Treat living with kindness and respect

THE Chinese are celebrating Qingming on April 4 this year. Also known as "Tomb Sweeping" Day, the annual festival honours the departed. It the time when families turn up at cemeteries to clean the graves of loved ones and offer prayers, food and other items deemed useful to the dead.

Decades ago when the Qingming was less commercialised, prayer offerings comprised simple stuff such as paper houses, figurines, horses, and clothes. The most important items were paper "gold" and "silver" ingots (known as kim and geen respectively in Hokkien ) which were considered currency for the Netherworld, to be burned as offerings at the graves.

During the run-up to the festival, which is celebrated 10 days before and after the actual date, families got together to fold the paper ingots with sheets of gold and silver joss paper. The art was dutifully handed down from generation to generation, from mother to daughter, although boys also got to learn it.

Depending on the wealth of the kin, usually at least a gunny sack each of the "gold" and "silver" ingots had to be offered to the dead annually.

The act of folding the ingots not only allowed family members to strengthen ties with one another but it also symbolised filial piety for departed family members.

These days, I am not sure how many people know how to fold paper gold and silver ingots. These prayer items are seldom sold because Hell Bank notes of various denominations have taken over the role of legal tender in the Netherworld.

The convenience of modern living has also opened up a whole new world for the dead. Manufacturers have come up with every imaginable product for the dead that have been inspired by real life stuff and it is big business, come Qingming and the Hungry Ghosts festival.

Last year, paper iPhones and iPads were very much sought after, just as replicas of LCD television sets and satellite dishes were the previous.

This year, umbrellas are popular. One vendor of prayer items said, because of the wet spells here of late, the kith and kin of the departed are sending over paper umbrellas in case the weather over there is equally bad.

At the creative extreme, flattering replicas of luxury cars of famous German marques have been spotted. Superbikes, too, have found buyers, and so have mountain bikes.

And, if local products are not good enough for the dead, vendors here look overseas.

Last week, a news report featured a shop in Penang selling imported paper bicycles costing over RM100 each for Qingming. Apparently locally made ones were of poor quality, hence the vendor had to import them from China.

How the vendor knew which bicycles were suitable for the Netherworld, I am not sure. But according to the report, there were buyers for the imported bicycles. This goes to show how much some people were prepared to pay in the name of filial piety.

Many years ago when my grandmother was still alive, I asked her opinion of people who burn truckloads of replica items for their departed during Qingming.

She said something that we can all reflect on: "Treat the living with kindness and respect, for when they are gone, no amount of tears or generosity will make any difference to them."

Sweet memories of candies of yesteryear

THREE decades ago, few imported candies were sold in the village sundry store or kedai runcit.

Only locally-made brands like Hudson, Hacks, and Trebor were available.

The cherry-red Hudson and the black Hacks were considered sweets for grown-ups, taken as cough relievers or breath fresheners by smokers, while the minty Trebor found a following in children where Spearmint gums were not available.

In Terengganu, where I grew up, a child's daily life was made sweeter with the traditional sagun, which was a mix of fried coconut shavings mixed with white sugar.

Wrapped in coloured paper cones, they were sold for five or 10 cents.

A crunchy substitute for candies, sagun had to be munched slowly or one risked choking on the bits because the dry stuff had the tendency to make its way into the windpipe.

In the 1970s, when my family moved to KL, I was introduced to the Khok-Khok Th'ng or white molasses candy with bits of peanuts and sesame seeds.

Its name came from the clanking of two metal chisels used to chip off bits of the candy from a granite-like slab in a tray mounted on the seller's tricycle.

These candy pieces were hard as a rock, not very sweet, and were cheap.

Ten cents could get you 10 to 12 pieces, each the size of an adult's thumb and took a long time to finish even if you chewed on them.

Another popular candy was the Beh Geh Koh or malt candy in Hokkien. Unlike the Khok-Khok Th'ng, the Beh Geh Koh was translucent, yellowish, and sticky.

The candy could be found during religious festivals. They were mounted on satay sticks for five cents a piece.

The sticks of candy were works of art. Experienced sellers could shape the pliable Beh Geh Koh into almost any form, be it a fish, bird, figurine or even a rose with its petals in full bloom.

More common at that time, however, was the cotton candy.

Whenever a fun fair or circus came to town, you could bet that the cotton candy peddler was not far away. In the villages, sometimes, a peddler on bicycle would drop by once a fortnight.

Carrying a hand-cranked cotton candy machine at the back of his bicycle, he would announced his arrival with the noisy ring of his bicycle's bell.

Cotton candies were originally white, later pink dye was used to make the candy more appealing.

The candy was extremely sweet and could give you a toothache if the bits got into a cavity in your tooth.

Eating it was not as interesting as watching the candy peddler weave the sugar strands into a cocoon the size of a rugby ball, which would melt with a lick.

Homemade candies too were common, usually prepared for occasions like weddings and festivals, as well as for snacks.

Most families knew how to make coconut and ginger candies. Ginger candy, I remember, was used as a home remedy to relieve stomach gas after an oily meal.

You can still find some of these traditional sweets in smaller towns.

With changing times and the call for less sugar in our diet, some of the traditional candies are no longer available and modern sugar-free candies have replaced them, although not necessarily a healthier alternative.

Recently, the Consumers Association of Penang (CAP) called for the ban on luminous lollipops that were widely sold on the island.

The fluorescent candies were believed to contain toxic chemicals which made them glow.

CAP was worried about the health hazard.

Although I have yet to find luminous lollipops in Klang Valley, I was surprised to see popping candies at a shop in a shopping centre recently.

These crackling sweets first arrived on our shores in the 1980s.

The candy grains pop like mini firecrackers when put in the mouth as they come into contact with saliva.

Parents at the time had also expressed their concerns about little children choking on them.

But it seems that the popping candies survived two decades to crackle another day.

Cunning fish caught by dozens

SOMETHING fishy is going on in the depths of Lake Titiwangsa. A foreign species of fish is fast populating the lake. I found out about it a few weeks ago while visiting the park.

At that time, a fishing event organised by a group of lure casting anglers was in progress. I thought nothing of the event until I saw what most anglers were reeling up. A foreign species of fish, known as the peacock bass, or ikan raja in Malay (Wong Tai Yue in Cantonese), were hitting the lures by the dozens.

During another fishing competition held the same lake five years ago, I did not remember seeing this fish being hooked up. At that time, however, I have also read reports of the peacock bass having been released into the wild.

Peacock basses became popular during the Flowerhorn cichlid craze about a decade ago and were kept as ornamental aquarium fish. However, their popularity did not last and owners were soon dumping them into the wild. The species had swamped the disused mining pools and lakes in Perak, particularly in Gopeng.

Local anglers had, at that time, raised their concerns over the release of this fast breeding South American gamefish into our waterways. Heated debates were exchanged in online fishing forums as to whether the predatory peacock bass would decimate the population of local species.

The number of peacock bass I saw being landed at Lake Titiwangsa recently gave me the impression that their population in Lake Titiwangsa is growing. One angler I met that morning told me he was landing a peacock bass at every alternate cast made just after sunrise.

Although I have read that this fish is a very cunning and not easily caught on rod and line, what I saw in the collection tank that day spelt worry.

Either there were too many peacock bass around or the anglers were bass experts. I hope it is not the former, and pray that the tilapia, grass carps, sepat (spotted gourami) and puyu (climbing perch) which were abundant in the 1970s and 80s in the lake have not been wiped out.

The fear of foreign fish decimating indigenous species is not unfounded. If you recall, some years back in North America, the appearance of giant snakehead (toman) sparked fears that the fish would lead to the extinction of local species there.

A chance discovery of the species sparked nationwide fears and even inspired a Hollywood horror movie. Notices were put up by game authorities to kill the fish on sight.

Some waterways had to be poisoned to remove the snakehead population.

While it is unlikely that the peacock bass in our waters (especially in urban lakes) will suffer a similar fate, its population here has to be kept under control, a fish lover tells me.

One way, he says, is to keep the peacock bass's natural predators (one of which is the toman) in respectable numbers. The other is by culling through game fishing.

The mysteries of brand worship

THERE is a craze for vinyl bags with leather trimmings among the womenfolk. School girls and college-going ones are smitten over colourful bags, I was told, but I did not find out about it until I heard teenagers talking passionately about their latest acquisitions. I could not make out what type of bag they meant but it sounded something like "Long Cheng".

When my wife told me that it was a hot favourite among teenagers, including my daughter and her schoolmates, I decided to find out more.

When I was at a shopping complex recently, and had time on my hands, I popped into a bag shop and asked for a Long Cheng. The 70-something Ah Pek who was keeping watch at the shop at lunch time was as perplexed as I was. He said the shop sold all sorts of bags from China but he had never heard of a Long Cheng.

The mystery was solved when the Filipina shop assistant came back from lunch. The name struck a chord with her. The mysterious Long Cheng, it turns out, is actually the Longchamp. Since they did not carry the brand she directed me to another shop.

According to the Wikipedia, Longchamp was set up by Frenchman Jean Cassegrain in 1948. The company produced leather coverings for pipes and other products for smokers.

In the 1950s, its business expanded to include small leather goods.

Two decades later, Longchamp opened boutiques in Hong Kong and Japan, and won fame for its lightweight travel goods. In the mid-90s, Longchamp introduced its Le Pliage line of foldable travel bags made of vinyl and leather trim which became a hit with women worldwide.

Today, Longchamp is known for its designs and has a loyal following. As to how it came to our shores, your guess is as good as mine, but the blogs of Longchamp diehards will give you some idea why this foldable bag is hugely popular.

I remember a time when we had a similar love affair with another French brand - Louis Vuitton. In the 1970s and mid-1980s ownership of the dark brown designer leather bags, wallets and travel luggage imprinted with the golden LV insignia meant you had arrived.

Those who could only afford across-the-border excursions made do with LV wannabes.

I recall finding a very genuine-looking wannabe LV bag once. It could have fooled anyone if not for the LW imprint. When I asked the chap who sold the stuff in Petaling Street what the imprint LW stood for, he said: "Looi Wui-tong -- from Seri Kembangan."

In the case of the Longchamp, an authentic bag costs anything from RM300 upwards. Even wannabes don't come cheap.

I am no expert in Longchamps but the look-alikes I have seen appear to be convincing enough to fool just about anybody but devoted brand worshippers.

I hope those totting the fake ones do not attract more than just brand-envy.

Ire over drying laundry on balcony

FOREIGN WORKERS staying at a shop apartment near the Hentian Kajang complex, Kajang, have raised the ire of locals, according to a Malay daily recently.

The sight of clothes being hung out to dry along the balconies of these shop apartments is offensive to the locals and they want the authorities to do something about it.

In the 1970s and 1980s, when the Pekeliling Flats was occupied, I recall that the authorities had also tried to discourage residents from drying their clothes on poles from their balconies. The sight of clothes fluttering like flags in the wind were a cause for concern during times when international events were held in the city, such as the first Pacific Area Travel Association (Pata) in 1972 and the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM) a decade later.

When visiting friends who were staying at the flats those days, I was often reminded to watch out for the drizzle from above. I was advised to be especially careful when visiting the flats between 7am and 9am when the wet clothes were put out to dry.

For those staying at the Sulaiman Court (one of the earliest high-rise apartments in the city where the Sogo Complex now sits), clothes hanging from the balcony on poles or clotheslines was a common sight. The shops that lined the ground floor had awnings spanning the width of their five-foot-ways to keep their premises dry and their customers from being splashed by careless flat dwellers.

But in those days, life was less complicated and people were more tolerant of those living in high rises who had to dry clothes from their balconies. They generally understood, and sympathised with, the predicament of those who lacked proper places to dry their laundry.

Some people, of course, believe that it is suay (Hokkien for unlucky) to walk under a clothesline of wet laundry and be hit by dripping water, especially from drying undergarments. That can literally wash away one's luck, some people say.

Those who stayed in high rises back then also took it upon themselves not to put their underwear out to dry from their windows or the balconies. For many, it was an embarrassing act, if not rude, and those who insisted on doing so, often invited a scolding from the elders or ticking from the neighbours.

In Dubai, sometime ago, the local authorities, who were tired of people living in high rises drying their laundry from the balconies, tried imposing a fine on those caught red handed. It didn't work.

Here, the laws are more flexible, and local authorities kinder, I suppose. The reason why people dry their clothes on the balcony in high rises is because these homes are not built to let in enough sunlight to dry clothes.

Often, the laundry-drying areas are located next to the air wells. These places are airy enough to dry machine-washed clothes indoors but, sometimes, selfish neighbours can put a damper on your efforts, especially if they renovate their homes and seal up the air well.

For most people, drying clothes indoors is just not the same, even when using an electrical laundry dryer. Nothing imparts a fresh feel to your old pants, shirts, or blankets the way a few hours in the hot sun can.

You've got unsolicited mail...

ON the third day of the Chinese New Year, I received a text message from a political party leader of the area where I live, wishing me "Gong Xi Fa Cai".

In appreciation of the trouble he had taken, I promptly replied: "Thank you, boss."

I don't know him personally, hence the stock response I reserve for strangers or those whose identities I cannot figure out calling me on my mobile phone.

Usually, addressing someone as "boss", as I have seen others do many times, never fails to elicit a friendly response.

But the reason I replied was because the greeting came from a legitimate seven-digit mobile number, not the five-digit ones from insurance agents out to make a fast buck or a credit card agent trying to get you to sign up for another one.

My reply, however, did not evoke the usual "Thank you" or "Welcome" from the sender, which led me to wonder why he had bothered to send me a greeting but could not spare a few more sen on the SMS to acknowledge my "Thank you".

What troubled me more was the question of how the chap obtained my number.

Some years ago when owning mobile phones was the craze, I was extremely protective of my phone number.

I gave it out sparingly because I had learnt a few years earlier what giving out my email address without thinking could do to my inbox.

Even before the days of the Internet, I disliked unsolicited mail. In the 1980s, I remember, I had subscribed to a pocket-sized magazine that I will not name here out of professional courtesy.

Every two or three months, the people at the magazine would send me a brightly-coloured envelope that contained promises of my impending good fortune.

Days later, an even bigger envelope would arrive, containing a stack of colourful documents and an entry form that gave me a shot at winning RM250,000 - if I would only buy some home remedy books or encyclopedias.

After three years of receiving junk mail from that magazine company, despite having written numerous times begging them not to clutter my mailbox, I terminated my subscription.

Even now, I still receive mails from them, asking if I would renew my subscription.

I responded the same way to my one-time favourite petrol company years ago.

It started when I signed up for its loyalty card and I was required to give out my mobile phone number. I remember the incident well because it was the first time I had given my number to a commercial establishment.

Six months down the line, I started receiving not only offers and promotions via SMS to my phone, but also many good news that I had been shortlisted to win big sums of money; to qualify, all I to do was send a short message or call a foreign number.

When I posted the content of the SMS text on a blog, people who had received similar messages related their experiences, most had the same story to tell. That was when I realised idea how spammers got my number.

I have always wondered if someone at the petrol company had given or sold my phone number to a third party and that prompted me to I terminate my loyalty card membership with the company.

The reason I still go their petrol stations is because I am giving the company the benefit of the doubt - that my telco could also be responsible for the unsolicited SMS text messages I receive these days.

High time temple has multi-level parking facility

I TOOK my family to witness Thaipusam in Batu Caves last week. Because my youngest daughter wanted to join us, I decided to drive. In the past years, I went on my motorcycle, with my wife riding pillion. The motorcycle has been a practical mode of transport for me to get to Batu Caves which is not far from my home.

This year, for the first time, I drove to Batu Caves. Realising that the jam would be bad on Thaipusam day, I decided to go on the eve to avoid the crowd and traffic congestion. That evening, however, I realised how wrong I was.

Two kilometres from Batu Caves, along the Middle Ring Road II, a jam was building up. Seeing the number of cars slowing down to avoid vehicles indiscriminately parked by the roadside, I decided to turn into the light industrial area opposite Batu Caves. I thought I would be able to find parking space there since most factories were closed and the public parking lots empty.

I did find parking space there -- but most were booked by touts who marked their territories using traffic cones and raffia strings. Parking space must have been in high demand because I saw one "parking operator" openly advertising his fees -- RM10 for cars, and twice the amount for vans.

Having decided that parking too close to the temple was not worth the fee and refusing to pay the touts, I parked almost a kilometre away and walked to the temple. Of course, a kilometre's walk was a breeze for my wife and I since we were already walking five to six kilometres daily in the evenings.

But for someone who had trouble walking, or didn't know the area well, chances are that they would have paid the touts. Otherwise, they would risk having their vehicles scratched or dented for refusing to pay.

Have you wondered how ridiculous it is that some people who probably have never paid tax in their lives dare to claim the streets as their own and charge parking fees as they pleased?

Even the presence of Selayang Municipal Council officers and policemen did not deter the touts from doing brisk business.

The crowd gets bigger with each Thaipusam at Batu Caves. Despite the availability of public transport, some people still prefer to drive there for good reasons. Some may have come from faraway places, others may have family members with mobility problems. Because of these, they may need to park close to the temple for convenience.

Perhaps, it is time for the temple management to consider a multi-level parking facility within the temple ground or close to the area. This will not only help curb touts preying on the crowd, but also reduce indiscriminate parking along the busy MRRII which can lead to accidents.

Love, romance and oranges in the air

THE Chinese Lunar New Year officially ends on a romantic note tonight with Chap Goh Meh, which is Hokkien for Fifteenth Night.

The festival is usually celebrated by the community with another reunion party.

The tnee koay (nien gao in Mandarin) features prominently on the menu of Chap Goh Meh gatherings. The glutinous rice cakes, cut into slices and sandwiched between pieces of sweet potato or yam, are dipped in batter and deep-fried like banana fritters. They are served hot with tea.

In China, the celebration is known as Yuan Xiao, or Lantern Festival, held to welcome the first full moon of the new lunar year. It is largely dedicated to love and romance.

In the olden days, according to a story I heard, a lantern parade would be held in public parks. The lanterns bore poetic riddles written by single ladies looking for the love of their lives.

Eligible bachelors who thronged the parks had to decipher the riddles before they were allowed to ask for the hand of the maiden.

In Malaysia, while lanterns are reserved for the Mooncake Festival, romance is not. Chap Goh Meh is associated with the throwing of oranges. I am not sure how it all started, but a Penang friend swears that it originated in Gurney Drive three or four decades ago.

There is no way to authenticate the claim, although citrus throwing is undeniably a popular tradition in Penang, as it is in Malaysia and many Southeast Asian countries with a Chinese community. In fact, it has become an annual social event.

One such occasion made it to the news on TV a few years ago. I recall watching a sweet young lady confess how an orange changed her life - the one she threw into a lake promptly found its way to her dream partner, thanks to the waterproof ink she had used to write her phone number on the skin of the fruit. Otherwise, the man would not have been able to SMS her to start the ball of romance rolling.

Not all orange-throwing activities bear fruit, however. A fellow I know, who tried his luck every Chap Goh Meh, had failed to find a sweet ending to the quest for a dream girl. When someone told him that orange-throwing only worked for single women, he decided to resign himself to a life of bachelorhood, minding his nieces and nephews, and remaining blissfully free from the encumbrances that come with relationships.

At the end of tonight, as the celebratory cheer of Chap Goh Meh fades away, the bells of romance will be continuing to tinkle for in just eight days, the town will be painted red again and it will not be from leftover Chinese New Year decor.

Come next Tuesday, roses will cost a bomb; artificial ones crafted from red undergarments will be just as, if not more, expensive.

Eateries, particularly candle-lit restaurants, will make a killing in the name of love.

If you are single or a hopeless romantic - and if the commercialisation of Valentine's Day has yet to make you see red - succumbing to overindulgence may burn a hole in your pocket.

A life as hard but as sweet as sugarcane

TODAY is one of the most important days of the 15-day Chinese New Year celebration for the Hokkien community. The eighth day of the first lunar month is celebrated just as grandly as the eve of the first day. Some people call it the Hokkien New Year.

At the stroke of midnight, the ceremony begins - today it is marked by blasts of firecrackers although this had never been a mandatory feature.

The Hokkien give thanks to the Jade Emperor or "Thnee Kong" for the blessings of the past year and ask for a smooth year.

It is said that if the children were to stay up and offer prayers to the Jade Emperor, the parents would be blessed with a long and healthy life. This belief, I think, is deeply rooted in the practice of filial piety.

The sugarcane is high on the list of items sought by the Hokkien on this day.

A pair of freshly harvested plants, complete with stalk, roots and leaves, can fetch many times its regular price, and this is the time the sugarcane planters make a killing. If you are wondering where the term "sweet harvest" came from, wonder no more.

According to popular folklore, a cruel king once ruled the Hokkien in ancient China. The tyrant ordered an ethnic cleansing, but the Hokkien got wind of it and sought refuge in the sugarcane fields, from which they emerged on the eighth day, unharmed by the departed army.

I was, however, told a different tale by my elders when I asked about the significance of the sugarcane when I was a kid.

Their story is more realistic, I think.

Sugarcane plants symbolise life and the resilient spirit in every one of us, they told me.

You will detect some truth in this if you observe the sugarcane plant closely. The plant may look slender but its roots are strong. The stem is tough but flexible enough to bend with and not be easily broken by the wind.

If you have ever chewed on the sugarcane, you will recall that you had to strip the bark with your teeth before you could take a bite of the crunchy stem. You also had to work your way through one tough node after another in order to savour the sweet juices.

All of these reflect the cycles of life and the hardship and ease, my elders said.

One will appreciate life's sweet rewards if we have tasted the hardship.

Of course, you can argue that these days, you do not have to work up a sweat to satisfy a sugarcane juice craving. Mechanical crushers and juicers have taken the load off your jaws.

But you don't need me to tell you that things gained without any work are likely to be lost just as effortlessly.

"Easy come, easy go" can be a hard lesson to learn - and all too often, learnt too late.

Looking to the Dragon for prosperity

IF you are wondering why the Water Dragon has not knocked on your front door and inundating you with a flood of prosperity yet, don't worry.

Someone on the Internet told me that the Year of the Dragon would only arrive 12 days from today, on Feb 4.

Don't ask me how come; I don't know.

I have yet to learn to read the Chinese calendar, let alone figure out how Chinese geomancy works.

But I am sure you already know what the Year of the Dragon holds for you.

This time of the year, there is plenty of information that will keep you positively charged to face the year with glowing promises of prosperity and success, or get you worried sick about the impending troubles coming your way. Don't buy your talismans yet.

During the last Dragon Year, many people I know had good fortune.

One chap had a windfall at the gaming outlet. He invested his winnings in stocks and made even more.

Another, a lady who was then single, met the love of her life and settled down. She will be happily celebrating the 12th anniversary of her marriage sometime in April.

One childless couple was blessed with a Dragon son that year. The 12-year-old is today a brilliant fellow as all dragon sons can be, but let's hope that when he is successful in later life, he will also be a filial child.

Not everyone is fortunate, however. One fellow was so worried about the dark predictions he read in the papers that he religiously carried out the soothsayers' recommendations to dispel his impending bad luck.

When I visited him at the end of that year, he was busy clearing his home of the collection of feng shui paraphernalia for that year.

I asked if they worked and he admitted that he didn't know. He was relieved that none of the ill winds the fortunetellers had forecast blew his way, but the good things they predicted also did not materialise.

I then asked if he was a hard-core believer in the stars. He replied that he was not -- he was only playing it safe, just in case.

And if prosperity were indicated in his stars, he said, he would not mind spending a little more to usher in some good luck.

I am sure we have at one time or the other let our guard down during festive times like this.

A fondness for reading into the future is healthy fun but we are courting unnecessary distress if we let it influence our lives.

There are as many experts these days as there are conflicting views on how the year will turn out. Magic stones are in plenty too.

A wise man once said that if a man takes no heed of the future, he would find distress near at hand.

Believe me, living the present sensibly and productively is just as important.

Gong Xi Fa Cai!

A fish by any other name would sound just as sweet

I WONDER if the leatherjacket fish (koay bak hoo in Hokkien or jebong in Malay) has ever been served in the Lunar New Year reunion dinner.

My wife says she has heard of the garoupa, red snapper and threadfin being served, but she has yet to hear of the leatherjacket making an appearance on the reunion dinner table.

For those with pockets as deep as the South China Sea, the star attraction at the dinner table is the white pomfret (tau tay chneo in Hokkien or bawal tambak in Malay). Some years back, demand for the fish during the Lunar New Year drove the price to over RM100 a kg before it had to be capped.

If you are wondering why the pomfret is the preferred fish on the dinner table, it is because its name in Cantonese sounds similar to an auspicious word that means prosperity.

And if you have gone on to ponder why fish is such an important dish on the reunion dinner table, I can only repeat for your edification what was quoted to me in Mandarin: "Nien nien you yue".

By some twists in the tone and inflections of the words, the Chinese idiom, which translates to mean "surpluses every year", becomes "fish every year".

The reason why people do not serve the leatherjacket during the reunion dinners, my wife reasons, is because of its ugliness. If you have seen leatherjacket divested of its skin, you would know what I mean.

I argue that the fish is tasty, so much so that it is also called the chicken fish - because it tastes just like chicken!

If steamed, the flesh is easily stripped from the main bone without pulling off the tiny bones that may choke you.

That is one reason why it is among the best fish to feed the kids.

But the reason I thought of the leatherjacket for the reunion dinner was simply logic.

Last week, the fish was still selling at RM15 a kilo at the Pasar Tani near my home.

The fishmonger even offered to lower the price if I took the kilo-and-a-half fish that had been lying in his ice tray since 6am.

His garoupas were already selling at RM38 a kilo - and the price is still rising - while the threadfin was priced at RM35 a kilo.

Why did I not see the white pomfret? Your guess is as good as mine. It may be that it was too expensive. It could be the fishmongers were holding on to the stock to sell it at a much higher price later next week.

Of course, some will tell you that the bad weather - or even the floods in Thailand - has reduced the catch. Take that with a pinch of salt.

During the last Dragon year 12 years ago, orchard owners in Sungai Buloh made a killing when the loong kat, or dragon lime, was introduced. The golden citrus plants with longish fruits fetched almost four times the price of the common lime or limau kasturi.

A chap I know paid almost RM188 for a pot of waist-height dragon lime plant bursting with fruits.

It symbolised abundance, he told me, before promptly putting the plant in an auspicious corner of his house.

By the fourth day of the Chinese New Year, the fruits were falling all over the floor and attracting an abundance of ants. A month later, the lime plant withered and died. The chap's wife later told me that it was such a waste of money.

I don't know if the dragon lime will be less expensive this year, but I know that there will surely be another another festive fad, claiming good luck and prosperity, dreamed up by marketing geniuses.

I also hope you will not be blinded by the glowing promises and get caught up in the buying frenzy. You might want to remind yourself as you dig deep into your wallet that the festive celebration is only the start of a long year ahead - which you should be financially prepared for.

Malacca should do something about its jams

MALACCA city is bursting at the seams with visitors these days.

Come weekends, public holiday or school breaks, even Malaccans dread driving into the city centre for fear of being caught in jams.

Friends of mine who live near the tourist belts, who had once wished Malacca to be as vibrant as KL, now regret that their wish has been granted.

They miss the days when they could sleep in late on Sundays and not be awakened by the din, and not having to fight with outsiders for parking space at their doorstep.

If you are a regular visitor to Malacca, as I have been for over two decades, you will be able to tell if the streets in the city centre are congested or not before you even get there. If you arrive by the North South Expressway, the traffic situation at Ayer Keroh toll plaza is a good indicator.

If all payment booths are open and there are still long queues, you can bet that there will be congestion down town.

Just drive past the toll gates, then, observe traffic on the Ayer Keroh highway, the main thoroughfare leading into town.

If traffic here is slow moving and long queues are building up at the traffic lights, you should try to avoid driving into the city centre if you don't want to be caught in jams.

Malacca's traffic bane can be attributed to poorly timed traffic lights and narrow streets, I believe.

I have noticed that the waiting times at some junctions are exceptionally long, even though traffic from the side roads is sparse.

Examples are the Ayer Keroh Highway-Melaka International Trade Centre and the Jalan Tun Abdul Razak-Tesco junctions.

In town, jams usually start just before the Stadthuys at the two-lane road flanked by the old shop houses.

It continues into the tourist belt around the Clock Tower before the traffic is split by the Melaka Raya and Jonker Walk areas.

The jams in the city centre, however, are not caused by traffic lights but by drivers slowing down to avoid pedestrians who share the narrow streets made narrower by cars parked on one side.

In some areas, five-foot-ways are non-existent simply because of the way the quaint buildings were constructed during the days when horse carriages ruled the streets.

Even with most roads made into one-way streets to smoothen traffic flow, they were not built for today's huge vehicles such as MPVs, vans and tour buses.

With more and more tourist-centric businesses coming up in the city centre, more visitor traffic can be expected.

Heeren Street is fast turning into an arts enclave while Jonker Street has already established itself as a craft and antiques centre.

Some of the neighbouring streets are also becoming synonymous with backpackers as old houses there are turned into budget hotels.

Shouldn't the authorities consider introducing car-less days on weekends and public holidays, including certain hours of the day during school breaks?

Tourist spots in the city centre are not far from each other and there is no reason visitors to Malacca cannot park at the fringe of city and then take public transport into the city centre.

If trishaws are insufficient to meet the demand for transport, maybe electric trams can provide shuttle services as well.

Even cycling can be encouraged. Motorised traffic should be reduced to curb jams and pollution which is detrimental to the age-old buildings.

The town planners did right in moving the Government agencies from the city centre a decade ago.

Now, if only they could manage the jams before they drive away the tourists.

How did your year go? Mine went in a flash.

HAPPY New Year! How did your year go? Mine went in a flash.

I suppose working in a newspaper has something to do with it.

When you are chasing deadlines daily, working on days when ordinary people don't work, and always consciously a day ahead and preparing the following day's edition today, you lose track of time easily.

Some people say if you enjoy what you are doing, then you lose track of time easily.

If that is true, then journalists must have the most enjoyable job in the world - otherwise how else can you explain that we are always wishing for more hours in our days so that we won't bust the deadline?

"How will this year turn out?" a news vendor asked me last Friday.

Will the general election be held? Will property prices take a dive?

Is there going to be a global recession?

Should one buy gold or silver or keep one's money in the bank instead?

I should know, he said, since I worked in the newspaper business.

I said I don't.

If I could foretell the future, I would be better off setting up a table in Chinatown and tell fortunes.

It's less stressful and possibly more lucrative, considering the number of gullible people around these days.

I am guessing that you have school-going children or if your first child is starting school on Wednesday, this year will pass by even faster than you can imagine.

Between sending your children to school and rushing them home in time for tuition each day, you will wish you have more than hours to your day.

Before you know it, it will be the end of the year and you will be worrying whether you have saved enough to get them new stationery or uniforms, now that books are free.

And if your children are already in secondary school, or ready for college in a few years, you will not have time to admire the dials on your watch because you will be wondering where to make the extra ringgit today so that you will have enough to put them through higher education, especially if you know that they will not be getting help elsewhere.

Someone told me long ago that the speed with which life passes you by is relative to the depth of your pockets. I agree.

If you don't have to worry about where your next meal is coming from or how to put dinner on your table this evening, time will pass at a slower pace because you will have more time to think about other things than making ends meet.

Of course, the wealthy will not agree and claim that they too have their woes.

At least, we - the have-lesses and have-nots - can sleep more soundly at night with less to worry about if the banks run away with our money or the global economic downturn will turn our cash into ash.

Life's fair, I think, if we consider that we are all equally given 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, and not a second less.

How our lives turn out tomorrow will be determined by how we choose to use our entitlement.

We can gripe at the grimness we see around us and be immobilised by all the uncertainties they bring. Or we can go out there and treat the falling sky like a cosy blanket.

Even if time stood still for us, some of us we will still find it insufficient and still find things to complain about.

The black and white of wearing school shoes

IN the old days, school uniforms made of cotton had to be starched before they were ironed, and school shoes had to be polished with shoe whitener. Before the bottled shoe whitener came along, which was during the late 1970s, shoe whites were made of lime.

These lime cakes sold for 20 sen a piece, were round in shape and slightly less than the size of your palm.

To use it, just add a little water into the lime cake and wait for the whitener to turn soft and creamy. Then, using a piece of clean damp cloth, a brush or a foam pad, you pick up a little bit of the creamy lime and brush it onto the shoes that had just been washed, before putting them out to dry.

There were two drawbacks of using this lime-based shoe white. One of them was that if the shoes were not dried well, they will turn yellow and smell like rotten fish. If your shoes got wet, the lime polish would turn grimy and smelly, as well.

The biggest drawback of using this shoe polish was that the lime ate into the canvas fibres. Instead of the soles running out first, the canvas tore, and usually happened where the canvas joined the rubber.

Gaping shoes were a common sight, especially among those who could not afford new shoes before the school term ended.

There were no fancy branded shoes for school-going children until much later.

The only brand I remember was the green-soled Badminton Master produced by Bata.

Our national badminton players made the Badminton Master famous in the 1970s, I think.

I have forgotten how much they cost but I recall that only my schoolmates who lived in brick houses were able to afford them at the start of each school year.

The rest of us had to settle for the green-soled look-alikes of little known brands like "555" or "Flying Man".

Unlike the real Badminton Master, look-alikes seldom lasted as long. If the soles did not give way, the canvas would tear. The soles also had little traction so you had to be extra careful when stepping into the toilet.

Teachers and discipline masters those days were less forgiving when it came to looking neat. If your shoe laces were untied or the shoes soiled or your pair looked like they have been chewed by a dog, you would be sent to the headmaster's office to explain.

Sometimes, you would also be asked to sign a tiny black book of "offences" that bore greatly on your year-end report card.

If you were lucky, your parents would not be called up to explain why you did not have clean shoes.

These days, teachers are not so strict with school shoes as long as they are white. And in some schools, a teacher told me, the students' shoes were more expensive than their teachers.

Instead of being a part of the dress code, the school shoes of these well-heeled students have become fashion statement instead.

When the Northern Winds blew

AS recent as 30 years ago - those above 40 would be able to recall - the loveliest time in the city was during the end of the year. The skies were cloudless and blue, and the mornings chilling and fresh. The afternoons were hot but the wind blew all day long.

Clothes hung out to dry at sunrise could be collected by mid-morning. You could even expect the thick blankets and curtains put on the clothesline at noon to be dry by four in the afternoon, all crisp and dry, thanks to the wind.

The Hokkien called the winds that blew during this time of the year Pak Hong (Northern Winds) because they came from the North. Some of us called them Kuay Nee Hong - the New Year winds because they heralded the coming of the new year.

The winds usually blew from late October right through February. The winds were cold and dry. Someone told me this was because they came from the wintry regions in China but I don't know if that is true.

While the windy days were welcomed, they also signalled the appearance of seasonal ills such as coughs, colds and nosebleeds. The most dreaded was what the Hokkien nicknamed Pak Jit Sau, the 100-day Cough.

For those who had caught the persistent cough, a barrage of antibiotics, syrups and home remedies failed to alleviate the itchiness in the throat. The cough gave one nightmares - not because it was serious but because it deprived one of sleep as it gets worse at night.

One just had to bear with it until it went away on its own, which it usually did in a month or two. With the cough gone as mysteriously as it had arrived, one is left fearful of taking cold drinks and morning baths for a long time.

I have not felt the chilly year-end winds for years now, let alone see the clear, sunny skies. I consider myself lucky if there isn't a haze these days. The past four weeks, instead of looking up at cerulean blue skies, I only see the Payne's grey colour of rain clouds which sometimes begin trooping in as early as sunrise.

Each evening, being caught in traffic snarls brought about by the rain has become routine. By the time I reach home and have geared up for my evening walk, the rain would come again.

One evening last week, despite the drizzle, I decided to take my chances. I thought it would stop by the time I clocked the first kilometre. It didn't.

Instead, the drizzle grew into a shower that lasted almost an hour. Lucky for me, I had brought my handphone with me. I called my wife to rescue me from the bus stop. And wouldn't you know it, just as I was getting into the car, the rain suddenly stopped.

I suppose my daily frustration with the inclement weather these days is nothing compared with that of my friend, Ah Yeow, who operates a rice and drinks stall in Sentul. The rains must be affecting his livelihood while they are merely disrupting my routine.

For people like him, whose income depended on good weather, the rains always mean hardship in the days ahead. With the Lunar New Year just six weeks away, all they can do is pray that the Northern Winds will start blowing again.

Review procedures to prevent gas leak fires

IN the mid-1990s, a door-to-door salesman came to my condo to sell me a metered gas regulator.

The palm-sized device was made of brass and simple to operate. It looked like the common gas regulator, except that it had a small meter which shows the amount of gas left in the tank.

The metered regulator cost RM90, almost eight times more than the regular ones. I bought one for two reasons - it had an automatic shutdown feature which cuts off supply from the tank if there were a leak and lets me know how much gas is left so that I know when to order a new tank.

I hated having to keep a spare tank at home all the time. My fear of a gas leak was as great as running out of gas halfway through cooking my favourite bak kut teh.

But it was a necessary nightmare, before I stumbled upon the metered regulator.

I was even more impressed when the salesman told me that the metered regulator came with a RM1 million liability-insurance and was guaranteed to last five years.

Mine lasted me nine years but, when I went looking for a new one, I was told that it was no longer produced. Apparently, the price was too high for its time and the company had folded.

Last week, when I read that a blast had damaged a restaurant on the ground floor at Maju Junction, my thoughts went back to the metered regulator and gas safety. The blast is the second, involving a food outlet, which is believed to be due to a gas leak.

On Sept 28, the Empire Shopping Gallery in Subang Jaya made the headlines when a gas explosion destroyed a restaurant and injured four people.

The complex has since reopened and, according to reports, eateries there have been fitted with a brand new gas line, backed up by a state-of-the-art gas sensor that runs round-the-clock.

Although no one was hurt in the latest blast, I think the authorities should review current procedures for ensuring the safety of the eateries operating in enclosed premises, especially those that see high pedestrian traffic.

Are regular safety inspections, not just health checks, carried out at such eateries before their business licenses are renewed annually?

In case of a fire, especially at eateries in the older shopping complexes, are the kitchen areas shielded to protect people - at least for the duration needed to evacuate everyone?

Apart from regular smoke detectors and sprinklers, should all eateries in old shopping complexes be equipped with gas leak detection systems?

It also gives me the jitters when I see fast-food outlets operating within a shouting distance of petrol stations.

There is no telling what can happen if an eatery near an underground petrol bunker catches fire, as a result of human carelessness or a faulty stove.

Disabled friendly facilities still lacking

RECENTLY, while having dinner in a restaurant near home, I saw two women struggling to get their wheelchair-bound elder relative onto the pavement.

There was no ramp, so they had to drive as close as possible to the pavement that was at least a foot higher than the road table.

One woman placed a wheelchair on the pavement and went back to assist their elder out of the car.

When she realised that the car door could not be fully opened because the car was too close, she brought the wheelchair back onto the road and helped the elder out of the car. Once their elder was comfortably seated in the wheelchair, both women proceeded to push it towards the entrance to the restaurant where the steps were.

Then they each grabbed the wheelchair by its armrests, lifted it and struggled up the steps.

I watched anxiously, fearful that they might slip. Fortunately, they managed to get their elder safely into the restaurant.

Last week, when I saw wheelchair ramps being built onto the pavement at Lake Titiwangsa near the interior car park, I was relieved.

There are not many public places that are built with the wheelchair user in mind.

At the Lake Titiwangsa, where the ramps were built, large yellow location signboards have also been set up to indicate their presence.

The angles of the ramps were also not made so steep as to prevent wheelchair users from wheeling up unassisted.

Some time ago, when I saw tact tile paths being built onto the same pavement around Lake Titiwangsa, I had wondered why ramps were not built at the same time. Now, with both tact tile pathways and wheelchair ramps in place, Lake Titiwangsa can boast of being a disabled-friendly park, although I rarely come across disabled persons visiting the park when I were there.

Perhaps not many disabled persons and their caretakers are aware that disabled friendly facilities are now in place here. If City Hall can extend the two facilities to all accessible areas of the park, it will be a bonus to the visually-impaired and wheelchair users who wish to join their able-bodied friends for a stroll.

The only thing City Hall should be concerned about, I think, is the parking of motorcycles on the pavements. This is a regular feature at Lake Titiwangsa, especially around the smaller lake by which a road runs. Visit the lake on weekend evenings and you will see what I mean.

Park visitors and joggers have been forced to move onto the road at areas where gangs of bikers and their bikes have completely occupied the pavement.

You can imagine what obstacles wheelchair users and the visually impaired are up against when they visit the park, even if there are facilities friendly to their needs.

Now, with the ramps built onto the pavements, it will be even easier for bikers to park their bikes there unless City Hall does something to prevent them from staking their weekend claim on the pavements.

Little knowledge that gives you an edge

A DECADE ago, when I first moved into the condominium I had purchased from the original owner, I found that a plastic bibcock in the dry kitchen's wall had a hairline crack.

Water was seeping out of it, so I bought a brass bibcock to replace it. In the process of removing the faulty bibcock, it broke at the neck and the piece was embedded in the pipe.

Since I did not know how to remove it, thinking a special tool was needed, I called a plumber.

When the chap answered my call, he asked me to describe my problem in detail.

Then he told me his terms - he would only come if I agreed to pay him RM60 up front as consultation fee. I agreed.

When the chap arrived, he immediately asked for his fee before even stepping into the house.

Extra costs would be billed separately, he said, after which he went straight into the dry kitchen to look at the broken tap.

Then he took out a broken hacksaw blade four inches long, shoved one end into the pipe, and started sawing the embedded plastic tubing in several places.

In less than 10 minutes, he removed all pieces of the embedded plastic tubing, cleaned the pipe's thread before screwing in the new bibcock.

Another time I had to call for help was when a can of air freshener fell into our toilet bowl.

My wife had tried to flush it down the drain pipe. Unknown to her, the can had got caught in the "S" joint of the drain pipe.

A day later, as more toilet paper got into the toilet bowl, the pipe became blocked. Soon, the water in the toilet bowl was about to overflow.

Fortunately for me, I had befriended a building maintenance officer weeks earlier.

When I asked him how to unclog my toilet, he came right away to the house.

Having looked at the toilet bowl, he asked for a mop. He submerged the mop in the toilet bowl so that all the strands of cloth filled the hole.

Then he gave the mop several strong plunges - just as you would do when pumping a clogged sink. Within seconds, the toilet bowl was unclogged.

Although the chap did not ask for a fee, I paid him for his time and petrol expenses. He told me that plumbers usually charged RM60 as consultation fee per house call - even if it was only to take a look at the problem.

It was expensive, he said, but having seen how to unclog the toilet bowl using a mop, he had learnt how to deal with a similar crisis without having to call the plumber.

Since those incidents, I have learnt to fix broken stuff myself.

The small savings did not make me laugh all the way to the bank, but they liberated me from having to depend on so-called "experts".

At a time when there are so many experts around, what little you don't know will give the next person an edge over you and be your consultant instead.

After all, didn't someone say that in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is the king.

Any day is a good day, 111111 included

HOW was your date with singularity three days ago? Did you join the thousands of number-worshippers to do something special last Friday?

Or like some of us who were too busy making a living, you were not even aware of the passing of 11.11.11 and had in fact treated it just like any day on the calendar?

It all depends on the degree of your superstitions, one level-headed chap told me.

If you are an optimist, you will sense something auspicious about the number 1 repeated six times.

But then you would have felt the same with 2s or 3s.

And you have every right to feel optimistic about 1, after all, it marks the end of nothingness. In life, the number 1 also means survival.

Being the first, means you are the best and being the best sometimes is all that matters, especially in the rat race.

Do you remember the first time you emerged top in something?

Recall the adrenaline rush as the news hits you and the elation that lasted hours or even days, depending on the degree of your achievement and the acknowledgement it received?

Indescribably good, wasn’t it?

You were not alone if you felt lucky last Friday.

On the morning of Thursday, some punters I know were already smiling all the way to the bank when 1111 came up in one of the gaming draws.

Too bad the number only won the consolation prize.

These punters would have been hysterical had the number come up the first prize.

Of course, it would have been very suspiciously coincidental, considering the odds, should the number have taken pole position in that draw.

No gaming company would be silly enough not to put a cap on such a number, especially against the single-minded tide of punters hitting for 1111.

I was told that the unique date has greatly benefited operators of restaurants and entertainment centres who had good marketing skills.

Some eateries saw sold-out crowd who were celebrating the special occasion. The next killing, smart eatery and entertainment outlet operators can make, will be on Dec 12, next year — if earth still remains in one piece. Remember 2012?

I saw an online poll set up by a website since January, asking its visitors how they felt about 11-11-11.

If the over 7,000 votes received are representative of those who believed in the auspiciousness of unique numbers, then then there is something to cheer about.

According to the poll, 47 per cent of those who voted believed that something good would happen on that day at a global scale. Forty per cent felt nothing would while the remainder felt that something bad would instead.

As you read this, I am sure you will know if you should give more attention to a number than it deserves, especially if your expectation had turned out otherwise.

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