Tala'al badru alaina
min thaniyyatil wada'
wajabashukru alaina
ma da'a lillahi da'
O the white moon rose over us
From the valley of Wada'
And we owe it to show gratefulness
Where the call is to Allah
Ayyuhal mab'u thu fiina
ji'ta bil amril muta'
ji'ta sharraftal madina
marhaban ya khaira da'
O you were raised amongst us
coming with a work to be obeyed
You have brought to this city nobleness
Welcome! best call to God's way.
(English Translation: Yusuf Islam)
Although I didn't join in the procession for the maulid ( I hope it is not out of apathy), I tried to salawat, skimmed through Martin Ling's Muhammad: his life based on the earliest sources, and sent sms-es to friends wishing them well on that day.
I can't remember participating in any maulid procession when I was little, but I remember my father did, taking my two brothers with him. They were dressed in the baju Melayu and songkok and it seemed very festive indeed. We, the rest of the family would watch the national level celebrations on tv.
Last night, we were invited out by the children and had dinner at Kohinoor, Jalan Y. K. Seng. Son in law said in his country, Algeria, maulid is celebrated in a big way. On the day itself, just at maghrib, all lights at home are turned off, and candles are lit. Just before isha', the lights are turned on again, special dinner of couscous is served and after dinner, firecrackers start a-cracking.
AHS related that in his hometown in Malacca, they still follow the tradition of marhaban from the first of Rabiul Awwal till the twelfth.
Friday, 21 March 2008
Monday, 17 March 2008
Our Grundig Radio
I was introduced to the radio very early in life, I would say. I was left with my grandparents in Kuantan till I was about six, while my parents worked in various towns in Pahang. I remember the old Grundig, which somehow looked very much like a stingray to me. Not that it was flat. In fact, the radio (which is still standing strong in my parents' house) is like a small cabinet, about three feet tall and the same in width. It is made from some kind of wood and veneer.
The top bit has one knob at either end of the radio; the one on the left for power on/ off, and the right for finding the stations. In between there is clear perspex or glass with numbers printed on it, which are the station frequencies. And there's a needle that can go left or right, in the direction you turn the knob. If the needle reaches the the 'right' number, you'll get to hear your programme. It would be my pastime to turn the knob without turning on the power. With the power on, however, it was bewitching, to me as a child. I could play with the station knob for hours, listening to the many mysterious voices that came on. Some sounded loud, some faint, some were squeaky, some sibilant, some had echoes, while others sounded delightfully good.
I remember the wailing of the Chinese opera: 'small', mournful voices, almost pleading, at the end of which had the clang of cymbals to shut it up. I remember the wayang kulit ( I think that was what it was)too, not really understanding what was said, but the stories sounded so dramatic. The tukang karut kept repeating 'aiiiik, aiiiik' all the time. I also remember 'Nida ul Islam min Makkatul Mukarramah', listened to at night. I remember the announcer's voice -- so authoritative, I thought. But it would fade off every now and then. My grandfather would pull up a chair and sit by the open window, staring into the night. The window was made of wood and he would have both the leaves wide open, letting the night air in. If there was a song he liked, he would beat his palms on the window sill, tapping to the rhythm of the song. I would be standing next to him, feeling very loved. So was I introduced to Arabic music. They are simply rich and wonderful.
The bottom part of the radio is the most amazing little cabinet. It is a cabinet with a door that opens out and downwards and remains open with the help of hinges at both sides. I was often told not to lean on the table-like door or rest my arms on it lest it collapsed.
Inside, on the right, is a turntable. On the left is some space where you can stack your records. I cannot remember my grandfather playing the records, but my aunty had a grand collection. She had Cliff Richard, Lulu, The Beatles; the whole lot. My father contributed the Malay ones: P. Ramlee (of course) etc. It fascinated me no end as to how the machine could summon the singers to the house and sing. I tried to peep into the cabinet a number of times, I remember, in case they were there. What intrigued me further was when my father put the musabaqah record on. There would be a faint echo ahead of the reader/ qari. Then the reader would read exactly what the echo read. Was there someone prompting the reader? I thought. Very mindboggling indeed. It all became sort of clear when my father explained to me to the best of his ability, how these things worked.
The turntable itself was an enigma, with the arm and the needles and the speed button (which was a novelty to my sisters and I). We enjoyed giving the records the 'wrong speed' . It was hilarious to us to listen to distorted songs.
As I reflect on things, I find it very heartwarming how my father very patiently explained to us how to work the turntable: check the record for its correct speed, set the speed button, put the record to, lift the arm gently and set it just as gently, get the needle to th right spot between the edge of the record and its grooved part, and... let the magic begin.
My third sister and I used to play the records in the afternoon after school ( we must have been in standard 4 or 5) while doing our homework. How we made sure the younger ones did not 'touch' the machine I cannot recall. We must have scared them with some kind of punishment. But those were the good old days I treasure.
The top bit has one knob at either end of the radio; the one on the left for power on/ off, and the right for finding the stations. In between there is clear perspex or glass with numbers printed on it, which are the station frequencies. And there's a needle that can go left or right, in the direction you turn the knob. If the needle reaches the the 'right' number, you'll get to hear your programme. It would be my pastime to turn the knob without turning on the power. With the power on, however, it was bewitching, to me as a child. I could play with the station knob for hours, listening to the many mysterious voices that came on. Some sounded loud, some faint, some were squeaky, some sibilant, some had echoes, while others sounded delightfully good.
I remember the wailing of the Chinese opera: 'small', mournful voices, almost pleading, at the end of which had the clang of cymbals to shut it up. I remember the wayang kulit ( I think that was what it was)too, not really understanding what was said, but the stories sounded so dramatic. The tukang karut kept repeating 'aiiiik, aiiiik' all the time. I also remember 'Nida ul Islam min Makkatul Mukarramah', listened to at night. I remember the announcer's voice -- so authoritative, I thought. But it would fade off every now and then. My grandfather would pull up a chair and sit by the open window, staring into the night. The window was made of wood and he would have both the leaves wide open, letting the night air in. If there was a song he liked, he would beat his palms on the window sill, tapping to the rhythm of the song. I would be standing next to him, feeling very loved. So was I introduced to Arabic music. They are simply rich and wonderful.
The bottom part of the radio is the most amazing little cabinet. It is a cabinet with a door that opens out and downwards and remains open with the help of hinges at both sides. I was often told not to lean on the table-like door or rest my arms on it lest it collapsed.
Inside, on the right, is a turntable. On the left is some space where you can stack your records. I cannot remember my grandfather playing the records, but my aunty had a grand collection. She had Cliff Richard, Lulu, The Beatles; the whole lot. My father contributed the Malay ones: P. Ramlee (of course) etc. It fascinated me no end as to how the machine could summon the singers to the house and sing. I tried to peep into the cabinet a number of times, I remember, in case they were there. What intrigued me further was when my father put the musabaqah record on. There would be a faint echo ahead of the reader/ qari. Then the reader would read exactly what the echo read. Was there someone prompting the reader? I thought. Very mindboggling indeed. It all became sort of clear when my father explained to me to the best of his ability, how these things worked.
The turntable itself was an enigma, with the arm and the needles and the speed button (which was a novelty to my sisters and I). We enjoyed giving the records the 'wrong speed' . It was hilarious to us to listen to distorted songs.
As I reflect on things, I find it very heartwarming how my father very patiently explained to us how to work the turntable: check the record for its correct speed, set the speed button, put the record to, lift the arm gently and set it just as gently, get the needle to th right spot between the edge of the record and its grooved part, and... let the magic begin.
My third sister and I used to play the records in the afternoon after school ( we must have been in standard 4 or 5) while doing our homework. How we made sure the younger ones did not 'touch' the machine I cannot recall. We must have scared them with some kind of punishment. But those were the good old days I treasure.
Monday, 10 March 2008
Winds of Change
Change is difficult, since we are creatures of habit. But sometimes change is good: it gives variety to an otherwise mundane existence. In Islam, positive change is always referred to as hijrah -- something needed, once in awhile. And from the recent polls, Malaysians want change, for the better. It seems like Malaysians are voting along racial lines. It is not just the Indians are peeved by the way they feel they have been treated, the Chinese are showing they aren't happy either. In fact, the Malays should show in a bigger way that their rights aren't being looked after.
After these years, we are saying, "BN, wake up." BN should have taken the landslide victory bestowed four years ago to pare down those who have not done their jobs well. Get old stooges who have rested on their laurels out of the way before they become a liability (Sg. Siput). Keng Yaik did it, but it could not help Gerakan. But that is another issue.Those who have been prettying themselves up should not be made Menteri Besar or Menteri as they should not have the time to go for facials, with so much work still undone (Sg. Panjang can still reform). MPs who have been accumulating wealth and drive the latest beemers should not have contested. Singers should not be the gimmick in their campaigns (Lembah Pantai should have known people do not want to party all the time). Nik Aziz's residence is practical and he doesn't waste time launching expensive outlets at new, redundant shopping malls. I don't know how Kit Siang lives, but I hope he does not have a mansion in an exclusive area in town. Wakil Rakyat after all must mewakili rakyat!
What would be interesting is to see how the Barisan Alternatif work together for the people who have chosen them. If I remember correctly, they are wont to bickering among themselves. I'd like to find out how they are going to reduce the price of petrol when it is escalating elsewhere in the world. I'd like them to share their plan to set the base salary at RM1.500.00. I demand an increase too, if that happens, for it will only be fair. I wonder if Kedah will have the gambling outlets closed down and have buses specially for the womenfolk. I'd look forward to those buses.
So, it is the time to work, YBs (now why not drop that YB prefix?). Stop living high on the hog and get down to grassroot level. Pak Lah, it starts with the man in the mirror.
After these years, we are saying, "BN, wake up." BN should have taken the landslide victory bestowed four years ago to pare down those who have not done their jobs well. Get old stooges who have rested on their laurels out of the way before they become a liability (Sg. Siput). Keng Yaik did it, but it could not help Gerakan. But that is another issue.Those who have been prettying themselves up should not be made Menteri Besar or Menteri as they should not have the time to go for facials, with so much work still undone (Sg. Panjang can still reform). MPs who have been accumulating wealth and drive the latest beemers should not have contested. Singers should not be the gimmick in their campaigns (Lembah Pantai should have known people do not want to party all the time). Nik Aziz's residence is practical and he doesn't waste time launching expensive outlets at new, redundant shopping malls. I don't know how Kit Siang lives, but I hope he does not have a mansion in an exclusive area in town. Wakil Rakyat after all must mewakili rakyat!
What would be interesting is to see how the Barisan Alternatif work together for the people who have chosen them. If I remember correctly, they are wont to bickering among themselves. I'd like to find out how they are going to reduce the price of petrol when it is escalating elsewhere in the world. I'd like them to share their plan to set the base salary at RM1.500.00. I demand an increase too, if that happens, for it will only be fair. I wonder if Kedah will have the gambling outlets closed down and have buses specially for the womenfolk. I'd look forward to those buses.
So, it is the time to work, YBs (now why not drop that YB prefix?). Stop living high on the hog and get down to grassroot level. Pak Lah, it starts with the man in the mirror.
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