When prevention is better than cure

LAST week, an Internet news portal quoted a local expert as saying that excessive physical activity could make one more vulnerable to influenza A (H1N1).

The academician alleged that physical activities beyond the body’s tolerance could lead to a highly acidic condition in the body which could disable its ability to fight infection.

The story reminded me of an e-mail I received recently, which described how the Thais keep themselves H1N1-free by drinking coconut water and munching on dates.

While I did not doubt the claims, I hope that the spam did not originate from some unscrupulous traders hoping to make a killing this Ramadan from the sale of dates because I have yet to buy my Mariamis.

A similar e-mail on how papaya juice could cure dengue also made its rounds some time last year.

Someone I know who received the e-mail actually fed a tablespoon of the bitter juice to her spouse who had contracted dengue.

He recovered, of course, but who can tell if it was the doctor’s medicine, the drips, or the papain that worked? Could it be the combination of all — and perhaps, some luck, too? As more H1N1 cases rise and a cure still far down the horizon, I am sure more unconventional ways of dealing with the pandemic will emerge.

With the Internet freely available, many more will come to our knowledge as we log on to check our mails or read related n e w s.

But as statistics continue to climb, the best option is to keep a cool head and to leave it to the experts when it comes to diagnosis.

And where self-preservation is concerned, prevention is better than cure.

Observing personal hygiene by using sanitisers regularly and wearing a mask to protect your breathing space when in high-risk areas can reduce your chances of an infection.

The only stumbling blocks I see is when the supply of both run short.

Last Friday, I found out that some pharmacies outside the city have already run out of waterless hand sanitisers.

Some pharmacists promised that the new batch would come in by this week.

Others said they were not sure when the new shipment would arrive and this was greeted with looks of disappointment from the shoppers although soap and other common disinfectants will just do as well to clean one’s hands before eating or after going to the toilet.

The masks are still widely available is most pharmacies, from flimsy ones priced at 60 sen each to those with carbon mesh which cost RM6 each.

The latter is said to be able to deal with more than just air-borne contaminants.

Some sales assistants who were familiar with N95 the handphone are also now quite well-versed in N95 the masks although few could explain how the number came about or why it was better than most particulate barriers.

Of course, few could advise me on how long one can wear a mask before it becomes a breeding ground for every imaginable microbe.

I wonder if there are masks that you could wash, disinfect, and use again considering the costs of using disposable ones.

Can a bandana, folded several times and wrapped around the face, be just as effective in keeping out the air-borne contagion? I suppose a better option would be to just embrace social distancing as recommended by a colleague weeks ago.

Staying home during the weekends might expose me to the danger of turning into a couch potato but it is less painful than having to throw away expensive masks after each outing.

Don't treat swimming pools like bath tubs

MY fellow condominium dwellers celebrated the revival of our swimming pool with a party recently.

After almost getting into the M a l ay s i a Book of Records as the largest outdoor aquarium in Klang Valley — it was a home for red tilapias in the past two years — refurbishment work was undertaken some months back and the facility is now restored.

At the pool’s opening, several children put up a show on the proper attire to wear before taking a dip in the pool.

This was to show the adults how to be properly dressed before going for their swim.

Hopefully, in addition to the huge signboard at the gates and notices slapped on bulletin boards, the residents would be encouraged to care for the facility.

One of the biggest challenges condominium managers face when running a facility with a swimming pool is how to get people to be properly attired before they swim.

Just last week, this paper reported how a 62-year-old security guard who tried to stop improperly dressed children from swimming in a condominium’s pool was beaten up by their father.

He suffered bruises and has lodged a police report over the incident.

Walk into any condominium or apartment which has a swimming pool and chances are you will see people frolicking in shorts, track bottoms and T-shirts in the pool.

No property, regardless of the price, has a swimming pool that is free of this blatant disregard for the r ules.

Some residents feel they have a right to do as they please in the swimming pool as they had paid their maintenance f e e s.

I witnessed the problem at one high-end serviced condominium in Kota Damansara recently.

My foreign friends who had rented two properties there for two years were aghast.

“Is this the way Malaysians swim?” one of them asked.

Embarrassed, I muttered: “No.

Not in the city.

These people must be village folk visiting their relatives living here.

They do it all the time in the villages, dressed in their casual clothes and swimming in streams, rivers and pools at waterfalls.

” Even resort swimming pools are not spared unless the management strictly enforces the “proper swimming attire” ruling.

Otherwise, you get cloudy pools like some of those I have seen at coastal hotels in Port Dickson, Malacca, Penang and Johor Baru where guests take a dip in their T-shirts and shorts after having been to the beach.

Salt is not the pool’s biggest enemy, I was told by a condominium manager in Port Dickson.

It is the fabric — usually cotton fibres — that cause the greatest damage to the pool’s circulation system.

Cotton fibres clog up the pumps and eventually damage them.

T-shirts, shorts, track bottoms and underwears lose their fibres more easily than modern swimsuits made from lycra.

People who continue to turn a blind eye to the ruling requiring proper attire at swimming pools are unconsciously destroying the facility.

If condominium residents continue to treat their pools like public bathtubs, they could verywell lose them one day if the management could no longer afford to pay for the pumps’ repair.

Then they will realise, like we did, that having the biggest outdoor aquarium in the country in your condominium is not something to be proud of.

It's tough being a hawker

https://www.facebook.com/khaleejtimes/videos/vb.211983032863/10152705333282864/?type=2&theater

I THINK one of the toughest ways to eke out a living is to be a hawker.

Although it is nice to be able to say that you are your own boss, the truth is often not as rosy.

Those who have tried to be a hawker will agree with me that your standard nine-to-five job is a heaven compared to it.

I got my first taste of hawking when I was about 9 years old when my maternal grandmother got me to sell “hoo chnea”, which is a salad of kembong fish flakes, cucumber slivers, beansprouts and beancurd served with spicy chilli gravy.

I went door-to-door in Kuala Terengganu town twice with a basketful of only 10 packets to sell, but only succeeded in selling one. A distant relative who I did not recognise at that time took pity on me and bought a packet when she saw me passing by her house a second time with my basket of unsold fish salad.

I went home and promptly complained to my grandmother about my failure to sell all the fish salad.

“Good, now we can have that for lunch,” she said, and added: “Now that you have learned how difficult it is to earn money, you will know how to save.

“Anyone who has tried hawking will tell you that even trying to figure out what to sell is tough, let alone where to sell it, and how to go about selling it legally so that you do not run foul of the authorities.

Even if you have figured it all out, your business may still not last if other things don’t fall into place. 

You can try all the tricks your marketing guru has taught you.

A good location, identifying a potential market segment, selling what everybody needs, and all the other tips recommended by the various textbooks, but if the weather turns against you, you are dead.

Hawkers selling drinks can tell you a lot about how the weather can play havoc with your business. Tubs of drinks which would finish in a jiffy during hot weather would go down the drain if it rains.

Likewise, those who sell fried stuff will see fewer customers during hot spells or in the wake of some health campaigns calling for people to eat less fried food.

Sometimes, rumours can also do just as much damage.

Remember the “lou shee fun” incident which made it to the papers in the 1980s? News that some children had died after eating contaminated noodles caused several hawkers to close shop.

Many others who sold only the popular breakfast were forced to look for alternatives after the scare drove customers away for months.

According to a hawker friend who sells rice in Sentul, being a hawker is a lesson in hard work, patience and humility.

You work long hours, keep going even if the business was slow, and learn to accept compliments and complaints in your stride and treat them with equal respect if you wish to put food on your table.

Teach children to stand on their own two feet

MY friend’s son had just got a taste of “hardship”.

Like many 18-year-olds who left school after getting their Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia results early this year, he had wanted to continue his studies full-time.

But circumstances were such t h at he had to work and study part-time.

In an agreement with his employers, he had to work with them and in return, they would pay for his studies and provide him with an allowance.

He had to work on weekdays and study on weekends.

With the exception of semester breaks, his life would revolve around work and college, and what little thatwas left in the daywas divided between sleep and homewo r k .

On the other hand, most of his fr iends’ college expenses were taken care of either by their parents or scholar ships.

During weekends, they got to do fun things like going for movies, shopping or clubbing, instead of attending classes.

My friend’s son had asked if teenagers during my time had faced similar situation and how they had coped.

I told him that compared to the teenagers then, he was luckier.

And compared to his peers now, he is even more fortunate.

His employer had not only given him a job but had also invested in his future.

Not many employers can afford to do that in tough times.

They must have seen potential in him.

During my time, most teenagers were independent.

Many started earning their keep early in life, sometimes after school and even dur ing the school holidays.

Those who realised that they were we a k in their studies parted company with school early to learn a trade or two.

Some joined the school of hard knocks as early as 15, working as apprentices at tailoring shops, motor workshops, furniture factories, and anywhere else that would employ them.

To them, to be able to work was a privilege and they excelled at their trade.

Most of the time, choices were made out of necessity.

Rather than be at the mercy of charity, many teenagers back then chose to earn money for their own upkeep — e ve n if it meant toiling from sun up till sun down in grimy workplaces.

Some went on to achieve great things in life, others continued to earn a decent living without being a burden to their families or society.

While we seek to give the best to our children, we should also encourage them to work and learn to be independent.

At the very least, it keeps them away from mischief if they are busy earning a living.

Barking mad at litterbugs of different species

WHEN my friend read about how litterbugs were messing up our neighbourhoods, he told me that was nothing compared to what he was faced with in his area — dog poop.
Somehow, they have ways of turning up uninvited outside his gates or along his side of the road.
They would get stuck to his car tyres and get smeared all over the driveway.
Sometimes, he even accidentally steps on them.
By the time he discovers the mess, it would need more than a generous helping of industrial cleaners to get rid of the smell and smear.
At his wits’ end, my friend now silently curses the dog owners he sees walking their pets.
The sight of a stray dog coming in his direction would drive him into a frenzy and he would shoo the animal away before it could mark its territory with pee or poop.
It can be quite amusing if you catch him in the act.
You’d be forgiven for feeling that he should be named public enemy No 1 by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animal.
However, the man is quite an animal lover and has a fair number of rabbits, hamsters and guinea pigs in his backyard.
It’s only dogs and their poop that he can’t tolerate.
He wishes dog walkers would be more considerate than to let their pets pee or drop their poop anywhere they please.
“These people walk their dogs in public areas and they should pick up the poop and get rid of it prope r l y, ” he said.
I told him that what he was facing was actually a global phenomenon — except that in some developed nations such as Britain, it has become an offence to allow one’s dogs to relieve themselves in public areas such as roads, pavements and gardens.
Under the Dog (Fouling of Land) Act 1996 in England and Wales, the dog owner could be fined £40 (RM240) or up to £1,000 (RM6,000) if the matter goes to court.
Why it has been made an offence is because the authorities there have found that dog faeces carry the risk of toxocariasis, an infection of the round worm toxocara canis.
The larvae, if it gets into the human body and reaches the liver, can cause abdominal pains and fever.
If it reaches the eye, it can damage the retina and cause blindness.
According to research, a dog can pass out as many as 15,000 eggs of the worm per gramme of poop and each worm can lay up to 700 eggs a day.
Released when the dog defecates, the worm can survive up to three years in the soil.
Some countries have put up signboards to get dog lovers to clean up after their pets and even provide waste bins and free poop bags.
But not in our country.
So, I suggested a solution to my livid friend.
Instead of getting angry at the dogs, he could do what one chap in Britain did—take pictures of dog walkers and their pets in the act and paste them on a signboard on his lawn with the message: “Please clean up after your dogs” for all to see.
Perhaps then, the dog owners would be reminded that picking up poop is part of the responsibility of owning a dog.

Cutting one's hankies to one's cloth

MY wife was curious when she saw me buying a “kain pelikat”.

“What are you going to do with t h at ? ” she asked, wondering if I was going to wear it.

“Don’t worry, I am not wearing it,” I assured her.

“I want to make handkerchiefs.

” You see, I realised that I had only five good handkerchiefs left—just enough for one working week.

Although it seemed more fashionable to use tissue paper, I don’t like to use them as I have always thought tissues were for ladies.

Besides, tissues are more expensive in the long run and bad for the environment.

I have forgotten when I last bought handkerchiefs but when I checked out their prices last week during the start of the Mega Sale Carnival, I was shocked.

While the handkerchiefs fitted nicely into my pockets, their prices did not.

So, I figured why not make some myself? I was even more motivated when I saw how similar the patterns on some of the branded handkerchiefs were to that of the common “kain pel i k at ”.

As far as I can tell, the handkerchiefs that we pay so much for usually stays in the pocket until we need to wipe curry off our lips or sweat off our foreheads.

It is not a fashion statement, unlike your necktie, for instance.

And you don’t need to be embarrassed about your handkerchief unless it has got holes in it like some of mine.

You could get them cheaper if you buy in bulk from warehouse stores, of course.

But even a dozen will last you for decades.

Those made from “kain p e l i k at ”, I think, should last longer than your jeans.

A kain pelikat costs about RM12, out of which you could easily make 10 to 15 pieces of handkerchiefs.

Compare this with handkerchiefs which cost between RM3 and RM7 a piece and you will see why I am “sew”m o t i vat e d .

My wife was not amused, however.

I could be penny wise but pound foolish, she said, since the time spent in trying to thread the needle on the sewingmachine could be put to better use.

I assured her that I was not wasting my time.

Besides, it should be good for the children to learn how to use a sewing machine and they even be encouraged to make things for their own use.

When I was growing up, almost everything in the housewas self-made— from cooking utensils to wooden stools and curtains.

My maternal grandmother fashioned coconut shells and joined them to pieces of bamboo to make “senduk” (ladle).

Children collected fallen palm fronds and stripped the leaves off the spines to make “lidi” brooms.

I had even woven hammocks out of raffia strings when I was not helping the neighbours repair their “jala” (fishing nets).

In those days, everyone in the village I grew up in knew how to make something.

The men would make simple items like wooden stools and troughs for poultry feed from discarded planks collected from sawmill dumps.

The women would sew patches of leftover fabric collected from tailors and turn them into floor mats, quilt blankets and even bedsheets.

Kids also made their own toys.

Of course, being poor had fired the creative spark in many of the villagers.

Rather than pop into the local “kedai r uncit” (sundry shop) to buy what we wanted, we looked for stuff we could use to make what we needed unless we really had no choice.

And the good thing about this creative streak in most of us who grew up the hard way was that it taught us to be self-reliant in later years.

Saving money was the bonus.

Litterbugs and their ubiquitous handiwork

WHEN my friend found two garbage bags hung on his gate one morning, he thought little of them.

Could be pranks by some kids, he reasoned, and good-naturedly disposed of them in his trash bin.

But when the bags appeared day after day, he was less forgiving.

He woke up early one day and waited in the shadows of his porch for the litterbug.

However, when he heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching, it was too late —a bag of garbage had already been lobbed near his bin.

All he could do was shout at the biker who sped off.

Although the litterbug was not caught, no more garbage bags had appeared since then but my friend was sure that someone else’s garbage bin was now the target.

We have all been frustrated by the misdeeds of litterbugs.

Garbage bags left at lamp posts, hung on phone poles or someone else’s fence, thrown into the drains, or piled in front of shops.

You see it less in the city centre but if you live in residential areas, such scenarios have become a norm.

Even when communal bins were placed in low-cost housing areas or longhouses, garbage still ended up everywhere except in the bins.

And when the bins were re - moved, everyone complained.

But in some areas, the removal has taught people to be more responsible and dispose of their garbage properly.

Highways and moving traffic are also not spared from the irresponsible actions of litterbugs.

Someone I met at the Ayer Keroh lay-by recently was hopping mad when a trail of discards from another motorist came at him.

The victim said he wished he had been driving a faster car so that he could catch up with the litterbug and teach him a lesson in courtesy and c i v i c - m i n d e d n e s s.

Onewould think that people who live in high-rises would be spared.

But ask any condo owner and you will be surprised.

Garbage bags have mysteriously appeared in lifts, under staircases, along corridors, and other secluded spots.

A building manager of an apartment in Setapak had this story to share: Someone had been throwing bags of garbage from the upper floors onto the car park area and the culprit was never caught.

One day, already at his wits end, the building manager found another garbage bag in the car park.

He decided to check the content.

He found several envelopes with the address of one of the apartments.

With the proof he needed in hand, he confronted the apartment owner who found out that his teenage son, who was supposed to drop the garbage bags into the rubbish chute nightly, had instead chosen the easy way by throwing them out the window.

Since then, no more garbage had landed in the car park again.

Recreational litterbugs usually do it out of convenience.

Repeat offenders do it out of habit and probably because no one else was watching or cared enough to tell them off.

A word of advice or warning can sometimes work wonders.

But usually, most of us choose to mind our own business — until, the garbage ends up in our backyard.

Being charitable to a fault

I WAS having dinner with a friend in Setapak recently when a male beggar, whom I reckoned to be around 60, approached us.

Apart from his scruffy look and the aluminium crutch he was occasionally leaning on, he appeared to be able-bodied.

If he had been clean-shaven, had worn a coat and tie, and had walked into a hotel lobby, he would have passed off for a corporate figure or even a politician.

A doorman would have gladly opened the door for him and call him “Sir”.

But that evening, he cut a forlorn figure as he hobbled from table to table, right arm extended and palm cupped.

He would bow, mutter something under his breath, and look so pitiful that it would take nerves of steel not to sympathise with him.

Some of the diners did not have those nerves, so they dug out some loose change and gave him — for which he bowed even lower to show gratitude.

Others pretended he wa s n ’t there but the less forgiving few just shooed him off with a wave, just as theywould a hovering fly.

But the beggar appeared unperturbed, diligently moving from table to table.

When he saw that I was watching him, he quickly hobbled up to us and asked for a ringgit.

Not more, not less, just a ringgit.

And he kept bowing until I reached for my wallet, when my friend stopped me with a piercing stare.

Realising that he could not get what he wanted out of us, the beggar immediately stopped bowing and hobbled to another table.

When he was out of earshot, my friend, who lived in Subang Jaya, said he had seen the beggar making his rounds there.

My friend’s daughter had seen the same man walking without his crutch one day and had told her father about it.

I was about to give the beggar the benefit of the doubt when what happened minutes later made me reconsider.

A diner seated next to our table pointed at a familiar silhouette across the road.

It was the same beggar, running in full stride towards a cab with his crutch held high.

Any injury which had caused him to hobble from table to table just moments ago seemed to have disappeared.

I wonder how many people had been fooled by the beggar that evening.

Those who had given money to him and seen what happened later must have kicked themselves for having been so gullible.

In bad economic times such as these, who can tell if a beggar is really what he or she appears to be underneath those tattered clothes? Anyone who looks like a beggar, and acts like a beggar, can just as easily tug at our heartstrings and get our ringgit.

Even those who claim to be collecting donations and who can produce all the “endorsement papers” from the “author ities” stand to laugh all the way to the bank if we fail to temper our charitable nature with some common sense.

Paying a high price for poor man's greens

YESTERDAY, when my wife told me we had spent RM40 for grocery at the wet market, I was delighted. That was RM20 less than the previous week.

But my happiness was short-lived once we reached home and I looked into the content of the grocery basket. We bought a bittergourd, Chinese chives, cauliflower, a packet of fried beancurd, a bunch of sweet potato leaves, a sengkuang (yam bean), two sweet corns, broccoli, French beans, some four angled beans, a papaya and several local sweet potatoes.

We forgot about meat, fish and poultry -- which explained why the dip in spending.

Next week, we may have to fork out more since the meat stock in the fridge is running low.


I would probably end up RM50 poorer, depending on whether I go for fish, poultry or meat. Even fish and poultry are not cheap these days, be it at the wet market, pasar malam or pasar tani.

Sweet potato leaves, which used to be the poor man's greens and sold for 50 sen a bunch back then, now cost twice as much.

Two weeks ago, I had a shock when the green grocer told me it cost RM2.50 per kilogramme because of the dry spell. I am praying that global warming would not put the price of my favourite vegetable out of my reach.

The price of poor man's greens like sweet potato leaves have been increasing ever since it found its way into the menu of city restaurants -- along with petai (stinky beans), kangkung (water convolvulus), kacang botol (four angled beans), pucuk paku (fern shoots).

At the rate they are going, it won't be long before the poor man has nothing left to eat.

But I am luckier than my colleagues staying around Bangsar, I am told. Their grocery bills can easily be twice as high as mine, especially since prices of goods have a knack of keeping up with the economic status of the neighbourhood.

When I was growing up in the kampung, a small patch of land in front of the house slightly smaller than a badminton court allowed my family to grow sweet potatoes, cabbages, and lettuce.

In between the beds, on trellises, gourds and long beans gave us our fresh supply. A hedge of serai (lemon grass), kunyit (turmeric), and lengkuas (galangal) completed our needs. Although my parents did not save much in grocery spending despite our vegetable patch, we were at least assured of fresh, insecticide-free greens.

When I moved to a condominium more than a decade ago, I was quite sure I could grow my own food. But I soon discovered that it was more fruitful to stop kidding myself that I could have an edible garden.

With a balcony no bigger than the size of the attached bathroom, even a hydroponic garden was out of the question because I would eventually end up paying more in equipment than I could save on my grocery purchases.

Sure, I could plant a pot each of serai, limau purut (kaffir lime), bunga kantan (torch ginger) and even some cili padi in the small flower trough on my balcony but I doubt I could stomach tomyam soup every day.

Edible gardens are just not meant for people pigeonholed into strata living, at least not in Kuala Lumpur. They are only practical for those staying on landed property.

But if you can afford a landed property in the Klang Valley, chances are you won't want to dirty your fingers or waste your time growing vegetables which can easily be bought in the supermarkets.

Bad habits washed ashore

I LOST my camera's memory card during a trip to Pasir Bogak in Pangkor last week. I had taken so many pictures, mostly of the scenery and of the family while on the way to the island.

Some of the pictures were meant for stories I wanted to write. Some documented the fond memories we had during the trip.

I had called the resort the moment I realised that I could have dropped the card but there was no memory card among their lost and found items.

I am now praying hard that someone will find the card and return it to me.


However, my distress is nothing compared to what a fellow holidaymaker from the United States went through. His sister-in-law had stepped on a hypodermic needle left on the beach.

I recalled the worried look on his face, not knowing who was the last user of the needle. Although his sister-in-law sought medical treatment immediately, she would no doubt continue to have sleepless nights thinking about the incident.

Immediately after I was informed of the incident, my friend and I scoured the beach, hoping to find something which would reassure the woman and her family.

Instead, I found another discarded syringe and a small bottle with some brown liquid.

Both the syringe and the bottle could have been discarded into the sea and washed ashore. The label on the bottle was missing and there was no way to tell what the brown liquid in it was.

Sadly, many of us treat our rivers and the sea as a huge dumpsite. Fluorescent tubes, beer bottles, condoms and plastic bags are thrown into rivers and the sea without any hesitation.

The environmental pollution aside, this irresponsible behaviour pose a great threat not only to marine life but also to humans, as has been shown in this case.

What if a child playing on the beach had picked up the needle?

It also does not paint a good picture of our country as a tourist destination if our so-called beautiful beaches are littered with rubbish.

I am now praying that the needle that the woman had stepped on did not come from a dadah addict or someone with a contagious disease. I guess it is too much to hope that the culprit is reading this article and realising what he or she has done.

The challenging games of our childhood

THE other day, my friend's 10-year-old son showed me his collection of PSP, Xbox and Wii games. He asked if I wanted to join him in one of the games. I declined. I said the last time I played Street Fighter was more than two decades ago.

"How did you guys manage to pass your days?" he asked. "Must be very boring back then."

On the contrary, I told him. In fact, life was pretty exciting and there were never enough daylight hours to enjoy ourselves when we were not working part-time to supplement the family income.

Weekends and school holidays would see us scattered all over the countryside with bamboo poles fishing for sepat (gouramy) and puyu (Malaysian perch) in the irrigation canals and abandoned mining pools. When there were no fish, we hunted for waterfowls, magpies or spotted doves.


When the sun was too hot, we sought the cool solace of streams, rivers and disused mining pools. One of us would be on the lookout for nosey adults who might report our misdeeds to our parents.

Lunch comprised free helpings of wild jambu batu (wild version of today's guava) or pisang asam, a sour variety of banana that could be found in abundance. If we were lucky, the richer among us would treat us to popsicles or ice balls oozing with red syrup.

What we lacked back then, we improvised. No PSP or Wii, but our RPGs (role-playing games) were much more realistic. "War craft" was more interesting because we played with real people. And if you want to get drafted, you had to have a "gun", which, in its simplest form, was a wooden contraption that allowed you to shoot unripe cherries at your enemies.

Battles were fought around the village, in the vegetable farms and padi fields until a team triumphed or until everyone lost interest and sought a new game.

When there was no company, we would hunt for the kareng (local fighting fish) in the padi fields and canals armed with a rattan sieve "borrowed" from construction sites. We also scoured pandan groves or jackfruit trees for spiders.

And once the bounties were collected, we would seek out friends with similar pets and challenge theirs to duels. Although there were no prizes up for grabs, owning and training the best fighting fish or spider was every boy's dream back then.

At night, armed with torchlights "borrowed" from our parents, we would go frog hunting in the vegetable farms and irrigation canals. We would sweep the beams into the darkness and zoom in on our targets when the reflection from the frogs' eyes gave away their position.

Of course, the fun came with risks, too. One night, I thought I had found an easy target when a fat frog did not budge even when I trained my torchlight's beam on it.

Instinctively, I swept the beam further and another pair of eyes greeted me -- that of a snake, in striking position and barely a metre away from the frog. I dread to think of what would have happened if I had reached for that frog.

For parents living in the city today, it would be unthinkable to allow their children to take part in such activities. Playing video and computer games in the safe confines of the house is less risky.

It allows you or your maid to keep an eye on your child.

But I wonder if these modern games are any less dangerous or healthier in the long run.

More high-rise slums in KL if freeloaders have their way

AN article in this paper recently pointed out the difficulties faced by managers of high-rise condominiums and apartments when collecting maintenance fees. It may sound ridiculous that people living in highrises would actually refuse to pay maintenance fees and that some had actually threatened the property managers with bodily harm but that is the reality.

While some refuse to pay because they are dissatisfied with the running of the property or the transparency of the accounts, others are just bad paymasters, selfish parasites who prefer to feed off the charity of others.

Cursed are the high-rise properties if so much as a handful of their population are freeloaders because given enough time, others would follow suit.

Unless the management bodies are strong enough to act against them, the condition of the property would soon fall into disrepair due to lack of funds.

Following the amendment to the Strata Titles Act 1985 and the implementation of the Building and Common Property (Management and Maintenance) Act 2007, high-rise property owners were hopeful that issues with the management of such property would be solved.

The mandatory setting up of a Joint-Management Body (JMB) was seen as better able to protect the interests of both sides. However, this apparently has not materialised as can be seen at the two-day seminar for high-rise building management organised by City Hall recently.

As highlighted by disgruntled building managers at the seminar, the Commissioner of Buildings (COB) has to compel errant property owners to pay their maintenance fees and the arrears, especially if there are provisions in the Building and Common Property (Maintenance and Management) Act 2007.

In a city like Kuala Lumpur, there are many management bodies which have run into financial trouble because of poor fee collection. Signs of this can be seen in badly maintained lifts and unpainted exterior.

Some managers have even abandoned security patrols altogether because they cannot afford to employ security guards. As a result, some properties are beginning to look like city slums.

In the past, the Federal Territory Land Office was entrusted with overseeing the management of strata titled properties. The number of condominiums and apartment complexes which have become eyesores today speak volumes of how well the responsibility was carried out.

There is very little building managers can do to get errant property owners to pay maintenance fees or recover arrears if the COB's office is hesitant to enforce the law and to do so without fear or favour.

Management bodies usually comprise residents themselves and many have been threatened with bodily harm or have their property defaced for displaying the names and addresses of the bad paymasters on the notice board. Short of lodging police reports, many continue to suffer in silence, or have given up and moved to landed properties.

Mayor Datuk Ahmad Fuad Ismail, who is the designated COB for KL, should take a look into the current state of affairs affecting highrises before they become unmanageable.

Already Ahmad Fuad has acknowledged that there were 1,785 high-rise housing schemes out of a total of 4,552 that had yet to set up their respective JMB.

Even if all have set up their respective management bodies, what good will it do if enforcement to compel errant property owners to pay maintenance fees is lacking? Several years down the road, Kuala Lumpur may be full of high-rise slums because building managers do not have the funds to maintain them.

Allow RTD to join fight against 'Mat Rempit'

THE proposal by the Road Transport Department to seek more stringent measures to deal with Mat Rempit (or road thugs as they are now known) should be looked into. After all, the menace has put the police at their wits' end, with even the top cop now contemplating rehabilitative measures instead.

For too long, the silent majority have had to endure the danger posed by these road thugs who have not only been immortalised in movies but were also taken on a skydiving trip to the North Pole to let them know that they can be useful citizens.

Judging from the newspaper reports over the past few weeks, it would appear that we may have been taken for a ride all this time. Perhaps it's time for us to stop bending backwards to accommodate such unruly behaviour. Maybe we should let the RTD join the fight and deal with the menace once and for all.

The proposal to seize the motorcycles of the road thugs and reducing the vehicles to scrap could prove to be more economically sensible than issuing summonses, especially if the income generated could be channelled to good use.


The authorities might even want to take this a step further by working with other licencing authorities and nail the menace at source by reprimanding the motor workshops responsible for modifying normal motorcycles into the mean machines.

The suggestion to have the road thugs do community service could just be the rehabilitation measure Inspector-General of Police Tan Sri Musa Hassan was looking for weeks ago.

Cleaning clogged drains and scraping dried chewing gums off pavements have a way of instilling humility in many people. Perhaps it could do the same for the thugs who continue to insist on their need for speed.

Repeat offenders can be given the cane, in addition to the shame campaign, so that they are sorely but surely reminded of their misdeed each time they sit on their motorcycles and contemplate mischief.

Of course, it will also do the authorities a lot of good to examine why, with all the high-tech cameras mounted around the city, the road thug and snatch thief menace continues unabated.

While police vigilance cannot be expected round-the-clock, computers can record what the cameras view 24/7 -- unless of course, "cataracts" in the form of dirt, dust and grime have covered up these lenses.

And don't forget to deal with the advertisements that promote motorcycles based on their vroom factor alone.

The things we stomach at eateries

IF you have been eating street food long enough, you will no doubt have a fair number of horror stories to tell, with the severity of your experience depending largely on your luck, or perhaps, the lack of it.

I had just had another "unforgettable" experience while having breakfast at the stall near my house. When my two pieces of capati and a glass of Nescafe tarik arrived, I asked for sambal.

I was happily tucking in when the spoon scooped up something flat and black from the red paste of anchovies and chilli.

What looked like a piece of coconut shell the size of a 20-sen coin killed my appetite.


I paid the bill and showed the cashier the foreign ingredient in my sambal. The cashier called the cook who took a look and broke out laughing.

In halting Malay, he said that it was only a burnt piece of sambal that had been dislodged from the griddle, and added that it was edible.

Finding his explanation hard to swallow, I promptly passed him the stuff, said he could have it for lunch, and left.

When I related this to my friend, she said I was lucky. Her brother-in-law has weaned off chicken porridge for good after his regular morning stop at his favourite stall in Chow Kit.

"He felt something sinewy in his bite and when he took the thing out, it looked like a piece of cuttlefish tentacle. He thought nothing of the stuff, put it back into his mouth and continued eating.

"After all, some people do add dried cuttlefish to chicken porridge to enhance the taste, he reasoned. That morning the porridge did taste unusually good to him," she said.

"But as he continued, he noticed something bigger in the bowl, and promptly scooped it out -- it was a dead lizard, its tail missing."

My father-in-law is sharp when it comes to eating out. Open-sky policy is out for him after a bird's dropping missed his plate at an open-air foodcourt years ago.

Now he only eats at places that are brightly lit and have a roof. If he could, he would scrutinise the premises to appraise the general hygiene before even sitting down.

My mother-in-law is often exasperated with this routine and likened him to a health inspector. I am not complaining, though, since no lizard or bird droppings have turned up in my meal yet.

But I sometimes wonder how many of the eating places in the city will have passed my father-in-law's cursory scrutiny if indeed he was a health inspector. It doesn't take much training or common sense to know that grimy floors, dirty kitchens and smelly toilets spell trouble where food business has become a 24-hour activity.

How dirty eateries escape the attention of the authorities is best left to speculation but it is mind-boggling that we should have health warnings on cigarette packs and non-smoking signs everywhere but no indication of how people could report dirty eateries.

Have you seen a hotline number for complaints being made a mandatory part of a restaurant's menu?

As for the consumers, many don't seem to mind the occasional cockroach or rat scuttling across the floor or the strand of hair that turns up in their curries.

Some would dish out their wisdom on how to tackle the A (H1N1) flu while at the same time not even batting an eyelid at the dirty fingers or unkempt attire of the food handlers serving them.

So what's your child's ambition?

HAVE you asked your children what they want to be when they grow up? Yes, their ambitions. I have forgotten all about this ambition thing until my children's teacher asked me if I knew what their ambitions were. I said: "No, I didn't ask."

The last time I was subjected to the drill was during my first day at secondary school. I recalled the indignation written all over my form teacher's face when I told him I wanted to be a postman because I loved collecting stamps. Aghast, he said, he did not want to hear anymore of it. Any student good enough to be in his class was capable of much greater things in life, he declared, and promptly introduced me to the power of positive thinking.

However, several changes in ambitions later, I realised that it was an exercise in futility. Good as an icebreaker for conversations, asking about a child's ambition is certainly no fun for the poor kid who has to decide on an answer that could potentially classify him/her as achievers or non-achievers, or worse, good-for-nothings.

To be curious about a child's ambition is harmless, of course. The real danger is when the answer does not fit our expectations. In our enthusiasm to impart our adulthood's wisdom, we could divert the child from his/her true calling or capabilities with our own ideals.


Even if the answer meets our approval, how sure are we that it was what he or she really wanted and not because everyone else had the same idea? Or could it be a subconscious need to fulfil someone else's expectations, like their parents', for example?

I have seen harried parents shuttling children from one tuition centre to another, chasing paper qualifications and skills which they hoped would put their children ahead of the rat race and nearer to achieving their ambitions.

One teenager I met at an art class said she had ceased to complain and has complied with the wishes of her mother, a successful insurance agency manager, to attend self-defence, dancing, chess, piano, public speaking, and art sessions seven days a week, in addition to the regular tuition classes. I asked if she had time for other things. "No," she said, "but it beats staying home when all my friends were attending a class."

I suppose children living far from the city are luckier. At least, the kids in the kampung still have their freedom to live their lives as children and not live out their ambitious parents' dreams.

As for my teenage children, I don't mind if they cannot tell me what their ambitions are right now. As long as they grow up to be humble, kind, respectful and filial, half of their life's battle has already been won.

An indispensable window to today's world

I GOT acquainted with my first computer in the mid '80s. It was an Amstrad and it ran on tapes. It took ages to start up and was quite noisy too.

Later, I got an Apple IIe which had a small monitor that spewed green- coloured text.

It ran on two 51/4-inch disks and had a memory smaller than today's handphone.

And it was just as slow.


Then came the 31/2-inch disk revolution, and a couple of Windows later, a flurry of devices that were founded on the evolving computing technology.

Most of them were designed to either make you work more efficiently or improve your life, or both.

But many were just as exasperatingly unpredictable as their predecessors.

People in the publishing business, I believe, were among those who had experienced firsthand the technology changes.

I recall magazine designers who had scoffed at the desktop publishing system (DTP) when Ventura Publisher and Pagemaker were released.

Some refused to learn the new system, called it a fad and continued using the point chart and pica ruler.

Only those farsighted took the stride forward.

And when typesetting houses adopted full DTP use, the latter had the last laugh as their critics were either retired by technology, ended up becoming proof-readers, or forced to embrace the new system.

Technology has come quite far since the early days of the Beyond 2000 television series, especially where pointing you in the right direction is concerned.

Take for instance, the global positioning system (GPS) receiver that is fast becoming a status symbol of the tech savvy today.

Slightly bigger than your pager, this device, when switched on, seeks out the satellites above you and gets them to tell you exactly where you are on the ground.

Advanced models could even track you as you walk or run. Leave a breadcrumb on your trail and you will be able to find your way home if you got lost.

Even those born with the most impeccable sense of direction can benefit from the GPS receiver.

It also has a built-in mobile directory -- restaurants, petrol stations, hospitals or even the nearest police station can easily be located with just a tap on the touch screen.

Of course, the accuracy would depend on how well the maps are updated.

But save for the occasional dead ends and uncharted monsoon drains, you could still, with some common sense, make your way to unfamiliar destinations, like how I did recently when visiting SMK Bandar Sunway for the first time for the BSRA-NST Streets Family Day '09.

In fact, GPS technology is already used in most mobile phones and some receivers are already part of the accessories package for new cars.

Those who scoff at this are gently reminded to look at how the mobile phone has evolved.

From being a status symbol the size of a brick, it is a necessity today.

In future, it could even be the only thing you will ever need to carry around when leaving home.

Fears expressed by consumer associations that prolonged use of the mobile phone is detrimental to health have yet to be conclusively proven.

You only start losing your mind when you lose your phone and try to figure out the number to call home.

The beauty of being different

I DID not have a keen sense of humour, I was told, when I said I did not find the Danny Boy advertisement amusing.

If you have not seen the advertisement, which is no longer being shown on terrestrial television stations, it's about a young man whose blind date after an exchange of SMSes turned out not to be what he had expected. The sight of the oversized, Ugly Betty look-alike shocked him and he ran for his life.

I was at a friend's place when the advertisement appeared on TV. One observant teenager in the living room asked why I did not laugh. I said I did not get the joke. He then proceeded to explain the "joke" to me, slowly, and even related a similar experience with his version of Ugly Betty, and how he had cleverly sneaked out the back door of the McDonalds outlet where they were meeting. I told him that his action was not only not amusing but it was also rude.

I am reminded of the painful years when some of my friends had to endure the teasing of their peers for being different. Their physique, health condition, genetic inheritance or even financial status -- or rather the lack of it -- often became the source of jokes among the shallow-minded.


One chap who suffered from albinism was embarrassed when a teacher nicknamed him "Snow White" -- a tag which followed him everywhere until his failure in the Lower Certificate of Education offered a way out of his misery.

One tall girl I know became hunched in later years after constantly bending her head low to escape the "panjang" taunts of her classmates. There were many more who were made fun of.

The emotionally tough ones grew up, forgot about the teasings and went on to lead successful lives. However, the less able ones carry the psychological scars into adulthood, becoming overly self-conscious as they try to stay hopelessly compliant to the norms, real or imagined. And the only ones who benefit commercially from these insecurities are the marketers.

Too dark? Get a cream that will make you fairer. Can't see your toes for your girth? No problem. Join a spa that will turn you into a supermodel.

Can't get any friends? Spray this aerosol under your arms and you will not only smell sweet but have more friends, too. Losing your hair? Slap this cream on your scalp and you will not only get your hair but also the girls back.

In other words, there is something for every complaint that you may have.

After being exposed to such messages long enough, it can cloud your judgment of what is normal and what is not. It gets quite tough, too, when it comes to guiding your growing children through these minefields of perceived norms. I tell mine to just be themselves. It is their lives and they should not let others dictate how they should live it. As human beings, we are entitled to the frailties of being human, even a blemish or two. Beauty that is skin-deep can dangerously mask an even more serious character flaw.

Remember how people laughed at William Hung when he first performed?

Probably the same type of people who also laughed at Susan Boyle recently. And guess who's having the last laugh now?

Road bullies come in all colours and sizes

SOMEONE should undertake a behavioural study on what turns rational human beings into monsters once they are behind the wheels and see if the violent streak runs through certain personality types.

For instance, what causes them to charge at you from behind, announcing their arrival with flashing headlamps, when you are already on your maximum speed limit?

If they fail to grab your attention, they threaten your vehicle with bodily harm by tailgating as close as your rear bumper allows.

In traffic jams, they switch lanes without signalling. God help the motorcyclists travelling in between the lanes who fail to read their next move and apply the brakes in time.


Long queues bring out the beast in some motorists as they muscle in from the left, ready to cut queue so that they can get ahead without having to wait in line. And should their impatience result in an accident, they will hop out and scold you for not giving way.

When we speak of road bullies, the ugly stereotype -- the steering-lock wielding and hot-tempered Malaysian -- comes to mind.

Most of us are more forgiving towards foreigners who drive. They are better behaved on the road, or so we tell ourselves. But nothing could be further than the truth as my colleague found out last week.

She was driving through a stretch where one lane had been closed for roadwork. A signalman had been positioned to direct traffic.

As soon as she saw the gesture for traffic on her side to move, she drove forward.

But before she had covered half the distance, a Mercedes came from the opposite side and met her car head-on on a lane wide enough for only one vehicle to pass.

It stopped inches from her car and the driver just stared blankly at her.

"If I was not running late for work that morning, I would have stood my ground," she said later.

And when she reversed to let him pass, the bully expressed no gratitude and smugly drove off. But what riled my colleague most was that she had expected the white man to have better road manners.

Her story reminded me of my experience some time ago.

The traffic lights had been a bit slow that morning and a queue had built up at the junction.

After 15 minutes of waiting, my car was second in the queue. Suddenly, another car swerved in from the left and positioned itself into the small space between my car and the one in front.

I honked to alert the driver of the dangerous proximity and I was promptly replied with an incomprehensible scream from the driver, a burly woman of African descent.

All that I could make out of the cacophony was the sight of a child in school uniform seated in the backseat. The child running late for school could have been the cause of the driver's violent behaviour.

I gave in and let her pass.

But instead of a wave of gratitude, one finger came out of the window.

Since that incident, I have stopped expecting foreigners to have better road manners than Malaysians.

I have also stopped cursing locals who misbehaved on the road.

I have come to accept that all road bullies are the same monster underneath -- black, white or yellow-skinned, men or women.

Their rude behaviour does not bother me anymore because I know that one day, their paths will cross and they will teach each other a lesson neither will forget.

Don't pick and choose who to punish

KUDOS to the Petaling Jaya City Council for declaring its seriousness in tackling haphazard and illegal parking in the city.

The council has said that cars parked indiscriminately in the "hot spots" in Sections 5, 8 and 52 will be towed away.

Hopefully, this move will discipline the most hardcore of errant motorists when they find themselves poorer by RM300 -- which they will have to pay to reclaim their vehicles -- not to mention the storage fees for each day that their cars are left in the council's yard.

If the move by the council is successful, law-abiding motorists will not only find relief in a smoother traffic flow but they will also be able to go about their businesses with peace of mind as they know that they will not return to find their cars blocked by another vehicle.


The Kuala Lumpur City Hall has been doing the same thing.

City Hall tow trucks make their rounds in Jalan Raja Laut, Chow Kit, Pudu, Imbi, and other problem areas, striking fear into the hearts of errant motorists.

It helps to deter motorists from leaving their cars where they like while grabbing a drink at the mamak stall or picking their children up from tuition centres.

The reason why people park as though they own the road is because enforcement has been lacking.

If there had been strict enforcement from the start, discipline would have been instilled by now.

The Kuala Lumpur City Hall has so far been quite diligent as seen in Bangsar and several other hot spots.

City Hall traffic wardens have promptly attended to vehicles that were indiscriminately parked as well as those legally parked but with expired parking tickets.

If the authorities keep up the enforcement, a culture of discipline among motorists will be established. Traffic congestion from illegal parking will be a thing of the past.

However, in dealing with illegal parking, local authorities must also look at the root of the problem.

The curse of a bustling business area is often the lack of parking space.

Often, one finds parking bays occupied by either inconsiderate restaurant operators who place their tables and chairs for alfresco dining or by workshop operators reserving not only one but several parking bays in front of their shops for their clients, all duly marked with their own "No Parking" signs.

If no action is taken against these inconsiderate business operators, the authorities will be seen as practising double standards.

After all, if they penalise those who park illegally, shouldn't they also take action against those who illegally hog parking spaces?

The authorities risk putting their image at stake if the law is not seen to be applied justly to all.

The blessings on the table that we take for granted

CITY folk are so lucky when it comes to eating out. Food is available practically round-the-clock and at almost every corner of the city.

My friend from Tasmania, who noticed this, marvelled at our good fortune. She has chalked up a fair share of local food knowledge within weeks of arriving in Kundang for her artistic residency.

By the end of the first month, she had shown me some of the best vegetarian food outlets and yong tau foo shops in Sungai Buloh.

When I told my friends living in the area about her discovery, they were surprised that such food havens existed. Of course, I cannot blame them for their ignorance.


These days, eateries grow like mushrooms after rain. Good times or bad, people have to eat.

Take a look around the city, or better still, drive into Jinjang, Setapak, Imbi, Pudu, or even Cheras and you will be surprised to see how houses are transformed into makeshift restaurants by nightfall.

Some have even become more popular than the licensed restaurants in the neighbourhood, which, by now, would have to lower their prices or be driven out of business.

The fact that there are as many nasi kandar joints in the city as there are seafood restaurants in the Klang Valley speaks volumes of our insatiable appetite for food.

Many of my friends from out of town often surmised that city folk were either filthy rich as they eat out so often or simply too lazy to cook. I told them that neither of these were true.

Sometimes, eating out is the better alternative, especially if you are single or there's only you and your spouse.

The economies of scale aside, getting home in time to cook a decent meal is often just as challenging as figuring out what to cook so that you do not repeat what you ate three days ago.

Most city folk would rather deal with the dilemma of deciding on what to eat at the food court. And the cost -- both in time and effort spent in cooking and cleaning up after eating -- is not exactly cheaper in the long run.

Of course, people who are lucky enough to be served home-cooked meals at their dining tables every evening can thumb their noses at eating out.

They can extol the benefits of home cooking to the envy of those who had to subject themselves to the daily doses of monosodium glutamate hidden in the tasty street fare.

I salute working spouses who manage to find the inspiration amid the perspiration to cook up something at the end of a long day at the office. Only love could have powered their stamina day after day -- not just the love for food but more importantly, the love for the well-being of their loved ones.

On the other hand, their other half who come home each evening and complaint about their cooking not being good enough should try and see if they could do better without losing their minds in the process.