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.

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

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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.