No-Food Ramblings in Ramadhan

I have been vindicated again.

No, no, I am not talking about M Nasir (again). Let's talk about other more important things in life, shall we? 

First day of Ramadhan this year has been extremely satisfying for me. Normally I would be at home (or office), feeling sorry for myself for not being able to stuff myself with food, food and more food. I would feel lethargic thinking about food, and most likely I would take nap in the afternoon on the first day.

It is typically a sorry state of affair. Hah! That's me.

It will last a couple of days and I would then follow normal regime. Soon all the agony of not having food for lunch is forgotten. I would then look forward to visiting my neighbourhood pasar ramadhan after my office hours.

For food, and more foods.

But great things do happen. So far, albeit only a day - no pasar ramadhan yet, only home cooked meals. Wonder how long I can resist the temptations.

So this year, things are so different. I visited two hospitals in a space of two hours on the first day of Ramadhan and only returned in time for buka puasa.

Hospital TAR Kelang
Stolen from bella-youbelongwithme.blogspot.com

Mak was hospitalized two days before Ramadhan, and she was still there on the first day, so I have no choice but to visit her at Hospital TAR Klang. It is on the other side of town, but with no traffic it will take me less than 45 mins to reach there, which is not a problem. A supposedly quick visit during lunch hour turned out to be longer with the doctor announcing that she will be discharged out that afternoon.

"You'll be more sick if you were to stay on," say the Indian lady doctor (sorry did not get to see her name), matter-of-factly. "Just come back in two weeks' time for the results of you blood tests," she continues.

Yeah, mak has been looking good since Friday morning actually, unlike on Thursday when she had to be placed under critical observation. Funny hospital this HTAR is, to be honest. Two of my siblings were kicked out (literally) by the doc manning the Critical observation unit. "You are not supposed to be here," they chided them.

Aah, well. They are doing their job, and knowing how strict Hospital Sg Buluh is, I can only appreciate the need for controls at our government hospitals.

But this is one hospital full of contradictions. Despite the doctors being strict with the relatives of the sick, where else one would get vendors selling nasik lemak in the ward in the middle of the night? 

Only at HTAR!

HTAR was not our (first) choice actually. For one, it is in Klang, and they might as well sent her to Timbuktu and I am sure I would be able to find my way to Central Africa than to this royal town of Selangor. I think the ambulance picked this hospital out due to its vicinity (to the incident). But I am happy with the staff's commitment. I have never seen seen a more dedicated bunch of staff at any hospital - government or private. They are a jovial lot; and they would attend to you in no time, whether you are a patient or a patient's relative wanting to know more about the sick. Doctors and nurses alike; it is always with a smile.

I am impressed.

Only an hour before I had visited a former teacher now at the ICU at SDMC. May Allah lightens her burden. I can only pray for her well-being, for she seems to suffer quite a bit. But beyond that, there is little I could do.

I was feeling despair.

(Cikgu Wan Raimah used to teach us Sains Paduan during F1, our early year at Kota Bharu. A diligent teacher, and someone I like as a teacher, but she was bullied by some of my classmates during those years, especially pestering her to move on to their then - and now, still I guess - favourite topic; the human reproductive system. Curious teens, I supposed but, I don't recall her getting angry nonetheless.)

(She left teaching a few years later - not sure if we had played any role in her leaving the profession, and moved on to the private sector (as chemist at the Malayan Tobacco Company).

But that desperation was soon forgotten in the company of my seniors from high school. 

A familar face with a KB74, Kak
Khairani. Taken wo permission
from FB page

To be honest, I may not have talked to (some of) them during those years. But once sharing the same roof and the ground were reasons enough for us to bond and share many common stories. Old stories are great common denominators for anyone to link up with anybody. We speak the same lingo, so the saying goes.

And the good thing being in the company of similar age sharing old school stories, we became teens all over again. The antics, the banters, the stories and of course where would reunion (of sort) be without the gossips.

With Tn Hj Shubri, KB73. We were
listening to a KB74. YOu
can see her (partial) three fingers

Unfortunately, the gossips of who married who, and how many times would be off limit here as this blog is in the public domains, but how enlightened I was to know all these on the first day of Ramadhan! Hahaha.

It was during this chit-chat session that I was vindicated again of what I wrote in this blog years ago. I had written about a former primary schoolteacher's observation (Cikgu Hizam) that typically "anak-anak polis tak menjadi." Mind you, he was a teacher, if I am not mistaken, since 1959 in remote and small towns of Malaysia, and has been a teacher through and through (especially during the early days of Merdeka) and with little or no infrastructure, so his observation is without malice.

(So if you are a children of a policeman, and you 'menjadi', take this observation with a pinch of salt. Good for you. It is a general observation, and I am sure you will find one or two and more exceptions to the rules from many hundred cases! We have no empirical correlations to back us up in any case.)

Talking to this senior of mine, a teacher by profession, she has many stories of how many policemen's children at her Subang Jaya school and  how 'gangster' the policeman parents of students disciplined by the school could be. She even told us of a story of a student (who looked so innocent) who had robbed shop using samurai sword. She is of the opinion that over-protection by policemen parents, and perhaps corruptions with un-halal money running through their veins, have something to do with the non-progress of their children in the wheel of life..

Mind you, she is a current teacher (in this millennium) with enough years under the belt, so to speak, so I would consider her an authority in her observation despite the fact that the model of her observation in her mind has never been tested, statistically.

I am sure she hold no malice towards any student of hers, especially those with a policeman father.

So in a space of a few days, I have been vindicated again. On two topics I felt strongly about.

Then again, I did not simply write my observation. I don't have a view on this,. since I am not from the education profession, so I would not know anything about this. I am merely the messenger. I know from the few times I have been on the 'right' end of the policemen - yes, they are on the wrong end of the law as far as I am concerned, I have very low opinion of our security officers. But I also hold no malice to their children.

Thank you Cikgu Siti for your insight.

EPILOGUE

Funny month July. I met with a senior KB73 at a wedding close to July. Then last week I met with a few seniors KB75 at Durian Festival 3 at Lui, (on the same day I had my KB76 reunion of sort at a wedding, and this week I met at least three KB74 seniors. Hmmm,, this is not me. I was never that active socially.

It was at this meeting that I was made aware that at least I have one regular reader from across the Pacific. A senior at school whom I am sure would have difficulty in placing my being in the overall scheme of things at MRSM KB in the 70s, but I hope that she had enjoyed going through the blog and the many writings on MRSM life then, which she should be able to relate to. The again, some of the writings were sourced from friends as I would not able to remember everything. Some of them I am sure she would know personally of.

Thanks Kak Maz for having followed this blog; I guess the ghosts are no longer my only readers! ;)

The blogger listening attentively to self confessed
Mrs Ewing. She lives in Dallas obviously -
 Southfolk Ranch to be exact!.
A blogger is a good listener..then he writes!
Taken without permission from Cikgu Siti's FB.