World cup live from d' lambo club

The sun was so kind to shy away behind the clouds when I drove back to the keropoklekor land on Friday for a holiday break with my family. It was quite a pleasant journey through the undulating LPT highway cruising smoothly with the speed of a Tomahawk missile. A 'saman ekor' is expecting anytime next week as I came face to face with 'mat misai' skodeing through his speedy scope on my uncivilized driving manner somewhere along Gambang stretch. No doubt about it. Momentarily I forgot that this is The Bolehland and Autobahn-alike is somewhat existed only in the brain domain of F1 wannabe.

We had several pit stops along the way to refuel, refresh and some quick photo snap on the beautiful beaches scenery just to satisfy my shutterbug frenzy. By this time, the sun have come out from its sanctuary and shone obstructively to the coastal inhabitant. It was hot. The air was so dry you can easily dry you hair faster here than using an air drier.

The heat if not managed properly could cause your brain to melt and become something unrecognizable but tasty more or less like 'bubur lambuk', or worst one could have a fever. The fever has spread indeed in this keropoklekor land as the moment I arrived the sight of my countryman succumbed to the word spread pandemic was very obvious.

So far I am very cautious and trying at any cost avoiding from being overheating thus catching this fever. The best advice is to stay at home or simply becoming a couch potato in the comfy of one's own house. Meanwhile, the lambo club sprouted vigorously throughout the keropoklekor land and their activity become lively when the dusk beat the day.

The lambo club members so engrossed watching Messi from Argentina dribbled the balls around the field. I stopped over briefly to greet my country men and secretly captured the moment on film for the whole world to see how ingenious and creative my country men when the football world cup is concern.

A few hour before the kick off. The place was a very close neighbor's lambo or probably more popular known as a geghe. For your intimate knowledge, the television was just unwrapped from the box delivered by Ah Fatt of Kuala Trengganu. The diurnal audience were all close relative, having a preview on the new TV performance.

A soft reminder to my fellow bloggers. The banner says it all. It is o.k to catch the fever but please do not get involved in any of the judi forms that are also sprouting alongside this prestigious sport.

Have a nice day guys. I am off to Bandor to sample some more delectable local dishes. Keropok lekor anyone?

Thank you Zionist for uniting the world

The truth is I don't really want or very keen to write or talk about zionist laknatullah (or their evil cahoots). The more we talk about them, the more arrogant they would be. In fact it would boiled my blood up just thinking about them and this is not good from my health view of point. Their cruelty and inhumane acts are unforgiven and so disgusting. While at the same time I am quite reluctant at first to contaminate this blog with upsetting stories and gross pictures of dislocated human limbs as this would probably make some feel uncomfortable or having sleepless night for days. But their sheer bloodlust for innocent victims really annoyed me and so disturbingly blatant. This is purely atrocities of the devilish crime. Stink to the highest heaven. I would rather bath myself in budu rather than to just sit and do nothing about it.

The recent tragic event on Marvi Marmara has clearly demonstrated to the world their true color and proven their evil intention. It was really a shocking news to our nasi-lemak-nation and to the whole world population. In a way that single event has managed to wake up and unite vast numbers of world population who have been in deep slumber for so long. But I am least surprised myself. What do you expect from this nation? A nation that has been condemned by Allah S.W.T. A nation who disregard others right, disrespectful to others whereas peace and harmony is not in their daily vocabulary. This nation is not fit to be called a nation in the first place.

Zionist will be a Zionist, no matter how hard one is trying to justify that barbaric acts and atrocities. We are accountable to what we do or say, more so if what we do is absolutely wrong. Those atrocities shouldn't be condoned and let diluted with time or camouflaged with cover-up stories that will surface in time to come. Serious and stiff action should be taken, not to teach them but to show our support, unity and determination to instill justice.

I would strongly support any effort in showing our discontent towards that unacceptable behavior. Lets us boycott any products or companies that have any direct or indirect connection with this Zionist laknatulllah. The list of associates were already published in many blogs (even last year the same effort was called upon). Some companies or products may well disguised as unsuspecting and innocent labels, but the stinking smell is so strong they will finally be revealed.

Some of these associates are big and multimillion companies, but I strongly believed if we as one nation work together and do it seriously, continuously and with istiqomah, a small dent in their pocket wouldn't be ignored after all. Lets do it together guys.

Thank you Zionist for uniting the world and thank you again for giving the people of Gaza or the Mujaheddin the rare and sought after chance to be a martyr. But still I would pray that you and your evil cahoots would be sterile for life. Nope... on a second thought, impotence would be much better.

(Below are the photos I received from a chain-email. I am at first contemplating as to whether to share this photos with others or not, but finally give a go in hoping it will give us a moment to reflect that life is so precious)

Israel bombing with white phosphorus at UNRWA school in Beit Lahia, Gaza, PALESTINE (undated photos)

.....

Until two days ago...I was still 42

Yes, I know. This may sound a bit funny and probably freaking weird at the same time, especially for those who had been willingly and voluntarily celebrated my birthday last January. This baffling affair has become confusing enough for the past few decades not only for those who are very close to me and yet know the fact that January is not my actual birth date, but also yours truly alike.

Year in and year out, on that particular day in January the loved ones will buy me cakes and send my cholesterol level to a new psychedelic level for that short blissful moment simply by stuffing me with a belly full of chocolate cheese cakes richness. Still it was much better than having to settle down with just Mengelembu groundnuts and carbonated drink on that auspicious day.

But I know I am not alone in embracing this peculiar dilemma. Somehow, I consider this as part of a very vital element in my colorful life journey.

I have a very interesting story to share with regard to this odd matter. Three decades ago, I met two particular 'superboys' who experienced even the worst predicament than me. Those '12 years' old boys were quite famous in the sport domain that time. They played football and participated in field events for their respective school so as yours truly. From time to time, we frequently came face to face in various state competitions. They were feared by rivals. In football they could kick the ball and score it from another end of the field just with their sheer muscle. In the field events, they could run like a panther and left others panting very hard to match their speed, that included yours truly. This was not a surprise as later I found out their actual age that time was 15 and 16, but for some unknown reason was registered 3 and 4 years late from their birth date, presumably by their father.

In my case, I am not really sure what exactly happened. All this time I don't really bother to ask my father the question of whether he missed the bus to the police station on that historical day (those days birth registration could be done at any nearest police station) or why it took him 6 months to do so. Probably it was a common attitude for Ganu folks. I do not know and would not know for sure.

Anyway, regardless of those odd condition that I am having for the past decades, I am one happy and contented man now. What more I could ask this life to offer me. It just ain't gotta any better than this. I just hope those two 'superboys' would share the same jolly feeling as me.

So, let's do it again guys...Happy 43th birthday to me... even it is six month earlier. Double cheese cake anyone?

I am old but khasidah never dies

This is the ultimate keropoklekor-nation past time food delicacy that if fully appreciated will give a psychedelic assault of all the senses. There is no secret recipe or fancy ingredient for this simple and humble crafty edible sensation but a pure affection. I presume all seasoned Ganu folks or one who speak a heavy G-slang should know how to produce it in the kitchen or at least appreciate the unspeakable taste of this traditional cuisine. During my toddler time, I like to stick this food onto my palate and let it melted onto my mouth slowly just to make sure it goodness will last. I thought my peers would do the same. Probably that wast also the reason why we retain much 'G' in our conversation.

In the keropoklekor-land this beautiful and unique man-made creation is popularly known as kuih khasidah. This appetizing food is closely synonymous with another local traditional produce called 'kolleh' of which also became a very frequent vocabulary in my late grandmother's kitchen long time ago. According to my Che', who has stopped producing it in her kitchen for umpteen years now, khasidah has nothing to do with Qasidah (burda), a classic Arabic poetic chanting. Probably the emotional and wonderful spiritual power of Qasidah al-burdah and the lengthy preparation time for this food coalesced and finally a fusion of delectable marvel.

Actually I almost forgot how and what khasidah taste like until recently one of my good neighbors who had just come back from the keropoklekor land knocked on my door and gave me this utterly familiar experience to my taste bud. It is not a normal sight anymore to see khasidah sold at any shops or market in the keropoklekor land. So it was such a homecoming reception to have and sample this food again for me. My kids love it so much I have to promise them a special treat of this khasidah when we go back to keropoklekor land.

The sight of this soft-textured and mildly sweetened food is almost extinct from my taste domain but the feeling knowing that this exotic-but-almost extinct food can still be found in some of the remote corner in the keropoklekor land is very soothing indeed. This feeling has now becoming deeply very personal.

Once upon a zen in Kanazawa

The first time I hit the Samurai-land, I instantly realized that if I don't find the right partner to talk to, I will become a mute traveler throughout the duration of my visit as these Samurai descendants don't speak much in other languages apart from their own. As an avid Manga fan, I should have perfected my broken Nihongo or at least memorized few kanji way before I started to fall in love with sushi.

Japanese as you may know is a very proud nation. They only eat sushi with wasabi and not with any other fancy Western condiments or even our popular shrimp past, belacan. That shows how proud they are with their food, their language or even Doraemon and other monster-kicking superheroes, of which symbolized their ingenuity and creativity.

After slightly seven blissful flight hours from KLIA to Tokyo and another one hour by a domestic flight, I touched down at Kanazawa. This town is located on the West coast of Honshu. This time around, the purpose of my visit to this captivating city was to nurture my ever shrinking brain with as much academic input as possible plus another secret rendezvous with my significant half.

Actually, I almost took a ride on the famous Japanese high-speed bullet train, shinkansen just to experience this warp-speed machine and looking forward at the same time to have another orgasmic ride that blown one into oblivion. The prospect of taking the wrong train though and being blasted into another unfamiliar Yakuza territory really put me off the idea. Mount Fuji, the initial motivation for embarking onto the train was heavily clouded and obscured with heavenly mist, so I thought it was not worth the effort, except for that orgasmic part.

Nonetheless, all disappointment and frustration of not seeing the majestic mountain was soon evaporated. After being greeted by staffs in quaint Japanese costumed uniform and our arrival heralded by few polite bows and a plate of hot misty towel to wipe our our oily face diminished any inferiority complex I may have earlier. What can I say? When the wicked die they go to hell, but the righteous are assure a reservation at the nice hotel of Nikko Kanazawa. Splendid services all around. The staffs were not only polite but also thoughtful. Like any other international star though, the 'Rainbow or Ruby channel' was just a click away. You just have to tame the demon inside.

As usual, food could become a big issue while abroad and Kanazawa posed the same problem with no exception. Smoked unagi and plain sticky rice became my staple food. One thing I found very useful was the abundance of vending machine that sold almost everything unthinkable from disposable underwear, designer sunglasses, hot Japanese date for a day (I mean the magazine). You name it. Everything that comes under the Heaven and Earth you can pull out from that wonderful machine.

Kanazawa was among the few city that was spared during World War 2 air raid. There were many Edo period architectures still standing and well preserved. Such excellent examples are the old castle town, Samurai district and Geisha entertainment district. Kanazawa tourism offers many excellent tourist activities in the city which includes some fine museums, the 15th Century 'Ninja temple of Myoryu-ji with its interior secrets and trickery and the labyrinthine bustle of Omicho market - a great place to eat seafood. But Kanazawa unchallenged attraction is the sublime Kenrokuen garden.

When the joys of blissful life become overwhelming sedated in Kanazawa, a short stopover in Tokyo to sample metropolitan lifestyle and the vibrant Shinjuku area and digital haven in Akihabara before coming back to my routine life was a perfect solution. But the night in Tokyo was never quiet. That night my restful sleep was disrupted by a continuous and persistent thumping coming from the room on the above floor. It lasted at least for 30 odd minutes. My theory, Japanese is really a hardworking nation and they work throughout the night with Bushido spirit in mind. But when similar mysterious noise came from the adjacent room echoed the same tune, I started to believe that some early morning raw sushi-eating session was seriously in action. My significant half and me just looked at each other in our blanket and grinned like silly youngsters. Still I really wanted to believe the former theory.

Kenrokuen is known as one of the three beautiful garden in Japan. It is called Kenrokuen because it combines the six attributes (kenroku) that a garden should have: spaciousness, seclusion, human ingenuity, antiquity, water and panoramic view. Fantastically calming and perfectly balanced.

Kanazawa castle has been the residential castle of the Maeda family since Toshiie Maeda entered the castle in 1583. In 1881 all the castle walls apart from Ishikawa-mon gate, were destroyed by fire. Three structured Hishi-yagura, Gojikken-nagaya and Hashizumemon Tsuzuki-yagura were restored. They are the largest scale wooden castle structures built since he Meiji era in Japan.

The house of Nomura family, the ancient site of a Samurai house. The garden was exquisitely beautiful and skillfully laid out. There is a unique, more than four hundred-year-old myrica tree which is said hard to plan here in the Hokuriku district.

Higashi Chaya district or Geisha district. Narrow winding streets and latticed windows. Higayashiyama is the heart of old Kanazawa. While here I managed to catch a glimpse of geisha hurriedly preparing herself to work. Too mesmerized, I could not capture the photo with my camera. Here you can also drink Japanese tea added with pure gold leaf. I didn't have gut to try.

My hot date for that evening, my lovely geisha in front of a section of Kanazawa castle.

Omicho market is the kitchen of Kanazawa. This popular downtown market serves varieties of food in gastronomical proportion. I was quite tempted to jump into one of the many nice looking sushi bars in this market and dipped into suhi and sashimi eating frenzy.

The fish on the stalls looked all very tempting and many weird looking sea creatures were also on display. Apart from unagi, this smoked fish was also becoming our staple diet.

At last our prayer to satisfy our taste bud with some local cuisine was answered. Toward the end of the visit we met our local students at the University and for the first time in my life chicken curry tasted so good.

Part of Kabuki/Noh theatre to end our trip to Kanazawa. But I am quite sure, our sleepless night in Tokyo has nothing to do with this heart-thumping performance.

Taman Tasik Taiping in B&W

Sometimes, it is better to see things in just black and white.

...as life offers us with only two choices....

Once I was a tiger!

In the pitch of darkness I started to transform myself and invoked all the inner senses in anticipation for any incoming surprises. My black attire blended well with the surrounding. When the timing was right and upon instruction by my master, I started to jump...punched...kicked and then I roared. My other colleagues did the same. Sometimes I punched them and the other time they kicked me back, in retaliation. But most of the time I received more kicks than landing a good punch onto my opponents. The bruises could last for weeks and the scars never healed in my memory.

That was my 'painful' remembrance during my initial year as 'anak Gayong'. The year was 1987 and I just started my new life chapter in the ivory tower surrounded by lifeless concrete jungles. I was hundred miles away from my beloved family for the first time. The year was a restless one for me and puberty hormones was already started to kick in. At that time, my teropong iman was still in its infancy and not well developed to take care of the hormonal imbalance.

I then got myself involved with Pertubuhan Silat Seni Gayong Malaysia (PSSGM) at my first alma mater, UKM. There was no special reason for choosing this martial art practice but merely a gut feeling. There were few other martial art clubs as well, but for me PSSGM somehow made me feel and look cool!

From there, I became a very devoted disciple, unraveling the mystery of Gayong. Rain of shine, there I was with my other anak Gayong in the open field and enclosed building to practise this ancient form of art. One of the reasons why I felt so obliged and dedicated was because of my first Gayong master, Cikgu Selamat. He came twice a week to Bangi all the way from Kelang on his really old kapcai just to make sure we got to learn all the bunga, buah, kunci and other syllabus. Despite many punctured tyres in the Federal highway in the middle of the night, that never become his stumbling block to roar together with us, his faithful disciples. His sheer spirit and utmost devotion really touched me. He later became my inspiration to move on and continue my quest to become an invulnerable.

Year in, year out - masters come and go. the late Cikgu Mat Khir, Pak Ngah and Cikgu Nazri were among the many that came to teach at our gelanggang. Occasionally, we went to visit other gelanggang and met other masters to learn special Gayong moves and tricks. They had their own touch and styles, but still the first one really made a lasting impression. I lost touch with the group after I left my alma mater and the tiger remained tamed inside. But the demon never died.

Last weekend however, I almost awakened the sleeping tiger in me and brought back all the wonderful memories in Gayong. This time though, the memory became a painful one. After so many years, I visited Pusat Latihan Tertinggi PSSGM Air Kuning, Taiping and the sight before me was really a shocking reality. My heart broke to see the sorry state of the place. Once the place where so many Gayong warriors practised and received personal attention from the founder himself, the late Dato' Meor Abdul Rahman, is now a dilapidated ruin waiting to bit the dust. The place is now ghostly eerie and almost unrecognizable to me. It was abandoned and lying vulnerable for a new development. A legacy is there no more.

It was believed anak Gayong numbered more than 100 000 and scattered roaming the globe. We should all weep and cry for being so helpless. The least is feeling ashamed to ourselves. Tiger is now becoming an endangered species. Is the tiger going to roar one more time? I keep asking myself. Only time will tell.

Jangan ditepuk susu di dulang,
Anak harimau tak dapat menyusu,
Janganglah pecah rahsia hulubalang,
Nanti harimau hilang kuku.

Jikalau ada dulang di tangan,
Jangan biar jatuh terhempas,
Jikalau ada senjata di tangan,
Jangan biar orang rampas.

Pecah gayung di dalam dulang,
Dulang hayut di lautan tujuh,
Pecah Gayong perpecahan sayang,
Di satu masa balik berpadu teguh.

Biduk berlalu kiambang bertaut,
Kata bersahut Gayong bersambut.

Anak Gayong congregated on the beach for Khatam keris. This was during my final year in UKM. This khatam keris was the last attended by Allahyarham Dato' Meor Abdul Rahman. This orthodox silat chapter took place at Port Dickson on the 23rd. June 1991. It was a symbolic gesture of a naga, a mystical creature pulang ke laut.

One of our activities was performing a silat demonstration during special ceremonies for the KAMSIS. This was my first and I was very nervous for missing several steps. Harimau mengambur mangsa - I was not the one leaping high in the air, but a mere junior crouching waiting for my turn.

A knife duel in front of PUSANEKA, perfomed flawlessly as this was my senior year in my alma mater and also becoming one of the sifus in the gelanggang.

One of the test for our obedience, courage and skills - A fearless tiger never hesitates and accepts all challenges

In one of my visits to Air Kuning to undergo several initiation processes and mandi minyak. Allahyarham Dato' knocked and broke a bamboo on my head. His son cikgu Sazali (Harimau berantai/Singa Malaya) was the one wearing a brown shirt nearby.

The last standing legacy (as of 2nd. May 2010). These were what left of the once a prestigious place for Gayong warriors to equip oneself with intimate knowledge of Gayong vast secrets. For the mortals, we have to accept the fact that nothing last forever.