Ipoh, the capital of Perak is well-known as the birthplace of actress Michelle Yeoh, super-model Amber Chia, and former beauty queens Josephine Fonseka and her daughter Adrea.
Yet, during the days of the British, Ipoh was infamous for a man-eater! For a time, he killed man, woman or child – one every four of five days – over a 20-kilometre stretch of jungle from Ipoh to Kuala Kangsar. As the number of kills grew, so did the terror. Poison baits the man-eater left alone. Traps baited with a live goat had no attraction for him.
Only one man had looked on him in the eye and lived to tell the tale. He was an obstinate Chinese wood-cutter, who, armed with an oiled-paper umbrella, made a journey from the now Gunung Rapat Village after dark. He went a mile up a hill path to his kongsi house and almost bumped into the tiger which was crouched on the path before him.
The tiger roared! The wood-cutter opened his crackling umbrella, resting the bamboo ribs on the ground, and squatted behind it. Round came the tiger and round went the umbrella and in the end, the man-eater got tired of the strange obstacle and took off. So did the wood-cutter in a state of terror.
No one would have believed his story but the hill path was checked the next day. From the marks made by the ribs of the umbrella and the tiger’s pugs, it is believed that they must have circled 20 times. When the man-eater’s bag reached double figures, the British Government sent out 250 men from the Malay State Guides, then stationed in Taiping. For three weeks, the Sepoys – armed with rifles and bayonets – scoured the area around Ipoh. They "beat" the jungle, searched caves, climbed up hills but could not find the tiger. And on that very day, when they were returned to their barracks, the man-eater killed again.
Then the Sultan decided to take a hand. In Kuala Kangsar, he collected 14 elephants and 1,000 Malay warriors to go on a tiger drive. The elephants and Malay warriors went down river to the south but the drive was not successful and traps were set. Alas, a week later, the man-eater was finally caught in a trap camouflaged with creepers. He was shot through a crevice in the logs of the trap – an inglorious end for a man-eater which had been the terror of the district for two years.
/end
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Lady barbers a dying trade in KL
With modern development, several trades in Kuala Lumpur are dying. One of them is the sisterhood of lady barbers. Yet in the smaller towns of the country, the trade still flourishes. Kuala Lumpur’s lady-barber shops are squeaky clean as compared to those in China, of which many of them are fronts for hanky panky.
A lady barber is different from a hair dresser in a unisex salon as the former caters to male clients only. A lady barber’s premies is identified by a red-and-white revolving pole outside and her services also differ from those of a hair dresser.
Tea, coffee or beer is first served to the customer by the lady barber. Then she will wipe the customer’s face with a hot towel and proceed with the haircut. After the hair cut, she will tilt the chair backward, move a lamp towards one ear of the customer, and use the ee doe (a miniature sharp razor) to shave off all the hairs on the ear lobe and near the entrance.
Then she will use the ee fin (which is a small, sharp, ointed stick) to loosen wax formation. This process tickles and sounds like a cave-in. The fairly large pieces of wax are now taken out by the ee chiam (small tweezers) while the ee waa, a miniature spoonlike tool is used to scoop out the small bits. A liquid is then used to wash the ear and it is dried by balls of cotton wool held by the ee chiam.
Finally, the lady barber will use the ee so (a small brush) to dust the ear. The entire process takes about 20 minutes. Other services can be provided by the lady barber. She can give a shave, shampoo, and facial treatment and also massage the head and body. The body massage is done with the barber’s chair tilted backward so there is no hanky-panky. The process involves slapping cupped hands against the legs and arms and wringing the shoulders. Before the customer leaves, the lady barber will again wipe his face with a hot towel as part of the post-haircut service.
For reasons of privacy, most lady barbers are known to their clients by numbers instead of names. The best girls in terms of skill are usually the top three; they are also the prettiest.
Some lady barbers are well educated. My friend was reading an international affairs magazine and having his hair snipped by a lady barber recently. The lady barber looked over his shoulder and said: “I’ve read that article about Obama’s alleged links with terrorists in Indonesia. It’s rubbish.”
Not all men are eager to go to a lady barber. My buddy commented: “When I was young, my mother advised me not to patronize lady barbers. According to her, sometimes they put kung tau (Cantonese for “black magic”) in the tea that is served to you to make you come back again.”
Looking for a lady barber in KL? You can find them in Chinese areas such as Pudu and Chinatown. To get the prettiest to snip your hair, ask the lady boss for a "red number"
/end
/end
A lady barber is different from a hair dresser in a unisex salon as the former caters to male clients only. A lady barber’s premies is identified by a red-and-white revolving pole outside and her services also differ from those of a hair dresser.
Tea, coffee or beer is first served to the customer by the lady barber. Then she will wipe the customer’s face with a hot towel and proceed with the haircut. After the hair cut, she will tilt the chair backward, move a lamp towards one ear of the customer, and use the ee doe (a miniature sharp razor) to shave off all the hairs on the ear lobe and near the entrance.
Then she will use the ee fin (which is a small, sharp, ointed stick) to loosen wax formation. This process tickles and sounds like a cave-in. The fairly large pieces of wax are now taken out by the ee chiam (small tweezers) while the ee waa, a miniature spoonlike tool is used to scoop out the small bits. A liquid is then used to wash the ear and it is dried by balls of cotton wool held by the ee chiam.
Finally, the lady barber will use the ee so (a small brush) to dust the ear. The entire process takes about 20 minutes. Other services can be provided by the lady barber. She can give a shave, shampoo, and facial treatment and also massage the head and body. The body massage is done with the barber’s chair tilted backward so there is no hanky-panky. The process involves slapping cupped hands against the legs and arms and wringing the shoulders. Before the customer leaves, the lady barber will again wipe his face with a hot towel as part of the post-haircut service.
For reasons of privacy, most lady barbers are known to their clients by numbers instead of names. The best girls in terms of skill are usually the top three; they are also the prettiest.
Some lady barbers are well educated. My friend was reading an international affairs magazine and having his hair snipped by a lady barber recently. The lady barber looked over his shoulder and said: “I’ve read that article about Obama’s alleged links with terrorists in Indonesia. It’s rubbish.”
Not all men are eager to go to a lady barber. My buddy commented: “When I was young, my mother advised me not to patronize lady barbers. According to her, sometimes they put kung tau (Cantonese for “black magic”) in the tea that is served to you to make you come back again.”
Looking for a lady barber in KL? You can find them in Chinese areas such as Pudu and Chinatown. To get the prettiest to snip your hair, ask the lady boss for a "red number"
/end
/end
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Food Horror Stories
So...Malaysia is a food paradise eh? Sure, there are countless types of hawker food available but on rare occasions, the hygiene and practices in preparing them leave much to be desired. Below are some hearsay and true stories.
--This tale may be old hat to many people. A famous laksa stall in Penang was alleged to be adding cheap toilet roll in its gravy. Apparently, the aim was to thicken the gravy by stinging on fish. Well, maybe this rumour arose out of business rivalry.
--Beware of roti-canai makers who are shirtless. My friend saw this Mamak (Indian Muslim) swinging a piece of dough with both hands against an aluminium counter. When he swung his hands backward, the dough flipped over, landing on his hairy, sweaty back. Then, thud...he swung it back on the aluminium counter again...to eventually prepare roti canai for his customers.
--So... the Chinese crullers (nicknamed “fried oily devil” or yau char kwai) from this certain stall or the goreng pisang (banana fritters) from another stall tastes extra crispier eh? What’s the secret? Rumour has it that plastic drinking straws or plastic bottles are discreetly added to the boiling oil. Of course, the straws or bottles melt in the oil, and when the items are fried, the plastic-contaminated oil apparently imparts the crispy texture.
--I always try to avoid stalls that employ Bangladeshis as food handlers. A few years back, at a Bak Kut Teh stall, I saw this idiot coughing away, while he was cutting crullers with a pair of scissors. Not bothering to turn his face away, he coughed directly at the bowls containing the crullers!
--A friend told me that a famous satay stall in KL recycles the gravy that is left over by patrons. Put simply, unfinished gravy is simply poured back into the stock pot and re-heated and re-served.
--One very early morning, I saw a hawker in the Chow Kit Market roasting chicken over a gas stove! Sumpah! I am not a scientist but isn’t this method of cooking toxic? Then the chicken was cut into pieces. They were packed with rice into polystyrene boxes, and gravy was poured over the chicken.
--You are a fresh-water fish lover, especially tilapia? If yes, have you heard of integrated agriculture-aquaculture? This is a simple low-cost system for rearing fish, growing vegetables and keeping livestock. Here’s how it works: tilapia (or some other species) is kept in ponds, vegetables are grown on plots, and chickens are reared. Water from the fish ponds is used to irrigate the vegetable plots; vegetable by-products are used as chicken feed; and chicken droppings are fed to the fish! Then the fish is sold to restauranteurs to be served to customers. Of course, not all aquaculture farms practise this disgusting system.
--Some people like to eat kuih kodok. They are just mashed banana balls mixed with flour and deep fried. Some hawkers never let you see the kind of bananas their kuih kodok is made of? Why? They are usually half-rotten bananas that are only fit for monkeys at Zoo Negara.
Bon appetit!
/end
--This tale may be old hat to many people. A famous laksa stall in Penang was alleged to be adding cheap toilet roll in its gravy. Apparently, the aim was to thicken the gravy by stinging on fish. Well, maybe this rumour arose out of business rivalry.
--Beware of roti-canai makers who are shirtless. My friend saw this Mamak (Indian Muslim) swinging a piece of dough with both hands against an aluminium counter. When he swung his hands backward, the dough flipped over, landing on his hairy, sweaty back. Then, thud...he swung it back on the aluminium counter again...to eventually prepare roti canai for his customers.
--So... the Chinese crullers (nicknamed “fried oily devil” or yau char kwai) from this certain stall or the goreng pisang (banana fritters) from another stall tastes extra crispier eh? What’s the secret? Rumour has it that plastic drinking straws or plastic bottles are discreetly added to the boiling oil. Of course, the straws or bottles melt in the oil, and when the items are fried, the plastic-contaminated oil apparently imparts the crispy texture.
--I always try to avoid stalls that employ Bangladeshis as food handlers. A few years back, at a Bak Kut Teh stall, I saw this idiot coughing away, while he was cutting crullers with a pair of scissors. Not bothering to turn his face away, he coughed directly at the bowls containing the crullers!
--A friend told me that a famous satay stall in KL recycles the gravy that is left over by patrons. Put simply, unfinished gravy is simply poured back into the stock pot and re-heated and re-served.
--One very early morning, I saw a hawker in the Chow Kit Market roasting chicken over a gas stove! Sumpah! I am not a scientist but isn’t this method of cooking toxic? Then the chicken was cut into pieces. They were packed with rice into polystyrene boxes, and gravy was poured over the chicken.
--You are a fresh-water fish lover, especially tilapia? If yes, have you heard of integrated agriculture-aquaculture? This is a simple low-cost system for rearing fish, growing vegetables and keeping livestock. Here’s how it works: tilapia (or some other species) is kept in ponds, vegetables are grown on plots, and chickens are reared. Water from the fish ponds is used to irrigate the vegetable plots; vegetable by-products are used as chicken feed; and chicken droppings are fed to the fish! Then the fish is sold to restauranteurs to be served to customers. Of course, not all aquaculture farms practise this disgusting system.
--Some people like to eat kuih kodok. They are just mashed banana balls mixed with flour and deep fried. Some hawkers never let you see the kind of bananas their kuih kodok is made of? Why? They are usually half-rotten bananas that are only fit for monkeys at Zoo Negara.
Bon appetit!
/end
Saturday, February 7, 2009
PAS' by-election victory saved me RM1
It was a Saturday evening – January 17, 2009 -- the polling date for the Kuala Terengganu by-election. I was writing an article in my study. Partway, I decided to check a news portal for the by-election result. PAS had won, though it was still unofficial – not that it made any difference to me as I am apolitical.
Feeling peckish, I took a break from my writing and strolled to a jagung stall stationed at the main road near my house. I had bought from the mak cik manning it countless times, and I was a familiar face to her.
“Apa khabar, Mak Cik,” I greeted her. “How’s business?”
“Boleh tahan, lah,” she said. “How many do you want? The big jagung from this longgok is RM2.50. The smaller one from the other longgok is RM2.”
“Hey…PAS won in Kuala Terengganu lah!” I told her.
Her eyes lit up. “Bagus! Because PAS won, I will give you a special price tonight. I will charge you only RM2 for the RM2.50 jagung and RM1.50 instead of RM2 for the small one. How many do you want?”
I bought two ears, and saved RM1 because of PAS’ victory.
Since I am on the topic of PAS, let me comment on its official publication called Harakah, which is part of my reading diet. Apart from it, I also read Suara Keadilan and Roket intermittently.
PAS’ Harakah consists of a 32-page main section plus a 24-page pullout titled Fikrah, making a total of 56 pages. Suara Keadilan boasts of only 32 pages; Roket is a pathetic 24-pager but it is printed on higher quality paper. I used the word “pathetic” because the DAP controls Penang State, and deserves a stronger medium of communication. All three publications are priced at RM2. They are not easy to get as few newsstands sell them.
Overall, Harakah is the best among the three from the standpoint of content. Its standard of Malay is higher than that compared to Suara Keadilan and Roket. Every issue carries an exclusive interview with a political personality, head of an NGO or an academician. There is also an English section that is quite well written. Issues concerning Muslims in other countries are also given coverage.
I have a few other observations. First, there are frequent advertisements on male virility products in Harakah. I have not come across such ads in Suara Keadilan and Roket. Such ads make me ponder on the profile of the male readers of Harakah – are they targeted as potential consumers of such products because they are highly sexed? Or because of many of them are impotent?
Second, Harakah has a strong stable of columnists, while Roket seems to be weak in this area. Maybe the latter has been unable to attract good Malay writers as it is an official organ of a Chinese-dominated political party. I also find it amusing that, for reasons not known to me, Harakah refers to Chinese as “Tionghua” instead of “Cina” in its articles. (As far as I am aware, only Indonesians refer to the Chinese as "Tionghua", and, as a matter of interest, China is referred to as "Tiong Kok" by them.)
True to their mission and vision, all three publications have frequently carried serious allegations about corruption and abuse of power by powerful politicians. I neither believe nor disbelieve these allegations, yet, on the other hand, there is no smoke without fire.
Overall, these allegations are a refreshing change from the holier-than-thou and praise-thyself stuff found in mainstream media. The flip side is that they are also eye-openers of hypocrisy and double standards practised by many politicians. Just like in the Malay proverb that says that when you point at another person, three other fingers are pointing back at you.
/end
Feeling peckish, I took a break from my writing and strolled to a jagung stall stationed at the main road near my house. I had bought from the mak cik manning it countless times, and I was a familiar face to her.
“Apa khabar, Mak Cik,” I greeted her. “How’s business?”
“Boleh tahan, lah,” she said. “How many do you want? The big jagung from this longgok is RM2.50. The smaller one from the other longgok is RM2.”
“Hey…PAS won in Kuala Terengganu lah!” I told her.
Her eyes lit up. “Bagus! Because PAS won, I will give you a special price tonight. I will charge you only RM2 for the RM2.50 jagung and RM1.50 instead of RM2 for the small one. How many do you want?”
I bought two ears, and saved RM1 because of PAS’ victory.
Since I am on the topic of PAS, let me comment on its official publication called Harakah, which is part of my reading diet. Apart from it, I also read Suara Keadilan and Roket intermittently.
PAS’ Harakah consists of a 32-page main section plus a 24-page pullout titled Fikrah, making a total of 56 pages. Suara Keadilan boasts of only 32 pages; Roket is a pathetic 24-pager but it is printed on higher quality paper. I used the word “pathetic” because the DAP controls Penang State, and deserves a stronger medium of communication. All three publications are priced at RM2. They are not easy to get as few newsstands sell them.
Overall, Harakah is the best among the three from the standpoint of content. Its standard of Malay is higher than that compared to Suara Keadilan and Roket. Every issue carries an exclusive interview with a political personality, head of an NGO or an academician. There is also an English section that is quite well written. Issues concerning Muslims in other countries are also given coverage.
I have a few other observations. First, there are frequent advertisements on male virility products in Harakah. I have not come across such ads in Suara Keadilan and Roket. Such ads make me ponder on the profile of the male readers of Harakah – are they targeted as potential consumers of such products because they are highly sexed? Or because of many of them are impotent?
Second, Harakah has a strong stable of columnists, while Roket seems to be weak in this area. Maybe the latter has been unable to attract good Malay writers as it is an official organ of a Chinese-dominated political party. I also find it amusing that, for reasons not known to me, Harakah refers to Chinese as “Tionghua” instead of “Cina” in its articles. (As far as I am aware, only Indonesians refer to the Chinese as "Tionghua", and, as a matter of interest, China is referred to as "Tiong Kok" by them.)
True to their mission and vision, all three publications have frequently carried serious allegations about corruption and abuse of power by powerful politicians. I neither believe nor disbelieve these allegations, yet, on the other hand, there is no smoke without fire.
Overall, these allegations are a refreshing change from the holier-than-thou and praise-thyself stuff found in mainstream media. The flip side is that they are also eye-openers of hypocrisy and double standards practised by many politicians. Just like in the Malay proverb that says that when you point at another person, three other fingers are pointing back at you.
/end
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Escape from amorous florist
One Friday evening, my buddies, Lee Ah Boo and K. K. Soong, had coaxed me into joining them at a pub in Jalan P. Ramlee. A minor beauty competition was being held at the pub, and Lee and Soong wanted to watch the contestants. But I was to stay off the booze and drive them home. In return they would buy me lunch at the Lobsterman Restaurant.
That evening, I was already at the bar, sipping my third Pepsi when I realized that they were an hour late. It was another five minutes later when Lee came, and what a sight he was. He had a bruise on his left eye and a cut on his lip. Lee ordered a Bloody Mary and smiled feebly.
“My goodness, what happened?” I asked.
Lee explained that a florist had set up shop in Stesen Sentral where his office was located, and he was trying to court her. After repeatedly buying flowers for himself, he had managed to know her. Lee discovered she collected foreign coins; he collected stamps. Under the pretext of wishing to show the florist his stamp collection, he made an appointment with her at her apartment in Pudu.
“I don’t know whether I had made a mistake in the time or not but when I arrived, she was alone and wearing a spaghetti-strap night gown.”
“My goodness, how could you? That poor helpless girl..” I protested.
“Wait, don’t jump to any conclusion,“ explained Lee. “We merely chatted about her flower business and then I showed my stamp collection. Later, she showed me a scar on her left shoulder. It was caused by her little sister having burnt her with a lighted match while playing masak-masak. At that moment, the door of the apartment burst open and in rushed –“
“Her father?”
“No, her boyfriend. Apparently, he’s a kung expert and terribly jealous too. The rest was history. After being a punching bag, I managed to grab my stamp album, and run down four flights of steps.
I almost doubled up with laughter. The bartender who had overhead everything shook his head in disbelief.
“Where’s Soong?” asked Lee suddenly.
Talk of the Devil. At that moment, Soong showed up. Strange. His nose was bandaged and his ear was wrapped in metres of plaster.
Lee and I were shocked. We asked what had happened to him.
“You know, everyday I travel by LRT to Stesen Sentral to change trains to get to my office. I also have a good collection of remote control cars –“
“And you showed them to the florist in Stesen Sentral?” I asked.
Soong stared in amazement. “Yes, but how did you guys know?”
“Excuse me, I have a phone call to make,” I told my two friends.
I went outside the pub where it was quiet and pressed several buttons on my cellular phone.
“Hello, Jessica?” I said into the mouthpiece. “Regarding your invitation to show you my collection of limited-edition comics, I can’t make it. Maybe some other time. Bye.”
Phew… what a lucky escape.
/end
That evening, I was already at the bar, sipping my third Pepsi when I realized that they were an hour late. It was another five minutes later when Lee came, and what a sight he was. He had a bruise on his left eye and a cut on his lip. Lee ordered a Bloody Mary and smiled feebly.
“My goodness, what happened?” I asked.
Lee explained that a florist had set up shop in Stesen Sentral where his office was located, and he was trying to court her. After repeatedly buying flowers for himself, he had managed to know her. Lee discovered she collected foreign coins; he collected stamps. Under the pretext of wishing to show the florist his stamp collection, he made an appointment with her at her apartment in Pudu.
“I don’t know whether I had made a mistake in the time or not but when I arrived, she was alone and wearing a spaghetti-strap night gown.”
“My goodness, how could you? That poor helpless girl..” I protested.
“Wait, don’t jump to any conclusion,“ explained Lee. “We merely chatted about her flower business and then I showed my stamp collection. Later, she showed me a scar on her left shoulder. It was caused by her little sister having burnt her with a lighted match while playing masak-masak. At that moment, the door of the apartment burst open and in rushed –“
“Her father?”
“No, her boyfriend. Apparently, he’s a kung expert and terribly jealous too. The rest was history. After being a punching bag, I managed to grab my stamp album, and run down four flights of steps.
I almost doubled up with laughter. The bartender who had overhead everything shook his head in disbelief.
“Where’s Soong?” asked Lee suddenly.
Talk of the Devil. At that moment, Soong showed up. Strange. His nose was bandaged and his ear was wrapped in metres of plaster.
Lee and I were shocked. We asked what had happened to him.
“You know, everyday I travel by LRT to Stesen Sentral to change trains to get to my office. I also have a good collection of remote control cars –“
“And you showed them to the florist in Stesen Sentral?” I asked.
Soong stared in amazement. “Yes, but how did you guys know?”
“Excuse me, I have a phone call to make,” I told my two friends.
I went outside the pub where it was quiet and pressed several buttons on my cellular phone.
“Hello, Jessica?” I said into the mouthpiece. “Regarding your invitation to show you my collection of limited-edition comics, I can’t make it. Maybe some other time. Bye.”
Phew… what a lucky escape.
/end
Friday, December 5, 2008
Boss barked like a dog
When my buddy, Lee Ah Boo, first came to Kuala Lumpur from Peanng, he worked for a British company in Jalan Raja Chulan. His boss, a Mr Patrick Brown, was only 160 cm tall, half-bald and fat.
Because of his lack of height, he had an inferiority complex and would humiliate his staff who were taller than him whenever opportunities arose. Lee, who was the tallest in the office, bore the brunt of Brown's tongue-lashings.
On one occasion, Lee made a booboo in some invoices. When the client complained to Brown, he hollered at him in a voice that could be heard from one end of the office to another. That was the last straw and Lee decided to get even with Brown.
Lee made a bet with his colleagues that he would make Brown bark like a dog. If he won, they would have to buy him a ten-course dinner at the Shangri-la Hotel.
The next morning, Lee went to se Brown.
"Yes, anything?" asked Brown.
"I need your advice, sir," said Lee.
"Oh, about what?"
"Lately, there has been a spate of burglaries in the area I am staying," said Lee.
"My neighbour's house was almost broken into two nights ago, but luckily, he keeps a dog. When it saw the would-be burglar, it barked and this frightened him away."
"What's this got to do with me?" asked Brown.
"I understand you're an animal lover, sir."
"Yes, I love dogs."
"Then I hope you can share your knowledge of dogs with me," said Lee. "I went to the SPCA yesterday evening to look for a dog. There were many dogs which appeared suitable as watchdogs. But one dog caught my attention as it was tall and muscular. Unfortunately, its bark goes Yau! Yau! Yau! Sir, do you think it will make a good watchdog?"
"By Golly, it won't," said Brown. "A good watchdog should bark Woof! Woof! Woof! Yowling dogs are useless for scaring off intruders."
As Brown's door was open, Lee's colleagues overhead everything and sniggered at the way he had won his wager.
A week later, Brown's eye developed an infection. As he was leaving his home to see a doctor, he accidentally stepped on the tail of his dog. It nipped him in the ankle, tearing one leg of his trousers at the hem.
After Brown had his eyes examined by the doctor, he asked for some ointment for his ankle. The doctor asked what had happened and Brown told him.
In jest, the doctor said: "Perhaps your dog has an eye infection too and can't see well. Otherwise, why should it bite you?"
When Brown got home, he thought about the burglaries that Lee had told him.
"To guard my property, my dog must have good eyesight," he told himself.
So he shared the doctor's medicine with his dog, including dispensing eye drops in the animal's eyes.
/end
Because of his lack of height, he had an inferiority complex and would humiliate his staff who were taller than him whenever opportunities arose. Lee, who was the tallest in the office, bore the brunt of Brown's tongue-lashings.
On one occasion, Lee made a booboo in some invoices. When the client complained to Brown, he hollered at him in a voice that could be heard from one end of the office to another. That was the last straw and Lee decided to get even with Brown.
Lee made a bet with his colleagues that he would make Brown bark like a dog. If he won, they would have to buy him a ten-course dinner at the Shangri-la Hotel.
The next morning, Lee went to se Brown.
"Yes, anything?" asked Brown.
"I need your advice, sir," said Lee.
"Oh, about what?"
"Lately, there has been a spate of burglaries in the area I am staying," said Lee.
"My neighbour's house was almost broken into two nights ago, but luckily, he keeps a dog. When it saw the would-be burglar, it barked and this frightened him away."
"What's this got to do with me?" asked Brown.
"I understand you're an animal lover, sir."
"Yes, I love dogs."
"Then I hope you can share your knowledge of dogs with me," said Lee. "I went to the SPCA yesterday evening to look for a dog. There were many dogs which appeared suitable as watchdogs. But one dog caught my attention as it was tall and muscular. Unfortunately, its bark goes Yau! Yau! Yau! Sir, do you think it will make a good watchdog?"
"By Golly, it won't," said Brown. "A good watchdog should bark Woof! Woof! Woof! Yowling dogs are useless for scaring off intruders."
As Brown's door was open, Lee's colleagues overhead everything and sniggered at the way he had won his wager.
A week later, Brown's eye developed an infection. As he was leaving his home to see a doctor, he accidentally stepped on the tail of his dog. It nipped him in the ankle, tearing one leg of his trousers at the hem.
After Brown had his eyes examined by the doctor, he asked for some ointment for his ankle. The doctor asked what had happened and Brown told him.
In jest, the doctor said: "Perhaps your dog has an eye infection too and can't see well. Otherwise, why should it bite you?"
When Brown got home, he thought about the burglaries that Lee had told him.
"To guard my property, my dog must have good eyesight," he told himself.
So he shared the doctor's medicine with his dog, including dispensing eye drops in the animal's eyes.
/end
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tit for tat
"It's a heaven-sent opportunity," said Sarawathy to Selva Rajoo, my barber, "and one would be a fool to miss it. I've seen the young man; he is good-looking and his father Jaganathan is well-off."
"But if they are rich, why should they consider Indrani for their son?"
"Why, Selva," protested Sarawathy. "Our Indrani is the prettiest girl in Sentul. Where can they find a girl like her?"
"True, true," said Selva.
As Selva went about snipping my hair, he listened thoughtfully to his siser elaborate her point.
It was near closing time in the hair saloon. I was the only customer and was listening to the conversation between him and his sister.
It was decided that a friend would act as a go-between to invite the Kumars over so that they could see the girl.
"But there is one hitch," said Selva. "How about Dewi?"
Dewi was Selva's sister who had been in and out of a mental hospital several times. Whether a strain of madness ran in Selva's family, no one knew but this was something they did not want to Kumars to know.
"It's simple," said Sarawathy. "We can send her away for a few days."
What transpired later, according to Selva, was that the Kumars were satisfied with the girl. A week later, the Rajoos returned the visit. The Kumars live in an old single storey bungalow in Brickfields. But the inside of the house was different. It was furnished with carved Italian furniture. A piano occupied one corner and a home theatre system stood in another corner. The kitchen was equipped with a microwave oven, induction cooker and dish-washing machine.
All the way home, the Rajoos chatted excitedly. The match was as good as settled. Indrani was lucky girl. She wouldn't have to do any work after marriage.
On Deepavali, I visited Selva to partake of festive goodies.
The Rajoos were about to leave to visit the Kumars, and I was invited to join them. "Come and see my son-in-law's place."
When we arrived, the Rajoos were shocked. Gone were the Italian furniture, home theature system and the electrical appliances in the kitchen.
Mrs Rajoo couldn't help expressing her shock, and Mrs Kumar explained that her husband had lost heavily in the stock market. Thus, there was a need for austerity.
The Rajoos found Indrani in the kitchen cooking lunch using a gas cooker.
Jaganathan and I were sitting alone in the living room. "Hope you don't mind my asking," I said, munching some muruku. "My friend Selva said you were doing very well. What happened?"
"That bugger Mr Rajoo thinks I don't know about his sister who is mad eh? I made enquiries and his neighbours told me. He's not honest, trying to hide her from us. Anyway, it's a case of tit for tat because I played a nice trick on him, too. I knew his family is awed by first impression. So I hired the entire stuff from a shop. I fooled them into thinking I was rich, didn't I?" said Jaganathan, laughing uproariously.
"But if they are rich, why should they consider Indrani for their son?"
"Why, Selva," protested Sarawathy. "Our Indrani is the prettiest girl in Sentul. Where can they find a girl like her?"
"True, true," said Selva.
As Selva went about snipping my hair, he listened thoughtfully to his siser elaborate her point.
It was near closing time in the hair saloon. I was the only customer and was listening to the conversation between him and his sister.
It was decided that a friend would act as a go-between to invite the Kumars over so that they could see the girl.
"But there is one hitch," said Selva. "How about Dewi?"
Dewi was Selva's sister who had been in and out of a mental hospital several times. Whether a strain of madness ran in Selva's family, no one knew but this was something they did not want to Kumars to know.
"It's simple," said Sarawathy. "We can send her away for a few days."
What transpired later, according to Selva, was that the Kumars were satisfied with the girl. A week later, the Rajoos returned the visit. The Kumars live in an old single storey bungalow in Brickfields. But the inside of the house was different. It was furnished with carved Italian furniture. A piano occupied one corner and a home theatre system stood in another corner. The kitchen was equipped with a microwave oven, induction cooker and dish-washing machine.
All the way home, the Rajoos chatted excitedly. The match was as good as settled. Indrani was lucky girl. She wouldn't have to do any work after marriage.
On Deepavali, I visited Selva to partake of festive goodies.
The Rajoos were about to leave to visit the Kumars, and I was invited to join them. "Come and see my son-in-law's place."
When we arrived, the Rajoos were shocked. Gone were the Italian furniture, home theature system and the electrical appliances in the kitchen.
Mrs Rajoo couldn't help expressing her shock, and Mrs Kumar explained that her husband had lost heavily in the stock market. Thus, there was a need for austerity.
The Rajoos found Indrani in the kitchen cooking lunch using a gas cooker.
Jaganathan and I were sitting alone in the living room. "Hope you don't mind my asking," I said, munching some muruku. "My friend Selva said you were doing very well. What happened?"
"That bugger Mr Rajoo thinks I don't know about his sister who is mad eh? I made enquiries and his neighbours told me. He's not honest, trying to hide her from us. Anyway, it's a case of tit for tat because I played a nice trick on him, too. I knew his family is awed by first impression. So I hired the entire stuff from a shop. I fooled them into thinking I was rich, didn't I?" said Jaganathan, laughing uproariously.
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