The people

Some while ago ,I was in KL presenting a research finding to the big hot shots from a number of government agencies in Medan Mara. It was not going very well, you know, they did not agree with us and we just could not imagine that they were all too stupid to understand what we were talking about. You know stuff like which makes you feel like a big hammer is pounding inside your head. I was desperately seeking peace and quiet; just for myself. I sat myself down infront of the busy TAR street and kind of looking at people passing by. It’s kinda strange to be among so many people but still can find peace and quiet. Where do they all come from ? Each and everyone with his or her own unique appearance. Some were ultra modern while others were just plain shabby. An old Chinese man came by looking into the garbage can near where I was sitting. I mean after 52 years of independence there are still people rummaging through the garbage. It’s nothing wrong for doing that but there is a sign of desperation and hopelessness in there. I returned my focus to the street where more people are coming and going. Then there was a middle-aged Indian woman. A typical Indian woman with all kind of jewellery on her face, wearing a short-sleeved shirt with sarong and all. I found in her something interesting; somehow she fit into that picture naturally. They are the colors and faces of KL. So diversed and colorful. Have you ever wonder about their homes and family ? What will they have for dinner ? will they be pleased to go back to their family ? Do they have nice houses? Where exactly do they live ? I mean it’s nice to know somebody like that. Never mind I just sit here and look at people. A group of girls passed by… I mean boys … I was confused…..I took a look again.They were boys alright. They fooled me there for a minute. They dressed and walked like girls. Their faces were pretty and sweet and , you know what, they giggled as well. Oh dear ! apa la nak jadi dengan bebudak ni ? I reckon they must be around 14 or 15 years old. Aren’t they suppose to be at school ?

The time was about 4 in the afternoon. The streets around the area were getting busier. I went to meet up with my colleague and sat down to wait for others. A shabby looking man approached us. Mitok deghemo, cik (want to donate, sir). I shook my head and told him off. Quite arrogant, huh! But with a feeling having a big block pounding my head , I would not mind to punch anybody who got into my face. Wouldn’t you? My buddy on the other hand started a conversation with this man. He told us that he ‘s from Kelantan and came here to get some donations to fund his tahfiz(religious school) back home. Bit by bit the picture started to be clear. This man is genuine and his tahfiz school really needs the fund. I mean he ‘s here to get help and all he knew was to ask from people. A straight forward technique that needs neither strategy nor complicated plan of action . He didn’t know even to dress up for the task . All he’s got was guts and determination. I supposed when it comes to desperate measures everything goes. I flipped out RM2 for him….it’s good enough ,I was broke.

My KL

The city seems livelier everyday
With people always going somewhere
Where to?
Somewhere la…why do you care?
The answer inevitably
Harsh and brutal are the orders of the day
So you must be strong and unforgiving
Is KL like that?
Ruthless, uncompromising, unforgiving
Sounds like Paris….
Or Southend in the winter
Big cities are like that
But…KL…My KL is different
It’s a metro with an attitude
It laughs when you laugh
Sad when you’re down
Ecstatic when you’re at the top
feel it as you stroll down the streets of KL
As if the walls, the curbs and the poles
……are watching over your steps


It lends you opportunity to be ….
among the rich and famous
power brokers and ring makers
or forever a dreamer
just like myself
but I don’t want to wake up
from this dream
I like to be as other city dwellers
Walk like the wind
Work like the windmill
Rage like the windstorm
Fun like the windsurfers
But not as brutal…as the Windy City
My KL is as cool as the wind chill


And there is Puduraya
The transition of hope and reality
Stood tall witnessing the days and nights
Of faraway travelers
Dirty alleys and smelly toilets
Always a welcome sign
To the city, the destiny

And the Bus Stand Klang
….where all the buses must stop
Synonymous with the city
Like the heart that beats
It feeds life into the concretes
That make KL alive
With vibrant sound of passion
Cries of survival
….and hopes for tomorrow

The ever-famous Jalan TAR
A backbone of KL
Full of colors
Where opportunity blossoms
At every tick of the moments
Giving city dwellers
Some reasons to compromise
The hard life in KL

KLCC
So tall as if …..there are stairs to heavens
A symbol of new hopes and new horizons
For Malaysia is going global
The sky is no longer the limit
We aim for the moons and the stars
So our children will have reasons
To continue the legacy
Of KL …..my KL

My Dreams of KL

As a small kid from Pasir Mas, Kelantan, I always dreamt of KL as a city high above the clouds where people were rich , beautiful and elegant. I never had the opportunity to go there but wished someday would be able to walk down the famous street like Jalan TAR. KL , of course, was really a big-ass thing for me; well for anyone in Kelantan for that matter. If you were born in KL and came back for Hari Raya then everybody wanted to be friend with you; you would be regarded as clean, charming and highly intelligent. The KL accent would be highly prized and we the kampong boys listened to the way KL people talk like watching a live TV show; drooping and all without understanding a thing. So everbody wished to be from KL. In Kelantan , people from KL are regarded as “orang luar” (outside people); referring to those not accustom to our dialect and our way of life. That was some while ago as the term seems to be uncommon nowadays. But still when the Raya days came around ,the streets all over were clogged down and some foreign accents were in the air, we knew KL folks are back---“orang KL dah balik daa” ; we would somehow give ways and make ourselves invisible so that they can enjoy their balik kampong trip.

My first trip to KL was after the SPM exam when we were called for an English course in ITM (now UiTM). I remember for being so nervous as people said the trip was long and tiring. I bought a ticket on Mara Ekspres for the 8pm journey. During that time Mara just got a few new buses as the journey to KL had become more popular by bus. I looked at that new shining bus, elegantly parked in the station ready for the journey, and say to myself, “ I am finally free, I am going to KL”. The feeling was so big and enormous as if the world is mine. I don’t really remember why but that was the feeling. I guess as a student from a boarding school in Kelantan, I was so confined to the hostel and its little life and when the opportunity to go your own way like that trip; I was so relieved. The journey was not as bad as I was told; they got a TV on board showing a Hindi movie, so I was okay.That was also the time when Alleycat’s Sekuntum Mawar Merah started to become a hit. Those nostalgic moments will be back every time the song is on the air----aaaahhh feel so good ;I just want the song to stay on the air forever.

We reached Puduraya by dawn and the hustle and bustle of city life had started to warm me up from the cold air on the bus. Now what? Where the heck is ITM? So I asked as the sun started to rise; revealing the true picture of KL.

The First Time I heard KL from Ayah

My arwah Ayah was struggling to make ends meet and feed us all every single day of the year. I remember that very well since Ayah  went away a few years ago. Besides working at the railway station Ayah was  always talking about doing business. He would mix herbs, ground them with that old milling machine and "gotel" (mould with your fingers) into small bits that look like goat shit(tahi kambing) and sold them to his friends. So he did that for a while. Then he went into chicken rearing business where he built the chicken scoops all around our house until everything smelled like chicken shit. One time I remember him busy talking about doing business selling house wares in a far away city called KL. Wow! that must be one big city as Ayah kept talking about it day and night. He started buying the house wares soon after that and filled our living room with the stuff. They were that shining silverish thing that people use to wash hands----the small kettle with a basin. He bought it from Sg Golok and soon will take it to that big city called KL. I dreamt KL must be one nice place where people were tall, beautiful and wearing nice clothes.

I was about 7 years old when father got into that overcrowded mail train to KL. That was the most convenient transport to KL during that time. I was not aware of anybody going to KL by bus or by car----the Karak highway was notorious for being dangerous and difficult road to follow. So off he went to the place where he knew of no one and doing stuff that was uncommon to him. I remember for being so worried whether Ayah could make it there or not. He brought all of the stuff he bought with him; so how he could manage them all, I was thinking of Ayah. but I could do nothing other just waiting at the stairs for him to come back. School was suck so I would rather wait for Ayah  than being scolded at school for being so slow. Besides no body bothered to ask me why I was always sitting by the front door. In a few days Ayah was back. I was glad to see him back safe and sound. I followed him around to hear his stories about KL but he never had time to tell me anything. I just overheard when they were talking about it after the meal; sneaked between the adults I listened about how long and difficult the journey was to KL. Father brought the stuff from one shop to another like a door-to-door salesman. When people asked, "where is your lorry?", he would say" over there at the corner.....". He walked all day selling the stuff. he never told us where he slept or rested as we did not have any relative staying in KL.....not that I knew of.

When I bumped into people selling keropok in Shah Alam I would remember Ayah and the days he went off to sell those housewares in KL. it must be very difficult but the poverty and family back home would push these people to the limits. Do you think they make millions? maybe just enough to pay the tickets back plus a few ringgit extra. bt the most interesting part is how KL opened up opportunity for Ayah and us to dream for a better life. Every single person coming to KL with a dream----to live a good life. When father came back from Kl we had a bit of celebration and that would be all nothing much had changed. He went back to his old job at the station and we were pretty much back to our routines. I wondered if the bussiness stinct in KL had done anything good at all; or maybe he failed and accumulated big debt. Knowing Ayah , he never talked about that to the family and I never heard about trip to KL anymore until he's gone.