Thursday, 20 October 2016

Maintaining a cordial relationship between Malaysia and Australia

We are all familiar with the term "Aussie" .  Then there's the word "Ocker".  I came across it when I was reading Jan Morris's "From the Four Corners" many years ago.  Strange name, I thought, for the people from Down Under.  Only when I learned to take part in the Internet World  did I discover its origin.

From Aussie Slang Dictionary - Macquarie University

Following the recent incident of the nine middle-class Australian citizens baring their all  - well, at least 99% of 'the parts that cannot be reached' *- carefully hidden by an itsy bitsy teenie weenie swimwear based on the Malaysian flag - I decided on this posting to repair and enhance the relationship between Malaysia and Australia - and to dispel the Ocker's idea of us Malaysians as 'humourless'.

All cultures of whatever colour or religion have their own set of rules and etiquette.   It's a way of organising life, of lubricating relationships and creating a sense of order.     However, we Malaysians (and especially the Malay-Muslims) have been mocked and scoffed at because we have too many taboos in our culture: no alcohol, no pork, no bikinis or mankinis. no sultry dancing, etc., etc.    Perhaps this is why Thailand and the Philippines are top of the bill for Western (and Middle East, Eastern, and Down-under) tourists.   And perhaps this is why the fun-goers have recently been so upset:

Read more about it here : ..

But what about the lands of the customers themselves?    In particular, what about Australia?   Well,
Australia has the usual set of rules pertaining to law and order and decency.   We must obey and respect them.     A visitor or an immigrant to Australia has to be reminded of the way of life of their host country, and where better to start than at this website: xc8CFU4eaAodOX4FHg

Apart from the general rule of not dropping your trousers in public, there are various things to avoid in Australia.   Here's a selection - and please ignore the black numbering in the boxes:

1.   When you're  at a football match in Australia, don't try to be too pally and exclaim to the cobber next to you: "I'll be rooting for your team, mate."   This will be an unforgivable boo boo because...


Too true, too true.  For a dose of "fair dinkum Aussie charm" , take a visit to the smaller towns.  But you won't charm the city or small town ockers if you come with the objective of pulling down your trousers and displaying the Australian flag on your  underpants!  Even if you might be able to buy underpants decorated with flags from various nations of the world at places like Chow Kit or Chowrasta it's still not nice to be that disrespectful. Don't diss the flags and symbols of other cultures.  Among other symbols .....

Diss = Aussie slang for disrespect.
You might just develop a taste for vegemite.    You might have to in a small town - your own culinary symbols (like belacan and durian) may be nowhere in sight.     And vegemite is healthier than the sight of topless men in their briefest of briefs!  (Besides, in some parts of the world you have to pay for such beefy strip shows).

Still, if you are pathetic enough to copy that arrogant tease in Australia, let's hope you can get an Australian lawyer as understanding and as sympathetic as Mr Wan Aizuddin (one of the defence lawyers for the Ocker Nine) who claimed,  "They all have good jobs in Australia and come from good families. .....  There were mitigating factors. They are young fellows.  They never meant to cause offence."

Which makes me wonder:  first, if our Mat Rempits could claim such dispensation when they're hauled into court; and second, if our ocker friends would find the courts quite so kindly if they performed their inoffensive little pranks in Singapore.......


Uluru, previously claimed as Ayers Rock by the early Aussie colonists.

Most certainly, but the same is expected of those Brits, EU Citizens, Americans, Kiwis and Aussies who visit places like Angkor Wat, Borobodur .... and Mount Kinabalu - which is also sacred, and also a favoured place for Mat (Rempit) Sallehs to show their flab.


We Malaysians also have a colonial history (and we too are still living with its consequences) so we will certainly respect that - provided they don't mock us as wogballs descended from monkeys or layabouts descended from pirates.

6.   For this item, you are expected to be familiar with speaking Strine and having a skin as thick as a kangaroo's hide.

I suppose what those well-heeled ockers did at Sepang was "taking the piss" out of us locals.     Wow, those Ockers set a tough standard: must we all pull down our trousers and wear the Ocker flag on our backsides in order to be respected?


The above seems like fair dinkum.  Thank you for the tip.  But something worries me.  If 'graduating  high schoolers'  celebrate end-of-school-days  'with a lot of drink-filled hormone-fuelled debauchery'' how  do the graduates and the adults celebrate the auspicious days of their life?      Should we avoid Sepang (or Mount Kinabalu) for fear of bumping into too many celebrating Ockers?

In Australia, beer and liquor are a national hobby.  For instance you have to be very precise and almost fastidious in picking your drink especially your beer. Pronounce beer without the 'r' in the land of amber fluid and gold, but when in Australia, do as the Aussies do.  Get your beer vocabulary right!

Of course. as the Aussie Nine were getting sozzled at Sepang, they would have to make do with drinking from their shoes - they can't  get a schooner or middy or pot for love or money at Sepang!

Nevertheless, Australia (like the UK) faces a fluid problem.

Just as Malaysia should be running a very serious campaign against obesity - the Australian  Government is attempting to educate their population about binge-drinking.  While on a long haul MAS flight, I picked up a magazine and was intrigued by this full-page advertisement by the Australian Government about binge drinking.

If there was no indication that this advertisement was issued by the Australian Government, I would believe that this 'nightmare' was typical of a non-Western society.  Look at the star in this advertisement: she could be Indian, Pakistani, Iranian, Syrian.   Most certainly it does not indicate a white European in Australia!!  Strange indeed!

Read more in - e-alcohol-than-ever-university-of-nsw-booze-study-reveals/news-story/6cb3d4aae51185313ecf2d50c736f729

So, it looks like Australia will have to take better care and supervision of their women folk instead of worrying themselves about foreign women in hijab and nikab and their oppression by the menfolk.   Or do only non-Europeans get drunk in Australia?


So we now know what NOT TO DO in Australia.   Well, fair enough.    But all these strictures, all these little rules of etiquette and proper conduct, beg an important question.      How do the Ockers treat the rest of the world - both within and beyond Ockerland's national boundaries?  

Firstly :  The plight of the Australian Aborigines.  (What oppression?  They're our Abos!  Never ever!!)

Read :

Secondly :  The plight of asylum seekers at Nauru.  (A cover- up of abuse by Australia, the bastion of freedom, democracy and equality and Human Rights in Asia? Well, I never!!)

Read :

Don't worry about this poster if you're coming as a tourist or a potential immigrant bringing loadsofmoney, speakee good English and maybe a bit of Strine and a credible qualification.  Not being a Muslim would also help.

Thirdly :  The plight of the Australian Great Barrier Reef.
(Doctoring of information by a country that pontificates about freedom and democracy and equality and environmental responsibility in Asia?  Never!!)

Read ;


Do you come from the land down under?
Where women glow and men plunder?


 *   I can't resist putting in this advertisement  referring to 'parts that cannot be reached'.

G' day all.

Wednesday, 5 October 2016

Downunders showing off their down-unders in Malaysia

The setting:  the year is 2054 somewhere in the suburb of Bruceville, just 120 km southeast of the little town of Kangawoombaroo in a secluded outback of Australia.  A little boy is sitting on his grandpa's lap  'flicking' through the old man's  album on the computer.  Grandpa (GP), who lives in Wankerton, was staying over for the weekend to spend quality time with his eight year old grandson (GS).

GP (pointing at a picture) .... And there's your Grandad in Malaysia in 2016, protesting at them chopping down trees.     ( He often went there to collect the evidence).  

GS:  Yeah, Dad says all us Aussies are real keen conservationists!    But hang on...what's this?     It says "Malaysian Grand Prix 2016"

GP   No, it's nothing interesting  (as he clicked off the photo).  Hey stop that!  ( when GS clicked back to the photo).

GS  Hey this is cooooll !!  Which of those arses ... ouch! (GP smacks the boy for using the a-word) is yours?  Daddy told me how you went to Malaysia to watch the Formula One Grand Prix.....    But he never told me about this!  Wait till I show this picture to my mates in school. Crikey!    I can tell them what a brave hero my Grandpa was in his younger days!!      Who are the others?

GP  Just cobbers.......

GS:  But Daddy told me one of your mates then was an adviser to the Minister of Defence Industries.      Was he one of them?   Wow, if only our Cabinet Ministers today had the same cheek.

GP   Hmm, yes... hmmhh  (feeling and looking pink with embarrassment, like the nude pinky skins in the photo ).   Look skipper, let's look at another (as he clicks to an image of a Malaysian crowd)

GS   Granddad Granddad!  These people look shocked - but some seem to be yelling and screaming with joy!  Are they going doo-lally over the Grand Prix - or are they just delirious to see us in our underpants?  (clicks to next picture)

.... And hey!  You got a picture of the newspaper story too!    But I think their newspaper made a mistake calling them undies.  Undies are only for girls.  Or were you and your mates wearing girly underwear?    Ha ha ha, what a scream!    You really have the guts man, just like our ancestors who cleared the forests and chased out the Abos.  (Abo is an offensive term referrring to the Australian Aborigines)

Just thought of something grandpa - it's quite funny.  If you reverse the u and  n in undies, you get the word nudies  (as he rolled  around in rollicking mirth on grandpa's lap)

GP   Get off me, you silly b..... r.  You are becoming more and more obscene and rude.  You have no respect for people.  (GP stormed away in anger and disgust).

GS   Yeah grandpa, guess where I got this from (as he tripped away singing 'grandpa's undies, grandpa's a nudie, grandpas's pinky butty). 

NB  I do apologise to the apes on our planet for humankind's  abuse of the word 'apeman'.

Tuesday, 27 September 2016

Unconquerable in Singapore

In English Universities we refer to our lecturers by their first names - that is what they prefer despite their academic titles of Dr or Professor.  Many, many years ago when Iain Buchanan was my tutor-lecturer, he preferred to be just Iain, and not Mr Buchanan. But being Asians we were not comfortable with the familiarity of the first name.  Respect for your teacher (and elders) was the norm.

In my experience as a teacher, despite 40 years of affectionate attachment between AsH and her former students from Jurong Secondary School; "Miss Hamid" is still their term of reference for me.  With an age gap of 17/18 years between us, they are not old enough to consider me as a "kakak" and not young enough to regard me as a "Mak Ngah".  (My youngest niece  is in her mid-twenties.)  But beneath it all, the bond of respect for their teacher is upheld by the nomenclature "Miss Hamid".

After all, I had a problem in changing the designation of Mr Buchanan to Iain when we got hitched up.  But now after years of matrimony, 'hey you' is good and sweet enough!

So "Miss Hamid" I shall be for the rest of my days. The spouse is an "Uncle" or just "Iain" to the girls while the boys simply call him "Iain".  Mr Buchanan is out of the question.

Last weekend (23-25 September), I left 'hey you' at home with a large pan of chicken curry for dinner/lunch and sultana and orange cake for snacks and tea, while I gallivanted down to Singapore.  Despite his wish, he could not accompany me to visit the "Kids"in Singapore for reasons known only to the  Singapore authorities.  Who are we to ask and to know why?

On Friday, from Changi Airport, Jai deposited me at a Malay "kedai makan"  at Kandahar Street...

From the "kedai makan".
 ... as he went on to Masjid Sultan nearby for Friday Prayers.

Masjid Sultan


The Congregation leaving the Masjid.

The old and new.

As I sat at the "kedai", observing the buildings ...

The wooden 'extension' at the top of the kedai,  a defiant two-fingers at progress and regulations!

......  and the people in this neighbourhood' , a poignant feeling welled up in me - this is the world of my childhood and teenage and adult years!

On each payday,  Abah  would buy us a treat  of nasi briani or roti murtabak  from Islamic Restaurant or Victory Restaurant at North Bridge Road.  NB. The man in the picture is guiding his friend who was reversing his car.  Nothing dastardly intended.

I will never be able to feel this way about Ampang Road, Leboh Masjid India, or Chow Kit.  Though the backlanes were not as spanking clean as today....

....  they are still the backlanes of my past when I visited my friends at Race Course Lane.  But I much prefer the muck and clutter of backlanes gone by.

The food may cost more today but the menu and aroma of the food remains the same; especially the omelette or telur dadar.  No eating establishment in KL can imitate or beat that rich juicy mixture of eggs, onions, chilis and daun sop (Chinese parsley).  So I asked myself   "How could I leave all this, the hallowed space of my growing-up years?  Or maybe to put it another way, "What happened to this space to make me leave?" - to move from my mother's tanah air to my father's?  Culturally, ethnographically, geographically, historically - they should be one.

Talking about food,  Jai excelled himself in not only giving us the hospitality of his abode for the get-together but he  also supplied the provisions, the facilities, the transport and manpower for a truly supercalifragilisticaspialidocious  meal, not just once, but for two nights running.

Pickle, Salad, Chapatti, Rice and Dhal - genuine Punjab cuisine.

As the matriarch at the gathering, AsH became the official food taster with Jai giving an indulgent smile on the left and Lely and Ummu pretending to ignore AsH's privilege.  

Clockwise: Kumar (chapatti chef), Malkit (dhal and chicken curry chef), Manjeet (unofficial chef) - all from Punjab. Thank you boys - we really appreciate your culinary skills.  More please!!???

A chapatti toast to the chef.  Lely (in red) and Irene in the foreground are now smiling because they had a tiny morsel of my victuals. 

The dinner (rojak mamak) before the  gourmet Punjabi meal. From L to R: Ash, Jai, Lely, Irene and Veera.

A smiling Veera - after picking up tips on the art of making chapati from Kumar.

Great food, great company, lively conversation with old and new friends - which went on until one in the morning.

But my greatest pleasure, which will last me to the end of my days was to see Irene laughing and enjoying the time we were sharing.  Next week she will begin her regime of chemotherapy, the first of sixteen.  All the joy we have had this weekend will have to suffice, to hold Irene - and the people who love her - together.  My whole being aches for her.  Her courage and her determined effort to keep on being brave and philosophical is heartrending and yet so inspiring.  I know she is doing this for the sake of her friends and less for herself.  She keeps her coming hell under wraps, keeping it for herself to confront.

I have known this sweet and gentle woman since she was fifteen and shared some of her ups and downs.  "What to do, Miss Hamid?" has always been her plaintive acknowledgement when life becomes a bit raw.  But this time dear girl, you have us all rooting for you, caring and looking out for you for as long as you need and want to.  You are not alone.

I do feel like taking a swipe at fate and the gods that that did this to you and Lely.

You are Invictus Irene, always remember that.

Friday, 16 September 2016

For Irene

Enjoy your holiday .....  and the rest of your life.

This time - no words, just a song for days from .....

........  then,

... to today.

Tuesday, 6 September 2016

Oh, wouldn't it be loverly ... !!

Three days ago we read about the grand finale in the career of a British Asian icon.     He is the Rt. Hon Nigel Keith Anthony Standish Vaz, the Labour MP for Leicester East since 1987 - who holds the record for being the longest serving British Asian MP.     I say he is a Leicester MP; he actually spends most of his time in London, where he owns properties worth around £3 million.

Sepandai-pandai tupai melumpat, akhirnya jatuh ke tanah jua.

For more details read  :

He was exposed in a sting operation by the Sunday Mirror just a few days ago.  It was a beautifully organised operation - no need for a trial or the presence of mattresses.

I suppose he has a right to his private life ( he is a married man of 23 years and has sired 2 children) but as someone elected and trusted by the good people (mainly traditional Asians) of Leicester East to represent them, and as a member of the Privy Council (since 2006) and (since 2007) the Chairman of the Home Affairs Select Committee  he is expected to be whiter than white in upholding the integrity of Parliament, his country and his community.

But who knows?     Time and tide, opportunity and opportunism might see the reconciliation of Vaz and the Sunday Mirror?     Politics and media have that kind of relationship.

They can always take a leaf from Malaysia's book and kiss and make up like ........

....... Malaysia's two Right Honourables.

Oh, wouldn't it be loverly -  " lots of chocolate for me to eat, lots of coal making lots of heat".

Who knows -  in the spirit of Malaysia's example as the Mother of all Reconciliations - we might witness a similar scenario: that of future President Hilary Clinton (she has a good chance) smiling and hugging Monica Lewinsky.   Who's Monica Lewinsky?    Well, her dress almost brought down the world's most powerful leader - husband Bill.


Before the Blue Dress

I could think of other mind-boggling rapprochements - like Hang Jebat and Hang Tuah. But no, they were battling for principles.      

Let's just remember, when we see old friends, turned old enemies, turned friends once again: there is not always a worthwhile principle at stake.   Especially when they're all politicians.

Three cheers for Malaysia - Land of Opportunity and Opportunists!


Tuesday, 30 August 2016

The Prats playing silly sreggub in Malaysia

The last two years have been a roller coaster - for AsH and for her native country.     AsH has been like a drowning rabbit desperately pushing her head above water to get a breath of fresh air.  As for Malaysia the populace are drowning in a cesspool of dirty, opportunistic politics.

This year, to bring some cheer and hope to a despairing AsH and to her small garden forest, this septuagenarian Malay woman decided to fly (with technical advice from the English Scotsman spouse) Jalur Gemilang above our fence.

I'm well aware that it's so passe to demonstrate love for one's homeland.  After all, those in the know, those in the front line of political fashion, have gone global and now see themselves as citizens of the world - a world without borders where we are all equal, brothers and sisters of the same blood under different skins. Ho hum!  That sounds sweet and convenient for the global luvvies  who can cross borders without obstacles and sanctions - just a valid passport from a 'valid' country and wallets packed with credit cards and plastic financial statements.  Very unlike the status of Syrians, Libyans, Iraqis, Afghanis, North Africans, Palestinians, Mexicans and the poor of the world who suffer to get the crumbs of the global cake.

 I'm aware that I could be accused of being one of the privileged but I am no globalised luvvie.
Teras terunjam, gubal melayang.  Ash's teras is solid and her gubal tidak akan melayang.

(Teras is the harder portion of a good timber tree, gubal is the sapwood, between the core and bark of the tree)


Today I wish to publicise  one of my favourite pictures of the native Malays of the Semenanjung, the so-called "indolent, unenterprising Malays".

But that scrutiny of today's dysfunctional Malays has been ploughed and furrowed enough by me - an amphibious creature swaying in a "small and crazy" perahu.  

Hence to remind me of my political DNA, I'm inserting these images for Merdeka 2016 just as a reminder - Bagai sirih pulang ke gagang.


Life on a roller coaster makes one ponder the imponderables: of the "ifs" and "what ifs" of life.

What if I was a third or fourth generation Malay British National?

1. If a Malay from Malaysia and a Malay British citizen were competing for a medal in the Olympics or any international sports meet, I would not snort a racist disdain by saying it does not matter who's the winner as they are both Malays.

2.  I would not have the heart or the contemptuous cheek to mock my adopting country's traditional celebration by suggesting a cat or dog roast for Christmas dinner.

3. If , and it's a big "IF" - this Malay British National gets to be a member of the Bar Council I would not be so cocksure and presumptuous about peeling away bits and pieces of British law and its practices - in order to hobble the majority - even if my fellow British Malays make up the bulk of the Council. That's like living in cloud cuckoo land!

If I were a native Brit -

1.  I would not want to disown or play second fiddle to my Scottish, English, Welsh, Cornish, Irish identity for the singular description of being just British First.   Like these people do:

2.  I would not, as a practising Christian , declare " I am not British or Scottish or English or Welsh : I am  Christian."  ( I'm comparing this to to an encounter I had with a Malaysian academic who preferred to be identified as a Muslim and not a Malay. See " A little jaunt into escapism" - 9 August 2015)

3.  As I am British and a British Christian, it would never cross my mind to be prancing about in the   attire of the Land of Jesus Christ.  My speech and writing would not be peppered with Aramaic or Hebrew.   If my language has a word for it, I would use it.

If, as of the early 19th Century, the Semenanjung was ridden with poverty and civil wars, and the Malays migrated by the boat load to China, and I thus become a second or third or fourth generation Malay citizen of China : 

1.  My Mandarin would be flawless and my ability to speak Malay would have virtually disappeared - just like the Malays in Colombo and Cape Town.  No way would Malays dare to ask for Malay language schools.  They would most likely be reprimanded with Yaushiu (bloody cheek!)  or Lu siau lang ah? (you people must be mad!) or Malaikwai tng chhu  (Malay devil, go home!)

(Sorry, AsH is only familiar with Singapore Hokkien!)

2.  We would respect the government.     Which would mean, of course, (as of 1949) that my fathers and grandfathers (some rich but mainly poor) would obediently brandish their Little Red Books to demonstrate their ardent loyalty to the People's Republic of China.  Also the opportunity to practise Islam would be circumscribed by the laws of the Republic as in Xinjiang today.

Next, what if my grandfathers and great-grandfathers were brought over to India from the Peninsula as coolies and convict coolies :

1,   I would be speaking  Hindi/Punjabi/Gujarati/Tamil  "macam air".  The 'baju kurung' and 'baju kebaya' will be extinct.  ( But what the heck?  These two forms of Malay attire are also suffering the same fate in present day Malaysia!)  There will be no sambal blacan, ikan masak asam pedas tempoyak  in our diet.

2. Forget about Malay language schools.

3. Most certainly Malay lawyers would not even smell the lush furnishing in the equivalent Indian Bar Council or bestow their opinions on the rest of India about the disgrace of the caste system, of bridging the obscene gap between the rich and the poor and the welfare of the indigenous Adivasis.   As for ownership of Airlines and Media Businesses - Podah.

What if my ancestors had migrated to Saudi Arabia or Egypt or Yemen, would they be as highly regarded and accepted even as high as the aristocracy and Royal circles as the Arabs  are in the Peninsula?

Five years ago, my former Malay Muslim male student from Singapore related an interesting business encounter in a Saudi Arabian Company.  He was blatantly ignored while Caucasians were given the gold star treatment.  When they finally deigned to talk to him, he asked them a simple question at the end of the conversation.  "Is your Kiblat in Paris or London or New York?"

Your Miss Hamid is so proud of you, kiddo!!


And at the end of my wonderings and wanderings on the rollercoaster:

On this 59th year of  Merdeka I hope for a happy, peaceful and united nation.  I avoid the word 'wealthy' because there is this tendency in human nature -

59 years ago, I watched my father's tears as he listened to the commentary on the lowering of the British flag and the raising of the Malayan flag.    He cried for two reasons.      At last his country was free.   But his tears were also because of his fear for the future - knowing the toxic and unsettling legacy of the British.

I have no tears, only disgust and anger at the shenanigans and duplicity of the people and leaders of my Abah's  Tanah Air,  my grandfather's Tanah Pusaka and my nenek-moyang's Nusantara.

So, will all you people, inside and outside of Malaysia please stop playing silly Sreggub with my little patch of God's earth??

Monday, 25 July 2016

Dispensations for Miscreants

If nonagenarians are allowed to be vexatious, septuagenarians like Ash can be as grumpy as they please.

My non-negotiable human rights.

Every Monday (from 9am to 2pm) is Tung Shin Hospital Day.  Ash risks life and limbs on the outward journey and the spouse takes over  the skirmishes on our way home.

Today is the 20th day of Syawal and Muslims are still on overdrive celebrating the end of Ramadan.  But the air of joy and the bloated stomachs, it seems,  have dulled the need to be as good as gold when those Muslims get into their cars.  I have categorically chosen Muslims because the selfish cretins we encountered today- five in total - were all garbed in their tudungs  oops hijabs!

The incredible stupidity, the audacity. the egotistic behaviour when these sisters are behind their wheels belie the devout and pure expression that the hijab is supposed to represent. One screamed past us from the left on AKLEH, another dashed across our 'bows' from the right because she could not wait to make her left turn which was just a couple of metres in front of us.

At Ampang, just past KLCC another hijabed sweet and sour young thing displayed a daring swing from the left lane to the centre lane (where we were) and straight on to the right lane - her ultimate destination without any indicating.  With that kind of guts and skill she would be a good candidate for Formula One  Racing, hijab or no hijab!

When you drive in KL you put your life into the hands of idiots, male and female, Muslims and non-Muslims!

The most frightening display of  a Muslim woman driver's asinine behaviour was at Wangsa Maju.  This sister was too busy getting herself and her shopping into the driving seat while parked on a very busy road - completely ignoring her little hijabed daughter (of around five years old), and leaving her to dash across the road.  Thank goodness the septuagenarian spouse was alert enough ( we over-70s are supposed to be gaga and slow-minded drivers) to grind to a halt and save himself from being beaten up for running over a child!    And this is just one of many such experiences with errant Muslim drivers - including actual collision.

These drivers who think they are invincible and  somehow protected from the fate of other miscreants drive anything from Proton Saga to Suzuki and BMW - with a high proportion of hijab-clad sisters driving huge SUVs..

Let's see.... as Muslims in Malaysia are so susceptible to imitating everything Arab and Arabic, and especially Saudi Arabia - why not go the whole hog (ugh!)and ban Muslim women from driving!?!!?  We can then leave the field wide open for the menfolk to do their utmost to ignore every rule in the man-made Highway Code.  (After all, you can't be ensured a foothold in paradise if you obey all the rules that licensed you as a driver and motorbike rider.)


AND IN THE BEGINNING: The child is father of the man. (William Wordsworth)

During the last 40 years or so, Malaysia (and Singapore too) have seen the "revival" of Islam and the "purification"  of Muslims.

In tandem with that: in Malaysia we have also observed the rise and rise of  wealth and the good life as well as hypocrisy, corruption and the lust for power - basic ingredients for a nation's moral and spiritual bankruptcy.

On Hari Raya , a collection of emptied packets of  duit raya was strewn just outside our gate.

The remains of manna from Hari Raya.  The blob of cat-shit ( within the red square) is such a symbolic attachment.

 I can just picture this.  After their visits to the various houses for Hari Raya Salam Alaikum, these kids could not wait to tear into their packets to count their 'loot', and then discard the rubbish at the scene of the big count.  I was told they cock a snoot at any gift below two ringgit. From little acorns large fat cats grow!  Sorry for the mixed metaphors.

Is this what Hari Raya is all about - for the children and grandchildren of the Baby Boomers, for Generations X, Y and Z?

AND AT THE END - Takkan  Melayu hilang di dunia.  I reckon it will not be a matter of 'if' but one of 'when'.  It's an imitation of the fate of a gibbon being given a flower.