Category: Daily Whatevers

As a 10-year old boy 30 years ago, I used to walk from my house (official residence of the IGP) at Jalan Perdana to the National Mosque for the weekly Friday prayers and Terawih prayers in the month of Ramadhan. I would do that for the three years before I went of to the Malay College in Kuala Kangsar. If my memory serves me right, the last Terawih prayers I did there was back in 1987, Friday prayers a year later.

I went there again last night for Terawih prayers. There was only one full line of people praying, unlike those days when you can get at least three. It does not mean that people are less religious, it just shows that there are alternatives to the National Mosque. 30 years ago you will not have another mosque nearby save for the Masjid Jamek some 2 kilometers away. Those days, the National Mosque’s staff quarters was nearby; the Police Officers’ Mess at Jalan Perdana (Venning Road Mess – now the Police Museum) was occupied by police officers and men; where the National Planetarium now stands, there were government quarters; there was a police barracks at my neighbour’s house (the Prime Minister’s official residence: Seri Taman) and the staff quarters co-located there; the Travers Road Police Station still had its barracks and quarters; where the Bird Park’s car park is now, there were quarters for the officers of the Prime Minister’s Department. Oh, of course there still is the Royal Malaysian Police Headquarters at Jalan Bukit Aman (Bluff Road). Then there were the railway workers from the old KL Railway Station, and the police’s Guards and Escorts division, that was quartered there too.

So all these people, myself included, would converge onto the National Mosque. It was so lively. The crowd more enthusiastic and so on, that I would look forward to going for my Terawih prayers every night. The atmosphere, pleasant. After prayers, I would just hang around at the mosque a bit longer, staring at the red neon sign of Aji No Moto flickering above the Klang Bus Stand.

Now, most KLites would prefer the sparkling and relatively new Federal Territory Mosque along Jalan Duta, air-conditioned and all. The nearby quarters are no longer there, including my house which has now become part of the Tun Razak Memorial of the National Archives Department. The police has its own mosque within the compounds of the RMP HQ at Bukit Aman.

It was sad to see less-enthusiastic crowd, but nevertheless, I was happy to see that people actually go to the National Mosque still…for Terawih prayers. If I live long enough to be able to see Ramadhan again next year, I would certainly do my Terawih prayers there at least once.

As I was driving back from Klang, I looked at my daughter Nisaa and remembered how she loves playing with dolls. Only to poke at the doll’s eyes and gouge them out. She reminds me of myself when I was 5 years old or so. I had a second-cousin on my mother’s side: Elly. She was about a year or two my junior in age and she lived in Kuantan, Pahang. She used to bring her doll along to the hotel where we were staying (somewhere around the riverside area) and me being me, would gouge the eyes of her doll out, dismember the limbs and so on.

Then I looked at Nisaa’s curly hair and that reminded me of my cousin Zarina, also on my mother’s side. She was about three years my senior, and when I was in the Malay College in Kuala Kangsar, she was at the Tuanku Jaafar College in Seremban. We’d write to each other as we did not have the luxury of E-mail then. Zarina got leukemia when she was 17. It was difficult to see her in pain then. She passed away a month short of her 19th birthday. When the doctor told her parents that there was no hope, they took her back to my maternal grandparents’ home in Pahang, where she spent the last few days of her life. The last I saw her alive, she behaved like a little child, pointing at us with her fingers like she was holding a gun and firing at us, smiling. I was told the morning before she passed away, it was like she had revived her strength. She actually got on her feet and laid her head on her mother’s lap, gently touching her mother’s face and said, “I can see Superman. Lots of them flying above me.” Her father replied, “Those are angels, waiting for you.” She smiled, kissed her mother’s hand, closed her eyes, shed one tear, and was gone. When I saw her face before the burial, she was smiling. That was in December of 1982.

Elly died a little over a year later..also of leukemia. I was in England then, back in early 1984. The news came as a shock even knowing she was suffering from her illness.

In May of 1983, I was in a swimming competition and had won my first gold medal when I saw the Officer in-charge of Police District (OCPD) of Kuala Kangsar by the pool. He came up to me and said, “I’m sorry you have to pack up now. Your father wants you back in Teluk Intan. Your grandmother just passed away.” Apparently, my paternal grandmother was watching TV and Datuk M Daud Kilau was on. She told my aunt how she loved his music, then went into the room, laid down and sneezed. So my aunt applied some Vicks on her nose. She took a deep breath and was gone. That was the only time I saw my father crying: only one tear.

Two months before leaving for Russia and the North Pole, I went back to my maternal grandparents’ place for Hari Raya. My grandfather was involved in an accident two weeks earlier when, while driving back from the mosque, pressed the accelerator pedal instead of the brake pedal…and crashed into a tree. So back to that night, I heard him get up at 3am, taking his ablution. So I got up and told him it was only 3am and way too early for the dawn prayer. So I made some soft-boiled eggs for us and he made us coffee. Thinking I may not return from the North Pole alive, I reminisced about how he taught me how to eat soft-boiled eggs with ketchup and dunk bread in the mix when I was 7 years old. My grandmother got up and babbled about the racket the two of us were making and joined us for this unearthly-hour breakfast. Little did I know my grandfather’s mental alarm clock was being disrupted by this very slow haemorrhage in the brain that was also killing him slowly. Two weeks later, as I was busy with my training, he passed away at the Neurological Ward of the KL Hospital. Three months later, after I returned from the North Pole, my grandmother, after being given a clean bill of health just months earlier, was told she was having full-blown cancer of the colon. Three months later, she too was gone…and I attribute her condition to her missing my grandfather terribly.

So you don’t know who’s here today and gone tomorrow. When you see them, your family and friends, make the most of your time with them.

Malaysians, especially the Muslims, will be celebrating the Aidil Fitri in 13 days time. How time flies. And I can still remember the first day of fasting for this year. Hari Raya (literally ‘Big Day’) is a day for seeking forgiveness and to forgive others. 1971’s Hari Raya is the farthest that I can remember..even so, vaguely. What I remember most were the greeting cards that were hung from this tree inside the house (I was living at No.9 Jalan Bukit Peringgit in Melaka then) that made Hari Raya looked more like Christmas then.

Between 1973-1975, when my father was the Chief Police Officer of Selangor, then Director of Special Branch, then Deputy Inspector-General of Police, I remember that little square of grass in front of our Section 16 home in Petaling Jaya being covered by raised platforms, and covered with dixon huts. I also remember playing sparklers and almost got burnt when the right sleeve of my Baju Melayu caught fire as I was lighting up the sparkler.

1976 was a fun year. It was the “Six-Million Dollar Man” year. We kids played sparklers and fireworks (yes, thanks to Uncle (Datuk) Zaman Khan, who brought them to the house) and were running in “slow-motion”, imitating Steve Austin‘s supposed really-fast runs around the field at my house (now part of the Tun Abdul Razak Memorial at Jalan Perdana near the Lake Gardens).

1977, fasting month was a little quiet, but I learnt the Terawih prayers and walked every night to the National Mosque. Those days the road was dark, and Pusat Islam was still a Christian cemetery. Hey, motorcyclists used to get chased by a Pontianak in that area. Why was it a little quiet? My father was hospitalised for heart attack. He was 38 then. Two years younger than I am now.

1975 through 1978, what I enjoyed most about Hari Raya was going to the Prime Minister’s house..which was next door. My friend, Nazir would ask me to beat the queue and get some angpow from his father, the late Tun Abdul Razak bin Hussein, Malaysia’s second Prime Minister. Then after he moved out following his father’s death in January 1976, his cousin, also our classmate, Haris, would ask me to do the same to his father, then Dato’ (Tun) Hussein Onn, the third Prime Minister.

That’s not the best yet. The best was, getting RM100.00 from Dr Sheikh Hamad al-Shubaili, the Saudi Arabian ambassador at the PM’s house, then again when he pops into my house next door. So RM200.00 from him alone. A hot-dog was 50 sen and a bottle of Coca Cola was 70-sen those days. Imagine what RM200.00 could buy you then.

Then 1979 through 1981, I had a crush for my friend’s younger sister, and Hari Raya was all about her. I would look forward to my annual train trip back to KL from Kuala Kangsar and wait anxiously for the first day of Hari Raya when her father would take her to our house. 1982 and 1983, I spent almost every night of my college’s fasting period with my soulmate in Kuala Kangsar.

1984, my college classmate, Mohd Arif Ibrahim (now a pilot with Malaysia Airlines), came over to spend Hari Raya with us…not that England celebrates Hari Raya. The funny thing was when I met him at Victoria Station as he arrived from Brussels, the first thing we did was to go break our fast (it was summer so breaking of the fast was around 10pm, while commencement of fast was at 2am) at this famous Kebab joint near Picaddilly Circus. Why there? Two reasons: (1) It was mid-way between Victoria and Euston stations, the latter to get to my place, and, (2) we went to a strip joint after breaking of the fast at Soho.

1985, I had an open house for my friends at home. It was funny seeing mat sallehs trying to chew the lidi of the satay after consuming the meat.

1987, I was already in uniform when Hari Raya came, and we celebrated that year’s Hari Raya at our Section 16 house.

Those were the Hari Raya years of my life. After those years, Hari Raya got too commercialised and has lost its character…so much so that I now spend Hari Raya eating after the morning Hari Raya prayers, then sleep it off until late in the evening.

Now…how much is Selangor’s rate for Fitrah this year? RM4.70 per person? I better find time to pay RM42.30 at the mosque this week.

Yeah…time to go back there

Refer to: Major Problem

Today is Mocha‘s birthday.

We are all still waiting for him to spend us for his promotion. Now he has another problem to add to his Major Problem: he has to spend us all for his birthday too…so two separate makan sessions.

That’s what friends are for, bro. Hahaha! For you to spend on!

This is Metalized, another guy in the Malaysian Army who also happens to be a friend of Mocha.

He has an interesting blog now discussing about mainland Chinese girls. Haha.

His blog has been linked to the frame on the right.

My sister, Fauziah, will be going off to Osaka on the 6th of this month for the Asian Music Festival and she’ll be competing and singing a few songs until the 9th. So sometime after that, she and a friend and I will be breaking fast together since we haven’t met for a couple of months as she had been busy promoting her latest album.

Good luck, sis. Good 2-hour chat last night. Or was it early this morning?