Mother of Mothers

A Mother's day dedication 
(in loving memory of Mother-in-law who passed away 10 years ago)



Before the funeral services began every son-in-law was given a black umbrella. As the youngest son-in-law, I took my place among my brothers-in-law standing to one side, while the eleven children of the deceased knelt before the casket. Vegetarian food, fruits and floral offerings decked the table before it. The Buddhist priest and nuns chanted solemn prayers to the tinkling of bells.


The morning started slightly cool and breezy but as the funeral service progressed, dark clouds rolled in overhead. When the rains suddenly pattered down, each son-in-law stepped forward, umbrella in hand to try to shield those kneeling from the rain. We were joined by friends who had come prepared with umbrellas. It was only for a short while but it came like a test of devotion. She could now rest in peace knowing her children and grandchildren would be well taken care of.


She had shown us all by her example that devotion is what counts the most to carry a family through thick and thin, from one generation to the next.


* * * * *


She had lived her teenage years doing odd jobs around the neighborhood, like pounding rice from the husks in exchange for some of the rice. Their mother passed away while they were still too young to know. Their father went blind. Though she came 2nd, when the father passed on she took over the responsibility of fending for the family.


The two young brothers they had didn't survive their childhood through lack of proper care. It was understood they died after falling sick having encountered some evil spirits on an evening while bathing at a remote well near the jungle behind their house. Piped water was unheard of. They couldn't even afford to dig their own well.


The 3rd girl was given away to a rich family when she was eight years of age as a ‘little daughter-in-law.’ But she worked the household chores day and night like a maid. Such was the custom in those days. Whenever there was a chance for her to return home for a visit, there would always be a tearful parting again on the very same day. In their poverty they accepted all as their fate. In time she was officially to become their daughter-in-law. By then, the parents were gone. But if wealth were of any comfort, she could now afford to send food, money and other offerings for prayers during their anniversaries.


When they grew up, there came a suitor for the eldest girl. Her older sister had the audacity to turn him down. She didn’t like his looks. To avert the embarrassment of the suitor she accepted the proposal in her sister’s place. Thus while still a teenager of eighteen; she was given away in marriage. Her entire trousseau was a blouse, a sarong and a pair of shoes.


For her humility it seemed the Goddess of Mercy saw fit to smile upon her. In the little town where they settled, there were two brothers who shared her same family name. The elder ran a rubber trading shop while the younger owned a petrol station. They came to her like the reincarnations of the two brothers she had once lost. They adopted her as their sister and took it upon themselves to help her start a sundry shop business and also bought a few relongs of rubber holdings in her name.


In time, the family grew to eleven, of four boys and seven girls. They continued to prosper, and the sons grew up and took over the running of the shop and the rubber estate. Having done all her share of menial labor, no task was too lowly for her. She continued to work as hard as anyone else, in the shop as well as in the kitchen or out in the back-yard feeding some ducks and chickens, and even planted flowers and herbs.


She was soft-spoken and gentle to a fault and never used a harsh word on anyone. The end of each year would see her boarding buses in turns, in various directions, bearing gifts of eggs, chickens, fruits and other foodstuffs and clothes to her sisters who have by then married and raised families of their own. She took it upon herself to visit each and every one of them to keep their ties intact in accordance to her father's dying wish.


They owned a car. In those days this little 'one-horse town’ was where you could count the number of cars on the fingers of one hand. If the occasion coincided with their regular trips to buy goods in the next town or city, she would rather let neighbors hitch a ride in the car, while with the youngest daughter in tow to help her carry her things; she'd quietly board public buses whose attendants know her by name.


Year ends would also find her traveling to all the temples that housed the deities from whom she had occasion to ask for blessings, cures and protection for her family throughout the year, bearing offerings of food or cash for charity and prayers in thanks-giving for the blessings she had abundantly received.


Poor neighborhood kids would not go hungry as long as she knew about their conditions.


At times when their next-door neighbor found it hard to make ends meet, she would quietly passed bags of rice through a side door without her husband’s knowledge.


She would make sure that any visitor to the house would have enough to eat and have as comfortable a bed as her own children if they choose to stay. And much to the chagrin of the children, many an occasional visitor, related or otherwise, could stay as long as he/she needed.

* * * * *


From the very day that I had spoken for her daughter she had treated me like a son. And all would attest to the fact that she valued every son-in-law like she would her own flesh and blood. By then, she was of the age when her legs were not as strong and steady as they used to be, which was not helped by her failing eyesight, and I, when I could afford a car, was only too willing to drive her to wherever she wanted to go.


Because it was my wife being most available to attend to her needs and being her closest confidant that she chose to spend her last days in our home. We had hoped that she was trying to recover her health, but it seemed apparent she was already prepared to go. Somehow, I felt I could have done more for her in her final days, but alas, it was too late for misgivings.  And in an intesive care unit of a private hospital quite a distance from home, she breathed her last.


It was but after the funeral, when we’d returned from the cemetery and the last of visitors and service people had left, that I sat down in a state of numbness in the hallway, when it finally came upon me like there was an immeasurable emptiness inside my chest that my inconsolable emotions gave vent to an undignified torrent of tears.

Stories from the workplace II

When I was at my first job I thought my boss was terrible. One day I saw a poster on the wall of a client's office. It said: "Be nice to your boss. The next one may be worse". The message became stuck in my mind.

The best boss I ever worked with was an Australian who declared, "My highest qualification is my driving license". He actually had an Able-Seaman's Certificate. He was a sailor before he became an automotive production engineer. He was the Engineering Manager who hired me. His method of solving problems reminded me of MacGyver. He once used chewing gum to stick parts on a viewing platform of a gyroscope. He has since retired to his farm in Australia where he built his own house from scratch. The last I heard of him he was building a boat.

I learned never to argue with a boss. I'd put in my opinion if I thought something wasn't right. But I always kept in mind that no matter how stupid he is, he's still the boss. But I had one boss with whom I had a huge tiff. One morning, I was under heavy pressure to solve a few problems, all of which came up at the same time. While I was handling the calls he announced and insisted that the report on our job responsibilities he wanted from us had to be handed to him as soon as possible. I lost my cool there and then. I raised my voice by several decibels wanting to know what's so important about the damned report when there were more important issues to settle. Our unwritten rule was that production problems were treated as top priority. Obviously, he wasn't aware of that. He insisted that if I couldn't accept his demand as a priority, I shouldn't be disappointed at the end of the year when the appraisals were given out.

I couldn't believe he'd stoop so low. Although I wouldn't give a damn about his appraisal, I ate humble pie and apologized for raising my voice, but the report he wanted still had to come later when all other priorities were settled.

Weeks later, another of my colleagues had a tiff with him. This guy didn't hesitate to give him a piece of his mind either. Within the next few minutes, he'd type out a resignation letter and threw it on his desk. I would have loved to do the same but that particular engineer had a Masters in Engineering from U.K. under the Prime Minister's Scholarship. He could get another job as soon as he walked out the door.

We could sense that the working atmosphere in our department had deteriorated beyond repair.

There were several problems which the Supply Dept and the supplier couldn't solve. A metal part cracked under our process. Our boss had to answer to the CEO on this as the customer was demanding delivery. He ordered me carry out several experiments which he proposed, to improve the results. All of his proposals didn't show any positive results. Without his consent I had done some experiments of my own. The parts didn't crack but looked dull and might not be acceptable to the customer. I proposed that we show the CEO the results of my experiment, but he hesitated. 'He who hesitates is lost', I thought to myself.

Then a funny thing happened. The CEO called for an emergency meeting which included all engineers. As expected the CEO was furious after seeing the results of the experiments. I looked at my boss. He looked like he was lost. He tried to argue that some of the results he showed could be used as the rejects were quite low. The CEO could not accept that. He looked around the room and asked if there was any other solution.

I had the results of my experiment together with samples in my pocket. I took them out and laid them on the table without a word. The CEO looked at the samples and said if we could produce parts like that without any cracks, then we should proceed. I said that we could introduce that change of procedure as a temporary measure until the supplier could give us improved material. Somehow, that temporary measure had since become permanent.

That boss of ours did not last out till the end of that year. I wasn't surprised at all and I'd forgotten whether my year-end appraisal turned out any worse than usual. Like I said, I wouldn't give a damn. He didn't get to do anybody's appraisal anyway.

A month later I had a phone call from a friend who was Finance Manager of the company that had just hired him. He asked me what kind of an ex-colleague I had, who quarreled with the security guard on his first day at work. I said that he was my ex-boss and he's not my problem anymore.

That finance manager friend of mine would eat people like that for breakfast if it comes to a showdown. He used to be company secretary and also worked as consultant to several organizations and had a reputation of being very aggressive in the board-room.

Stories from the Workplace I

I read somewhere that working with idiots can kill you. I'm quite sure of that. I've had a fair share of working with some of them throughout my working life, enough to fill volumes. But I'm not going to dwell on too much of it. God knows, I was one big idiot myself when I first started out. I got a job as an artist cum dispatch person in a small 5-man advertising company. Luckily, there was no one around at that time for me to kill.

I didn't know how to use a telephone so I had to start to learn it the best way; by making mistakes. You can't blame me though. We didn't have a telephone at home until after I'd been working for a couple of years. The first time it rang when nobody else was in the office, I almost panicked. After its umpteenth ring, I managed enough courage to pick it up and put it against my ear. I wondered why the voice from the other end sounded so far away. And when I spoke, the other person screamed for me to speak up louder. Oops! I was supposed to speak into the mouth-piece which I was holding against my ear. Talk about not knowing which end's up!

Like all the 'macho' guys lounging around the office building, I wanted to look the same. I decided I wanted to try smoking while at work. The commercials at that time said it's "Sumber Inspirasi". I bought a small, 5-stick pack and lighted one while sitting at my desk doing some artwork. I took a few puffs. Just then the boss walked in through the side-door. Quickly, I snuffed out the cigarette and stuffed it in my drawer. I didn't know why I felt so guilty about smoking.

Everybody else did that at work those days. Besides, there was no air-conditioning. The boss himself did that occasionally. He looked around and sniffed the air and spoke a few words with me and the other artist who shared the same room with me. After he left, I opened my drawer to retrieve my cigarette. It was still smoldering and it burned a hole in my drawer. I decided then that smoking and working doesn't go together, for me at least. Anyway, I gave up on cigarettes. I just wanted to know why people are always dying for a smoke. I hated the smell.

I get so used to doing anything and everything at work. We took turns to sweep the office and throw out the rubbish each morning. On our way to the dumpster, we pass through the reception area of a newspaper office. A young officer I happened to have met while I was working at another job remarked, "Wah! Rubbish also you have to throw ah?"

I said, "This is work, right?"

As soon as he was out of earshot, an older guy said, "Some people don't understand the Dignity of Labour". I was reminded of that episode while reading the following passage by the world famous IT magnate from India, Mr. Narayana Murthy:

"Dignity of labor: Whereas this is an integral part of Western value system, in India, we revere only supposedly intellectual work. For instance, I have seen many engineers, fresh from college, who only want to do cutting-edge work and not work that is of relevance to business and the country. For anything to be run successfully, everyone - from the CEO to the person who serves tea - must discharge his or her duties in a responsible manner. We, therefore, need a mindset that reveres everyone who puts in honest work, no matter what it is."

From an industrial leader, that is a good lesson.

One day, the boss gave me a girl's name and an address. He wanted to hire a secretary. He told me to bring her in for an interview. I found the place, told her where I came from and the purpose of my visit. A short while later she came out in a mini-dress. That was the standard dress those days. There was no law that said you had to wear a crash helmet to ride on a motorbike either. She just got on behind me on my bike and off we went.

I thought it strange she could just do that without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing to do. I mean, riding off on a motorbike with a total stranger! Oh, she was pretty alright. A round face, large "Bambi" eyes and cute little mouth with full lips, and a voice so sexy, M&Ms wouldn't melt in her mouth. My boss hired her and she started work immediately. I found out later, her boyfriend was one of my ex-schoolmates. (Awwww....)

We had an accounts officer working with us. He was 2 years my senior, worldly wise guy with a pleasant personality and was a pretty smooth talker. He got us to guess what color underwear the secretary was wearing each day. She was mostly sitting behind a well covered desk in front of the boss' office. I wondered how he could guess. I hadn't taken any notice until the day the boss was out and she came into our office to chat with us. She forgot to straighten her dress properly. She must have got so used to it she wasn't conscious of her exposure until the accounts guy announced, "Today it's red color". She immediately caught on to what it meant and screamed at him. We laughed. She made sure she came to work with longer dresses after that.

Some years after I left the company I learned that she'd married the boss. Things don't usually work out the way you expected.

The tailgater

Every time we hit the expressway our main aim is to move into the fast lane.  It has become a habit.  The slow lane isn't inviting at all because there are the 'too slow drivers' whose fastest is around the region of 80 kph.  You make yourself tired more quickly weaving in and out between lanes.  On top of that is the bumpy ride.  Having slow-moving and heavy vehicles on that side all the time probably wears out the tarmac faster.  There are always rough patches coming up barely a few months after each resurface.  So we keep on the fast lane and make way for speedsters when they show up in the rear-view.  Not quite a safe strategy, but then, out on the highway, when's it ever safe?

I was in the 65% seat as usual.  That seat is dubbed 65% because the vulnerability in case of a crash is roughly in that region.  My colleague was driving, and his usual speed was 110-130 kph.  Morning traffic around this time on the expressway was normal and easy-going.  But that morning our driver was a bit edgy.  I soon noticed why.  He was grumbling under his breath about some crazy guy behind us.  A tailgater.  He speeded up slightly.  The tailgater followed suit and kept sticking to our behind.  For us normal guys that's uncomfortable to say the least.

We braced ourselves for some quick change in our situation.  Soon enough, we noticed about a kilometer further down the road there appeared to be something not quite ordinary had just happened.  Our driver reduced his speed slightly but was on the lookout for a gap in the next lane.  He was an occasional tailgater himself, but he knew the hazards pretty well.  As soon as he got one gap that gave him enough clearance he cut in to it. 

The tailgater zoomed pass us.  He found himself staring at a couple of glaring red tail lights which were moving at less than half his speed.  Surprised, he swerved right with his tires emitting squeals and smoke.  His fender grazed the center guard rails and bounced back into the lane and 'swayed his dancing hips' a few times.  Somehow he managed to avoid major damage.  We could have given him a standing ovation, only we couldn't stand up.  We just clapped our hands as we cruised past him.  It was too dark for him to see our brief jubilation anyway.

By this time, in front of us was the site of an overturned truck with it's load of fruits and vegetables spilled all over the tarmac leaving only a small gap for us to pass through.

See ya Mr. Tailgater.  We may never meet again, but then there are your relatives who behave just like you out there somewhere.  They may not be as lucky.  That goes for us too, but we hope they give us a sign so we can avoid them.  We're not too eager to compete with them anyway.  We're allergic to sudden stops.

An Affair with Golf

I love golf balls.  I don’t play golf though.  Did a number of tee-off shots while I was in Genting’s Awana club some years ago just because I got challenged by our CEO.  I’m kind of suspicious he doesn’t take kindly to people who don’t play golf.  Anyway my only relationship with golf is that I keep a golf club by my bedside.  One that a neighbor wanted to throw away.  That is for adjusting the air conditioner flaps manually.  If you think that’s for security, my opinion is that it wouldn’t serve any real purpose if there’s an intruder in the house.  I believe the better answer would be to make as much noise as possible, like triggering the car alarm for example, to scare him away rather than confront him.  But it's still better to keep something handy just in case.

My only other involvement with golf is I’m in the habit of picking up stray golf balls in, of all places, football fields.  I think there are some budget conscious wannabe golfers who find the tee-off practice ranges at the clubs are charging too much for their pockets.  So they do their stuff at housing estate football fields.  I think they pose a danger to kids and other residents, but so far I haven’t heard of any complain yet.  The drawback is that they lose their balls often.  I must have picked up at least 4 of these around the fields in our four adjoining housing estates.

The 5th one cannot be counted because the guy was still practicing at one corner of the field.
That was one early morning when we were passing through the field.  I said to wife, 'Someone just lost another golf ball'.  I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket.  Someone said, 'Aah!'  Then I saw him.  He was standing near a clump of trees in a far corner of the field with a club on his shoulder.  Embarrassed, I said, 'Sorry. I thought it’s someone’s lost ball.'  I placed it back on the ground.  He said, 'It’s ok, you can have it.'  Generous guy, I thought.  I said, 'No, thanks.' 

I think nobody’s doing tee-off practices on football fields after that.

Now, the thing I noticed about golf balls is that they’re made to near perfect symmetry.  You can place one on a flat surface and the tiny flat area on top of the ball would be exactly central and directly opposite the tiny flat area on the bottom.  That’s how I could clamp one on a bench drill and make a hole right through the center of the ball.  4 balls drilled this way are enough for me to replace the 4 pesky casters on my wife’s clothes drying rack. The original rubber casters came with fine American inch-thread fittings for which I couldn’t find replacements anywhere after running through every hardware shop and supermarket in town.  Almost had to throw away the whole rack just for want of some spare tires.

 
So, it’s thanks to budget conscious golf players.

Those Self-Help Books

What do Zig Ziglar, US Anderson, Irene Kassorla, Maxwell Maltz, Dale Carnegie, and Napoleon Hill have in common? They are motivational experts. And they are very rich because we all subscribe to their philosophies and buy their books.

They were a huge influence in my life. They showed me how to survive by thinking positive thoughts and that all things are possible if I think so. Some of them taught me how to feel rich even without the huge filthy sums of money in my bank account, or floating around in the stock market. Most of all they taught me to get through with life, even when things looked so bad I felt like I was in a hole in the ground.

That wasn't all true though. I wanted to be rich by thinking like Napoleon. But, sheesh, it was the earlier Napoleon that kept creeping into my mind. You know, the guy who they said was "born apart", the one who allegedly said, "Able was I, I saw Elba…" I guess if I had kept at it I'd probably have ended up in St Helena. Only I was a few hundred years too late. Probably that saved me.

But about being in a hole in the ground, I did find myself, several times. Somehow those lessons helped. But I'd rather think the thing that got me out of those holes was the upbringing and survival instincts I inherited. The same thing that kept my grand-father in the boat from China until he landed here and then kept going until he cashed in of old age some time before the Japanese landed in Malaya. At least he was spared those crazy times. And it was the very same thing that kept my dad going, working the land to keep eight kids fed, clothed, and schooled.

Anyway, some of these guys taught me to work hard. So I did. I spent a whole part of my youth working my ass off, sometimes right through the night. OK that wasn't totally true either. I tried to avoid working late whenever possible. I noticed what happened to a cousin of mine who was constantly doing that. He succumbed to stomach cancer at the age of 40. I blamed that on his staying up late and going on without proper nutrition too often. He never smoked and never drank. What else could he blame it on? It wasn’t inherited.

On my part it wasn't voluntary. I hated having to stay up all night just because my boss had to show his boss that his team of people could work right through the night if necessary. I zombied along and grumbled all the way home to bed the next morning. That wasn't working smart. That was stupid. Any kind of accident could happen when you're tired. We only succeeded in letting him know that he could further exploit us, and we'd let him do so willingly. Since we didn't have much choice those days, I stuck with that boss until I couldn't take it anymore. Then I quitted and started from scratch.

Then I read Robert Ringer's "Winning through Intimidation".

This Ringer guy didn't mince his words. He advocated that if you work hard you only end up getting old. Not rich, just old. He gave me his 'Uncle George" theory. He said probably every one of us had a relative or at least know someone who worked hard all his life keeping his nose to the wheel and who only managed to get old. I said, Hey! Here's one book which dumped all my past lessons and turned them all into cow pie overnight. Overnight was how long I took to read that book. I then took the next few days to digest it. Luckily it didn't taste like cow pie.

I found out that the Ringer guy was teaching me how to intimidate my way to the top of the pile, which means going into money-grabbing ventures and getting away with the dough. I thought that if everybody were to follow that philosophy then there'd be a whole lot more of aggression in the world, because everybody would be trying to out-intimidate everyone else, because nobody would want to lose face, and least of all, money.

And what he did was, he blew all those success philosophies to smithereens. Like, working hard, for example. He managed to convince me that most of those who became rich were actually embarrassed about how they made it. So they settled for some standard formula; something that could sell, other than luck and chance. These philosophies don't sell.

Upon further reading, I decided that I could use those ideas effectively; I only had to learn how to recognize those trying to intimidate me into giving them something for nothing. That means; not working for free, not paying money for nothing or substandard things or service, and not giving in to demands for my time when it doesn't benefit me. It also tried to tell me not to negotiate myself into a corner. I said 'tried' because it didn't succeed. I didn't manage to use it to earn and receive any substantial income. I blame it on my honesty. It (honesty) was too deeply entrenched in my head by my upbringing in the missionary school where they indoctrinated me with honesty being the best policy. There you go. Just how easy in life it is to blame someone or something else.

Later, after all these I decided to follow Michael Korda's advice that after 40 I could either dance the night away or sleep right through it. I guess that advice didn't catch on. I couldn't find any of this advice printed anywhere in the websites that feature his works. I guess taking things easy seems too cozy for those under 65 nowadays. Besides, it doesn't sell either. Anything that people value nowadays is something they have to pay for. They get them for free; they think it’s too good to be true.

Now back to those self-help books. What did they really do for me? They helped me feel good in whatever I wanted to do. I get to pick and choose what I want to believe and follow. That was all the good they ever did for me. I did all the fumbling right through life and came out with all those scratches and scars. I still thought some of it was fun. And I'm still proud that I did it my way. That wasn't my favorite song either, I just happen to like it because Frank Sinatra did it quite well.

When they asked me if I'd like to Think and Grow Rich, I asked, "Do I have do that all day?" I'd like to think about lots of other things as well. Like love, like hobbies, doodling and taking photos, having fun and spending time with family and watching my kids grow up and graduate.

While some say, enough is not enough, I'm happy enough. It could be better....but that's life.