tragedy altogether ...

CHAPTER 5 Lifestyles Of the Un(Rich) and Un(Famous) A few years back, I was invited to Malaysiakini’s 5th anniversary bash at Flamingo Hotel. During a comedy act, Patrick Teoh, the famous Radio DJ and now one of Instant Café Theatre Company’s main actor, made a chance remark when he was commenting about the upcoming Lifestyles Section in Malaysiakini. Tongue-in-cheek, he poked fun at the audience and asked what kind of lifestyle we folks were having. To which I kind of agreed; getting stuck for two hours in late afternoon traffic just to end up at an anniversary dinner of a web newspaper surely could not rank as a Top Ten interesting lifestyle. And that too, on a Saturday Night! John Travolta (of Saturday Night Fever fame) would surely cringe if he knew what kind of Saturday night we were having! In a way, he (Patrick Teoh, not John Travolta) was right. But in yet another way, he was wrong. Or rather, all of us could be wrong. We are wrong for having associated the word ‘lifestyle’ with high society. With class. With all the glam and pompousness that could only come with a lot of moolah. With designer clothes and designer perfumes. 21

22 Zaim Al-Amin Anything less than that is considered as ‘no style’. Or, as Malaysians are more apt to say: “Where got style one?” A typical functional English dictionary would invariably define ‘lifestyle’ as something like “… a way of life or style of living that reflects the attitudes and values of a person or a group …” Which goes on to confirm that it does not necessarily refer to a life full of glam. It’s not strictly all about haute coutre per se. Instead, it is simply a ‘way of life’, which is essentially a neutral word, with no hidden or biased connotations. But society tends to dictate otherwise. Enter ‘High Society’, as we know it. So you drip style and class only if you don a designer suit, jump into some sleek V8 convertible (preferably made in either Bavaria or Stuttgart) and head to one of the more stylish designer cafes at Ampang Point. You don’t simply have dinner, but you ‘wine and dine’. But if you wear a Pagoda t-shirt and pasar malam-purchased jeans, dab some minyak attar and climb into a 20-year-old Proton bone- shaker to have dinner at a tom yam stall in front of Taman Datuk Ahmad Razali, then you are at serious risk of being branded as a man totally devoid of lifestyle. Which I, for yet the umpteenth time, would beg to differ. Because if that is so, then many ordinary working class people earning a meagre salary of less than RM2000 would be hard pressed to pursue this so called lifestyle. Or are lifestyles actually an exclusive playground for the rich and famous? Only for Datins who would think nothing of forking out RM15,000 for a pair of shoes that she would eventually wear just once. It was in search of an answer to all this that I found myself wandering along Jalan Bukit Bintang with my wife Nina the other Saturday night. After all, Saturday nights are supposed

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 23 to be the night for people to go out. To be seen at the right places. To be regarded as ‘happening’. Or just to be seen as people having a ‘lifestyle’. We walked casually, looking at the highly adrenalin- charged nightclubbers, and it wasn’t hard to conclude that basically they had some things in common, and that it’s relatively easy to stereotype them. They were people who could afford to dress up, have a pretty lady in tow, with the intention of partying the night away; swaying to house or club music or simply jumping to some unbearably loud techno music. Some lifestyle, indeed. But only if you have a couple of hundred bucks to spare. And of course, if you are a Muslim, barring any raid from JAWI or JAIS; the states’ religious departments. Not too good a proposition, at least to me. So what does one do without that couple of hundred bucks? This thought came to me as we continued walking along Bintang Walk, which was abuzz even during those wee hours. At one corner, we noticed a rather large crowd. After jostling our way through, we saw an interesting sight. A group of street musicians were playing some catchy, dance tunes. A bunch of guys were doing breakdance. Yet another bunch was showing off their skills in skateboarding. Towards one end there were a few artists doing instant portraits, and some people were having fun getting themselves caricatured. Some boys were busy styling their friend’s hair. A man in his late twenties, sporting an outrageous punk hairdo walked casually around, posing for pictures as amused bystanders delightedly took his photos. The ambience somewhat reminded me of Covent Garden in London, only that this was way past midnight.

24 Zaim Al-Amin It was like an ad hoc, informal celebration. And indeed it was one. It was a celebration of life in its simplest sense. It was the common people proudly celebrating their common lifestyle. The joy of simply being alive. Without the need to be pretentious. Without the need for all the fancy trimmings. No designer watches, no 3GS handphones with bluetooth, BlackBerry or wifi. Just a pair of faded jeans and worn- out shoes. And the old faithful skateboard. Or the kapoque guitar. In fact, I’ve always been interested in all things ordinary. Or rather, looking at people making interesting things out of them. Hence when Steven Gan, the Managing Director of Malaysiakini and Dina Zaman, its Rentakini (Lifestyles Section) editor invited me to put up a weekly column, I told them I’d like to have a column titled ‘Transcendentia’, which would focus on celebrating the common life of the common people. Or rather, ‘The Lifestyles of the (un)Rich and (un)Famous’. Which of course does not mean that I’m all for kids spending time in snooker joints. Nor am I encouraging the lepak culture which basically means sitting there and doing next to nothing. It’s just that sometimes we have to change our perceptions, to appreciate other people’s efforts, sometimes concerted, in trying to give meaning out of their own existence, rather than giving them an across the board, ‘holier than thou’ judgement. It’s also about the lifestyles of the more ordinary Malaysian people – stuck in a nine-to- five job, stuck in daily traffic jams to and from work, and when they finally reach home, get stuck with the household chores – leaving hardly any time for anything else. People who, like what Patrick Teoh described, ‘have no lifestyle’.

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 25 Back to our midnight stroll at Bintang Walk ... Nina and I had so much fun watching the ‘extraordinary’ ordinary people that night. We stood there, oblivious to time, as if in a trance. Partly because it was so intriguing, partly because it was also inspiring; watching these people enjoying themselves out of nothing. After a while, it dawned on us that here was a group of gifted, talented people. Unsung and uncelebrated, but talented nonetheless. And we also realised that at some time or other we have been guilty of having prejudice against them. Of labelling them as undesirables. Of having felt or harboured remorse, jaundiced eyes, or other derogatory feelings, opinions and outlook towards them. Our very own self-centredness. Our pride and prejudices at their worst. When all that these people wanted was an avenue. To show off their talents. To be themselves. To live, and to live fully. And to show that they, too, have a lifestyle …

CHAPTER 6 Mas Kahwin and Belanja Hangus, or, What Price Marriage? Marriage is bliss, or so they say. Well, almost every other being would find it hard to disagree with that. But what happens if the intended marriage is flawed with disagreements, even from the very outset? It’s a real shame actually, but more often than not the reality is that the sacred institution of marriage as pre- ordained in almost every single religion of the world tends to be reduced to more meagre and down-to-earth subjects. Yes, I really mean subjects as in, errrr … Economics and Finance. Many marriage plans may have been pre-emptively destroyed simply because the two parties couldn’t agree on the issue of belanja hantaran. In its simplest sense, belanja hantaran, or to be loosely translated here as ‘bride price’(or in some places it’s referred to as belanja hangus – translatedliterallyas ‘burnt expenses’), is the amount of money payable by the bridegroom as part of the dowry to the bride upon solemnisation of their marriage. It is distinct from (hence not to be confused with) mas kahwin which is the minimum compulsory amount given to the wife. Hantaran is considered to be more of a gift from 27

28 Zaim Al-Amin the future husband to his future wife. This is a very noble notion in itself. However, unlike any other form of gift, the hantaran amount is fixed by the recipient, which renders the term ‘gift’ rather abstract. And invariably its purpose is not exactly as a gift per se to your would-be wife, but rather (or at least this is what is often stoutly said in its defence) to ease the financial burden on the bride’s family in holding the wedding reception. Whilst mas kahwin varies interstate between a mere RM20 to RM30, the hantaran ranges anywhere between a reasonable RM1,000 to a mind-boggling RM50,000 (or even more). The irony is that the former is a religious obligation, whilst the latter is merely customary practice. And it conveniently and effectively fuels egocentric needs of the bride’s family, as if putting a hefty price tag denotes some realtime value of the family, and of the intended union, and heaven forbid if you should try to negotiate (which would be seen as an insult to the family). As stated earlier, the ‘bride’s price tag’ differs from state to state, with the differing cost and standard of living therein being the overused excuse. Hence you’d find hantaran in the poorer east coast states generally lower than their western counterparts. This generally puts the bridegroom in the not too enviable position of having to fork out the extra moolah to sponsor two sets of wedding receptions; his as well as hers. In India, the situation is somewhat reversed. Over there, it’s the bride’s family that has to fork up a fairly huge sum (known as ‘dowry’) to pay to the bridegroom. It’s interesting though to note that this practice is prevalent among the upper caste families, whilst the lower caste custom is for the bridegroom to give ‘bride price’ to the bride’s family

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 29 (which is somewhat similar to the hantaran concept that we have in Malaysia). Its reversed trend notwithstanding, the reason for giving the dowry in India is varied, too. Among others, it is said to compensate the bridegroom’s family for bringing up and educating the bridegroom. Sometimes it is said to be for helping the newlyweds start a family. It also acts as insurance, or a bribe, to ensure that the bridegroom will take good care of his future wife. This is because taking a wife is seen as taking on a great liability, with no future prospective income. As a result, sometimes giving away your daughter’s hand is akin to signing her death sentence. The latter part is gravely true because of rampant cases of deaths of brides shortly after marriage. Most are ‘accidental’ deaths in the kitchen (hence more widely known as ‘kitchen deaths’), but it is believed to be acts of the husband due to the ‘inadequate’ amount of dowry. An accurate picture is difficult to obtain, as statistics are varied and contradictory. In 1995, the National Crime Bureau of the Government of India reported about 6,000 dowry deaths (as they are officially known) every year. A more recent police report stated that dowry deaths had risen by 170 percent in the decade until 1997. So widespread were the reported deaths that the police decided to classify all reported kitchen deaths as murder, unless otherwise proved to the contrary. Though this might be peculiar to India, and practically unheard of in Malaysia, the fact remains that putting a high ‘bride price tag’ puts unnecessary stress on the supposed bliss of married life, even before it actually begins. Whatever the reason, and whichever side has to pay, the bottom line is ultimately it’s the newlyweds that suffer the consequences of a high prenuptial expense.

30 Zaim Al-Amin Hence perhaps it’s time to revisit the necessity of this particular customary practice. Maybe it should strictly be a gift in the real sense; a sum of money or any benefit in kind (which sum or nature is entirely up to the husband to determine) given by the future husband to his future wife. A real, voluntary gift. And given out of love, not out of demand …

CHAPTER 7 Moderate Extremists, or, The Malay-Muslim Dilemma So, it always has to be me versus you, eh? Or us versus them. When the thing is positive, it’s ours; and vice-versa. And goodness knows how good we are at turning positive things into negative when the need arises. And how we constantly strive to paint others as bad as humanly possible. Take, for example, the case of the pendatang tanpa izin (illegal immigrants), or the perhimpunan tanpa izin (illegal assembly). When we really want to harp on the issue, we would invariably use the phrase pendatang haram, or perhimpunan haram. Haram carries a hellishly negative connotation, a despised religious term; as opposed to tanpa izin which basically means ‘without permission’. Not unlike the Babi vs Khindzir thing. By the same token, when we are paying tribute to a dead leader we tend to water-down our words and graciously say he was ‘supportive of his friends’. A far cry from accusing him of cronyism when he was alive. We say he was a strict leader, but never a dictator. Generous, but never lavish. Unless of course if we wish to paint him otherwise. 31

32 Zaim Al-Amin Such seemingly subtle double standards of labelling rears its ugly head when abused to create gargantuan issues out of minute lapses or mistakes of others, or when it is used maliciously against a whole bunch of people, country or even, religion. Somebody I (and you, too) know wrote a book on ... apa nama ... The Malay Dilemma, and it was later hastily banned. It’s tough enough being a Malay, eh; you know, being expected to display all that abstract thing known as ‘eastern ethics’ (as opposed to ‘western culture’) but at the same time having to be extra weary not to be `treaded on the head’. Confusing. Then put Islam into the equation and it becomes a classic case study on the meaning of ‘paradox’. First things first. How ‘Malay’, or (putting it another way), how ‘un-Malay’ can you get? Can we claim to be a purer Malay if, for instance, we eat tempoyak or budu; as opposed to those who consume burgers, spaghetti and lasagnas on a daily basis? The definition of ‘Malay’ in the Malaysian Federal Constitution does not help much either. A friend of mine managed to succinctly sum this up; you are Malay if you practise at least these three things: 1) Refrain from consuming pork 2) Circumcise 3) Wash yourself with water after going to the toilet. Default any of those, and you would be out of the society. It’s true, come to think of it; you can go to the farthest four corners of the world, and you’d be hard pressed to find a Malay who doesn’t possess these three criteria. What about drinking alcohol, prostitution and the other vices, you ask. No, you can do that at your own will and nobody would so much as bat an eyelid. It’s not part of the equation, insofar as being a Malay is concerned.

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 33 Being a Malay-Muslim complicates matters further. Malays are a race that love to confuse between religious and customary practices (hence the ‘Biar Mati Anak, Jangan Mati Adat’ thing), and sometimes you get frowned upon when you refuse to follow the custom, when in fact you are trying to abide to what the religion requires. Perhaps we should just forget the trivial intricacies of being a Malay, and transcend racial borders to being, simply, a Muslim. Does that give us a better sense of belonging, and make our self-appraisal any easier? Maybe yes, maybe no. After all, today we Muslims are at a crucial and confusing crossroads. Terms and labels being hurled at us, doubts relentlessly attacking our very own conscience. Am I a good Muslim, or a bad one? Am I a moderate, a fundamentalist or an extremist? A moderate-extremist, or an extreme-moderate? A hardline Muslim, or an Islamic militant? Should I support Northern Alliance or Taliban? Emulate Saddam Hussein or Osama bin Laden? Most of us take comfort in claiming to be moderate Muslims; after all, that’s the safest option next to fence sitting. So it’s like; “... I am a moderate Muslim, living in a moderately Muslim nation, practising religion moderately and so on, and I can comfortably share the same table with some drunken sailors, as long as they don’t force me to drink ...’’ Then you can also nonchalantly don a pair of wrangler jeans, cowboy hat, a neckerchief and confidently walk the streets of New York, with a manifestation of being more American than the Yankees themselves, and still be a moderate Muslim from a moderate Muslim nation. That appears fine, but there are people who believe that it’s perfectly alright for consenting parties above the age of

34 Zaim Al-Amin 18 to commit adultery, and who think that Lailatul Qadar and Qiamullail are some exotic, gorgeous and sexy Arabian characters from the 1001 Arabian Nights tale; yet these people are the first to claim that they are moderate Muslims, and heaven forbid if you tell them otherwise. And they view Muslims who are steadfast to the Islamic pillars as extremists or fundamentalists. Or worse – terrorists! So then, when is a Muslim country moderate and when is it extreme? Should a moderate Muslim country allow beer breweries, beauty pageants, discreet prostitution etc., as part and parcel of moderation, or perhaps as a necessary evil? And then there’s this modern Muslims’ uprising; those who insist that religion should be updated as and when necessary. It’s true; religion, like everything else that is good and universal; is transcendent of time and place; but to update or interpret even one word differently would be a travesty of the religion itself. Circumstances might change, but that does not open avenues for viscissitution. When we practise religious transcendentalism, and allow our morals to float according to current trends, our value system would ultimately be as volatile as today’s stock market. What was taboo yesterday could be the norm tomorrow. Think about homosexuality, lesbianism etc., we have liberation groups fighting for the rights of people of the same sex to marry. Whatever next? In a world where genetic engineering is already a possibility, such things should really worry us. Imagine the kind of chaos genetic engineering can do to society, when technology is allowed to ‘play God’. Commercialisation of the holy evolution process, not unlike fixed football games. Recreation of your own egos, re-embodiment of one’s lifelong pride, prejudice and even evils. So, when

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 35 times are tough, do pause for a moment before you decide to go to that Sperm Bank and get RM200 for a quick one (oh, but unfortunately Muslims are not allowed to donate, anyway!). Perhaps it’s time to reflect. To peg our values, conscience, morals etc., to a certain universal standard; the one enshrined and provided for in religious teachings and the Holy Books, and thereafter to judge all things from that fixed paradigm. Only then we would never go astray. As for me, I am content to claim myself as an extremely moderate but occasionally fundamental fanatic and casually modern Muslim renaissance reform man.

CHAPTER 8 Not a Boy, Not Yet a Man Despite the title looking very much like a macho equivalence to that sweet Britney Spears song, this article is not another one of those over-debated Man vs Woman thingy. Rather, it’s trying to decipher the age-old code of what makes a ‘man’. In some cases, trying to understand this seemingly elusive thing of being a real ‘man’. You often get bombarded with all sorts of prompts; like, “are you ‘man’ enough for this?” or, maybe to a subtler extent, that sales pitch by some Sweet Young Thing selling perfume at Suria KLCC: “this one for sure will make you smell ‘like a man’ lah bang ...”. So when are you a boy, a kid, a guy, and finally; ‘a man’? It surely does not automatically come, or is measured, with the passing of time. And since when do we put logical milestones on age anyway. At the tender age of 18, you are already old enough for a licence to drive and even old enough to join the army (and thus, have the licence to kill); yet you are still not old enough to vote for (or, technically, to be) the country’s leader. Some people swear that their manliness started when they began smoking, or better still, drinking. But that would be too simplistic and general, not unlike people who think that 37

38 Zaim Al-Amin all girls who smoke are sluts. After all even decent girls smoke nowadays and, come to think of it; my grandma did! So is manliness to be associated with the sporting (or sprouting) of a beard resembling Osama bin Laden, or a moustache the calibre of Saddam Hussein’s, or Bill Gates- inspired spectacles, or Tom Jones’ sideburns, or David Beckham’s haircut, or Richard Gere’s personality? Or the ability to scale up and down the KL Tower like Spiderman, or have the guts or intrepidness (depending on the way you see it) to sail the seven seas on a solo mission? Or the ability to do anything to enter your name in the Book of World Records? Or simply, to look like Adam King? WHO is Adam King anyway? The male equivalent of the Martell Lady? Would a man who dresses in tight designer tee-shirt and floral pants, and who struts around carrying a Louis Vuitton leather handbag as proudly as ladies do, be seen as less manly than the oil and grease mechanic or burly construction worker? Things like this might seem trivial, but they actually have a snowballing effect on your personality as a whole. Many a guy nowadays border dangerously on cross-dressing; just look at the way men’s facial saloons are mushrooming. During my younger days, to do a facial would invite ‘boos’ of being ‘pondan’ and the like; but now it’s considered normal for the sake of presenting that ‘corporate face’. Blame it on men’s magazines like FHM or Men’s Review, if you like, but that’s the power of advertising. Nowadays, a man can nonchalantly do a facial in order to sport an unblemished face, sport an immaculate ‘unisex’ hairstyle, don the latest Giorgio-something fashion, with

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 39 matching socks, designer watch, nose studs and an earring or two thrown in for good measure, wear perfume that smells like a bunch of roses, and drive the new Volkswagen Beetle complete with flower vase, and still claim he listens to Deep Purple. Duh! What prompted this article, you ask? Well, I was in a unisex saloon yesterday, and this girl was asking me if I wanted to do ‘facial kaki’ (loosely translated as a ‘foot facial’), which I did not understand. Took me some time before it dawned on me – a pedicure, of course! Perhaps then it’s time to return to the Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman traditional kedai gunting (barber shops) to get your hair done by a real barber. Not by some smells-nice chap wearing a tight pink turtle-neck tee-shirt, having a name like Simon Kwok or something like that and sporting a fancy name card designating his profession as Hairstylist (or worse, Hair Consultant). I need someone who looks at himself as simply a barber. A good, old fashioned tukang gunting. And a ‘manly’ one at that ...

CHAPTER 9 Paradise Lost & Paradise Regained, or, Nocturnal Flying Banshees Can you honestly recall the last time you opened doors for your loved one? Be it the car door, house door, or just plain holding the elevator door open; chances are it was quite some time back. Unless of course you have never done it in the first place; which sort of disqualifies you from reading this further. Most of us would have done our very best to court our (then) girlfriend (now, presumably spouse). Remember those endless bouquets of flowers, candlelight dinners and expensive perfumes, given on an almost weekly basis? You almost effortlessly render those fairy tales and Hollywood (or Bollywood, if you prefer) love affairs pale in comparison. And remember all those sweet promises in typical Malay style? Something about wanting to ‘pluck the brightest star’, ‘climb the highest mountain’, or, just to make it sound all the more heroic, to ‘swim oceans of fire’ (hmm ... now, that’s what we should contemplate next in the spirit of Malaysia Boleh. If only we can find that fiery ocean, that is). And she, wonder of wonders; believed every word of it. 41

42 Zaim Al-Amin The point is, invariably, we all made promises. Brazenly. Which, invariably again, in the end we never quite managed to make good. The fact that some of the promises were, to begin with, pretty impossible to fulfill certainly did not help. Impossible promises aside, there are also more down- to-earth promises which most of us are still guilty of not fulfilling. Even to the extent of, consciously or otherwise, blatantly ignoring our other half; or taking him (or her, as the case may be) for granted. Forget the lautan api sanggup kurenangi part, or even the mere opening or closing of the car door (whether it’s a run-down Proton Wira or a brand new Proton Persona). Or whatever other chivalrous acts that made you so special in her eyes (or vice versa); so much so she fell in love with you instead of that ‘other guy’. A few years down the road, chances are you would even forget to wish her Happy Birthday, let alone try to spring a surprise party on your umpteenth wedding anniversary. And when she complains, you impatiently tell her she’s being unrealistic. You no longer buy Old Spice, Poken or Vitalis or whatever it was that made your hair look like MGR (or David Arumugam, if you prefer), but are now instead content with a sprinkle of water to tame that unruly mane. Your hair now reminds her of Phua Chu Kang, and when you find out that she adores David Beckham’s hair (or Anuar Zain’s, as the case may be), you quickly accuse her of having a roving eye. She buys you hair cream, shampoo, perfume, Listerine etc., and gets exasperated when the message doesn’t get across. Then when she becomes disheartened, turned off and begins to ignore your sexual hints, you say that she is

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 43 becoming unsexy and boring. What you do not realise is that you are behaving (and sometimes, smelling) like a slab of dead meat, and still you expect her to find you sexy. And that Enrique Iglesias (or Shah Rukh Khan, as the case may be) poster in the bedroom kept her awake while you were making love to her. It is not uncommon for either or both parties to, out of sheer frustration, start looking around for an alternative. Chances are they might find what they are looking for in another guy/ girl. They want, even psychologically need, someone who is willing to, again, swim that ‘fiery ocean’ for them. And suddenly they find out that there are bountiful others who are available and each one of them a hundred times better and willing ‘swimmers’ than their current spouse. So, what happened down the line? You can’t seem to answer, other than conveniently blame it all on work commitments, daily routines, household chores etc. Your relationship becomes stale; a simple smile becomes a rare novelty, and stress and tension is the order of the day. The warm relationship is reduced to a mere state of constant endurance; until the day comes when either one or both scream (or, more likely now, send SMS) that they want out! This is, decidedly, the more tricky part. It would be much easier if your spouse were a car. When a car breaks down, you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to do a simple cost computation on whether to repair it, or consider it as a total loss, or trade it in for a new one. But when it comes to a love story, where the heart and emotion are engaged, it’s never a straightforward decision. If the problem is serious, or recurring, then perhaps it’s best to consider other options. But, as in most cases, it just needs some minor repair work,

44 Zaim Al-Amin as long as you are willing to endure driving the same car. It’d be cheaper, anyway. What people often fail to see is that all this is the beginning of another cycle. A lot of people become frustrated with their first marriage, get lost in second love, then gleefully forsake their first marriage, only to find out that this new heartthrob will, in time, become as dead a slab of meat as his/her former love. Which simply means that, before taking such drastic measures, think again. Most of the time, the fault is on both sides. But how do you endure this impossible man for the next twenty years, you’d ask. Well, look at it this way; your husband may not open doors for you anymore, may not send flowers to your workplace daily (he can’t afford to do so, you know; unless he’s a millionaire or happens to be a flower dealer). But look beyond that and you will notice that he hasn’t changed much. He’s still your adorable darling, albeit now sporting a very prominent spare tyre like that belonging to a Mitsubishi Pajero V6. And at the same time, look at yourself. What’s with those ugly ‘Marge Simpson’ curlers at bedtime? And for goodness sake, change that smelly kain batik lepas which has not seen soap and water for more than two months. You seem excited to sport your Alanis Morissette look for your boss at the office tomorrow, but have no qualms showing off your langsuyar look to dear hubby tonight. You remind your husband of the movie Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam (The Smell Nice Night Bitch Flying Banshee) every time he looks at you, and you still expect him to throw himself all over you?

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 45 Perhaps all it needs is some deep understanding. Don’t compare your wife of thirty years to that glamorous leggy secretary at the office who does nothing but apply make-up every five minutes. And on the other hand don’t compare your husband with that young executive who has all the time in the world to look like Anuar Zain. Or with that Group Managing Director in your public listed company who has all the money in the world to look and smell nice, and to be equally nice to you. That would be akin to comparing your old faithful but weather-beaten 1988 BMW 520i with a glistening brand new model sprawling at that squeaky clean Naza Motors showroom. So then, perhaps it’s time to value what you have. To treasure and to celebrate. To rejoice and to bask in the glory of your marriage. To try and rekindle the old flame. To bring back good old memories. Leave your kids with the in-laws, go on holidays. Or simply go to Central Market, Petaling Street, Genting Highlands, Colmar Tropicale or whichever place you frequented when you were not wearing tags such as husband, wife, father, mother, executive, director; but simply, lovers. Play old songs. Watch old movies. See if you can recollect the sweet memories. Rediscover the fiery passion. Chances are you would be pleasantly surprised. Because at the end of the day, it’s the relationship itself that matters. The fact that you have watched each other grow, managed to raise a family, managed to pay for that weather-beaten car and house; which again, is not quite like the mahligai syahdu which you once solemnly promised to her as if you were heir to a throne. At the end of the day, it’s the simple fact that you stood by each other all those long years that really matters. Of having survived through it all. Against all odds. No matter what. Through thick and thin.

46 Zaim Al-Amin Come what may. Whatever … Perhaps, twenty long years from now, you will look back at all that transpired, hold her (now) wrinkled hands and look deep into her eyes. Whether you see her smile, or feel her respond with a weak grasp, or simply notice a faraway twinkle in her tired eyes that you know means “I love you”; it would be well-worth it all. But until then, you may still have to put up with all those hair curlers every night. Oh, and those smelly socks ...!

CHAPTER 10 Of Teh Tarik, Roti Canai & Chappati, or, Spin Again, Earthling …! Let’s imagine a scenario of unrivalled serenity and tranquillity; a forty-something man lazing on a vast sand dune, deeply engrossed in a book that seems to effortlessly ‘hover’ in front of him. Yes, I mean hover! His wife, wearing a colourful batik pario performs a seemingly impossible balancing act; but nevertheless succeeds every time in doing her teh tarik stunt without spilling a single drop. In the meantime, his in-laws are watching the kids who take their turns spinning tops; now and then calling out loud; forbidding them from playing with the aliens. What – aliens? Or so I hear you say. Well, for want of a better word, actually. I don’t really know what we’d eventually call them. Here on planet Earth, we simply refer to those who are foreign to us as, well, foreigners. For beings from other planets, we’d call them aliens. Or extra-terrestrials. Or if they came from Mars, then Martians they are. If they reside on the Moon, then perhaps they are Moon-golians. Or Lunarians. Or Lunatics. Mental equilibrium aside, don’t laugh it off just yet. If everything goes as planned, the above serene and tranquil 47

48 Zaim Al-Amin scenario would represent a typical Malaysian family having a typical vacation errrrr … well … on the Moon. You see, we would soon be sending our first astronaut or cosmonaut or whatever we have finally decided to call him, to perhaps test how it feels or how good he looks wearing a batik moonsuit in outer space. He would also most likely be obliged to sportingly toss roti canai, pull some teh tarik and possibly, spin a top. Why roti canai and teh tarik? Perhaps because they are deemed to be the unmistakable icons of the Malaysian race. My father, for one, would hear nothing of that. He’d vehemently argue that our celebrated astronaut should play caklempong. By the way, whose idea was it that we have to show off our culinary skills in outer space? If that was of any cosmic importance, the Americans would surely have had a permanent McDonald’s outlet on board the International Space Station. One cannot help but think that all this brouhaha over tossing roti canai in space is a cheap publicity stunt. The irony and paradox of it is that it doesn’t come cheap. More so considering the lack of scientific value that it brings. When I was in primary school, the subject of the universe and space exploration was serious and purely scientific in nature. Now, I can easily imagine pictures of cosmonauts doing all sorts of funny things in my grandchildren’s Science book. Perhaps even doing a kuda kepang with a bit of ulek mayang thrown in for good measure. Or sing Negaraku. Or Menuju Puncak. Or just about anything that spells or smells Malaysian! But whatever for? Now, that’s actually the real poser, not the aforesaid antics. Granted, the year 2007 has been designated as another Visit Malaysia Year; so one could be