Why is clockwise clockwise and the tawaf counter-clockwise?

Taken by Arif on 4th March 2013

I was asked these questions by a PhD mathematic student (from Pakistan) when I was a first year engineering student at Monash in 1982.

 

Why is clockwise clockwise and not counter clockwise? Why do we circumambulate the Kaabah in a seemingly counter-clockwise fashion? Or if I were to use his words, anti clockwise manner.

 

I guess he must have been a tutor with the mathematics department and most likely I was in a math workshop or something.

 

Perhaps not. The muslim community was not too big a community at Monash, so we tend to know each other, especially if one were to frequent the Religious Centre for your daily solah. It is a convenient place for us to do our duty and perhaps meet friends for a break there. It is convenient as it is just next to the Student Union.

 

But I digress.

 

So why clockwise is clockwise and NOT anti-clockwise? Who 'invented' the clock or watch as we knew it today? Who decided the convention of clockwise and counter-clockwise?

 

In other words, someone could have decided then that clockwise is anti-clockwise and anti-clockwise is clockwise, if you know what I mean. The answer to that question is simply not because that's the way it is!

 

Actually I have been looking for a watch that would do just that, but to no avail. I have tried finding them everywhere, except the internet of course. That may be the reason why I did not find them in the past twenty years.

My dream watch - so that it follows the tawaf convention

Some may quote the Summerians, The Babylonians and what not as having their religious rituals in clockwise fashion. They seems to notice that the shadow of their ownself moves from left too right, and it seems that way too for the sun-dials. This article even argues that since most of our civilization is Northern-based, if one were to track the sun's movement, it would be clockwise.

 

As this article rightly question on the reasons on why the muslims would circummabulate the Kaabah seven times in the counter clockwise position, and why people lost in the wilderness tend to drift to the left and why baseball runners and racers tend to travel in the counter-clockwise manner.

 

A theory has been advanced by R.G. Haliburton in his Festival of the Dead, (1863) that the Semites---a people speaking similar languages, from which both Jews and Muslims descend---originated in Africa, south of the Equator, and therefore their "sunwise" direction is counter-clockwise.The circumambulation of the Sacred Rock in Jerusalem, however, is clockwise.

 

I disagreed with Haliburton as in the end, the circummabulation of the Sacred Rock in Jerusalem is clockwise.

 

That is what this friend of mine was trying to tell me thirty years ago. He rests his case.

 

 

Untukmu (1982)

I really do miss this song. I have not heard it for ages; I can only imagine. I tried to remember the melody - I thought I was too good not to remember. After all I thought I remember every single of his songs.

I tried, but I could not. Only the first para make sense to me.

[sigh] Do I have to buy a new vinyl to listen to this song? Where can I find the song in cyberspace?

This song is a great song, written by Syed Haron, the song writer who wrote 'Hujan'. But it was never good enough for any compilation of Sudirman's songs. It was just one too many, I guess for someone with his stature.

C'mon, EMI, can you just release all his albums on CD? No need to compile, no need to select. Just take all, and I am sure it will be sold out in no time.

UNTUKMU
Lagu Syed Haron
Lirik Syed Haron


Ku rindukan kedinginan hujan
Dalam kesejukan salju
Yang membekukan tubuh ini
Yang membekukan kalbu ini
Di masa begini ketika sendiri
Semuanya terbayang kembali

Untukmu aku rakamkan
Sebuah kisah rindu
Yang kini mencengkam
Untukmu aku dendangkan
Sebuah lagu kembara
Di rantauan

Kesunyian kekosongan rasa
Dalam penitian masa
Yang menyesakkan tubuh ini
Yang menyesakkan kalbu ini
Fajar yang menyinsing
Di tempat yang asing
Embun pun tak terasa hening

Untukmu aku rakamkan
Sebuah kisah rindu
Yang kini mencengkam
Untukmu aku dendangkan
Sebuah lagu kembara untukmu


PS

Before you start thinking that this is a typical love song; think again. According to Sudirman, "UNTUKMU merakamkan rindu mereka yang jauh tehadap tanah air dan yang dicintai."

Talent is 99 percent perspiration

I hope it is not premature for me to talk about this, but I need to update my blog.

Badly.

And urgently.

And I am running out of topics, and ideas. But I certainly hope that I am not tempting fate.

For the past months, a few of my friends have been commenting - and complimenting, on the videos we have been churning out lately - at our Youtube channel and Facebook account. Actually I have been hearing about it for quite sometimes now, especially from strangers. (Funnily, I seldom got it from my own siblings or relatives. I even had a friend who after commenting positively about them, decided to delete it, not realizing that FB has sent that message over to my FB account.) Most of the time I would just dismiss it, without batting an eyelid. Much I like their compliments - make it that I love them, I prefer not to dwell on it too much. You can't bask on glory alone. It won't pay the bills, and there is much work to be done ahead of them. 

I remember the occasion very well, almost like it was yesterday. Like I know the back of my hand, so to speak. It was a profound moment in my life as a father.

The year was 2000. We had just returned from Houston, after my second tour of duty there.

"Abah, Arif nak belajar violin."

I looked up to him with raised eye brows. I had not cajoled him into saying that, nor have I been pestering about it to him. To be honest, until today I have no idea where he got the idea, and desire, to learn the violin. I am quite sure that there was no MPO then, so he could not have been listening to the classical.

I was not listening to dead men's music. I was too young for that then.

Instead of answering him (Arif), I asked his brother Akmal, "What about you? What do you want to play?"

The piano. Akmal's response was swift. There was no two ways about it. Not from him anyway. He knew what he wanted to do even as a six years old.

"OK, I want the both of you to take up piano first. After you have mastered the piano, then you can learn the violin."

To my surprise, I was decisive then. There was no hesitation on my part. I was a willing supporter in their quest. They didn't argue with me, fortunately. They didn't have too many choices; in fact they didn't have any.

The next step was to find a music centre a.k.a. music school for them.

There was a music school near the house in Taman Kosas Ampang. It is not a Yamaha music school; it was just a mom and pop's music school. But then again, Arif was nine and Akmal was even younger ato six; any teacher would be able to teach to these kids with no music background; much more than their musically illiterate dad would be able to offer them.

Akmal playing on the RM600
keyboard in 2007. El cheapo me.

Unlike Bapak who purchased a RM6,000 Yamaha organ when he wanted his daughters to learn music in the early 80s, I decided to minimize my risk, and only bought a RM600 keyboard a couple of months later for them to practice. By then they had gone through many lesson in their school, and they were only able to practice when in school.

Arif and the RM600
keyboard. I can't
tell you enough how
cheap I was then
compared to my
own bapak

I was adamant to not let what happened to Bapak, happen to me.

If Arif and Akmal were serious about it, they would cross any hurdle with determination. If not, their foray into the music world will die a natural death.

I was not too worried about hindering their progress with music. I had no objectives, and thought that as long as they were enjoying it, that's more than good enough a reason to do it. In hindsight, may be they would have been a faster learner had I bought them the real thing early in the beginning of their musical life and had targets set for them.

It was only two years later - in 2002, that I decided that they are serious music students, and bought them a reconditioned piano, at that time costing me RM4,500. Still cheaper than the RM6,000.00 organ that my dad bought, mind you, in the early 80s. 

So how much would RM6000 (in 1982) be worth twenty years later?  A lot more than I had spent, I guess.

I am sure I was earning then multiples of what bapak was earning, and yet he would spent much more for his kids' musical education.

God bless bapak for he loves music so much, despite being a very religious person. I guess he was probably interested in music when he was a kid, and circumstances prevented him from from pursuing it - not much different from my own, I guess. My uncle PC Ya told me recently that bapak has a melodious and soothing voice.

I had never heard him singing, to be honest, but he has for many years when he was in Lenggong been calling for the prayers at the nearby mosque, and I have to admit I love it when he said the azan, especially for the dawn prayer.

Unfortunately, his investment was one without a payback - even if I said so myself, and even then by mere observations, and not to find fault with his decisions 30 years ago. Both his two daughters did it half way, though his untimely death may have some impacts on their progress for sure.

Then again, if they so desired, they could have self-taught themselves beyond their formal education. But they didn't. I guess they weren't really interested, but it was bapak pushing them to do it. 

Sorry but I digress. In my case, I didn't ask Arif and Akmal to learn the piano. They did it on they own accord, and in the end, it shows.

I knew that Arif and Akmal would work hard to succeed. There was no two ways about it. There was no one in the family with musical talent - not that I know of anyway. I know they would have to work hard, but I do know too that I had never put the pressure on them. 

If they were to succeed, Alhamdulillah. If not, well...we were (really) not a musical family, so there was no risk.

In the beginning, Arif was the more prodigious son, and he was much quicker in progressing to the next level. He would pound the cheap plastic keyboard for years, before he got his hand on the real one. He even won the Oustanding Student Award during the year end concert, when he was only 14.  Akmal was much slower, but I can't think of a time I would have to shout at them to get them to practice.

They were diligent students, and I had an easy job as a father.

On the other hand, I didn't put extra pressure by asking them to play this or that songs, other then the classical songs they had learned at school. I totally leave it to them to absorb all those in front of them.

However, since taking up flying, Arif has not be doing much music. Akmal on the other hand has improved by leaps and bounds, and has left me breathless with his musical proficiency. I remember him being the slower learner; I remember him that he would do his practice when I was not around, or after we bought a digital piano, using the headphone, so that I would not be able to hear him practice and hence I would not be able to criticise.

I think all these whiles he has been living under his brother's shadow, and without him around, he was under no pressure for him to excel.

And excel he did, and I must say I am proud of him with the high quality of music that he has been churning out.

It didn't come out naturally at first, and effortlessly on their side. They are skillful, but certainly not gifted. They are good, but certainly they weren't prodigies when they were kids. They put a lot of hours in front of the piano.

On the piano stool, which can't be the most comfortable of chairs, I must say.

The only evidence that we have to show that we do have music in our blood. Well, a little bit I guess.
The girl, second from left, is the great grandmother of Arif & Akmal. Apparently
according to her son - my uncle PC Ya - she played the violin too. 

I am not sure if I had planned for them to become musicians. In some sense, may be I did. Afterall,  I had bought a piano book in 1985, just before I returned from Melbourne, thinking that one day, I would have someone to play it for me. The book is still intact; and now I have two sons who could play them for me.

Note for note.

In reflection, I am not sure if the both of them had any talent. I guess it does not matter. In the end, I know they have put in their heart and soul into learning music for the past 10 years. There was no easy shortcut for them; they put in long hours in their musical pursuit.

The picture is PC Ya with the Kilat band, who beat
Najib Hanif in a singing competition. Taken without
his permission from his FB.

Talent is, after all, ninety nine percent perspiration, if we are to be believe Edison. (Actually I twisted his statement a bit. Genius is 99% perspiration is the actual saying attributed to Edison.)

I am very sure I can't dispute him. Not with him being the most prolific scientist, and engineer.

Obviously Arif and Akmal have a long way ahead of them. They are still nobody in the industry - I am sure that was not the target when they first started. They were supposed to be able to entertain us. But since they are here, no one can say that they should not go far. They have the passion to do it.

Well, enjoy Akmal playing the Beatles. Now after 10 years, it is payback time. How many were able to enjoy live piano music at one's behest and fancy?

You just take more than you give

This song is nearly 30 years old and is as Australian as the wombat. But the message in this song is perhaps more relevant to Malaysia today than it would be in its own homeland.

When it was first released in 1982, Australia was in deep recession. Unemployment was rife. Many lost their homes due to bottoming of the real estate. In general, Australians suffered quite a bit during this era. The lucky country - as Australia is dubbed, never seems quite the way it was supposed to be. The air of doom permeated the country then.

I guess it is within this context this Moving Picture's classic was released. It captures well the feeling of frustration that ran deep in the society then. (Never mind that the writer wrote it while he was working with autistic children.) In other words, the timing was perfect.

Well there's a little boy waiting at the corner shop

He's been waiting down there, waiting half the day

They never ever seen him from the top

He gets pushed around, knocked to the ground

He gets to his feet and he says..

You can feel it in the chorus:

What about me? It isn't fair

I've had enough, now I want my share

Can't you see, I wanna live

But you just take more than you give

If you listen further down the line, you would read:

Take a step and see the little people

They might be young

But they are the ones that make the big people big

Equate the word the young to the poor and the under-privilege and you would see the message.

So listen as they whisper, "What about me?"

Don't you think this message is very clearly meant for Malaysia and her politicians?

EPILOGUE

Actually I love the metaphor of this song. The little kids, we seldom if ever see them from the (counter) top. He gets pushed around, knocked to the ground, and he gets to his feet and he says:

What about me?

I think this is definitely true for many Malaysians. We have been pushed around for far too long and it is about time that we will all get back to our feet and demand that the establishment has taken more than they give, when they should have taken nothing.

Until when should we take all the beating and be fed crumbs, when everything else has been swept clean by the cronies?

What About Me? - Moving Pictures

Well there's a little boy waiting at the counter of the corner shop


He's been waiting down there, waiting half the day,


They never ever see him from the top


He gets pushed around, knocked to the ground,


He gets to his feet and he says...

CHORUS:


What about me? It isn't fair


I've had enough, now I want my share


Can't you see, I wanna live 


But you just take more than you give

Well, there's a pretty girl serving at the counter of the corner shop


She's been waiting back there, waiting for a dream,


Her dreams walk in and out, they never stop


Well, she's not too proud, to cry out loud


She runs to the street and she screams...

CHORUS
What about me? It isn't fair


I've had enough, now I want my share


Can't you see, I wanna live 


But you just take more than you give

More than you give...

Take a step back and see the little people


They might be young, but they're the ones that make the big people big


So listen as they whisper:
"What about me?"

And now I'm standing on the corner, all the world's gone home


Nobody's changed, nobody's been saved


And I'm feeling cold and alone


I guess I'm lucky, I smile a lot


But sometimes I wish for more than I've got...

CHORUS

What about me? It isn't fair


I've had enough, now I want my share


Can't you see, I wanna live 


But you just take more than you give

Makan Bola, Minum Bola, Tidor Bola

A friend texted me yesterday about a ex-classmate of ours (UIA MBA Batch 10 2000-03) getting married this Sunday in my wife's hometown of Batu Kurau.

But instead rejoicing, I was lamenting to her, telling her what a shame that this friend of ours is getting married in the midst of World Cup fever. I thought it is not conducive to get married during this clash of school holidays and world cup, since the husband would probably be sitting in front of the idiot box all night long, instead of his new bride!

Sorry, mischievous me. ;-)

I am not too great a fan anymore - I can't take the stress of watching Manchester United after supporting them since my childhood days, and since I have removed Astro from the luxury items that I would have in my home, I have not been watching football at all.

But this time around, thanks to RTM, my telly would have world cup football match streaming in, and it has been ages since we last saw it in my living room.

We have no TV in 1974, so watching anything including world cup games would be impossible for us. But I do know Gerd Mueller scored the winning goal from what I could read in the NST.

I am not sure if in 1978 we have the privilege of watching the games on our telly or just reading about it in the newspaper. I remember though Argentina losing their opening game. I thought that would be the end of the host - that they would not be able to emulate the previous host's achievement in winning the tournament on home ground.

In 1982, when we had the privilege of watching live games on telly in Melbourne Australia, I was in the middle of mid-year exam, and since I was a struggling student trying to decipher the Ozzie slang and understanding engineering principles, I missed a lot of the games. I don't remember much of the 1982 World Cup, beyond Paolo Rossi that is.

So when I returned in 1986, and I was not working yet when the WC in Mexico started, so I guess I would have the opportunity to watch and I believe I did, if my memory serves me right. I remember the game England-Argentina game very well and of course who would not remember the Hands of God incident! Until today, due to WC '86, I still think Maradona is the greatest soccer player ever.

But to be honest, of all World Cup, the 1998 was the saddest one. For me, at least. This is one world cup where the game is played in daylight, and I would not have to bother burning the midnight oil, so to speak. I would have to, instead, watch it during office hours and for me to do that, I just have to make sure the bosses would not know.

And chances were, they would not even know that world cup was taking place in France that year, for for sure they were not soccer fans. Secondly everybody have their own office, and we were normally seated facing the door, so no one would be able to see exactly what we were doing.

I could have a fun day watching soccer in my office.

The catch is that I was in Houston Texas and there was no live telecast of the match whatsoever. The cable I had in my apartment did not offer such privilege either.

In the office, I was the only Malaysian and another Brit, Paul, would be my partner in crime in as far as soccer is concerned. We were the only two engineers at the office who would be exasperated in our inability to watch the actions.

There was one solution though.

Soccernet!

Soccernet offer live telecast in 1998 and Paul and I would be feeding each other on the status of each game. Every five minutes, I would drop by at his office and he would do the same at mine.

The problem with that is that it was not live video streaming into our computers. It was live commentary - minute by minute, blow by blow.

It was like in the olden days listening to Merdeka tournament on radio.

"..dan Mokhtar mendapat bola, pemain pertahanan Korea menghalang, Mokhtar berjaya menggelecek dua pemain Korea. Cantik. Dari arah kiri pintu gol, Mokhtar.... menendang bola ketengah kotak, Isa Bakar berada di sana...dan peluang untuk Malaysia menjaring kan gol.."

"Dan Isa Bakar....terlepas!"

Actually it should be read "Terlambat". I am sorry, En Isa Bakar. I think despite my perception, we would probably be in the World Cup in South Africa if we ever have a striker half your stature again.

Sorry, I digress. That was what I can remember from the 70s Lenggong at Kampung Sira.

Beyond 1998, with the advent of Astro, I have missed it. I hate to have to pay to watch World Cup. I in fact had taken out AStro from things to have at my home, so it had been quite for me as far as WC in the new millennium is concerned.

I do remember reading in the news how Malaysians would set up the funds so that we could have soccer on the telly. Every Malaysian was required to donate RM1, if I am not mistaken. Was that in 1982?

Until this year, when RTM won the right to broadcast the game on terrestrial TV.

Thanks RTM for bringing back the game to the masses. I think you can all unsubscribe Astro this month. ;-)

Make that for good, please!

Our House, In the Middle of Our Street

Have you seen our house? Have you seen our house?

Have you seen our house? Have you seen our house?

It is over there mate!

Aah, Madness - they are quite, well.... mad. How else would I describe this British (super) group from the 80's?

For a start, how about genius?

I guess, in continuation of my series on our houses in Taiping, I remember this song from 1982. Of course by then we were no longer living in Taiping, but this song is very apt that I just could not help but post it here.

It is our anthem - my kids and I, for all the houses that we have stayed at; numerous actually. Mind you, this song is nearly 30 years old, but the kids enjoyed it nonetheless. Obviously this blogger thought it was a fun song from his younger days at the Monash suburb of Clayton.

I can imagine the three of us singing along with Madness. It never fails to bring a smile to me whenever I see the clip. Of course, the kids would be giggling and laughing while watching their antics, and they weren't even born yet when this song was released.

Brillliant. I could listen for this song for hours and it will remind me of my beautiful houses of Taiping.

To complement the previous entry, I present you Our House by Madness. Enjoy it.

Father wears his Sunday best

Mother's tired she needs a rest

The kids are playing up downstairs

Sister's sighing in her sleep
Brother's got a date to keep
He can't hang around

Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our

Our house it has a crowd
There's always something happening
And it's usually quite loud

Our mum she's so house-proud
Nothing ever slows her down
And a mess is not allowed

Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our

Our house, in the middle of our street
(Something tells you)
(That you've got to get away from it)
Our house, in the middle of our

Father gets up late for work
Mother has to iron his shirt
Then she sends the kids to school
Sees them off with a small kiss
She's the one they're going to miss
In lots of ways

[Instrumental Interlude]

Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our

I remember way back then when

Everything was true and when
We would have such a very good time
Such a fine time
Such a happy time
And I remember how we'd play
Simply waste the day away
Then we'd say
Nothing would come between us
Two dreamers

Father wears his Sunday best
Mother's tired she needs a rest
The kids are playing up downstairs

Sister's sighing in her sleep
Brother's got a date to keep
He can't hang around

Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our
Our house, was our castle and our keep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, that was where we used to sleep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street

I have been to hell and back

Even if it was just a small corner of hell. And I am talking literally here.

Not many would be able to claim that, that's for sure, especially when it's not metaphorically. Not that anyone of us would be thinking of going to one. Na'udzubillah. Moga kita semua dijauhi darinya.

However this is one hell I would not mind going to again.

I guess, as an unpaid spokesman for Air Asia promoting their new destination ;-) and a city I used to call home more than 25 years ago, I present you Hell Corner, circa 1982.

Caption: But he was still smiling even if he was at Hell Corner.

You would find this Hell at Mt Buller, the skiing destination of the state of Victoria. It is about say 3-4 hours drive from downtown Melbourne, so you could do a day trip and bask in snow. Mt Buller is to Melbourne as Genting is to Kuala Lumpur.

I am not sure what I was doing wearing a skirt, ;-) I mean, anorak.

Unfortunately it was not snowing when we were there during my first year in Melbourne, so I could only enjoyed ground snow i.e. whatever was there already. At that time, I shared an apartment with Sle (as in my story on exam) and Salleh, whom I later found out, was a former classmate from SRJK(I) Lenggong, and I didn't even remember. It is a small world indeed.

As I have mentioned in earlier entry, Melbourne is one city that you could get four season weather in a single day, but never - almost - the snow, so you need to go out to the Alpines. I don't remember if Mt Buller is part of the Snowy Mountains, which I had passed by on the way back from Sydney to Melbourne in 1983.

The Alpines of Australia are perhaps not as spectacular as the Rockies in Colorado or Alberta, but they are still majestic and a beautiful sight as any mountain ranges would be. And it would satisfy your skiing crave and get to do everything snowy.

Beyond that of course the city of Melbourne itself is considered as the art capital of Australia, home of the Australian Grand Prix and of course the Australian Open. It is also home of the Melbourne Cricket Ground where more than 100,000 people would pack it to watch grass grow over a five day period.

To many of course that would be the case since there is typically no action whatsoever at the centre of the field during a five day test match say between Australia and England aka The Ashes. Let me repeat, especially if England is playing and hence all Ozzies would turn up at the MCG to watch the grass grow. Definitely more action there.

Yes, test cricket is akin to just that - watching grass grow.

That's the MCG on the lower left part of the picture above. I once saw a Man United game there circa 84.

Unfortunately, Shema, it is not RM9.99 that I was hoping it would be, but still affordable methinks. Your wish may come true after all. Rashi, you are still thinking about it? - thinking of transporting your MTB across the ocean for a bicycle ride on the Great Ocean Road?

Or if you think the terrain at GOR is child's play, you can try cycling up Mt Buller then. ;-)

As for me, will I get a chance to return to this green tram city ever again and walk down memory lane here?

EPILOGUE

PS Dato' Seri Tony Fernandez, err, you don't need to pay me or give me free ticket for this promotion. It is my pleasure doing it anyway. May be I just need some tiny favour from you. Hehe.. Can you help my son Arif get into Air Asia as your cadet pilot say at the end of this year when he completes his CPL with instrument rating?

Ehem..ehem, can la...small favour only what. ;-)

Eh, and the Australian Tourism Promotion Board, no free ticket ah? I can be quite a good promoter and a tourist guide for Melbourne.

And I am just joking about the watching grass grow ok. I love cricket and I really miss the game.

The Queen of Kooyong

So Sharapova is back in the final of the Australian Open.

I have not followed tennis for sometime now. To be honest, I lost interest, and prefer to just read the newspaper the next day if Fed-ex were able to add more to his grand slam. Don't get me wrong - I am waiting for the day when he overtakes Sampras in that department.

But I guess that will not be at this year's Australian Open.

In my years in Australia, I was hooked on tennis much earlier than I was cricket. It was a no brainer. Cool-iced Borg was at the peak of the rivalry with the hot-tempered McEnroe. Unfortunately for me, Borg was on the way down, so the last final we saw of him, he lost to McEnroe.

However, that didn't deter me from watching tennis, as there was a tennis star worthy of her place at the tennis' hall of fame.

Watching Chris Evert in action was like watching poetry in motion. She was beautiful and she was graceful. I would sit in my house at Bourke St in Leederville Perth, with my eyes fixed on her on the telly. I would buy tennis magazines that would have her on the cover.

Never mind that I had never touched a tennis racket in my whole life (then).

Moving on t0 Melbourne, Kooyong (which was just 30 mins train ride from Monash), then the home of the Australian Open, I could not find a friend who would accompany me to the Open to watch her. I didn't ask actually - I know they would laugh at me for wanting to watch her. I couldn't - I was a member of their usrah group!

One thing about Chris Evert, she was not as aggressive as Martina Navratilova. In fact they were so opposite. Martina to my eyes was a 'man'. Of course Chris being the 'lady' had difficulty coping with Martina's athleticism. Chris Evert was basically a baseliner who would wait for the opponent to make mistake.

She typically played a patient game. At times, baseliner may a be a bit boring to watch, but it is definitely not boring to watch Chris Evert.

And obviously, she was more fun to watch than Martina, for the obvious reason!

I had followed her career (18 grand slams, behind Margaret Court, Steffi Graff and Helen Wills) and life (from afar of course). I thought she and Jimmy Connors were an item then, but in the end, they didn't get married. She instead married John Llyod.

Now in her fifties, she had just gotten engaged with another great Australian, the Great White Shark - Greg Norman.

Well that was the 80s, and I guess nowadays people would be following another great tennis player, the beautiful (of all time?) Maria Sharapova.

Luckily for me, when I started working on my own, the first thing I did was getting rid Astro, so I cannot be watching her on the telly no more.

Of course in the look department, no one can beat Maria Sharapova. From tennis perspective though, I thought highly of Justine Henin, but I guess people - make it I - don't watch tennis simply to watch their skills.

Ah well, men will always be men.

But there will only be one queen of Kooyong for me.

EPILOGUE

Then again, later on in my student life, cricket took over my sporting passion with Allan Border and co being the in-thing for me, never mind that the Australian team was as bad as the current Liverpool team. Nowadays though, irrespecctive of whether or not Maria Sharapova ended up as the princess of Australian open, Manchester United is the only news for me, sport-wise.

Much Ado about English

Did you read about the study conducted by Monash University which concluded that one third of Asian students graduating from Australian Universities have such poor English skills they should have never been admitted in the first place? It was reported in an English language tabloid yesterday.

I was only 18 years old when I went to Australia for my degree in 1981. Prior to this, I was educated in the Malay medium - where everything, except English, was taught in Malay. (English was of course taught in Kelantanese! ) We were the first batch of kids in the nation to go through a full 11 years of education in Malay in totality, unlike the previous batch lucky enough to have a choice to either go to English or Malay medium school.

Studying for the matriculation in Perth at Leederville Technical College, one had to take English Literature as a subject. Yeah, it was all about Shakespeare and literature review. We had to read and discuss classic Australian novel like The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith and My Brother Jack or simply classics like The Outsider by Albert Camus and act on Macbeth with its old English lingo.

I would be the first to admit, no matter how embarrassing it can be, that I had difficulty trying to read and understand those novels, and let alone be able to intelligently discuss and bisect them in class. I remember vividly how one day, the English teacher, Mr Sean, would call upon me to discuss on the indifferent attitude of Meursault in The Outsider. As the clock ticks - minutes seems like hours, the class went into silence as I kept quiet with my head bowed down in shame, not able to say anything intelligent. I couldn’t even tell him, ‘Sorry Mr Sean, but I couldn't understand the storyline at all.” That was the last time he ever asked me of anything. I just hope that Abu and Ime (Rahiman) would not remember that incident.

Well, I survived the matriculation to be able to study engineering at Monash, but I have to admit, barely. It would be too embarrassing to publish what I got for my final - for sure it was less than my age. For sure they didn’t admit me on the basis of my ‘excellence’ in English Literature.

Worst was to come. I simply could not understand a single lecture that I attended. Don’t get me wrong. I was the kind of student who would attend every lecture religiously and not the kaki ponteng type. It was one thing to try to understand the technical aspect of the lecture, it was totally another to decipher the accent of the lecturers. So my studies deteriorated rapidly, so much so I was even called to the Dean’s office and was warned that I would be kicked out if I didn’t improve in the next test. I guess I was on the Dean's Lists, eh?
First term exam didn’t help either. A check at the results board revealed my exact position in the ranking of the first year students (which include our very own best student, Rashid Mohd Nor) in the faculty – second, from the bottom, that is!

What do I do? I was heading nowhere. The subjects were on a totally different level that what we had at SPM and Matriculation level. The only decent thing to do now was to see the Malaysian Consul in Melbourne and seek her permission to pursue my studies in Malaysia where language should not be a problem for me. Next was a phone call to my sister asking her to get University Malaya’s admission forms.

By chance, I met a senior who was in his second year in electrical engineering and explained to him of my intention. Being the nice guy that he is, he took it upon himself to give me extra classes in physics, chemistry, and the engineering subjects and patiently handhold me. With the basic understanding on the subject at hand, going to the lecture hall was no longer a chore. In fact, I was beginning to enjoy momentum transfer and vibration analysis and their G’die-mate accent and no-worries attitude.

Thanks to him (one Dzaharuddin Mansor, now Dr/Prof) and his extra classes, I survived my first year engineering at Monash, which has quite a notorious drop out rate. I'm glad that I was not part of that statistic. My first year results were nothing to shout about but it was more than adequate for me to continue to second year.

I guess that was all that I need. My English was still as bad as ever, but enough to get me around talking and discussing with the lecturers and fellow students. Once I got the hang of it, I guess I breezed through the subsequent years graduating with honours in the minimum time allotted. Furthermore, in engineering, it’s more about the mathematics – the differential equations and the laplace transform. You don’t need to be a Shakespeare to understand them, may be just rocket scientist!

Another factor that helped me improved my language skills was the fact that I was practically the only Malay student in my chemical engineering class. I had no choice but to mix around with my Australian counterparts. My best friends then was an Australian (Neil Horvath) and a Singaporean (Chuan Aik), and they definitely could not speak Malay.

I don’t disagree with the finding by the don. However, you can't blame the universities. I believe it is the responsibility of the feeding school (high school) in Malaysia to ensure that students are proficient in the English language. I think it will take more than just teaching ‘English’ to our children. I think what we are doing now in teaching our science and math in English in junior high school is a step in the right direction for our children. We need to get our children to use the language in every aspect of their life and thinking, nonchalantly. Let’s not worry about the political implications and decide on what is best for the future of our children.

My elder sister, who was fortunate enough to be born a year earlier and hence went through English medium, spent her early childhood reading Enid Blyton (Famous Five, Mallory Towers etc) and of course she graduated to Mills & Boon later on in life while this writer lived on the Malay translation of ‘Alfred Hitchcock and The Three Investigator’. Jupiter, Pete and Bob became Jalil, Ah Meng and Gopal in Tiga Penyiasat! (Don't get me wrong, I did enjoy Misteri Mumia Berbisik.) I didn’t read Enid Blyton until much later.

Today I find The Outsider by Albert Camus fascinating and makes me ponder about life's absurdity as the young Mersault had experienced in the dusty streets and courthouse of Algiers and I am sure Cikgu Nik felt the same way about the book (I loaned her the book a couple of years ago). My Brother Jack was as engrossing as ever as I kept on visualizing life in interwar Melbourne compared to when I was there in the easy 80s.

While I worry about our children's language skill, which is deteriorating fast, I am aware too that I am not perfect myself. I hope that Cikgu Nik Faridah and Ms Joyce would not cringe if they were to read this – may be no spelling error with the advent of the word processor, but perhaps, God forbids, full of grammatical errors. They may disown me as a former student. Perhaps my predicament with the language may not be representative of all of my classmates who went through the same five years of education in that school in Kota Bharu. Definitely not for one Soraya Merican. She was perhaps exposed to some kind of radiations in the physic lab those days to be so good with the English language.

I wonder though that if one third of Asian graduates of Australian universities have such poor skills in English, what about our undergraduates in the local universities, right now? I would cringe thinking about it - unless of course if they were lucky enough to exposed to same radiation!

Tags: education Edit Tags
Wednesday January 31, 2007 - 09:02am (SGT) Edit Delete Permanent Link

2 Comments

soraya
I agree, the standard of english among our young ones are appalling. I went through a number of hair raising ( hair pulling too!!)experience during my banking days. Btw, the only harrowing experience i had in our science lab (as far as i can recall) is when the gas tube to the bunson burner exploded & singed my eyebrows & the hair off my arms...! What a fright!
Wednesday January 31, 2007 - 03:11pm (SGT) Remove Comment

Rahma…
Aha, that explains it then!I guess that must have been at the old lab at the top of the academic building, no?The gas have been left running without igniting, or something like that.
Sunday February 4, 2007 - 03:15pm (SGT) Remove Comment