pakmat

..an open letter to thirteen..

2012-02-02T13:07:00.000+08:00

..reading lc's blog must have got to me...lc is fond of writing open letters in his blog, which you can access here...but his concerns will always be about sports, being the conscientious sports critic that he is... and I just have to response to anonymous', thirteen, comment, being the conscientious blogger that I am...so here goes..

..salam thirteen...I think, to get a single person who is without sin to throw the first stone is nigh impossible...for we are all sinners, one way or the other..and God, in His Greatness, knows all the weaknesses of Man, His creation, in that we will sinned.....and He created Purgatory, to my mind, not for sinners...but for those who committed sins knowingly or unknowingly but do not repent...

..pakmat looked at the Haj as an opportunity for us who sinned, to repent and be close to Him...so, thirteen, make the trip...regret, they say, is the first step towards repentance...dwell upon your regrets...wake up the last quarter of the night and do the night solats...think well of Him...insyaAllah...for He is the Most Compassionate and the Most Loving...

..Mina, and the mean side of the haj...

2012-01-26T15:26:00.000+08:00

..by the time we reached Mina after Mudzalifah, it was almost dawn...we found our tent soon enough, H 14...and it became apparent when most of our tent members showed up, that there was just not enough room for all of us...it was too tight a squeeze...for a moment, nerves frayed...a momentary furore amid all the suggestions, and pakmat was promptly elected penghulu...when you are slight of built but big of voice, you will be easily noticed.....in our disagreement, we agreed to push the canvas walls and lined them with our baggages...and slept like sardines - criss-crossed...a really closed-knitted group, I thought..

...its easier to interact with the forced proximity...and I soon learnt that on the day my roommate died, a lady pilgrim died a day earlier..and her husband was that quiet man who would sometimes sat alone outside the tent, pullling upon a cigarette...and I commented in my heart for his smoking ways...I did not know he was suffering his wife's loss...but later, when I got to know him better, I extended my hand and asked for his and His forgiveness...please forgive my erring thoughts...

..Pak Mat, pulling upon a cigarette..

...one night we had a tahlil for the late Tokwan and Pak Mat's late wife...halfway I could see tears welling in his eyes, as he tried to follow the tahlil...couldn't....walked to outside the tent...and sat alone by himself as we continued...there is no God but Allah...there is no God but Allah..there is no God but Allah..there is no God but Allah..

..there was also not enough toilets...they were built on the septic-tanks and you walked up five steps to get to the door, that is after you queued up for anything from ten to fifteen minutes...but the ladies were worse-off...their queues were longer, along with their time waiting...which sometimes resulted in some cutting in into the men's queue...and some males protested, with the husband coming to the defence of the wife with a show of fists...which led to brief fisticuffs..

..for some there was little of that virtue called patience...they just could not wait or made adjustments...so it was into these bottles...and pakmat took in the sight and the stench one morning, marvelling at the various shades of yellow and the bottles lining the walls...

..waiting for the bus back to Makkah..

..the orbs of Mudzalifah and beyond..

2012-01-17T09:36:00.000+08:00

..Pic 1..Haram..taken by Nik Faris with his budget digital camera..

....I really do not know what they were...the first time I was shown them was by a young 'tahfiz,' Nik Faris, who was there with his mother...he had taken some shots around Makkah and Mudzalifah with his budget digital camera...thinking that there was some defects in his camera...he had shown it to his mother.. and later, to me as we get to know each other better....but by then, we were well on our way to Madinah...

Pic 2....Mudzalifah...taken with the same camera..

..I thought they were caused by dust particles..it was very dusty around the holy city of Makkah..but as I searched the web for reports of similar orbs when back in Malaysia, it became evident that such orbs caught on digital camera was a common occurrence... I came across a Dr Klaus Heinemann...and article on him can be read here...

..Pic 3...Nabawi Mosque, Medinah....taken with Sony Ericsson
Xperia with flash..

...in Madinah, we tried again taking night shots around Nabawi Mosque, this time with a Sony Ericsson Xperia smartphone...with flash on manual we took pic 3 and pic 4...we marveled at the orbs..not able to explain it but not totally dismissing them either...

Pic 4...pic taken a few seconds later by pakmat...

..pakmat even took a shot of a roommate, Haji Rasit, as he was reading the Quran in our hotel room, and got this picture of him with a small orb seemingly floating next to him...Pic 5..

Pic 5...shot taken by pakmat in our hotel room,
Al-Haram, Medina..

..Pic 6...the sky over Nabawi..pic taken by Pakmat..

..intrigue, pakmat searched the web for other images...and found the following pictures...all with orbs in them...there were no mention of it by the owners...perhaps they dismissed them as just a quirky display of light...

..Pic 7...pakmat searched the web and found this picture..
..MasjidilHaram..

..Pic 8...and this...

...Pic 9..and this of Nabawi..

..Pic 10..and this...

..Pic 11 .pic taken by wife with pakmat's handphone, HTC Aria..
..no flash...no orbs..

..Pic 12...taken by pakmat with HTC Aria...no flash..no orbs..

..that I have created jinns and men that they may served Me...surah Az Zariyat

..the title..

2012-01-09T15:07:00.000+08:00

...we were called 'Hajji' the moment after we stepped down from the plane in Jeddah...as we trailed into the waiting foyer, Bangladeshi pedlars called out to us with their Mobily and Zain simcards...henceforth the cry 'Hajji..Hajji..' was an often heard cry...most times followed by 'Toreek..Toreek..' when in the Holy City...inevitably it was someone being wheel-chaired, asking for the right of way....but pakmat got used to it soon enough...and it was easier calling fellow pilgrims Hajji or Hajjah, having no talent memorising names...

..pakmat knew the responsiblities it bring, being called a hajji.....not so much because he is a hajji, for titular means nothing to him...but more because he has set his feet in the Holy Land, tawaf the house of God, wukuf in Arafat, stayed a moment at Mudzalifah, stoned the satans in him and outside of him, and sheared his hair....

..more because of the tears that he shed just a few meters away from His House...imploring the Lord to forgive him of his sins...imploring the Lord to accept his repentance...imploring Him for His Blessings....His Bounty....beseeching His Clemency....not just for him...but also for his late mother and father...his children and his grandchildren....his family and friends....the people of his village...muslimin and muslimat....

...'Lord, You are the Most Compassionate and Most Loving....there is no God but You, Allah...and Mohammad is Your Prophet....I stand now before Thee...bringing doa's from my children, brethren and friends..from the people in my village...they seek your forgiveness, Lord...as they seek Your bounty...their lists are long as Your Compassion is endless....please, Lord, grant them their wishes...if You find them fair and of benefit to them....for truly, Lord, I know not what You know'...

..for pakmat, the haj is the divide...that separates him from the old and the new...but inasmuch as he knew his weaknesses, he knew his strength...

...and his journey starts not from the day he left for Makkah....but from the day he returned...

man's proposals and God's disposals..

2012-01-06T16:32:00.001+08:00

..Jabal Rahmah..

...he stood out like a sore thumb from among the golden, way past expiry date jemaah like pakmat and company...fair of skin, youngishly handsome, clean-shaven and hair cropped short..... .with a Colgate's smile, to boot...ahh...to be young and handsome...and in his case, to be young, handsome and on the plains of Arafat, doing the haj....its all that pakmat could do to supress his envy...

..waiting for pakmat's turn at the loo..

..I hardly noticed him earlier at Misfalah, being seldom at the hotel, but here we shared the same tent...and he was here as a mahram, family, to his grandmother..hmm...grandma's pet...and he smiled when I said that...but his smile was not that of a happy man....

... I mentioned him later to the wife as we were strolling around the tents whilst waiting asar...bakpo nyo....why, they were from Bachok...the grandmother was in the late fifties or early sixties...hale, healthy and smartly dressed when we left Kuala Trengganu Sultan Mahmood Airport, with dark shades, even...but her health took a turn after three or four days in the Holy City...

..Jabat Rahmah..

...she pee'd on the carpet as she walked pass, causing discomfort to the other jemaah's...slowly she started losing control over her body...and it was causing great discomfort to the grandson, unable to be with her as segregation among the sexes was enforced for the benefit of all...

..boiling hot water on tap...

..her daughters volunteered, but she refused, preferring her grandson....my wife added, reading the query in my eyes...she did not bargained on being sick....and I nodded in agreement...

...later I was to learn that she never recovered...her illness aggravated to the extent that she was certified by the medical authorities as 'lost all control over her bodily functions'...somehow they managed to complete the haj rituals, albeit wheel-chaired and left for home immediately after, missing out Medinah...I remembered her grandson's forlorn look as he wheel-chaired her for their trip back home...

..the plains of Arafat..

2012-01-02T21:32:00.000+08:00

....by the sun and its morning glow

by the moon as it follows in tow

by the day as it reveals its glory

by the night as it conceals it totally

by the heaven and He who built it

and by a soul and He who proportioned it

inspiring it with depravity or piety

he who purified his soul has succeeded

and he who stifles it has failed....

surah Al-Shams

..on the 4th of November, 2011, the 8th of Zuhiljah, 1432 we left for the plains of Arafat...towards the Mount of Arafat, Jabal Rahmah...it was a Friday... some walked the distance..some took a ride on the roof of a bus, in the cargo hold, as it were...but for pakmat and wife, it was a comfortable ride in one of the Muassasah air-conditioned buses...bus no. 16...

..for some, the journey was on top of a bus..

..we left the comforts of hotel Luat Al-TawHeed, Misfalah, with its attached bathrooms and hot water on tap, for two nights under tents pitched together to house more than a 100 of us per tent, with bedding of carpets spread on sand and communal toilets built on a rise, right on the septic tanks, where we lined up and waited our turns...it was one of haj most important rituals - the wukuf...and pakmat savoured its moments and the opportunities it brought...

..silhouetted in the evening sun..

...and it revealed pakmat's defects and weaknesses...as a muslim and as a man...but the moon that peered unhesitantly through the gaps of the tent bore witness...that the nights pakmat sat with those who read His Book...and solat with those who solat those additional solats...and the days he walked the plains of Arafat...mixing freely with his fellow pilgrims, trying to bridge differences in languages and cultures...and always, always, Jabal Rahmah as a backdrop....

..'by the moon as it follows in tow'..viewed from
within the tent of Arafat as pakmat pondered...

..others before him had made this journey...clutched the same sand he clutched in between the carpets...looked up the same sky...others before him from amongst his family, his kin and kindred...they were here before there were airplanes....braving the waves for months on ships...bringing along stocks of food, budu and salted fish....

..pakmat with his brethren, all in ihram..

..as there will be others after him...his children, of which and of whom he fervently prayed...his grandchildren and great grandchildren...they will wukuf the same plain, look up the same sky...for the haj is His Gift...an opportunity...

..missus with her sisters...pic taken upon their request..

...he who purified his soul has succeeded...

..the new year, same old..

2011-12-31T08:38:00.000+08:00

.there is always this thing about new years..it adds a year to your age..you looked at children of yesterdays, and see how adult they have become, leading their own life with their mate and children..and yet, not too long ago they were on your knees, making baby noises...and pakmat will be 67 in 3 months time...if this is progress, than it is..no time for dreams...just a leisurely savouring of regrets...things you should have and should not have done..the roads you should have taken...words that lingered on tongue but not uttered...and words said that should not have been said...everything becomes like a furry ball, rolling along the sand..

...neil diamond echoes in my mind...every girl will be a woman...as with every boy...

.,.happy new year.......

..the routine...

2011-12-27T09:46:00.000+08:00

..queuing for ice-cream..

...pakmat did not socialise much whilst in the Holy Land...in truth there just wasn't time...for from the time he arrived to the day he left for the plains of Arafat, he spent most of his time at MasjidilHaram..it was a routine that he try to maintain with his wife... wakes up at 3.00 in the morning, walked the distance to the Grand Mosque, walked back after Subuh, a quick breakfast, a short rest and by 10.30, a leisurely walk back to Haram for Zohor..

..new arrivals gathering in front of Maktab 93 and 92 for their
first march towards Haram..

..for Muassasah pilgrims, breakfast was not provided....which was just as well...we used it as an opportunity to try out all those fares available, which could be anything from rice, to bread to pizza...once we even had ice-cream with roti...

...lunch, provided at the Maktab, was not provided at Haram..( I wished the board would go that extra mile and provide distribution point for lunch at Haram, seeing that the hotel is 2 km away)...and so it was anything goes...but sometimes, feeling strong and daring, we walked back for lunch, braving the noon sun...followed by a short rest before hitting the road for Asar...even though the surau at the hotel looked tempting, we told ourselves, no..we came too far..and we were too near Haram to solat anywhere else..

..pakmat tried fried mee with sardine for breakfast once...yeecch..
..the combination did go too well...

...the daily trek to and back from the maktab to the Grand Mosque made most golden couples into endearing couples...the tendency was to walk side-by-side, to watch out for each other and to even hold hands, awkwardly at first but more relax as they got used to walking together...pakmat mentioned this, because I knew that these couples would never display such intimacy back home in Malaysia...it also made them fit...along with knotty calves...and cracked toes...

..pakmat's cracked toes and heels..a cream, aptly named
Crack, bought at Safa Supermarket was more effective than
those sponsored cream..

...it also made pakmat missed his wife...after 3 weeks pakmat had enough of this 'look but cannot touch' abstinence and queried the board about 'bilik berkat'...it was the same personnel who asked pakmat to solat at the surau....and was quickly told, almost in a rebuff, that the room was heavily book by citizens more senior than pakmat...oh, well...

..the walk back after isyak, a few days before Arafat..

..lunch at Hilton Towers

..but in the beginning, we had the street
almost to ourselves..

..the cycle..

2011-12-20T09:18:00.000+08:00

..at fifty-two, my wife's menstrual cycle is anything but regular..even though, generally, it keeps to its lunar cycle, its coming and going is beyond prediction, sometimes after two weeks and sometimes for forty days...she has long given up marking on a wall calender its coming and going...content just to let it runs its course, used as it is to its unpredictability...and pakmat learns to to adjust his needs likewise, taking his cue from her non-solat days...

..when we took our flight for Jeddah on the 16th of October, her period had just ended two weeks earlier..by any reckoning it should rear its head again anytime soon or maybe within the next three to four weeks...to my mind, she must have been worried...and to my mind, she must be prepared for all eventualities...

..but unbeknown to me, she has made discreet enquiries about it...listened to 'ceramah' by ustazah's about it..and had made her decision about her course of actions...

..she decided against preventives pills and such....she decided to plead with her Lord....her Maker...

...henceforth her every solat and prayer ends with a doa...that the Lord delays her menstruation...that she may do His Biddings and the haj unhindered...her faith was absolute....the Lord listens.....

...ten days after our return on the 30th of November, it has still to show signs of coming...no pain in the tits...no hot flushes...and pakmat got worried....sheesh...its a bit late for pakmat to cradle a baby...you sure you are not pregnant?......maybe a urine test would be in order...she laughed it off...and on the 16th it came...and pakmat sigh a sigh of relieve...Praise be unto Allah...

..the death..

2011-12-18T12:16:00.003+08:00

..death, when it comes, comes easy in the Holy Land..and to the least expected...

...of course, given the choice one would choose to die here in the Holy Land, like my room mate, Tok Wan, who died on a Friday, 28th October, 2011, 12 days after arrival...but death is not a matter of choice...for when the time comes, it will not be delayed a second or hastened a second...but, of course, we all pray for that extra time on this earth...that we may make it safely back home after the haj to our family and pets, such as it were...

..the hearse that carried Tokwan and the rest of us to Haram
and later to the burial grounds in Shiraya..

..like pakmat, Tokwan came with his wife..but unlike pakmat, his wife was ailing and generally not in the best of health...Tokwan, jovial and jolly in his own quiet ways, was hale and hearty when we both checked in room 533, Luat Al-Tawheed, Misfalah District, Mekkah...there were five of us - Pakmin, an Education Officer from Kota Bharu, the youngest and healthiest at 46...he was with his ailing mother, leaving his 7 months pregnant wife at home in Kubang Kerian with their 6 children...Pakhin, 63, soon to be a bed-ridden asthmatic, Pakman, an Imam of a surau in Alor Bakat, Bachok, slow moving but healthy... and pakmat, retiree, the eldest and, without a false sense of modesty, trailing behind Pakmin in health and energy...

..Pakman, who sat at the back, could not make it into Haram..he just
could not keep up with the pace and the guards would not let
him in..we met later at the hotel...

... we learnt to tolerate each other after a few nights and managed to adjust to each of our idiosyncrasies and habits......Pakmin, being knowledgeable on religious matters,quickly became the ustadz, Pakman the imam and pakmat the bilal and, later, the penghulu...Pakhin's asthma worsened and he became a wheezing and coughing, bedridden man soon enough, while Tokwan became weaker as he gradually lost his desire to eat...

..solat jenazah..brown is the colour for Malaysian's dead..

..after a few visits to the Maktab's clinic where he was given the mask-treatment, Pakhin's condition deteriorated and we forsook the use of the air-conditionaing... but it was Tokwan who was warded...and died after isyak that fateful Friday...Pakmin messaged me the news and upon our returned from Haram, pakmat and Pakmin helped broke the news to his widow...and helped called his children in Malaysia...I called and messaged my children, too...for it could be anyone of us who died that day...

..the lobby of Muhajereen's Mosque..

..upon death all bodies were sent to a Mortal Services Benevolent Mosque where they were prepared for solat jenazah and burial...needless to say, sleep was not an option that night...Pakmin accompanied the widow for a last view of the deceased...by 2.00am, we gathered at the lobby...mission: to collect the body from the Mortal Services Benevolent Mosque and accompany the deceased for solat jenazah at Haram and later for burial...we went by car, a Honda Accord year 2000..the driver, Robik, sped and promptly lost his way...

..Tokwan's final resting place...the grave is a concrete cubicle four by six
feet wide and six feet deep..pakmat used a steel ladder to get down...bodies
are not buried...

..it was a few minutes after three, by the time we found it..Al-Muhajereen Mosque Benevolent Free Mortal Services, situated somewhere on the outskirts of Mekkah...along the way and back, pakmat got to see suburban Mekkah, the Holy City...

...as we approached Haram for solat subuh and solat jenazah..

...as we went into its spacious lobby and waiting area, we were promptly asked, 'Wuduk?..' and was shown to the rest area, complete with coffee/tea making facilities and an adjoining toilet for gents where we wuduk'ed, a requirement for all those handling the dead...

..plot 26 of burial grounds, Shiraya, Mekkah..
about 20 km from Haram..

..it was not long before I realised that the three of us, Pakman, Pakmin, and me, together with petite Ustadz Nor from the board, were not strong enough to carry the jenazah of the late Tokwan, an almost 6 footer and weighing more than a hundred kilos, during his time...we struggled as we carried him into the Toyota/hearse...

...minyak boxing..ointment that pakmat used to rub
Tokwan's back before his death..

..I chided the officer of the board for not giving us prior warning...'If you had told me earlier I could have brought along more people'...he ignored my chidings and I could not imagined how were we to carry him into Haram...may the Lord give me the strength, I prayed...but the Lord has His ways of taking care of His guests, as I was to find out later...

..the concrete cubicle/grave was then covered by concrete
slabs...with the edges filled with grass and sand..

..we approached Haram from the eastern wing, of which I was quite unfamiliar..but as our vehicle approached along with the pilgrims on their way for solat subuh, I gave in to my worries...how were we to carry him?..we were so puny...but as the back door opened, and as we reached out for Tokwan, burly hands from burly fellow pilgrims were there giving a helping hand...they quickly carried Tokwan high above pakmat...and pakmat could only cried out, 'Allah huAkbar..Allah huAkbar..Allah huAkbar..' whilst trying to catch up...hands barely able to hold on to Tokwan...I was unaware of my tears as I followed Tokwan from underneath him...I hardly knew him..and my heart cried out for him....my kin and brother...

....Sheikh AbdurRahman Al Sudais was the imam...not too tall, abit stocky..bearded but with a voice of gold...and that morning I prayed like I have never prayed before...Lord..You who created Death and Life..that You may try us....unto You we shall returned...forgive him, Lord....and forgive me....

..the board..

2011-12-14T15:47:00.001+08:00

...I ran aground with the Tabung Haji officials after a week in Mekkah...on their advice, we carried minimal amount of cash, and on their cajoling had deposited whatever little we had into a debit account with Bank Islam...no matter the promises, the system failed to work...it was not tested and it could not debit our account, no matter the atm's...attempts to draw our money from the financial counter of Tabung Haji met with frustration for by the time we got back from Haram after isyak, which could be anything from 8.30pm to 9.00pm the ticketing booth were closed...there were too many people..

..reading the Book in MasjidilHaram..in between solats.

...I approached the officials of the board and told them my problem...

...they suggested we missed Haram and solat at the surau...

...I suggested that they should be more tuned to the Haramers, like me and missus....and why can't the bank adjust its hours so that it closes a bit late...in time for people like me, old timers all, who could not very well do the 2 km within 10 minutes..

...they suggested that I solat at the surau...

..'lady, it took me 9 hours by flight to reach Jeddah...another few hours by bus to get here..with my bottom almost calloused...paid 10,000MR each...if we intend to solat at a surau, we might as well do it in Bachok, where the surau is better than that of of this hotel'....

...I silenced them with my retort, yes...but I did not managed to draw my money, either...the next day, one of my room mates, there were five of us to a room, died...and as I accompanied him to Haram for solat jenazah and later to the grave in Shiraya, it occurred to me how shallow I was...pecuniary concerns is of no concern at all, especially here in the Holy Land...for death awaits all...irregardless....

..forgive me, Lord, for my lack of faith...

..the invitation..

2011-12-13T14:11:00.000+08:00

..the haj is the fifth pillar of Islam...and it is the endeavor of every Muslim where ever he is on this little planet to make the journey at least once...once he can afford the journey without any constraints...

...even though for pakmat there were constraints, he had not really tried to get over those constraints with earnest until a few years back...he had used the bankruptcy as an excuse..he slid into complacency and drifted like flotsam in a peaceful sea...without aim or purpose...

..a golden citizen waiting for his bus in Mina..

...instead of working towards the haj, pakmat has squandered his time and resources on worldly things....
..but the Lord is both Most Compassionate and Most Loving....By His Grace, He gave pakmat extra time, for indeed, at 66 you are living on extra time....

..pakmat made many furry friends whilst in the Holy Land..

..sometimes last year, he found that all roads and alleys led to Mekkah...unbeknown a little flame burning within him became a raging fire...the invitation that came sometimes in the middle of September weakened his knees...thank you, Lord, for this extra time...for, indeed, You gave me longevity that I may repent my sins, and the opportunity of this haj to cleanse my soul....

..the march..

2011-12-11T15:50:00.001+08:00

....Luat Al-Tawheed, a 14 storey hotel in Misfalah district, was to be our abode for the duration of the haj...at the briefing held on the morning after our arrival, an official from Tabong Haji told us that, 'It is 1000 meters from MasjidilHaram,' He smiled as he said that and added,'Yes, One kilometer..'

...but later as we marched on our maiden march along Ibrahim Khalil Road to MasjidilHaram for our tawaf umrah, 7 times around the Kaabah and saai, a march between Bukit Sofa and Marwah, I noticed that it took us 25 minutes to reach the Grand Mosque...it was a purposeful march, whilst reciting the talbiah - 'here we are, Lord, at Thy service'..

..the march back after isyak prayers along Ibrahim
Khalil Road..1.92km from this point to the hotel..

...too many minutes for a kilometer, I thought...later, upon checking, I found that it was 1.92km, from the steps of our maktab to Gate 79, MasjidilHaram...it was Alhamdullillah from pakmat and wife...Praise be unto You, Lord., for, indeed, You have prepared us for this...for the past year we have been jogging 2 to 3 kilometers every morning along Pantai Irama Beach...we were more ready than we thought...sometimes when we left the hotel at 3.30 am for our daily brisk walk to Haram, I have but to close my eyes...and I could almost see the beach of Pantai Irama on my right...and the coconut trees on my left...

..street pedlars with their battle cry,'10 rial..10 rial'..

..but on the way back after isyak, the wife saw only the rows of shops that lined the 2 km road to Misfalah...and the street pedlars who lined the street...wisely, she chose to shop early...'Before every one else are here'..and pakmat agreed...wtihin a week, our limited resources ran out..but we had our debit card..or so we thought...

..abdominal reflection..

2011-12-08T10:40:00.000+08:00

..I woke up this morning to a distant stomach-ache that crescendo-ed into four visits to the loo..it must have been something I ate yesterday....must be the chicken curry that I bought on the way home from KB...

...sitting on the bowl gave me time to reflect...that for all of the 47 days I was in Mekkah, Medinah and Jeddah, I partook everything that caught my eye and fancy...3 rial cappuccino with 14 rial vegetable pizza at Hilton Towers, all the nasi that you would care to mention, ice cream on the go and roti's...all the varieties, with grilled chicken, with curry, with halwa and puree, bakso and sup buntut...I gobbled it all up...

..time for pizza..

...yet there was not the slightest queasiness...no abdominal revolt...I remember a prayer I made upon touchdown in Jeddah...that I came as His guest..and I asked not for any special treatment...I will eat what is served and sleep whatever is laid...I thank Thee, Lord, just for being here......

..the flight..

2011-12-07T08:37:00.000+08:00

..among my family circles and close friends, I am known for my fear of flying..during my hey days I rather drove to the capital rather than fly...it was a standing joke..and so it was that when it became known pakmat would be making the haj, the incredulous reaction would be, 'What?!..and how is he going to go there?..by boat..?'....and as it sank in, and knowing what I am capable of, "Surely he is not going to drive there?!'...even my ex-wife in KL posed the question to me through her mother...and my daughter in London queried her siblings for confirmation.....hah, I retorted, ...there is still some gum in this old coot yet...

..my luggage and hers..hardly
40 kilos between us..

..yes.... I am going to fly there like everyone else..for in the haj, when you stepped out of your home to start the journey, you are prepared for all eventualities, including death...and pakmat started with overcoming his fear of flying and his fear of being confined in narrow spaces, claustropohbia..

..the farewell at Sultan Mahmood Airport, Kuala Terengganu..

..much to his surprise, he survived the flight...he went on to enjoy the food served, bantered with the air-stewardess, with the chief steward offering him a prayer mat and a place to pray normally, instead of in the seat... he even peered through the window and took shots with his camera-phone, HTC Aria, which was to be his constant companion in the Holy Land..

..pakmat first view of Jeddah..

...later, I was to learn that I have been prepared for the journey unknowingly to a certain degree...and later, I was to learn that the rest was up to me...Praise be unto You, Lord..for You know what I know not...

.. the surrender..

2011-12-04T11:56:00.138+08:00

..friends and well-wishers..with their doa's and tokens..

..nothing really prepared me for the haj...neither the friends, relatives and well-wishers who came and gave advice and tips...or the weekly Haji courses that I attended from early this year..or the book by Professor Kamil, ' A Haji Travelogue' a gift from an fb friend, which I carried with me and read whilst on the almost 9 hour plane ride to Jeddah...I have never been there before..and all those places that they mentioned I could but imagined..or googled..

..our first view of the Kaabah..foreground,
back to camera is missus..

..I thought it going to be a cinch..after all, it is just some rituals..physically you have to walk more than usual..but you set the pace..and nothing is coercive..but spiritually, I have much to fear..I am sinner..I have committed great sins..even though I have repented, there was a niggling doubt that my repentance was not enough...I tried to supress this fear of the Lord's retribution...but every so often it surfaced...stories abound of such retributions, and in no small way, it feeds my fear...

..hajjah-to-be, gathering for our first march to MasjidilHaram..

..the fear drove me to wake up on the last quarter of the night, for almost every night, a month before my departure, my wife and me..and most times, Ayam sprawled somewhere near....we stood together, with 9 rakaats, facing Him...

..'Lord, Most Loving and Most Compassionate...we seek your Forgiveness...for we have sinned..committed evil deeds...we paid scant heed to your Messenger, Muhammad s.a.w...and we put aside your Words'...we bared our souls...emptied that we had hidden within our chests....those that we camouflaged within our minds...we beseech your forgiveness, Lord....

..looking back, I did not know when it happened..but sometimes before our departure, Ayam snuggled my ankles and I realised that the fear was gone..in its place was acceptance...and a peaceful surrender to God's Will...

La illa hailla anta subha nakainni kun tuminna zalimin..

..None has the right to be worshipped but you, O Glorious One, truly

I have been of the WrongDoers...

..little tokens..

2011-10-08T08:43:00.001+08:00

..they came, wizened and sunburnt folks from my village..their calloused palms weary from toiling the land..they wished me well..and they slipped a note as we salam'ed...a tiny portion of their daily toil - hot sweat and burning tears..and pakmat could not verily refused, no matter the lumps that stuck in the throat..and pakmat realised that little deeds such as these are impossible to repay..no matter in how many lifetimes..may the Lord blessed them...and may the Lord forgive me...

..pakmat, lc and the haj..

2011-09-26T15:29:00.001+08:00

Sports blogger, Rizal Hashim, of blog Loose Canon, (read his blog here) is a much traveled man..it is in the nature of his job that he covers the globe...and pakmat would follow his blog and travels with a tinge of envy..now here is a young man who has made the world as his playground, and pakmat is still peering hesitatingly from under his coconut-shell..a glitch early in my career had removed my right to a passport and along with it the right to travel..but I have made Bachok as my place for atonement and so quietly I quelled whatever travel itch that I had..

..lc at gate 85, MasjidillHaram..with his daughter, son and nephew..
enjoying a snack with wife, no doubt, the photographer..pic taken
from his blog..'tanpa izin'..

..there was a time, on reading my blog, he suggested that I make a trip to London, where my 3rd daughter is. He must have been tickled that I know so much about the city and yet not been there...and I said, nay..there is a journey I have to make first..there is a little flame that was burning in my heart unheeded until it turned into a raging fire that I found impossible to ignore or douse...my prayers were unto him, along with my tears that kept on supressing the despair..and the hopelessness of it all..but throughout I kept my faith in Him..for man will always proposed..and God disposes...

....I am going to make that journey now, lc..God listens..and God grants according to His will...no, maybe I will not have that ikan dory..or meet Kanoute, but I will be there at Masjidil-Haram, and tawaf the Kaabah, if He so Wills it..and if He so Wills it, I will saie from Sofa to Marwah....and wukuf at Arafat...and I will cry out with the rest of them, Labaikallah humma labbaik...here I am, Lord, Your servant...

..one still night...

2011-08-27T15:44:00.000+08:00

..her stirring awakes him..he stretches out and she curls as he gently strokes her..through the window, a waning moon sends in its silvery light and with its soft glow he casts a sleepy eye at the clock looking down upon him benignly..it is 3 o'clock in the morning...by the time he comes out of the bathroom, she stretches, acknowledging him with a small meow...as he dresses for prayer, she rubs herself against his legs..he pushes her aside, and stood in a 'qiam'...Allah...hu akbar...and she lies in a crouch next to his prayer-mat...

Lord, Your Mercy is like the rain that falls unabated from the heaven above..and Your Compassion the clouds from which burst forth the rain....I am never among those deserving your Edens and Heavens...but I am too weak and puny for the pain and suffering of your punishment and purgatory...I seek your Forgiveness..and I seek Your Mercy...

..he sits there a moment in the stillness, suddenly aware of her purring as unconsciously he strokes her...

..Lord, let this tears be a testimony to a pair of eyes that reach out to the deepest abyss of my heart... with only one desire...accept me, Lord, as your guest, that I may feast those eyes on your House....that I may cry out...

..

..the return..

2011-08-19T15:35:00.001+08:00

..it is the beginning of those time again..when children from the cities make a beeline for their kampongs...you can feel the anticipation in the air..as Bachok braced itself for the influx of cars and people, PaRam operators take stock of the situation, knowing that in the final stretch of Ramadan, sales will, inevitalbly doubled, maybe trebled...and parents, like pakmat, await their return anxiously, praying for their safety...whilst looking forward to breaking of the fast together..

...but not all the children returned to the awaiting arms of their mothers, or fathers..for some it is a return to a memory and an empty house, having lost both parents earlier...but they returned, nonetheless, to where their roots are...and for the next few days, they and their children add laughter and cacophony to a house once bare and lonely...a house that was once a home..and amid the joy and laughter, they are once more the children of before..treading gingerly through their memory..

..this is such a house...its owner, Mok Zah, or Mek to her children died a year ago of kidney failure..widowed more than a decade earlier, she would sit alone in front of the kitchen, awaiting any of her 8 children's return...bereft of children, a house is not a home...as this year, this house sits alone...awaiting her children to 'balik kampong'...when once more it will come alive...

..dreams and regrets..

2011-08-10T15:45:00.002+08:00

..pakmat's home in Bachok..

...once, decades ago, I used to dream of having a house set up on a hillock, among verdant trees, facing a lake..a wife with long flowing, hair... you know, Nancy Kwan was the dreamgirl then, resulting in many a young man having wet dreams....and a speed-boat...but I never thought of children, a four-wheel drive was in the picture...but never children...

..Nancy Kwan..pic googled..

..but children showed up after marriage...and when you were the marrying kind, like I once was, you will have more of them...and I went on to sire 13...which is, of course, a sizeable number, by any account...when I first got married, and she got pregnant soon after, I thought maybe we will have two..or three..but definitely not seven...and I went on to have another six.....

..3rd daughter Ida's 3rd birthday..the one that flew the nest
and setup her own in a foreign land..

...but I met a woman in my kampong, in her fifties, who had 13 children... a villager who lived off the land with her villager husband...and I looked at her in awe and amazement as she chatted away about her children with the wife when I gave her a lift home one day from Balai Islam, Kota Bharu...it must have been hard, I thought..yes, she chirped, almost reading my thoughts..but it is not that we had them simultaneously...all were breastfed and the eldest among them helped...food was scarced but they grew whatever they need..planted padi and water was free..and most of them went on to complete their studies, entered institute of higher learning and became teachers and such...

..there were bad times and there were good times, although rare...but through it all she never lost faith...
in God's bounty...and in her husband...and together they scraped through each day...eat whatever they managed to put on the table and never dream of what was impossible for them to have...and pakmat was silenced into a quiet reverie...thinking of what might have been...

A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams...John Barrymore

..at 66..

2011-08-04T14:58:00.001+08:00

..pakmat..blogging at 66..

..at 66 you do not anymore hold on to whatever perceived youth that you have...you accept aging for what it is, a natural process..and you remember with a chuckle those futile times of dyeing your hair in an attempt to push back Father Time....and the time you marry for the third time a very much younger wife..hoping that her youth will make you youthful....only to realised that her youth made you older...

..at 66 I am thankful for whatever parts of my body that still work...not at its former premium pace, but still working, nonetheless...and you accept those that have gone...or ceased to work as some things inevitable....like teeth and memory...sometimes you remember with detailed clarity incidents of 20years ago...but cannot seemed to remember where you placed the car keys...or left your wife at the mosque after subuh prayers and drove back alone...forgetting that you went together...

..at 66 you do not care anymore for birthdays..those are stuff for your children and grandchildren...no..not for you...but you measure your years, nonetheless...from one Ramadan to another...for when a Ramadan comes, you remember the last...where you cupped your hands in a prayer...and asked Him forgiveness for your sins and transgressions..and asked of Him longevity...that you will be around for the next Ramadan...

..at 66 you do not have anymore a future..for you are the future..but you have a past...for as far as your memory can takes you...though you do not dwell too much on them, you are always aware of them..accepting those things that is now beyond you and revelling in the things you used to be capable of doing...

..at 66 you are appreciative of those little mercies that He blessed you with...the love of your children...a wife's devotion...a neighbour's generosity...and other little things that once you do not give a hoot..or a care..

..at 66 a lovers' forever' is but a second...

..at 66 I become a bit cranky...

..Ramadan..and some pictures..

2011-07-25T21:42:00.000+08:00

..as Ramadan nighs, pakmat sat back a little..it has been a year since the last..Bachok is gearing up for it..you can see tents coming up on open fields..fasting schedules were distributed at mosques and suraus..and conversations are laced with anticipations..

..pakmat with Rizal Hashim of Loose Conan and Kelvin of MSL
enjoying a meal of nasi kerabu at Yati's..not among the best,the nasi..
just passable...but the memory is priceless..

..and pakmat gave his thanks..to his Lord...for the last Ramadan..

You gave me Blessings unasked..let every drop of rain be testaments to Your Greatness..

..and every cry of infants a reminder that my time is nearing its end...

..Auji with brother Amnan..and their mother..

..Lord, You have granted me the time and space that I may greet welcome another Ramadan..

..give me strength, Lord, that I may strive more..

..Ayam..right royal as usual..confident of her place..

..for I tried my best then..and I fell short..and I will again this Ramadan..

.I seek Your Guidance...

..and I seek your Benevolence...

..Comot and the rest following my evening jogs around the village..

..please forgive me my sins...and accept my repentance..

...going out to see..seeking God's bounty..

...Your Gifts to me are many and boundless..and my thanks to You inadequate and small..

..a morning at Pantai Irama..

..a naked tree..as one day pakmat will be..

..coffee and a good read..

..a creeper in pakmat's garden..

....and it is as with every Ramadan..pakmat is full of trepidation... regrets of past sins..joys of sahurs...

satisfaction of breaking of the fast..and fullfillment of solat in congregations...

..MBMC - Muslim Born Malay and Confused..

2011-06-18T15:35:00.001+08:00

..I got a 'pirrah' for my last posting..which is not too bad, considering that I expected worse...guys like me and polygamy will always be something distasteful to most women...but it is an imperfect world that we lived in..as they will always be men who have no qualms about taking on another younger wife and plead polygamy...as they will always be women who have no qualms about giving married men the eye and come hither look...

..undoubtedly, we have come a long way since the night of the first word, Ikraq...especially for Muslim women...no matter what they say about Islam and its women, Islam brought them out of the closet, in a manner of speaking...equality is a word carelessly flaunted to denote the bridge, imagined or non-existent, between the sexes...we talked about oppression and empowerment of and for women...mistaking the veil as an act of oppression and the bikini as empowerment...but modern, meaning Western, values have put on a strain on them..leading to a rarely acknowledged identity crisis..in the US, among the Pakistanis we have ABCD..American born Confused Desi..Do we have MBMC here?..Muslim Born Malay Confused?...

..in seeking equality with their male counterparts, they have to strike a balance between being a good Muslim and all the liberty of being a modern one...aurat is a case in point..do we flaunt it, now that we have it?..or do we hide it?..what is the message if we flaunt it?..that we are just as trapped in the standards of the West about what beauty is?..is it all there is to it in being a woman?..surely, no...take beauty pageants..protests should not be against the Muslim gal taking part in it, but against the competition being held at all...

..I am old schooled..and a bit conservative..to my mind there can never be equality among the sexes the way the women are seeking it...we are too different..we are created different..we are of two different parts that complement and supplement each other..seemingly equal yet not so...men have the little extras...but that little extras carry an almost unsurmountable load of responsibilities...

..

..polgamists, whores and hookers..

2011-06-08T15:41:00.001+08:00

..no,I did not marry my wives because they behave like whores..I think I married them because of my dislike for whores...not that I did not, as a youth in the big city of KL seek them out...I was just as curious as the next boy about sex..pornography in the sixties came in the form of little magazines surreptitiously passed around in brown office envelopes...sometimes, opportunities made us huddled together over an 8mm projector with a decaying concrete wall as a screen, in a room stifled by cigarette smokes..

...the learning process and maturing period for pakmat in the sixties was not always smooth..but KL then was a bit laidback..The Strollers held concerts at Stadium Negara and a neighbour's daughter, all of her 16 years old, was smitten with me...marriage was never in the equation..being not able to see beyond yesterday, if someone then were to tell me that I would one day be a polygamist, I would in all probability shrugged my shoulders in disbelief...

..but all that did not stop me from marrying my Audrey Hepburn on the 1st of April, 1973 and took another much younger wife 15 years later, 6 daughters and a son later...of course, that made me into a rogue, a cur, an ogre and a dragon...and most time, I would just stand there and say that I am guilty...I am all that...I was forty when I became a polygamist...and now, at 66, 3 marriages and 2 divorces, later, I like to think that it was polygamy that saved me...

..you see, I was never meant to be a one woman man...some men are just like that...even now, at 66, frail and rotting, I would again, but did not, not because for the lack of a willing mate, but because I am in a better position to control my actions...there are several truths, bitter or otherwise, we just have to accept...one, that to most men, sex is just a matter of getting an ejaculation...two, there will always be women who chose, voluntarily, to become whores and hookers, as there will always be women who would not mind sharing husbands, no matter what their religion is...and three, if we can be genderless for a moment, and view it from a world view, polygamy is all for women...not so much for men...(oh..oh..I can see the bricks and excrement being aimed at me..:)) but I will not elaborate on this..I am trying to keep religion out...

..bringing back pakmat into the equation - I was a smooth talker and a womaniser...though at some point, I tried to curb my waywardness...I knew my weakness...irresistible to smooth foreheads...so I married another..no, she was not a trophy wife...just a simple kampong gal who was a little lost in Kota Bharu...thereon I put an end to all my activities..whether nocturnal or otherwise...I tried to be a good polygamist...and I know I would be, given the chance...in the divorce and the despair, I found my salvation...reconnected with the children and made their mother a friend...

.children and fathers leaving homes....

2011-05-31T18:07:00.002+08:00

...rare moments...jogging together...

..there comes a time when children leaves home, for some reason or other..all too soon all those space and rooms added became empty and bare..the din and cacophony of siblings rivalry became silent...and parents, middle-aged or older, like pakmat, went throught a kind of a withdrawal phase..when they can only look at each other with no words uttered..and waited anxiously for that phone calls or text messages..

...it was slightly different for pakmat...

...I left home before the children did..a year before that I had taken on another wife..the constant quarrels culminated into a divorce...I remember leaving with my bagful of clothings and two cars..there were indignant tears..and compressed fists..my other wife kept her peace..the eldest two left for UITM Kuantan and Jengka Pusat..the third left for boarding school, Johor at the tender age of 12th...and I left home...to return as a father but not as a husband...an ex-wife does not forgive easily but as a father I took it within my stride..for the moment, on this planet earth, they are my children...no matter what..as if to prove a point, I took on another wife..which, of course, does not resolves and solves anything..

..which is to say that I am missing my children, no matter who their mother is....which is also to say that no matter how grand the design and schemes, old age will make a man frail....and short of breath...and weak of strength...along with bones that creak...for benign Father Time spares no one...

...which does not stop me from making a one thousand and one hundred fifteen kilometer round trip to Tangkak, Johor with a stopover in Dengkil, Kuala Langat, Selangor, and looked up my youngest daughter, Auni Fatin...she is barely thirteen, a young lady who is taking music lessons..the day I was there she played 'Heartaches By The Number' and old country song by Ray Price...I remember smiling..unknowingly and innocently, she took a poke at her papa..

..the best shot, part 2..

2011-05-10T10:06:00.000+08:00

..auji shopping for bags, towels and stuff with her mama..

...life is always about making decisions...and for Auji, I know she is finding it hard, not really knowing what is best for her...her teachers were of not much help either, giving conflicting opinions...she retreated into her room for a few days, with her netbook continuously on Korean dramas...her mother gave me a warning look...and I refrained...sheesh...and I thought being accepted into Kolej Matrikulasi Johor for a year is something of a celebration...

..but when she said she is turning it down and sit for STP instead, I hunched my shoulders and took her aside...

..I have nothing against STP, Diploma or whatever she wants to do with her life..But which father or mother would sit quietly by without trying to put their toe in when it comes to their children's future?..I have to say my piece..and you better remove that plastic wads from your ears and listen up...

..matric is the formal process of entering a university...it is as simple as that..in some countries it is equivalent to the completion of Form Six...in your case, it is an accelerated preparatory course of one year leading to you entering a university, and thereon ends with you acquiring a degree..hopefully in a field of your choice...

..now, you can begin your tertiary education with STP or Diploma..after two or three years...failing which you can fall back on your STP or Diploma...and look for a job, or a husband..unlike matric..if you fail, you have nothing to fall back to, except your SPM...but you will not fail, because you have shown that you are willing to work hard...we will give you all the support you need...take your time to reflect...you have been given a chance..a chance that comes once..take it..grab it...and give it your best shot..and show me that scroll in five years..go, girl...you can do it, as I know you can...

..

...

..acts of kindness..

2011-04-27T11:48:00.000+08:00

..I am easily moved by little acts of kindness..and I see this small acts everywhere, in various forms..a young mother breastfeeding her infant under the stealth of her tudung whilst waiting for her bus, seated under a shade away from the hot sun.....a mother cat scavenging for food under tables and chairs around the market, for her litter stashed behind some boxes.....pretty damsels flashing me smiles as they pass me by...ahhh...these are acts of kindness that I found hard to ignore...along with readers of my blog who came unsolicited, yet took the time and bother to give me words of encouragement..and doa's .. and banter and jest along with me..yes, it is kindness just humoring an old man..

..and there are those friends that I met on Facebook....people I met in the cyberspace ...whom, ordinarily, would have bumped my shoulder in the real world and carry on without giving me a second glance...but in that third domain, they took their time to give me the time of day...they are being kind, I know...some crossed the ether world into the real world and continue their act of kindness...

...reciprocally, I try to be kind to everything that I came across with...birds, bees, stray cats, chickens that dirtied the front door with their excrement..and those of unsound mind that mingle with school children at the busstop begging for a dollar to buy food...the missus says I am getting a little strange in my old age...and I say that life is getting shorter by the day...let us just be nice to fellow creatures with whom we share this little part of the earth...

...actually I wanted to say thank you to Elviza of Write Away...and realises that her act of kindness epitomises all those kind souls I met as a blogger and as a facebooker...thank you all...

..old coots talking..

2011-04-20T10:13:00.002+08:00

..this old coot talks to his cats..as he also talks to everything else..little dragons that cross his path..plants and shrubs that grew unattended in his garden...an apple mango tree fruiting in front of his kitchen..he talks to everything, animate or inanimate...but especially to his cats...and one day as he was jogging in front of his home with Ayam, Mokmok and Mekbu's litter of four, Mek Karong, Oren, Comot and Pakteh, running haphazardly in between his feet, a little girl who was with her mother visiting my neighbour, tugged her mom's kurung and pointed at me...'Look, ma..that old coot is talking to his cats..' ...and I said, yes...they loved jogging with me...and her mother raised her eyebrows...

..I even talk with my wife..and I think it is a good thing among couples..whether young or old..that they talk to each other..more so in their late years..you cannot do much else, but at least you get comfort through talking....as I have been trying to tell my 5th daughter, Ebok who married that Thai youngster...who, two children later, is trying to get herself out...in marriage you tend to get whom you marry..she married a youngster with a running nose and who was still scruffy around the ears..several years into the marriage she found that he is still the youngster with a running nose..and still scruffy around his ears...boys do not become men within a few years..it takes them decades to mature...if you are lucky...but children these days do not listen much to their parents...for there is nothing new that a parent can tell...

..I even tried to talk with my ex'es..

..and with my children...which soon enough turned into monologues...you try too hard and they clammed up..you don't try at all and they say you are too distant...

..its better talking to the cats...

..papago goes, again..reminiscing..

2011-04-13T11:41:00.001+08:00

..on most counts, and anyway you looked at it, I am a government man...I am partial to the government of the day...and I am, also, always, thankful for little mercies that He, in His Greatness, had bestowed upon me....I could have strove harder and, perhaps, reached greater heights economically and intellectually....but I did not..

...without really trying, I have attained some measure of success..in that I am now not lacking on most things and there is that degree of happiness that I found in my late years...thought I could wished for more, I found myself not wishing for them...I allowed myself to wallow a little in contentment..whilst aspiring to be a better Muslim..setting achievable targets..mainly for this year...the Haj...God willing....

...education wise, I did not proceed beyond Higher School Certificate...though I have been through many schools, thanks to my civil servant late uncle, who was an MCS officer, the fire to strive for more did not really burn..but schools were all English medium schools....unconsciously, I developed a love for reading and a flair for the language...

being born in 1945, I was there during the fight for independence, the first federal elections, and was around when Tunku was made the first Prime Minister...I have lived through all our Prime Ministers and like to think of myself as someone with a long memory, politically...though I found politics unattractive...at least most politicians are...

..having lived almost half of my life in the city capital and used to its ways, it was with a condescend heart that I returned to Kota Bharu and homestate of Kelantan....only to later found out umno leaners are infidels and that there was no solidarity in Islam...with suraus and mosques painted either green or blue..

..but in the seventies I was very much in love with my first wife to bother about those things..and entered suraus and mosques irregardless of its colour or hues..to me, then as now, there is only one God, Allah..and Mohammad, PBUH, is His Prophet...and inasfar as intermediaries are concerned, whether Tuan Guru, Ustaz or plain Joe, whether Tun, Dato or plain Mamat, I measure them through their actions and words...sincerity is hard to find, but after a time, I learn to detect when it shines through...

..although it is a rare commodity these days, there are those out there with theirs shining like a beacon...to them pakmat bids, 'Assalamualaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh...'

..the best shot..

2011-03-26T10:40:00.001+08:00

..4A's, 2B's and 3C's is nothing to shout about..she had warned us earlier that Science is not her cup of tea, but such is the system that for giving a good showing in PMR, (6 A's), she was streamed into Science...and when she returned C's for Chemistry, Biology and Physics, I was not totally perturbed...when we met at her mother's little hair salon later in the day, she tried to put up a brave face...she was disappointed..and so was I..I hid mine, but hers showed....she protested when I took her in my arms and gave her a peck on her head...its ok..you have given your best shot...and I love you...for now let us not think too much about it...the future is still there, waiting....it need some re-planning, yes..but it is not bleak...so, chin up...

..Auji, centre, with her cousin and friend..

..pictures..life's reflections..

2011-03-25T16:15:00.001+08:00

..Pantai Irama..I love this part of the beach..something about
the soft sand, the lapping waves and the gentle breeze..you feel
at one with mother earth...as you give your thanks to Him...

..the moon setting..

..Ayam..who has staked a claim on a piece of this coot's heart..

..Gem Resort, Trengganu..my second state...I will always be in love
with Trengganu...with its sprawling beaches, over 200 km of them, places
like Kuala Jengai, Pasir Raja and Tasik Kenyir...Dungun and Jerteh..
keropok lekor and akok manis...

..wife, reading the Book with daughter, Auji..we try to read
a few verses every night..

..Mekbu litter of four..for a blind cat, Mekbu is an exemplary mother..
..she is tender and loving...and caring...for a cat..

..niece's daughter, Dayana..infants astound me...I look at them
and see the future that I will not be part of...

..pakmat's first time in a 7 series Beemer...feels like being
in a terrace house with wheels..centre is Tun Rahah's
personal bodyguard..

..picnic with the children and grandchildren..they called their
stepmother Cik Ani..and and pakmat just basked in the warm..

..a slow walk back after the jog..

..listening raptly to the ways of the Haj..hopefully Pakmat
and missus will make it this year...hopefully my appeal
will get the nod from Tabong Haji..

..super moon over Irama's night market..

..a single drop of rain..

2011-03-24T16:21:00.000+08:00

.. I fly a starship across the Universe divide

And when I reach the other side
I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can
Perhaps I may become a highwayman again
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain
But I will remain..
..and I will be back again..

..I am dreaming of a journey that I would make...to the beginning...to the land of an eternal spring..brought forth by the dance of dainty heels...where echoed the first word, Read...

...I am dreaming of being that little drop of rain...and be part of a flood...of a concentrical congregation..

..Lord, grant me...that I may say..

...O my Lord, here I am at Your service, here I am...

..my 66th birthday, Tun Rahah and growing old gracefully..

2011-03-19T08:24:00.000+08:00

..pic from thestar online..Tun with Najib, left..

I woke up on the morning of my 66th birthday to a light drizzle..it was 5.30 am on a Monday morning 14th of March..as I opened my bedroom window to let out Ayam, a strong breeze showered my face with raindrops..Ayam froze but I pushed her gently out..a lil bit of rain would not kill you, go pee and poo...but I sat there for a moment at the window sill..recalling a conversation I had a few days earlier with my cousin's wife, Arfah, who is in her mid fifties and a Datin...

..platinum and gold..

..'Mat, I will be in KB from the 13th..by road with two cars...Tun Hajah Rahah will be in KB from the 14th to 16th..by air ETA 11.30 am..a shopping trip for some batek and maybe jewelleries..with her will be a Toh Puan, a Tok Puan and a Puan Sri...please help me with a tentative iterinary with both Pengkalan Kubur and Rantau Panjang thrown in..'

..cultery in Pengkalan Kubur..

..I remember letting it all sank it..Tun Hajah Rahah..whom I used to admire as Toh Puan Rahah...the lady of grace and quiet beauty...whom I would be meeting in a few hours time...she must be now more than 70...78 as it turned out...graceful, healthy and strong...and a presence that was very much felt by her regal demeanor...

...and for the next few days, as I watched her banter with her entourage, the sparkle in her eyes, catching glimpses of her humour, I realised that this is what growing old gracefully is all about...her choice of colours is vibrant and youthful..as her choice of designs modern and ageless...

..and pakmat was enthralled..by this woman who was the wife of our late Prime Minister and mother of the present Prime Minister...

..children, kittens and the blame game..

2011-03-09T15:06:00.000+08:00

..it is in the nature of children today to put the blame on the parents for their misdeeds..killed a few kittens, stomped and whacked them, heck, came back a few minutes later for another satisfying stomp on the neck..excuse me, and please forgive me, my parents divorced, here's another whack....poww...

..the age of responsibility and other stuff..

2011-03-07T15:43:00.000+08:00

..yes, I have not been blogging much..neither have I been fbking much...I have been keeping to myself..wallowing in my thoughts.....and I kept those thoughts much to myself whilst jogging at a leisurely pace mornings and evenings.....the rolling sea in the morning have a calming effect on a restless mind....and swaying coconut trees in the evenings kept those thoughts in check..

..I have been called many things in my lifetime..most are not complimentary..but I took them in my stride...but being called an irresponsible father by a 30year old addict son hurts a little...had he called me that earlier, say when he was 16 or 17, when he was with me, after his mother begged me to take him as he could not be controlled, I would have reacted to it..or when he was 13 or 14 , and well ensconsed within his mother's and grandmother's tender loving care, I would have done something about it..as it is he told me when he was 30 and a confirmed addict and upon his failure to solicit money from me...he called me irresponsible years after his mother took him back before he could even sit for his SPM...and had his every whim and fancy catered to, even to the extend of buying him a car, even thought he has no visible means of income, apart from sponging his mother dry.....under the circumstances, there is not much a father can do...except watched from afar...

..but being responsible is a two-sided, sword..it cut both ways..as a kid of about 20, fifty years ago, alone in KL, I was responsible to no one.....marijuana was only 30 cents a stick...and beer a dollar a glass..but with my meagre RM180.00 per mensem salary I stayed clear from both...I hated guys who spewed their innards on the dance floor as I hated youths who were more stoned than the Rolling Stones...I rather made it with the girls...and not having a mother with an interminable pension upon which I could draw upon, or a father, I learned to live within my means...and try to be responsible....to myself...

..

..one way driver..

2011-03-04T10:34:00.000+08:00

..for that is what we all are..one way drivers..heading along pre-set routes and alleys..heading towards one ultimate end..for some, sooner, for others, later..

...but the flame that burns quietly from within keeps on its unwavering light, without fading....at the end of a long, dark tunnel..I can see the flame..along with the hope that it brings...I might just make that journey yet..Lord, unto you I surrender...

..sides to a hexagon..

2011-02-23T15:56:00.000+08:00

,,Ziona Chana has 39 wives..94 children..33 grandchildren...and I am sure, he is still counting....which confirms a lifelong suspicion of mine...that women, on the main, do not mind sharing husbands...but, please, before my lady friends come after me with lynching ropes and unsheathed claws, please bear with an old man..

..it is interesting that both the clips are from Kelantan..but Kelantan leads with the highest number of polygamous marriages..and the highest number of divorces....

.Muslim males, by and large, ignore what has been decreed..'..marry two, three, or four..but if you cannot give justice, marry one...'...as pakmat himself then in his ignorance married two, not once but twice, without taking into account his ability, his strenght, his weaknesses, that he may do it with justice...for marriage is easy...having children easier still...but to do it with justice and to mete out justice with responsibility...ahh...that is another story altogether...for justice is a subjective thing..a husband's understanding of it is totally different from the first wife's..and apart from the second wife's...and when tempers flared, as it often does, nobody bothered about how justice is spelt out in the Book....

..whether one or several wives, it would still need efforts from everyone involved in order for it to work..looking back, would it be fair for the first wife to cooperate?..why should she?..when the husband could not even fast to curb his lusts and desires?....

..but there is always the other end of the scale....woman with two husbands...

..jogging and the missus...

2011-02-16T23:53:00.001+08:00

..carcass of a boat, pantai irama..

..for the past one week we have been jogging together, my wife and I...everyday at about six in the evening along Pantai Irama..skirting the water edge and getting our shoes wet as it is high tide in the evenings...setting out at a little estuary behind Pak Ya Gulai Kawah and headed south towards Dato Awang Adek family home...

...in the past I jogged alone..my constant cajoling and comments on her rotundness did not get her to hit the sand...a doctor did...she was told during a routine check that her cholesterol count is a bit on the high side..so is her blood pressure....and I scared her in a worst case scenario and she buckled....

...pitting my 66 years against her 53, I realised that I am in a better form than she is...far cry from Justiffa and Jun Malik, of course, but she is improving...unaware, our relationship also improves..something about the sea and the sand...and the pounding waves that peters into soft foam chasing little feet...and that particular hour of the day...a setting sun and a couple in the sunset years of their life...it brought about a certain intimacy of a different kind....the sky merges with the sea and it feels good to be alive..it is good to be alive....Praise be unto Him for little mercies such as these...

..give me my flowers while I'm living...

2011-02-12T09:48:00.001+08:00

..seeing it is such a beautiful Saturday morning with the sun shining through intermittent clouds and temperature at a cool 26'C, I thought it is a good time as any to drop a hint to my children, ex-wives, wife and friends..

..an old country song, by the aptly named 'Aching Back String Band'...

..enjoy your life while you still can..count your blessings..for not much can be done once you are dead..

..for it is in this world that we need our flowers...
..a kind word to help us get along..

..100 years..

2011-02-09T15:45:00.000+08:00

..thank you, debest, for pointing out this song to this old coot...I must have heard it hummed by my daughter..but a dad is not one who would listen to their children humming...

...enjoy it whilst reading my blog below....cheers

..the best age to be..

2011-02-08T21:21:00.000+08:00

..kite flying along Pantai Irama..after a long let off due to the monsoon,
Pakmat went jogging along his favourite trail..along the water edge..

...I have been thinking a lot lately....these days that is about the only thing I can do..seeing that most pursuits are cerebral and no longer physical..but what brought it about is my impending 66th birthday...on March the 14th.....officially, that is..it should be 'on or thereabout' as my late mother could not recall herself, except that it was in the early part of 1945..what with Kelantan in a state of uncertainty..with the Japanese leaving after Nagasaki and Hiroshima, and the British trying to get their act together again...and she was in no position to have her third birth registered...with husband having died a few months earlier..

..I used to wish my friends happy 21st ++ birthday, thinking that 21 is the best age to be..and if due to a freak electrical storm that shifted and warped the axis of the universe and you are stuck at particular age, being 21 is a good age to be stuck with....I remember being 21..and as clueless as a door post...no, being 21 is not the best age to be...

..30 to 40 is generally a period of struggle for everyone...marriage..payment for the house, car..with children adding to the chaos...juxtaposing with careers of both the husband and wife...it is a breathless decade..

..but by the time you are 40, you reached a little plateau where you paused a little and take back that lost wind..there is shelter over your head, wheels to ferry you around, and a little extra in your wallet...the children having grown somewhat and your roles as parents, along with your careers, clearly defined...you eased a little on the throttle and relaxed...little or no wrinkles, no flabs...there is still that youthful look..and some youthful flamboyance... it is the age to be..until you are 50..

..by 50, you are in auto cruise..not fearing too much of the future and not looking back too much, either..but you do take peeks at the mirror and marveled at how good looking your are at 50...unlike those goods on the shelves, at 50 you do not have an expiry date....

..but by the time you reached 60 or way past like me, you realised it does not really matter at what age you are....for whatever the count is, it is the age to be....as long as you keep the child in you...enough to enjoy and relish those quiet moments with your love ones...be thrilled by the kites flying in the evening breeze..and just as thrilled by wet, blubbering kisses from grandchildren or that rare hot kiss from the wife...

..

...stock-taking, 2011..

2011-02-03T08:14:00.000+08:00

with 6 cucus..taken a few days ago at my ex home..
...2nd daughter, Lina's birthday..

..now that we are all well into the new year, after the probationary month of January, its time for this coot take stock of what he's got..a profit and loss of sorts..the debits and the credits....

..now, let's see...the movables and the immovables..statics and liquid..

..3 marriages and 2 divorces..14 children, 8 girls.. a son died at infancy..6 of them gainfully employed, 2 in colleges 1 awaiting spm, and 2 still at school..and an only son from the first marriage, 30 years old, an addict, forever giving problems to his mother and grandmother, not to mention his sisters..5 son-in-laws with the resultant 8 grandchildren..all under 7..

...not too bad, if I may say so, 1 bad nut out of 13..but still a dot, nonetheless..

sibling-wise..an eldest brother fast approaching senility...alone and lonely, living in a derelict room with his 10yr old grey tomcat named Yellow..we were 3 brothers born to Aminah and Hamid, with me being the youngest..2nd elder brother, in a better economic position, approaching 70, sickly and pale but young wife expecting her 1st child..flukes do happened.....and a half sister in KL, not too happy with 3 adopted children and children in-laws..yet not able to bear her own children...

..eldest brother, Jo with his constant companion,
an aged, grey cat, named Yellow..

.there is a saying in Malay that goes..where ever the feet is planted, the sky is shouldered.

...the sky is Bachok, where I had my feet planted...on a piece of land given by my wife late father..upon which I build a home..and a house..with some cats, 5 children...2 stray chickens and a monkey..the mosques are too near for me not to heed the bilals' call to prayer..and the neighbours are too nice and generous for me to be otherwise...if there is any truth into the thinking that environment maketh the man, than I am Pakmat..shaped and moulded by my environment.....approaching 66 and, hopefully, well on the road to redemption...

2 cucus in London...

..as in everyone else's life, there are highs...and there are lows..I have taken the good along with the bad...and try to keep an equable stance, no matter the situation...even thought the horizon is getting nearer, there is no trepidation..for whatever our plans are...God disposes..

..to Tommy, Yuin Ting, Chuan, Pin, Ee Lynn, Way Fong, Way Lee, Uncle Lee, Pat and all of my friends, no matter the creed or race...Happy Chinese New Year...
..

..

..bi-anne and other daughters..

2011-01-30T20:34:00.000+08:00

..I followed with interest the fight for Bi-Anne..and try to see in her all of my children who were affected when their mothers and I parted...we had our differences, their mothers and me..mainly it was my gallivanting ways, but I try not to aggravate the already bad situation by imposing my will on the children..a few days after the parting of ways with the first, the children, six girls and a boy stood in a line with the elder among them telling me that they chose to stay with their mother...I was stunned for a minute by their show of solidarity..but I agreed...I leave you this house and everything in it...I remember saying...and plucked myself out of the scene..

..my reasoning was simple..I tried not to change what they were familiar with..the two eldest girls were in UITM, Jengka Pusat and Kuantan and the third in TFC, Johore..and I visited them on average once a month..they have their mother..no reason why they should lose too much of their father..after all I was with a younger wife...

..in the case of Bi-Anne, its obvious that unlike what her name implies, she cannot be divided into two...I hope that reason will prevail and she be allowed to stay with the parent she is most comfortable with..she is, after all, eleven..and eleven-year olds these days are as much an adult as some 66-year olds that I know...

..love fires..

2011-01-29T09:14:00.000+08:00

..fire in my garden..trash and leaves..pic taken thro my bedroom window..

..remember as a kid how we loved playing with fires?.....and got ticked off for it?..I remember when I was about 8 or 9, running riot around the padi fields in Kubang Kerian with rolled newspapers lit one end...I think every kid have this fascination with fires..it is an essential part of growing up...like running naked in the rain..

.. as adults we play with different kind of fires..mainly fires of the heart..and being burnt just the same..with similar pain, maybe worse...and most times, we have no one to blame but ourselves....for we are arsonist ourselves, arsonist of the heart...

..I supposed in every one's life there comes a time when someone sets one's heart on fire...indubitably and furiously...releasing enough heat to cloud one's judgement and rationale..but love is like that...it may last..it may not..no matter how tenacious the fire...

..looking at the fire burning outside through my bedroom window made me realised that I have had my fires and burns...the first have embered and its dying glow but a distant memory...but there is another kind of fire now burning.,.steadily and surreptitiously..I can feel the heat..and how helpless I am....O Lord, how I yearned for Your Mercy and Bounty..

..accidents and love..

2011-01-26T13:24:00.003+08:00

..most times when accidents happened, the victims were caught unaware..like that 41year-old motorcyclist waiting for the lights to change in uptown Kota Bharu a few days ago...most likely he was on an errant..without doubt he was a law-abiding rider...unlike most mamat found whizzing around in town and jumping lights with ease..for that he paid with his life...a 4-wheel drive ramped him from behind and flung him a few meters across the road and snuffed the life out of him and cut short his life expentancy....and the lights was not yet green...

..accidents along life long road, sometimes, were just as unpredictable...we may be in auto-cruise mode one minute, with everything in its proper places and peachy..until an accident happened..it could be anything..like that youth going about diligently plucking palm fruits..no doubt whilst thinking about his wages, his family, or his love interest that he intends to wed...he was unwittingly electrocuted..he did not die...but he lost an arm..and maybe a leg...somehow, trying to tell him how fortunate he was for being alive sounds coarse and unsincere..

..its true...the only thing constant is death, and taxes..cliche, but profound...

as I woke up this Wednesday morning...it was the same old bed...across was the same old wife..I glanced at the same old clock on the wall..it was quarter to six...Ayam, the same old cat, meowed at my feet...and I glanced at son and daughter in their adjacent rooms...same old children... but I gave my thanks..for the sameness...for I knew that it could be anything but...

..I gave my thanks to my Lord..for this extra time that He has bestowed upon me...and later, as I left for work, I gave my wife that extra lingering kiss..she was surprised, and impatient..but I persisted, for it could be my last..as earlier I had surprised my children by holding them a wee bit longer than usual..they complained, thinking, maybe I had gone nuts..only Ayam did not complain..but then, she is a cat..and what does a cat know about life's unpredictability?.....

..retirement, wives and stuffs..

2011-01-16T11:51:00.002+08:00

..on the day of my retirement, eleven years ago, a subordinate who was also a close friend, gave me a card wishing me happy retirement..it was the only card that I received..oh, there were farewell gatherings, speeches and gifts..even a trip to Haadyai just for the heck of it..where we ramvonged and karaoked the nights away..but the card was special..I had it framed and hung it on a wall in my bedroom....where it remained until this morning when I took it off to have it scanned..

..one would think that after more than a decade, one would get over it..but no, like those passionate moments with your ex-wives or girlfriends, it lingers and remains just as fresh as the day you last punched your card....a few days into retirement, I was still in back-to-office mode..pants and socks on, shirt tucked in and fingering a tie..not knowing where to go..wife, on the way to the kitchen, gave me a peck on the forehead and said, 'Go for breakfast outside..' I did...but the language was foreign..it was cows and goats..tabacco seasons and water released...different from office canteen stuff...later, I just sat in front of the telly and absentmindedly switched channels...the birds twittering outside were having a better time than me...

..a few years on, I realised that people retired everyday..it is just another stop before the last...for death awaits all...I just need to keep myself busy...so I landscaped the garden, renovated the house and traveled to my second wife in KL...that kept me busy for a while..but the mind, the brain, needed stimulus...it was too late to go hunting..sweet young things will not anymore gave me the time of day..no..I needed to channel it to something more productive than sex...

..later I was to learn that 90% of retirees spent their gratuities within their first year of retirement..and just as much percentage of their business endeavours failed...

..I spent my gratuity alright..but I also got myself a job...with a leading building contractor who secured a design and build school complex in Maran, Pahang...I prepared reports, chaired meeting on his behalf..and liased with the sub-contractors and consultants..and made trips to KL..it was only 2 hours away..and she waited my arrival with a warm embrace and petulant lips...

..but like upon everything else on this earth, gentle time had a telling effect on 55-year olds approaching 60...a bout of hypertension and tinnitus forced a change of gears...on downshifting, I discovered the net...I became a little bit net savvy...I made cyber friends..I blog...and most important of all.....I came to terms with myself...and old coot...

..to Asod, who gave me the card, and who will be retiring this 23rd of February..cheers and good luck...life does not begin at 40...no...it starts at 60...

..monsoon meanderings...

2011-01-10T21:38:00.000+08:00

...a morning in between the rain..when the sky cleared momentarily and revealed its blue..

..a view from pakmat's house..

..for these boys, Mozaid and friends from KIST, Kolej Islam, Sains dan Teknologi, Bachok,

time to take out the net for some casting..

..but for Mekbu's litter of four..time for a snooze whilst waiting out the rain..

..year 3000,anyone?..

2011-01-02T00:23:00.001+08:00

..when year 2000 came around, I was a bit perturbed..I am a nineteen-hundred man,having lived more than two scores of my life in them..in the fifties, the year 2000 was so very much in the future..it was unimaginable..and here I am, a few months short of being 66 years old, stepping out into another decade..

... I paused a little at the door as I let out a clueless Ayam..it was 6.00 o'clock in the morning of the first day of 2011..there was a slight drizzle and I could hear the relentless roar of the monsoon waves beating the shore...a squirrel frisked across an electrical supply cable, having feasted upon my apple mango tree laden with fruits..I bade it happy new year..

..later, as I crossed over to my neighbour's kitchen to check on their newly acquired kitten, I came across a copy of the Reader's Digest...November, 2010's edition..it has been aeon since I last read a copy...it used to be the favourite magazine of my school days..my 'Word Power' and 'Laughter is the Best Medicine' magazine..you walked into the future only to be transported back half a century by a little magazine...

..as I flipped through the pages, enjoying once more those small anecdotes scattered everywhere, my android rang..it was a friend's daughter..her female cat kept her awake last night,wailing for a mate..will pakmat please bring his tom, Mokmok over?..later at her house, I glanced at a Malay daily..a 120year-old man wanting to marry an 80year-old woman..hey..cats do it..the birds do it..centurions do it..and pakmat is only a few months short of 66..there is some life in this old coot yet..

..Mokmok..trying to look as fierce as pakmat..

..but I will not make it into the year 3000, of course..none of our present will.....but I have faith in our future generations..we may be self-destructive...but self-annihilation will not be our destiny.. God willing..

..happy new year, everyone...

..I beg your pardon..

2010-12-30T14:30:00.001+08:00

..I used to tell my children that you cannot live on love and fresh air alone..you will need rice..and powdered milk..you cannot simply say to the grocer to supply you with rice and milk on the strength of your love..no, he would want something more tangible..like hard cash..children this days are always in a hurry..but in a time of instantaneous delivery, how not to blame them?..we sat a pace that scorches the asphalt..and we told them to slow down, to hold on..

..as in marriages..you got to work to get that rose garden going..what more if you marry with you heart..against parental advice..unlike the song by the Beatles, some things just could not be work out. for 'love grows old and waxes cold'...and when it faded away, you are left with your spoils of war..namely two precocious and innocent kids.. and when you came with them trailing, what is a father and grandfather to say or do..?..except to take them into his arms and try not to see the tears welling in your eyes?...

..I wished I could say, I told you so..but I could not..marriage is one big, unending learning curve, girl....but if it is against a wall that you have backed yourself into...then, maybe, it is time you fight back...

..a playground no more..

2010-12-24T10:03:00.000+08:00

..kl has changed since the last decade..of course, it is not anymore the playground of my unbridled youth...the spirit and passion of the sixties are gone..along with Sudirman and Chow Kit Road...but I made a vain stop at Chow Kit, trying to rekindle past flames..and discovered that the language of Chow Kit is gone..every one that I talked to is an Indonesian...

..I took a walk along a little lane of my memory and found myself in front of Globe Silk Store..it is a far cry from its glorious era of the sixties..then, any self-respecting Kelantanese's trip to KL was not complete without shopping at the store..but one feature remains..a couple with impaired sight bashing it out on keyboards..this time it is Roslan and friend, Mona...semut merah is in their repertoire..

..but I did not sing along with them..I have lost the abandonment of my youth..things are calculated and measured now..kl, the city, is no longer for me..as I made my way around keramat and kampung baru, I did see the young man in me..foraging the streets..but it is for my children the city awaits...

..the weather, hypermarkets and stuffs..

2010-12-12T21:58:00.002+08:00

..the only thing predictable about the weather these days, is that it will rain..as this morning.. at about ten the clouds cleared and the sun burst through with all its glory and splendour..Kee-Ra, the monkey, peered through his hut and ran rings within his chain...as Mekbu's litter of four scampered and frolicked in the poor excuse of a garden, the wife contemplated a trip to Pasir Mas and Kota Bharu after Jumaat's solat..I agreed..I need to perk up my spirits a bit...and the children were restless..with the exams over, Auji is on the rebound with excess energy..

..but as we headed out of Bachok just after two in the afternoon, the western sky darkened...by the time we made Kubang Kerian the sky opened up..the rain came in heavy pellets that pounded on the roof of cars...but the perky DJ on Radio Era kept our spirits up...

..we intend to hop hypermarkets, and we did..after a short trip to Bunut Susu, Pasir Mas, where the missus checked up on her catfish investment...I worry for her, it was against my advice..but so far she is getting her returns...

..first stop, Tesco, for Asr's solat..and to replenish my supply of Soups in a Mug..Tesco is number one in my list of preference..it has ample parking.. covered and free....with the suraus, one at each level, spacious and clean..

..but the surau in KB Mall is a letdown..it has limited space and difficult to access, being on the roof..the basement parking is ok, with the roof parking a wee bit risky..Auji wanted to get some skins and paraphelia for her netbook and I wanted to pick up an android phone ordered earlier..missus got herself a pair of slippers..

..solat Magrib was at Mydin Hypermarket, Kubang Kerian..where you have to pay for parking wtihin its vincity and a beautiful surau next to it has the pipes built low, a few inches above ground, more suitable for mini-midgets than an old coot like me..we had mee sizzling at the foodcourt..a son-in-law was the cook..and it was delicious..

.. it was just a slight drizzle when we were finally done and headed back for Bachok..by the time we reached home at almost 11.00 pm the rain stopped....as the kids hurried in, I sauntered outside and took in the cool air..I looked up through the darkness and saw a constellation of stars..and saw an old friend peering down upon me.. the Big Dipper, flickered through wisps of light, slivery clouds..

...hi, friend..how many before me looked up to you for guidance?..and how many after me will looked up to you in wonderment?...yours is eternity..while mine is drawing its end..

..a procrastinator, that's me..

2010-12-07T19:55:00.002+08:00

..he who procrastinate is a thief of time..an Arab saying that I got from Dato' AKJ's blog..whose blog I surfed early in the morning on the !st of Muharam, 1432..

...in a way, I have always been a thief..for I just loved to postpone things, even during my governmental days..I thought I worked well under pressure..but it was an illusion, of course..an excuse to put off things until the very last minute..procrastinators, I soon learned, will do anything just so they can avoid doing what they are supposed to do..like in these video..

..so it was that when things turned a lil bit sour with my third wife, I turned on the delaying tactics.. not really addressing the issues at hand..hoping that it would blow over in time..but nothing blows over if you do not face it squarely....I did everything but faced it..she got mad and asked me to divorce her through the phone..which prompted me to do something right for once..I prayed two rakaat of special solat...it calmed me..and later I told her in a measured voice that as we did not marry through the phone, there is no reason why we should end it through one..video-call or otherwise..it must have calmed her a bit as she brought down her tone...

..the next day I submitted the relevant divorce papers ...a month later we walked up the stairs of the Kadi's Office together, where a solemn face Syariah Officer bore witness as I pronounced I, pakmat, hereby divorce thee with one talak..

..salam Muharam, everyone..

..

..my first car..

2010-12-05T12:59:00.001+08:00

..my first car was a 1968 Toyota Corolla..bought in late 1973..I just got married a few months earlier and she was into her 20th week of pregnancy with our first child....means of transport then was a Yamaha 110 cc which I used to send her to school 6 kilometers away from home, a rented house in Lorong Tok Gading, Kota Bharu...

..riding a bike whilst pregnant is bad for health, a friend said, and he loaned me RM1,500 for the down payment to purchase a car..I went along with him, the late Dato Nan Rahimi bin Sulaiman, to choose the model...some friends will go out of their way just to make your life comfortable..

..the first day I brought home the car, I did not see my mother-in-law walking by..I just got my license then, and was driving by the rules..but I mastered it soon enough and was able to ferry my wife around without much problem..

..it was a simple car, actually..easy to maintain and reliable..there was so much space under the hood that I could wrapped my arms around the engine block...so was my life then..simple and easy to maintain..until, of course, years later, seven children later, when I turned up the dust and dirt....but, then, by then, even cars got complicated...

..you got your troubles..

2010-12-01T21:53:00.000+08:00

..I got mine..

..end of year blues..

2010-11-27T18:12:00.000+08:00

...I have slowed down on blogging lately....I could feel the lethargy seeping in, much against myself....there is something niggling at the back of mind which I just could not put my finger to...calls from my ex does not help much..or calls to my children..maybe it is this time of the year..and a receding year has a way of putting you into doldrums..for you tend to measure yourself against the year before..and the years before...and realised that as the years piled up, there isn't much that you have achieved..intellectually speaking, that is....about the most positive thing that I have done was when I quit smoking 6 years ago..other than that I could see that my horizon has not widened much..

..maybe it is the weather..they say negative ions after rain should give you a lift..maybe I need to lift my face..but, no..I have come to terms with aging....

..I think it was watching Paul Anka singing with his daughter, Anthea, that did it..I used to Youtubed him for the nostalgia...remembering the pangs of unrequited puppy loves with the likes of 'Put Your Head on My Shoulder' and 'Lonely Boy'..but watching him sing 'Yo Te Amo' Do I Love You stirred strange and unfathomable emotions in this old coot....

.,.with a brand new year looming, I am missing my past..

..happy year end holidays everyone..perchance we are there together as the new year comes in, as surely it will...here's an early Happy New Year wish from me..life goes on unabated..as surely it must..take this time to kiss that flower..plant a tree..hug your love ones..forgive a wrong..do something crazy..and tell that someone..'I love you...'

..collateral damage..

2010-11-23T21:50:00.000+08:00

..war, as in divorce, has its casualties..most times the casualties are the innocents..the Americans, seeking refuge under euphemism, called it collateral damage..a nice, impersonal term for lives lost..lives that are not factored when those precision missiles somehow killed innocents..

..but there are no precision in a divorce..and like wars, divorces sometime happened..whether acrimonious or otherwise, collateral damage in a divorce are always the children..and a society quick to condemn which does not help any one bit..every little thing that the children does after the big D is magnified, with an accusing finger pointed at the father..if their grades fall, its the father..if they took to smoking, its the father..even if they had a mishap with their bicycle on the way back from school, its knowing looks and mutterings ..their father just divorced their mother..

..homes that broke down results in broken down children..it is what we come to expect from such children..society expects them to..it is as if all social ills are because fathers such as me, divorced their wives..we are quick at generalizing..all those mat rempits came from broken down homes.,.sheesh..

..but I know that fathers can still play a role after a divorce..it is a matter of minimising the damage..it is a matter of giving him a chance to control..and damage control is through being near..being around..and an acceptance of the situation, especially by their mother..for children reacts to their mother's reactions..restricting access to their father is not the way..neither is the blame-game..yes, I am guilty as charge..but where does it leaves things?..

....a time to sacrifice..a time to remember the departed..

2010-11-18T15:37:00.001+08:00

..during festivals we remember the dead..as usual, after the solat aidil-adha, the jumaah, the congregation will make a bee-line for the graveyard adjacent to the mosque..as my children gathered with their mother around their grandfather's plot, I sat back a little, taking in the scene...

.."we bid thee peace..oh, ye of the grave..God willing we will follow thee...soon"...

..I sat there on the wakaf as I try to remember those near and afar who have departed before me..

..images of the dead flashes through my mind..except for my father, Hamid bin Daud, who died a few months after I was conceived in early 1945...he died during an unsettling time, when the country was occupied by the Japanese..and there were no pictures of him...

..but images of others who were once dear to me were clear and true..my grandfather, Sulong bin Lassim, who died more than 40 years ago..he was about the only grandfather that I ever knew..I remember his fondness for ikan haruan and other such fishes found in abundance in padi fields around the house in Kubang Kerian..

..my mother Che Minah bt Sulong, who died 14 years ago in 1996..my son, Amnan Fahim, 20 years ago, 40 days after he was born..my uncle, Zakaria bin Sulong, more than 30 years ago, of a heart attack at the airport, after stopping by my house in Jalan Pengkalan Chepa..he was the uncle who took me in, treated me like his own son, and threw a shoe at me for too much playing around instead of concentrating on my studies..another uncle Zainal Abidin bin Sulong, a few months ago..

..and friends..friends who once shared their last kopek with me..who helped me in time of need..and gave ungrudgingly..friends who shared the dingy, concrete floor of a room in Kuala Lumpur..who died before me..

..images of them came back to me as I sat there on the wakaf on the morning of Aidil Adha...may the Lord shower His Blessings upon them...may the Lord forgive all of their sins...may they be taken in and placed among those who were with iman..in Your Syurga Firdaus..Your Garden of Edin..

..amin.....

..men hunt..

2010-11-14T20:28:00.001+08:00

..I gave in to that primordial urge found in every men yesterday..the urge to hunt..it was more instinct that anything else, this need to stalk with a gun in hand..and trying to outwit your prey..I supposed, in a way, I have always been a hunter..using skills learned as a kid with a catapult..but a gun in hand gave you power..and a sense of control..nothing settles a man more than when he is hunting..maybe I am linking back to the Pleistocene era..when men are hunters..and hunt in order to mate..

..but yesterday it was a good excuse to get out of the house..to take in the fresh air..work out a sweat and bond with the villagers..it was harvesting time..padi planted from scattering of seeds and harvested with a machine that munched through ripe padi-stalks and shoo-ed the birds away..

..but there was nothing to shoot yesterday..and I went home without firing a single shot..

..but life is like that...you stalked around, gun at ready...and there's nothing to shoot..the next day you are without your gun, they came and wiggle their tails...

..the monsoon and the cup in Bachok..

2010-11-12T17:04:00.001+08:00

..almost on cue, the rain stopped this Friday morning..the clouds cleared, making way for the sun.....as housewives took out their washings to dry, pakmat gave his thanks to the Lord..yes, its gonna be a beautiful day..a glorious day for the Cup to make its first ever appearance in Bachok..and what better place if not at Dataran Perahu, Pantai Irama, Bachok?..

..the Cup arrived and history was made..

..pakmat with the big man himself..he was amused..whilst attention
was focussed on the players and the cup, this old coot singled
him out, shook his hands and have daughter Auji took this pic..

..auji and her mother..getting a ringside view..

..Rizal Hashim of Loose Canon was right...among reasons he chose Kelantan to win:

1. Sebagai hadiah buat majoriti penyokong Kelantan yang ghairah tapi sopan dan tertib.

2. Sebagai hadiah buat Tan Sri Annuar Musa yang membawa transformasi luar dan dalam padang.

3. Alah, NS dah menang tahun lepas, bagi chance la kat Kelantan.

4. Sebagai hadiah buat B. Sathianathan, atau ejaan sebenarnya B. Satiananthan...kerana selepas ini dia akan digantung enam bulan!

5. Sebagai hadiah buat Akmal Rizal Ahmad Rakhli yang tak pernah menang gelaran besar sepanjang kerjaya

6. Kesan ekonomi buat negeri Cik Siti Wan Kembang serta menghidupkan pembangunan bola sepak di akar umbi.

..right on, LC..I was not there at the Stadium..but I was there this morning at Pantai Irama..the crowd was by far small, compared to that in Bukit Jalil the night Kelantan won..but this morning, I could feel the passion..for in the words of KAFA.s president..through sports, no matter the divide, we are united..and Kelantan has proven that their supporters make their team into...the red warriors.....

..age and weights..

2010-11-11T17:04:00.000+08:00

..I have gained some weight lately..5 kilos..not since my polygamous days have I put on so much...polygamy kept me trim and slim..and lithe...all those running around burnt those calories..my girth has increased, too, by an inch..from a constant 29 inches to 30..the missus likes it..got some extra flesh to hold and hug, she says..

..retirement, monogamy and blogging must have agreed with me..my 60 kilos against her 70..pushing past 50, she needs to go on a diet..but there was a time when she was rake-thin..that was when she discovered that I had taken on another wife in the city of KL, a girl of 26 whom I had married at 50..my final fling, and last attempt, at keeping growing old at bay..

..it does not work, of course..but the wife revolted when she found out..having married a married man herself, she could say much then..as she did not say much now..but she lost weight through self-suppression of her inner revolt..there were no flying pans and pots..no shrieks and screams..no shamans and no bomohs..just tears that flowed silently as she prayed her five times a day solat...tears that fell in the silent of the night as she prayed a few hours before dawn..I used to watch her through the half-light of a waning moon that caressed and enveloped her..a figure in white, almost ghostly as the moon streamed its light through the translucent window...

..but the next morning, I would just packed by travelling bag with a few clothes and left for KL..invariably, she would be in the kitchen..at the kitchen door, watching me go...

..gi dulu, cik....the driver would say..she would try to muster a smile..not quite looking at him, as we drove past..

..the monsoon and the cup..

2010-11-06T19:49:00.002+08:00

..for the first time ever, Kelantan won the Malaysia Cup..we never won it during those heady days when Singapore was a participant, when Kelantan and Terengganu were arch rivals, or when Malaysia ruled the turf with the likes of Mokhtar Dahari and Soh Chin Aun..we never won it when I was that carefree youth shouting myself hoarse as Dali Omar took to the field with aplomb, and my butt burnt from the hot concrete seat of Stadium Sultan Mohamed the IV drenched hot by the afternoon sun as the game started at 4.30 pm..

...we won it when this old geezer had given up of Kelantan ever winning the cup..we won it when I have become an old horse left to roam free in the meadows..with no more spring in his trot, and with just a memory of the fire that burns in every staunch and fervent a supporter's heart that he still is..

.the next day, it rained..the skys darkened with black clouds hiding the sun..the rain came along with howling wind and cold..it is like as if the final that Saturday night was the turning point for the monsoon to start..

,,the view in front of pakmat's home..

..for mekbu, it is time to nestle her litter of 4..

...Trengganu may have the Monsoon Cup..but we have the monsoon and the cup..cheers to the red warriors..

..the many ways of blindness..

2010-10-29T10:02:00.000+08:00

..after a while we reached a stage where there is nothing to quarrel about..things just settled into an agreement, acquiescence..any perceived aberrations elicit no protests..life is routine and humdrum..there is a perpetual calm in the sea..and, sometimes, at odd moments when I am alone with my thoughts, I missed my polygamous mayhem days..when the mind was almost always in overdrive..countering arguments..driving in my misguided points..and the left foot pressed on the accelerator, taking corners with squeals and a rush..

..and as I wrote this, I glanced at my wife who is snoring peacefully in bed..she was once my second wife..whom society would normally tabbed as the home-wrecker..emissaries sent to discover the type of girl she was that pakmat was so taken up marrying must have been a bit taken back when they met her..just a simple village girl, comfortable in kurung and sarong..hardly the sex-siren that they thought she was, measuring against my gallavanting ways..but we married properly..properly in the sense that I followed procedures, filled in the proper forms and went through interviews by the kadi's office..

..extract from pakmat's interview..

...officer from kadi's office:..hmm, I see that pakmat already had a wife, children, and good salary..

..pakmat: silence..

..ofko: ..so.....why this need for polygamy?..

..pakmat: silence..

..from wife..

..ofko:...hmm..do you know he is already married?

..wife: I know..

..ofko: and you still want to marry him?

..wife: yes..

..her late father..

..ofko: ..do you know that your daughter will be marrying a married man?..
..father: yes..
..ofko..you have no objection?
..father: she is the one marrying..not me..
..ofko: silence..

..we married a week later..and the peaceful sea knew no more the calm. there is no end to man's fascination with pain....

..I am not a so-po..just a so, so..

2010-10-25T20:07:00.000+08:00

..and I hope whoever wins in Galas will give

a thought to the environment..

I think its about time the yellow river of Kelantan

take on the hue of a river it once was..

..it has suffered for more than two decades..

..most of my children could not remember it being anything else

except yellow..

..pic from TheStar..the river cruise that was no more..

..who would pay to cruise on a muddy river?

pic taken without permission from

http://www.flickr.com/photos/azmibogart/with/2950615073/

..fishing for non-existence fish,,

..a time for living..a time for dying..a time to change my cell phone..

2010-10-23T12:08:00.001+08:00

..yesterday Ayam, still in Ramadan mode, woke me up two hours before dawn...she followed me as I staggered to the kitchen for her pre-dawn meal..10 minutes later as I pushed the window to let her out, I saw the silvery moon through the trees low in the western sky..caressed by a light breeze, I sat still for a second..no..it is not 'thank God its Friday..instead it is 'thank you God, for extending my time on this earth for one more day...

..as I started the car I heard the muezzin's call to prayers..its 5.45 am..a movement caught my eye..it was Mekbu..and she had just delivered a litter of 4 kittens..I stroked her and gave her words of encouragement..by the time I reached the mosque the congregation was already well into the first rakaat..but its ok..its a Friday..sujud sejadah..prostration on the prayer mat whilst in solat...and was told by the imam that Ayah Mat, 76, who lived across the river from my house, but just across the road from the mosque, had died of heart failure..solat jenazah, prayers for the decease, was scheduled after solat Asr..

..later, late in the morning, the downcast sky cleared as we headed for Kota Bharu, my wife and I..it is becoming almost a weekly ritual, this weekly trips..but I need to buy a new phone..my trusty Sony Ericsson K801 had finally laid down its tired keys..after two years of faithful service, it gave up on the run.. time to get a new phone..my children sighed a sigh of relief...they called it the dinosaur phone..papa's dino phone, not quite realising the implication..I smiled..I got myself a Nokia C5..it came with an English lady telling me to take the corners 300 meters ahead, left or right..and Auji is in love with it

..yes, it was an eventful Friday for pakmat..thank you, Lord...

..scenes of a night market..

2010-10-19T17:03:00.001+08:00

..scenes from the weekly night market, set along Pantai Irama, Bachok..

..every Friday from 5.00 pm to 10.00 pm..with the sea as backdrop..

..children romping by the water edge..

..horses galloping by..and a para-glider whizzing above..

..but for this man with impaired sight..time to set up his keyboard..

..pakmat slipped him a ringgit and requested the song 'Aku Semut Merah',

a dangdut pakmat's era..he looked confused..he was much younger than I thought..

..he did not know the song..he belted out a nasyid, instead..

remembering the time when he accompanied her with some friends at Globe Silk Store, along

Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman..he loitered outside..

there were two of them with their keyboard and bongos..

..it was mainly dangdut..he donned his sunglasses and sang along with them..

'..untuk apa kau menyayangi ku..

..orang yang tak punya apa apa..'

..and got a ringgit or two thrown his way...

..Michele Yeoh, aging and death..

2010-10-17T17:49:00.000+08:00

..I am not one of her ardent fans..but I have been watching her long before Crouching Tiger..she is an Ipoh girl, after all..and we know what they say of Ipoh girls...indubitably fair and smooth of skin, and pretty of face with figures to die for..I can rave on about her exploits, being an A-class actress and an international campaigner that she is..but last August, she was 48 years old..and she does not look it..known for doing her own stunts, she is out with a new movie, Reign of Assassins, by John Woo

pics taken from www.starpulse.com
and www.micheleyeoh.info

..she also said that there are two things guaranteed in life..one, you will age...two, you will die..

..she must have said it simply to the reporter who interviewed her about her beauty belying her age..and pakmat said, yes, Dato', you will age, as pakmat has undoubtedly aged..and one day you will die..as pakmat will one day, dies..but you have proven that a local girl from a tin-mining town of Ipoh, can danced and kicked into internatonal stardom and be there with the rest of them..and to that, pakmat salutes you...

..I'll be all smiles tonight..

2010-10-14T17:54:00.001+08:00

..an 1879 Irish waltz for a relaxing Friday..listening to it reminds this old coot of the time he waltzes the night away as a bachelor in KL..

..and for some of you, enjoy your 'malam Jumaat'..:) ..let's us all be all smiles tonight...

..the house where mother stayed..

2010-10-13T17:52:00.000+08:00

..not all buildings are pulled down to make way for the new..some are left standing, unattended and forgotten..fading by inches and worn down by the rain and the sun ...corroding gently by gentle time that passes like the relentless flow of the river, where upon its banks it sits..

..no.833, Lorong Gajah Mati is such a house. a house sitting forlorn and alone, hidden by fences and undergrowth, ignored by its neighbours..and forgotten by me, who once stayed there.. it sat by the bank of Kelantan River..facing death as death comes in stealthy steps..crumbling in little pieces, yet still holding onto memories of a time 40 over years ago..

..and as I stood there on Sunday afternoon, taking in the battered remnants of what was once a house, I was that sapling youth once more, coming back home to my mother..

..it was a house on stilts almost 7 feet high..she peered through her glasses and through the window where she was sewing when he first arrived, huffing and puffing a suitcase full of clothes and books..he rested at the stairs..after almost 20 years, her youngest son, Mamat returned..to a home which was not hers..but for the next couple of years, it was to be his home, too..

..now, 40 over years later, I stood there upon a Sunday afternoon..I saw her face through the window..and I saw mine clambering excitedly up the steps..

..she died 14 years ago..I stood there facing the stairs..and I heard her voice as I kick started my Vespa..

..'Mat...mu make doh ko ?..duk du moh getek gah...:'..as she pedalled on her Singer..Mat, have you eaten?.. can't you stay home once in a while ...as I rode away through the lane of Gajah Mati...

..an uncle died..

2010-10-10T11:12:00.000+08:00

..an uncle died today..he was 77..born 3.3.33 and died 10.10.10..
as an adult I seldom meet him, busy with my own life, as it were....memories of him were confined to the time when I was a kid..the first time I went to his house was with my mother.. I was about nine or ten..it was also my first time to KL..as my mother was engrossed in a conversation with him., I was left on my own, playing around with a sewing machine set in a corner..I broke it and had my ear pinched..

..I remember him as a simple man..on my own in KL, struggling as a clerk, I would sometimes visited him at his sprawling government quarters..once I caught him as he was going out..holding a pair of shoes, he was searching for something under the furniture..retrieved it, (it was a pair of socks), wiped his shoes with it, put it on and stride out whilst talking to me.."Ahh. Mat Ite..duklah..nak tubit semetar.."

"O Allah, forgive him, Lord. Make him among the guided ones, raise his status and be his deputy among the grieving. O Lord of the two worlds, forgive us and him and make his grave wide and full of light"

..MCP and firecraker..

2010-10-09T16:07:00.000+08:00

..a lil bit of country for a lazy weekend..click on play..tap your feet..snap your fingers as you read the post below..

..and thank God for the differences..

..MCP, and thank God for the differences..

2010-10-09T16:02:00.001+08:00

..you don't often hear the term 'male chauvinist pig' these days..it has receded into some distant past along with the belief that women are of lesser stuff as compared to men..we do not hear anymore about the fights for emancipation among women..women have never been disfranchised, as far as pakmat is concerned..they have always been my equal..and I never bear them grudges in their fight for equality..there is no reason why they should be paid less for doing the same job as men..or restrict some jobs to males only..if we can do it, and they can do it better, then let them in, by all means..

..and even in the days of women receiving better treatment because they are women, like that two days unrecorded leave for female constables in the police force when they had their menstruation, pakmat attributed it to the differences between a man and a woman..something that should be recognised and given due regard..

..the point I am trying make is this: we are equal but we are different..and the sooner we accept the differences, and adjust our lives around them, the better for everyone..

..after several marriages, a couple of divorces and more than a dozen children, I have learned to take them in my stride..and arranged my life around it..it is less of a hassle..

...like..when taking my wife to a supermarket..she had to buy some underwear..hers were all worn..I would have completed the purchase in under fifteen minutes..

"Won't be long, love..just a jiffy."She said..and I would parked my car, irregardless, walked to the food court, got the papers out and relaxed..two hours later she would walked out with 12 tins of evaporated milk, several bottles of sauce, bread, sugar, a new dress, a pair of slippers, batteries for those clocks hung around the house and a pair of shears for her gardening..(those batteries I have been meaning to buy for the past month, but not quite getting to it)..

..fifteen minutes later, as I was negotiating the traffic lights, she would tapped me gently on the shoulder and said that she had forgotten about the underwear..
"It's ok," I said, "We'll do it again next Friday." She'd smiled...and I would touched her cheeks...

..your first..

2010-10-07T18:33:00.000+08:00

..it is generally believed that no one forgets their first..no matter what the first is..whether it is the first love, first kiss or your first divorce..there are other first that are just as unforgettable..things like first car, first accident..or first plane ride...for some there will never be a second after the first..and there are some who never had a first....but in every one's life, there will always be a first time..

..but for pakmat the first whatever came and went..some were blissful and cause of much happiness, like receiving my first pay as a clerk in the Public Services Commission, K. Lumpur way back in April, 1963....some were painful and cause of much regret..like losing a month's salary at a card game of twenty-one a few months later..which led to the last time I gambled..so some first became your last..

...and, of course, there is the first marriage..which led to second...and a third..you do not forget your first when you marry more than once..but you do not forget your subsequent marriages either..and the first divorce..which led to a second...and you do not forget them, too..

..but if I had not married at all, there will be no 13 children...which brings up an interesting question...who am I to deny them their first step on this earth?...

..susie darlin'..

2010-10-05T23:10:00.000+08:00

..those days it is not enough that you know how to strum the guitar..you must also be able to sing the latest hits..from Robin Luke's Susie Darlin' to Cliff Richard's Evergreen Tree..

..pakmat managed by learning a few chords, mainly C, Am, F, F7 and G...and with that learned to improvise and sang Bobby Helms' Fraulein, my first exposure to country music...but for the song Susie Darling, it was the 'whoa-ho, Susie Darlin'..that got to me..a pause followed by vigorous strumming on the guitar..

..I think it was these two songs that started my never ending love for simple, sugary songs and country music..and the imagery that words can evoke..

..left foot, right foot and Mat Hitam..

2010-10-04T21:35:00.000+08:00

..my left foot is bigger than my right..although it does not affect my walking, it makes it a bit difficult when buying shoes..most times I ended up buying a pair that fits my left but too big for my right...but I bought them anyway for I need to wear shoes sometimes..

..speaking of shoes I remember the time when I was in Form 3 and was caught playing the piano in my neighbour's house instead of studying for my LCE..my uncle threw his shoe at me..it missed and I retrieved it and fearfully handed it back to him..I remember him sighing..'What's to become of you, Mat Hitam..?' ..yes, they called me Mat Hitam, then, being a shade darker than everybody else..a name that stuck among my many cousins, uncles and aunties..

..lately, circumstances brought me back to them.. cousins and distant cousins who were once play mates when we were kids half a century ago, most are successful in their respective careers, with one or two of them millionaires...they found themselves in need in Kota Bharu..they came back to reconnect with their past..and though they could not remember my full name, they remembered Mat Hitam..

..and I took them to Pantai Irama, Bachok..for some satay and grilled fish..oblivious to the motley night crowd, we were lost in our banter on times past, recalling mischiefs and pranks..none of our lives had turned out the way we would liked it to..I know they had expected better of me..but sometimes that night, we realised that whatever way our lives had turned out..it was the way it was meant to be..

..once you are dead..

2010-09-27T00:01:00.000+08:00

..once you are dead, you no longer carry your father's name..henceforth you will be known as the child of your mother..pakmat bin aminah..or, as in the case of my neighbour, Mok Zah, 67, who died this morning of renal failure at 5.30 am..Azizah bt Fatimah..a name she will be known as in all doa's... the name that will be engraved on her tombstone, if at all it is engraved..and the name she will be called upon on Resurrection Day by her Maker..

..and at her burial this evening at 6.30 pm, I sat with the rest of the kampong folks..giving her final respect as a woman who had borne 9 children, with eight surviving her, all of whom did well in life..with the eldest a principal of a secondary school in Bachok and the youngest a teacher in Sabah..

..fare well, Mok Zah binti Fatimah..May you rest in peace..May God forgive your sins..and May He places you in one of His gardens in Eden..

..al-Fatihah..

..something for a lazy weekend..

2010-09-25T11:06:00.001+08:00

..Lady Kama's reminiscing about her bonfire days reminded me of Bobby Darin's Clementine..

..have a joyful, foot-tapping weekend, folks..

..having children..

2010-09-21T17:27:00.002+08:00

..its easy to have children..given the right circumstances, it could even be acutely pleasurable..whether once weekly or twice weakly..it doesn't matter..these days, you don't even need a husband, or a wife..but bringing them up is another cup of tea altogether..for nothing is more time-consuming, energy-sappy and resources-draining than bringing up children...we spent our money on them..we kept tabs..but we seldom keep tag..

..so, how much does a parent spend on each child up to SPM level?..a period of 17 years..if we were to put an average of RM10.00 per day per child, ( a conservative sum, even by Bachok standard), then RM10 x 30 x 12 x17 = RM61,000.00 per child..pakmat have more than a dozen..but if we averages 4 children per family, then it is RM244, 000..not counting other costs, of course...things like medical and transport..or recreational cost..

..and after all those hectic years, and money spent, there is still no guarantee that they will turned out the way we want them to be..the rate of satisfaction is negligible, at best..for children have their own mind about what they want to be..if they want to be anything at all..and parents' stations in life have little bearing on how they will turn out in the later years..

..I remember a lowly police constable who was the driver to his Chief..drew a lowly pay of RM240.00 per month, then... stayed in a Class 'G' barracks which had only one bedroom, yet his sons completed their education at university level, while his Chief two sons were drug addicts..

.. there is even a study by a Harvard professor, no less, a certain Danial Gilbert, who concluded that marital satisfaction decreases dramatically after the birth of the first child..and increases only after the last child left home..but closer home, Bachok, especially, we were led to believe that marital satisfaction is at its peak after the birth of the first child..personally, I noticed that my wives are at their most attractive and sexiest after delivering their first child...there is this glow, a certain sheen to the skin and hair that oozes sex appeal..and the second child followed soon after..

..but no matter how you look at it..it takes a special woman that can take up the role of a mother..a special woman, indeed, who prefers motherhood..to Rhonda's choice..

..click on cartoon to enlarge..

..Ayam and the 6 days optional fast in Syawal..

2010-09-19T09:39:00.002+08:00

..ever since we had her, more than 3 years ago, she had proven to be a tabby with fixed habits, more or less..

..totally domesticated, she will not pee or poo in the house.. allowed total freedom, nights she would, most times sleeps with me, occupying a portion of the bed, where the missus had laid out a folded kain pelikat ..days were spent romping around the neighbours' houses..always playful, there is nothing facetious about her being clean and neat..

..our ritual during Ramadan suited her..an early riser, she would wakes me up with her soft meow between 4.30 to 5.00 every morning whilst rubbing her face against my feet or hands..and I would stagger to the kitchen, fill her bowl with a clutch of feed and fill her drinking bowl with fresh water..by the time we finished sahur, and I prepared myself for the morning solat, she would be at the door, waiting to be let out...outside Ramadan, the ritual was the same...minus the sahur, I would linger a little in bed, ignoring her meows and rubbings..

..and so it was that when the missus suggested we start our six days optional fast of Syawal on Saturday, I promptly agreed..Ayam, would love it..and she did, having sahur with us in the wee hours of the morning..Auji being indisposed, son not willing..it was just me, missus, a cat named Ayam...and the cool, morning breeze from the sea...

..little joys, little tears..

2010-09-15T21:32:00.000+08:00

..everyone has their little moments of joy and tears..

..joy is when you meet you 12yr old daughter on the fourth day of raya..she came with her mother, stepfather, her 15yr old aunt and her two grandparents..it was cikmat, papa and tatak time..tears is that little tears that she cried when I embraced her goodbye..

..pakmat's raya..

2010-09-13T17:04:00.002+08:00

..raya will always be about children..and fireworks..

..as was pakmat's raya..it was a riotous first day..nay, it started the night before..as we gave thanks to Him on the last breaking of fast, saying our goodbye to the month of Ramadan..there was a tinge of sadness at the mosque after the last solat of the night, followed by a recital of the Takbir Raya, amid the loud and incessant firing of crackers that continued late into the night.. it was like Bachok was at war..the loud reports and flashes of light send Ayam fleeing into the dark..

..memories of past Ramadans and Rayas came to the mind..as a kid of Upin's age with mother..trying on a pair of new shorts she had patched up together from leftover cloth..as a youth in KL, alone in his rented room, fighting the tears that flowed on hearing the Takbir Raya on the radio, not really knowing where to go, and kampung was too far..as a man with two wives, and trying to juggle Raya between the two of them..

..after a time, pakmat no longer makes 'balik kampung' trips..for he has become the kampung his children came back to...and as Ramadan receded, and Syawal makes its way, he gave his thanks to his Lord..for that little time and that little space, when he was together with his children...and his children's children..

..until the next Ramadah..God willing...

..I am standing again..

2010-09-05T09:10:00.001+08:00

..and so, with the end of Ramadhan near...and IdilFitri just around the corner, I am standing again to be counted..

..I stood before my wife and ex-wives..as you have forgave me before, please find the grace in your hearts to forgive me again..I am not the best of husbands or ex-husbands..nor the man you all thought I was or would be...I do not have the qualities that you all seeked..I am just what I was borned to be..a man without pretensions, trying hard to carry the mantle of caliphship and faltered trying...

..and before my children, I stood again..please forgive this old man who is standing now in front of you as your father..for I am never the best of fathers...there were things that I should have done but didn't..and some things that I shouldn't but did..and there were times when my ego blinded me to your needs...please forgive your father his inadequacies..his faults and his wrongs..for nothing mitigates my love for you, no matter how thick..no matter how thin..

..and I stand before my friends, old and new..forgive me if I did not turned out to be the friend in need and in deed..or if my words speak louder than my actions..or if I did not turned up to your expectations..for I shall always be me..

..above all, I stood in front of my God, Allah..

..I am standing before you, Lord, in all humility, seeking Your Forgiveness..for all my failures and sins..for my misdeeds and transgressions..for my weakness, which are many..as against Your Mercy which is Boundless..Forgive me, Lord, this humble servant of yours.. who tried his utmost to bask in Your Light during this Ramadan..

..selamat hari raya aidilfitri..

..save the last dance for me..

2010-09-04T15:17:00.001+08:00

..I am not a Michael Buble fan..at the risk of being lynched and skinned alive by legions of his female fans, Zen included, I have to say that I do not think much of singers who made a name for themselves by singing covers..no, for I grew up with the Drifters and Dean Martin..but for this song, I do not mind Michael Buble's version of it..heck, sometimes even old songs need to be restyled with a new beat..

...more so old men like me.

.. Sungei Kelantan..

2010-09-04T07:15:00.001+08:00

..scenes along the bank of Sungei Kelantan..

..our legacy...for our children's children..

..who's minding the environment?..

2010-08-31T10:39:00.004+08:00

..53 years on........

..we are too busy calling others heretics..

..busy slinging mud at each other..

..to score our political points..

..finger lake, Pantai Irama..stifled to death..
..where once the water was green..

..finger lake Pantai Irama..to hide the scene a fence
was erected around it..what you cannot see cannot hurt..
..on the left is the beach..

..Sungei Kemasin, Bachok..yes, this is a river..
a river slowly dying.. once it was
free flowing blue water...

..Sungei Kemasin, Bachok..a river strangled..

..Sungei Kelantan..the colour has been yellow for the
past two decades..right from the source of Nenggiri
to the estuary of Kuala Besar..should be renamed
the Yellow River of Kelantan..no prize for guessing
why it was so...

..when we should be throwing mud into the river..

..instead of at each other..

..have you ever..

2010-08-30T15:02:00.001+08:00

..I wrote this more then a year ago, when Ayam, our pet tabby delivered her litter of seven...

..have you ever wake up at five in the morning to pee, drowsy with interrupted sleep, you hear through the reigning silence noises at the back..only to discover that your pet tabby is in labour..? and for the next hour and a half you sat with her, through her labour and deliveries, stroking her head and womb, giving words of encouragement...and hearing the wheesh sound as a kitten emerged..?..seven in all..? and she looks up to you plaintively, licking her litter as she does..?

..Lord, with just one favour, You filled an ocean, held up the stars..and filled this cat's womb with 7 lives..

..sometimes cats showed more human traits than us..

..desert moon..

2010-08-28T11:12:00.002+08:00

.. we all have our Desert Moon..a place and a time we wished we can go back to..

..wishing for those times when we were younger..yearning for those places that gave us joy and exhilaration...or that someone who was special..when love was just an ember..and life itself was tender..always magical..

...if there is one moment in time that I can go back to, it has to be 1957, when I was barely 13 and in Batu Gajah, Perak..school was just a walk down-hill from where home was..a huge, double-storey bungalow on Owen Road..and the object of puppy love was a girl named Hariah, a perpetually grinning kid from the next class..

..on the day Tunku shouted 'Merdeka!' in Kuala Lumpur, a place I had never been, I was one happy kid..Hariah signed my autograph book..

..Happy 53rd Merdeka Day, every one..

..May it be as joyous and as happy as it has always been for me..throughout the years...

..Merdeka..Merdeka..Merdeka!!!..

..cats and such..

2010-08-26T12:08:00.000+08:00

..there is always something about cats..

..that endears..

..Ayam, not too happy at Pakmat's reading of June Malik's blog..

..Pakteh doing the rounds with wife..a body-guard of sorts..

..Mekbu, our blind tabby..

..no, Cat-in-Sydney, I did not have her spayed..

..for I do not have the heart..

..her joy romping with her kittens is too much for me..

..let her be..for she cannot see..

..but can feel..

..Ayam, when Mekbu was but a kitten..

..life as a polygamist..

2010-08-24T18:45:00.000+08:00

..it is not easy..when you have two wives and try to live out your life between them, it is more like a high wire balancing act without the poles..it is easy to fall..

..they say the first year into polygamy you have to act deaf, sometimes dumb..blind, too, to the harangues and tirades from your first..most time you have to be thick-skinned..to the undertones and soft whispers whenever you are in company..for the minute it becomes known that you have two wives, your moral values, your integrity, even your sanity comes into question..

..I remember when I had two..

..I tried as best as I could to be fair..spending alternate nights between the two..and trying to be punctual..yet trying to spend more time with the first and less time with the second, for they are children this side and none yet on the other..it gets tricky, too.. there may be functions that you have to attend with the first on the days you should be with the second..it was one big juggling act..only with fire-sticks..

..you have to take care of your job, too..and give a little space for yourself..so, in truth, your are juggling between four needs..

..a sense of humour helps..enough to keep your wits about you and see the funnier side of things as you rushed to the other side as she called at two in the morning to tell you that your child had a fever or a fall and need immediate medical attention, and you were then still within the warm embrace of your second..

..P.Ramlee more or less nailed it when he said: 'Hidup susah...mati pun susah.."

..there was a time..

2010-08-23T11:43:00.012+08:00

.after some time, life becomes humdrum and almost routine..after all those adjustments in the early years, you reached a plateau where most things are serene and calm..there are no blips in the radar and no storms in teacups..you just got used to each other..whilst most things are done in a tandem, labelled and categorised, there are no sudden rush of blood to the head or a fluttering of heart-beats..there are no excitement, either..even sex becomes routine..

..but once in a while..a touch becomes as fresh as a newborn's cheek..a whiff of familiar perfume suddenly intoxicates..and a smile becomes salacious..

..for there will always be a time when something in the way a wife looks...that will take a husband's breath away..yeah..

..your ex..

2010-08-22T17:51:00.000+08:00

..sometimes, in my conversation with my children, their handphone would ring, I would query with my eye, they would cup the phone and simply say, 'Your ex,' meaning their mother....and I would be a little bit nonplus at their nonchalance..I never thought of her that way..definitely I did not go around referring to her as my ex...somehow it does not sound right..

'..what do you tell mama when I called..?'
'..your ex,' was the reply, straight-faced..

..sometimes I wished my children would called a spade, a spoon..

..nst and me..

2010-08-21T16:39:00.003+08:00

..reading the NST has become a habit to this old coot..an addictive habit..no matter what other dailies that I have read, (almost all, 'cept for the Chinese and Tamil dailies), I must finished if off with the NST..a day is incomplete without it..seeing that I first begun to read it when I first learned how to read..and that was a lil bit more than 50 years ago..

..pakmat going through Chuan's copy, relaxing in front of his gold shop..

he and his wife were busy preparing paper nuggets of silver and gold..

for the Hungry Ghost Day on the 7th of the 7th month of the Chinese calendar..

..no matter who is helming it, no matter the slant, ( I simply ignored it)..I just continue reading it..for the news that I already knew from Malay dailies which I read earlier in the day, to its features and articles by its regular columnists like Kak Teh and Awang Goneng..they are excellent..and kept me abreast with most things happening around me..I think I became a bit knowledgeable because of it..

I depend on it for general information, on health, lifestyles and trivia..most times I agree with it..sometimes I don't..once I even wrote to it..and saw my letters published..but now I am just content with reading it...

..I loved reading the trivia part..like today..where it claimed that husbands who earn less than their wives are more likely to stray or be unfaithful..apparently there is less tendency for men to stray or be unfaithful if they are earning more than their wives..hmm..they should carry out such studies in Bachok...where generally the women are bringing in the rice packets..with the husbands content to loll about with some cows and goats..

..my wife is earning more than me from her little hair shop..but than, I have done enough straying..

..Friday's news..

2010-08-20T12:49:00.000+08:00

..news these days are more gory than tv or the movies..it is easy to gets depressed when reading them..instead of enlightenment, for news should be enlightening, we get into bouts of depression... we are told of father hacking wife to the death, daughter slashed off her two fingers..daughters, nieces, granddaughters being raped by their closest kins..not once, but over the years..and it is normal to read now about infants thrown everywhere like disposable napkins..children splashed with acid..children battered and hammered..

..maybe we should also ban newspapers for having too much violent content..or have it PG-rated..

..I think we failed..maybe we are paying for the glory of development and modernisation with a society that has lost its moral values..in our hurry to be top-gun, we forgot human development..we readily embraced new technology with not a thought towards social technology..we have our submarine, and our values as a society took a dive..we have become a hedonistic society..seeking all that is pleasurable..there is dollar in our eyes, and cold in our hearts..

..this old coot pined for the good old days..when there is warmth in a friendship and a general bonding among fellow humans..when creed, colour or race does not really matter..and children respect their elders...

..meanwhile, on the way back from work..

2010-08-17T15:51:00.000+08:00

..a stop at Bazaar Ramadan, Beris Kubur Besar, Bachok..

..for ordinary folks and old coots like me, they are a Godsend....to Chuan, the goldsmith and his family, too...they loved Ramadan, not because they fast, but because they had a gala time choosing and buying all those lauk pauk and kuih muih..

..it is feasting time, but in a limited way..we can change our menu every day and we do no have to spend RM100 per head..generally for a family of 5, it is RM15 to RM20 per day..cheap and delicious...

..but you must be able to resist the smells, the aroma, the fumes..and the tantalising smiles that came along with .."colik, be, se ria jah...ko nok sup perut..?.."

..even old geezers are called 'abang' during Ramadan...

..a burial..

2010-08-16T18:11:00.001+08:00

..she was not a celebrity..hardly a diva or a star..outside her family circles and a few close friends she was unknown..but to her five children she was a mother they had loved dearly, their pillar of strength..to her husband, she was a wife who was ever ready to lend her support and money into his business ventures..

..on the 3rd of Ramadan she was warded..an ailing diabetic, she went into a coma and died a few minutes before midnight..it was her last Ramadah..

..for it was from clumps of black earth that we were created..onto it we shall return..and unto Him we submit..
..for He is the Most Benevolant, the Most Gracious, the Most Loving..

..Al-Fatihah..

..Mamat & Mimi..

2010-08-12T23:49:00.001+08:00

..sometimes, in my travels around the blogging world, I came across blogs put up by singles living in the cities..most are successful in their career, highly educated, but without a mate..they had their share of being matched-make, whether knowingly or unknowingly, which more often than not, left a bitter taste in their mouths.. and had numerous relationships that ended before it could even started..most are cynical towards men or women, whatever the case may be..they may cry their little tears..but through it all, they managed to emerge stronger, keeping their wits around them with a roguish sense of humour..they focussed their energy on their job, keep tag with their families, maintain their sanity within a circle of close friends, and travel whenever there is an apportunity..

..for jodoh is not something you can fished out of a hat...and neither can it be forced...

..as in this tale..........Mamat & Mimi...

..they went to school together...with homes in adjacent kampongs....it was puppy love for Mimi..but for him, it remained and it grew..on completion of their SPM, Mimi went on to college and got a decent job in the city...Mamat dropped out and settled himself to a life in the village..with a few goats and some cows..and part-timed at a motorcycle repair shop..

..in the city, Mimi fell in love with a slick young man with a sleek, new car..he proposed and she accepted..on the day of the wedding, a cow bought by her father from Mamat with a generous discount, was slaughtered..guests thronged her house and feasted on it..gulai kawah mixed with young coconut-shells..the local imam arrived for the akad nikah ceremony..the witnesses were ready..but the groom did not arrived..frantic calls were made..but still the slick young man with the sleek new car did not show up..it later transpired that the man was already married..his wife had discovered his little scheme and had thrown a brick at him as he was driving off..it hit him on the forehead..he was rushed to the hospital..

Mimi, resplendent in her wedding dress, was gutted..but her father was a resolute man..livid with anger and pale with shame, he told the imam to wait awhile..he kick-started his Honda K70 and rode to Mamat's house..whilst nursing a broken heart, Mamat had taken a nap on his rickety verandah..he woke him up..

'Would you like to marry my daughter, Mimi?'
'Yes..'

.. together they rode back to the awaiting imam..Mimi assented to her father's query..and they got married and lived as happy as any other couples in the village could be..

..Ramadan's reflection..

2010-08-11T12:30:00.000+08:00

..once again that night he was at the mosque...he clasped his hands in a doa..a doa he repeated from the last Ramadan..

..his cup no longer runneth over, he knew not when it will runs dry..but until then..

''O Allah...

..I thanked Thee for the time You have given me..the last Ramadan was Your Blessings to me..and here I am at the door of another...let me in in, Lord, into this month..that I may savour it in peace and in harmony...with my family and Muslim brethren...and forgive me my sins..

..grant me the will to be charitable that I might seek from You Your bounty.... the grace to overlook and forgive others' faults..that You may overlook and forgive mine..

...let me be magninamous that I may seek from You Your blessings..

..and as I rested my body from food during the fast, rest also my mind from dwelling too much on worldly pursuits..fill my nights with Your Light and my days with Your Guidance...

.. accept all the little deeds that I have done..that I may strived to do more..

..above all, O Allah, accept my repentance.. I have commited great sins..and You are The Great Forgiver..."

..and again that night, he raised his hands in prayer..that Allah may grant him the space and the time for him to savour yet another Ramadhan...InsyaAllah...God Willing...

..Tuesday's anecdote..

2010-08-10T11:52:00.002+08:00

..they say a rolling stone does not gather moss..but if you travelled long and lived long enough, you gather stories..sometimes, a story like this:..

..there was this lady who had a cad for a husband..even though he had a decent job, he was on the verge of losing it through drinking, gambling and womanising..always short of money, and never getting any from him, except, sometimes, a slap and a kick, she took to doing odd jobs within the neighbourhood, washing clothes and minding babies..enough to keep her two children in school..through it all, it never occurred to her to ask for a divorce..to suggestions from sympathetic friends and relatives, she just smiled..even the local imam quoted her as an example of a lady with iman..a lady of piety who never missed her solat, with an unwavering trust in the Lord..

..time passed..

..until one day she went in a huff to see the imam..she wanted a divorce..and wanted it immediately..

..why, asked the perplexed imam, thinking, perhaps, she had reached the end of her tethers...
..does he still gamble?..no, not anymore..
..does he still drink?..no, not anymore..
..womanising?..no..
..solat?..never misses..even does the night solat..
..money?..he gave half of his salary..
..oh..he still kicks you around..no..never raise a finger now..
..then, why?...he has taken on another wife..and that, I cannot stand..

..loco parents..

2010-08-09T07:28:00.000+08:00

..re: New Sunday Times' editorial, Ogos, 8th 2010..

..now they want us to be loco parentis..in the place of parents..standing in for the parents..imploring that bringing up children is everybody's responsibility...to stem in the tide of indiscipline and other misbehaviour in schools and everywhere else..

..after 20 over years of sparing the rod and spoiling the child, we now realised the child is, indeed, spoilt..after 20 years of abandonment in mimicking the west, and abandoning our very own values and culture, they want us to be loco parents, Spanish, this time, not Latin..

..after banishing corporal punishment and banning the rotan, you tell us that it is a team effort...sheesh..since when has it not been a team effort?..my time, the father will bring his child to a guru..'this is my child..teach him..and cane him if errs..or whatever punishment you deemed fit..as long as it does not disfigure him...

..then, everyone plays a part..from parents, teachers to elders in the village..we kept our eyes on the young ones..the children got whipped, yes, they got caned, and they became better because and in spite of it..

..and you want the bus driver to chide a child for not sitting properly?..nah..he would not do it..he would not risked being hit, slapped and kicked by a loco parent...similarly the teachers, reduced to being impotent entities..

..the big picture is our education system is in shambles..come to think about it, we don't even have a proper education system or policy..it has been politicised to an extent that what is good for the children is not good for them..we do not have the backbone to withstand a little bit of pressure..we gave in easily..here today, gone tomorrow..gone yesterday, back again today..even an old man like me is confused..and grumbled..what more the children..

..and we want to bring back the cane?..bring back the whole system of the 50's I'd say..

..little children..

2010-08-07T18:57:00.001+08:00

..when a house is bereft of little children and infants, life tends to flow along languidly, with the dust settling silently on shades and tables..and food cooked impulsively remained untouched..although nothing is immaculate, the furniture is seldom trampled upon, and there is no fear of glassware falling and breaking..the monotony is only broken by the cackle of a rooster or the bleating of a wandering lamb unable to find its way out..

until,sometimes, the daughters came a-visiting, along with their children..and a house settled within its own repose and quiet, was once again alive with the shrieks of children and the wails of infants..

..they commandeered the whole house..from the bathrooms to my bedroom..and pakmat sat back and relaxed..enjoying the cacophony and relishing the shrieks of paptok!..papatok! ..ah..the scampering of small feet..little mercies are made of these..