Retire in the Kampung?

During the recent trip back to my hometown for Hari Raya Haji, I met an old friend from the kampung who is a petty trader in the town. Almost without exception, whenever I go to town to get cheap fruits and vegetables for the family before returning to Kajang, I would stop by his stall to buy something or just to say hello. This time I noticed he was no longer accompanied by his second wife. He told me she had died of diabetes and that he was now back with his first wife. As usually we talked about our family and life at our respective places. He asked me whether I had any plan to come back and live in the kampung once I retire. This is one of the frequently asked questions I get whenever I meet old friends from the kampung. I think I’d ask the same question if I were in their position. It shows how much attachment we are expected to have to our kampung although we’ve been away for more than half of our life. The expectation is I’d agree with the idea and thus prove that I still remember my roots. It is a simple question but answering it is never easy.

I am grateful that I was brought up in the kampung environment and able to appreciate the difficult life there. But to be honest, no matter how much nostalgia I have of the old days, I prefer the life I have now. I would not be able to feed myself if I was put back in the kampung again. I never learnt how to tap rubber trees although my parents made a living out of that. I used to help them collect latex from plastic cups, mix acid cocktail to solidify it and use the rollers to compress it into corrugated thin rubber sheets before drying. But my fingers were not delicate enough to cut grooves into the trees for the latex to flow. I would not know how to work the paddy fields on my own although as a boy I spent a lot of my time helping my folks to plant it. I used to cut grass for the family herd of cows but my fingers are now more comfortable punching alphabets on the computer. I have lost the limited skills I had of doing kampung work. It will be a struggle for me to have to relearn these skills again at 55 when I reach my retirement age.

I think kampung life is no longer the kind of quiet and peaceful life it was 20 years ago. Crime, which was almost unheard of back then, is now common because of the spread of drugs. It was OK to leave the door unlocked back then, but it would be foolish to do the same now. It is now not uncommon to hear of horrific news from a remote village of a drug addict son killing his parents because they could not give him the 5 ringgit to buy his next fix. And almost every village now has young men dying of HIV and AIDS. The drugs business, just like any other business facing little prospect of growth in the cities, has made great ‘progress’ in the last 20 years in penetrating the rural market where there are so many jobless young men able and willing to be potential recruits. With this menace, I wonder how much promise kampung life can bring to my young kids who will grow up to be teenagers and young adults when I retire.

Whenever I am back in the kampung I try to attend the congressional prayer at the village surau. It is so close to the house that I really cannot miss the azan. So there is really no excuse not to go whenever I hear the azan! Alas, there is no azan for every prayer time. From my brief observation, the only regulars are the imam and the bilal. It is the only surau in the village of hundreds of people but the rest of the villagers are nowhere in sight. The local surau is an excellent place to gauge where future generations will take Islam. I do not see any improvement in people on the ground living Islamic life although the leaders of the state have been preaching Islam for two decades. By contrast, based on the occasional visit to my local surau in Kajang, it is more lively with religious learning programmes and very well attended. Again I wonder what future would kampung life bring to my kids if I were to move back to the kampung after retirement. I guess the answer here is quite obvious.

This coming year, three of my four kids will be going to school here in Kajang. Except for the first one, all three were born here. All their life they have been here. Their schools, playground, favourite shopping complexes, fast food outlets, library and circle of friends are all here. Except for the occasional school holiday trips to spend a few days in the kampung, they lead a city life. I cannot think that one day they’d want to ‘go back’ to the kampung and spend their life there. For them, their home is here about 30 km from KL City Centre. And it would be odd if you leave your children in the city to go live in your kampung when you’re old and need their support the most. So the way I see it the option of retiring into quiet life in the kampung is probably not for me.

I think life in the city is more competitive and it pushes our children to be their best. During weekdays, most of their time is fully occupied with school, religious school and tuition. This leaves them with less time to indulge in negative activities. Although I am not really fond of rote learning, it is much better than loitering around, doing drugs or watching endless programmes on satellite TV.

It is said Kelantanese have strong feelings and attachment with their home state. They refer to non-Kelantanese as ‘orang luar’ and as far as I know no other state burn the stadium when they lose a football match! We speak unique budu dialect which other people make fun of. But I know many young men from other states would try hard to master Kelantan-speak because they would not want to miss the chance of wooing pretty Kelantanese girls! So as a Kelantanese, I would not want to be accused as a traitor. I love my home village but some of the people that I knew, the friends that I played with or my own family have either died, migrated to the city or moved and built their own family in other parts of the country. I will not forget my roots in the kampung whenever I go back and visit my parents’ graves. But I am not sure if I would want to live there after retirement, or be buried there myself when my time in this world is over.

6-dec-2009

Letter to 69ers

The writer turned 40 recently. This letter is specially dedicated to those born in 1969.


Reflections on what it means to turn 40…

Dear Sixty-niners,

Good morning! I hope this letter reaches you while you’re in good health. Sometime this year each of us should hopefully be able to celebrate the fortieth year of our birth. I reached that milestone sometime last week! It’s a significant milestone indeed. We have spent more than half of our life’s expectancy. It is time we took stock of our life so far and started charting how we would like to steer it into the future. For the optimist among us, life begins at 40. For the less so, life begins to go downhill.

Nineteen sixty-nine was a memorable year. Man was finally able to escape the Earth’s gravity and set foot on the Moon. I was still in my mother’s womb when Neil Armstrong made that giant leap for mankind. In the Malaysian context, it was the year which would be remembered as a single date, the 13th of May. The year in which racial differences exploded into bloody riot culminating in the New Economic Policy, the policy that gave so much for the average Malay like me, but also caused so much resentment among our fellow non-Bumi Malaysians.

From now on we will be expected to lead. Prophet Muhammad began to lead his people to Islam at this age. This is the age when you stop being called a youth and finally embraced into the mainstream. By now we should be prepared to be called “Pak Cik” by more and more people. If you still keep your hair, don’t fret too much if more of it turns grey. It’s the colour of wisdom, experience and durability.

They say most major discoveries in science and mathematics are made by men in their 20s and 30s. So for those of us who aspire to crack Einstein’s unfulfilled dream of Theory of Everything, well…perhaps we can just let the youngsters carry the torch. But on the other hand, being 40 doesn’t mean we should be pushed aside and labeled as those who have passed their sell-by dates. Perhaps we lack the speed and risk-taking spirit of youth but we can make it up with patience, wisdom and lessons from our own experiences.

Most of us have attained stability in our income and family life. For those men who feel bored with this stability and would like to handle more challenges, go ahead, rock the boat and get another wife! But before you take that big decision bear this in mind. Scientific study shows that man’s testosterone level drops by 1 to 2 per cent per year from the age of 40. So to those who say “Life begins at 40” and start thinking about taking another wife, I’d say they’re in a state of denial. They’re denying the fact that they’re having a severe MLC – mid-life crisis. They think that because their financial status is now more stable, therefore their sexual status must also be at the top of the world. But in actuality they’re just trying to hide their waning sexual prowess.

No doubt many would like to turn back the clock and be a twenty-something again. So much is placed on youthfulness these days. The media is entirely to blame for this. Look around you. Except for pension scheme for senior citizens and new diapers design for people with bladder control problems, all advertisements picture young, smiling faces full of energy and testosterones. Makes you wish you could be 25 forever. But time keeps its forward march and our body ages along with it.

Dear Friends,

Let’s thank God for taking us this far. And let me again remind you that we have used up more than half of our life! So friends, let’s say good bye to youth and welcome the age of wisdom. We have been taught well by our elders and now is the time to pass on the knowledge and experience to the youngsters. So, on this auspicious morning, let’s step out of the house on the right foot, take a deep breath, look straight ahead and enjoy the journey into the next 40 years of our life! May God bless all of us.

Ameen.

Outbreak of a new virus B1N1

There is widespread concern among health professionals that the dreaded Influenza A(H1N1) virus has evolved into a more virulent strain which has yet to be given official name. Health experts are still arguing what to call the virus but many believe it should be identified as B1N1, the B signalling a more widespread and vicious form of the swine flu virus A(H1N1) while the absence of brackets in the name indicating a more free and easily transmittable form of the virus. The virus is not particularly deadly as it rarely causes physical pain to both carriers and those infected. Instead, it can bring tremendous psychological suffering as it can drain out sufferer’s financial resources. According to Dr John Swine, a virologist who leads a team of researchers at Imperial College London, the virus has been in existence since the first human walked the Earth. Strangely though it has only infected the male of the human species.

A study published in the journal Nature by epidemiologists at the John Hopkins Medical School concludes that the virus starts to infect men in their 20s and more prevalent among men in the developing world. Muslim men are particularly vulnerable with possibility of infection reaching up to four different strains – B1N1-1, B1N1-2, B1N1-3 and B1N1-4. It is estimated that only a small percentage of Muslim men were infected with B1N1-2, B1N1-3 and B1N1-4 although as much as 95% of them will get B1N1-1 at some point in their lifetime. Studies are still on-going to find out why men of Islamic faith have not become immune to the infection. In a recent case in the state of Selangor in Malaysia, a popular Islamic religious preacher and TV presenter who had B1N1-1 for more than a decade is reported to have managed to free himself from the virus and just last weekend confirmed widely circulated rumours that he had now contracted B1N1-2. The 40 year old ex-rock singer is said to have contracted the virus from a 30-year old female singer who’s famous with her Arabic songs. He seems to show all the symptoms of the B1N1-2 infection – unexplained burst of energy and great psychological boost in the first six months but gradually become fatigue and longing for infection with the next strain B1N1-3 after a few years. So far, he seem to be at the top of the world and visibly happy carrying the 30-year old virus B1N1-2.

Various investigations conducted in US and Europe point to the conclusion that Western men have acquired resistance to B1N1 with less than 50% of them infected by the virus and even when they do, they become free of it after one to two years of suffering various psychological stress brought by B1N1. As is normally the case for virus of this nature, experts are looking at certain groups which have shown strong resistance to the bug. The Imperial College team is still investigating why a small group of highly religious men –priests, monks and the like – have zero infection rate to the virus. It is believed that their strong religious conviction and discipline is key to understanding this strange medical phenomenon.

Authorities at the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, USA have been struggling to get reliable data to develop a vaccine for the virus as those infected are susceptible to lying and unstable mental conditions. Men in their 50s and 60s have been known to resort to the sex-enhancing drug Viagra to boost their performance to fight the virus B1N1-1. They have been known to need more dose of Viagra once infected with more complex strains of the virus -B1N1-2, B1N1-3 and B1N1-4. Pfizer, the drug company which holds the patent to produce Viagra, has been reaping up huge profits with the spread of the highly infectious bug. When asked to comment on the sudden increase in the sale of Viagra, Pfizer spokewoman declines to comment citing possible interference with on-going lawsuit against the company.

Thoughts about Work: Freedom and Innovation

By this time next week, I will be left on my own in the office. My senior colleague who has been acting as Team Lead for the past 8 months will be moving on to a new assignment. I will be reporting to my American boss, who is based in India and he in turn reports to his boss in the Netherlands. When I joined this company two and a half years ago, I worked under a British boss. He left late last year and his post was filled by my current boss, an Indian expatriate whose 4-year assignment here in Malaysia is up and is now moving on to Europe. Such is the dynamics of working in a multinational company. If you wish, you can travel the world, go to different places for an assignment, see different cultures, meet various people and have a healthy bank account along the way too.

Before I joined this company, I worked for a GLC and a consultancy. In my previous jobs, I have always worked with a Malaysian boss. What I find interesting about working with expatriate bosses is that not only do they allow you to express your ideas, but they also expect you to challenge their ideas or decisions. During discussions, when he comes up with an idea he’d urge me to challenge him. Being Malaysian, we tend to respect and not argue too much with our boss. Bosses are expected to be right and subordinates are to take their words as gospel truth. These expatriates must have been quite surprised to find how little we Malaysians argue with our boss even when we’re encouraged to do so. In fact, having been brought up in a culture which puts so much respect to our elders and people with authority, it’s very difficult to disagree with your own boss. There is hesitation to say directly to them that they could be wrong even when it is perfectly all right to say it without fear of retribution. This is one cultural clash that I find interesting and perhaps something that we can learn from.

I remember in my previous company, when the VP spoke nobody dared to interrupt even though he’d been babbling for 3 hours non-stop. In fact nobody seemed to be able to lift their full bladder from the chair and visit the toilet in those 3 hours! And nobody touched the food or drinks before the old man did it. How can you expect the subordinates to argue with the boss when they would not even dare to touch the curry puffs which are yearning to be eaten in front of them! In contrast, in this European-based multinational, I was shocked to find that an expatriate, who was just a mere senior engineer could raise his voice and express his disagreement on the policy taken by the company’s president in a meeting seating just beside the VP. I know I sound a bit exaggerating but I just picked two extreme examples from my own work experience.

I think the freedom to express their opinion is one of the reasons why Western companies are successful in innovation. It encourages cross-fertilisation of innovative ideas and creative solutions. This is what our education system should inculcate in our young generation’s mind. We should start from the time when our children are still at pre-school. They should be encouraged to express themselves and build up confidence in presenting their ideas and arguing their case. Based on my own experience and casual observation, I find this confidence lacking in our students, employees and people in general. We are victims of our own authoritarian culture. The emphasis on respect for authority might have worked well for agrarian society in which common people relied heavily on their rich and powerful landlords to provide for basic needs. But we have gone past that stage. In today’s modern world, the success of a country depends very much on how innovative and resilient it can be in the competition for foreign investment and the best talents. Our country’s leaders always espouse “Asian Values” where respect for people with authority is held as the glue that keeps our country’s stability. Critics say that this is just an excuse for authoritarian leaders to keep their restless people under control. Perhaps there is truth in both arguments. But as far as innovation in a company is concerned, I’m of the opinion that freedom is a necessary ingredient for innovation to prosper.

Remembering my mother

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. I never knew there was such a day when my mother was still alive. And even if I knew, I would not have cared much anyway. It’s just another modern day invention to allocate one day to remember the person who gave birth to us while for the other 364 days of the year she is treated like she never existed. Then again once in a while, thoughts of mother do come to our mind as we deal with trials and tribulations of bringing up our own children.

My mother’s time in this world ended on the same day as for the last Agong who died on the throne. While the whole Malaysia was mourning the loss of a people’s King, I was grieving the passing of my own mother. While all radio and television stations stopped entertainment programmes and played Quranic recital instead, our family also had tahlil to pray for her soul to be placed with those who are blessed. That sad day 8 years ago, is long gone. And my own family has grown so much since then.

With all the comfort and convenience that we live in today, it’s difficult to imagine how hard it was for a single mother to bring up 4 young children but that’s what my mother did. I was too young to remember, but I was told she separated from my father when I was only five and my younger sister was two. We were brought up by her own mother (my maternal grandmother) as she had to go away from the village to tap rubber trees on the hills of interior Kelantan, and later work in sawmills in the interior of Pahang. I can’t remember exactly how often she came back to visit us and grandmother, but I remember we were more attached to grandmother because of the separation.

While living in Pahang around the late 70s, she married a man who later became the father of my younger brothers. By the time I was sent to sekolah asrama in 1982 she gave birth to my youngest brother. Her husband, my stepfather, ran off months after my brother was born and never came to visit us again. Life had always been difficult for her, and it took a turn for the worse. That was the time my mother, a divorced 33 year old woman, penniless and jobless with four young kids, without a man in her life had to go through a difficult journey into the future on her own. From then on she never left home to work in foreign places. I guess she felt she had left me and my sister for too long and that from then on she wanted to bring up her children by herself. She never remarried again until her death 19 years later.

When I was learning to be an adult at the sekolah asrama, I understood early on why mother could not visit me that often. The journey from home to the asrama must have been difficult for her, perhaps even more so when she thought about not being able to leave as much money as she wanted to if she visited. Instead, I was the one making my trip home once in a while to see mother and my younger siblings.

I remember to this day, one weekend I went back to the kampung. Moments before I left home to take my bus trip back to the asrama, my mother went into the bedroom and closed the door. Later, not knowing what she was doing in there, I opened the bedroom door and found her counting coins on the house wooden floor careful not to let the coins slip through the gap between the planks. I saw the bamboo piggy-bank which she had been saving the coins in was broken in halves. She said to me she had to break it to get her only savings as she did not have any money left. All she had was the coins. She asked if I would not mind carrying the heavy coins around and told me to be careful not to drop them. I looked at her and held back my tears. I did not want to show her my sadness and I suspect she was concealing hers too. I can’t remember what I spent the money on but that small incident is still etched on my memory to this day. It was one of the defining moments in my growing up teenage life. One among many which helped to teach me early on the importance of being prudent with money. To be honest even now while writing this, I have to take a breather, hold back my tears and pretend to be strong just in case my kids come barging into my study room without knocking.

I did not have the courage to tell my mother all this when she was still alive. I wish I had told her how thankful I was about all the sacrifices that she had made to bring up the four of us. If your mother is still alive please do tell her how much she has done in your life. If you didn’t have time to do it in the last 364 days, tomorrow is a good day to say it.

Happy Mother’s Day!

9 May 2009

As a law-abiding Malaysian citizen, I, together with 2 million others filed my tax return within days before the deadline. The e-filing was overall convenient although I had to wake up at 4.30am in the morning to avoid slow server problem as many other taxpayers were also rushing to file in their tax returns. This is a tremendous improvement from the pre-e-filing days when I either had to submit it a few days before the deadline or go to the LHDN office myself to meet the deadline.

As the amount of tax that I pay grows by the year, I become more incensed by the gross wastage of money by some of our decision makers. They treat our hard earned money as their entitlement spending millions on expensive overseas “lawatan sambil belajar” trips. Some even brought his family and maid to Disneyland under the pretext of learning how to run a theme park, while some others charged half a billion “consultancy” fee for procuring some expensive foreign made weaponry. And yet, we the rakyat, are asked to tighten our belt to weather the current economic downturn.

One way to avoid our money from being squandered by these scoundrels is to pay all of our tax in the form of zakat. Although I’m not sure how transparent the zakat institution operate, and how much of the money actually goes to the right people, at least we can be sure our money will not go into financing somebody’s shopping trip to Harrods or to some middlemen trying to sell expensive toys to the government. And you can give it to any zakat institution that you feel comfortable with. I myself have been contributing my zakat to the Kelantan Islamic Religious Council since 6 or 7 years ago. No narrow Kelantan-centric chauvinism here. I believe people from rural Kelantan need more help than people from urban Selangor or KL. Since I’m not contributing directly to the economic development of the state in which I spent the first 20 years of my life, this is my way of “repaying” it.