Daddy Cool

All of you know it, right. 

Every third Sunday in the month of June is dedicated to those who are called fathers. Though in my humble opinion, every day should be father’s day. Anyway, let me write something about my dear father.

I called my father Ayah. And right, my kids called me Ayah as well. Well, except for Ayra. Somehow she called me Daddy.

My Ayah was born in 1932. Those days under the British rule, life was tough. Somehow, though he resided in a remote kampung, he managed to enter the Sultan Idris Training College (now UPSI). Ayah lost his dear mother due to some sort of epidemic (small pox?) where the grandma that I never knew had to be quarantined, until she passed away.

Ayah used to relate me stories how during the Emergency in Tanjung Malim, the bravest were the Askar Melayu. And those written in most of the history books about the heroic acts of the British Army were not entirely true.

Ayah has taught me a lot of things about life. He loves to read. His collection of books is voluminous. He loves to write. Especially letters to his children, and now grandchildren. I too had the pleasure of getting such letters, written in the neat hand-writing (have you seen my scribes … which you’ll fall in love with instantly, his' much better). 

Remember the letter about how he and my mom met my future wife. The ‘bahasa’ was as how a proper letter should be written. Full of ‘ayahanda’, ‘bonda’, ‘nenda’, ‘kekanda’ nomenclatures etc. 

The last letter addressed to me when I was in the UK, "…di sini ayahanda ingin menyampaikan jemputan ke perkahwinan bekas kekasih anakanda …"

I also used to write post cards to him wherever new foreign countries that I went to during my studies as well in my business trips. He was very proud in receiving all the 30-odd postcards from European countries and the US. He even tracked the places I went in the world geographical map.

Ayah taught me the fardu ain. Everyday, I spend like half an hour or so, receiving religious knowledge from him. He used that green book, which I forgot the name. Ayah was gentle to me. I was never being scolded by him. Maybe I was a good boy, and smart too (this I’m sure, my wife would say, it’s because you’re not so healthy then).

Ayah never commented anything about my friends, especially the female ones. But I always remember his word of wisdom with regard to them, "Son, even the tunggul (tree stumps) if you look at them everyday, they will look good." 

Yes Ayah, what’s more if they were beautiful girls. Ok, noted. I will try my best to cast down my eyes, promise you that. Or at least, I try lah ...

He is an honourable gentleman and stays steadfast in his ibadah. Looking at his photos when he was younger, I knew that he was a smart looking guy (yours truly, inherited some ...). 

Imagine this, in black and white. Four gentlemen (one whom is my dad) in their black ties and cool sun shades posing in front of the Tugu Negara. As with many other young guys those days, Ayah also had a scooter. He used to take my mother (in her tight kebaya, I supposed) scootering around the town, maybe like in the movie Roman Holiday.

Now in his 70’s he still in good health (except those little ailments). You know what, his eyes do not need any aid, no reading glasses, no nothing. God bless (unlike me, without my glasses, I’ll be either sleeping or … ).

Dearest Ayah, thank you for being a good father to me. Thank you for teaching me a lot of things about life. May the Almighty bless you and mom with his Kindness and shower you both with His infinite Mercy.

[al-Fatihah, my dear Ayah passed away peacefully on September 4th, 2014)

Breakfast with Dad
(few months before my Ayah passed away ...)

Syaaban

The last few months or so, saw my non activeness in the outdoor physical activities such as cricket, jogging or at the driving range. The indoor ones however, still …

That, plus work commitment which forced me to participate in endless business lunches and dinners.

These somehow have an adverse effect on my body (my tummy specifically). I’m now beginning to look like a normal early/mid 40s. Though people swear (not kidding here) that I look like at least anything minus six to eight solar years.

Last few days when I measured my weight on those nice electronic weighing machine at the massage chairs outlets at the mall, showed mine at 77 kg. That is 5 kg above my normal reading. To make it more unpleasant, Jay’s weighed about 20 kilos less, that’s over 6 kilos extra. But then, electronics, they are known for what we call glitches, and not to be trusted whole heartedly.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I saw Jay already started her Syaaban fasting and no heavy meal at night. Even (this is her routine) drinks strictly only to air suam.

Yeap, I’ll soon follow her.

The Tale of Two Turks (as I was passing)

So, after more than two years I mentioned the country Turkmenistan in this very blog, finally I have the chance to set foot on it. But not before I passed Turkey first.

I took the MAS flight to Istanbul had to overnight there (this is planned) and off to Ashgabat using Turkish Airlines the next day.

- Beautiful ladies at the missing luggage centre at Atarturk Airport

- Someone kind enough to show me a nice & simple hotel (50 euro per night)

- The front desk office named Mohammed who speaks fluent Malay

- The friendly and philosophical US educated carpet seller in front of Blue Mosque

- The majestic Blue Mosque

- Aya Sofya

- Beyazit Mosque

- Elif and Merve, two sweet girls that interviewed me for their school project

- My PETRONAS friends

- Alex and Shakrat

- Guvlev

Sulaiman the Magnificent

Mentioned the name Sulaiman, my thoughts were always about this, the name ‘man of peace’ in the form of Suleiman the Magnificent, one of the great Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, who conquered the Christian strongholds of Belgrade, Rhodes, and most of Hungary and whose fleet dominated the seas from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf.

And maybe the Prophet Sulaiman, who has been given control over various elements, such as the wind and transportation, and command over the Jinn and animals.

But not this Sulaiman.

I met up with him at the Indira Gandhi International Airport last April. Somehow as I penned my thoughts in my Facebook previously on something wrt the Law of Attraction, the magnetism towards him was damn great. It’s like my thoughts had the energy which attracts whatever that I’m thinking of. That particular day at the airport, I was thinking how to say my prayer in peace*. Then, the Almighty sent me His ‘man’.

What attracted me was initially the way he was dressed. Reminds me of the blessed Sahabah. He dressed in a robe, unlike the typical Tablighi Jamaat brothers or the white ones usually worn by the Arabs. It’s something in between. That nice beard. The nicely trimmed short moustache. The North Face backpack. The slippers (though he later admitted that my Crocs Off Road was better alternative for Jamaat journeys).

My brother Sulaiman was seriously mixed up. He’s an American but has a Caucasian, African and Cherokee origins. And he looks like er, er maybe a Malay. He has a kid from his previous marriage. His wife was from Eritrea (near Sudan). He is now finishing his ‘Alim Studies in one of the madrasah in San Diego, California.

After meeting him while taking wudhu’ in the gents, I got the honour to say the Isya’ prayer with him as the imam. Somehow, the Almighty works in magnificent ways, even my seat in the MAS A320 was next to him. He was on his way back to LA from Delhi, via KL. We chatted (intelligent discourse, I would say), ate the mutton briyani (served by beautiful stewardess) to our filled and said goodbye after Subuh prayer in one of the surau in KLIA.

Jazakallah. Hope to see you again brother.

* previously at the Tom Bradley Airport Los Angeles early 2008, the Almighty also send me one of his slave, just to accompany me to say my solat.

Somewhere in Greater Tokyo

Kichijoji

When I reached Narita Airport, I felt like I was really lost.

When I took the Japan Railway map, it looked more complicated that the London subway, with more than 2 dozen railway lines, each with different colour coding. But then, I was totally wrong. In fact, it was so damn easy. In fact, the whole system (Japanese system) is really piece of cake.

For example to get to Tokyo Disneyland, I have to take the Keiyo Line which stops at Maihama Station. From there, I proceed to Kichijoji Station via the same Keiyo Line to Tokyo Main Station (with more than six different train integrating to each other) and change to the famous Yamanote Line and onto Chuo Line to Kichijoji.

Things that I realised:

• The Japs are very trendy lot
• The train and busses are very efficient to the dot
• They are very friendly, trying to help even if they don’t know
• Most of them don’t speak English, or really very bad engrish
• The tv stations are crystal clear like blue-ray discs
• The internet is at lightning speed at gigabit per seconds
• I don’t see any Bangla or Indon around to do odd jobs, all by Japanese
• They know marayshia

Enjoying spring in Tokyo Disneyland

The Tokyo Train Network

The Taj Mahal

Akanku kota janji kita

Mendirikan Taj Mahal cinta

Seteguh kasih

Shah Jahan kepada

Mumtaznya

- Nubhan AF6

Unlike the song, the Taj Mahal is too much. Much, much more. Mere words cannot justify its existence.

The Taj Mahal was built by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan in commemoration of his favourite wife (wife number 3 for your info), the Empress Mumtaz Mahal. In fact the wife number 1 and number 2 also buried in the Taj complex, but in a very much (very, very much) smaller mausoleums. Some said, he loved her so much because she bears him all his children, where the other twos were barren.

Shah Jahan married Mumtaz Mahal (real name Arjumand Bano), a grandaugther of Itimad-ud-Daula, the Wazir of Emperor Jahangir in 1612. Mumtaz died in 1631 at the birth of her 14^th child.

The grief stricken emperor spared no effort in building the tomb in her memory, which is universally acknowledged as one of the most beautiful creation on earth. After his death in 1666, Shah Jahan was buried in a tomb beside his beloved.

Artisans were requisitioned from all over the empire and from Central Asia and Iran. While bricks from the internal framework were locally made, white marble for external surfaces was brought from Makrana in Rajasthan. The building was completed in 1648 after 17 years, at the costs of about 40 million rupees at a time when gold was sold at Rp 15 per 11.66 gram. Now without taking the inflation rate factor, only on the gold pricing alone, the costs would be 40 billion rupees (RM 5.3 billion). However, looking at the intricate and elaborate designs and embellishments, at least it worth 4 times more.

Shah Jahan, grandson of the Emperor Akbar, had a passion for architecture. Under his aegis, Mughal architecture reached its zenith, entering its classical phase. The emperor personally oversaw the building and the architect for the most part is believed to be Ustad Ahmed Lahori.

The Taj plans display strict bilateral symmetry. Every single thing in the Taj complex is symmetrical, except the tomb of Shah Jahan, which was not part of the master plan. The central point is the tomb (rauza) and its four minarets (used for calling azan in those days), flanked by a mosque and an assembly hall (Mehman Khanah … mehman is guests, by the way). The Taj is exactly as wide as it is high (55m) and the height of its dome is the same as the height of its arcade façade. A highlight of the monument is the exquisitely carved pietra dura inlaid with semi precious stones. Some of the stones glow during full moon.

The colour of the translucent marble keeps changing from dawn to midnight, giving it a magical aura in keeping with Shah Jahan’s vision that the tomb and the garden should represent paradise on earth.

To Jay, my dearest wife, the mother of my children, I could not possibly able to emulate to any extent what Shah Jahan did. He’s the Emperor. He’s not even a king, he’s the Emperor. I’m just a man on the street. And of course, Mumtaz had 14 children, you have 4 (itu pun dah handful dah ...).

Breakfast at Jaring

It has been a kind of ritual. Having my breakfast, on every working day with my sweet Jay at one of the ‘ok’ Malay restaurant in my vicinity.

After sending the girls to school in Subang Jaya every morning, before going to work, I would stop by at Restoran Jaring for some sumptuous ‘sarap’ (says the Bruneian). The other reason is that my dear Waseem, who school’s in the afternoon, loves the charkoi, freshly made by two of the restaurant workers whom speak Thai most of the time.

Anyway, since it’s a kind of routine, I do observed that beside us, there were others (couples) who made it their habit to come to this premises for breakfast.

There’s one couple. I would call them the Easy Riders. Both husband and wife were wearing leather jackets. It doesn’t matter what the wife was wearing (baju kurung, blouse etc.), she will wear the same jacket. Sometimes they rode their Yamaha 350cc, but most of time just the Modenas kapchai.

There’s another couple. They were just office mates I think. The man is very thin. But the lady, my goodness. These two will seat on the same table of four, but perpendicularly to each other, every time, and every morning. I just plainly ignored to have a peek at the amount of food portions on her platter. It’s just too scary. God saves this Contra Couple.

There’s the owner who sits and reading newspaper leisurely. And his wife (I assumed) who took care of the counter, and will count every single sen. This restaurant is not cheap, but the food is not bad.

There’s us. Talking mostly about our kids, the politics, Jay’s ‘cuti dalam cuti’ (a.k.a. master program), me saving the world (my office work), and any odd people coming to the restaurant.

To quote a quote in Breakfast at Tiffany's: ... life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real hapiness.

Bigger than the Universe

That weekend was not quite as eventful. Along with my usual extra long naps in the lazy Saturday and Sunday afternoons (my princess Awateef suggested that I should start up a Snooze Club and be the President, along with Sakura the cat as one of the affiliate), I did spend the time watching the rerun episodes of Dragon Ball & the new season 7 CSI, though I still prefer the cool ‘H’ in the Miami version, playing with my kids, groceries at Kar Foo and browsing books at MPH with my dear wife.

But last night, suddenly I was brought to this idea of multiverse.

It started when Ahwaz my eldest, while on our way sending him to his tuition class, asked what kind of star was it while pointing to a brightly shining object in the night sky.

'That’s the biggest star in our galaxy', said my wife.

'It’s not that big to me', replied Ahwaz.

I said quietly to myself, that thing is certainly not the Death Star, the military battle station of Lord Vader. “Emm Yang, that I’m afraid is not quite right. Well, my son, that star is certainly not the biggest, neither it is IN our galaxy. By the way, in our galaxy there’s only one star which is the Sun.” Of which much later, I found that statement was not quite right either. The sun is known as a yellow dwarf star in our Milky Way galaxy, so neither quite right  as the only star nor the biggest in the our galaxy.

Yeap, surely not the 'star' on Page 3 in the tabloid version of the Sun. “That star is one of the many billions number of stars in our universe”.

“Thanks. You are cool Ayah, how come you know everything?” praised Ahwaz.

“Well, I did graduate in Aerospace Engineering from the 2nd (or maybe the 3rd, why the heck should I care) oldest university in the UK you know. Anything between the sky and the Earth is my expertise, you should at least follow my footsteps.”

“But why engineers can only afford Korean cars?” “That my son is what we technocrat called a fit-for-purpose lifestyles.” Luckily, there’s no more why’s and how’s, as we already reached his tuition centre.

Back to the galaxy issues, many galaxies will make up a universe. Many universes will then make up multiverse. There’s a theory that there are parallel universes that is similar to ours. That means, somewhere out there (‘the’ very far away in space and in time), there maybe another us. What do you mean ‘another us’? I leave that, to the theorist (remember my admonition when wrong theories, assumptions and deductions are applied?)

In the other universe, I guess my other self will have the opportunity to do what I only dreamt to do. I’m sure my other self could be a renowned poet. Writing endless couplets of enchanting words that could soften the hardest heart. Or maybe, an accomplished cricketer who’s batting skills matching Sachin Tendulkar and bowling faster than Shoaib Akthar.

Another me in another universe somewhere, would be an animal caretaker, joining WWF or some other organisation like that. There’s also this guy call me, in yet another universe who is just a simple guy working as a janitor in a building somewhere, who is proud of his job.

Dream on my dear self. You are in your own multiverse.

Still Don’t Get It, Do You?

For me the most mind boggling thing after the massive defeat of BN in the last election was all the political analysts, all the pundits when asked for their 2 sen, said the reasons for this defeat were due to Hindraf issues, high fuel price, early election date, Anwar factor, PAS promises, DAP meritocratic chanting bla bla bla.

It is not worth their credentials at all, these so call experts. The reason simply we have a very weak and incompetent PM. He was not in control, he is still not in control. This, plus his failed spin-doctor, his PPE degree SIL a.k.a. the Kerbau Jantan.

Hang ingat hang boleh bodoh-bodohkan rakyat Malaysia ke? Hang tak faham ka, orang tak suka kepimpinan hang sebab hang bodo.

Bo-dollah, I would like to recommend you to commit suicide, political suicide that is. So, quit-Lah.

In a Nutshell

It's almost midnight, out of the sudden I felt small. Real small. Insignificantly negligible. My mind drifted to this day, every year, for the last God knows when.

It's my birthday. The day I was born. A tiny and feeble boy without much hope, with a fragile health. Well, that boy survived. He almost drowned when he was six years old. If not because of some 'makhluk Allah' that save him, pushing him from the bottom of the big drain in the wet wet wet Bagan Serai.

Life in the kampung, was not exactly all fun and frolics. I remembered that with 50 cents as the duit blanja, I can't afford the 30 cents Vitagen, or the 50 cents Nutella, or the 70 cents delicious ice-cream cones.

I did my best. I did get top of the class. I did go to a boarding school. But you know what, initially I had only 2 pairs of school uniforms, and 2 pairs of baju Melayu, with nerdy-looking spek kerajaan. My dad even sent me with a taxi.

I did became the captain of the school cricket team, a Perak player, a member of the Prefect Board, a Librarian, secretary of the House, a corporal in the Cadet Corps, got a relatively good result in SPM. Had a girlfriend. Went to another boarding school for 'A' Levels, became the Headboy, achieved the 'Tokoh Pelajar' award, went to UK, did Aerospace Engineering. Lost the girlfriend. Travel all over.

Came back to Malaysia, became an engineer, did offshore projects, got married to a great lady, have four wonderful kids, become manager, travel all over etc. ...

Never do I forget my humble upbringing.

That's my life, in a nutshell, as told by yours truly.

What Word?

Subang Jaya

The other morning, I was a bit late sending the kids to school. It was 7.35 am, and I was about 250m to the corner of Ateef's school entrance. Suddenly the car in front of me stopped and the driver was about to make a U-turn, without warning.

"What the &%$*!"

"Daddy, what the hook nanny did you just said?" Ateef suddenly bursted out.

"Nothing sayang. Just look at that stupid car."

"Don't you ever say that word in front of me again."

"What word? That word. Sorry sayang. I won't say it again."

I just had my lesson learnt early in the morning.