Traffic Jam

No eye contact.
Because everybody's looking in one direction - forward -
and not at each other.

Me, me, me..
I had a long day at work
I have stuff to do at home
I'm tired-lah, let me through!!!

No eye contact
Because our windows are tinted,
And so are our eyes;
tinted by
Me, me , me!

So easy to forget
when all you see are faceless cars
that inside every one of them
is a person just like you

Who hasn't had a good day,
who has a family waiting at home,
who is tired.

Once in a while, make way-lah for someone else...
Don't-lah all the time
Me, me, me
only..!

(Muhasabah of a Malaysian driver)

A Place To Turn To

Two days ago, I heard on the radio Yasmin -
a lady who reverted to Islam 21 years ago -
say (paraphrased):

"I fell in love with Islam because 

through it I finally knew

who to thank when I am happy,

and who to turn to when I am sad

I know who to say Alhamdulillah to

and who I can cry in front of when I need to"

Then today I came across the ayat Al-Fatir, 35:34.

SubhanAllah.

The Death Throes of Israel

Under the stare of a merciless master,
under the glare of a merciless midday sun,
the man lies pinned down on the searing hot ground
by a heavy rock on his chest.
It's nothing new;
just another slave being punished

F-16s and gunboats
against
homemade rockets and stones;
a military superpower
massacres the citizens
of the world's largest open-air prison.

It's nothing new;
just another slave being punished
Or is it?
Because look closely and see
that while the "slave" refuses to be broken
uttering, stubbornly: "Ahad, Ahad"..

the "master" has broken
into panicked sweat..

A military superpower
massacres the citizens
of the world's largest open air prison.
Maybe the Gazans
would simply give up,
starve to death,
submit meekly.
Maybe, the Zionists thought,
it would be that easy.

The "master" has broken
into panicked sweat..
as he feels the pressure of the crowd gathered around him.
Some have even started laughing, mockingly
...at him!
For if the slave lives, uttering "Ahad, Ahad";
then the "master" has lost to the "slave".
But if the slave dies, uttering "Ahad, Ahad"
then, also, the "master" has lost to the "slave".

Maybe, the Zionists thought,
it would be that easy.
But living in constant struggle with injustice,
spitting in the face of oppression
has become the Palestinian
way of life.
A life that may end
with a shot to the head,
or a deadly air raid;
but nonetheless,
a life lived free.

For if the slave lives, uttering "Ahad, Ahad";
then the "master" has lost to the "slave".
But if the slave dies, uttering "Ahad, Ahad"
then, also, the "master" has lost to the "slave".
For the master fights for his ego,
while the slave fights for his right
to live free.
And arrogance will not defeat sincerity

A life that may end
with a shot to the head,
or a deadly air raid;
but nonetheless,
a life lived free.
My Gazan brothers and sisters,
they may put you under siege
and destroy your dwellings
but never can they enslave your souls.

And arrogance will not defeat sincerity
As Abu Bakar steps up
to buy Bilal off Umayyah:
‘By Allah,
if you had refused to sell him except for a hundred ounces,
I would have paid it.’
Bilal was emancipated that day,
but his soul had always lived free.

My Gazan brothers and sisters,
they may put you under siege
and destroy your dwellings
but never can they enslave your souls.
Because actually, it is Israel
who is enslaved
by the very cycles of violence
she creates.

As the world wakes up.
From New York to Paris,
London to Hong Kong
...and even Tel Aviv,
people are standing up for you.
For your voice to be heard.

This cycle of violence..
it's different.
Because Gaza, though today we see
the might of a modern army
against a captive refugee population.
We are actually witness
to the death throes of Israel

The might of a modern army
is no match
for the free human soul.
Arrogance will not defeat sincerity.



Eid Mubarak, my Palestinian brothers and sisters
Who knows?
Next Eid, insyaAllah, a free Gaza. Ameen.



#OperasiBadar

It Can Grow to Define or Destroy You

credits

"An idea is like a virus.  

Resilient. 

Highly contagious. 

And even the smallest seed of an idea can grow. 

It can grow to define or destroy you"

..goes a quote from a movie which used to be among my favourites
because of how it rings so very true.

As
the dirt poor still dream of becoming filthy rich.
and
the crippled for life still dream of walking once more.

"...Resilient.  

Highly contagious..." 

Ideas become part of one's identity,
integral to one's cognitive existence; as blood is to flesh.

Ideas make a human being..human.

"...And even the smallest seed of an idea can grow..."

Conceived in the mind of any one of us,
it is able to spread far and wide.
Over not just space, but also time.

Generations of minds infected by a single idea
powerful enough to become a shared Dream.

The Dreams of nations:
the American Dream of equal opportunity
the Chinese Dream of sustainable development
the Palestinian Dream of freedom

credits

But what is the Malaysian Dream?

I grew up with a vague awareness of it.
(Maybe, you could even say, "indoctrinated" with it)
But then again, how could I not..
when I was brought up by a Malay dad and a Chinese mum?

For me, that Dream
is the eternal tale of the three quintessential children:
budak Melayu,
budak Cina,
budak India.

The Petronas commercial; the annual doctrine of the Merdeka and Raya period;
the stereotypical plot:
three kids who are
classmates at school, neighbours at a village;
getting into trouble, growing old together;
the best of pals.

Yet the classic story so familiar, so often repeated to the point of being typical
is, somehow, still potent;
still able to pull on the heartstrings of the typical Malaysian.

The dirt poor still dream of becoming filthy rich.
The crippled for life still dream of walking once more.

And Malaysians still dream of unity.

"...It can grow to define or destroy you..."

Define us it has, this Dream of unity.

But destroy us, it also may;
for the psyche of this nation suffers also from a cognitive dissonance:
a contradiction in belief and action.

A tug-of-war
between the Dream of unity
..and a reality which is far removed from it.

The reality acted out in the canteens of schools and National Service Camps nation-wide:

Budak Melayu duduk dengan budak Melayu,
budak Cina dengan budak Cina,
budak India dengan budak India.
Budak-budak Kayelle and "speaking" (like myself) sit with our own gang in a corner.
Parallel universes.

Fact of the matter is, there is no one Malaysia,
but many Malaysias existing in one land.

And I'm sorry.
But mere coexistence is not unity.

As we live our lives in parallel universes,
the Dream is just that.

A Dream.

credits

Yet once in a while - but only once in a while - a glimmer of hope appears
in the shape of events or places where suddenly this nation is one.

Bukit Jalil Stadium, AFF Suzuki Cup 2010 final: Malaysia beats Indonesia 3-0

"I’m a huge Manchester United fan and I celebrate every goal they score with enthusiasm and joy. 

However, it is a totally different story when your country scores. 

I am Malaysian and therefore I am connected to my national team in a way that no other team will ever be. Every goal the team scores is for us, all 26 million of us."

The author of that article was caught in a traffic jam on the way back from that epic victory against Indonesia. He says this about the experience:

"I rolled my windows down as my cousin hoisted the Jalur Gemilang. And we proceeded to high-five anyone that walked by as I honked all the way home... 

Motorcycles and cars usually do not get along on the road. Tonight, even the vehicles came together as one as we shared Malaysia’s triumph."

Two years later the setting is London: Dato' Chong Wei's struggles against China's Lin Dan,
and unites Malaysians - at least for 79 minutes

Never mind that Chong Wei lost...we had a common hero for a while, a common cause.

In those moments, suddenly,
"being Malaysian" felt almost tangible
like the smoke of fireworks burning in the Bukit Jalil air
or the gold medal of London 2012.

credits

But just as abruptly the mirage clears, and we wake up from that high.

And once again, the traffic jam is no longer an euphoric after-match experience shared with fellow Malaysians;
it is a torturous ordeal to escape - to get away from the irritating presence too many of your countrymen hogging your road.

This Malaysian wonders, desperately:
Do we depend ONLY on sporting successes - or near-successes
for this country to be one?

And even then...only for 79 minutes, over two halves of a match??


But my Malaysian-ness will not allow me to let go of that Dream.
Though outside I put on the "skeptical Malaysian" mask.

As the dirt poor still dream of becoming filthy rich,
the crippled for life still dream of walking once more
this Malaysian still dreams of unity.

*                         *                         *

But the Malaysian Dream is not the only one which has infected my mind
because these past few years another virus has been "indoctrinated" into my conciousness.

I remember where I was the first night I read the meaning of 49:13 in the Quran.
And wondered, subconsciously maybe:
"why did I not know about this before??"

That memory is from a phase in my life where I was being introduced (by a Higher Power?)
to another Dream.
Bigger even than the Malaysian Dream.

Like the Malaysian Dream, this Dream I was being introduced to
is also resilient, highly contagious
and has entered my mind through distances of space and time;

but seriously, it is waaaaay more awesome.
That Dream..is Islam.
I was born into it, but it took me decades to discover its beauty.

credits

Don't get me wrong:
This doesn't make me any less Malaysian.

Deep down I still hold on lovingly to childhood memories of
football matches on rainy evenings at the muddy neighbourhood padang
playing with a bunch of pals of every race (seriously, there was even a Punjabi and a few Eurasians)

That classic story so familiar, so often repeated to the point of being typical
but, somehow, still potent;
still able to pull on the heartstrings of the typical Malaysian...
I am a part of that story!
And that story is very much still a part of me.

And I want with all my heart for that scene to be a regular occurrence in every neighbourhood and kampung across our nation.

And you may agree or disagree with me about how we reach that Malaysian Dream.
But the only way I see that happening..is 49:13.

My entrenched belief: only a set of shared values can unite us all - for good.

And that's where my two Dreams
(not clash, but) intertwine:
the Malaysian Dream of unity,
and Islam.

There is no conflict,
no incompatibility,
no cognitive dissonance;

these are BOTH my dreams; part of my identity,
integral to my cognitive existence; as blood is to flesh.

It has grown to define or destroy me.

Batch Pemutus Dakwah

Here's the deal:
There's a vehicle to be driven, and no one's there to drive it.

"So, siapa nak drive Jengkaut tahun depan?"

The awkward, unanswered question for this batch - my batch.


'Jengkaut'
The name of the red Estima which is the kereta kawasan for Manchester.
Oficially it is named 'Al-Adiyat' - The War Horse.
But its loud diesel engine and sluggish swagger found more often in vehicles on the construction site then on the road have given it a new name:

'Jengkaut'- The Excavator

Last year Capek was the driver operator.
This year it is Syak.
Next year...?

"So, siapa nak drive Jengkaut tahun depan?"

*                    *                    *

The Jengkaut was the vehicle which brought us to our first car boot sale.
But at a deeper, more profound level, it has seen us discover something more amazing than cheap books and novelty items;
over the past year it has witnessed us discover the sweetness of tarbiyyah...

Now it is witnessing us realise how much we really have on our shoulders.


Because last year 50% of the ikhwah graduated, leaving Manchester for good.
At the end of this year even more are leaving.

What will happen to dakwah and tarbiyyah at Manchester then?
In the Northwest?
In the UK?

"So, siapa nak drive Jengkaut tahun depan?"

In the past few weeks, I feel like this question has taken a more symbolic meaning.

Jengkaut mengangkat beban dakwah

Relax, they say.
Allah will take care of dakwah and tarbiyyah, they say.
After all, did He not promise in His Book and via the Messenger that there will always be a group of people on this Earth calling to the Deen?

True.
But did He not say also, in a chapter of that Book named after his Messenger:

"...And if you turn away (from Islam and the obedience of Allah), He will exchange you for some other people, and they will not be your likes." 

[Surah Muhammad: 38]

Dakwah?
It doesn't need us. Rather, it's the other way round.

Hidayah?
It isn't something that's merely 'found'. Rather it's to be fought for.

Somehow the chain that is dakwah, stretching back to the Prophets of yesteryear, have reached us;
mere mortals halfway across the world from home, at a place cold and dark.
And with that the responsibility to keep that chain going...for future batches to also feel the sweetness of tarbiyyah.

Or
will we be the batch pemutus dakwah..?

"When we live only for us, life is so very short.
It starts from when we start and ends at the end of our limited lives. 

But if we live for something other than us,
live for an ideology,
then verily life is long and meaningful;
starting from the start of mankind and ending with the end of mankind on this Earth. 

If we feel like we start this struggle,
we will feel constrained facing death (because the struggle has not reached its goal yet). 

Remember, it is not us who start this struggle neither is it us who end it.
It was started by the Prophets and goes on until the end of time.
We are links on a chain of a long struggle"

- Sayyid Qutb

Here's the deal:
There's a vehicle to be driven, and there's no one to drive it.

And no, that vehicle isn't the Jengkaut.
that 'vehicle' is dakwah itself.

Ikhwah, we better start driving.

Jengkaut operator at work

Under Anesthesia

It as been exactly a week now since this slightly surreal scene in the living room of my house:

a partially disemboweled rabbit, still alive but in shock, 

surrounded by a bunch of people with little idea of what to do next.

The barely two-month-old bunny had just been attacked by a stray cat, leaving his intestines spilling out a gash on the side of his abdomen.

An injury which proved to be fatal.

The above scene, though, is not the most surreal one to have happened in the last few weeks. 

And as gory as it was, neither was it the most horrible.

At a field hospital near Al-Adawiyaa Mosque, just off Rabaa Square, the names of the dead are called out.

Listening are families of those lost.

"It was as quiet as a morgue", goes the saying.

But the morgue here is far from idle; it is the busiest place in the city.

What can be heard inside are people sobbing in between gasps for fresh air;

the atmosphere a stench of dead bodies left out for too long.

Mingling with the groans of the injured and the prayers that still go on.

The floor is a flood of fresh blood, ice blocks brought in to preserve bullet-ridden corpses left out for too long.

The army chief smiles on camera at a broadcasted national police academy graduation. 

Honored with a standing ovation, and praised by the Interior Minister as

"Egypt's devoted son".

All less than 24 hours after he ordered the bloody killings at Rabaa Square.

Pretty surreal scene...don't you think?

*                    *                    *

A consultant I've met at a hospital placement years ago told me that during surgery, an anesthetist holds a lot of power.

If the anesthetist senses that something is wrong, he/she can call off the surgery right there and then.

*                    *                    *

Exactly a week ago I was kneeling down beside the rabbit's prone body. 

I had carefully flipped him over to reveal his wound.; 

the hole was big enough to let his intestines out, not quite big enough to let them back in.

In retrospect I wonder if things would have ended up differently if I had anesthetics of some sort. 

Maybe I would have been able to calm him down. 

Push his insides back in, even.

Anything to let him live to the morning, when he would be able to get more professional care.

But all that is wishful thinking, I guess.

The death in my house, though, was a good reminder.

A reminder of how easy life is for me here.

Don't get me wrong: I am grateful for this calm, and I do not wish the bloody scenes of Egypt to happen in Malaysia.

Not in a place I call home.

But in my heart is a certain sense of unease...

I look around to see so many people still oblivious. Uncaring of brothers and sisters in Egypt.

Like the bunch of people standing cluelessly around a disemboweled rabbit, 

we stand cluelessly around a nation disemboweling itself.

The Prophet (p.b.u.h.) once said:

"The Muslim Ummah is like one body. 

If the eye is in pain then the whole body is in pain  

and if the head is in pain then the whole body is in pain”

But as our brothers and sisters are 

massacred in Egypt, 

gassed in Syria, 

under siege in Palestine,

exiled from their own homes in Myanmar. 

The rest of us...barely bat an eyelid.

This ummah has become like a person who doesn't even realise that he is being stabbed all over his body.

That he is bleeding.

That he is dying.

He doesn't realise.

He is under anesthesia.

To those who read this I ask you to get the word out.

If you can speak, speak.

If you can write, write. 

If you can donate, donate. 

And pray. 

Pray for our ummah to wake up

We have to wake up.

An Open Letter: Ramadhan Greetings for the Bak Kut Teh Couple

Dear Alvin and Vivian,

I hope this letter finds you in the best of health. :)

I am a Muslim.

But I love eating bak kut teh myself, a dish which Mama used to cook up every once in a while for my family.

Provocative, eh? :D

But before an angry mob is whipped up by the above statement, with the purpose of lynching a bak kut teh-eating kid such as myself (and/or his Chinese mum) for "insulting Islam", let me first clarify:

It was more like chi kut teh than bah kut teh, since it had chicken in it instead of pork.

Duh. I am Muslim kot -.-

Maybe I should be careful, though, with the "B" word.

Since the "incident" which occurred in the past month involving the mild-mannered dish comprising of soy sauce, herbs, and coincidentally pork ribs, it seems a civil war can be started by just mentioning the name of "the-dish-which-must-not-be-named".

No surprise...we Malaysians are an infamously reactive people.

(This post itself is a reaction to the whole event. Lol -.-")

The real surprise, in my opinion, is that all this is happening in Ramadhan; a month of patience and forgiveness.

Or at least, that's what it's supposed to be.

*               *               *

Once upon a time, about 1400 years ago, a Bedouin man entered a mosque.

He found a corner and started urinating.

(Pretty provocative, I would say).

The companions of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) in the mosque were not very pleased, and quite understandably, not too far off from beating up the rogue tinkler.

But before chaos could ensue Muhammad told his companions to calm down and let the Bedouin finish his "business" in the corner.

*               *              *

Funny what qualifies as "insulting religion" nowadays.

An invite to buka puasa with "the-dish-which-must-not-be-named",

a video of a lady celebrating Raya with her dogs;

are so easily taken as insults to the faith.

Calls for the heads of errant bloggers come next.

*               *               *

After the Bedouin had fulfilled the call of nature at the corner of the mosque, he was called over by Muhammad (p.b.u.h.) and was told:

"In these Mosques it is not right to do anything like urinating or defecating; 

they are only for remembering Allah, praying and reading Quran," 

Then Muhammad (p.b.u.h.) commanded a man who was there to bring a bucket of water and throw it over the urine, and he did so.

Simple.

Which is why we Muslims follow the sunnah; take Muhammad as a role model. 

Not as a blind cult following; but as a rational guide to life.

Eh...a rational guide to life?

Then why did so many Muslims act in such irrational ways to the bak kut teh issue?

*               *               *

And therein lies the real problem.

For me, the question:

"why in the world would these bloggers post such a stupid thing in Ramadhan??"

has an obvious answer:

"they do not know".

Just like the way the Bedouin did not know enough about Islam when he "confused" the mosque for a toilet,

Alvin and Vivian do not know enough about Islam.

Admittedly, they must have already known the fact that the consumption of pork is prohibited for Muslims, but my guess is that they did not know enough of why;

such as why we can't eat pork, and

why the prohibition means so much to us.

Or, more fundemantally:

Why be Muslim?

And therein lies the problem.

Whose job was it to let Alvin and Vivian know the answers to the above questions?

Our schools?

JAKIM?

The Internet?

No.

The task falls on the shoulders of every able-bodied Muslim.

We pride ourselves on following the sunnah, but the biggest sunnah of all is dakwah. Calling people to Islam.

That was Muhammad's lifelong undertaking.

But we don't do enough dakwah, do we?

And suddenly we jump at the chance to punish people for not knowing enough about our way of life.

If you ask me, that is the real insult to Islam.

*               *               *

Dear Alvin and Vivian,

I will do the unthinkable here, and apologise.

No, I'm not apologising for the fact you got punished.

That is out of my jurisdiction.

But I apologise because the situation you find yourself in,

and the actions you took to get yourselves in that position,

are both proof.

Proof of how little you know of my way of life, my Deen.

Of Islam.

For if you knew, you wouldn't have done what you did.

Of that I am sure.

After Ramadhan and Eid, I am planning to learn how to cook a few dishes from my Mama...

it goes without saying that bak kut teh is one of them ;p

I understand, Alvin and Vivian, that the circumstances are not in the favor of us meeting up. 

But I would really love if we could an enjoy a bowl of bak kut teh together one day.

Oh, but it'll be pork-free though. 

Maybe while we eat, we can have a chat as to why that is so :)