Inching

2009-07-16T11:03:00.006+08:00

Been away for a long, extended period, that Aimie Sophie is now not so little anymore.

The cogwheels need oiling.. but may be it is better this way.
I'm on Facebook, but that is another story

love

CB

++ ... 7 hours after this entry, she (Aimie Sophie) started her first crawl. Phew what a Beta-crawler... and the cogwheels are officially, OILED. Thanks D

2008-12-22T10:01:00.006+08:00

PICTURES: NEW INCLUSIONS TO THE COUNT'S CLAN

1. AIMIE SOPHIE AMMAR

2. BRUCE AMEER ALVIN WALLACE

2008-10-15T11:07:00.005+08:00

The Beh of Datuk Lat (pun intended)

Remember Kampung Boy?

I took to the highway first-time after the Hari Raya. A friend was grieving over his Dad's passing. I simply had to console him, knowing how sad I was letting go of my Mom. The guilt feelings that one had not done the best, yet there were circumstances beyond your control.

I had to recall the great times I had with mom, and be grateful for the 'ingenuity' I created. When Mom was alive, many years ago, it dawned upon me that my phone call brought her endless joy. So I said to myself, a call I can pay for, but my mom's voice is one I cannot buy.

So I set on this love-affair with my mom. I called her on the phone almost everyday. Someone asked me "what did you speak to your Mom about?. I can hardly hold a conversation without going blank on what else to say".

So I recommended him the book "What do you say after you had said Hello". Know what? I bought that book but had not read it.

So what did I speak to my mom that requires the soap sequel on the following day, and the next, and.. Simple. I listened to her, much of the time. I could hear her enthusiasm. When I heard her happiness, i would add in re-cycled moments about happiness I shared with her. Sometimes just about her food, her hair, her temperature, her breakfast, her dinner, her feet, her sarong (it is ok to jaga tepi kain sarong Mek, as we called her).

To add enthusiasm to the call, I egged my sons, and daughters to speak to nenek too, one after the other.

On another day, I would ask my children to call nenek first, just to let her know that they appreciated her and missed her voice, and not just because their dad passed the phone over to them.

I went to console my friend. To let him know that whatever had happened, we cannot unravel time. We just have to move on. Just think about the good deeds he had made and gladdened his dad. He will soon be fine. But most importantly, he, being a son, need to keep doing good deeds and do some in his dad's name, for the deeds of his dad ended the day he was brought to the grave, but the ajr accruing from his sons and daughters who make doa for him will perpetuate for as long as the children remember to perform these duties.

The highway would lead me to his kampung. I was trailing a van with a familiar caption written on the back, together with the phone numbers to call. Ahhh.. Datuk Lat had resorted to advertising his comics on this van, thought I.

As I got closer the caption became clearer, and it read "Kambing Boy". Kami sedia membekalkan susu kambing dan daging kambing.

Behhhhhh...

.

2008-10-09T07:29:00.002+08:00

Born Again in Paris

I am no Mormon yet I feel sooo born again, after the Raya.

Paris? No lah, it is Pagheet.. Bote kiri, Bote kanan where Doc Shahe resides. But we did weave through the many Parits on our way Balik Kampung; each tells a story well preserved.

When we hit Parit Pinang Seribu, the kampung of our bro-in-law, we felt for an elderly lady there, who smiled at us a few kilometers before our shadows hit the kampung. She is a lady of courage. She still flashes her best smile even after 1000 times failed proposal. If you'd like to make her a proposal, please make sure you do not disappoint her this time, cos we will be very disappointed. Very.

We'll be coming after your throat, cos we're reluctant to change the name to Parit Pinang Seribusatu.

Then there was Parit Jawa. Need I elaborate?

Parit Sakai is nice. Really nice. It is one of the most developed, landscaped with a Taman Teknologi in mind, and a masterpiece for the engineering feats achieved by the pakciks, mak ciks, waks, mak itams, pak utihs of yore. They had produced the engines of development, for the world consumption. Have you not seen their bull-dozers, tractors, and the latest gallant crane, boldly emblazoned "SAKAI"?

Parit Korma, Parit Sulong, Parit Temu Jodoh ( that's where CB met CsB..), Parit Setongkat (or was it Setongkol?) but you wont blame this old soul for having his favourite haunt (get the drift?). Takut nak sebut.. yes, you guess right, Parit Syetan. It is apparently very underpopulated, in fact no one is seen going about in the day time. But you should be there malam raya... grrrrr... the H*-Rayas in all fineries come out to play fire flower (bunga api) but dont you stare into their faces. You'll be very disappointed, cos you are not going to see any.

But why Born Again?

Of late, after raya, CB felt like re-living his childhood. Coming home from the mesjid after Subuh, with CsB in tow, he would pore over the parit (monsoon drain outside his gate); fish-net in hand, a clean bowl of water in the other. CB turns fisherman. He is now having nearly an hour of fun every morning scooping the 'fishlets' and guppies from his parit, to have countless hours of fun watching these tranquil souls swim about in his bird-bath. Come join CB lah.

And if you happen to see a 53 year old aparition, in the failing light of dawn, poring over your drain, a fish-net in one hand, and a bowl of clean water in the other.. do not run away. Just slowly come close, and say Hi CB. Guess what?

That thing is not CB. Now it is time for you to run and shriekkkkkk at the same time....

Selamat Hari Raya, Maaf Zahir Batin

2008-09-30T08:31:00.009+08:00

Samak Meshwe and the Aroma... Eid Mubarak

I cooked for my Arab friends. They cooked samak meshwe the other day for me.
The difference is I used Malaysian spices and herbs, and they used olive oil and butter, and cheese, lots. Normally my friends would all congregate to the kitchen and waited with anticipation, drooling, and dripping, while I cooked.

This time.. the house was so very quiet, extremely quiet.

Esam shouted from the living room...
"Mohamed!! What have you done to your socks!!!!"

"Why? What's wrong?"

"I am going to throw them stinking stuff. I am. And I'm going to do it right now!!!!"

"Heyyy.. it is not my socks you are smelling, you skunk. It is the belachan* I am using in my cooking"

"What's Belachan?"

"It is prawn-paste that brings out the best in Malay cooking, especially sent by my mom. You!!!!"

"Ohhh my God! Why didn't you say so right from the beginning? It wouldn't have smelt SO bad should I know it is in your cooking, and NOT coming from your socks you Malay!!!"

I laughed my ass* off

And still laffing

The closing of Ramadhan brings back lovely memories I had with Essam and the gang. We jested, we quarreled, we fought; but most of all we loved each other to the core.

Here's wishing a very special Eid Mubarak to my readers, and to Esam Bahr, Abu Gasim, Mostafa(5 different faces, 5 different Mos), another Esam (A. Gader), Ahmad B, Sami B., Naguib, Enver K, Anwar Suleman, M Al-Warady, A. Al-Abbasi, Tahsin Zonguldak, Ibrahim Cevik, Ramadhan Taseltein, K. Beroglou, Zubee K, Abu Abd Salam, Khaled Ireland (F Whitbread), Zuher, Slimane Debbar and his twin, Youseff Guelma, M Guidom, Ismael Batna, and the many more who will storm in any minute now "HOW COULD YOU FORGET ME, MOHAMED?? HOW DARE YOU!!!! "

Please do forgive me

.

2008-09-25T09:40:00.011+08:00

What Atar-Rude Awakening!

4 Nelson Place West looked very decent from outside. In fact the buildings are shaped in a crescent. Not as glamorous as the prime residence, THE Crescent, but, not bad either. Tony, the almost handsome 30 something from Manchester, lived in the next block with a shabby black coolie. Some days, it looked less shabby than Tony did. But Ton was a great lad who repaired cars. He'd go underneath the wreck and spent hours spreadeagled. Perhaps he'd resigned to life without his parents, who disowned him at 18.

It was a funny idea when I first heard about it in 1973, in Bournemouth. A couple charged their son rental for lodging with them when he reached 18.
Absurd!
Unheard of!
Un-think of!
But that was true.

Ton lived in the next block. In our block lived Ahmad B, Naguib A, Hamed E, Enver K, Osama T, yours truly, and a British family on the first floor. I cannot remember who lived in the basement flat. Collectively, the ladies and would-be's were Mirvat, Houda, Latifah, Enees, Nouha, Esma, and our Sameerah. The would-be men were Abdullah, Ammar, Khaled and their Omer. And that was quite overpopulated by any standard.

Mr Polish Wally would be wallied if he was reported to the authority for having these blooming third world population in his flats, but who would? Who could? To get one of those flats one had to join the queue of married students who could not get an accommodation on the campus, where the waiting could be for as long as a year if not two! (or even three)

I could not complain even when the stairways was dilapidated. One could almost touch the walls and be sure that you could do hand painting straight after. The air was almost musty and I would always hurry into the sanctity of our flat, to catch my breath. Ahhh fresh air would sell in that stairway, Mr Wally.

On a clear summer day when the sun shines beautifully one may be tempted to picnic on the verdant grass only to be disappointed by the many 'kuehs' left behind by such as Tony's coolie. This ONCE only exploration would never bring you to touchbase with the grass again. So Tony and his many friends *shhh, the flower children*, who made a lot of noise into the night, and their canines had the whole field to themselves. Sometimes they played frisbee, sometimes they just layed sunbathing; among the kuehs.

When summer was over, our patience was rewarded. We moved into a new home in the city: 18 Claverton Buildings, Widcombe, where the Kennet and Avon canal joins the River Avon, just minutes away from the bustle of Bath city centre. The previous tenant had completed his PhD and left for his home-country. Ahhh what a bliss indeed. From our living room we could see people leisurely walking along the banks of the River Avon which would see them to the famous Pulteney Bridge over the cascading, dreamy and misty weir. Alternatively, a stroll alongside the banks of the canal would lead to the picturesque Sydney Gardens and the splendid countryside beyond. At night, the prized view came in the form of illumination from The Bath Hotel, candle-lit tables, and warm soft lighting reflected symmetrically inverted on the tranquil surface of the lake.

I left the cob-webbed stairways of Mr Wally's property to the expanse of the magical vista of Mr Coombes' Claverton Building. I left the treasure-hunted field (for kuehs) of Nelson Place to the romantic walks among weeping willows, smelling fresh air on River Avon, admiring the intriguing water-keys that lets a boat float down-stream on the idyllic Kennet and Avon canal.

I navigated the now forming back-row to find me a place in the much coveted front row, the ultimate saff. I was enjoying the view, the expanse of the open space in-front of the congregation, when a whiff of cheap atar jolted me from my journey across the undulating city scape, and the unfurling best sights Bath could offer to the refreshingly, tranquil subuh congregation at the Tan Sri Ainudin Wahid's Mosque in Taman University .

The Imam said the takbirat in his best voice, and I duly followed.

Ahh would that my place in the grave, be vast, and pleasing to the eyes, like a piece of the garden of Jannah. At least it is with the view like from Claverton Bldg and not from Nelson Place West.

2008-09-15T00:38:00.002+08:00

There Goes My Only Possession

As I shuffled to straighten the first row I was in, I thought of my Mom. She has left this world and is only able to be directly related to me now through the doa's and my good deeds. When 'anak Adam' leaves this world, she is cut off from it except through 4 channels. And one of these channels is the possession she left behind in the form of 'anak yang soleh yang mendoakannya'.

Autumn set in early in Bournemouth.
The resplendent colour that seared through The North Park was remarkably scintillating.
The companionship of park-football cotton-balled into a sweet memory to bring with me to bleak Manchester.Listening to 10cc on the air-wave doing 'I'm not in Love' was poignant.
We boys hugged each other, oblivious to the gazing eyes [ the more they gazed, the more we hugged each other, haw haw haw *smile*]

The last of the summer-school students left for their home in the Continent.Bournemouth was prepared for the coming forlorn winter..The only warmth I could look forward to was my meagre possession which i must cart off to Manchester.
yes.. it could be very lonely.. now I must admit.
As my memory turned back the pages, I could see the happy years I'd had before.
And now, there goes one of my dreams. There goes my only possession. There goes my everything.
Sigh.. if I cannot function to specification (as anak yang soleh), there goes my mom's only possession.
There goes her everything too.

I sobered soon enough when the Imam said his Takbir for the solat subuh.

2008-09-08T14:01:00.007+08:00

Anyone For a Papaya?

At 10.06 am on a Saturday, the third day of Ramadhan, this my dad had to say:

"Mmm.. anyone for a Papaya??"

[Hello! This is Ramadhan, and your son my dear was already 10!]

And with a sheepish grin he'd dangle the juicy papaya, eyes smiling (my 6th too is endowed with smiling eyes). Along with papaya came Pisang Bunga ( pisang embun, i believe). He couldn't bear to watch us went through with the puasa *S*; funny but true. My dad was a very pious man by any standard, but he succumbed to pitying his children ( I translate that to 'loving' his children).

Needless to say, we took that as a command to break our fast. Hishhh.. don't let my kids read this.

On the other end of the scale, Countess was trained early, since she was a toddler, to fast. Everybody in her mom's household did that. And they pass down this tradition, religiously. One day I chanced upon a nephew eating, and drinking, but in front of his regimental mom&dad, he was fasting, and happily sat at the dinner table, looking tired (*) at 7.19 pm.

And needless to say, Abdullah was induced into fasting early (yes, we did have our arguments of when to start..but CB gave in). The beauty of Abdullah's fasting was that his mom impressed upon him very early what the great qualities of good Muslims are, and fasting is one such.

When Tim Graham of the Tyning, Widcombe, wanted to bring Abdullah along with his son, George (Pidge) to watch Cuty Sark that came to birth in London, he wrote us a letter asking for permission that Abdullah could break his fast, so they could all enjoy the outing. We relented of course. And even if Tim had not been so kind and understanding, Abang had the facility of a musafir, thus breaking of fast was a matter of choice.

2008-09-04T12:54:00.006+08:00

Not Even a 10-seater Table

Time stood still for many days.

Now there is movement, albeit slow and sluggish. And it was in this blessed month of Ramadhan that I met great personalities, here in the blogsphere. Ramadhan Kareem to you great friends.

This year's Ramadhan is taking shape, but the colours are waning. Perhaps it is natural to have less people around as the year marches on.. i'm sure it is natural .. but, pardon me, I can't help the tinge of sadness welling up inside me now.

Normally the dining table was abuzz at iftar. Hands criss-crossing reaching, and sometimes fighting for delectable savouries. A few had to give in, and sit at the satellite-table; not a glamorous destination for sure. Normally Adik, ARahman and Eha, sometimes Huda had to do it when the population swells. It was not a very happy compromise, but they never complained, and I thought it was natural for the younger ones to yield.

Only this year that I got the tail-end of the typhoon; they did mind. Though Dad could not decipher the 'resentment', their mom had to bear it all.

This year we opt for a 10 seater dining table, keeping the satellite for a rainy day. Oh yes, everybody was beaming and lots of past stories of pent-up 'frustration' surfaced.

"I was always satellite-d"

"Why do I always have to be away from mom and dad, and granny? Why cant the elder siblings too, take the satellite?"

Yes.. why cant they? Funny I never thought of them resenting. In front of Dad, everything seems calm and sweet. Underneath... only mommies could discern.

And the sweet thing about this banter is that they are able to enjoy venting out their 'frustrations' and laugh together at their predicament.

And.. this year.. the table is a quarter occupied, not even half. No one could blame me for this forlorn mood. Not even a 10-seater table could bring back time.

I must get used to this population thinning. And that I will spend more hours with le Countess, just the two of us..

And it can get really lonely

2008-08-24T00:30:00.002+08:00

The Afterglow

I sat and watched the bright lights of wonder.. Never knowing the pain. To be basked in the glow, of missing you so..

But, my small town woman.. I'll be coming home to bring you the promise.. that I'll never leave you again..

Bersemadilah dikau dengan aman dan tenteram di sana, duhai jiwa yang tenang.

The aftermath:

And what a mess, I mean mega mess we found ourselves in. A scene that would befit a mammoth scale volcano spew.

When the last person that came left, the cleaning up, the mopping, the rearrangement, the sorting, the cleaning, the grimes, the scrubs, the mental fatigue, the ebbing tide, the anguish..yes that too.. they all percolate into a mega energy drainage ( nothing to do with TNB and the JKR ), just my family and I, against time and space.

A new day will dawn

Surely

2008-08-22T10:13:00.002+08:00

Losing the Dearest is Sad (to say the least)

Losing my dearest is sad. It is even sadder when I realised I should have done more than I did. It was like you were time-wrapped, warped, and wrought. Every part of your core was wrung to the last drop. Faces moved past, but none registered on your wake. A cyclone could not have wreaked more havoc to your emotion. Your flashbacks are mostly in black and white. Colour seemed to fail.

And here I am... won't u send me an angel

Here I am.. in the land of the morning star

And still reeling from it all.

2008-06-07T13:15:00.002+08:00

Moving House

Moving house lets you have a new address.
Moving house is oh so back-breaking.
Moving house is moving all your life in suitcases and more.
Moving house is moving all that you've got, dust and all.
Moving house... u've got to do it alone.
Sighhhhh...

Just like moving to the abode, 6 feet under.
No friends could accompany you there,
Even if they wish to (as if any would?!!!) Ha ha

What a reminder it really is.

What a blessing too.

And still reeling from the exodus
Things, things, bric-a-brac, and dusts
Lot of dusts
And you gain some too..

A breaking, creaking, BACK

2008-05-11T14:13:00.007+08:00

Le' Count circa 1971

Was I nervous?
Was I scared?
Or was I looking forward to it?

1971, and the legend was etched in copper. * Mind, we did copper tooling the year before.*

I was selected to perform in the Operetta. The shy but strong-minded kampung-lad who only knew that 'count' was what you do, going through the numerals, 1,2,3... and skipped a few when the teacher's attention waned, 100, 101.. It didn't occur to me then, that I was to be made a distant cousin of the blood-thirsty, fanged not-so-bad-looking (when he was not smiling) Count Drac grrr..

And the dashing, young, red-cheeked *blush, blush* Count Byron was born.

Yooooo... jambu hang!
Ghoper macam Omputeh
Aduhh misei hang.. Meh aku nak pegang!
He he..
*cut, snip, take 3*

What was my line? My only line.. *laugh*
It eludes me
But the whole song.. about Princess Amagida being brought up by the Gypsy Queen, under the auspices of Shandor, the Mighty.. I do remember, your honour
Every single verse!
Such is selective memory

egg me, and I'll sing
..ahhh that reminds me of Simon and Garfunkel..
that ask me and i'll sing bit.. sighh

yours truly
CB

2008-05-06T16:59:00.007+08:00

And the Smiles Linger

Dad is still here..
Waiting for the day he'd see those happy eyes again
The crisp laughter that fills the living room
The merry-making that had seen the good days
But for now he is contented by just
Wallowing in the silent memory
For the smiles linger, long after you are gone.

And the smiles linger, on and on.. and on...

2008-05-05T16:35:00.007+08:00

The Shadow of Your Smile

And when darkness descends
Memories of yesteryears prances
This dad then looks for his solace
In the shadow her smile traces

Dad always misses his girls..
Deep in this heart, you are always here, smiling

2008-04-30T10:43:00.002+08:00

Soft Opening..

Assalamualaikum

How is everyone keeping?
I must have missed a lot of goings on..
Thank you for the kind messages
I appreciate them all
CB

2008-02-25T07:03:00.003+08:00

Salam to all
I have been undercolour for a while
Will try new format
Miss all friends made here
Count