Not-So-Hotmail

How come I'm still using up 45% of the 2Mb storage space even after I've cleared the Inbox, emptied the Bulk and took out the Trash? Wonder what's lurking in there. Hot air?

Eat It

Breaking fast in a restaurant sometimes can test your patience to the limit. And because it is Ramadan, you have to continually remind yourself that you are fasting -- just ignore everything around you, sit at your table quietly like a good boy/girl and wait for the azan before sinking your fork into the food.

Patience is often frayed during Ramadan. But one stupid move and all that abstinence from food, drink, cigarette, sex, negative thinking and improper behaviour since dawn comes down to naught; all you get is a growling stomach and more blood pressure. Practise refrain in all areas, so says the preacher.

What bothers me isn't the restaurant food or the waiters. It isn't even the naked navels which seem to be everywhere you turn. (You saw one belly button and you have seen them all, be they plain or pierced.) What makes me mad are people who are not obliged to fast by religion but join the fast-breaking crowd at fast-breaking time. That in itelf should bid well in promoting religious tolerance and racial harmony in a country like ours.

Right. Provided they can wait for a few minutes for the cue to eat together with the rest of us, in that restaurant and scattered all over the country, out of common courtesy and as a mark of respect.

The Good Dr Shariff of Sungai Petani

Dr Shariff is one of the most distinguished citizens here in Sungai Petani. He is the man people look for in this town during the month of Ramadan whenever they cannot or do not fast. He is not a real doctor at all but he is actually a Nasi Kandar seller and his 'prescription' comes in black plastic bags, usually to be taken once in the afternoon together with your favourite drink, also available at his 'clinic'. It works wonders for people afflicted with gastritis whether real or imagined.

To many townsfolks, he is doing a great public service especially to public transport workers, labourers who need to have their lunches due to the nature of their work and of course, to passive office workers who have all sorts of excuses for not fasting. As far as Shariff is concerned, he has a business to run and he needs the money to celebrate Hari Raya (Eid) at the end of the fasting month just like everyone else.

His shop is usually half-opened during Ramadan and people mostly order take-away lunches in those little black plastic bags. However, those in a hurry to get back to work have theirs right there in his restaurant at the risk of being caught and penalised for eating in public. That risky part must have its own appeal towards the making of a great meal as the tables are always full during lunch time.

Shariff's place has been raided by the authorities every year and he has been fined numerous times together with his customers. But they never revoked his licence and he would always be back in brisk business right after the formalities. The raids could not dampen his enterprising spirit, nor could they erase his customers' loyalty.

I remember once during a raid many years back, Shariff's eat-in customers were made to walk in a single file to the police station, carrying their half-finished lunches, through a swelling crowd of Raya shoppers. And Shariff followed close behind with a koleh (large tin mug) full of teh tarik, to join his customers in recording their statements.

The plates were empty by the time the offenders walked out of the station after giving their statements and paying the compounds. They must have finished their lunches while waiting for their turn to face the law as there was no restriction about bringing outside food in police stations. I am not sure if the good doctor walked out with the koleh though. Maybe the police needed that as evidence as well.

The Unkindest Cut

Barbers are the only kind of people in the world who can mess up other people's hair and get away with it. And they get paid for it too. I never liked barbers ever since I was I child. I hated them.

I went for my routine short sides and back yesterday and ended up getting a crew cut instead. I have been patronising this particular barber-shop for about a year because I always came out looking more presentable than the way I went in.

My regular barber was a very fat Indian guy who was very good at his craft. But when I went in yesterday, the fat guy was not there. So I was attended by another barber who was paying more attention on what was happening on TV. It was showing a Discovery documentary at the time and this guy was really more engrossed with where the animals were going in Africa than where his electric clipper is mowing on my head.

I could only cringe in my barber chair when his razor fell on the floor everytime the crocodile snapped at a gazelle or a zebra or some other animal on TV. I had wanted to get out of the chair and tell him to concentrate or yank the TV cable out of the socket. But on second thoughts, you don't normally argue with a guy holding a very sharp razor while you yourself are wrapped in a bedsheet from the neck down.

Luckily I was done before they showed the crocs mating. I paid the guy and left when the male croc was stroking its chosen mate under the neck where "no one has ever touched before" according to the TV commentator. Sheesh! Except for that crazy Australian zoo-keeper, why would anyone want to touch a croc anywhere?

At home later, I looked at myself in the mirror and realised why I hated barbers so much all this while. So I took out my own electric clipper, put on the # 4 attachment and gave myself a crew cut. Maybe I'll wear my hair long in a neat pony tail after this.

My Boss My Buddy

Some well-meaning friends are plotting to uproot me from my current idyllic existence in the village with a couple of 'more meaningful' offers. I don't know the details of their offers yet but I'm a bit apprehensive about working for your own friends. I think the boss-worker relationship tend to erase the friendship built over the years.

When I came back from Kuala Lumpur ten years ago, I worked for a neighbour for a short while. In the village where we grew up together, I used to call him Badet -- short for Abang Det (Abang, because he was much older than me and Det, short for Muhadzir, his real name). In the office, I addressed him as Tuan Haji, a more respectful term used by everybody else because I didn't feel comfortable calling my boss by his village nickname. And I didn't think he was either. That continued after office hours and even after I left the company.

He ended up being my ex-boss; not the Badet I used to play polis sentri with anymore. But he got the better end of the bargain -- I am still a kid he grew up with in the village, I am still his ex-employee and he can still call me Kri forever and ever!

I guess I'd still have to look at the details of their offers and see if I can squeeze in a friendship clause somewhere in there.

Roll Your Own

I belong to the roll-your-own fraternity as I smoke rokok daun ever since coming back to live in the village 10 years ago. Most of the villagers roll their own rokok daun, tufts of black Javanese tobacco rolled in strips of dried nipah shoots. With the recent hike in cigarette prices, many townsfolks are switching to rolling their own too. Rolling your own rokok daun requires patience and skill; expert rollers can do it while driving a car. Both acts are equally bad for your health, I agree.

Last Saturday, I threw away my rokok daun before getting in a taxi. The taxi driver told me that it was alright to smoke in his taxi as he also smoked rokok daun. He has been smoking for 38 of the last 40 years. He stopped smoking for two years on doctor's orders but returned to the habit when he found that he didn't get any healthier. He was an expert roller because he reached out for his tobacco and nipah leaves in his centre console while telling me about all this and started to roll one rokok daun. I was sitting in the front seat so I secured the safety belt, just in case.

How come, I asked. He lighted his rokok daun and continued his story. His appetite improved and had to have four big meals a day. He began to put on a lot of weight and went out of breath easily everytime he tried to do something as simple as taking a walk. He couldn't even wash his taxi without panting for breath. I have heard this kind of weird story before but never a first-person account like this one. I shuddered at the prospect of being helplessly fat and breathless. I took out my tobacco pouch and started to roll my own rokok daun.

I had planned to stop smoking or at least reduce my tobacco consumption beginning this Ramadan. But, now this.

Thoughts to Go

Nothing much to do or say today. My mind wandered off to a farm on the other side of the world where a wise little lady lives with a bunch of assorted animals. She has these gems for us to meditate and contemplate on:

ZEN THOUGHTS

Save the whales. Collect the whole set.
A day without sunshine is like, night.
On the other hand, you have different fingers.
I just got lost in thought. It was unfamiliar territory.
42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.
I feel like I'm diagonally parked in a parallel universe.
He who laughs last thinks slowest.
Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
Support bacteria. They're the only culture some people have.
Monday is an awful way to spend 1/7 of your week.
A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.
Get a new car for your spouse. It'll be a great trade!
Plan to be spontaneous tomorrow.
If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments.
If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.
When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.
Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.
Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.
I used to have an open mind but my brains kept falling out.
I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.
Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what the hell happened.

Mucho gracias, Magz. I'd say, "Ouch!" to the last one and I have this to add:
You know you're old when your classmates are so wrinkled and bald, they don't recognize you. Hope everyone had a great weekend.