Life is only artificially sweetened with more sugar

MY wife and I were speechless when asked by a neighbour how we felt about the sugar price hike. My reply, after I had recovered from the suprise, rendered her speechless as well. I said the 20 sen hike over the RM1.45 sen per kilo price did not matter as we hardly used sugar. The sweetest thing we had around the house would be raw honey, which we use occasionally for the children's sore throats.

In fact, I have switched my beverage to kosong (without milk and sugar) when having a drink because it has become a chore trying to make the waiters understand what I meant when I ordered my drinks kurang manis (less sweet).

I did not want to attract looks of disdain by ordering air kosong (plain water) or ais kosong (plain iced water), so I settled for halia kosong (plain ginger juice) or limau kosong (plain lime juice) instead.

A few weeks ago, I even decided to altogether avoid the café near the office after it raised the price of limau kosong to RM1.20, which I thought was unreasonable.


How much would two limes squeezed into hot water cost, anyway? Limes go as cheap as RM1 per longgok (a pile) of no less than 30 fruits at the pasar tani near my home. While the citrus drink was healthy, I figured the price was not. Now I take a shorter route to the canteen which charges only 80 sen.

The shorter walk may not be as good for the health as the longer walk to the café, but at least I save 40 sen for every glass of limau kosong.

My wife wondered if there would be another round of price increase. The neighbourhood kuih seller had already hinted that it was harder for her to make ends meet. I stopped her short of saying she had to raise prices by reminding her of the price hikes when petrol prices went up.

Everyone who raised prices had justification for their actions but when the price of petrol dropped, how many had the decency to reduce theirs? Now that the price of sugar had gone up, some are ready to jump at the chance again.

Considering the sugar price hike to be at 13 per cent, reducing a similar percentage of sugar from food and drink would do little harm, I think. How many people can taste the difference, anyway?

Food vendors would actually be doing their customers a favour to make their stuff less sweet, considering the price their customers would have to pay in medical bills in later years.

I read in a report that Malaysians were downing an average of 26 teaspoons of sugar daily instead of the recommended seven. That's twice of the world's average of 11. This is certainly not healthy although it could be sweet news to the pharmaceuticals business. A term had been coined for those with slightly higher blood sugar level. "Prediabetes" means that if you do not cut your sugar intake, you will get diabetes in five years.

A healthier alternative would be to go sugar-free to satisfy your sweet tooth but that would not necessarily be good either. Sugar alternatives are not cheap judging from the prices of sugar-free stuff in the market these days.

So, the sweetest thing you can do for yourself is to perhaps go sugarless. After all, what could be sweeter than the taste of good health?

10 sen a day is small price to pay

THE start of each school year is always a trying time for the Parent-Teacher Associations of most schools. For some, it can be just a headache while for others, it can escalate into a migraine. If it is the PTA of an elite school, I am told, the headache is likely be caused by too many parents fighting to sit on its committee because of the prestige that comes with it.

But for the sekolah harian, the generic majority of day schools in the city where anyone seeking education is accepted irrespective of creed, colour or education-level, the pain the PTAs face are normally of migraine proportions -- and this usually has something to do with the collection of fees.

Not only does the PTA have to figure out how to survive on limited resources, it also has the tough job of getting parents to attend the soon-to-be-held annual general meeting, and selecting new board members to replace those who are retiring.

Two years ago, when the government announced the scrapping of school fees, some parents saw red when PTA fees remained on the list of charges they had to pay at the start of the school year. One school I know had to deal with a horde of angry parents demanding explanations on why they had to pay PTA fees since the "newspapers had said that education was free".


These parents had failed to realise that what was done away with was the school fee of RM4.50 per primary pupil and RM9 per secondary school student.

The PTA fee, which varies from school to school, is decided based on the average income level of the parents. For city schools, it is between RM25 and RM50 annually, to be collected at the start of each school year. The school I know collects RM30 annually from each family regardless of how many children are enrolled in the school.

The meagre sum is collected to fund a host of things for the benefit of students and teachers. This ranges from equipping the multimedia room with a speedier Internet connection to buying attire for the school teams for competitions. A part of the funds is used as incentives for good performance to motivate students and teachers, as well as to organise talks, seminars and additional classes.

A small sum is also used to sponsor meals for students from poor families so that they can keep their minds on their books instead of on their hunger, and gain an education that will hopefully pull their families out of their financial quagmire.

All this may seem unbelievable in a city school but it is the reality of the PTA's spending.

For schools that collect RM30 in PTA fees, the amount works out to less than 10 sen a day -- a paltry sum that will not even buy you a glass of iced water in the city today. Of course, the PTA fee is not the only payment that parents have to pay at the start of each school year. I have been facing the same issue for more than a decade now. In fact, my wife has become quite the expert financial planner when it comes to dealing with this.

But what I am trying to figure out is how some parents who gripe to me about PTA fees can afford the latest cellphones, enjoy satellite television and drive luxury cars. Maybe someone can tell me why a nominal contribution to our children's education should take a backseat to our lifestyle wants?

Diners find their bill hard to stomach

A COUPLE of weeks ago, an amusing incident caught my attention as I was having breakfast near home.

A man who appeared affluent enough to afford a much more lavish fare was haggling with the Indian Muslim stall owner over the price of the roti cheese bawang.

He was billed RM2.80 and he had refused to pay. The young man, who had arrived in a seven-series BMW as I was just alighting from my old jalopy moments earlier, wanted the proprietor to justify how the roti cheese bawang was priced.

The conversation went something like this:

"How much is roti cheese?" he asked.

"RM2.40," replied the proprietor.

"How much is roti cheese bawang?"

"RM2.80."

"Why so expensive?"

"Because we need to pay for bawang!"

"How much do you charge for bawang?"

"Forty sen."

"But you only gave me a slice!"

"Bawang is not cheap."

"How much is a kilogramme of bawang?"

By then a queue had formed and the proprietor was getting edgy as seven pairs of eyes were trained on him.

The young man took no notice of the impatience building up among the diners and continued to grill the proprietor.

When the eighth person joined the queue, the proprietor grudgingly agreed to accept RM2.60 from the young man so as not to create a scene.

The young man walked away happy.

He was lucky, compared to another chap's ordeal at a restaurant located at the foothills of a highland resort.

He had apparently gone to a popular restaurant and ordered a meal which included a steamed "sultan fish" -- also known as ikan jelawat or Chinese carp as we anglers call it.

When the bill came, his eyes must have almost popped out like the steamed fish's.

The bill was over RM500 and the most expensive dish turned out to be the 1.4kg fish priced at RM320 per kg.

And there was little the diner could do except pay the bill after failing to ask the price of the steamed fish prior to ordering.

I suppose he could take it to the Consumer Claims Tribunal and see if he had a case against the restaurant -- if he is still hungry for justice.

Learning about his plight, I know now that I have to not only give my bills more than a cursory glance but also make it a point to ask the prices of food before I order, just in case.

Of course, by doing so, I would look like a real cheapskate to other diners, but at least if there was something fishy going on, I would not swallow it hook, line and sinker.

Caring neighbours can help boost home security

A FRIEND who used to thumb his nose at “pigeon-hole dwellers” like me for being saddled with perpetual monthly maintenance fee, was forced to eat humble pie recently. When I visited him a couple of weeks ago, I was surprised to see the security outpost at the entrance to his neighbourhood.

Seated behind a small desk under a bright hawker’s umbrella was a lone foreign-looking guard who was catching forty winks when the sound of my car’s engine woke him up.

Instead of being curious and flagging me down, he just smiled and waved me through as if he had known me for ages. Although I was not surprised, having seen one too many untrained guards, I was concerned. So, I asked my friend about the new security feature. He said one break-in too many had made his affluent neighbours jittery.

They decided to engage a security firm to watch over the neighbourhood so that everyone could sleep easy at night or spend the day working without worrying about coming home to a burglarised house.


In return for the peace of mind, each household would have to fork out RM50 monthly for the security service. My friend was tasked with fee collection. Although the move had the support of the majority, my friend faced the same problem as many of us at our condominium. Freeloaders are a dime a dozen and there are those who refuse to pay the nominal fee and give all kinds of excuses.

Those tasked with fee collection, such as my friend, now have a new worry to keep them up at night — how to persuade freeloaders to pay so that everyone can enjoy the peace.

According to my friend, his neighbourhood’s gated community concept may end up being scrapped if the generosity of those who have been faithfully paying runs out.

My friend was wondering if legal action could be taken against the freeloaders. based on the tacit contract formed when the idea of a gated community was hatched. I told him that if he wanted another worry to keep him up at night, he could pursue the matter.

As a condo dweller for over a decade, I have come to realise that even the laws governing mandatory payment of maintenance fees have failed to make freeloaders toe the line — not unless someone can come up with a foolproof way to collect the money owed, the way the tax department collects its dues.

Communities aspiring to live within a gated enclave will do well to consider other alternatives, especially if their neighbourhood is not planned as a gated community right from the start. Apart from having to contend with the freeloaders, they may also incur the wrath of regular users of the public roads they now barricade.

If they do not run foul of the law first, they are also likely to put their lives in danger in an emergency because rescue vehicles will have a tough time will not be able to going through the oil drum barriers.

I think if neighbours start talking to each other more, learn to care and watch out for each other when either one is away, maybe they may not need gated neighbourhoods.

We did it in the ’70s and we called it Rukun Tetangga.

Stay connected but don't lose touch with real world

I BOUGHT a netbook and upgraded my 512K broadband service from a 44-hour per month subscription to an unlimited one last week.

The netbook was necessary because my sixyear- old desktop was beginning to show signs of age.

Before it dies on me and takes my writings with it, I got a new one at the recent PC fair.

The broadband upgrade was purely economic sensibility.

My teenage daughters will be accessing the Internet more for their schoolwork when they go to Forms Three and Five next year.

It is cheaper, in the long run, to opt for an unlimited browsing package.

Hopefully, with the subscription, I will able to wire upmy home with a Web-based security system that I can access anywhere using my mobile phone — something I had wanted to do since the webcam was invented.

While I have always marvelled at the wonders of the Internet, I would have never taken the need to stay connected 24/7 seriously if it had not been part of my job requirement once.

I would be happier with a Moleskine in hand on my days off.

Take a look around.

Have you no - ticed that we are slowly but surely becoming a city of people who cannot be without our netbooks, laptops and handphones, who have to stay connected to the Internet? While on the move, some of us are busy tapping away at our mobile devices.

Even at the dinner table among family and friends, conversations never cease to be interrupted by incoming SMSes or the checking of social network updates.

Owning more than one phone is now a status symbol.

With free Wi-Fi available citywide and ever cheaper Internet browsing devices, how many of us would be hopelessly attached to the devices if not for our restraint? Sometime ago, my daughter’s teacher found out that I had not taught my children how to blog.

“Start immediately,” she said.

“The Internet is the future and online is the way to stay updated and informed.

” I told her I did not encourage my children to do what their peers do on the Internet because I had always felt there was more to life than cruising the Internet superhighway.

What is the point of staying connected on cy - berspace but out of touch with the real world? These days, you can send audio emails or speak face-to-face with loved ones and friends on your laptop or video phone.

You can index their addresses and input the locations in your handphone, netbook, global positioning system (GPS) receivers or even mark them in your Google maps account so that technology can help you get there in a jiffy.

But pray tell,what good will all that do if you do not pay them a visit, shake their hands and say hello, and find out how they are getting on in their lives?

Going to the movies, now and then

WATCHED 2012 yet? I thought I’d wait a while till the novelty wears off and the crowd has thinned out a bit.

Back in the early ’80s, going to the movies was the highlight of the week for most people I knew.

Tickets, depending on the quality of the cinema and the movies screened, were priced between RM1 and RM4.50.

Regular shows cost as little as 65 sen in cinemas on the outskirts.

There were also students’ matinee and “adult” movies but you had to be in school uniform to watch the former and above 18 to watch the latter.

Even if you could slip by the burly guards at the entrance, the ushers patrolling the aisles would catch you.

At the Alhambra, the pride of the people in Setapak and its vicinity until it was demolished in the 1980s, front row seats cost only 45 sen and those near the projection window slightly over a ringgit.

On Fridays and weekend nights, it was packed with moviegoers and touts out to make a fast buck from those too lazy to queue.

A post-movie neck sprain was almost a certainty if you insisted on the wooden front row seats.

Unless you had indifferent nostrils, the stench of mothballs emanating from the toilet, a spit’s distance away, would be forever etched in your memory — if it didn’t make you vomit first.

Bigger cinemas like the Federal, Rex, Cathay and Pavilion had better seating arrangements.

Some even had velvety gallery seats upstairs which were priced about twice as much as the regular ones downstairs.

In the days, when munching kuaci (melon seeds) was in vogue, regular moviegoers instinctively knew not to sit directly below the gallery’s edge.

Of course, kuaciwas not much of a problem compared with spent chewing gum stuck on the armrests, s e at s or floor.

But if you had sat on one, chances are that youwould also have learnt how to get the sticky mess off and save your new Amco jeans.

In the days when smoking was the norm, a movie outing was a smelly experience just as a trip to the pubs is today.

It took a hot bath and lots of Lux soap to get the lingering nicotine smell off your hair and skin.

In badlymaintained cinemas, leaky roofs and rodents made moviegoing a memorable exper ience.

When the arrival of the Betamax videocassette tape, and later VCDs, drew the curtains on many of the poorly-kept cinemas, most people thought it spelt the end of moviegoing.

However, the cinemas returned as cineplexes, which are cleaner, have better seats and improved audiovisual systems.

Some of the toilets, stench-free and far away, even smell better than the air in the cinema itself.

The phone reservation system has also, thankfully, put the touts out of business.

Although they do not sell Eagle brand kuaci these days, you can still stuff yourself silly with popcorn, hamburgers and fizzy drinks.

The price of going to a movie is not lower but at least you don’t have to worry about rats or spent gums sticking to your bottom.

But of course, themovie industry is still under threat — not only from night market traders but also from cyberspace torrent downloads and portable media players.

Learning valuable lessons at the school of hard knocks

I WAS shopping for a backpack at a shopping complex near home a couple of weeks ago when I found one I had been wanting to buy for years.

I must have spent close to 15 minutes examining it but the price tag deterred me.

Paying over RM100 for a backpack did not appear too sensible, so I decided to return it to the shelf.

Just as I was about to do so, a young salesman came up and asked if he could assist.

I complained it was too pricey.

“All backpacks are just as expensive these days, sir,” he said.

“But this one is made of very good material, cordura.

The colour looks good, too.

This is the last piece.

It’s worth it, sir.

“Besides, we are giving discounts of up to 15 per cent to our regulars if you have our loyalty card,” he added.

My wife who was embarrassed at my indecision said I should just buy the bag sincemy current bag, which I had redeemed after years of accumulating petrol points, was s e ve n years old and coming apart at the s e a m s.

I finally agreed, not so much be - cause of her reasoning or thematerial the bag was made of, but more be - cause of the effort made by the sales - man.

Not many sales people take the trouble these days and this chap was yo u n g .

Curious, I asked him his age.

Sixteen, he said.

His father was a police constable and he lived at the barracks across the road.

He had just completed his Form Four final examinations and had started working part-time at the store a few days ago.

He worked five evenings a week and was paid RM4 an hour.

He started early, he said, because when the holidays began, jobs would be scarce.

I asked if his parents minded him working at such a young age.

He shook his head and added that he would be taking his SPM examinations next year.

He needed money to buy revision books and he did not want to ask his parents for it since they also had to consider the needs of his four younger siblings.

The fact that he was not shy to admit he wasworking because he needed the money impressed me heaps.

He had been brought up right, I thought.

Howmany teenagers his age would be brave enough to get a job and finance their own spendingwithout asking for handouts? How many would see working as a productive alternative to hanging out in cinema lobbies, cybercafes and street pavements during the school break? The sight of children from poor families trying to eke out a living at the food courts I go to daily touches me in the same way.

Whether they are helping their parents at their stalls or working for others for a pittance, without feeling shy or ashamed and braving the scoldings of impatient customers and nasty bosses, this tells me that many will go far in life as they learn the lessons of independence, resourcefulness and humility — lessons that cannot be taught in school but can only be learnt at the school of hard knocks.

Trapped in the web of inferiority complex

ARE you familiar with the phrase “to look down upon”? I have always thought that it was an Oriental phenomenon until I Googled it and found an online forum catering to people who had been looked down upon.

In Hokkien, it is simply known as “khua beh khee”, which means to have a lowly regard for someone.

The Malay version is more direct — “pandang rendah”, or simply, “to look down upon”.

The phrase means to regard one or a group of people with disdain or scorn, and even contempt due to real or perceived lack of certain material qualities.

For example, it is said that the rich were more likely to often look down upon the poor if status became an important preoccupation.

The beautiful may thumb their noses at the less endowed, for instance.

Usually, the disdain stems from material attributes, or the lack of it, and is rarely spir itual.

The impact can be far reaching for the recipient, depending on how inferior he or she is made to feel, and for how long.

Whenmy family moved into a village in Kuala Lumpur in the mid 1970s, I got to know a family of seven siblings living a destitute life.

The father did odd-jobs and the mother was believed to be mentally ill.

The villagers avoided the family and the children, a rowdy bunch who were often the suspects when a petty crime took place.

As a result, the family pretty much kept to themselves, the children playing near the shack made out of discarded planks and rusty metal sheets which they called home.

Passing by their home one evening while returning from school, I saw the siblings eating white rice mixed with condensed milk for dinner.

When one of the boys sensed my presence, he put down his plate, picked up a plank and waved it at me —as if to warn me not to look at them.

The hostility, I later found out, stemmed from their being frequently picked on and having the villagers looked down upon them.

Years later, when they grew up, got jobs and moved on to better lives, the chap who waved the plank at me remained trapped in the net of inferiority complex woven by those who had looked down upon him and his family.

I was told he later turned to a life of crime.

But society not only looked down upon the poor.

A friend related how one of her uncles had looked down upon her family because her siblings were not as good in their studies as their cousins.

The battles were not over financial status but over academic achievements by which success was measured in the number of ‘A’s one obtained.

In later years, the odds evened out and her family produced as many PhD holders as her uncle’s.

However, she said, her father was still unable to lose that inferior feeling at annual family reunions, treading carefully in words and actions lest the other party was offended.

She wished her father would one day take pride in the fact that his children had not only grown up to be successful but also did not lose their human touch and had not looked down upon anyone.

Being looked down is of course nothing to be ashamed of.

Positively taken, it can be a powerful catalyst to drive one towards success.

Otherwise, it traps us in the web of inferiority complex and self-doubt that can also be likened to looking down upon ourselves.

Not wasting food is also part of good eating habits

MY colleagues and I were aghast at a recent buffet gathering when a group of guests left behind a plate of at least 15 sticks of uneaten satay, piled together with used plastic forks and spoons, and a polystyrene cup of half-drank syrup.

When the waiter arrived to clear the table, most of us were embarrassed, wondering what he must be thinking when he saw the wastage.

But perhaps he had seen so many instances of such wasteful leftovers that he was no longer troubled by it.

I now recall why I stopped going for high-tea.

While eating was never my favourite past time, I think it was the sight of food being wasted that had kept me away.

I avoided high-tea events because I figured that they were for people with huge appetites and super-efficient metabolism, or simply deep p o c k e t s.

Otherwise, it would take quite an effort to down as much food as one could stomach without feeling the guilt of having spent a bomb and not eating every sen’s worth.

I remember one amusing incident in which a young woman was alternating between her table and the food counter.

She piled her plates with all the “e x p e n s i ve ” food as if it was an eating challenge — much to the embarrassment of her partner at the table.

He was trying to hide his face behind a menu as she prodded him to go “grab some food before everything is taken”—despite having literally brought half the food from the counters to her table.

I also recall an occasion when a boisterous chap with his midriff spilling out of his pants told his children to take as much food as they fancied because they were all paid f o r.

He didn’t even notice the disgusted expression of the waitress when she came to clear the table of food left by the children who had turned the dining experience into a food tasting session, leaving food half eaten food as they went for more.

I salute restaurant owners who were brave enough to make the diners pay for uneaten food that they had left on their plates.

However, many places in town still shy away from this practice because they do not want to offend their clients.

Although the costs have been factored into the pricing and a tidy profit is made at the end of the day, allowing willful wastage is simply not right.

My friend Panir tells me that cooking is a labour of love and good food cannot be served if the chefs do not put their hearts and souls into the cooking.

To put more on one’s plate than one’s palate could handle and later discarding it because the food is free or paid for is an insult to the chef and his kitchen crew.

Good eating manners, like good nutritional habits, start from young.

If a child is not encouraged to waste food, he or she will grow up mindful not to take more than he or she can eat.

Dining with my friend’s daughter is such a joy as I watch her dutifully eat up every bit she has taken.

Not even a grain of rice was left when she was done.

I asked her what made her to literally clean up the plate.

She said she had once watched a documentary about hungry people in drought-ridden countries on television.

When she asked her father why they were so skinny, he told her that they had nothing to eat and would give anything to just have a grain of r ice.

Since then, she said, she had made it a habit not to waste food.

Remarkably, she is only 9, and I am praying that she will never outgrow her habit.

Scary urban legends fail internet test

DURING the recent Halloween gathering, someone asked what had happened to our urban legends.

You know, the tales that seem to have a life of their own, turning up now and then to take our attention away from our dreary existence and provide a topic of conversation at the coffeeshops between friends and even strangers, regardless of age, creed or skin colour.

Some of these stories came from folklore.

For instance, those concerning neighbourhood ghouls and ghosts such as “pontinak”, “t oyo l ” and “han - tu raya”, while others originated from anecdotes told by our elders and peers.

Many were also hoaxes created to fool the gullible, and sometimes, told out of spite.

Those who grew up in the Klang Valley in the ’70s would remember the story of the Batu Tiga lady who apparently took the life of a Good Samar itan.

According to one version of the story, a young motorcyclist stopped to offer a lift to a lady at a bus stop as he passed by the stretch one late night.

She asked to borrow his jacket because she was feeling cold and said she would return it the next day.

The following day, when the man returned to the spot he had dropped her off, he had a shock.

The village he thought he saw last night was a graveyard — and his denim jacket was hung on one of the gravestones.

He died several days later.

It was said that his soul had been taken by the lady ghost who returned to haunt the spot where she had been fatally knocked down by a motorcyclist.

No one knew how the tale started.

Some say it was spun out of mischief to frighten the girls who worked nightshifts at the factories in Batu Tiga.

Over the years, however, as Batu Tiga lost its prominence as the main industrial estate in the Klang Valley, the tale died with it.

But not all such tales disappear over time.

Heard about the one that says you should not consume alcohol and eat durians at the same time? I first heard it in the late ’70s but someone said it started much earlier.

Apparently, several people were found dead foaming at the mouth after having a beer-drinking-cumdurian party.

Till today, the tale will be circulated every durian season as fruit sellers will tell their customers to avoid washing down the durian with liquor.

Even if you survived, they say, you would be blind.

Since not many people, except the foolhardy, would test the validity of the claim, the urban legend continues to make its rounds at durian parties—not to create mischief but perhaps as a warning against overindulgence.

While most urban legends were rooted in horror, others were hoaxe s.

Do you remember the one about a worker of a beverage company who fell into a mixing silo and died while she was adding cola syrup? By the time her remains were recovered, thousands of bottles of the soft drink had been shipped out.

The tale made its rounds in the late ’70s and the brand’s image suffered because public relations was still in its infancy at the time and crisismanagement virtually unheard of.

Later, someone explained that a worker who was sacked from the company had spun the story out of spite.

Another said a business rival had perpetuated the tale to gain a bigger market share.

I later found out that a more likely source would be an adaptation of a Western hoax of a brewery worker who had fallen into a vat of beer.

It was probably Malaysianised by the more widely travelled among us.

Today, with the Internet at our fingertips, myths are easily debunked and the origins of urban legends demystified.

Neither stands a chance against Google.

By the way, did you receive an email from a telephone company urging you to quickly forward the message to eight close friends and you will be given a free laptop for participating in its viral marketing effort?

The unfortunate offenders in Ops Halang

THE Ops Halang campaign carried out by the Kuala Lumpur City Hall and the traffic police since the middle of this year has proven to be “Ops Malang” for those who habitually park as and where they please.

At a cafe in Central Market last week, one chap was overheard lamenting how “malang” (unfortunate) he was for parking his car at his usual spot to grab a quick cuppa during lunch hour.

His carwas towed away.

Not only did that lead to him missing an important appointment, he was also left poorer after having to pay the summons and reclaiming his car.

And just as he thought his nightmare was over, his wife called.

Her car, too, had been towed away after she had left it by the roadside to withdraw some money at theATMand bank in some cheques.

His friend, who was listening with some degree of amusement, told him that he should look at the experience as a lesson learnt and never to “halang” (block) traffic or he could find himself even more “malang” should the authorities raise the fine for repeat offender s.

The fines, his friend said, should be treated as payment for the accumulated parking fees he owed City Hall over the years for “free” parking.

Last month, a colleague who was returning to her car after sending her son for vaccination jabs at a clinic found her legally parked vehicle blocked by another car.

As a result, mother and child had to wait in the car for nearly an hour before the inconsiderate chap turned up.

You can imagine her frustration of having to pacify a fretful child after his vaccination jab, trapped in the parking lot under the hot sun.

Even the best air conditioning can do little to stop her blood from boiling.

Fortunately for the culprit, my colleague did not blow her top.

In Jalan Liku, Bangsar, where the New Straits Times office is located, inconsiderate motorists are a daily nightmare.

Many would conveniently leave their vehicles behind those legally parked and restrict traffic flow along the one-way road.

Never a week passes without a lorry driver having to blast his horns because he could not negotiate the bend due to cars which were double and even triple parked.

Some motorists are courteous enough to leave their phone numbers on the dashboard if they had parked illegally but many would just leave their vehicles as if they owned the roads.

Tempers would flare but usually the habitual offenders have become so impervious to scoldings that leaving their cars where they pleased had become second nature.

Kudos to City Hall and the traffic police for continuing with Ops Halang.

The former has fulfilled the m ayo r ’s promise that this year would be the Year of Enforcement.

Hopefully, by towing away the obstructing vehicles, the owners would toe the line the next time.

Carried out regularly, Ops Halang might even cultivate a culture of good parking manners among some of the rude motorists in the city.

Of course, City Hall has to be fair to motorists in areas where there is an acute shortage of parking space.

In business districts, greedy business owners have worsened the parking shortage by claiming the parking lot in front of their shops as their own, usually by placing boxes and broken chair s.

In the case of workshops and car accessories shop, several parking lots are sometimes marked using tyres and other tools of the trade.

City Hall should also take action against restaurant operators who stake their claim on parking lots by setting up tables and chairs for the night’s alfresco dining.

In areas where parking space is scarce, gobbling up parking space is worse than obstructing traffic.

If City Hall turns a blind eye to this Ops Halang, then it will be very “malang” indeed.

Diner got no stomach for rats roaming near eateries

A FRIEND I took to a popular hawker haunt in Jalan Imbi, Kuala Lumpur, for dinner recently almost choked on the Teochew porridge he had been dying to try.

Brought up overseas, he had been fascinated by the variety of food available in KL and I decided that the best place for him to try the street fare, which he had read so much about in blogs and travel brochures, would be where the working class ate.

As he feasted on the side dishes and slurped up the plain porridge, he suddenly stopped, his face turned pale and gasped: “Did you see that?” He pointed to a grey furball which scuttled across the pavement and disappeared into a gap in the drain.

“Oh, it was just a rat,” I said, but from the pallor on my friend’s face, I knew he wasn’t amused.

The sight that we city folk have become all too familiar with killed his appetite — and his interest in KL’s street food.

“How did the authorities allow this to happen?” he asked after regaining his composure.

“Isn’t there some kind of pest control that you guys undertake?” Yes, I answered, we had probably tried every known rodent eradication exercise, including sporadic cleanups and fumigation.

At one time, members of the public were even recruited as rat bounty hunter s.

They were paid for each rat delivered at redemption centres —RM2 each, dead or alive.

In fact,we had carried out so many campaigns that I had lost count of the many wars that had been waged on the rodents but with little success.

What we have not tried is to have a hotline to report a rat sighting and dispatch rat exterminators to the scene immediately to get rid of the pest — and then fine the owners of the premises if theywere found guilty of harbouring or causing rats to breed.

Maybe, we can have surprise checks like those carried out for the Aedes mosquito larvae in our anti-dengue campaigns.

My friendwanted to know why city folk were indifferent about dining with rats scampering around our feet.

I told him that most of us were concerned but sometimes hunger and convenience made us take chances — which could explain why some dirty hawker centres still attract hordes of diners.

I, for one, am concerned about the rodents because I know someone who have been bitten by rat tick and contracted typhus fever as a result.

I have also met those who survived leptospirosis, a bacterial poisoning caused by eating food contaminated by rat urine.

Yes, the presence of rats does worry me.

In fact, I try not to return to places where rats are a common sight.

I think the rats thrive because there is simply too much food lying around in the city.

Carelessly thrown leftovers are not only feeding the rats but have also fattened the city’s stray cats to the extent that they no longer catch a rat to sur vive.

The only ones eating rat carrion are the crows.

Perhaps, the answer to the city’s rodent problem would be to cut off the rats’ food supply.

After listening to my explanation, my friend suggested that we continue dinner at a fast food chain hewas familiar with where hygiene would at least be better.

I was tempted to tell him about my experiences with cockroaches at one such place, but decided not to spoil what was left of his gastronomic trip that evening.

Dangers of talking on cell phones when driving

DID you know that talking on a mobile phone while driving is more dangerous than driving when slightly tipsy after a drink?

A three-month study conducted by a British car insurer, Direct Line, a couple of years ago tested drivers in Britain in three driving situations — driving when slightly over the legal blood-alcohol limit, talking over a handheld mobile phone, and talking on a handsfree phone.

The results revealed that drivers’ reaction times were one-third slower when talking on the mobile phone than when they were borderline drunk.

Compared to normal driving conditions, drivers who talked on mobile phoneswere unable to keep a constant speed or a safe distance from the motorists ahead.

Those talking on their phones also missed more road signs than the borderline intoxicated and even took half a second longer to react than drivers under normal conditions or those mildly drunk.

Similar tests conducted in the United States and other countries also revealed the same findings and they are not confined to any age g roup.

While the results of the study was not meant to imply that people should drink and drive, it does highlight the danger of driving while using the mobile phone.

To use a mobile phone — whether it is for making and replying calls or even texting messages—the driver needs to take his or her eyes off the road.

And that brief loss of attention is often enough to jeopardise his own safety as well as put others in d a n g e r.

You can sense drivers using a mobile phone while driving from yards away — the vehicle will be abnormally slow, sometimes veering from side to side, so much so that you think the driver is drunk.

When you overtake the vehicle, you will see the driver happily chatting away.

Flashing your headlamps from the rear or honking at them is futile.

At best, your concern will be reciprocated with angry stares or unkind gestures.

Some won’t even notice because they were so deeply engaged in their conversation.

But if you think talking or texting on mobile phones when driving is dangerous, wait until you see what happens as Internet connections become more accessible on all mobile devices and when anyone can go online with just the tap of a button.

You can expect the Internet-savvy and socially connected drivers to Twitter or update their Facebook status while driving, if some have not already done so.

Already, I have spotted some who drive in starts and stops as they switch their attention between the traffic ahead and the movie shown on the miniature LCD screens mounted on their dashboards.

I wonder if the city traffic police have any statistics on accidents caused by those who drive while talking on their phones or the number of summonses that had been issued to those caught using their mobile phones while driving.

It should be interesting to see if the trend is rising in keeping with increasing mobile phone use.

The figures will tell us what we should do to drive home the message that driving and talking, or texting on mobile phones should no go hand in hand.

We see cigarette boxes carrying warnings on the dangers of smoking and there are also frequent advertisements telling us how dangerous it is to drink and drive.

Maybe we need a similar campaign to deter people from using their mobile phones while driving.

Mobile phone makers can sponsor such campaigns as part of their corporate social responsibility.

When cameras real or fake do the trick

WHEN I suggested that we move to Cyberjaya, my wife was worried.

As she was fond of Kuala Lumpur, she said she would prefer to stay put and stated that she would not entertain such flights of fancy any further.

I told her I was only kidding and promptly explained myself.

The reason why I had toyed with the idea of moving to Cyberjaya was because I had read that Cyberjaya was being monitored by 100 closed-circuit television cameras (CCTVs) manned by a team of police officers round the clock.

Iwas salivating at the prospect of a neighbourhood kept safer by technology.

According to the report, roads to shopping areas, intersections and pedestrian walkways had been installed with CCTVs.

Now, how much safer can one’s neighbourhood get than that? Years ago, the business community in downtown Malacca did the same thing when petty crime soared.

The CCTVs were installed and their locations loudly announced by sign a g e s.

I later spoke to some of the shopkeepers there and they admitted that petty crime had dropped a bit following the installation of the cameras.

The CCTVs had done their job and the tourists had returned.

When I was in Singapore some time back, I was amazed at the road courtesy shown by the bus drivers.

They kept to the speed limit and drove in an orderly manner without any sign of impatience.

When I arrived at Queen’s Street, I praised the driver of the yellow bus I took for his good driving habit.

I told him I wished I could say the same about the bus drivers in Kuala Lump u r.

He turned around and whispered to me that if not for the electronic eyes mounted on the gantries, few would have been that obedient.

The fear of having their driving licences suspended and the subsequent loss of job had much to do in instilling road courtesy in the bus drivers across the Causeway.

One chap I know who lived in a notorious neighbourhood in Kepong decided to use CCTV technology following numerous break-ins at his apartment complex.

He went down to Petaling Street and got himself a couple of dome-shaped devices which had flickering red lights and promptly installed them in front of his doorway and on the eaves of his balcony.

While his neighbours were losing sleep over how to keep watch on their property when they went to work, this chap went on long holidays without any worries.

Whenhe returned, not even a slipper was missing from his doorstep.

When he related his experience to me, I asked him what brand of surveillance system he had used so that I could get one installed at my condominium unit.

He said I could get them at novelty shops for less than RM20 each.

In fact, they weren’t even real cameras but they certainly looked menacing enough with their flashing LEDs to deter any criminal.

If fakes could be effective in deterring crime, I am amazed at why the real cameras mounted at certain stretches in the city rarely had any effect on some city drivers.

Each day while on the way to work, I would amuse myself counting the cars and motorcycles which sped through amber and red lights.

Sometimes, the same vehicle would beat the red lights several times a week.

Along the Jalan Bangsar-Jalan Travers stretch, near the junction to Brickfields, for instance, I see cars parked by the road sides on weekday evenings, choking the already jammed roads while their drivers enjoyed teh tarik along the five-footw ay.

Buses too can be seen switching lanes without regard for other motor ists’ right of way.

I sawa CCTV camera not far down the road but I wonder if it has served its purpose judging from the daily crowd of errant motorists flouting the law right under its electronic eye.

Maybe it’s one of those novelty stuff you get at Petaling Street.

Teaching our children to be filial

WHILE driving through the outskirts of Malacca town, the sight of so many retirement homes reminded me of an advertisement which appeared around Chinese New Year a couple of years back.

In the advertisement, four elderly women were talking while having lunch when the topic turned to their families.

Three of them were trying to outdo each other with tales of their children’s successes and when they got tired of bragging, they turned to the fourth woman who was silently listening.

They asked her about her son.

She replied that he was also doing well and that he would be coming to fetch her soon.

Moments later, a young man and his family turned up in a Proton Saga at the drivew ay.

“T h at ’s my son,” the fourth woman said.

“He’s here to take me out with his family.

He always takes me everywhere.

” She then leaves her friends at the courtyard of a retirement home.

It was one of the best advertisements I had ever seen.

I interpreted it as the reality of life in modern times where filial piety is becoming almost unheard of.

I wonder if how we bring up our children had something to do with it.

Ask any working parent in the city and chances are that by the time the child is 4 years old, he would be more familiar with the nursery or daycare centre than his home.

Some start sending the baby to the babysitter immediately after the confinement period is over as the mother needs to get back to work.

Some would take their babies home after work each evening but there are also others who only take their babies home during the weekends.

The baby stays with the babysitter and her family five days of the week.

For those who can afford home care, the maid usually takes care of the child’s basic needs.

Next time you go out for dinner, pay close attention to families who take along their maids.

Watch who cradles and feeds the children most of the time.

Lately, tuition centres and training schools have also become a child’s second home.

By the time parents are in their twilight years and realise that they only see their children during anniversaries, the gap would have widened so much that it could be too late to close the divide.

The children would probably have spent so much time away that they have lost their sense of attachment to their family, let alone filial piety towards their parents.

Is it any wonder then that parents who are no longer able to care for themselves are sent to retirement homes in an unconscious reversal of roles? I remember growing up listening to tales such as Si-Tanggang Anak Durhaka in the Malay classics which told of the ungrateful son who was cast into stone after rejecting his mother.

Another story in Chinese was about a boy whose family was so poor to buy mosquito nets that he took off his shirt nightly so that insects could feed on his blood and leave his sleeping parents alone.

Such tales would appear irrelevant, maybe even ridiculous, in modern times but back then theywere a lesson in filial piety.

I wonder if parents today ever read such tales to their children.

Of course, we can blame modern influences, but if we make no efforts to right the wrongs, then we are equally guilty.

Only time will tell if the lessons we had taught our children had been in vain.

Modern twists to mooncakes, lanterns

THIS Saturday, the Chinese community will be celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival, also known as the Mooncake or Lantern Festival.

The Hokkiens call it Tung Chiew.

It falls on the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month and is marked by the eating of mooncakes and lantern pardes.

The arrival of the festival in the city is usually announced by the emergence of mooncake stalls at shopping complexes, sometimes up to a month prior to the actual date, although in the past you rarely see mooncakes until after the Hungry Ghost festival was over.

Mooncakes too have changed quite a bit over the past 30 years.

The only varieties you get in the old days were the plain “tau sar” (black bean paste), black bean paste with “kuaci” (melon seeds), “lin yong” (lotus seed paste) and the “kim tooi” (mixed nuts, citron peel and meat) fillings.

Additionally, some would have single or double egg yolks and the pastry was usually brown.

Today there are more than a dozen variations, both in fillings and pastry, as manufacturers strive to set themselves apart from the crowd.

What used to cost RM1.70 for a roll of four mooncakes with plain black bean paste filling, today costs more than 10 times a box.

The packaging, too, has evolved tremendously.

Those days, mooncakes were mostly packed in waxed paper in rolls of four with each confectioner distinguished by the red, pink or gold labels.

Nowadays, intricately designed paper boxes and quaint-looking tins hold these festive delicacies—and in most cases, the boxes and containers cost more than the mooncakes thems e l ve s.

The ones I received lastweek came in a small balsa chest, complete with four drawers containing a type of mooncake each.

There was also a set of porcelain plate and a pair of chopsticks.

I dared not ask my brother-in-law how much the whole package cost.

Lanterns too have changed in shape and design over the years.

You will be hard-pressed to find traditional paper lanterns.

Chances are you will find instead LED-lit plastic lanterns.

Some even come with digital tunes.

Judging from the number and variety that come out each year, demand must have been there for the fireproof modern lanterns.

Or could it be that the traditional lantern makers are slowly disappear ing? I remember a time when everyone I grew up with knew how to make paper lanterns.

In fact, lantern-making was one of the art and craft projects in schools.

Students were taught how to connect six circular wire frames to make a simple box lantern.

I wonder how many schools still have lantern-making projects or if the teachers even knew how to make paper lanterns these days.

Not many parents I spoke to recently know where to get glass paper for the traditional lanterns, let alone make them.

I suppose one day, lantern-making will become extinct just like many other traditional activities.

My friend, Aman, told me that the Chinese are not alone.

The Malays are also slowly losing their traditional skills.

He said his nephews and nieces from Singapore who visited him during the recent Hari Raya were delighted to see k e t u p at cases woven by hand using palm leaves.

At home, their parents had used plastic-wrapped ketupat .

We can blame rapid commercialisation for indirectly contributing to the demise of tradition but I think we are also partly responsible if we do not take time or effort to learn more of it.

Otherwise, we may end up looking pretty foolish, for instance, giving away mooncakes during the Month of the Hungry Ghosts.

Bonded by similarities

BACK in the days when few houses had electricity supply, there were not many families who owned refrigerators.

During Ramadan in the outskirts, the only place to get ice for bu k a puasawas from the coffeeshops.

It cost 30 sen a block, measuring slightly larger than three bricks laid lengthwise.

In the late afternoons, hours before the call to prayer, my friends Man, his cousin Zahar and I would make some money selling ice door-to-door.

We would push our wooden wheelbarrow to the sawmill to collect dry sawdust.

Then we would buy ice in bulk at the coffeeshop for a discount.

We would break each block into fours and sell them for 10 sen each.

Each block would be coated with fine sawdust to prevent it from melting too fast.

Then it would be a race against time as we go door-to-door screaming “Air batu!” Sometimes, when it rained and we had bought one block too many, effort and investment went down the drain.

Usually, there was some profit — about 50 sen.

Wewould pool our profits and use it to buy firecrackers to play with after buka puasa.

Of course, I was always welcomed to my fr iends’ houses during buka puasa, so much so that I was always looking forward to it.

Once, my mother chided me that it might be impolite to join in the buka puasa since I did not puasa.

After that, I kept my distance and only joined them for the firecrackers after they had eaten.

When Malam Tujuh Likur arrived, marking the 27th day of Ramadan, the perimeter of most Malay houses would be lit up to mark the occasion.

Wealthy families would have pelita (oil lamps) in their compounds but the poorer ones made do with bamboo lamps.

My friends and I would harvest the fattest bamboo trunks from the riverside grove, clean them up and drill holes in between each node.

We then fill them up with kerosene and stick cotton wicks into each hole.

The bamboo poles would be raised several feet above ground and lit at night.

Usually the poorest families had the brightest lit compounds because they had more lamps.

The most exciting time was on the eve of Hari Raya when the womenfolk would prepare lemang, dodol and k e t u p at .

I would be enlisted to collectwastewood from the sawmill to be used as firewood and lend a hand to stir the dodol or watch over the simmering k e t u p at .

I recall telling my friend’s mother that the Chinese, too, had k e t u p at .

We ate them on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, I said, and it was called chang.

Unlike k e t u p at , chang had to be wrapped in bamboo leaves since the boiling period was much longer as glutinous rice was used.

I invited her to the house during the Dragonboat Festival the following year and showed her how we made chang.

We even gave her a bunch of plain chang to take home.

Understanding her religious sensitivities, my mother had used a new pot to boil the plain chang.

In return, my friend’s mother gave us chicken rendang instead of beef.

On Hari Raya, I would be the first to visit my friends after they had returned from visiting the graves of their departed.

Therewas never such a thing as an “open house” in those days as the doors were always opened.

Only wealthy families had their gates closed.

Anyone who was a friend could just walk in and out of any house, take a nap on the s e ra m b i (verandah), or help themselves to the j a m bu b at u or pandan leaves in the garden without having to ask, unless the owner was within ear shot.

I don’t know if people were generally more trusting in those days when the crime rate was much lower, but I do know that we knew each other so well that there was never any cause for doubt or suspicion.

This understanding must have been built through the efforts we took over time to learn about each other, our daily lives and cultures.

Our ties were bonded by the similarities that we share rather than the differences that we are born with and strengthened by being aware of each other’s sensitivities and respecting them.

Perhaps this is somethingworth reflecting on as we celebrate Hari Raya together.

When running water is not up to mark

WHEN we first got married, my wife did not notice that we had a well around my parents’ rented house.

She thought that the water, which flowed out of a tap, was from the piped water supply.

In fact, she once remarked that the water felt rather refreshing until she found out that it was from a well a short distance from the house.

Water was pumped up the tower tank for storage and piped down to the various sections of the house.

Our well also supplied water to several houses in the neighbourhood.

Our monthly “water bill” was a couple of ringgit per household — which was each household’s share of the monthly electricity consumed by the water pump.

The water was free.

Of course, the water was safe as we were living on the fringe of the city at a time when groundwater had yet to be contaminated by any industrial wa s t e .

Besides, we would know if the water was toxic — the haruan (snake - head) in the well kept a lookout for our safety.

All’s well if the fish is well.

Our well water was crystal clear except when it rained heavily the previous night.

Then it would turn slightly cloudy and we would be forced to turn to our stockpile kept in one of several t e m p aya n —giant clay jars — in the house.

Usually, if left in the t e m p aya n overnight, any turbidity would have settled the next morning.

If you scoop thewater without stirring the sediment at the bottom, you only needed to boil the water before you drink it.

I had got quite used to the taste of non-chlorinated water until we moved into an apartment later.

I was actually more worried about the safety of the pipedwater than the higher bill we had to pay.

I realised then that we had little control over the quality of the piped water.

The supply was unpredictable in both clarity and odour.

Sometimes, it looked like the teh tarik while at other times it was deceptively clear — except that it reeked of chlorine and we had to boil the water longer just to get rid of the smell.

Since there was no haruan to tell us whether the water was safe for consumption, we could only assume that it was by the smell of the chlorine.

Even that frightened us when we read about how over-chlorinated water could be just as harmful to us.

That was when we had to embrace water purification technology and install a water filter.

There are many types of water filters out there, of course.

Some are made of fibre while others of ceramic.

Better ones contain carbon said to absorb chlorine and a zeolite layer to remove heavy metals.

The more sophisticated ones even claim to have volcanic rocks that could impart minerals that have been depleted during processing so that we can reap the health benefits enjoyed by people in developed countries like the United States, Japan and South Korea.

Generally, the more expensive ones tend to be more convincing in their ability to purify drinking water.

In reality, however, I wonder how many of us actually have diagnostic kits on our kitchen tables to test the purity or have the skills to check if the filtered water was really free from contamination, let alone see if the so-called benefits actually come with the package.

More likely, we were all taken in by the advertising hype and paid a huge sum for a glorified water filtration system with fancy add-ons to ensure us peace of mind.

Come to think of it, isn’t it an irony that piped water could have spun such a huge business downstream?

Drawing the common people to the art gallery

LAST Wednesday, I received an SMS inviting me to visit the National Art Gallery between then and today.

The 51st visitor of each day gets a surprise gift in one of the programmes held in conjunction with the premier galler y’s 51st anniversary.

While I am pleased that the gallery has jumped on the technology bandwagon to draw visitors to its premises, I recall a time a couple of years ago when it did so quite effortlessly on the first Saturday of each month.

In fact, the event — a monthly art fair — almost became a permanent feature on Kuala Lumpur’s list of happenings until it was discontinued.

Known as Laman Seni, the art fair was held at the grounds of the National Art Gallery to draw a wider audience and get common people to be interested in art.

Tents were set up and rented to artists, mostly painters, to work, display and sell their art.

It allowed the artists to interact not only among themselves but also with the man-in-the street.

But barely into its second year, the event was stopped when the gallery underwent a major renovation.

I did not remember reading any official statement why it was scrapped but I did recall coming across some people, including tourists, who had had by then heard about the art fair, asking for its location several times.

Rumours were rife on why it was stopped — logistics was one, finance was the other.

Some said the artists did not benefit much from it since everyone was allowed to rent the tents and sell.

Some also blamed the carnival-like atmosphere, completed with stage shows and the customary morning aerobics, the cacophony of which was hardly conducive for browsing or purchasing art work.

Probably, for fear that it would be - come a flea market, the event wa s scrapped.

While the true reason may not be known and the possibility of the Laman Seni being resurrected remote, from my observation, the art fair had drawn more visitors on Sat - urdays than the gallery ever did in a regular week.

The event may not have yielded all the results expected but if the organisation was refined through time, I think it could have been one the gallery would have been very proud of.

The premier gallery has the largest collection of Malaysian visual art that dates back to the nation’s pre-Independence days.

Though the gallery has done its share in support of artistic pursuits, and unless it can draw common people to its doorsteps and introduce them to artistic endeavours without being intimidated by formalities, its premises risks becoming scholarly landmark visited only by students and researchers.

Or it may become just another destination on the tour itinerary.

Little has changed since Internet days

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.