Teh Tarik Kaw Wunne - A Malaysian Smorgasbord

CHAPTER 23 The WOW Day My wife Nina used to work at Opus International plc. Some would know it by its former name, Kinta Kellas and to others it might sound totally foreign. Whatever, but as a faithful husband, I have actually grown quite accustomed to, almost to the point of being fond of, being known as a hubby of an Opus staff. They are one big happy family. And I have always especially looked forward to their WOW Days. The WOW Day is a Family Day with a difference. Although it coincides with Merdeka Day, it’s not celebrated at Merdeka Square with countdown at midnight. Or gathering at KLCC park to watch Akademi Fantasia artistes perform. A WOW Day is celebrated with orphans. Each family adopts an orphan for a whole day, and it would be a day filled with fun, games and, of course, laughter. This year the company planned an outing to Nur Lembah Pangsun; an eco resort on the fringes of the Hulu Langat forest reserve. It’s a perfect venue; conveniently within reach from KL, yet is isolated and secluded enough to exude a sense of peace and tranquillity. 107

108 Zaim Al-Amin On the eve of Merdeka, as other people prepared to celebrate, my wife and I spent a quiet night on the balcony of our 12th floor condo, watching the distant fireworks, talking about Tunku Abdul Rahman, the fight for Independence, and about the adopted son we were going to meet. Or maybe it was going to be a daughter. Early the next morning, the whole family made their way to the resort. The kids from the orphanage arrived on a bus shortly after. There were about seventy families from Opus who volunteered, and about the equal number of orphans to choose from. It was a merry sight, with so many children. The usual registrations ensued, and before long, we got ourselves our adopted son for the day. He was an eight- year-old boy by the name of Izaat. Izaat was good-looking, with strikingly sharp features. He had this smile, sweet and disarming. Initially he was quiet, but I couldn’t help noticing how his eyes lighted up whenever we spoke to him. After we introduced ourselves, I told him to call me and my wife Bapa and Mama the same way our kids do, and he immediately warmed up to us. Before long, he was comfortably chatting away with all our kids. After a quick breakfast, everyone proceeded to a small field, and the parents, their kids and their adopted ‘children’ participated in various games. It was fun. At one time I found myself playing musical chairs, at another time I found myself hopping and jumping and frantically trying to outdo the other kids. The fresh smell of newly cut grass, the sight of so many kids, and the happy sounds around me somehow brought back memories of my childhood. Suddenly I was no longer the middle-aged Group Legal Advisor of a multinational oil

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 109 & gas company. I was this eight-year-old boy, hopping and jumping with his friends. Time and place ceased to have meaning. I had never felt that kind of freedom for such a long time. The sound of one of the kids shouting brought me back to the present. It was no longer the past. It was the here and now. I looked at the orphans, and suddenly realised that we were once children just like them. And they are children just like we were. But unlike us, they have no parents. A strange feeling tugged at my heart strings, and almost unconsciously my hand reached out and stroked Izaat’s hair. He looked at me with an expression of delight but mixed with surprise. Maybe he was not sure if that stroke was intentional. I gave him another one, just to assure, and his eyes caught mine in a momentary, yet deep and meaningful gaze. Before long, Izaat and us were like true family. Even our kids felt the warmth and the sense of belonging that was starting to bond us together. And before long, too, it was late afternoon and, of course, time for Izaat and his friends to go. We presented Izaat with a gift, and a card for remembrance. Izaat shook my hands and said goodbye, and I was about to give a few words of advice when I found my voice cracking. I was too overcome by emotion that I had to swallow back my words. In the end it was just a pat on the back from me. We all watched sadly as Izaat and his friends walked towards the waiting bus. Just before boarding, he suddenly turned towards us, called out Bapa and Mama at the top of his lungs and waved wildly. As we waved back, I felt hot tears run down my cheeks. It was time for us to part. As an old song goes, “... and time can do so much ... are you still mine...”. Time can bring love, time can bring sadness. Yesterday was the past, with its

110 Zaim Al-Amin sweet memories. Today is Independence Day, a day when I actually felt free and yet bonded at the same time. Tomorrow is, to most of us, just another working day. Tomorrow, to Izaat and his friends, it will once again be life at an orphanage. We all felt the same tinge of sadness, a feeling of losing a loved one. I could see how Izaat kept close to us all the time, as if savouring every second of being within a family whilst it lasts. And all the affection wasn’t one-sided either. Our kids whined and complained, saying it was all too soon, and pleaded with us to adopt Izaat forever. To their young minds, that was the obvious solution. I had to painstakingly explain to them that it is not as simple as it seems. Yes, life tends to get complicated. And sometimes, cruel. But amidst all that, it’s nice to know that once in a while life also springs strange and wonderful surprises. It could mean different things to different people. To Izaat and us, it was that particular Merdeka Day ...

CHAPTER 24 Of Wedding Anniversaries & Friendship Revisited, or, Down Memory Lane So what do you do when you suddenly bump into a childhood friend whom you have not met for the last 30 years? Would you embrace and hug like a couple of flamboyant Arabs, or would you just nod and smile, unsure of what to actually say or do? In my case however, it was kind of expected that I would be bumping into this friend, since I was invited (by way of my father) to his parents’ 40th wedding anniversary. Frankly I thought of giving that event a skip, even managed to mumble a lame excuse about having to watch a futsal match. Dad wouldn’t hear neither head nor tail of it, so there I was. And expected as it was for me and my long-lost friend, it caught us unprepared nevertheless. If nothing else, the first feeling that would strike you is one of awkwardness although the memories as a couple of eight-year-olds, riding their bikes and playing kites and guli in a town called Teluk Anson are still vivid in our minds. On rainy days, we’d watch Broker Corp Machine Blaster or Ultraman on black and white television. Or read comics like Bujal and Bambino or tabloids like Utusan Pelajar. 111

112 Zaim Al-Amin One weekend I’d stay at his house, the next he would stay at mine. We were more than friends; we were like brothers. So, nothing could have prepared us to face each other; 30 long years later. My parents moved to Ipoh, and his to Rawang. We went to separate boarding schools and attended different universities. Now we are 38-year-old adults and I believe we both felt totally disconnected. Perhaps it was the innocence of youth, or the openness towards simple friendship. Perhaps, somewhere along the line, we changed and became ‘like other people’. We metamorphosised into what we then referred to as ‘those grown ups’. Together with all the ego, selfishness, complications, complex and whatever other values (or perhaps, necessary evils) that comes with being an adult. Perhaps it’s something we all grew out of. During our childhood days, it used to be just ‘me’ versus ‘you’. Plain and simple. Now, ‘you’and ‘me’invariably means ourselves, our respective jobs, our respective wives, kids and whatever it is that needs our attention. We are wary of time, of money. What used to be a simple and almost natural occasion, like having teh tarik with friends, becomes a rare commodity. And before we know it, we have drifted further and further apart, even to the point of forgetting each other. Maybe, until the other falls sick. Or passes away. Think of all our friends. Some of them remain missing forever. No amount of persuasion can make them attend reunion dinners. Some simply because of shyness, some simply because they cannot overcome the anxiety of meeting people from the past. Anxious of what has been lost, or what has befallen. Or what would become. Or, for whatever reason, simply unwilling to relate the present with the past.

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 113 Hence I couldn’t help but marvel at the function which I attended. For there was not one, but two showcases of the best of life: one was my father’s best friend who was officially celebrating his 40th wedding anniversary; the other was my father and his best friend unofficially celebrating their even longer friendship. I saw tears forming at the corners of their eyes as both of them reminisced about their younger days, their faces glowing and radiating from the sheer warmth of their friendship. For a fleeting moment, I saw both of them not as my father and an uncle, but as two young kampung boys running around a padi field. Everybody at the party took turns at the mike talking about the happy couple, relating past events; some sad, some hilarious. It was more than just memories; for I could almost feel the pulse of their generation. It was like being able to travel back in time, and watching my father’s childhood days. It made me reflect, and think what life is all about. For a moment, I felt I could understand their generation, and what they stood for. Their problems, their aspirations, their shortcomings. And of course, their hopes for the future generation. Which, to them, is us. The same way that we hold high hopes and aspirations towards the future generation which is our own kids. Later that night, I went to my kids’ room to kiss them goodnight. My ten-year-old daughter related to me some stories about her friends in school. I listened attentively, nodding and interjecting with ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ wherever necessary. At that time I felt like telling her all the things that I was thinking; all my hopes and aspirations; but then it dawned on me that it would be too much for her young mind to grasp. Maybe one day I would tell it to her, or maybe one day, like me, she would understand it on her own. So when

114 Zaim Al-Amin she finally finished, I just asked her: “How many friends do you have?” To which she hastily replied: “A lot of ordinary friends, but I have two best friends …” “You must have more, darling, you must have more …” I smiled at her, and as I kissed her and her three other siblings good night, I felt tears well up at the corners of my eyes. I wonder if they noticed; and even if they did, I doubt if they understood …

CHAPTER 25 Love Thy Life, or, Happy Birthday to Me If you happen to be a lawyer, marriage counsellor, or simply someone whom people turn to when they have problems; it would often dawn on you how people ironically look at life from different perspectives. People are known to want to commit suicide for the simplest reasons; from breaking up with a boyfriend to failing to get World Cup tickets. Which makes you muse; how cheap is life? Life is free, but it is precious. Perhaps people don’t realise this, unless if they are on death row awaiting to be taken to the gallows. Ask the people in prison how they value life, even simple freedom for that matter – things that we folks take for granted. They do work; carpentry, gardening, all the while counting their days to freedom, wondering if they would ever survive their sentences and get a chance at ‘living’ again. Some of them plant taugeh, some of them plant durians; depending on how long they expect to remain inside. Perhaps this is simply another derailment of my train of thoughts, but then again perhaps it’s time we re-evaluate 115

116 Zaim Al-Amin our priorities. To count our blessings, and not to take things for granted. So maybe that Patek Philippe watch, that Du Pont lighter, that glistening BMW 740i (with satellite navigation), that bungalow at Bukit Antarabangsa (with matured Japanese garden, no less), or that long awaited holiday in Hawaii, Palau or Seychelles, or whatever it is that you deemed so important, can wait. For today let’s just take in a deep breath, and bask in the celebration of life; of simply being alive, and be thankful for everything we already have. Yes. Especially when you are already on the wrong side of 40 …

CHAPTER 26 Handphone Etiquette, or, Will U Just Shut Up ...? Have you ever been annoyed, say, when you are having a meeting, or simply having a glass of teh tarik, or espresso, and this other person with you is intermittently glancing at his/her handphone, seemingly oblivious to the points you are trying to make or perhaps to your very presence? And every now and then his/her handphone beeps, he/she gleefully looks at it, pushes some buttons, then smiles or even laughs out aloud. Then he/she starts to type something on the tiny screen, then finally pushes the ‘send’ button, nods smugly as if he has just done something to save the world, and then looks at you with a blank expression, and says: “... errr ... and what were you saying ...?” Welcome to the world of SMS. Or MMS, if you like. Handphones have, from its inception, invoked controversy. In the beginning, it was a symbol of wealth, or success (or, whichever comes first). Tycoons used to lug around large tumbler-like units as if they were intravenously attached to them. Then handphones got smaller, and more affordable. But the thing that never changed is the way they are used, or 117

118 Zaim Al-Amin abused; and we are quite familiar with all those adverts on when and where not to use your handphones (hospitals, cinemas, banking halls). To me, the rules are quite as basic as they are obvious. Handphones are, after all, a telephone that is mobile; and telephones are for communicating. And the rules for telephones should apply mutatis mutandis to handphones as well. Some simple phone etiquettes that people need to follow:- 1. If you are with someone, and you really have to use your handphone, then out of courtesy do excuse yourself, go a short distance away and make that all-important call; never do it right in the face of that someone. And make it brief. 2. If you are trying to call someone and get a dialling tone but the line is not picked up, then be rest assured that the other person is either engaged in something, is driving or maybe even asleep. Or he is in a place where he has to put his ringer off. Let him return your call, failing which you try calling again after, say, an hour. Nothing is more annoying than to have someone re- dial your number incessantly as if he were on a hijacked plane that’s about to crash into KLCC and you happen to be the only person in the world who could stop the terrorist attack. 3. If you are in a meeting, refrain from putting your handphone on the table. You might own the latest phone, but don’t display it the way cowboys do with their guns in the Wild Wild West. The polite thing to

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 119 do would be to put off the ringer and tuck away the handphone in your pocket. You can check your missed calls or SMSes or voice mails later. Whilst I am not suggesting procrastination, most things in the world can be postponed for at least an hour or so, and nobody would be any dead or wiser. 4. If you are the ‘victim’ i.e. the person you are with is rambling away on the phone and you do not see an end in sight, then just fake a phone call and excuse yourself for another meeting. I have seen people typing away SMSes whilst in a corporate meeting, or in hospital while visiting a sick friend. To me it’s pure and simple contempt and disrespect. Horrendous still, some even boast about being able to do so while driving. And believe me, I have seen some people do it during the religious sermons on Fridays. And you would have read the one about MPs in Parliament House. The list is exhaustive. Handphones are small, useful but also a powerful tool. It can make or break a business decision, it can help you fall in love, and at the same time an SMS can also break a holy matrimony. A person can be judged merely by the way he or she uses his or her handphone, but let me not elaborate on that just to preserve some marital harmony. What I am trying to say is simply that we should have basic etiquette when it comes to using these can’t-do- without devices. They are becoming smaller and more powerful by the minute, and if used properly would be an indispensable tool for any business or social function. But I hate to see people sit at the same table and instead

120 Zaim Al-Amin of enjoying each other’s company, they are busy with their individual handphones; talking, SMSing, or even surfing the Net. Don’t you miss the times when you had to wait for your girlfriend at a bus-stop, not knowing when she would arrive? Nowadays, after waiting for five minutes, we would impatiently call her handphone, and would invariably be awarded with an ‘I’m-on-my-way’ reply, which is probably a big bluff anyway. A lot of people say that when they have not even left the house. Perhaps today I will just leave mine at home and see how it goes. Wanna join me ...?

CHAPTER 27 Cintai IT (Ibu Tunggal), or, Lesen Kahwin Lagi ... Okay, we have all heard that song, which actually refers to ‘IT’ as in ‘Information Technology’. Anyway, people have gleefully changed the IT to mean Ibu Tunggal (Single Mothers), owing no less to the fact that there’s an abundance of them nowadays. All of a sudden you notice around you a lot of pretty girls in their early twenties who are janda berhias, or glamorous widows, much to the delight of married men and the anxiety of their wives. It is an open secret that most husbands desire to be polygamous, and an even more open secret that most wives don’t actually, errr ... to put it lightly, like the idea very much. Common reasons given by wives:- 1. What is wrong (or, what do I lack) with me? 2. You can’t afford it. And if a husband really insists on increasing his number, the poor wife will agree to settle for a janda yang kematian suami dan beranak ramai (a widow with many kids in tow). God help those husbands who are trying to talk some sense into their wives on this issue. Most of the time you 121

122 Zaim Al-Amin would reach a dead end, or worse, a junction where you have to choose one, with no U-turns. Perhaps the first wrong view to take would be to see men who want to practice polygamy as having double standards when it comes to Sunnah. Or when the wife inevitably asks the ‘what-is-wrong-with-me’ kind of question. Say, you have a gleaming, albeit five-year-old, BMW M3. You would find it marvellous as your everyday transport, being the ultimate driving machine and all, and would not even think of selling it off. But you might need a different car for those other occasions; say, doing the Carrefour rounds, golfing, or simply going to Bukit Belacan for a lazy afternoon. So you buy yourself a Perodua Kenari. Would everybody then clamour to ask you questions like: “Hey – why did you buy the Kenari? What’s wrong with the Beemer?” Yes? No? Of course not. Simply because the reason is obvious. The same goes with wives. For a man to take a second, or for that matter; third or fourth wife; does not in itself mean or indicate any inadequacy in the earlier spouse. But it does not go down well with women; they would immediately see it as a challenge, or an insult, resulting in the all-too- familiar tarik rambut (hair-pulling) scenes as seen in P. Ramlee movies. One needs to understand the predicament of these ibu tunggals. On the one hand they are expected to try to get a husband soonest possible so that they would cease to be an ibu tunggal and therefore cease to remain as a threat to society at large. On the other hand they are viewed as flirting with people’s husbands, and called unsavoury names like perampas suami orang (husband snatchers) etc., when all they wanted was not to snatch or rob but only to share.

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 123 To add to the burden, they find that the single guys only view them as sex objects; when the subject of marriage is broached these guys would simply shy away and go off in pursuit of anak daras (virgins). And if they try to flirt with married men, they would be hard pressed to find one who is sincere and well-to-do; and when they finally do find one; they have to face this Great Barrier Reef called The First Wife. That leaves only the Widowers variety, which is, in theory at least, not all too eager to marry either. When the PAS political party came up with almost an edict that men should take up the abundant widows, that left many members of the fairer sex (read wives) fuming. Which makes that bit about polygamy the most talked about but least practised piece of legislative. Whilst this writing is not meant to ridicule, or to take sides, or to try to find a solution; it seeks to instill an understanding between the parties. I know of a woman who had the opportunity to be a First Wife and later to become somebody else’s Second Wife. Malena (not her real name) had some enlightening stories of how she came to accept the facts; however hard, however bitter. And once she managed to swallow it all, she experienced a miracle cure to a disease which she, and perhaps a lot of other women as well, suffered. A disease called selfishness. But then again, a year ago she called me up and told me she was divorced again and have since remarried. Perhaps for some, it’s still third time lucky ...

CHAPTER 28 A Transvestite’s Tale So how did you celebrate the eve of Merdeka Day? To some, the inevitable answer would be Bintang Walk or Dataran Merdeka; or for some Beach Club or Planet Hollywood. I’m yet to find somebody who spent it at Masjid Negara or any mosques, churches or temples, which is completely another issue; but basically Merdeka Eve is a time to rejoice our much revered freedom; the only thing is that people do different things for the same reason, or same things for different reasons. If it is liberalism, sexual fluidity, freedom of expression and such things that you really want to celebrate, then there’s no better place than to take what I would simply call a KL Transvestites Tour. Such things might not be featured in Astro’s Discovery Channel, but it is nevertheless a liberating journey full of insight into what our country has transformed into; for better or for worse; over the decades. What you need is simply a roadworthy car, or motorbike; and a guide who knows how to get from your house to Grand Continental Hotel. So if you already have those; and have some two hours to spare, try taking a drive there one 125

126 Zaim Al-Amin Saturday night. There are no signboards, but you can’t miss it. After you pass the said hotel, you would see a traffic crawl on the far right; don’t worry; those are cars with people like you inside; curious onlookers wanting to get a glimpse of the ‘other world’. Toe the line and follow the traffic flow and you will be guided along some dark, sleazy back alleys. Now, after your eyes get used to the dark, look around and you will notice scores upon scores of girls lining up in front of the dirty and run-down pre-war shophouses. And on the other side there would be equal scores upon scores of men loitering around, just taking the opportunity to openly stare and gawk at these ‘girls’. But hey – wait; after a while you start to notice more things; what’s with those bulging calves; are these girls all Olympic swimmers or what? And then upon closer look you realise that you’re staring at transvestites, or shemales, or pondan, or mak nyah or ah kua ... So you start to wonder; how come there are so many of them? What happened? You start thinking things like: “Polis tak tau ke tempat ni?” until you actually pass a police beat base. And see the officers calmly sipping coffee whilst also seemingly enjoying the view. So maybe it’s not an offence to cross-dress after all. And then you start to think about JAWI, or JAWA or whatever organisation that claims to supervise religious things here. So, what went wrong? Transvestites by the hundreds, and nobody taking action? Maybe cross-dressing is not an offence, but what about soliciting and providing sexual services? Or has everything been duly recognised, and legalised?

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 127 I know someone who was fooled into becoming a ‘sugar daddy’ to a ‘girl’ who, after so long, he found out to be a shemale! Imagine how he wanted to puke when he finally realised. And before you start to condemn him as stupid, do take a look at these shemales; after painstaking and torturous surgery and heavy make-up, they begin to manifest as the fairer sex. Some of them are so perfect that the only giveaway is that hoarse voice; but then there are real females with such voice too, right; so you can imagine how this particular ‘sugar daddy’ was completely fooled. His ‘mistress’ even faked her menstrual periods by buying sanitary pads periodically! And before you start to dismiss this phenomenon to some ‘faraway place out of my concern’, look again around you the next time you go out for groceries. If you are lucky (or unlucky) enough; there would be a whole bunch of them loitering in front of your neighbourhood 7-Eleven store! Makes you wonder what’s happening to society. In the meantime, try to figure out what to tell your kids; just in case they ask you who those lovely ladies with big voices are ...

CHAPTER 29 A Tribute to the Gay Community Okay, to start with, I am not gay. Hence I came up with that ‘biased’ (to some) article entitled Transvestites’ Tour; which has unexpectedly exposed myself to some serious flak from the gay community. I am accused, inter alia, of being orthodox, insensitive et al; so perhaps I owe you all an apology, or at least some explanation. I’m not against you all per se. There is a difference between just cross-dressing; just being very close buddies on a platonic, non-sexual way; or just being members of the Blue Boys Club or perhaps; a dancer from Paper Dolls as opposed to being a full-fledged nyah involved in the flesh trade. If you say the public views you with jaundiced eyes; it probably stemmed from your ‘species’ own deeds (or misdeeds). You can cross-dress as much as you want; but if you want to emulate the gentler sex, then for goodness sake; be gentle. Don’t start to hail up men from 100 metres away, offering lurid details of blowjobs and all kinds of sexual services as if you were selling kacang putih. 129

130 Zaim Al-Amin Ladies too, have to tread the modesty trail with caution. If they are seen to trample some age-old notions of virtue, they would be subject to ridicule as well; maybe worse. Think about all the words reserved for them; from bitch to sundal to jalang; which all have a feminine tag to them. So, if you gays and transvestites want some recognition; or even respect; it’s time for you to do some soul-searching. It’s time to shake off the old belief that transvestites are pleasure seekers, or worse, full-fledged prostitutes who offer alternative sexual services at lower premium. I am not saying that all this means that we should amend the Constitution and laws (something like “the male gender would include all female and in-between genders” in all contract recitals) to give you respect and ‘equality’ (mind you; ladies have been fighting for equality longer than you can remember), but you should strive to be accepted first. The world is not fair; you could be treated like third or fourth class citizens; but if you show your virtues, and prove your worth long enough; you might still gain some respect. There was this legal firm two floors up from my office which employs a cross-dresser; and s(he) is given all the freedom to cross-dress; and the officemates treat ‘her’ with respect. I had the experience of being in the same lift with ‘her’ on several occasions; on none of which ‘she’ as much as made any provocative gestures, not even a glance. And I don’t think it was because I lack animal magnetism as a man. It’s just that; like a real lady; s(he) was being demure ...

CHAPTER 30 Of Rubber Bracelets, Syringes & Condoms, or, Roll Down Da Rubber, Man I was trying to promote a rubber wristband product. One of the people I approached suggested that I try to push the rubber bracelets to the Ministry of Health in conjunction with their free syringes and condoms campaign. It was a good suggestion, but I was not too eager to have a hand in that campaign. Maybe it’s just eccentric me, but then again, as a friend of mine managed to succinctly put it, I’m always ‘so like that one’… There’s this song by African rapper Dr. Alban which was popular a few years back. However, it never made it to the Malaysian airwaves, simply because the song was entitled Roll Down Da Rubber. Since our Censorship Board knew that the ‘rubber’ obviously meant condom, they sagely decided to gam (meaning blacklist) the song, apparently oblivious to the fact that this particular song actually promoted the use of condoms. I managed to live with that by telling myself that the Malaysian Censorship Board despised the word ‘condom’, or any reference to it. And I would eternally have put that issue to rest, beside a lot of other equally ridiculous issues, 131

132 Zaim Al-Amin save for the fact that ten years later, the issue of condoms resurfaced. Thus I find it ironic that we are now promoting the use of condoms with such nonchalance, not unlike the way we’d tell a young child to brush his teeth. I won’t be the least surprised now if I’m told that the Dr. Alban song would be made the official campaign theme. So, what has changed actually? It could be due to the phenomenal rate of increase in HIV positive and full- blown AIDS cases, or because of changed perception, or more tolerance, or perhaps even another one of the virgin virtues of Islam Hadhari. Whatever it is, we seem resigned to the fact that some things can never change. So we talk about giving drugs to drug addicts, hence the free syringes and condoms campaign. Not unlike some time ago when someone suggested that to solve illegal racing, all illegal racers should be given proper helmets and be encouraged to race at the Batu Tiga Racing Circuit. Well, we’ve heard the old adage ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’. Or now it seems like: ‘if you can’t beat them, then let them be, but just make sure they do it properly’. In a way, it’s a kind of sanction, albeit conditional. And we even go as far as providing them with the necessary tools. Gratis. Okay, so I hear some people say that this is just for the drug addicts. After all, they are the ones at high risk to contract the HIV virus by sharing intravenous needles, and we need to stop them from exposing others to the virus. Which is well and fine, except the fact that we are actually not sure whether the drug addicts represent the actual percentage of HIV positive and AIDS patients. The statistics tells us that the bulk of HIV positive and full-blown AIDS sufferers are drug addicts and that they

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 133 contracted it by sharing needles. It seems that a very small percentage of HIV and AIDS was transmitted sexually. So the logic seems to be that by giving condoms to drug addicts, the HIV virus will not be exposed to other people, for example prostitutes and people who frequent such sleazy joints. But think about this: the authorities will screen drug addicts for HIV and AIDS once they are arrested. At the same time, nobody screens prostitutes or people who get caught frequenting brothels. The only forced screening would be, perhaps, for people who want to join the army, for pregnant women, and (in some states) for couples who want to get married. Simple logic would tell you that the statistics are therefore highly inaccurate, since it is not taken fairly or even at random. Some people may not agree, but to me the giving away of free syringes and condoms will not prevent the spread of HIV. In a way, it is also a dangerous precedence that could open Pandora’s box of abuses. Today it’s syringes and condoms. Perhaps tomorrow could be free cigarette filters for heavy smokers to curb the spread of cancer. Sounds ridiculous, but looking at what’s happening today, I wouldn’t discount anything for tomorrow. I’m not talking about the moral, what more religious, issues here. To some people, it’s as trivial and mundane as giving away umbrellas when it rains, or getting mosquito nets so that we can get a good night’s sleep. I see the logic in that, though not why it should be supplied for free, and to a particular target group. Whatever it is, I’d tell the ministry to keep their syringes and condoms. Most of us would need neither …

CHAPTER 31 Of Kings, Warriors & Elephants, or, Happy 100th Anniversary, MCKK! The College of Kings. The King of Colleges. Eton of the East. Those are, among others, names and accolades given to the Malay College Kuala Kangsar (MCKK). A name which is an aura by itself. MCKK, or Koleq as it is fondly referred to by its former students, was established in the year 1905. Since then, it has become a premier learning institution, effortlessly producing the crème de la crème of Malay scholars. It has become second home to many, who later went on to become Yang Di Pertuan Agongs, Sultans, Prime Ministers, Deputy Prime Ministers, Chief Ministers, Chief Justices, Inspector General of Police, Ambassadors, MDs and CEOs of public listed companies, prominent lawyers, doctors, surgeons, architects, accountants, IT specialists, pilots, writers, artists, businessmen, bureaucrats and technocrats. Or simply teachers and clerks. Or even bomb makers, ISA favourites and (alleged) terrorist leaders. And last Saturday, 26th March, 2005, more than 2000 of her former students (or Old Boys) flocked back to Kuala Kangsar like pigeons, not to mate, but to revisit their beloved 135

136 Zaim Al-Amin alma mater. Thus Old Boys from different backgrounds and professions, age ranging from 18 to 80, found themselves there on the morning of 26th March. Each dressed in complete baju Melayu and wearing the traditional sampin kolej. Each wore an expression of ultimate joy, of the highest euphoria, as if they were celebrating a birthday, a wedding day and Hari Raya all on that single day. And indeed it was a very special day – MCKK turned 100. To the Old Boys, it was a day of reminiscence, of rejoice, of camaraderie. Of youth once more. For to them, going back to Kuala Kangsar meant more than just travelling to another town. It was a journey back through time. To a time when they were young and bright adolescents, full of hope and expectation, and with the world at their feet. And all that coupled with a sense of pride, passion and tradition, deeply embedded from the very day they set foot in MCKK. That feeling of pride, passion and tradition continues to burn in each and every heart of the Old Boys. A small fire, but yet warm and sure nonetheless. The very same fire that will always glow within, the fire that brings them back year after year to the College grounds for their annual Old Boys weekend. This is the fire that keeps them faithful to MCKK, almost to the point of being religious. They have long regarded Kuala Kangsar as their second home. And MCKK as their second mother. And indeed, like all good ‘mothers’, MCKK had given them the opportunity to climb on top of the world. Good all round education. Good learning environment. Good teaching staff. Good classmates and colleagues. Imparting wisdom and instilling virtues, true to its motto Fiat Sapientia Virtus (Manliness through Wisdom).

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 137 There was an unmistakable aura to that morning. There was such electricity in the air that you’d almost expect to hear crackles. The school was majestic enough in itself, its timeless Greco Roman architecture exuding more grandeur with age. The immaculately dressed crowd of Old Boys, the sequential arrival of the Agong, four Malay Rulers, two Chief Ministers and two Cabinet Ministers added prestige to the event. But the look of anticipation meant that the crowd was obviously still waiting for something more. And then it arrived – a colourful procession of seven elephants accompanied by about 400 hulubalangs (Malay warriors) carrying the College’s four colours – red, yellow, black and white. The procession was carrying a Watikah (Royal Charter) to be presented to the Yang Di Pertuan Agong. Seeing the grand and traditional procession moving slowly but elegantly, amidst the melodious reading of a syair accompanied by Seruling Bambu was so overwhelming, it choked me momentarily. It was as if you were transported back into the past, and was witnessing the original ceremony. For a few fleeting moments, the now and then, the past, the present and the future all merged into one. It was haunting, the sheer authenticity of it. You could almost feel, even smell the past. Time seemed to stand still, and only when the Agong started reading the Watikah did I jolt back to the present. The Watikah declared MCKK as a National Heritage, and that the Conference of Rulers shall continue their patronage as long as the sun, the moon and the stars continue their heavenly orbits. It was then that I realised what this was all about. The significance of that morning’s events wasn’t just about a school turning 100. It was about our past and present as citizens. About the history of our very own nation. About

138 Zaim Al-Amin what we had or could have done. And about what we could now hope to do. It was a majestic event, by any definition of the word. A great College, a great occasion. Being bestowed with a befitting recognition. And having the current and former students and teachers witness it. She has born, bred and nurtured her sons. After a hundred years, all her filial sons have returned home to pay tribute to their ‘mother’. And like any mother, she’d feel a deep sense of pride. If the College could cry, I’m pretty sure she would. Because to most of us present that morning, a silent weep was certainly not out of place.

CHAPTER 32 Of Papers, Doors & Signboards, or, Here’s a Courteous Welcome to the Rudest City, Sir! I have this habit of reading signboards, wherever they might be. One that amused me this morning was a little signage placed on a toll booth of an ultra modern superhighway linking Kuala Lumpur and Petaling Jaya. Placed underneath the name of the toll booth operator, it reads: “Please report if I do not (1) Smile (2) Greet You (3) Say Thank You”. I strongly believe that our signboards not only effectively deliver a message; they also genuinely reflect the kind of society we are. For example, when we have those “Please Do Not Spit” signages everywhere, other people (read tourists) cannot help but think that we are an ensemble of hyper-active people brazenly spitting at the slightest chance to do so, in blatant disregard to others. Last week, whilst Petaling Jaya was smugly congratulating itself on being elevated to city status, its older sibling Kuala Lumpur was still reeling from the shock of being branded as one of the rudest city in the world. A survey by a popular international monthly digest rated KL at a lowly 37th in a list of major cities worldwide in terms of courteousness. 139

140 Zaim Al-Amin Rude? Us? Malaysians were bewildered by the rating, and understandably so. We pride ourselves with our excellent hospitality, which is also one of Tourism Malaysia’s salient marketing points to lure tourists. How can we be coy about that? No, we Malaysians are a friendly lot lah. There must be a mistake somewhere maa. Obviously, this is another attempt to discredit us lor. After this they will bring our stock market down again. Or brand us as terrorists. Presumably, very rude terrorists, too. Whichever way you look at it, being placed at number 37 out of a list of 40 is bad enough. To the potential tourists, they’d harbour this impression that they risk being spat on the very moment they step past our immigration. Or if they are unlucky enough, being spat at by the immigration people themselves. But that, certainly, is never the case here. So how did we manage to secure such a low placing? Of course, there are surveys and there are more surveys. The one conducted by Reader’s Digest consisted of just three methods and was conducted in just a few parts of KL. The three chosen tests were picking up litter, holding doors open for others and saying ‘thank you’ to customers. Of course, the first thing that comes to mind is whether these virtues represent the ultimate yardstick in terms of courtesy. Maybe yes, but then again, maybe not. Some virtues are peculiar to a certain place or people. In the cities that I have travelled to, I never cease to be amused at the different ways people show their good side. In Manila, I was surprised to see people queue up to enter an elevator the way we Malaysians would queue for an ATM. In Amsterdam, a huge city tram quietly halted and allowed me to cross a street. In Brussels, a burly six-foot plus post office clerk politely and painstakingly explained

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 141 how much stamp I needed to post a parcel back home. In a fast food outlet in metropolitan Paris, a group of noisy, heavily tattooed punks collected their leftovers and threw them into the bin. The list is endless. Back in Kuala Lumpur, people jostle with each other to board LRT coaches. Cars are parked indiscriminately and horns blared incessantly. Customer service remains just one of the policies in some prominently displayed Clients’ Charter. And of course, we continue to strive to ensure that McDonald’s employees remain employed – that’s why we don’t even bother to clear our own trays! Indeed, there are times when we begin to believe that we really deserve to be among ‘The Rudest’. Perhaps we should just gamely accept that title, or even attempt to congratulate ourselves for the worldwide (albeit dubious) recognition. After all, from a really abysmal situation, you would have no other place to go but up. But then again, we KL-ites couldn’t be that bad. Ask any Mat Salleh or kwailoh who has been here, and in one breath they will gladly tell you that we Malaysians are doing okay. We still greet everybody warmly. We smile, shake hands and talk politely. We still bow occasionally and hold doors for people. We still say terima kasih, perhaps with more warmth than any other people on this planet. We still help the disabled to cross the streets, or give our seat up for them in any public transport (and honestly we don’t do it because there is a signboard telling us to do so). And yes, our waiters and porters do their jobs without expecting to receive tips. For one of the ‘The Rudest City In The World’, not bad at all. Maybe that survey was defective. After all, it’s not as straightforward as finding out which is the most expensive

142 Zaim Al-Amin city. Courteousness and rudeness, being subjective, are quite difficult to measure. With such a limited scope and equally limited target and period of study, the margin of error is huge. Whilst politeness is universal, the way in which it is expressed differs. For example, if we were to measure politeness by counting how many times people bow at each other, Tokyo would score top points hands (or rather, heads) down. In some cities, holding doors open for ladies could be the ultimate romantic gesture; in another city you could be regarded as a frantic flirt. So let’s not be too over-reactive to the so-called independent survey results. Courtesy is not just about one particular thing or about one particular reaction by a particular group of people in a particular time at a particular place. It is not a reality show where people can vote – like Akademi Fantasia or American Idol. Hence, as long as we know our manners, no amount of survey should leave us unduly worried. Much less an ill-conducted one. As any self-respecting parent worthy of celebrating the recent Father’s Day, I also try to instil courteousness and other fundamental virtues in all my kids, including minute details like teaching them to reply to each and every SMS that they receive. Even if it is just to send a single ‘K’ (for okay). Surprisingly, even some self-proclaimed bourgeois don’t give a hoot about replying SMSes. To each his own but that, to me, is being downright rude. Basic courtesy, after all, is about giving and replying. About sharing and caring. And of course, about doing selfless things straight from the heart. I always consider my family as the typical average Malaysian Malay Muslim middle class modern metropolitan KLfamily. Like all KL-ites, we are not averse to urbanisation,

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 143 technologies and whatever comes with them. But despite all those, we still retain our most traditional values. My kids still politely bow if they have to walk in front of me. My wife still asks my permission whenever she needs to step out of the house. On occasional weekends we still exchange dishes with our immediate neighbours. Just as it has always been within the family for generations. The key is just to be ourselves, and to be good. A smile is still a smile, never mind what other people would say of us. We have managed to live in harmony for so long, and that in itself should speak volumes of who we really are. Not only are we courteous, but we have proved that we are a tolerant lot. Perhaps the ultimate proof of the latter comes in the form of another signboard message which somebody sent me via e-mail attachment earlier today. Still on the topic of spitting, this one gently pleaded: “Please Do Not Spit Too Loudly”…

CHAPTER 33 Of Haircuts & Manliness, or, On a Hot Day Like This “It’s a hot day”, I told myself for the umpteenth time. Yes, it’s so hot that I simply can’t think of anything else. And it sizzles my overheating brain trying to understand that at the same time, people at other places are complaining about freezing temperatures. Or bracing tornadoes and hurricanes of various names and categories. Of course, it’s hard to imagine things when they don’t directly concern (read affect) you, which does not necessarily mean that one is unsympathetic. Such is the selfishness of the typical human race (unless you happen to work for Mercy or Greenpeace). As for me, at this particular point of time, at this particular co-ordinate of the Earth that I happened to be on, all I can think about is: “It’s a hot day.” And on a hot day like this, more than thirty years ago, I turned into an adult. Or at least, that’s what I thought it was then. It was not even about having wet dreams or other come-of-age things such as being able to ride a bicycle, having smoked your first cigarette or the like. Nope, my own adulthood began in a hairdressing saloon. Before you even think about spinning off some juicy rumours about some sleazy unisex saloon, I must hasten to 145

146 Zaim Al-Amin add that my venture into adulthood was actually quite tame. You see, I was about five years old then, and my father used to take me to this certain MGR Hairdressing Saloon in downtown Teluk Anson (now Teluk Intan). It was a routine and boring monthly affair, and the only thing that made me look forward to such ‘outings’ was the fact that the Mamak barber would never fail to give me some Torrone sweets. Which made me feel good. Good, but a tad boyish. I remember that on every visit, the barber would routinely place a plank on the armrests of the barber’s chair because I was not tall enough to sit on the chair itself. It’s no big deal actually, but I found myself starting to envy those boys (most of them already in primary school) who would sit elegantly on the chair proper and flip through magazines like Bujal or Bambino. As for me, I found it increasingly tough to look elegant when I had to sit perched on that plank. Then one day I went in and as usual waited for the barber to put the plank in place. To my surprise, he didn’t move one step. Instead, he beckoned me to straightaway sit on the chair. That was the day that I had been waiting for; I was finally considered an adult. And I sat through the whole haircut session smiling to myself, feeling wonderful and elated. I was an adult! And as if to further confirm this fact, instead of being given the usual sweet barley Torrone sweets, I was given the ah-so-adult Hacks. Adults nicknamed these sweets ‘air-condition’, for reasons I’d only find out much, much later (but that’s another story in itself). But very soon the euphoria of being an adult was short-lived, often by well-meaning people. I only had to pay half the fare for bus trips. I was still to share cinema seats whenever the family went out to see movies like Tiada Esok Bagimu or Akhirnya Sebuah Impian. And I got very stern

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 147 stares if I so much as tried to get into the front line during congregational prayers. And I couldn’t enter some places without people asking: “Where’s your father?” It seems that the rest of the world thought that I was still a kid. So I sought my monthly solace as an adult at the only asylum I had, i.e. at the barber’s shop. I felt at home there. Never mind the fact that the barber’s chair was actually designed and inspired by the original electric chair used to execute death row convicts. There for all intents and purposes, I was duly regarded and treated like a full-fledged adult. And, as time flew by, the barber even allowed me to view some … errr … adult magazines. To him it was pure marketing. To me it was pure adolescence. Hacks and adult magazines. Not a very glamorous way to start adulthood, you’d say. I know to most other self- respecting boys, it was all about Marlboro and Salem (though in reality it probably was just a puff of Grandma’s Rough Rider, Kretek or Wismilak). To some, it was discotheques. Or even needles and condoms. After a while it dawned on me that this thing called ‘adulthood’ could get sickeningly elusive. Just when you think you’re old enough at Standard Six, you enter Form One and are regarded as a little kid again. Just when you thought you were kings in Form Five, you enter University and have to endure the tough orientation weeks and get bullied all over again. That’s when you realise that it’s all actually a vicious endless cycle in itself. You’re now an old son but still a young father. And later on you’d be an old father but still a young grandfather. You’re a young relative to this, but you’d be old relative to that. After a while you begin to believe that you are one of the few people in this world who actually understands Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.

148 Zaim Al-Amin Tomorrow, exactly forty years after I was born, I’d still be harbouring the same thoughts. Of being young and at the same time being inevitably old. Maybe it’s just a feeling that I have. For example, I feel young when my wife buys me a pair of colourful Bermudas. Then I feel terribly old reading my eldest daughter’s greeting card which says “… thank you for being a good father …”, but in the same sentence she managed to make me feel relatively young again when she added “… Grandma must be proud to have a son like you …” Maybe it’s just those things that you do. Or no longer do. I no longer read Bujal or Bambino, but sometimes I still catch myself reading a few pages of Gila-Gila whilst my sons are having their haircut (no more adult magazines for me, perhaps now the barber thinks I’m too old for that). I can still jog, can still outrun my daughter (who is a school sprinter) and can still play a few minutes of futsal (though now my body constantly reminds me to slow down). So maybe I can’t go skateboarding or breakdance now, but then again I never was actually into those things (other than that occasional roller-skating outings at the basement of Semua House or those tea dances at Piccadilly’s). Or maybe I shouldn’t read too much into it. After all, it’s just my own self-consciousness. I can simply choose to be young or old, oblivious to the rest of the world. Once a year, during those Hari Raya balik kampung trips to Teluk Intan or Johor Bahru, I’d still play congkak and caklempong (talempong to some people). Or teach my kids how to play batu seremban, and at the same time enjoy the game as well. I can play as many games I’d like, and nobody would even bat an eyelid. Because what they see is just an old man playing an age-

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 149 old game. What they don’t see is that sparkle in the old man’s tired eyes. Rediscovering that long lost feeling of youth. Re- embracing the childhood that he once wanted to flee from, but is now fleeing from him. For that fleeting moment, I was once again that child sitting on that plank. And even as I imagined that feeling, my heart momentarily beats faster, like a teenager’s. So surreal and brief, but reassuring nevertheless. I heave a deep sigh, and like a child, absent- mindedly pop a sweet into my mouth. No, it’s not Hacks. It’s Torrone once again; sweet, sweet Torrone …

CHAPTER 34 Of ELISA, HIV +ve and AIDS, or, Love is Blind So, now Kelantan has joined the fray, after Johor and Perlis. No, I’m not talking about politics here. It’s about the implementation of the HIV screen test for couples marrying in that state. When Johor implemented compulsory HIV screening, it caused quite a stir. Human rights activists were blaring their clarions, screaming against invasion of privacy. Nobody should be compelled to take such tests against their own volition. To which, the state’s Religious Department answered quite simply and straightforwardly: “We do not force you to take such test. You do it only if you want to get married (and nobody’s forcing you to get married)”. Why the brouhaha involving such a test, you ask. Well, it didn’t occur to me as well, until recently when I was preparing for the solemnisation of our marriage in Johor and the requirement cropped up. When I called up a doctor friend of mine, he cautioned me of the consequences should the results turn out to be positive. “You would lose your medical insurance, and your life insurance as well. You could even lose your job. Or family. Basically, nobody would want to deal with you.” 151

152 Zaim Al-Amin This kind of attitude was confirmed when I went to a Klinik Kesihatan Kerajaan the very next day. After my number was called, I went up to the counter and the attendant asked me what was wrong with me. I told him I wanted to do an HIV screen test. I swear I could hear his heart skip a beat. Or at least, his face momentarily lost colour. He looked suspiciously at me, as if he half expected to see some AIDS- related symptom somewhere. I hastily assured him that it was for the purpose of submitting to Jabatan Agama Johor for marriage purposes, and I could definitely hear him heave a huge sigh of relief. After that I encountered more problems; they just wouldn’t let me do the test unless I got a letter from the Religious Department. It was as if they didn’t want to do the test. Later, I understood that it would be an extra burden on them; if someone is tested positive, it would be an obligation for them to report the case to the Health Ministry, and thereafter they’d have to look after the patient and, inter alia, prescribe periodical medication like anti-retro viral pills. Lucky me, I opted to call my doctor friend, and he obligingly did the test for me at a government hospital. I was lucky for that particular contact, but I couldn’t help wondering what an ordinary man in the street would encounter should he want to do such a test. For the uninitiated, an HIV screen test involves taking a sample of your blood and testing it not for the HIV virus itself, but for the enzymes produced by our own antibodies when combating the HIV virus. Theoretically, if you are infected with the HIV virus, then the antibodies would be ever present in your blood. So if you tested positive for the antibodies, then chances are that you have been infected.

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 153 Most clinics would conduct what they call a Rapid HIV Test. The results would be known in approximately 20 minutes. The ELISA Test, commonly used to confirm if a Rapid Test returned a positive result, takes an agonising fortnight for the results to come back. Then there’s the more expensive Western Blot Test. Perhaps the latest is the P24 Antigen Test, which can even detect the virus if you have just been infected. The other tests have what is called a ‘window period’ between three to six months, meaning they can only detect the presence of the antibodies three to six months after a person has been infected. I’m not delving into technicalities here. For one thing, I’m not a medical doctor. For another, you can easily find this information on the Internet. It makes good reading whilst you are waiting for the results to come back. I did just that; and stumbled upon an old newspaper clipping. It was an article on the Johor Religious Department’s mandatory requirement, written about three years after the ruling was imposed. It seems that out of the tens of thousands who applied to tie the knot in the southern Malaysian state of Johor, 88 couples were found to be HIV positive. Some of them were both positive, the rest either one. They were then given counselling sessions by both the Religious Department and the Health Ministry, on the prospects of getting full-blown AIDS, on medication, on what to expect. It’s assuredly a private and confidential session, I suppose, if you could discount the doctor who did the test, the counsellors, both your parents, and the fact that now your name is in the Health Ministry’s record for their constant supervision. It’s such a grim situation, when you are in fact preparing for what is supposed to be a joyous occasion – your marriage.

154 Zaim Al-Amin But here’s the touching part. Of all the 88 couples who were found to be HIV positive thus far, only three opted out of the marriage. The rest chose to continue, whatever the consequences. I empathise and sympathise with them. At the same time, I salute their steely nerves, their true love and ultimate sacrifice. Truly, love is blind. Through thick and thin. Come rain or shine. For better or for worse …

CHAPTER 35 A Brand New Day, or, If Tomorrow Never Comes Dates always play an important role in our lives. After all, they represent the passing of time, and thus in a way, are milestones in their own right. That’s why we always celebrate important dates like birthdays, achievements, anniversaries, events and other celebrations, be it religious or secular. Hari Raya, Christmas, Chinese New Year, Deepavali, Thaipusam, New Year’s Day, Awal Muharram/ Maal Hijrah, Maulud Nabi, Independence Day, Valentine’s Day, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, Labour Day; you name the Day, we have it. One would be forgiven to think that, given the choice, people would want to find a reason to celebrate each and every single day. Which, at least to me, we might as well do. Most people look forward to New Year’s Day to effect a personal change, particularly because every New Year tends to represent a new beginning of sorts. To some, it’s an opportunity to leave bad experiences behind, starting on a fresh slate that is known as a brand New Year. Hence people eagerly formulate New Year resolutions, anxious to become somebody new, to leave behind all the unsavoury events. Or bad memories. Or wasted years. 155

156 Zaim Al-Amin In a way, this is the correct approach to life. Come what may, we have to move on towards the better. Whatever rut we might find ourselves in, we should always drag ourselves out, and courageously move on. Although most of the time it’s not half as easy as simply going to Dataran Merdeka for the umpteenth time to shout yet another historic countdown towards yet another (hopefully) prosperous year. Of course, chances are that you won’t be able to simply sleep it off and wake up to find yourself a brand new person. It entails much more than just that, which is why most New Year resolutions inevitably fail, or fade, or both. As in previous years, you would wake up on 2nd January still very much you, and problems from 31st December would most likely follow suit through 2nd January. Everything remains basically the same; your credit card balance and all. Nothing’s going to change overnight. So, why bother to celebrate at all, right? Wrong! The fact that things won’t change by themselves is no excuse to sit back and do nothing about them, primarily because the difference lies in your own free will. It begins with a grim realisation that you need to do something, then an in-depth analysis of the situation, and formulating solutions into steely resolutions. And it starts by acknowledging that it would be a long, hard journey. But like all journeys, it would eventually lead you somewhere, and as long as you have your destination right, it doesn’t matter if at first the journey seems to be so slow, tough and rough. Some people are continually finding excuses to start doing something. “Let’s just wait till I turn forty …”, or “If I get a better job, I will do this or do that…” kind of thing. It’s a form of lame self-justification. Of trying to give a reason to procrastinate. And more often than not, when the time

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 157 comes, they’d conveniently find another excuse to wait for yet another date or event. If you are that kind of person, then perhaps by now you’d be wondering why I’m writing all this today. After all, today, 28 March, 2010, is no New Year. It’s not even a Monday. It is, for most of us, a date of non significance. Which is precisely the point. Hari Raya (Aidilfitri & Aidiladha), Christmas, New Year’s Day, Deepavali, Thaipusam, and Chinese New Year have all passed us by. We are well into 2010, with probably no special day left to hinge our resolutions upon. So, if we really need a reason, a special date to start something, then we can’t start anything today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after. But look at it this way; any day is a good day to reassess our New Year resolutions. To gauge how far we have adhered to it, or (as the case may be) how far we have forgotten to. It’s time to renew the vigour to face all the changes and challenges that lies in front of us as we strive to realise our choices, our hopes and our dreams, and any given day should be good for that. Like a basketball match, we need to take periodical time-offs to reassess the situation and, if need be, to implement new tactics and strategies. Each and every single day is special in its unique way. The fact that you woke up this morning is a cause for celebration in itself. That’s already a good enough reason to treasure each and every single moment, to be grateful for each and every single breath. That’s why we should be doing as much things as we can, as far as we can, as long as we possibly can. So, let’s celebrate each and every brand new day as if there is no tomorrow. Because in these uncertain times, tomorrow might never come …

CHAPTER 36 Of Noisy Neighbours, Pre-nuptial Agreements & Aphrodisiacs, or, The One-Minute Man “… I never ever wanna lose your love, so I will change my life, believe in me my love, I’m coming home, loving you Sunday morning, you were on my mind love, everyday, loving you Sunday morning, your love makes me fly so far away, loving you Sunday morning …” Or so goes the lyrics of that song Loving You Sunday Morning by The Scorpions, which often served as my lullaby during those lazy Sundays back during my college days. Maybe it’s a wee bit strange how anyone could sleep amidst full blast from some half broken Panasonic mini compo, but somehow, that slow rock song had the same effect on me as a slow rocking cradle had on a newborn baby. But as I grew older, I preferred my Sundays to be quiet and peaceful. In my years of living in a secluded condominium somewhere near the hillsides of Ampang, I have taken such peace and tranquillity for granted. So it was with utter disgust that yesterday the serenity of my Sunday morning was broken by the noise of my neighbours quarrelling. At first I distinctly thought that the younger kids were watching Power Rangers louder than 159

160 Zaim Al-Amin usual, but then the shrilled shrieks interspersed with the sound of heavy footsteps and broken glass convinced me that this was real life drama. Next door. Now, what in heaven’s name could bring any couple to such emotional heights at such an early hour, and that too, on a Sunday? A few reasons instantly came to my mind, but sleepiness soon overcame me and, notwithstanding the din, I fell into slumber again. Later, at breakfast, Nina broached the subject of the noisy neighbours and I posed that hypothetical question to her. I was just expecting simple answers such as “maybe one of them discovered that the other is having an affair” or something like that, but her terse reply was nonetheless more cultured: “maybe it was an expectation not met”. The answer intrigued us both; and as we discussed further, we found this subject to be quite a food for thought. An unrealised expectation. What could one expect in the first place? Was it ever made known to the other party? Was it a condition of any marriage, or was it just a bonus? Was it fair? And, above all, was it realistic? Choosing a life partner is, despite all its other similarities, not the same as choosing which car to buy. For a start, whilst most cars are expensive to buy and relatively cheaper to maintain; a spouse is cheap to ‘buy’ but expensive to maintain. And, unlike a car, a spouse carries no warranty whatsoever, and most of the time there’s no chance of a cooling-off period, a major repair, a re-sell or a trade-in. No insurance and certainly, no money-back-guarantee. But, as in all ‘purchases’, you enter into a contract of marriage with some expectations. These are expectations which, more often than not, remain unsaid or even unimportant at some point of time but which would

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 161 somehow surface at the most unexpected time and much to the horror of the other spouse. For example, that MD who drives the latest 740Li BMW, or that CEO who brandishes his platinum cards in much the same way Hang Jebat wields his tamingsari may end up less than charming as a husband. Or that Gusti Puteri lookalike who regularly blushes and doesn’t speak much as a fiancé may turn out to be a talkative parrot whose Java accent can make the real Puteri Gunung Ledang blush. Okay, so perhaps those are extraneous expectations. As a general rule, the more expectations you choose to harbour, the more you must be prepared for frustration. But still, some of these expectations are so pertinent to a marriage that they become the ‘conditions of sale’ in the marriage contract. For example, in a marriage, both parties warrant that they are free to enter into the contract, be able to consummate the marriage, have no STD or AIDS etc. So, if later one of them is found to hide the fact that he is HIV positive ab initio, then such marriage could be held voidable at the option of the non-defaulting party by reason of misrepresentation etc. If that sounded like too much legalese to you, then just see it as a small guarantee insofar as a normal marriage contract is concerned. Unless, of course, if during your solemnisation of marriage, you have also opted to execute a Pre-nuptial Agreement. Essentially, these are legal documents spelling out your rights and duties during the subsistence of your marriage, and they can come in various forms and provisions. In Muslim marriages for example, these may appear in the form of a taaliq, where immediately after the solemnisation, the new husband reads out a few clauses that gives the wife

162 Zaim Al-Amin certain rights for divorce in the event of the happening of certain circumstances. Generally the taaliq is irrevocable and enforceable throughout your marriage, so be careful and make sure you understand what you are saying. Since these forms of taaliq differs from state to state; technically you would be well advised to choose which state to marry in (not that you have much choice in it). Some people did ask me if it is possible to opt not to read the taaliq. Some others wanted to know, in order to safeguard their own interests, if they could draft their own clauses to counter the existing ones for their wives to pronounce. Technically, of course, you can; but it would seem odd and absurd to enter into such a holy matrimonial alliance harbouring such insecurity and serious doubts against your own chosen life partner. Thus, one of the first things to ensure is that you live up to whatever natural expectations in a marriage, lest your legally well-informed spouse could invoke one of the pre- nuptial clauses to your detriment. Perhaps, it’s high time for self-assessment. Which would invariably also include your latest (not 5 years ago) quarterly Sexual Key Performance Indicator (SKPI). In these days of the Internet and its resultant information boom, maintaining a comparative SKPI is more than a challenge. If you consider yourself a ‘One-Minute Man’, then be very worried. Unlike spouses of yesteryears; modern spouses are well-informed about ‘industry standards’, and woe unto thee if you par well below the generally accepted size, strength and stamina. Perhaps that explains the sprouting of those traditional massage centres and the predominant craze about Tongkat Ali, Kacip Fatimah, Jarum Emas and everything that supposedly gives you benefit Down Under.