Hard hit hotels.

Sunday June 27, 2021. 

I saw this report today about the state of the hospitality industry in Malaysia after the second year of Covid 19 movement controls. The writer  connects his piece with the tourism industry in general. I would say the whole thing covers the business of the provision of food and lodging for travellers and locals in general. But he was singling out hotels in particular.

I was drawn to this piece because my son and a number of his cousins are involved in this industry. My son has a BSc in Travel Industry Management from Hawaii Pacific University and is in one of the larger hotels in the capital. His cousins are scattered over both smaller outfits and the catering business in Selangor and NS. The picture painted by the report is grim.

The report says in the last 2 years 120 hotels have closed, some permanently. The whole industry has lost a staggering RM 11.3 billions to date. This is the worst-hit sector of the economy. And he sees no quick end to the predicament. 3.6 million people are involved in the industry. That's a full 12% of the total population.

I remember staying in the Kinta Riverfront Hotel in Ipoh many times before "Corona" visited us. Even then the hotel was not the thriving meeting place you see in some hotels in KL, but when I went to the dining area upstairs, there was always a good crowd. The fare was standard hotel fare and was ok. In fact I used to pocket the left-over tiny packets of honey they had at breakfast. Then recently there was news that they were stopping operations for now, but maybe permanently.

Hotels are "watering holes" where people spend their disposable income and time, mainly to "lepak", but also for serious business. So you have all the facilities - the eating places, the health centres, the beauticians and the shops.   Of course hotels are also for events - business conferences, weddings,and celebrations, with the suitable venues for them. A good hotel squirms with people.

You stop people from coming to hotels, you stop the income. For a short period of time, the "fat" might sustain the costs, the hotel stays open. For a long period of time, the hotel folds. 

Hotels are operated by 2 entities, always. The owner who built them, and the operators who run them. That's why the names keep changing - either the ownership change hands, or the operator change places. The operator makes the immediate money for operating the actual businesses - selling food, goods etc. The owner takes longer to recoup his massive investment in building the hotel. 

There are many songs sung in hotels, about hotels, by hotel guests and hotel singers. I remember "Heart break hotel". There's the iconic "Hotel California". Right now there's quiet on the hotel front. The hotels are hit hard.

.........................................................................................................

 

Idah's first dose.

 21.6.2021.

Since my own 2nd. and final dose 11 days ago,  after an additional  3,776,961 cases worldwide with an additional 105,085 deaths, and an additional 62,517 cases in Malaysia with an additional 997 deaths, and whatever dubious  numbers are for  India and China, Idah had finally got her first jab of the Pfizer vaccine at the "Dewan Orang Ramai Sikamat" at about 10 this morning. "About" because the appointment was for 10, but we were 15 minutes early. But everything was ok, and we were all done in a total of maybe 30 minutes from arrival. So ok in fact the nurses had time to ask Idah what perfume she used.

Before I shoot off my mouth, let me say this. The medical staff, and the rest of the real frontliners I witnessed today in Sikamat and the 2 days I had in Senawang Clinic have been just wonderful. They are smartly attired, well-spoken, and 100% professional in their jobs. If this goes also for the other vaccination centres in this country, I think it's something for all Malaysians to be genuinely proud of. And that is to put it mildly.

Idah didn't want to be vaccinated at first. This was proof of the power of suggestion the anti-vaccination camp weilds. By the last count we have within our extended family of cousins alone 12 medical doctors. 4 of them are specialists with 1 more about to be one. 2 of the doctors are Professors with 1 daughter also a doctor. Idah didn't get to a single one of them to tell her the right thing. She chose to believe the crap on her smartphone. But after I got my first jab, which I didn't tell her until after, and after taking in all the pro-comments, last month she relented. Dekna did the rest.

This debate goes on worldwide. The hard facts come proven only at the end of the whole pandemic, if and when it ends. But we all have only one lifetime. By the end of it all it may be too late. If vaccination is right, it may be too late for those refusing it. If it is wrong, it'll too late for those accepting it. But the choice is simple, really. We must take action, which to act on getting whatever vaccines are available. To refuse is inaction, not doing something. We still don't have 100% proven knowledge about the vaccines available. But we have some positive indicators pointing to efficacy. We don't wait for 100%. We can't.

I'm glad Idah changed her mind. Cruel though it may sound, I didn't put extra effort to convince her. I did it, on me. Action speaks louder.  And she heard, finally.

..........................................................................................................

National Operations Council, 2021 brand.

 Wed June 16,2021.

52 years ago we had our first NOC, called "Mageran", following the infamous May 13 race riots. Today the Malay Rulers are supposed to decide whether there'll be Mageran II, following a hung Parliament because of the pandemic.

Mageran I was a couple of years in the making. The non-Malays had grown more vocal, more visible in their anti-Malayness. There are enough reports and write-ups on this.  I witnessed the racism in 1965 when I entered the university in Lembah Pantai.  It was there. An Indian undergraduate showed me  his copy of "the Rocket" with its anti-Malay news. By 1969, many shopkeepers in KL had become unfriendly to Malay customers. I experienced it. 

Mageran II is also now a couple of years in the making. The hung Parliament is supposed to have been forced by the pandemic. But there are other issues that only make things worse. Mageran II seems inevitable.

Dr. Ismail announced on the black-and-white tv in 1969 that "democracy is dead". That was 3 days after General Elections III. Dr. Ismail wasn't the PM. Now, too,  it doesn't take a PM to announce that, half-a-century later, democracy is again dead.

The 2018 General Elections didn't produce a single strong party that could hold sway. Friends or foes, they have to swallow pride and face reality and act accordingly to survive to perhaps fight another day. Who was it who said "politics have strange bed-fellows"?

Corona 19 isn't a pretty lass waiting for suitors. It's a deadly virus waiting for no one. Medicine is paramount. Politics is a distraction. A manager must be installed to concentrate on the singular fight against the planet-based pandemic. The manager cannot hold back doing the right thing, even if not the popular one.  He must do the necessary, even if it's not pretty. Politics is power-sharing and dream-making.

The Malay rulers must rise to the occasion and do the right thing, for themselves and country. Apparently time and advice have been sought and offered. Hopefully they can sift through the whey, because the advice-givers all have axes to grind. The one key feature should be the honest truth.  

An NOC, under whatever names, would be charged with running the country as only it can.  Divisive politics must be pushed aside until the medical problem is completely cleared. After that, the right of the people to install a government of their choice would be reinstated. For now, the dire need to stay alive and healthy  must be everyone's only concern. Dead, and nothing else matter. An NOC matters.

...............................................................................................

 

Names, nicknames.

Mon June 14, 2021. 

"Kocik benamo, bosa begola" was the saying in Negeri dialect meaning  you have a name when small, a title when big. Actually this was in the wedding ceremony of yesteryears. I didn't miss it in 1971. After the "nikah" the "Buapak Selonggang" Bukit Temensu gave me the title "Gindo Rajo" or  something, I forget, because nobody used it. Unlike my late uncle, Jamaluddin Hassan. Even his late mother-in-law, wan (grandma) Sa'elah, called him "Sutan", the title he got when he married his wife, Mak Cik Lijah of Kubang Ruso. It was Sutan Mudo or something, I forget. Or my late father, called "Bang Naro". "Senaro Rajo" was his title when he married mom. My aunties and uncles on my mom's side all called him that, so the title stuck. On dad's side he was called different - "Acek". Then there was "To' Ungkai", "To' Niko", "To' Maharajo", "To' Kando" and even (according to To' Molod and therefore questionable) the "Apit Lempeng" they gave to Zainal Taib. 

All these should be differentiated from nicknames, of course. Nothing to do with "adat" here, but probably just as  anecdotal. Like Jimmy "Bok". Jimmy (already  an Anglecised "Norazmi")  used to play golf with us at Kelab Golf Seri Menanti, notorious for its muddy patches and ponds and deep ravines. Not being proficient, most of his shots would end up in these hazards, "bok !" they sounded. The late Hasnul promptly stuck it to him - "Bok !" Like "Shaari Mak Ayo". Shaari Aziz's mother, in Kampong Parit Seberang, referrred to herself when in conversation as "ayo" - "saya". Like "Po'at Calit". Po'at was frying something, and hot oil splashed on his forehead, leaving a mark ("calit"). Dark-complexioned Jimmy "Koling" was obviously racist. And the erstwhile To' Molod we simply refer to by initials - "PB".  It stands for "putting bungko". And there are many more.

Malay names have gone through changes over the last 100 years. Starting from native names like "Sojuk", "Burok", and "Murai", to Arabic names, often misspelt and always mispronounced, like "Rajmah", "Khairunnissa", "Ummi Kalthum" and "Kursiah", to good-sounding ones (to the parents), with little concern for any unintended meaning, or meaninglessness, like "Azizul", "Bazura", "Kuswadinata" and even "Hang Jebat" which should carry negative connotations. Now parents are more careful. The meanings are usually sought, nice pronounciations attempted, complete with the spelling  contriving originality ("Siddique", "Farooqe").  Throughout,  famous names attract adoption. Film stars, popular singers, world leaders and heros offer a large list to choose from.  That's why we have "Najib" (the army general who led the ousting of Egyptian monarchy), "Za'aba", "P. Ramli" and "R. Azmi", complete with the "P" and "R", meaningless in the copies. But the achievements of the namesake never follow, if you follow me.

With the advancement of the industrial revolution and the development of its science and technology, conquering the world, the West is still confused about Muslim names. In immigration forms they ask for "Christian" names, which I understood in my first flight to UK in 1974, which my No.2 Son didn't ,when he flew to Sydney in 1999, and wrote "I'm not Christian". They say we use one name only, no surname. That's why they had "Sirhan Sirhan" and the other repetitive names they gave, not the parents gave. "John Smith" is also a one-name name - "John". The "bin" is also confusing to them. Sometimes the subject involved, for whatever reason, doesn't help to solve the simple misunderstanding. That's why my cousin stayed for 3 years studying in Germany and was called "Bin" because of his long name of Hazarul Ariffin bin Jamaluddin.

Well, blame ourselves if we give our offsprings one name on records and another in actual use. My first-born, Azat, we call "Banjat". No. 2 is registered as Asraf. We call him "Adik". No. 3, Zulhilmi, goes by "Memi" but the siblings call him "Jujai". Amalina, the last girl, is of course "Dekna" - even at her workplace.

That's it for now. From me, named in Arabic "the beautiful decoration". My siblings call me "Canai", that famous breakfast. 

...................................................................................

  

 

Flentot and other trivia at U.

 Sat 12th June 2021.

It's 12.50 and it's raining cats and dogs and I'm stuck in the house because of the PKP, and suddenly I remember 'varsity days. That's more than half-a-century ago !

I was 21 when I entered the University of Malaya. The HSC was the key to get in. I did ok, I guess, because the minimum required was "1 principal 2 subsid". I had 3 principals - 1 B, 2 C's and my  GP was a 3 (1 & 2 = distinction). In fact the Aussie lecturer who helped with the registration was impressed. "Wow ! "B"! Wonder what he'd say if it was "A".

UM  was the only university in the country until University Kebangsaan just outside the gates years after graduation. From  20 -30 students per  classroom to 10 times more "undergraduates" per class, from school uniform to wear-as-you-please, from fixed classes to come-if-you-want, from school canteen to the Union House - it was all too big a change to not make an impression.

Probably all the Malay students were on scholarship. In fact some who shouldn't get scholarships also got them. Like that girl whose parents were Cabinet Ministers. Without it I wouldn't have been there. After Standard 6, I was selected to go into Form 1 at  MCKK, the premier Malay college at that time. I didn't go. Dad said he couldn't afford it, after seeing the long list of stuff to bring on registration. They had scholarships, actually. We didn't know. I should have gone.

The library, the Arts Concourse, and the Union House were where we would hang out, when not in class, which was most of the time. There was a pool room for billiards and the canteen at the Union House. For the three years that I was there, I always saw the same people playing billiards, all the time. I wonder if they graduated.

There was one Robert, a Chinese  waiter at the canteen. I think it was Rozhan, at that time still not a convert, who introduced me to "french toast", and I liked it. Robert would come to the table . "Wat you want, ah ?" "French toast" "Oh, flentot" And we'd get our french toast.

After some time, we decided to try and imitate Robert and see if we can get served. "Wat you want, ah?" "Flentot" "Wat, wat?" "Flentot" "Donno lah !" "French toast lah !" "Oh, flentot !" Only he could understand his pronounciation apparently.

The late Amir was in my batch, doing Arts. Years later we met again in SIGC. He was a lawyer in Seremban, a UK graduate. He failed his first year at MU. But that was no surprise. He spent all his time drinking beer at the Union House. I know. I joined him one afternoon. But I couldn't hold my beer. I got sick in the toilet. The late Ghaz was there. He drove me in his MG Midget to Fadzil's room in First College, where I again got sick and vomited on the floor, and Fadzil had to clean up.

One day I saw the late Yassin Salleh, a college mate from RMC days. He was in the Navy. He was walking towards 4th College, to meet his girl friend.   That was a good 1.5 km. I took him on my Honda 90. That was the last time I saw him.

That Honda 90 was bought with my scholarship money. The NS scholarship wasn't much. But motorcycles those days weren't much too. We had 3 groups of students. The walkers, the riders and the rich. The rich all had cars. Mostly we were riders. All kinds of motorcycles were there. This guy had a Honda Superbike and was the envy of everyone. But many were resigned to affordable makes, new and used. Still, the number of bikes meant people were going to mess up with them. I lost my battery the first month. Somebody simply opened the box and unscrewed the battery. And I parked my bike just across the library ! The late AK Bear didn't lose his bike, back at First College. They just hauled it up the stairs (the only way) right up to the top floor. I never learned how AK Bear got his bike down. Wan Wahid had a medium-sized sports bike that one time I wanted to borrow. At first he agreed, but when the day came he changed his mind. Azahari rode a Lambretta that looked too big for him. We rode to Raub, KP and Melaka during one university break. Hank rode also. We went to his kampong in KP one week end. We also went to his parents quarters in KL. And we rode together to 4th. College one day, when he was trying to tackle "that girl". She got away.

My bike came handy for Fadzil, too. He wanted to go to Ku Arpah's house, and asked me to take him there. I don't know how he came back. Ku Arpah later married a science student, I can't remember his name. Ku Arpah's younger sister later married Tunku Naqiyuddin of NS. She changed her "Ku" to "Tunku".

There was a lake in the campus, Later on it got filled up, not on purpose, but by growth and neglect. I wonder if it's still there. The last time I went on to the bridge  was maybe 1970, when I took Basariah for supper at the old canteen. The late Ungku Aziz also used to jog around the lake, when jogging wasn't in fashion. And the engineering lecturer used to hit some golf balls around the lake. I didn't know golf for another 22 years, so I don't know if his swing was ok.

I called Malik Daim as I was writing these notes. "Bok" gave me his number. Malik has a new wife, but no new offspring. Bok said the sawah is dry. I told Malik Bok said that. Malik says it's still wet. I later told Bok what I said to Malik and his response. Bok got annoyed for telling Malik what he told me. But it's all trivia. Like the flentot.

...........................................................................................

Double-dose prescription completed.

Thurs 10th June 2021. 

After 16 months, after 175,170,367  cases worldwide with 3,776,961 deaths (that's 2.1%), and  633,891 cases here in Malaysia with 3,611 deaths (that's 1.9 %), after India reported 29.2 million cases with a population of  almost 1.4 billion and China reported 91.3 million cases with an even bigger population of almost 1.5 billion, when USA, with a population of less than 333 million (less than 25% of either China or India) reports deaths of more than double of India,  my mind is boggled and unbelieving.  Boggled by the huge numbers. Unbelieving at the Chinese and Indian numbers.  But at 9.37 this morning a nurse at the Senawang Government Clinic pierced into  my left upper arm with the sharp needle at the business end of her syringe, and with her thumb pushed through the Pfizer vaccine from the containing tube into my arm. At least my double-dose prescription in the worldwide fight against the Covid 19 pandemic was completed. But the full fight is far from it.

No sooner than the minute I posted the certificate of vaccination from my smartphone to facebook, Aba Jiwa (a  college mate from too many years ago ) and Ah Meng ( a golf kaki of too many years ) commented.  That was fast,  Aba and Ameng !

I have more  wait,  though. I waited for 15 minutes after the jab. It was  to see if there were any immediate negative reactions. With the first dose,  there was none. None so far today. But I have to wait for 14 days to see if there are any subsequent negative reactions. Reports say some people had them. "Spider" wrote in the media he didn't feel anything when they injected him, and claimed it must be placebo. We'll wait and see,  Spider. (Spider was another college mate from too many years ago also.)

The debate goes on everywhere - for and against vaccination. The debate goes on - about the origins of the pandemic. The debate goes on - about the standard operating procedure in curtailing the spread of the virus, so much so the "mak ciks" and the "nyonyas" and the "achis" say "SOP" without blinking and even knowing what that actually stands for, but know too well what it means. And all the time the virus is not distracted. In fact it has mutated into several more dangerous strains. And the feeling is that we're not even maintaining pace with the present variety.

We can have our laughs in spite of the  situation. The 2 nurses and I had our laugh at the vaccination station. The old Chinese lady next to me asked her attending nurse "apa tak bolih makan ?" Maybe certain food has to be avoided. I said to my nurse, loud enough for the three people close to me  to hear "babi tak bolih makan". It was a joke. Not a good one, but a joke nevertheless. The other nurse joined me and my nurse and laughed. I added " saya memang tak makan babi" and the nurses laughed some more. The Chinese lady either didn't hear, didn't understand, or heard and understood but pretended different. 

 

Mat Nor "Ribut" was there at the clinic. "Ribut" is the monicker given by Dato' Sahak  to Mat Nor. Someone talking big, or talking too much, is "ribut". Mat Nor was in Felda when I was there, and he remembers me from there, but I don't remember the ribut part. I'd taken the side entrance into the vaccination station.  Since Mat Nor and the group with him were following the spacing rule, my coming from the side prevented me from being aware of the line. Only after I'd gotten the nurse's attention and she'd given me the form to fill did Mat Nor coughed "ahem !" and I turned and saw him. "Cucuk dia" I said to the nurse, but didn't break my pace, and Mat Nor didn't try to. So I got the jab before Mat Nor. But we waited together for our 15-minute observation. As I took leave I again said, this time to the male nurse, "cucuk dia". "Hey, berapa kali dah !" Mat Nor protested, good humouredly.

I changed my mind about taking the bike to go to the clinic this morning. It looked like rain. The idea was to beat the notorious parking woes of the clinic. With the old jalopy, I left earlier that planned and made good time.  The car park was full.  Of course. I saw an empty OKU space. I took it.  Of course. This was desparate hour.

So all in all I made good time. But I have more time. 14 days to be exact.  But my double-dose prescription is completed.

.............................................................................................

 

Musang, not Musang King.

 Sat June 5, 2021.

At just past midnight last night I had to deal with a "musang", the pest, not "Musang King", the fruit. The fruit is always welcome. Not the musang.

For the past week Hanif had told us a strange-looking animal had "visited" our kitchen area at around midnight. Hanif is a night-owl himself, often staying very late, watching soccer on tv or pecking on his ipod. He couldn't say what it was. I guessed it was a musang. It was.

In fact there were three of them ! A few nights ago Hanif again alerted me about the visitors in the kitchen. I was about to turn in because it was almost 12, and I'm an early riser. We rushed to the kitchen, and there they were, behind the a/c compressor. In spite of all the commotion, the musangs took their leave, going  up the kitchen roof, unhurriedly. 

We decided the gap on the kitchen wall must be secured somehow. The next morning I got some plastic mesh and sealed off the offending hole. Or so I thought.

Because the next night, again around midnight, Hanif alerted me again about our visitors. I found two staying behind the mesh, but one large musang inside our dining area. How did it get in ? On inspection I saw no sign of break-in on the mesh, but Hanif pointed to the very small gap on the other side of the wall that could have  been used.

I'd got out my "parang panjang" and rushed back to find the musang inside still lingering, perhaps trying to find an exit. I thrust my long parang and it made contact, but the musang just spurted out into the surau in the front part of the house. I rushed in and closed the surau's door behind me, but the musang had disappeared. It must have clambered up the wall to the ceiling, where there is a gap left there when the room was added to the main area of the house.

I was determined that I should be prepared to take this pest out. That meant I had to use my .22 rifle. I've had this gun since 1995. I had shot at some monkeys and squirrels back in the kampong. Otherwise it was only the target practice when we had to renew our licences each year. I took the rifle out of its leather sling-bag, and made sure my 10 rounds of ammunition in its magazine are taken out of the rifle. This seemed like the safe thing to do. 

I had shot at a squirrel behind the house some years ago. I'm pretty handy with this rifle, plus it doesn't have a kick like a shotgun. My target-shooting is normally ok. Maybe that day I was overconfident, I missed the squirrel at 15 m. and instead hit the a/c ducting. A loud burst of the escaped a/c gas exploded, the squirrel disappeared, and I was left with a few hundred bucks of repairs!

Well, last night I got my chance.

I'd just laid down in bed  Dekna burst in, shouting "musang, musang!" I got out of the bed, and went straight to the kitchen area, and there was the large musang looking like it was trying to find a way out, after being discovered when the kitchen light was switched on. I rushed back to my room to get the rifle and ammunition. Rushing to pull the gun out of its sheath, then frantically slipping in the loaded magazine, several precious minutes must have been lost. But the musang was still there.

A gun is a dangerous thing. I must make sure no shot would cause unneccessary damage to anything. The position of the target is vital. But I was in luck. The musang was against the brick wall. A missed shot would only hit that wall. I was only about 3 m away, the rifle primed. But the musang was not still. I knew I could still miss. But I didn't.

There are 10 rounds in the Ruger .22. The first shot hit the musang in its midsection. It was the largest target area to aim at.  Blood sputtered on to the wall at its back.  But .22 is a tiny bullet. That's why I have some hollow-points with me, This would make a bigger kill, say, a wild boar, possible. So the musang didn't drop dead straightaway. It jumped into the air, It ran to my right, against the wall there. I fired again. And again, The musang didn't make any sound, but still twisted and turned. I emptied all 10 rounds. It was obviously dead now. Blood was everywhere, on the floor, on the wall.

By this time there were more spectators. My 3 grandchildren now were with their parents, who were there already. The wife also came to watch.

The kitchen was a mess. The musang had knocked down some glass jars, and the contents now covered the floor, mixing with the blood. I put the carcass into a large plastic bag, and put that into another plastic bag because the blood was smeared into the first one. I told Hanif to get rid of the musang, saying it's past midnight, and nobody will see you dumping it in the Sg. Paroi. I told Idah to sweep up the glass and the mess. I said I'll clean up the blood. Idah said she'll turn in now, leaving me to finish the work.

By the time I cleaned up and put on fresh clothes for bed, it was 2 a.m.  It's been two whole hours. But we know there are still two more musangs. And no Musang King.

............................................................................................