..some reasons why i loved Bachok..

..Masjid Paya Mengkuang,Kampong Sungei, near my house..
..I can hear the muezzin's call to prayer
as one of the speakers is aimed directly
towards my home..

..Mak Sah at her vegetables stall, Bachok small Wet and Dry Market..
...widowed and stoical,
she is cheery and always gives me generous discounts..

..searching for edible shells in shallow waters along the beaches of
Bachok..it is fun outing for the whole family..

..wife is from Bachok..
..runs a small hair and beauty shop in Bachok, ladies only..
..school-girls and middle-aged
mothers formed her main clientele..most are her friends..who often
dropped in not for the cut but for a chat..
..and respite from the shopping heat..

..Bachok damsels are known for their independent ways and friendliness..
..putting henna on nails..

..our often heard but never seen MP..

..wide roads, no cars..
..which makes driving easy for this old coot..
..even then, since retirement 9 years ago, had been signaled off
the road twice by a siren blaring, blue lights flashing lead outrider
of a motorcade ferrying god know how many v's ip to god knows where..
..leaving this oldster grumbling..if there are so many v's in their ip, can't the
plane or the meeting wait for them..?
..instead of dashing at neck-breaking speed..sending chickens
and cats helter-skelter..?

..wife giving coot a haircut..
..the only man allowed in when there are
no hens around..pic censured by wife....

..rm2 a packet for this steam rice with fried spicy chicken..
..asked why she sells it cheaply at rm2 a bungkus, she said she
pitied the school children who generally have
not enough money to buy..she adjusted
the portion and lower her profit..
..

..sunrise in front of home..the air is fresh, oxygen rich and
pollutant free..

..Pasar Malam, Pantai Irama, Bachok..
..held every Friday after Asar until 10 in the night..
..from bundle shoes to coconut floats..

..keropok lekor..
..unbeknown to most, Bachok has an active keropok lekor cottage
industry..mostly fringing the beach..

..all pictures except of MP(tagged from www) are taken with my handphone..the Sony-Ericsson K800i that my children will not be seen dead with..

..

..but I believe..

...I can go the distance..




I have often dreamed
Of a far off place
Where a great warm welcome
Will be waiting for me
Where the crouds will cheer
When they see my face
And a voice keeps saying
This is where I'm meant to be

..they said..

..my children said I am cynical..and grumpy..

..and I said that I am trying to accept aging and trying to grow old gracefully..

..my friends said that I am like that goods on a shelf.. way past its expiry date..

..and I said that I still have it in me..but what it is that I still have, I really do not know..

..and my wife said, on seeing me struggling with those heavy flower pots, trying to arrange things, "Oi, abang, awak tu dah tua..buat cara tua.." (Attempts at translating what she said into the Queen's language failed..somehow I could not get the nuances of her jibe right.)

..the bank said sorry, you're too old for loans..

..my ex-wife said, see you in court..

..my granddaughter said, I love you, papatok..

..some things are inevitable..

..inevitably the wife of a close friend who had taken on a second wife for the past one year, came to this old coot, and spilt her heart out..pouring out her grievances amid sobs and tears..which put this old man in a quandary...after all her husband is a friend..and you do not generally bad-mouthed your friend to his wife.. she had just found out his 'infidelity'... so I hmmmed and I hawed..and I listened..and I waited until she has exhausted of things to tell..

..she wanted divorce.. and leads to a good bomoh..he had been charmed, she said. They all said that. Now that he had his new flame, she wanted out. They all wanted that, too. Her mind was set...She wanted me to show her to a good bomoh..Someone told her that there is a reputable bomoh in Bachok..and that Pakmat knows the man..

...her husband was one of those nouveau rich..had struggled as a contractor and suddenly found himself had it made..and like most men in such a position, decided to auger his position by taking another wife..

..I cannot help her on both counts..I cannot help put asunder what God had put together..and I cannot show her the way to a bomoh for I do not want to stand later as an accessory..

..and so, rightly or wrongly, I said I am sorry..

..little things mean a lot

..isn't this is what every woman wants from her man..?

...is it too much to ask..?

...is it too hard to give..?

Blow me a kiss from across the room
Say I look nice when I'm not
Touch my hair as you pass my chair
Little things mean a lot

Give me your arm as we cross the street
Call me at six, on the dot
A line a day when you're far away
Little things mean a lot

Don't have to buy me diamonds and pearls
Champagne, sables, and such
I never cared much for diamonds and pearls
'Cause honestly, honey, they just cost money

Give me your hand when I've lost the way
Give me your shoulder to cry on
Whether the day is bright or grey
Give me your heart to rely on

Send me the warmth of a secret smile
To show me you haven't forgot
Now and forever that always and ever
Little things mean a lot


..but to find a woman who does not care for diamonds and pearls...

..downtown..

..enjoy the song...as you read the post below..

..retreat to Cameron..

..everyone has retreats, private hideouts where they can forget their troubles and care..

..as a preteen, my retreat was under a mangosteen tree that grew in front of my grandparents' house..as a youth in KL in the 60's, struggling to make ends meet and forsaking studies, preferring work, angst driven and pimple ridden, retreat was Bukit Bintang Park..the crowd..the dazzle of neons..endless music blaring from unseen speakers..Rose Chan and the joget girls..

..at times, retreat was the British Council, near Bukit Aman..but rarely..

..later, much later, a wife and several kids later, it was some part of the ocean, or some islands in Terengganu..adrift on a boat, reeling out live baits..where the sea meets the sky..

..after an attempt at polygamy later, retreat was Pos Balar, Gob, Teranek and every nook of the forest in Gua Musang, trying to make better the lives of Orang Aslis', whilst own was in ruins..

..but now, in my twilight, retreat is Cameron Highlands..my Camp David, minus the retinue of
FBI's and such..

..mesjid Abu Bakar, Tanah Rata..
..the only landmark that has not changed..

..Auji, trying her hand at picking berries..at rm40 at pick..
..strawberry has become the mainstay of Cameron's tourist attraction..

..Cameron Bharat Tea Plantation..

..Kea Farm..
..ripe strawberries..rm20 for 5 packets..

..but Cameron has changed..its warmer..it was only at 5.30 am before subuh prayers, that I got to feel the brisk, bracing cool air that I used to enjoy of yesteryears...you cannot anymore see the trees on hill-tops...they have been cleared and terraced for cultivation..the rapacious greed for money and profit is too evident here..man never learns...and his folly never ceases..

..a bit marital..

..this geezer had his share of marital spats..being once a polygamist.. maybe more than a normal share of husband and wife quarrels..the wrath of a woman is something to be wary about and gives some credence to the saying that 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'..

..I supposed marriage is about finding common ground whilst appreciating the differences..and men tend to carry more load than they can carry...and women never say what they mean..

..in a way, spats with the missus give colour and add that much needed spice to marriages..necessary to let out pent up feelings and emotions..so that later adjustments can be made..often, this coot has been given the silent treatment..and that extra clatter in the kitchen..pretending ignorance does not help..but helpful hints from the children does.. men do not see things like a woman does..and a woman seldom sees things beyond their needs..

..but whatever the cause or causes, everyone has their own way of dealing with it.. whilst an open quarrel in front of the children is a no, no..there are some that chose the privacy of a drive in the family car..which, to me, is also a no, no..for its easy to go out of control..both the car and the quarrel..which could easily ends up with both the marriage and the car in the drain..best to do it in an open field...and a mat spread out..for feuds are known to change into a romantic encounter..all it needs is just a kiss and a hug...

sometimes, I wished wives can be more expressive about their feelings..for husbands need reminding, too..and as this coot approaches senility, every reminder helps..

..i am racist..

..children do not know the difference..

pic from exif photostream at http://www.flickr.com/photos/exif/..thank you exif..
..the caption was exif's.. a teacher from Kluang, Johor..

..I have become more racist these days..and I cannot help being so..5o years onwards from our first general elections..independence and the end of the emergency, the only tune our political masters kept on singing is about the double 'r', race and religion.. old coots like me had been reconditioned to be a little bit racist..my children and, without doubt, my grandchildren, too..

..yes, we have become a dynamic nation..our economic growth is the envy of neighbours..we have our submarines and even dared talk about nuclear energy..

..but along the way, we have lost a lot of things..mostly the ability to laugh at ourselves..we became kiasued in our compartmentalized lives tinged with racism..we dare not laugh at our little differences..afraid that it might hurt misplaced sensitivities..for, indeed, we have become hyper sensitive..to the colour of our skin, and the nature of our customs..we dare not even dare called Tanjong Keling, Tanjong Keling..afraid that it might hurt others sensitivities..shall we now renamed Masjid India, Masjid Malaysia?

..time was I can called an apek, an apek..and he will shouted back, 'hey, melayu' as a rejoinder.. and we thought nothing about it...we cannot make fun anymore of our idiosyncrasies and differences..

..somewhere along the way, we blundered..big time..and I dread thinking the legacy we are leaving our children and grandchildren..they have to make their way out of this mess themselves.. somehow... they have to crawl out of those thick shells that we have cocooned ourselves in..

..stations in life..

..whenever I chanced upon old colleagues or departmental mates of former offices where I once worked, I would, inevitably be asked, 'so..what are you doing now?' ...which will get various response from me.. sometimes I said, hbgm - hayong batu gi mari.. sometimes I said, nothing.. upon learning that I really am doing nothing, except enjoying my twilight years, they were usually surprised..

.. I understood their surprise...for they have seen me with my circle of friends that I usually moved around, then ..mostly successful men in the contracting and business field..but then I was a government officer, and friends were easier to keep.

...but as a government employee, I had never thought of being otherwise..even though there were opportunities..I had not really planned for employment after retirement.. I had then thought that retirement was the cut-off point between work(gainfully employed) and retired(finis..doing nothing..draw monthly pension, ..a slow walk towards the sunset.)

.. Called me stupid, if you must..for, indeed, I was.

.there was, of course, life after retirement..it is just a matter of planning for it, do some adjustments and simply just go for it..age was never a factor..attitude is..but in this oldster's case, I just let it be..not wanting to be anything else except just a retiree..

..and, I think, on most counts, I am ok..not much money, but not much debts either..and sleep is sound..

..whilst not every one is destined to break through the clouds and play among the stars..we all have our station in life.. while others leave their launch-pad and took a trajectory that will take them up high, touching the moon along the way, there are some that remain below the launch-pads..not getting higher than the edge of the grass stalks..and not for want of trying.. or for the lack of will to dream..but that is their stations in life..and if, everyday, we give our thanks to our Maker for our daily bread, accepting His will, His designs, then, I think, God, in His Greatness, will give us His blessings...

...Happy Deepavali...

..grandfathers were once fathers, too..

..when this old coot first became a father, way back in 1975, the joy was euphoric..tending to the firstborn was a shared responsibility..many a nights this oldster woke up to make milk..once, whilst still half-asleep, I had poured hot water onto the milk tin, thoroughly missing the milk-bottle..

..burping the baby was an art in itself, as also getting the temperature of the milk just right..

..but being a father carried with it a lot of responsibilities, I was later to find out, and later to learn..for children grew, sometimes faster than a father can keep up pace with..

..even though bestowed with an almost unlimited power, to make rules and regulations, power alone was not enough to endear..it was then that I discovered in as much as the judicial system of a country must be fair, but also seen to be fair, justice, and meting out justice, in the home is more complicated, especially when dealing with siblings rivalry..a situation aggravated with a mother-in-law lurking in the background somewhere..its to easy to forget that she was adjusting to grandmotherhood as I was to fatherhood..

..but I coped, trying to strike a balance between being too strict and being too relax..not really having a role-model, as I was a posthumous child, I tried reading on the intricacies of parenthood..good for broad outlines, but details, no..so it was more of a learning on the job, the physical and the psychological sides of it..it was trial by error all the way..

..used to the wiles of a woman, this coot is not familiar with the wiles of children..their quicksilver mind, their super-ability to read adults situations, and their endearing and manipulative ways..but, as I said, I coped..and I hoped I had not been too bad a father..

..there are, of course, a few lessons learned along the way..mostly a series of nevers ..paramount amongst them is never to lose your temper with your children..never, full stop...anger removes your sense of judgment..children do not understand uncontrolled anger in fathers..it demeans the status of a father in their eyes..and anger makes you whack your child..which brings me to the second lesson learned...

..never whack your children..it leaves scars, if not physical, then psychological, more often both..a child's memory is long, as a father's regret is just as lingering..

..you know the oft-mentioned Malay adage about crabs teaching its young to walk straight?..true..very true..how was I to stop my sons from smoking, when papito himself reeks with stale smoke..? pollute the bathroom..pollute the hallways and the whole house, including the cars..? and I used to wonder why they grimaced everytime I offered my cheek to be kissed..huh..(Imagine the love that makes a woman put up with this foul-breath man)..

..but now that I am a grandfather life is more in cruise-controlled mode..I tried to keep my peace..I don't poke and I don't pry..I just enjoy and savour the innocence of my grandchildren..but sometimes, I wished they would refer to me...:)

..a matter of aging..

..an English daily provided an interesting read the other day for this geezer.. and a smile, too..( I had a vague suspicion about it all along)...it seems studies showed that women gets grumpier as they grow older..whilst men gets happier..hmm..the common phrase 'grumpy old men' needs a relook..

..and at the age when women has broken every barrier (including sound) and transcends every field(even football fields)..they had happily left their nests to become ceo's and coo's, cooing happily as they went..assailing heights that would make ordinary coots like me dizzy..broke through the final frontier and became astronauts..there's nothing that they cannot do, or be..the most powerful job in the country?..nothing to it..they did it with flair and with sex appeal..causing this old coot to drool..

..so, why aren't they happy as the years pile up?..whilst their opposite number are generally happier as they approach atuk, pakcik, uncle, or grandpa status?..

..just a little bit off..

..a fellow jumaah at the mosque where I usually prayed commented that I looked a bit off.. a little, I said... actually I was depressed..events around disheartened this old coot..

..an image of an infant floating in some backwaters with umbilical cord still attached sent shudders down my spine...a 16year-old lying unconscious after a brawl...and now fighting for his life...these images were enough to break an old man's spirit..and, somehow, at the back of my mind, were kept in constant replay mode..keeping my heart in a tight knot..and my head spinning..

..oh, God, have mercy on these poor souls..

..coupled that with images of whole villages being swallowed and buried piece-meal by avalanches and quakes, leaving behind not a single sign of life or leaf..like ants in shifting sand..reminding yet again how puny and frail we are..but would we remember?...and would we learn a little?...

..pardon me if you see me walking around with a scowl on my face..I just could not smile..pardon me if I looked perpetually dazed and morose...I am struggling in my innards..that I may still have faith in my fellow mankind...

..pictures from my handphone..

..Itek, favorite tom before it drowned..

..daughter Auji with niece, Qistina..

..neighbour's daughter's marriage..

..listening to a briefing..gun license renewal exercise..

..downpour in Bachok town..

..Pak Pong enjoying a nap on favorite master's shoulder, me..

..home sweet home..

..Thompson's Trail..

..recollecting younger times..

..Bachok District Mosque..

..a mother's prayer..

..Ulu La Hot Spring, Terengganu..

..Auji, attempting a pose..

..Pantai Irama, Bachok..

..the above pictures were taken over a time with my dated, ( like me) Sony Ericsson K800i handphone..my children would rather be dead that be seen holding it..but, like this dated oldster, it still has its useful features..and likewise, served its purpose..

..sweet sorrow..

..the rain came early this year in Bachok..the days and nights are cooler..already in his fifth day of fasting for the non-obligatory six days fast in the month of Syawal, the oldster felt relaxed..he had partaken his sahur alone...in the wee hours before dawn..the missus being indisposed after a stint at the hospital a day earlier... a minor operation of the left eye..removal of a growth that threatened..pterygium..

..only the cats, a blind tabby with her surviving two-month old kitten, stirred..as he tried to enjoy the self-prepared hot bowl of canned soup, by dipping bread, he remembered the sahurs of Ramadhan..every member of the family crowding a round table..the unceasing chatter of siblings rivalry..and the clatter of utensils from neighboring kitchens..and houses all lit up..and even at that wee hours, sporadic reports of fireworks..

..traffic in Bachok has thinned out..from whence they came, they had returned..bringing back with them their parents hopes and dreams..as they had traveled back home on a prayer..they had started their returned also on a prayer...with their hearts full of joy, tinged with sweet sorrow, and boots filled with little things hastily packed by grandfathers and mothers, for their grandchildren and children..

..Ramadhan has receded into quiet memory..and with Syawal eleven days along the way, a brand new year awaits..

..as he finished his bowl of soup and recited the doa for tomorrow's fast, he silently prayed..grant me longevity, O Lord, that I may greet Ramadhan's return...

..the magic of raya..

..yes, it was a joyous raya..my children came, along with my grandchildren..nieces and nephews..brothers and sisters-in-law.. and neighbours..

.it was riotous, with the children milling and running, crying and shouting..fighting over raya money...

..there was also a little drama... played out in front of all the children and adults alike, when my second and my sixth daughters, mothers of two children each, kissed and hugged, and cried and patched up, over their almost two month quarrel... over something trivial and forgotten but the hurt remembered..

..yes, for this old man the magic of raya was still there...even at 64..it was, after all, a time to forgive..and for this oldster, seeing my 4 adult daughters and a son from a previous marriage, mingling freely with their other 4 brothers and sister, children from a second marriage, and calling affectionately their stepmother Cik Ani, the joy of raya was complete..

..Praises be to Allah..life has a way of not turning out the way we wanted..but whatever way it turned out, that was what Allah had meant it to be..

..raya ramblings..

..the raya songs is getting to me..

..sometimes, we just do not see things in perspective..God created this universe so vast that it is nigh impossible for man to circumvent it..and He filled it with trillions upon trillions of stars and other mysterious objects that man just cannot keep track of it..and never ceased to wonder over it..

..and somewhere within this vastness is a tiny speck of dust that we called home...earth..the only one we know, and the only one we have..

..yet, we chose to fight over every little thing that we thought is ours..we fought over a lil bit of land, over a lil bit of water..we declare war over a matter of language,.over creed, race and over every petty little thing..sometimes over nothing...we see enemies lurking in every shadow..

..we failed to see that this whole planet earth, this tiny speck of dust, is ours to keep..and it is ours to share, and care...for we are His caliphs..but our time on it is so brief..

..and so, with the end of Ramadhan near...and IdilFitri just around the corner, I am standing to be counted..I am standing before God, in all humility, seeking His forgiveness..for all my failures and sins..for my misdeeds and transgressions..

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

..and before my children..for I am not the best of fathers...and there are times when my ego blinded me to your needs..actions only after bouts of regrets..this old man is standing before you now..please forgive your father his inadequacies..his faults and his wrongs..

..and I stand before my friends..forgive me if I did not turned out to be the friend that I am supposed to be..

..selamat Hari Raya IdilFitri...

..talking excrement..

..once in a while, this old coot made trips to Kota Bharu, which is about 20 kilometers from home in Bachok..ten years ago those trips were a daily affair, and in my Peugeot 405, I covered the distance in 15 minutes, sometimes less...

..now in a Kancil 660, I took 45 minutes to one hour.. at a fair clip of 80 kph..but traffic has quadrupled..and jams in Kubang Kerian are a common feature..more so with the Ramadhan Bazaar near the traffic lights drawing the crowds and aggravated with this peculiar Kelantanese habit of parking their cars as near as possible to where they intend to shop..

..on a trip back with the missus one Friday evening, after getting a week supplies of groceries and knickknacks from Tesco, we were caught in a slow crawl just before the bazaar..we were talking, yet not really talking..a family with three very young children in tow was trying to cross the road..

..suddenly the missus became nostalgic..she remembered her eldest son, Afiq, now 22, when he was three..he was a bit sickly when small..and prone to diarrhea..there was this particularly bad case when he spewed shit all over the house..and the missus remembered how she went through the house with a rag and a pail, collecting shit as she went..

..she chuckled as she told me that as a girl she could never stand excrement of any kind..be it human or animal..she would vomit..hmm..I did not know that..she never told me that before..and the way she handled all the shit from our five children without a shudder, I would never would have thought that possible..

..I looked at this woman whom I married when she was 26 and me at life's beginning 40..after decades of marriage, we are comfortable even talking about shit..

..how come?..I asked..she pondered upon an answer..by now the family with the three kids in tow had safely crossed the road..their son had a fair resemblance of Afiq as a kid..

..oh, I don't know..she said, without looking at me, and without realising it, she spoke for all the mothers when she continued, 'somehow when it is your own life and blood, it doesn't feel like shit'...

..I was silent for a moment..thinking.. ..the measure of a mother's love..unreserved and unconditional..shit and all..

..

..facial mask and Ramadhan Bazaar..

..not having much to do during the Merdeka holidays, I thought perhaps it was the proper time for me to check up on the Ramadhan Bazaar at Beris Kubur Besar, Bachok..I heard there is a young couple there who operates a fish-grill stand..grilling mainly torpedo scads..ikan cencaru..topped with sambal..and they are attracting the crowds daily..seemed that their grilled torpedoes are out of this world..

..it will be crowdy, the missus warned..but I was prepared for that, showing her my newly picked facial-mask..no, it was not the N-series, but good enough..and so, armed with a facial-mask, I left for the bazaar..

.the missus was right, as she usually was..there was nowhere to park and the crowd was bumper-to-bumper..but I waded in..zeroing towards the torpedoes..the smell of grilled fish and smoke and a myriad of other smells overwhelmed..even through my facial-mask..I raised my hand to adjust it.

..and then it hit me...wham! ..I froze in my tracks..scanned the crowd slowly..a gradual pan with my right artificial lense..I was the odd one out..no one was wearing facial-masks..except this old geezer...no wonder that sweet young thing gave me a lingering glance..in a sea of anxious and hungry faces, I was the only Zorro in reverse..what the heck..

..so...what happened?..what happened to the sometimes swine-flu, sometimes H1N1 scare?..I thought the number of deaths were mounting..there was even a suggestion that the government declare a state of emergency..

..I bought my fish and slowly beat a retreat..