Kamarul Shahrin speaks

The E-mail

2012-02-14T01:06:00.000-08:00

The e-mail is so much a part of getting things done now, so much so, it is the necessary gatekeeper for information to be requested and information to be provided. Nowadays, it is not sufficient to just meet with the specific person who holds the information. Information can only be provided when an e-mail is forwarded, signifying a formal request even though the person is sitting next to me. I must be from the old school where words will just suffice to instigate an informative response. I feel like a corporate hillbilly now. Times have changed. I wonder where I can find another company which does not need the e-mail correspondence. The e-mail is an added bureaucracy. FOS at most times.

It rains outside. A second time, this week in Kuala Lumpur. The rain will help to reduce the prevalent dustiness in the air. It does not matter that much to me. I go in and out of air-conditined spaces. The only negative thing is its effect on vehicular traffic movement. KL roads are like clogged intestines during and after a downpour. I cannot really tell where the rectum is actually. I have always avoided peak traffic hour but yesterday, I had accidentally dropped my keys at the PJ Secret Recipe. Silently brooding, my wife (on her birthday) had to drive me to PJ through the thick traffic and back again to Bangsar through the thick traffic. It was no fun for me either when Secret Recipe still registers a telephone nuber which is no longer valid. It was no fun to walk from the office to Bukit Pantai, amidst the dirt and dust and the uncomfortable heat. It was the repercussion from a shallow pocket and a low sofa chair. I had mulled over how not to lose the keys. Hang around neck, insert in hankerchief, hang on chain to trousers and even hang on those places that only see little of the day. What to do. Life is like that. Sometimes we lose things and we get them back and sometimes we don't. I don't mind losing the bad ones, though.

On birthdays and the parting of ways

2012-02-12T21:17:00.000-08:00

Today is my wife's birthday and I was the fiftieth person (so she said) to have wished her a happy birthday. I was not late on the day but rather on the hour. As for myself, I frown on my own birthday. If immortality is what I seek, then I would not care much about the birthdays. However, as it is, we are all mortals and so, the birthday is like the milestone on the perilious journey towards the end. I wonder if everyone else in the world look forward to retirement and old age. Some of course, did not make it and falter along the way, either from cancer, accidents, murder, war or famine. Whatever it is, a birthday is a rejoice of one's entry into the world. I don't remember if I had smiled on coming out from my mother. But my parents insisted that as a baby I was quiet and brooding and minded my own business. I am still like that, more or less. Hmmm..

Speaking of retirement, this year marks the twentieth year of my career in this company. It has been that long. But today, I am happy because my Executive Vice President has agreed to my early retirement. That will be the milestone of event that I have been waiting for, for the past one year. The bird has to go free, the horse brought out to pasture. Of course, there can be many words to describe it. I am elated. I see the open door, and outside it, the expansive plain with some hills over yonder, with birds flying against the blue sky. I see nothing else.

Quaint?

2012-01-08T20:20:00.000-08:00

Crisp was the morning as I drove under the tall trees lining both sides of the winding road after having sent my son to his school. The thought came to mind of the word "quaint". Whenever that word comes to mind, I am brought to the scenario of a small brick cottage with a seasoned chimney on its roof, overlooking a treeless plain at the end of a small path which had crossed a short ancient bridge under which a brook runs. To my mind, that is the definition of the word "Quaint". Somehow, this morning the mind wonders if it can apply the same definition for the road that I was driving on. The trees and the winding road had suggested that, I think. For a few minutes, I argued with the mind that the scenario in front of me could not measure up to the parameters of the current definition of the word quaint. The mind retorted that it could be used for the scene given the calmness and its aloofness from the busyness of life that it had shown. I argued that such was only available intermittently but not permanently as opposed to the small cottage by the brook. It lacked consistency, I added, of displaying the same sentiment all day or for all year. It just happened at the moment in time for the road with the right proportion and combination of sunlight through the trees, a clear blue sky with some clouds and of course the trees. It would not be peaceful once people drive their cars to go to work.

Finally the mind relented and acquisced with my argument because I had been objective with my reasons and so it did not sulk and rant like it would normally do. And so the scenario of that small cottage with the chimney and the brook running beside it has survived another attempt at revision. I doubt that such a scenario really exists but it exists in my mind and that is all that matters. The word "quaint" is the label for the imagination I have of this scenery. Surely it will look timeless but when rationality prevails, I would want the cottage to have internet access with proper utilities and of course, a car by the side. No. These will not be part of the scenery of course. Because it is not going to happen. It is only residing in my mind after all.

Sometimes...

2011-12-16T01:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes there is just cause for lamenting. Imagine going to a meeting with the facts from a Due Diligence Study and being challenged, not on the facts but through negative intonations and statements based on fiction. But I have come across these situations because the persons in front of me have not done what they are supposed to do. It is amazing that some people can seemingly wield the strength to opress and subsequently suppress facts through their capability to talk in condescending manners. But it happens. Stupid people are experts in condescension. It serves no purpose because in the end, the company that they are selling is strewn garbage. I don't buy garbage. Sorry.

I am referring to Mergers & Acquisitions. Lately I have been reminiscing over my past work, rummaging through the old files and documents simply because I have kept them for so long. Most often than not, negotiations at the table have been conducted in the pleasing of manners with proper documentation and justification for arguments and through follow-ups with more documentation. These scenarios quickly fade into oblivion. What really stays in the mind however, are those meetings with fools who have no justification but tons of pride. It is like eating food without consciously knowing in the first instance of putting it in the mouth, that it has been bad. But fools will always exist, in the highest forms, bedecked with names like Director, Financial Controller as such. But they will be fools just the same. I have no time for village idiots who know not that their companies are technically bankrupt and mismanaged. Really, those times of sitting at meetings have been wasted. That is not to say that idiots only exist in M&As. There are many, in departments and divisions each holding on to loose sand and fighting vehemently just so they can emerge from meetings unscathed. Some people build sand castles. Nothing more. And they get paid for that. Sheesh...

Nothing in particular

2011-08-10T00:32:00.000-07:00

I do not have anything to say. But that does not mean that I don't feel strongly on some matters. It is just that, the floor is sparse, and I only see a few alphabets, here and there. They are just not sufficient for me to form sentences or provide some coherence to those sentences. No, it is not one of those days. That would be like sitting on a buttress of a big old tree which has branches low enough to almost touch the ground and on those branches, many leaves forming a natural curtain, so that when the breeze blows, the curtain would raise a little, revealing some activity of life on the outside. But here, in the shade, there is nothing else to do but feel the sporadic breeze on my face and listen to the chirping of the birds. No, it is not happiness. It is a calmness, seemingly of no remorse and no euphoria. Simply being. It is not easy to be simply being. Stones are simply being. Trees, like the old tree that I am sitting down under, is simply being. The breeze which blows on my face is simply being.

You see, there are not many words on the floor. When there are no words, there is no remorse and no euphoria because there are no more words to describe them.

Which Car?

2011-07-18T01:51:00.000-07:00

It has become more difficult to ascertain the reality of things through getting more review material, and in this case, specifically reviews on the car. And in this case, reviews specifically on the BMW and the Jaguar. It is really the case of the elephant and the blind men. Given the same car, every reviewer comes out with differing opinions, so much so, that it is difficult to make one single conclusion. I do wonder, if this applies to all other things as well. I think that I have read more than thirty reviews over the months on the specific 535i and XF. Always, when I am about to make a conclusion which car to consider, there is the criticisms or highlights of the car's deficiencies. So much so, that I have come to the conclusion, thanks to the official and non-official critics, that there is no such thing as a perfect car and that technology is not sufficient to provide the perfect car. As long as there is individualistic thinking, there is no such thing as a good car. The only way to do it is to test drive each one and make conclusions from that. Every other critique is garbage to me.

I like the XF because it has better looks. It has more charisma. To me, it is. Somebody else might differ. But another would say that the 535i is more roadworthy, a more reliable performer. Some say that the 535i has got more power than the XF. Living in this part of the world with undulating roads (not from the terrain but from bad engineering) and few long-distance highways, comfort would reign higher over speed. At least, I qualify that based on my own perception. There a more BMWs on the road while the Jaguar remains a "sometimes" machine. Do we need to look like the rest or stand out from the rest? The answer is of course, obvious. "But the service quality of a Jag is not as good as ours", commented the BMW salesperson to me. That is also a matter of consideration also. If there is not many Jags on the road, its mechanics will not have the adequate exposure to provide good repair work. That is logical, so to say. I like the XF but feel that I am being pushed by rationality towards the 535i. It is a difficult thing.

So where does this end? I really don't know. I do not have the wealthier option for a Maserati or Ferrari. I think that these are cars in their own class. After all, criticism abound when there are similar models. I am back to where I started. Just the other day, I bought another three more magazines on the 535i and the XF. That totals to about eight magazines thusfar, not to mention the numerous references to Youtube and the rest of the web on car reviews. I think it would be simpler to just toss a coin and let it happen. Sigh..

Guru? What Guru?

2011-04-20T00:50:00.000-07:00

I am a sceptic, through and through. Management is a science. It is a frequent sentence written in text books on Management. If it goes by scientific methods, that is. It is also an art. Another frequent sentence written in text books on Management. It is an art when there is no definitive approach to managing. And then there are the "Gurus", supposedly wise teachers who write books on Management. So called, because what is written can hardly be derived from scientific methods. Normally, it comes under the "Art" section. Good reading with case studies. For as long as there are people managing, there will always be different styles of effective management. I am a sceptic when it comes under Art section. I am a sceptic when authors I do not know well enough, seemingly write books and impose their ideas to the public. When I come across e-mails from colleagues of what a Management guru is saying, I view their words as nothing more than an advertorial. Advertisements, in the form of words, designed to bring the reader's interest and awe. There was one e-mail about a statement by this author that executives should not whine. Whining is an emotional complaint of a management action or procedure that does not make logical sense. Executives don't whine unless there is something wrong with the way the Management has done something or if there is an incomplete comprehension of the procedure due to an embargo on information. If executives don't whine, no grievance, then you don't need people to run the business. The author's statement does not make any sense. It is entirely ludicrous, to even expect that people should not whine. Unless of course, the author sees himself as a part of management. I wonder, how many authors out there, have the requisite experience to even write about management. As long as there are fools who cannot know the difference, there will always be a management author who will write nonsense.

When Dreams become real

2011-04-19T18:34:00.000-07:00

I think that in each person, there are aspirations which are not totally in view but remain latent, hidden, smaller than applets, pixel-size even, of wants, of wishes. When the mind perceives of the impossibility of achieving these wishes, it ensures that the dots remain as they are. However, when there is a greater possibility of success in achieving them, they show themselves, in the form of ambitions, in the form of objectives. What would go on in the mind of a poor man? Would he have the dreams and the wishes of having a big house or houses and cars and expensive stuff? Of course, he should, within. If he plods through life, without as much as having the possibility, they will possibly remain as they are. If not, they will become like thorns, inspiring jealousy and bitterness for those who have them. I believe that without any likelihood, without any perceived chance of getting, the ordinary person will just keep his wishes as hidden, like cells without life, without light, without relevance. Perhaps, I am only referring to myself and this opinion may not be applicable to others. I don't really care but I am surmising here. Now, if the poor man, meaning, a person who is economically deficient, without a potential surplus, has been given the real possibility of having an economic surplus, his wishes will take form and he will begin to visualise the possibilities. What's my point here? Well, we may visualise what is already a near possibility but not before that. I am trying to find the equation. There are just so many self-help books on shelves, in bookstores, perused and bought and read by just so many people, ever hopeful of achieving their dreams. This is the secret, the author will say. Another will say, one will need to visualise. One will say, one must believe and so on and so on. But how many people will achieve their dreams based on the inspiring books that they have read? Is there a statistical research on this? Can there be an establishment of a probability profile of readers who have read and succeeded in their lives from reading self-help books? That would be good. At the very least, we can ascertain the effectiveness of a self-help book. I wonder, how many people have been deluded into buying and reading and believing in one thing and then, having gone through the process of going according to the recommendations of the book and not getting any results, to visit yet again, the bookshelf with the self-help books and repeat the same process again. I wonder. I do wonder, how some authors must have achieved their ambitions through creating some ambiguous principles of success and putting them down into books for the gullible and the consistently-deluded to enrich them.

Year of the Rabbit

2011-02-01T10:27:00.000-08:00

The Associated Press wrote that among key predictions for the new year beginning Feb. 3: terrorist threats, continuing tensions between China and the United States, natural disasters around the world and wobbly global markets. Events such as these could have been predicted using trend forecasting. It is not difficult. It is nothing new. The world is dying; we all know it. Natural disasters will happen and global markets will be affected by natural disasters. Tensions between countries will happen and wars cost money and that also significantly impacts the global markets. Markets rise and fall as they always do, and only the very few know where it will go, with sufficient information.

Most importantly, to know, is to locate the exact location of the natural disasters. Markets will always be wobbly, interdependency from the depency on common currencies, dependence on external labour productivity on the basis of widening the profit margin and dependence on external commodities. Price and cost differentials have provided for cross border trading and with it, economic interdependencies.

Forecasting is easy if the fortune teller keeps updated on current events and previous events; like question spotting for the A level examinations. Almost anyone can say it. Yes, there will be natural disasters. There will never be a year without one. There will never be a year without a country going against another. There will never be a year without wobbly global markets. There will never be a year without a fortune teller telling that calamities will befall. So there.

Is work a way of life?

2011-01-26T20:21:00.000-08:00

Is work a way of life? That was the question my mind posed to me this morning, as I saw the vehicles on the roads, bumper to bumper, with clear intentions of reaching the respective offices in time. It looks like it. Working is a life. It is not strange, it is not different, it is life. Almost everyone works. It is not only about making a living, but it is about living a life in work. And when the life of work is done, there is the life of retirement. And when that is done too, there is the life of no life.

Lesson in humility or lesson in humiliation?

2011-01-25T18:14:00.000-08:00

I do not know what prompted me to remember the incident that happened in 1983 this morning. It is something that still bothers me. It was my first job, in a cable manufacturing company. I reported to the CFO, a Chinese, Foo was his name, I think and he was all what you may imagine to be for an Accountant - bespectacled, thin and pale, hair parted by the side of the head. On that particular day, my first day of work as an Accounts Executive, I sat by my desk. He asked to see me and I stepped into his office. "I can see that you are quite artistic", he said, although he could not possibly see that as I had not done anything tangible that could lead to a person thinking that I was artistic. I presumed he was being sarcastic.

"Here is what I want you to do", he said. "You see those brass plates out there on the desks of the senior officers? I will ask my secretary to bring those plates for you to polish", he said.

So, on the very first day of my work, in an office where clerical staff reported to me, I sat on the chair with a polishing cloth and a Brasso, to polish the brass name plates of the senior officers. The question here is, was the CFO trying to give me a lesson in humility? Or was he trying to give me a lesson in humiliation? I am more skewed towards the latter. The spectacle of me cleaning the brass plates, obviously affected the clerical staff, so that I could feel I lost their respect. Having two professional degrees did not seem to jive with the janitor's work of polishing brass plates. I took the task without complaints, without being vocal about it. Perhaps, the CFO wanted to break my ego, whatever that was that he noticed. I do not remember I have an ego. But being awarded the best student in Accounting in the Commonwealth certainly would have provided the platform for such. Since that fateful day, I could not manage my staff well. They could not get that polishing out of their minds.

I worked for a month before tendering my resignation. My resignation attracted the attention of the CEO, a British engineer. He was respectful and called me into his office for a discussion. He wanted to know why a person like me would want to resign. So I told him of what the CFO had asked me to do on my first day of work and his recurring sarcasms from day to day. The CEO openly acknowledged the fact that the CFO was a racist. There had been complaints of him from other Malay employees.

It was not a lesson in humility after all. The CEO asked me to reconsider but I gently refused, citing all other reasons like difficulties in travelling to work and all. Such is the Malay way of turning down an offer. In a way, my decision to leave was pretty good. I made the right choice despite losing the potential income in the company. It was a small company. The CFO found it exhilarating when the company made the first million. That was how small it was. I got a better job as Group Budget Accountant in a listed company and a better income. Still, I could not forget that Foo, the racist CFO. I still harbour that bitterness, a bitterness that could only be quelled if I can only pee on his grave. Further down the road, I have met a few more of those like Foo. I took these things in stride, going beyond the skin to the individual. There will always be people like Foo. But then there will always be other people who are not racists. Like my old friend who died recently, the late CK Loh. CK Loh shared his experience with me one day. He lost a maintenance contract with a Chinese customer because the customer insisted that he remove the Malay employees from his IT company. Loh stood by his principles but lost the contract. That was a significant thing to do.

My brother Sam told me one day. If we do not know a person, we are likely to judge the person according to our influenced perception of him as a person of another race. And he or she is likely to do the same to you. However, if we get to know each other and become friends, we are likely to forget the bigotry.

Whatever it was, my life is certainly better than Foo. For I do not have what his small mind has.

Cause of Teoh’s death unknown - The Star

2011-01-05T19:59:00.000-08:00

The Star reported "The lengthy Teoh Beng Hock inquest ended with coroner Azmil Muntapha Abas ruling that the political aide did not commit suicide. Azmil Muntapha, however, also said there was insufficient evidence to prove that Teoh’s death was homicide".

At most times, I think in terms of binary rationality, that if a parameter does not fit, then it must be the other. One or Zero. Yes or No. The coroner's statement above is perplexing, suicide was not committed by Teoh. And so, to my mind, his death must have been brought about by an external party. If you don't die from your own actions, then you must have died from other people's actions, in that context. So, it is perplexing indeed. Perhaps, I have been watching too many CSI shows, if there had been a murder, there should be a murderer. That is how I tend to see things.

But then, I cannot manage to grasp a conclusion. Teoh's death did not reach the classification of murder. It is somewhere in the space between the words suicide and murder. Death was the certainty but its cause is not. I am confounded by the apparent ambiguity in the equation. It scares me as it is not just about the case, but about the ambiguity in determining the murder. It tells me that it can happen to just about any Malaysian. Yes, I am afraid. If science cannot explain it, then it will normally categorise it as paranormal until such time, that it can be explained by science. So, is Teoh's death paranormal? I dare to stand firm by my opinion, until such time that the coroner classifies Teoh's death as murder. And I have sufficient cause to worry.

One can die from paranormal activity here. I can be in a building in one minute and in the next minute, I will be falling out through the window, meeting death on the pavement. Paranormal indeed. I have a firm reason to be afraid. Of what can become of future deaths. Not suicide but not murder. It can happen to you.

At least 60 people plan suicide every day

2011-01-05T17:21:00.000-08:00

Today's Star mentioned that Counselling centres in the country receive more than 60 calls each day from people contemplating suicide, according to China Press. In a front-page special report, the paper said the number reveals that many people are being subjected to problems related to finance, marriage and family.

It is understandable, given that the banking environment in Malaysia is more prudent and risk averse and will not provide the financial assistance to just about anybody. In this country, if a person is in high debt or without a job, he or she will not be able to obtain the financial assistance from banks. Once a person defaults on a credit card or a personal loan, no matter how small, it will be registered amongst the banking community and here is where the problem commences.

This is not a welfare-state, almost everything here has a price. Even to go to work has a price. There is the toll to pay to use the road and there is always the exorbitant parking rates. If a person does not have medical insurance, provided by his employer or through his own means, there is money to pay for sickness and maternity. Nothing is free here. The only thing that is free is probably a smile.

So, what is a person with financial constraints to do? Can a counsellor really talk a person out of suicide over money-matters when there is possibly nothing that can be done to arrest the financial situation? One can only talk so much over the phone to someone whose situation is real, not imaginary. Depression is in the mind, but money matters is real. Often times, a person cannot see the road; the alternative route. It would be easier if the banking institutions and the Government can collaborate to not only reduce non-performing loans and suicide but at the same time provide a higher margin of tolerance for people who are in need of finance. There has got to be a way, nothing is impossible in this world, save for bringing someone back from the dead.

More often than not, marriages are also risk averse, being part of the equation of having adequate finance. Without finance, marriages can fail. Wifes can also be like banks. Risk averse. No money, no wife. Everything has a connection. The report is right that money, marriage and family are the problems.

I am not an advocate of suicide, far from it, but a person, being a member of the community and the Government and the banks being members of the community, efforts should go beyond mere counselling to establish a new machinery which addresses the real and material issues affecting the suicidal person.

Oh

2010-12-19T22:19:00.000-08:00

I was attending the Old Edwardians dinner last night and a school junior asked, what I did for a living. I stuttered for a while, as I rummaged through my mind, to find a specific name for the work that I do. My work stretches a wide spectrum, from business transformation, to analysis, to regulatory advice and tax to feasibility studies. I was uncertain of which category of work to say, so I said "I am an Analyst". "Oh" he said, and that was that. I could have explained it more, but mildly resisted the attempt. I did not regret not bringing my business card. There was no need to distribute business cards. I could have said Special Projects but I chose Analyst. It is an endearing term to me, for what describes me more than anything else. Analysis has always been my passion although I have reached a level where I can do everything excepting the sales part.

I could have brought my camera to the school reunion, but I did not. The "so what?" thingy was in my head. I was looking for aesthetics in images. I would not be able to find any in people consciously posing for the camera. Regardless, cameras are aplenty nowadays and so there were many flashes from many cameras.

Photography Books

2010-12-09T20:06:00.000-08:00

The continued global growth of the consumer market in digital cameras has brought with it the proliferation of books on photography. The growing consumer market on digital cameras has ensured the continuance of wide readership on photography. In KL, Kinokuniya has the largest stock of books on this topic. Before the advent of digital photography, books of this nature normally number about 10 on any book store. Now, there are simply rows of shelves with books on lighting, exposure, composition, wedding, HDR and portraiture.

However, at one time, I too was an avid reader of books and magazines on photography. Now, I have realised much to my disappointment from the loss of funds from buying useless books, that not all books and magazines on photography are educational. Some are merely composed of good images on pages, with scant instructions on how to achieve those images. Basically most people have been conned, especially for those who are new at photography and want to learn more to achieve with their cameras. The techniques are not comprehensive. Most books provide the same topics but in different words on the sectors of landscape, still photography, portraits and weddings. How the image is achieved is not thoroughly explained. There should be a catalogue on photography books to rank the books and magazines in order of effectiveness. It will certainly assist the potential buyers on what to look out for and what not to buy. In the cinematic film industry, there are the A grade movies and there are the B grade movies. Photography books are also like these. Somehow, grading needs to be done.

Be that as it may, the time to learn has to end for the photographer to evolve on his own. The school has to close. Graduation must happen and all that is left, should just be the photographer and his camera.

Kodak Hawkeye Flashfun

2010-12-07T19:33:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, I was in Taiping to meet up with my parents and also to leave my two boys there with their cousin. It is a first time for them to stay there for the next two weeks and that would give them time to connect with my parents and learn a thing or two about living life.

While there, I leafed through the photo albums at my parents' house in Taiping especially the ones in black and white. I could learn a thing or two about composition from my father, who was a prolific photographer in his younger days. I found this picture, of a young boy, hair plastered to his head from the Tancho haircream, black plastic-framed spectacles hiding out most of his eyes and he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt with some designs of musical instruments, short pants from which spindly legs came out and he wore ankle-high moccasins and white socks. His left hand held a plastic strap and the strap went down low, almost touching the ground and at the end of it, was a plastic camera. Behind him, was the old Subang Airport. That camera had some blue colour to it while the rest was in black. I could remember the colours from the memory that was initiated from looking at the picture. That was me, in 1971. The pictures I took of the airport were blurry then, from the inadequacy of the plastic and fixed focus lens and the limited ISO capability. That was my first camera. To advance to the next film frame, one would have to crank a ribbed wheel at the top of the camera until it could not turn anymore.

I had thought that I was 14 when I got my first camera but actually, that Kodak camera was my second. This was the first and I was 11 years old then. The Kodak camera gave sharper pictures. As a Scout, I used to go camping and I would bring the Kodak to take pictures of my colleagues at the campsite. This Kodak was a plastic boxy gadget which was narrow at the base and high at the height. It would be like the modern camera but vertical with the viewfinder in the side middle. The bottom half of it was in light brown to pink while the top half was in silver. The top half had the place for the putting in the flash bulb. The camera ran on batteries and the trigger was placed at the side and one had to use the index finger to push it down so that the picture can be taken. I ran through this Kodak Collector's website http://www.nwmangum.com/Kodak/ and managed to know that it was a Hawkeye Flashfun which was manufactured between 1961 to 1967. Kudos to the Kodak collector for the information!

It is amazing that the pictures, though in black and white can initiate the remembrance of memories in colour. And for a while, I could remember that day, the sounds and colours. I don't remember where the camera went but there was a long period between leaving school to enter university until 1985 when I revived the hobby again.

PEMANDU

2010-12-05T20:12:00.000-08:00

Permanently Enslaved Mentality And Nurtured Debilitating Unrest. PEMANDU. No, I am just squibbling. There is no meaning to it. Is that the right word? Maybe. MYR 36 million to the consultants. Justified, of course it is. Anybody can just about justify anything nowadays. Of course, I am thinking it from my own perspective. My career has provided me with working with consultants. At one time, there was the same consultant who advised that we should not invest outside of the Asia Pacific but to limit our investment strategies to only the countries within the region. Somehow, no one questioned the consultant on the time frame. Recommendations are provided based on current facts and future expectations based on current facts. Circumstances do change. What is a recommendation now, is simpLy pure idiocy in the next two years. As expected, there was no time frame provided and the gullible management accepted it. However, one sees every other operator investing every where else. By limiting ourselves to a small room, we have unwittingly enslaved our mentalities within a limited scope of business expansion. The consultant did not give a time frame nor was it ever asked to justify with research facts on how this should be so. All I have seen are powerpoint presentations. Anyone can put words on a powerpoint slide and speak with much confidence in the presentation. I have seen mistakes and lies and I have seen gullible people accepting lies and mistakes as gospel truths.

In the past we had never depended on consultants. We managed fine and with better performance. Having a consultant is like having to pay someone to nail the coffin shut with you inside. I am weary of consultants with the powerpoint slides and with nothing else to show.

Now, there is some unrest. "We need to have Mergers & Acquisitions!" Somebody said vociferously, from the unrest of seeing no additional profitability other than pathetically surviving on organic growth. Another person came and said the same thing and with the same fervour. "We need to have Mergers and Acquisitions!" And it felt like it was sang in the same fervour as witch hunting. True enough, somebody came to me for advice on M&A. So I said, "M&A is just the vehicle, an engine for the achievement of a strategic objective. So what is your strategic objective?". Of course, that query could not be answered. There was never any real strategy for the past four years and the person responsible for it is now in PEMANDU. It worries me, no doubt. If a football player from a small village is so bad at football, how is it that he can be appointed to play football for the country? It worries me. Mind you, I am not referring to Idris Jala.

Sigh

2010-12-05T19:11:00.000-08:00

Sighing is the action of whispering a sadness or discontentment through the heaving of an out breath through the nose and mouth. That would be the closest I can describe a sigh. I sighed when I saw that the Stationmaster's Office at the Taiping Railway yard was no longer there, demolished to oblivion for the sake of modernisation. I sighed because there could have been alternative actions to accommodate the historical relic, the legacy of the train service in the early years. It brings home to mind that, what is left of Taiping is its Lake Garden. Certainly the shady trees lining the Station Road have all but gone, decapitated to mere buttresses. Certainly, the old buildings have been left to rot. The Stationmaster's Office could have been relocated. I hope that this had been done. At least, I have the photographs of the office taken over the years. Perhaps, I am just about the only person to have it.

It brings home to mind, the understanding of tourism. Are we on the same page as tourists? When I go to a certain place, I would like to know how that place came to be through its history and through the legacy left behind through historical artifacts. I don't come to a place to admire a hotel or to have fine dining. I come to a place to have a feel of what was before and what it has become. Certainly, the Taiping Town Council has a warped sense of comprehension. I am sure these people have gone to Universities and graduated and were capable of having some sense of reasoning, however peanut-sized the capability is. Are all these bureaucrats apathetic? I should think so. No, I would like to think so, because I cannot find a logical reason to explain the apparent absurdity. I sigh because I had hoped that the right people should be in the right places of authority but it is not happening. I wish for a better government with the right people. I am still waiting, though. Nothing much has changed. I need to sigh again. Sigh.

Twits and twats

2010-12-01T20:06:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine, was deeply engrossed in twittering. Every now and then, his Blackberry tinkled and in response, he would look, smile and thumb into the BB. He was not alone. My wife does that too. But for this friend of mine, I asked what the purpose was, this twittering. He replied, that it was about being known, being part of something, being knowledgable on happenings as they occur within his group of twitters. It was also the same for Facebook, he said. Basically, it gets down to letting known, in words, what you are thinking of, I thought. But thoughts as they are, are also volatile, and subject to change with changing circumstances. Thoughts put into words, become obsolete but remain, thus as words which could define what a person is supposed to be, although the circusmstances have changed. Real-time texting also requires real-time reassessment, when the need arises. Real time insults bring on real time reactions. But of course, twittering is about inconsequential matters or issues. Or is it? I don't know. I don't twitter but I facebook occasionally. I would rather be invisible to the world and pander to my own thoughts. Noise. If everyone has nothing else but radios, then we will hear the chatter of radios. It gets into the mind. Twittering is to me, also like radios. The twitter is engaged in noise, of responding to trivialities on a per minute basis. So what exactly is left for the mind to ponder if it keeps on twittering? Can business decisions be made from twittering? Can a fundamental decision be made from twittering? I don't know. I am not a twitter. But it is noise in some way. It intrudes into person to person engagements. It would be like to talking to someone in a room and every other minute, the person you are talking to, keeps opening the door. Though I don't twitter, I am also affected. My thought patterns in conversations encounter road bumps every now and then. Talking no longer becomes enjoyable with a twittering friend. So what is left for me to do would be to find non-twittering friends to enjoy conversations with. I am sure that, at the end of the day, I will get the significant news from the news channel anyway. I would prefer to be anonymous to the BB world. This world is already noisy as it is. It comes to mind, though. Should there be a gender classification of the twitter? If I can call a male twitter a twit, can I call a female twitter, a twat? So, now we should have twits and twats bringing more noise to the world. Before you jump, "twat" means travelling wave amplifier tube. It does describe the woman. Really.

On Travelling

2010-11-22T01:28:00.000-08:00

Travel rejuvenates and excites. It is that small window which opens and one gets to climb through it and be outside for a while, even for a moment, to forget and discard current responsibilities. Travel incurs expenditure, but that is quickly forgotten, once out the window, once on new terrain. Travel brings fresh questions on life, of the variety of it, of Mankind, of so many souls and lives entirely different and differently lived. Even for a while, travel is a fresh breath of air, even if debt is incurred, even if the credit card companies prepare to print their bills to send in envelopes, with urgent reminders of repayment. There is so much to see, so much to feel and so much to capture of little memories, etched from encounters with the reality of new places and people. There is so much of presses of the camera trigger, to capture moments which linger only for seconds and not replicated again. To experience life is to travel, to move around, to board the plane, sit on narrow seats, eat tasteless food with plastic forks and knives and to linger at airport terminals, ride buses and taxis and walk for miles along streets. Life is short, finance is much shorter and I dream of travelling ever more. There is so much to see, so much to experience, so much to see of legacies left behind from the people of yore. I wish it will happen again. I wish I can interact again with citizens of new places, to appreciate their architecture, learn a smattering of new language, eat their food and see how and where they live. I sigh now, as I am back. The small window is closed for now. I am back with my cameras, my memory cards, some souvenirs, some fleeting memories, in this place I call home. I hope the window will open again. Sigh.

THE MEANING OF THE BEE IN THE CUP

2010-10-11T21:01:00.000-07:00

It cannot be any other insect but the bee. The bee is always in search of the nectar, like man is to knowledge. The bee is a communal insect, like Man is to his society. Therefore, the Bee signifies Man.

“Coffee” when taken in small amounts is nice to the taste but coffee is actually a poison to Man when taken in large amounts. Coffee here resembles knowledge. Coffee originated from the Sufis and it was drunk to enable the mind to think more clearly.

“One could of course present discussion papers and hold lectures and write books on why this insect should or should not be a bee. One could possibly enact laws and a regulatory framework to regulate the definition of a bee” - shows the disposition of Man to contradict each other on one single truth, thus wasting time.

“as the world then was constantly being created and recreated in nanoseconds” - describes what life is in this world. It is being created and recreated but we are not aware of it. The Tablet of Destiny is constantly being written, not static like other people would want to think. This explains the continuous attempts by the Jinns to read it. It changes as choices are made by each individual. Certain things have been fixed to occur, as you know but the Tablet is not static. It is dynamic and will change. Like the wise man who could “transport” the palace to Solomon. It was not transportation but a small change in reality through the knowledge of things. “A blink of an eye” is likened to maybe a few nanoseconds.

Coffee in a cup signifies the smallness of knowledge and that Man is caught in it, struggles with this limitation of knowledge until it cannot free itself. Left to his own device, the Man struggles with this knowledge until he dies - “struggling in the murky water with its legs vainly, attempting to escape its death. Coffee in the cup signifies the smallness of this knowledge but it too can kill Man. “It would live for a while, but eventually, it would die, like all things should”. Man struggles with this small knowledge, yet is entrapped within by the knowledge until one day, he dies without achieving the whole truth.

“I took the cup, raised it a little and tipped it, so that the bee and its contents fell into used tissue papers on a paper plate and the plate sat at the centre of the round table.” When the cup is tipped, Man thinks of the causative factor but not the Divine intervention which had made the cup empty its contents. Man only thinks that the cup was tipped. His knowledge is limited to when the cup is tipped. Man therefore considers himself fortunate to be saved due to the Cup being tipped. Man’s knowledge cannot extend to why the cup has tipped, he can speculate but he will not be able to determine its part in the scheme of things. “Bee on tissue” is likened to Man having safely returned to safety but like the used tissue, life in this world is weak and will eventually disintegrate. “Round table” signifies the world.

“To the bee, I would not fulfill its own definition of the human being because I was so near that I appeared very big. It could recognise a human being if it could see that person from afar and that person fulfilled all logical equations to be defined as a human being. From near, it could possibly deduce that I was the sky”. God can be so near but not discernible to Man.

When the bee was gently blown from another intervention, “but even the gentleness carried it a further away” signifies his furtherance from the reality or truth even when God has intervened. But from the intervention of God for the second time, Man manages to free his wings and be able to fly but still does not perceive that God has helped him in his endeavour.

I Saved a Bee Which Dropped into my Coffee

2010-10-07T08:54:00.000-07:00

In this instance, a description of the place and time does not matter and is of no consequence. I could be at my house or any other place, alone or with people, as these are matters which were of no consequence to the incident at hand. But it happened yesterday. You see, there was a bee which fell into my coffee. I could infer that it was a bee because it looked like a black ant with burnt orange stripes across its abdomen. That would be my definition of a bee. Of course, any other person would have defined it in a different way but still arrive at the conclusion that it was a bee. Still, another person would want to argue that this was not a bee but a wasp or another insect. One could go on to meet and argue and discuss and disagree with each other on the definition of a bee. One could of course present discussion papers and hold lectures and write books on why this insect should or should not be a bee. One could possibly enact laws and a regulatory framework to regulate the definition of a bee. It would not matter which way or the other, as in my definition, it was to me, a bee even as the world then was constantly being created and recreated in nanoseconds. It dropped into my coffee and that was that. And for a while, while my friends were talking and laughing and gesturing, I watched it struggling in the murky water with its legs vainly, attempting to escape its death. It would live for a while, but eventually, it would die, like all things should.

While the people were still talking and gesturing, I took the cup, raised it a little and tipped it, so that the bee and its contents fell into used tissue papers on a paper plate and the plate sat at the centre of the round table. For the bee, of course, it now had the opportunity to free itself from this certain death. Of course, the bee would not be able to see who had saved it. It could simply deduce logically that the cup had tilted and because of that it was able to save itself. It would not be able to discern my presence, because then, in its eyes, I would be so big that I would fill its entire vision of the sky. To the bee, I would not fulfill its own definition of the human being because I was so near that I appeared very big. It could recognise a human being if it could see that person from afar and that person fulfilled all logical equations to be defined as a human being. From near, it could possibly deduce that I was the sky. Any other bee, with a different set of experiences, would of course, disagree on the matter and would have placed me as a human being. The bees could of course gather together and discuss and argue and disagree on the definition of a human being. They could write books on the subject and books discussing the books being written about the definition of the human being. They could possibly enact laws and regulations to regulate the definition of a human being. It would not matter which way or the other to that bee, as in its definition, I was just the sky.

So there it was on the used white tissue and I looked at it intently and closely that I could almost touch it with my nose. Other than the place and its people, nobody noticed this odd relationship between a bee and myself. It picked itself up and with its legs, began to preen itself. For the coffee had stuck to its body and it would not be able to fly just yet. It reminded me of a cat preening itself. It cleansed itself well. By putting its lower leg into its mandible or mouth, it then proceeded to rub this lower leg on its body and its antennae. This it did with each leg. But the coffee was still stuck on its membranous wings and it would still be unable to fly. So, getting as close as possible, I decided to intervene and gently blew on the little insect but even the gentleness carried it a further away. Unfazed, and still oblivious to my presence and my intervention, it preened itself again and finally, it was able to part its wings. Of course, the people above it, were still talking and gesturing, completely oblivious to the presence of a little insect. Finally, the bee was able to fly again and it did. So, I saved a bee which had dropped into my coffee.

D3S

2010-01-14T03:56:00.000-08:00

On Religion and the Review of the Nikon D3s

2010-01-13T09:39:00.000-08:00

I went out to the bookstore at Bangsar Shopping Complex today, hoping that I could get a magazine or two that had done reviews of the new Nikon D3S. Instead I came across reviews of the Nikon D3000 and the D300S. I could offer the most likely guess that I was merely reflecting basic human nature by needing to read about something that I had just acquired in order to enhance or deepen my conviction that the D3S was a good professional camera to work with.

Speaking of this particular piece of human nature, I could recall vividly the other day, a day after the new year, on light discussions I have had with my old school friend, Travis on the debates that his senior school friends had brought out on the validity of religion. I am not particularly keen on discussing religion amongst friends but he insisted just to hear my casual opinion on the issues. I would deem it as casual as I was not able to quote the exact sources on the opinions. Perhaps, with more research and analysis, and documentation, I would be able to put forward my opinions. The issues are not that important to me, and so, I have forgotten them or rather chose to forget them for mentioning here. His old friends had relied on books written by learned people or people perceived to be learned in the ways of religion and they had gone at length and for so many days or perhaps months, to argue and agree with one another. Based on what I have heard from Travis, I could only provide my personal opinion that they were relying on books to strengthen their own views or opinions on what the tenets of religion should be. Travis had casually referred to me, and I had answered, after much casual debate on certain issues, touching ever so slightly, that it was our human nature to read on books or rely on information to strengthen our beliefs or opinions. As again I am using casualness here because I was not about to enter the fray where the believers, the disbelievers and the agnostic were in the same field. To enter the field, one would need to have some form of rules, like playing football for instance. Only then, the game could be played coherently. It would be hard to describe an orange in my hand to another person who is holding an apple. Even if we are on the same platform, perceptions vary and it is human nature to conclude from perceptions. Like a friend of mine had said, he would believe in God if he could see a ghost. When I offered to create the possibility of him seeing a ghost, he withdrew. In essence, then it was not about wanting to see a ghost to affirm the existence of God. He just did not want to, perhaps.

For my part, I had avoided reading books written by learned people or people perceived to be learned, because I am still learning the Book as provided by God. For I am fully aware that for hundreds of years debates had carried on, on issues perceived to be central to the strength of one’s faith. Each of us, would have been conditioned by our life experiences and people to come out with our opinions on what should be. To me, every person can write a book about a single thing, like the blind men with the elephant and each person would have learned in their fields, gone through universities, and demonstrated the most rational of minds, to provide or write a book about the elephant in his own interpretation. Even then, each of us may not be entirely right.

I on the other hand, perceived the issues brought out by Travis’s friends as not central to the foundation of faith. Sometimes, it is human nature to forget about the essence of light that issues from a light bulb while looking at other things which had been illuminated by the light bulb. Each of them is looking for the justifications to validate their own lifestyles. That is the bottom line to all the debates. My perception is that they are feeling guilty and they need some documentation to put their conscience to rest. Truly, we each want to read something to strengthen our beliefs or opinions. A lot of people think that God is imposing. Like a father to his child, of course, the father would want his child to do things that will not harm him. Like "Don’t cross the road!" or "Don’t drink alcohol, it is not good for you". Others perceive Him as revengeful and punishing. However, if He is all those, then the verses would have commenced with words of admonishment. Like a son to his father, of course, he should show the uttermost respect and accept the words of warning, perhaps nodding his head. But then again, there are people who elaborate on the words of God to make Him look punishing and revengeful and all. Like some people had said to me, some people need the stick to move on and others need the carrot to move on. It took me many years to shed that perception I had of Him as revengeful and punishing and now that I perceive Him as forgiving and loving, life indeed has improved quite a lot. A lot of people forget that God is not wanting. He has no need of our prayers and our conduct but that these are for our own good.

Religion is a way of life to me. They were harping on the possibility that Man, through the clergy, the ulamas manipulated the principles of religion to achieve the means to control the others. Manipulation will fail if each person maintains that responsibility to know his religion deeply. It is a fundamental requirement to not be ignorant. For example, if a person without experience in photography is given a Nikon D3S, he would still need a Nikon manual to know how to use the camera. Without the manual, it would be difficult for him to optimise his images. He can still shoot the pictures without the manual, but he will not be able to know what the dials and the buttons are for and to render images in better colours or focus. He may not be able to know when to replace the compact flash card when it is already full. He may not be able to know when to use the shutter priority or when and where to lock exposure control. He may not even know where the focussing knob is or what that illuminated red rectangle in the viewfinder is. Without the manual, he will have to rely on other knowledgeable people to assist him in understanding how to use the camera. And other people may not teach him properly on how to use the camera because they may not be fully knowledgeable. Even with the manual, there will be no ready answers to achieve beautiful images, that is something he will need to use with the camera over so many days and months to experience shooting the camera. The camera is just a tool and it is the photographer himself who makes the shots of beautiful pictures.

Religion if perceived as a way of life, needs to be experienced over the course of one’s life. Like photography. It is not a recipe book to be used once in a while. Like life, living the religion is not a static matter. Like my cameras. I evolve to a higher end camera. Further more, it is a guideline for each person to carve his own personal way to meet up with God. For He has truly said that He was a hidden treasure and to know, in order to see, one needs to have some form of knowledge that has been imparted from an honest source.

On my part I could not offer the documented support or the justification to go against or support the opinions or beliefs that his friends had conjured. Life is just too short to enter into debates. I would prefer to utilise my brain to achieve the happiness and contentment that I need, not to stir the water so to say. What is dear to me, is my relationship with God with my own thoughts, through my questions to Him as if He resides in my own heart. By keeping my voice quiet and my thoughts clear and empty, I can at times, do feel and see the answers that would come my way with the questions that I had just posted to my mind. Because it is also human nature to argue and rant about someone had written this and that, based on facts, I do keep my thoughts to myself, because religion though a communal aspect, is also a private matter. I hold fast to that Book, that lamp with the light and I forget about the rest. The last words in the discussion as said by Travis was that if I had been right all along, then all of them, including himself would be doomed. However, I would expect that the people who choose to debate, would at least fulfill the basic requirements of religion before embarking into the wrestling ring. Like extending a rope to God for example, before arguing on the trivialities. Like praying for example. I think it is also an aspect of human nature, to expect those close to us in that social circle, to believe the same things. Man is indeed communal, people choose social circles that only reinforces their beliefs and opinions. It is that simple.

I really do not care about who believes what just as long as he or she does not impose his or her beliefs on me unless I ask for it. Other people may perceive me as selfish but I do so because I do not want to impose. Well, enough of this debate thing. That is one of the main reason why I avoid reading the Old Edwardians forum. It would be like listening to blind men discussing about the elephant. If they read this, of course, they will waste no time to criticise me for being apathetic or at best, ignorant of the issues.

Just as I was then, at the bookstore, hoping to catch that magazine that would provide the review on the Nikon D3S which would bring me the comfort I expect. Except from Nikon itself which provided the reviews from two professional photographers from its website supplemented with beautiful images I can only imagine I can make. Even my review will be severely limited because it is drawn from my experience of using Nikon cameras. Now to get on with the review, since I have Googled reviews and found each review to be limited on the Nikon D3S. For a start, using the D3S is a seamless transition if one had been using other Nikon DSLR cameras before. I had been using the D100, D200 and the D300, and so, the D3S did not actually jump out of its gold-tinted box to actually strangle my mind into inept confusion. The dials, the modes and the functions are very much similar. I would say that I hit the ground running when I began taking shots with the Nikon D3S.

The other thing that is indeed a significant difference is that the D3S is fully functional at high ISOs. I am not saying that the D300 and the ones below it, are not functional per se, but that the D3S offers no complaints at high ISOs with split second focussing. There is simply no struggle and no grunts there for the camera to focus and when it does, the images look like they have been taken in the daytime with very little noise. Pixel noise is very minimal, as a matter of fact, I could not find any noise at all and there were no colour spills at the edges. For night in-house shots with illumination from tungsten lamps, I have cranked the ISO up to 2,000 and I get good sharp pictures without noise at all. I certainly cannot achieve that with the D300. Previously I had blamed the lenses for being too slow to focus but now, I know better. The focus depends on the camera. High ISOs with very little noise offers a fresh new avenue to be creative with images under low lighting conditions. For a start I cranked the camera to a very high ISO and screwed an infra-red filter to my Nikkor lens. Whilst previously I would not be able to focus at all using the D300, the D3S just focussed and took the shots. Even I could not see anything through the viewfinder and yet the camera was able to see and focus and take the shots. It is amazing. With much more time and place, I would be able to be more creative with infra-red photography, since it is now possible.
　
I noticed that the sound of the shot taken by the D3S is much different from other Nikons. There appeared to be no prolonged flapping sound to it, more of a crisp business-like matter-of-fact shot. I tried the continuous shooting as well, and there were no arguments there, just business-like matter-of-fact shots. Cool. There is a Q-setting at the top dial, to render silent shots but then, the shutter sound can still be heard. Putting in the Q-setting as in Quiet setting disabled the sound of the beeps from the focussing. Truthfully I still like the cricket sounds.

The colour rendition by the D3S is also exceptional. The colours appear to be more deeper compared to the Nikon D200 and D300. I have no more need to enhance my images through providing higher contrasts, as the colours are just sufficient. Even if I use the Standard mode. I can still tweak the Standard mode with more saturation and sharpness to get to the Vivid mode though. It would depend on how the photographer wants it. I for one, require that the images are colour deep and crystal sharp with a darker tinge. I am always looking for pensive and retrospective moods in my images. It is a subjective matter and like the D300, 200 and 100, it offers the same tweaking matters like hue, sharpness and saturation necessary for the photographer to customise to his own liking. I have tweaked sharpness and saturation but not quite hue. I still cannot fathom the idea of tweaking the hue. Books I bought on the D200 and D300 have been silent on the hue except for some single sentence mention. Like the books, I am also providing a single liner for the hue. Perhaps, the hue would be good for creative photography on the sly like reproducing colours of images in different renditions, taking them out of the box, so to say. I could still tweak the hues in Photoshop or Lightroom though.

Image representation is the most important for me and I see that this camera made it difficult for me to find issues with the images the D3S took. Except for one though and it has nothing to do with the camera. Very so often that I have tended to forget that it is the photographer who makes the shots and that the camera merely renders the shots. It is the same with the D3S. The sharpness of any shot is still dependent on the stability of the hands that are holding it when it comes to shooting with high ISOs under low light conditions. That is something that I have to remove from my belief that the camera can take any shot. It will still be dependent on my hands and the problem is, my hands always tend to shake a little, resulting in poor photographs with slightly blurred images. A tripod therefore, is still a fundamental component in any photography. But then, with the advantage of high ISOs, the D3S should be able to take pictures without needing the tripod. You just need to crank up the ISO. I have this habit of keeping to a fixed ISO of 200. I have to break that habit now to allow the D3S to realise its true potential.

On the physical aspect, it does look a slightly smaller than the D300 with an MB-D10 but certainly feels much heavier. The camera is easy enough to hold, with the vertical grip for the right hand and the horizontal grip for the left hand. One would need to hold the camera with both hands because this camera is heavy. The provision of the 2 compact flash slots is an added advantage as it will provide me with more picture capacity without needing to change the flash cards now and then.
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I am not going to indulge in the HDMI video that the D3S has. I am still the fundamentalist, though and it will take some time for me to appreciate the need for the HDMI video. It would be good for the photojournalist for brief videos though. However, a slideshow of photographs interlaced with some of those images in motion, could just enhance and deepen the pleasure of watching the images.

The D3S can still accept DX lenses. Upon fixing the DX lens, the viewfinder will provide a smaller rectangle of clear image leaving a grey area around it. This grey area is the FX portion which will not be taken into the photo. With a smaller area to be taken, the pixel count should be lesser. In that sense it is still compatible, only that the picture area has reduced. I attached the Sigma wide angle zoom lens, 12mm and though it is a DX lens, true 12mm is provided. Maybe I am wrong on this, but I have used the lens extensively on the D300 and the wide angle provided is not as wide as with the D3S.

And so now my limited review ends here. It is strange that I have to include the topic on religion within it but then, as I was writing the review, the thought shared the same space in my mind and I have not other choice but to put to writing both topics.

Elisha Kamarul Shahrin

2009-08-05T05:40:00.000-07:00

.

Amidst your mother’s anguish and pain,
and amidst the mid-morning rain,
sharp of nose with smiling lips, legs long and skin so fine
you cried twice
and opened your eyes

Reposing from an arduous journey and breathing softly
you looked at me briefly
turning for a moment
to see your mother after her torment

Beside your mother, I remember you in your little bed
Frocked in white from toe to head
in deep slumber, you frowned as I touched your nose
but remained in repose

Or the fleeting image of you naked and crying
and I, sitting in a corner
as your mother and her mother
cleaned and garbed you in your first new garment

Or while you lay amidst the contraptions
of science, of beeps and tubes, through night and day
amidst the hardship of the sickness you endure,
you opened your eyes to see your mother
amidst the battle of life, you uttered a whisper
to greet your father

My prayers were fervent, for an intercession
from the Book and the Messenger, putting my life as payment
But He yet came ever nearer
with His Love much dearer and His Mercy much greater

Amidst the throng of souls, I beheld your lifeless form in the hall,
again in white and that nonchalant smile
my heart broke and on my knees, I fell
and through clouded eyes, I remember your face and the peace it tells

Cradled in my arms, we drove and were for a while, solitary
within a vehicular procession to that location
of rest and repository
of faded greenery, of sepulchral mounds, of names on stones

Again and again I can see you there
down to the last timber
tranquil and peaceful, lying in the moist crimson earth
eyes closed, oblivious

Prayers being said, prayers are inadequate
to comfort the sadness which stayed
many people with many words being said,
however comforting, remain unheard

Images of you have been brief and intermittent
like photographs in a lean book, remaining unconnected
pages open and close, unfettered
for days on end, keeping alive that adverse matrimony
of miracle and calamity.

by Kamarul Shahrin

(Elisha was born on August 31. She left on September 4 but for every August of every year after that, I cannot forget that day)

No estas solo Michael Jackson

2009-07-07T07:52:00.000-07:00

Like old paint that comes off the wall,
his life only appears to end, but then, it is nothing but only a short fall
of a leaf into the breeze
like a sailboat in the sea
lifted and raised and twirled about
until he reaches the clouds.

As he loses himself, he becomes stronger.
As he changes into a mere reflection in the mirror
He becomes even more visible
and more tangible
As he gradually loses his thoughts and his identity,
he becomes even more manifest, more real
getting really capable
of healing the world.

He gently threads the middle line
of the Yin and Yang
He still lives in his music, with his songs
He lives on
between good and bad
between shadow and light
between black and white
In between letters, here and there, everywhere
He will be there.

He now threads between the mirror and the man
He threads in between pairs of opposites
but for this earth, he will now see nothing but only the debris
that was before, only dirt, greed and hubris
Who is it that has said he was a psycho
Using words of perdition, pelting him with words of accusation
as for them, their fame is short-lived and they will still die alone
and unremembered, dust on the floor

Although he no longer exists
his life actually commences
One day in your life that you think of him will be his eternity
There is no need to say it, he too can never can say goodbye
In the normal sort of style,
He is not alone, and remember, you are not alone
the love you save, for him
Will last forever
In the end, all of us will still come together
para siempre.

(Inspired by the song "You are not alone")
By Kamarul Shahrin June 27, 2009

Life in Karachi

2009-06-25T07:13:00.000-07:00

The clock struck twelve.
A skinned chicken, without head, legs and wings
lay still on the shelf
But the heart still stirred within,
In a wait, Death did not come
But for the appropriate time.

The intermittent sounds of pings, honking of cars through dusty roads
Flies everywhere, flies on hands and feet,
on every dead fish in the market.
Monotonous colour and style of clothes.
Men in faded and jaded pyjamas

Dirty children with matted hair and tattered clothes
knocking on car windows,
Asking for money.

A dark blind man
Face contorted from being pulled by the hand
by an uncaring young lady
From one car to the next one
Waiting for the money,
he will never see.

An old woman, face melted and battered by time
Peddling for mercy
by carrying someone else’s infant
to get at the money.

Mocking religion, a bearded old man held on to his string of beads for people to see
in infinite dependence on another man’s sympathy,
begging for mercy and subsequently,
For the money.

A man selling small white flower bangles,
moving in between vehicles,
abandoning the commercial logic and the dignity,
In desperation for the money.

People packed in motorised rickshaws;
Sardine cans on wheels.
People packed into decrepit buses bedecked with gleaming metal embroidery
and red paints;
like ornamented elephants.

Reticent craftsmen at the Gizri Market, squatting motionless
in the dust, by the road,
with their tools, waiting to be chosen for work.

Houses. Endless rows of houses with walls.
Roads going by walls and walls of bungalows.
Between the wealthy and those whose lives are low
Of the truly pious with the hypocrites
Words being spoken with forked tongues

Juxtaposition of paradoxes.
Life seemed so valuable and at the same time,
seemed so worthless.
Life here is nothing,
it simply has no meaning.

Day in and day out,
plough the careless drivers on congested roads
The irritating pings of car honks. Honks upon honks.
In the city, these are the only sounds

Day by day, dirt smeared the roads
and garbage dressed in translucent plastic bags posed on sidewalks,
like people waiting for buses.
Everything seem to be in constant meaningless movement.

Heaving donkeys pulling carts and men.
Donkeys with miserable lives; helping men
but yet being beaten
Horses pulling carts filled with uniformed school children.
Selling corn, a man pushed a cart with a small burning oven.

There is nothing appealing about the place.
Nothing to cherish.
Nothing to smile. There is nothing to articulate in the next many years.
Nothing. No, I was not there.
No. It was just a rumour.
There is no way that I could have stayed here.

Kamarul Shahrin January 15, 2006

Poetry for the Living

2009-06-25T07:04:00.000-07:00

Life is like that old swing under a shady tree
facing the sea
saddled on twisted weather-beaten cords in rough tethers,
seemingly adrift,
Of course, life can also be another matter
and another and then, another
but still, Life is volatile and changeable, with little to offer
but just shifting gestures
of circumstances.

Life is that which sways, but only shifts within predictable constraints
Life is like that, just a plank of aging wood,
hanging on two ropes, splayed,
discordant but also delicate
seemingly a cradle, seemingly a place of origin
But life is also a fantasy, as if there is no domain,
under.

But we hang on, with the breeze in our faces
hearing only the sounds of waves.
Not seeing our origin, not seeing our beginnings
but only perceiving what had been
It is only that when we founder,
we quaver,
that we realise there is, after all,
a place, firm and strong,
like fine sand on another shore.

Kamarul Shahrin July 24, 2007

There used to be a time

2009-06-17T06:29:00.000-07:00

.

There used to be a time when smiles were spontaneous and thoughts were clear
There used to be a time when poverty brought one another together
and there was only one colour

There used to be a time when love was life and life was love
There used to be a time when life was just about food and play
and friends would be here to stay

a time when work was a pleasure and the pleasure was in the work
a time when music was the breath which moved one’s being
and lyrics were never for understanding, but only for singing

There used to be a time when actions were made without motives
and the actions of others were not pleated with doubts.
There used to be a time when there were not three but one,
the mind, body and soul combined.

And now what is left, is some oblivion and pieces of coherence,
everything that is perceived through innovation
of the mind and body
has now left, leaving a kernel
which only blinks and breathe and move a little.

Subang Jaya May 2005

Run, run!

2009-06-15T04:37:00.000-07:00

When my legs make the short and swift strides, when there is nothing else in front of me but red digital numbers which record my distance and my pulse, the only thing left to do is to think and see. I see people, running or walking or carrying heavy stuff, just to be healthy, so that they can live without the pain or the sorrow of dying from terminal illnesses. Even then, it is no certainty that we will not succumb to diseases. There is indeed no guarantee that by going to the gym anybody would live longer. In the absence of certainty as to our lifespan, we consider the probabilities of success in living through exercising. They are just probabilities. People have the talent to die in many different ways, in many different styles. It is just that, they don’t really know when they are going to go.

Putting the chances of dying aside, with no knowledge of the timing of our death, we exert so much effort. I am no different from the farmer, or from the carpenter or the lorry attendant. They need to carry and move things, because that is the nature of their work. I need to carry and run and move things because these are not the nature of my work but the nature of keeping to good health. While the janitor or the labourer or the farmer rest in the evening, I toil away after my work, just so I can survive the many years ahead without the problems of heart disease and others. I work after work. I am no different. Just like these people in the gym, they are no different from labourers. Unlike labourers, who get paid for physical work, everyone here in the gym pay to do physical work.

It seems that life on Earth is meant to be challenging for all of Mankind. Man is made to toil or he will surely die prematurely. I walk the treadmill now, I lift weights now, not because I want to look beautiful but because I have to. When I see people doing their exercise, it really gets to me that they have to. Life needs a lot of effort to be lived. Most of us need to work in order to put food on the table for ourselves and for our family. Most of us need to work after work, in order make ends meet. Most of us need to physically work after work just so we can be healthy to face another day of work. We toil at the machines, losing sweat, heaving breaths, grimacing with the pain of muscles fighting the metal. If not, we will surely clog our veins and permanently solidify our fat into becoming heavy leather belts around our waists. And then we die. Presumably. I am as guilty as these people. I am aware of what needs to be done. I have to work to live so that I can work another day.....

On Spirituality

2009-01-24T23:55:00.000-08:00

I am not a spiritual person and I am not keen on influencing other people on what they should believe in. Still, I would like to share my thoughts. Closeness to God or enlightenment to me is about reaching a height of awareness of closeness through the casual but intense remembrance of God. Simply going through the procedures or practice of ritual is not going to bring us there if both the mind and soul are not there. The body can physically perform the rituals but if the soul and the mind are not concurrently synchronized or coordinated, that level of awareness will still be unreachable. Sometimes, the mind needs to be dulled into submission through some conspiracy with the body. The mind is like a jealous keeper to the soul, overprotective even, a parent even, practising, on its own volition and belief that it must protect and hide the soul at all times. The soul is shy, like a child even, a willing party to what the mind requires, even though it is the most purest of the two in terms of spirituality and is the most knowledgeable, possessing in the secret of things, of even the universe and of God. But the soul is ever willing to partake into any activity that the mind wants or requires. The soul is born with the knowledge while the mind is born without it. There is therefore, a latent difference between the two. One is born with it, and the other, born without it. While the mind shows forth into this world, the soul hides. While the mind realises its thoughts into physical form, the soul remains unseen, thinner than the wisp of smoke. Unity occurs when the soul leads over the mind and the mind over the body. When the man acts on this earth, God is ever willing to allow any activity that the man wants or requires. The man does not know, but he is the reflection in a reflection. He carries with him, the paradigm of reality. The mind is the man, the physical body, in which he exercises his will of movement is the earth and his soul is God. The microcosm of the man is a reflection in a reflection. Once on a spiritual journey, the man is thus a reflection in a reflection looking for its source; seeking to unite.

Religion is introduced to appeal to the mind, not to the soul because the soul already knows. Religion is a structured appeal to the mind into releasing the soul so that the whole man can perceive the truth Religion has been introduced in phases, through many prophets, in line with the evolution of the mind to progress in its apprehension and perception of God. Religion therefore appeals to the mind to release the soul, so that it can come out and lead the mind. The mind may be intelligent but it is actually shallow because it relies on the fundamentals of equations to arrive at conclusions. It is limited by the pitiful amount of knowledge that it has acquired from parents, from friends, from people and from schools and from books written by other people. Because it was born empty and is dependent on stimuli, dependent on events and the written word to form some structure of understanding, it holds this concept and live with it and nurture it until some time that new knowledge or stimulus arrives to challenge that paradigm. Even then, the mind is strong and proud of its acquired knowledge, even though it stands on a platform of constructed lies and partial truth. Like a gatekeeper, rigid in its demeanour, it stops and questions any new knowledge that comes before it, with its own barrage of cynical queries and tests, until none can eventually pass, none can eventually influence it into believing. The mind demand proofs of God’s existence, falling back upon its own web of knowledge that it has woven, limited to the acquired knowledge through the limitation of exposure to expositions, thus limiting its ability to welcome Truth even when Truth appears like a man in front of him. That is why miracles must happen, because miracles lie outside the scope of logic or any equation. That is why, not many can see the Truth even when miracles happen, not many intelligent people can discern the meaning when the text has been around for a thousand years and that is why there are so many agnostics.

Glimpses of the intangible truth can only be attained when the mind is dulled, when the mind is subdued. When the gatekeeper is dulled and corrupted through physical intoxication, it is only then that the soul can steal through the gates, to reach out and touch the world and allow the man to see the truth through its own eyes, see the love and mercy of God in this world and perceive the connectivity of all. Only then, can we perceive a greater experience of life through more polished and sharper eyes than the mind. And there are windows which the soul steals through to reach out to God, to feel love and to give love. It is not through the unity of mind, body and soul that nearness is reached. It is through the subjugation of the mind into a helpless state that nearness can be attained. If not, then we will always be self-righteous and proud, carry this judgement of others around us, our vanity through the apparent knowledge of truth, not reaching or collecting the experiences of nearness. By just doing the rituals alone, a person can rationalise that he has reached some level of Godliness or spirituality, that he is favoured above others. But sadly that is never really the case, for Godliness is about humility, acceptability and constant remembrance in whatever situation.

Enlightenment is not permanent, but is just a series of events in our lives, through which we experience. Others spend a life time to convert the mind while for some, the conversion will be just a matter of minutes. Enlightenment can even last only for a few seconds. Events of enlightenment are not perpetual as we are led to believe, but that the occurrences of enlightenment are real but even as fast as the lightning that flashes across the sky, leaving an indelible mark on the thought, like a branding iron on skin. All of us would have experienced it somehow or another in our lives. It would feel like a oneness to all, the self receding from the tangible to the intangible. It can happen during sexual orgasms, in the taking of fast, in the periods of deepest grieve, in the gesticulations of dances and movements. It happens when the mind is not exactly in control. It happens when the mind is subdued by the physical body. It is likened to having reached the pinnacle of an orgasm, like an eagle soaring in the air and gliding down towards earth. These are the small windows through the soul peeks and allows the mind to see that the rope extends from this earth, from this body through the sky and into space and from space, into the ethereal.

Thus, in every person, the mind is the enemy and the real friend, the soul. Knowledge of the soul, an awareness of the soul, the tangibility of the soul from the intangible concept opens the portal for the connection, like a rope, to the Ultimate One. The search for the hidden treasure thus lies inside and not outside. The journey to be taken is within. To acknowledge and understand the soul, is to perceive God.

The Sigma 10-20mm

2008-10-23T09:01:00.000-07:00

The next target of acquisition will definitely be the Sigma 10-20mm HSM lens, which I have tried at dSLR just now It has been rated above average, being awarded the TIPA award for best consumer lens. Putting that aside, it was the sharpness of the lens and the afford ability of it that touched the button of hope and wanting. Nikon lens would cost double the price and it will be a detrimental and visible dent on my wealth level if I purchase a Nikon lens instead of the Sigma. The right price must be below the emotional level of wanting. If not, the spirit is susceptible and vulnerable to regrets.

I know I can be exceptionally creative with the lens, especially on landscapes but also on making interesting viewpoints from mundane objects. DSLR put a price of RM 2, 400 but Yamiya has offered it at RM 2,095. Whatever the price, the cash is not immediately available, (though I could surreptitiously go to the bank and withdraw). No, I would rather have it with new money. That should be the game, I am telling myself that.

If the ambition is strong enough, sufficient enough, I must be creative to look for new funds, new sources. The new must be matched with the new. Only then, can I be happy in not utilising the current resources. The mind must be frantic enough, something has to happen to make this purchase happen. Soon. This Sigma lens must be mine.

The Surgery

2008-09-27T09:44:00.000-07:00

Saturday, 27 September 2008 1:12am

It has been four days since I have been away, tucked on a hospital bed, recuperating with the pains of surgeries done on my body. The invoice read the procedures with abbreviationslike "banding", "anaes", "stretch", "excision of lesion", and "excision of fissure". I can live for a long time in a small space, equipped with a small television set with inaudible sounds emanating from a damaged speaker and some hospital food. Because the sounds were just hisses and hints of words being said, I tended to read the Malay subtitles instead and thus lose seeing the movies. I could just live and breathe and move a little and sleep and wake up to eat and then breathe and move a little and then sleep. It can go on and on. There is a passive acceptance to the fact that I have just had a surgery, except for the unconsciousness. How it went on the surgery table, I would not want to venture to guess, perhaps darkly but the reality has happened. I managed the dissemination of information really well, taking care of informing only those who needed to know under conditional confidentiality and so, few came to visit. My brothers Sam and Kamal came with their wives and children. Nizam came on the last day and we went on and on conversing about religion and the perception of religion and of Shites and Sunnis. And then some office mates came but I did not mention the reason for the surgery.

The metaphysical question that now bears in my conscience is that, is God angry with me? Perhaps, He has tired of my lamentations, my invocations at the same earthy material things. Now I cannot now stand on the prayer mat to pray. This must then separate myself away from Him. So for the rest of the Ramadhan days, I will be distanced, unheard, quiet. The Universe will be quiet of the ranting of a man who can never be satisfied with his lot. Perhaps, then, God can push me away. Of course, this can be pure conjecture. It could be the opposite. Or it could be a matter of fate. Or a matter of an incident that has to happen to just about anybody. The question does cross my mind though. It could be His unhappiness.

In all those days, I passed in between dreams, awaking from sleep and dropping off to sleep, as a child would from going into one pond and into the next, in glee. The mind closed, drifting off, without caring to wander about what has happened, but accepting, like accepting that the hand has been chopped off and that is that. There were no rationalisations. It was only when I have returned home that the mind returned, to rationalise the possibilities.

There was only the window, through which I could see the construction below. That the hospital is constructing a new four-storey car park. And there were the construction noises, the piling works, working until late at night, disregarding the irritating sounds that have seeped through the walls and windows to disturb patients, a patient like me, who slept and woke at unconventional times. I settled the temperature in the room just about right, for me to feel cold enough to hibernate but not warm enough to sweat. There was simply many hours of sleep, as the round clock on the wall opposite the bed was big enough to show me the numbers that have gone by. There was a lot of peace, interspersed by the busyness of the nurses, who were to change the bed sheets, the blanket and the pillow cases, the housekeeping who came to mop the floor, the housekeeping who brought the meals on plastic trays and the nurses who came to measure the body temperature from the armpit or from the mouth, the blood pressure and the pulse rate. And there was a patient next door, who would buzz the nurse repeatedly, as if the button was a bell. A single buzz would do, as the warning light would come on and the nurse would come.

There were minimal comedic or theatrical shows to visiting friends, because there were not any, except for Nizam and the office mates. I cannot tolerate the possible repetition of explanations to the malady. Sometimes, people can ask too much of the patient. Questions remain the same, answers are repetitive, advice freely given, advice to be taken as if gifts from high heaven with nodding of head as if I have not come across the solutions in the books before, smiles through the pains, playing host to visitors. Indeed, recuperation does not need inquisitive visitors. I am better off alone.

With much fervent hope, this malady will go away and never return. The kite has to be unleashed from its tether and fly away, taken by the wind, to some unknown place. Through the pains, there was relief, that this episode has finally ended. The episode commenced seven years ago, when I had the first experience and that was a nerve wrecking experience, at which time, I asked God to grant me death because I could no longer tolerate the incessant searing pain that pulsated like a heart of its own. This revisit, I hope, will be its last.

Of dreams, I did not dream of unearthly dreams of meeting God or Angels or such. There were just dreams of meeting people, colourless dreams, in grey and black and some tainted yellow. I could not remember any. I just drifted in and out, spurred by the calmness that came from the liquid painkiller administered with a needle into the buttock every day. My request for a jab was never argued with, but I was always yearning for the calmness and happiness it brought each time.

I can recall the time, when I was wheeled on a bed to the waiting room, just before the operating theatre. First the nurse gave me a Roche pill which I gulped down with a cup of water, thus ending my fast. Two other patients were also there and then they were wheeled away. Then after some minutes, when the wife could no longer be seen as the door closed in front of her, the anaesthetist , small eyes under metal-rimmed glasses, gave me a jab. The whole place seemed to roll up and down and the doctor asked questions, in order to determine my state of vulnerability to the dosage, perhaps. I answered first coherently but then, staggered and waned at the last answers. I sat up, hand drawn to the head, feverishly trying to put the words together. Questions being asked, and answers that needed to be given. Now, I cannot remember his questions, nor my answers. I cannot remember what happened after that either. I must have dropped into unconsciousness the moment I lowered my head to the pillow again. This is the third time that I have been to the operating theatre. The first time was in 2002, to operate on the left knee. The second time was a life-saving surgery to remove the appendicitis in 2004 and now, four years later, to do this surgery. Every thing seems to be below the waist. There is no equation here. The pain can obliterate the thinking, the rational mind. Its sickness, can render a man prostrated, uncivilised with uncontrolled irritability and anger and bitterness without any rational nudge or motivation. With its sickness, everything around becomes small, the Earth, the entire Universe becomes small and constricted and puny and valueless. Nothing could stop its decision. Thus the surgery.

Yabidi!

2008-03-08T21:47:00.000-08:00

There is hope after all, in this dearly beloved country. For years I have planned to move on, to migrate so that my children can have a better future but the election results have now shown that there can be change after all. With that, I have to uncloak myself of this defeatist attitude, and embrace this country again, because the people have awaken, albeit many years in the taking, to vote for change, to vote for an improvement, to mitigate the onslaught of cronyism, the omnipresent corruption, the manipulation of the country’s wealth to the chosen few. Over the years, the cancer has flowed even to the smaller veins and capillaries, even in the GLCs, so that capabilities and experiences do not matter but who one knows. We are tired of working for those appointed drones and their cronies, people who cannot think but depend on those dominant party people for directions.

It is with fervent hope that the Opposition will unite and work towards the betterment of this country, to return this place to a democracy that can be perceived, by reinstating that balance of power that this country sorely needs. The dominant political party needs to reassess and rethink towards a common good and not fall back again to deceit and retaliation at a cost to all Malaysians. This country belongs to everybody, not to just the members and families and friends of one political group. The scope of attention needs to move away from endless and expensive infrastructure programs to those that contribute towards the current and future welfare and livelihood of all Malaysians and the development of services and products that the global market needs.

Envy

2008-03-02T09:29:00.000-08:00

A young man and a young woman, walked together slowly on the pavement, oblivious to my observing eyes. I looked at the young man, and I could tell he would not have much of an income but that the woman was still there with him, walking with him. It would not have mattered if they were a brother and a sister, or related or simply by coincidence, happened to walk together. What mattered was the feeling I felt when I saw them, of envy. I was envious of the man, because, he had yet to feel wealth. I was envious of the child who has not tasted of the responsibility of living with the onset of maturity. I was envious of the rock who would not have any nerves and nerve endings, to feel pain or misery, without heart and probably without soul. I was envious of the bird with the wings which it could use to fly to anywhere and at anytime. At that time, I was envious of the poor man, because then, he was not burdened by greed, or envy or avarice, he was not burdened by false pretences and friendships, he was not burdened by expectations and of the desires for worldly goods. All that would have mattered to him, would be the food on the table and a shelter under which, he could sleep. I was envious of the child who has only eyes to see, ears to hear, feet to run with, hands to touch and feel, and of a heart that does not know envy and greed. As we grow older, we have grown further from that child and with a certainty, there is no turning back, no returning to what was once a home. As we grow older, we live to expectations, other people’s expectations and the expectations of the world.

When you are able to see your future in the palm of your hand and it is short of expectations, it is better not to know. When you have been able to feel the luxury of travelling in comfort and transiting at airports and being able to see different people of different races and seemingly on important journeys, and now that luxury is not there anymore, it is better not to know. When you know that your name is on the list of the proposed names for a promotion and the event has passed without you being in it, it is better not to know, for hope is like a self-inflating balloon, which drifts and floats and rises even higher with each passing day, only to fall when reality sets in. With hope, there is a price and hope is not something that comes out of a will, but of its own volition, inflating itself without needing the full conscience of the self. When you are able to know the salaries of those colleagues and you know you have fallen behind, it is better not to know. When the doctor tells you that you do not have much time to live, given the disease within you, it is better not to know, because, at times, knowledge of such a certainty will not allow for miracles to happen.