Masa (Time)

Masa,
kau sentuhi diri ku ini....
Bersama perginya satu kesayangan
Masa,
kau gerakkan hati ini
Merenungi dunia yang kita lewati
Mencari sesuatu erti....

Akan ku lafazkan doa di pusara
Akan ku sujud seribu kesyukuran
pada Yang Maha Esa
kerna engkau milik Nya
dan aku juga serupa....

Masa,
menemani usia tua kita
Mengenali kehidupan yang di cari-cari
untuk hari nanti....


Goodbye 2008. It was a great and fulfilling year.

See video : http://youtu.be/L1satwsjdnU

Poland - A brief recollection

I recently found a 28 page article I wrote in January 1992 about my stay in Poland then which was almost completing its 4th year. Poland had been released from the clutch of communism since the collapse of the Iron Curtain just over a year before. But things were not easy, it was almost as if democracy was turning into anarchy as so many social and economic problems paralysed the country. I felt personally affected by it all; I had overstayed my tenure and wanted badly to leave that burdensome country.

Below is an excerpt of what I wrote, the first few paragraphs of the long article.

I finally left Poland in July 1992, six months after I wrote the article. I am pleased to say that my view of Poland is today more gentle and sentimental, and I still maintain contacts with a few dear friends there. Poland is now probably the most successful of the former Eastern Bloc countries and of the new members of the EU. Still, strange as it seems, I have no desire at all to re-visit that country which hosted me through thick and thin for four years and four months!

" I saw a most beautiful twilight yesterday at the end of a rare cloudless and blue-skied, sunny winter day. The skyline of Warsaw glowed brilliantly like burning amber the colour of an unbroken golden egg yolk. It was a pleasant indication that the day was getting longer for the colourful light lingered past 5 pm.

I had not seen such a beautiful twilight. Not since that fantastic kaleidoscope of sunset colours I saw from the balcony of my hotel room in the Greek Island of Hydra on the April (1985) day of my arrival there for an Easter holiday. Nor since that serene melancholic sunset seen from the garden terrace of Mount Lavinia Hotel outside Colombo where I stayed during a holiday in Sri Lanka many years ago (1978).

In Europe twilight is supposed to be long and lingering but not so in Poland , so yesterday’s was quite exceptional. Alas today it is back to bleak, grey and wet albeit not so cold weather.

It is still very much winter now and how endless it seems. Yet it is a mild winter, nothing to suffer about except for the astronomical increase in heating and gas prices. I have long lost my purchasing power with my poor meagre allowance which had not been revised despite Poland's current 4-digit inflation, while the spiralling costs of goods, services and utilities continue like one long endless nightmare.

Four mild winters in Poland . How do I began to describe my life here these last four years – to love or to hate, to forgive or to grudge? Sweet uncertain beginnings that turned into excitement and then monotony and finally frustration. Like some marital relations perhaps?

And yet as I look forward to the day I am finally salvaged from these difficult days of merely existing from day to day, trying to fill up the hours with modest occupations and lethargic interests, aside from performing the duties required of my presence here, I look back too to a myriad of happy and not so happy experiences, the accumulation and widening of knowledge and the ongoing process of being experienced, wiser and worldly. These last years had been extremely rich with important happenings that had changes the course of world history and I have been most fortunate to be right in the middle of where it was all happening.

Has it all touched my life? Not so directly, for I am but a tiny speck in the massive cloud of humanity here. The dramas, in reality at base, unfolded less dramatically and without the over-exaggeration made out by the world medias. Sometimes events even happened without one realising them as one goes about the daily routine of life, only to be shocked later into the realisation that something had actually happened which would trigger ripples of subsequent events. It is not apathy but just that outsider see more into a situation the insiders themselves.

I have been asked so often “do I like Poland ?”. If truth must be known and honesty to prevail my answer at the moment is “no”. It is a sad acknowledgement for despite this, my life had been enriched further by the mere coincidence of me having spent the last few years here. There are many things I like and admire about Poland , many things I have acquired from it. But the inconveniences and frustrations of living here outweigh them all. Just when you learn to like, appreciate or love something, something else negative, simple as it may be, occurs which blank out whatever positive feeling which is growing inside you.

My coming of age perhaps have to do with the uncomfortable relationship between me and Poland and its people. I feel I have come to a stage in my life and my career where I do not wish to have to compromise too much and basically this is the problem. To live in Poland and to interact with its people means to make many compromises and to tolerate or else one simply cannot survive. In this respect I feel I have done well, though God only knows and only time will tell if the frustrations and anger I sometimes kept bottled-up will eventually explode or have a profound negative effect on me in..."

Christmas eve & the sound of silence

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain,
still remains,
within the sound of silence.....

One of the things I like best about being here is the peace and quiet - the sheer silence of the ambiance. I do hear a car pass by from time to time if one of my windows are open. In summer, I hear more sound; my neighbour's four red-headed girls enjoying the pool, sometimes a lawnmower, and more often planes nearing landing or taking off at a domestic airport some kilometres away. On weekends there would be more noises as hobby pilots and private jets took to the air. Still, on the whole my neighbourhood is extremely quiet and I love it.

It's Christmas eve and it deliciously silent and tranquil. My two boys have gone out to see Christmas lights in the city. My seven guests left for home yesterday after a week's busy and noisy stay. And I am all alone again, naturally (as in the Gilbert O'Sullivan song)!

It's my third Christmas here. On my first year's Christmas I was on my way home by car with Yocki after a few days in Prague visiting a colleague who had just had a massive heart attack and needed a heart transplant (he's well and healthy today, with a new and younger heart, Alhamdullilah) with two nights stop in Vienna. It was a beautiful dry, moonlight night and what lovely sights as we passed cities after cities beautifully lighted with Christmas decorations.

On Christmas eve last year I was in Marrakesh, Morocco and there was not much sign of Christmas celebration though the hotel I stayed in prepared a supposedly Christmas buffet!

Tonight I am happy to just be home, alone in this beautiful silence. There is nothing on TV I want to watch, I may listen to a cd later. And I have just opened a 1 kg box of hand-made chocolates with 82 delicious pieces, one of the few boxes I received from well-wishers. Tomorrow I shall take a drive in the country; last week's heavy snowfall is finally melting away and you could see the greens again. In the evening I will have dinner with my colleagues Chitra, Alev and Perrin. Saturday to a Gregorian chant concert at the Munster.
Happy Christmas everyone!

Or is it politically more correct to say " seasons' greetings ".....

Benazir Bhutto and I

From September 1976 to July 1977 I attended a course at Oxford University.

On the first day of semester, I had a very memorable encounter. It was Assembly Day marking the beginning of the first semester. I was not allowed to enter the Great Hall as I did not have the university robe, which was the compulsory attire for the occasion. An exotic young lady suddenly appeared and told me not worry and she would get me one. I watched her briskly walked away towards an open-top sports car parked nearby and she speedily drove off. Minutes later she returned and handed me the robe and thereafter I was allowed to join the assembly.

My saviour, the exotic young lady, was none other than Benazir Bhutto, daughter of the then Prime Minister of Pakistan, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. She was in fact one of the participants in my course. Later, when we were assigned to our tutorial groups, I was pleased to find out that she and I were in the same. She had already obtained a degree from Harvard and was in Oxford to study Philosophy, Politics and Economics and took the opportunity to join the course.

Benazir Bhutto was a celebrity of sorts from the beginning. She ran for the Oxford Union’s Presidency and won, becoming the first Asian woman to head the prestigious debating society. She was very vocal and articulate in class and always had an opinion. Sometimes during tutorials, the less prepared among us would just sit back and let her do all the talking. A few times she would get into arguments with our tutor, especially if the subject shifted to anything that would bring Pakistan into discussion. It did not help that at that time her father’s premiership back home was under a heavy strain. We once witnessed a drama when our tutor made references to Pakistan’s current political situation which Benazir strongly objected to and an argument ensued. She finally stood up and reiterated her defence of her father’s honour, ran to the door in tears, turned around and had her last say before slamming the door and bolting. Our tutor was speechless, while the rest of us were quietly stunned.

Her outbursts aside, I found her pleasant and warm and with no airs. She took exception to an unsolicited special attention by one of our male classmates and she complained to us and eventually to the suitor that she did not want that kind of attention.

It was hard to imagine then that barely weeks after she completed the course, her father’s government would collapse and she would be put under house arrest and later see her father hanged. Her subsequent exile and political struggle thereafter is well-known and she later documented it in a book titled “Daughter of the East”

Her untimely death exactly two years ago on 27 December was sad and tragic but she had unreservedly claimed her place in history.

I can still today picture her as the friendly, hyper young lady in tight jeans, with hair fashionably tied up, always balancing a cigarette and zooming around in her nippy sports car.

May Allah bless her soul. Amin.

The Ritz Paris - the agony of an ecstasy

In summer 2005 I stayed at the Ritz Paris for a week. Established in 1896, it was the oldest of Ritz hotels, and is one of the most prestigious hotels in the world (with prices to match – a room starts at Euro730 per night and suites from Euro3000 to 12,000). Maybe so, but I would have been just as happy staying in a more modern and practical hotel like The Four Seasons! Pardon moi, French chauvinism! And for the record mon cherie, back in 1991 I stayed in another landmark hotel in Paris, The Crillon! (The Hôtel de Crillon is one of the oldest luxury hotels in the world located on the foot of the Champs-Elysees on the north end of Place de la Concorde). Famous at it was, the Ritz gained further attention when in August 1997, Diana, Princess of Wales and her suitor Dodi Al Fayed, son of the owner of the hotel, Egyptian businessman Mohamed Al Fayed who bought the hotel in 1979, stayed in the hotel. On 31 August both died in a horrible car crash as the driver of their limousine drove them away from the hotel, chased by paparazzi.

I was given a compact but extremely well-appointed room with classic furniture and furnishings at the end of a long corridor. There was another room next to mine and I had a view of a courtyard garden. To get to my room which was at a back wing and not facing the famous Place Vendome, I had to walk a very long corridor with many windows displaying luxury products, and take a lift to the third (top) floor. To my delight, all the staff in the hotel , even the chambermaids, spoke English.

On the first night of my stay, I heard strange noises as I lay trying to sleep in that plush, cushy bed. At first I could not make out what it was but it was clearly audible and went on and on. I was tired and wanted to sleep badly, having just flown in from Athens after three days in that sweltering hot, noisy and chaotic city. The noise sounded like some cooing of a child! Finally I discerned that it was actually the sound of a woman in throes of ecstasy (pardon moi again!). Obviously a couple was making love in the next room. I fell asleep eventually. The next night as I was trying to sleep, that noise came again, this time louder and quite shameless! I thought to myself, couldn't they be more discreet even if they were having a whale of a time! It got to the point of being so annoying and disgusting that I finally called the Front Office Manager who said he would come up immediately.

Another guest was obviously as annoyed or more than I was, for suddenly there was three very loud thumping on a wall, like telling the amorous coupling to cool it! You may be in ecstasy madame but listening to you is sheer agony.....

And voila, the noise stopped!

A few minutes later the Front Office Manager knocked on my door and asked me where exactly did I hear the noise coming from? I replied that I didn't know, probably next door. Calmly he replied that the room next door was empty and unregistered, and that my room was not connected to any other....

At breakfast I related the incident to some members of my party and thereon they kept teasing me about the ghosts of a famous couple.

I never heard the noise again the rest of my five nights in The Ritz.

I visited Paris again in April this year and stayed in a modest hotel near Gare du Nord. I did not hear any noise whatsoever....

More snow

I woke up to some two feet of snow and it is still snowing even as I write this. It must be a new record. Last week's three days of snowfall was the biggest in 5 years, I think this overrides that. Yocki could not get the car out of our basement garage and had to borrow Eva's jeep which fortunately had been fixed with snow chains.

My nephew Rahmat and his wife and four children are here on holiday. They were so excited to see the snow when they arrived by car from London at 2 am on Tuesday. They were still asleep when I left for work and no doubt be thrilled with this further bounty of snow. The snowman the two girls made yesterday are now completely buried by the new downfall.

Rahmat wants to take the family on to Venice. I'll tell him to hold on.

What a world apart from their sunny seaside house in Kemaman, Trengganu....

A room with a view.....from my office.

Remembering Anjang

I woke up in the middle of last night and my thought went to a dear long–departed uncle whom I called Anjang. I don’t know what brought him into my thought but I laid awake quite a long time thinking about him thereafter.

My mother came from a family of nine; six girls and three boys. Ajang was the fourth-born just before mother, and the second boy. He was always a ‘royalty’ of sort in our family, a handsome and imposing figure and with a raspy voice, used to take the initiatives for family gatherings, kenduri and ‘tahlils’ (special prayer for the deceased) for our departed grandparents. His words were law, his views and permission always sought. So special was he that every house of our family member had a framed photo of him and his wife. He looked regal in a short white jacket with medals.

Anjang served as private secretary to Almarhum Sultan Ibrahim and later Almarhum Sultan Ismail of Johor. He and his wife Datin Zaharah (Mak Anjang), and their two children lived in a grand, elegant Spanish-style villa with arches and a tower, and floors of shiny red tiles in the ground of the Istana Bukit Serene, the residence of the Sultan in Johor Bahru. For me it was always a treat to visit their house. I was always in awe of it and I enjoyed wandering in their beautiful garden as well. Once, mother refused to take me along for their monthly visit to Anjang for a mischief I did, and I actually walked all the way from our house in tears of protest to Anjang’s house, some 3-4 kilometres away and waited at the gate until Anjang’s driver found me and bought me in.

When he retired from the royal service he joined the Foreign Ministry and served in the Protocol Department and was later posted to Jeddah and then London. Later on he would serve in the Selangor Royal household as Grand Chamberlain to Almarhum Sultan Salahuddin Shah.

Between 1978–1980 Ajang was posted as Ambassador to Baghdad, Iraq. I was then stationed in Hanoi and almost visited him if it was not for a travelling companion’s failure to get a visa.

In 1982 Anjang and his wife together with my parents came to visit me in Rome. I took them to many places in Italy - Naples, Sorrento, Capri and then Florence, Venice and Pisa. Driving home from Pisa, he noticed I was short of gas and he urged me to tank up each time we passed a patrol station. But I was determined to tank up from a station of a particular brand. When I finally did, the tank was practically almost empty and a pale Anjang sighed a huge relief and said to me, 'R…., please don’t do that to me again!' He was so afraid we were going to get stranded without petrol on that busy Italian highway.

In 1984, the loyal foursome (Anjang and mother were particularly close, she called him Yem and she was Tun to him) went for the Umrah in Mekah and later the ziarah in Medina. I joined them from Rome. I remember Anjang always making a beeline to be nearest to the Kaabah at each prayer time and once, pulling me along he actually got us a place on the very first row right in front of the Kaabah. I can remember the perfumed waft of the attar oil coming from the Kaabah's shroud as we prayed side by side.

Later in a conversation Anjang said to me that Allah was so great and merciful He would always forgive me and grant me my wishes. All I had to do was pray for it. Simple wisdom but I remember it always.... Years later I would find that very dictum in the 60th verse of surah Al- Mu'minum of the Holy Quaran.

Dear Mak Anjang died a few years later while I was still in Rome; she and my cousin Yan did come to visit me again in that eternal city. An elegant woman and so worldly in her own way, I loved eavesdropping on her very articulate conversations with mother and gained so much insight about the going-ons in our big family. I wrote a letter to Anjang expressing my condolence, and paid tribute to the great woman who had complemented his life so very well for 44 years. I was told later by my cousin Na that Anjang was very touched by my letter.

Anjang was always trying to marry me off and once wrote that he had found a suitable candidate for me. All I needed to do was come home and claim my bride. He would arrange everything! I politely wrote him that I was capable of choosing a wife for myself. I remember my brother telling me how mother was totally against Anjang’s candidate for me! Well, I am sure his intention was good, bless him.

Anjang passed away in 1986 after a short illness. I was there with many of our family member at his hospital bed in the Kuala Lumpur General Hospital. He was buried in Johor Bahru and the enormous crowed that came to pay their last respect showed how well-liked and respected he was. He was the quintessential gentleman and diplomat.

As a child I was in awe of Anjang, he was an inspiration.

I am grateful that as an adult I had a rather special rapport with him. He was very supportive and encouraged me in my career. Till today I am sometimes known or referred to by some people who knew him (including the present Sultan and Sultanah of Johor) as 'anak saudara Dato Wan Rahim...( Dato Wan Rahim's nephew).

May Allah bless your soul always dear uncle, Allahyarham Dato’ Wan Rahim bin Wan Ngah, my Anjang.
Amin.