Need idea for school food fair

My kids are having an end of the year bash in school, which includes the whole school staging a Mary Poppins musical (Aisyha's in the chorus, Adam plays the pianica, and Aliya will dance). Julie Andrews and magical flying nannies notwithstanding, this is Asia, and any school event in Asia must have food on the side. I have to fill a form to say what I'd be bringing, and my kids want something that is distinctly Malaysian. Could you please, please help me and suggest something?

Forgive this Mokciknab yang banyak songeh, but there are a few things to consider:

• It's finger food or a dish that can be easily eaten without a table
• It's relatively cheap
• It's simple enough for someone yang tak reti masak
• It doesn't require an oven (although I'd be willing to buy an oven Butterfly if the idea's brilliant)
• and finally, it must appeal to children between ages 6 to 12.

We're boring people; and we've only come up with a few thoughts :

• roti canai
• roti jala
• karipap; or
• (Aiysha's idea) bronok
  

I could serve the roti canai or roti jala with sweet condensed milk, or I can relent to my daughters and fill the karipap with spinach and cheese instead of meat and potatoes, and I could pretend I didn't hear the plea for bronok, but I'm sure out there in the blogosphere some kind Martha Stewart doppelganger will come up with a recipe more inspiring than our dismal choices.

Can yah? Please? You won't win anything, but you will have my children's deepest gratitude. And a free tour guide next time you come to Jakarta.

mokciknab muttered at 4:06 pm ~ ~

Death in Three

Three of my neighbour's children were warded for dengue and then the middle one, a seven year old boy, died the third day he was in hospital.

His parents held a service for him at home. That evening, I sat in my front garden, saw the streams of people, imagined the streams of tears. From across the street, above the din of traffic, I heard the ceremony of sorrow. A priest telling the parents to seek strength. A little girl speaking of a dear cousin and why he will be missed. A woman singing a lullaby to the dead child.
"Sleep", she sang. "Sleep, my dear and rest in peace".

mokciknab muttered at 8:02 am ~ ~

Psychedelic Rainbow

It's safe to say that even the most casual radio listener in Malaysia and Indonesia would have heard of Nidji. The band had a string of hits, starting with "Sudah", "Bila Aku Jatuh Cinta", and then the stay-in-you-head-till-you-shoot-your-own-brains-off "Hapus Aku". I loved the song so much I played it over and over that it reduced my daughter Aiysha to tears. Literally. When we first came to Indonesia there was no escaping the tune : it was blaring in every shopping hall, on the radio, out of homes, and from the mouths of children playing in the streets.

The band must have made the same pact with the devil that signed up Led Zeppelin, because it is now enjoying the same ubiquity with "Heaven", the song used for the "Heroes" promo in Asia.

Me, lamb to the slaughter, love the song to bits.

Since moving to Jakarta, it had always been my aim to watch the band perform live, but understandably such an objective had to take a back-seat to much loftier ideals like acquiring furniture and oh yeah, sending my kids to school. Also, I have seen them on live TV shows and had always thought they sounded better in the studio.

I was wrong. So wrong. Last night, shrugging off fears that we would be the only makcik and pakcik in a crowd of youngsters, Saiffuddin and I went to the A-Mild Rising Stars concert. The show was the culmination of a nationwide search for the best bands in Indonesia; and apart from featuring the finalists, it also had a running order of performances that read like a playlist for I-Radio (or Hot FM, if you're in Malaysia).

Ungu, Samsons and Naff were billed as stars of the concert, but I was there for Nidji; as well as Steven and the Coconut Treez, a raggae band so feel-good I actually bothered to buy their CD. The pokok kelapa band was very good and by far, delivered the best vocal performance in a night marred by poor technical facilities. Andra and the Backbones, a part-time gig for Dewa guitarist Andra, was excellent as well, but I only knew one of their songs.

Nidji was in a class of their own. Giring, with his afro hair, tight pants and white shoes, was totally convincing as a frontman. The moment he pranced down the runway and broke into "Disco Lazy Time" (whatever that means), the crowd was eating out of his hands. Coldplay comparisons evaporate at this point - Chris Martin would never have jumped about with such abandon. Nidji's performance was a rush to the head, helped by the band's frenetic pace and Giring's ease with the audience : we were constantly on our feet, screaming out words. They played only three other songs : "Heaven", "Manusia Sempurna" and last but certainly not least, the massive "Hapus Aku", which was performed at twice its speed and had every one believe this was a pogo party.

By the way, we were not the only makcik and pakcik at the show. Many real mak haji's in sparkly tudungs and and pak haji's in ketayaps were also in attendance, and they rocked! Amazing Indonesia.

For more information on Nidji, go here.

mokciknab muttered at 10:22 am ~ ~

Gumuxs!

This is probably amusing only to my family, but it does reflect on how information can get corrupted along the way. For example;

• My father has six children, not two
• My sister Dalia never went out with a Caucasian
• To call Motorola a "factory in Sungai Way" is probably an over-simplification
• I am not a politician
• My brother-in law never worked in any hospital in Kinrara
• My mother's name is Saudah
• and my husband does not drive a Kenari. The person who drives the Kenari will be mortified to know that people think I am married to him because he'd had to give up corsets and high heels.

The stuff about calling Firhad "hensem" and "mamat cool" and describing me as fat are all judgment calls, so can't complain. Dalam hati boleh lah.

P.S Just in case you think I was googling myself : I stumbled upon the thread because I looked up my brother's name. He's producing a reality dance show and I wanted to know if he's getting good reviews for the show. Generally okay lah.

mokciknab muttered at 12:03 pm ~ ~

Martyr Mater. Not

Motherhood is a crown that doesn't sit well on me, and if I am totally, totally honest with myself, I know I don't deserve to celebrate today. Of course, I get it anyway -- the scrumptious breakfast of Lamingtons and sandwiches; the homemade card with pink hearts and handwritten "I love you mommy" (and a smiley, thin me holding a tulip, scrawled out with magic marker), the day out shopping, the hugs and chocolate at the end of the day. Everyone in my family is indulgent towards me today.

But here's the truth : they're indulgent towards me every day. Of the five of us, I am the most rottenly spoilt. My husband lets me get away with it; my kids let me get away with it.

Mother's day should be reserved for those who wouldn't otherwise get a break. Those women, paragons of motherhood who wake up at five to make breakfast, get their children ready for school, help them with their homework and sleep at their elbows when they're sick. The moms who would rush home after work to make dinner, who'd sew buttons, bake cakes. The apple-pie kind of moms, self-sacrificing, martyrs.

I'm not one of those. I'll ignore a child if I'm sleepy or if I have a good book to read. I'll tell them to come back later, and we're usually good with that arrangement. I rarely feed my kids, I don't know how to plait their hair and if we happen to be in a shower togther, it's more likely that I'd be the one getting a shampoo treatment.

The one who deserves to get the mother's day card, truth be told, is my maid, Ti. She does all the matryring and sacrificing. Her every waking hour is to serve the children; and the kids are more afraid of her than they are of me. (I'm a means of breaking Kak Ti's rules) For my children, she will postpone rest, marriage, her own happiness. It is solely to this unflinching devotion that I, the mommy, owe my afternoon naps and literary sojourns.

But I do other things, I really do! I read with my kids, I help them with their stories, I invent jokes, I download songs, I draw, I dance, I do voices. For all intents and purposes I'm the fun parent -- I bring them out and buy them things and lie on bed with them while they spin yarns about jumbuks and dancing princesses. I don't renege on promises and I don't lie (unless it's about sex, and even then not always) If I cook it's always a special event. I let them drink capuccino. I let them play with my makeup. I let them tell me I'm fat. On a hot day I'll push a fully clothed Adam into the pool. I talk to them about politics, poverty and providence. I never insult their intelligence and even though my kids tell me I should be more responsible or that I should learn to drive, I think we have mutual respect.

Still, once in a while a little voice will tell me that this is all wrong and that a few years' down the road I shall see the effects of such casual parenting. For the moment though, my children are happy, well adjusted people with a mind of their own and that's good enough for me.

Yes, yes, I know. The question should be : is it good enough for them? Fortunately, my children have a dependable, diligent Daddy who'll be able to square things off in the long run. Just today he practiced soccer with Adam and Aiysha, helped them with revisions, dressed Aiysha's wounds and fed her medicine, and because Kak Ti is away, he also cleaned the house and did the dishes. Tonight when he sleeps, I should see if heaven is under his feet.

mokciknab muttered at 8:22 pm ~ ~

Pidgin Holes

This post started out as a comment to my father's complaint about the declining standard of English among Malaysians, but it got too long so I decided to put it on my own blog.

We were discussing the same thing this afternoon during lunch at Iza's house. Her sister in law, who lectures English to corporate clients, told us that some teachers in small towns admitted that they teach English in Bahasa Malaysia. They said they had to, or else the students will simply nganga.

Now, contrast this with my husband's experience. Saiffuddin went to Sekolah Rendah Jalan Batu, an old school smack dab in Jalan Raja Laut, in the early 70's. He tells me he was taught Bahasa Malaysia in English. "This", his teacher used to say, "is a sendikata". More often though, the teacher used to say, "You bloody fool!"

We have indeed come a long way. To call someone a bloody fool now would seem almost antiseptic.

You know what's the sad bit about the declining standard of English? That there is no corresponding rise in the standard of Bahasa Malaysia. People who are busy arguing about whether the education system should make English or Bahasa Malaysia the priority should call a truce and take one big reality check. Apart from the academia, no one cares about the argument. No one cares about language, in the first place.

Malaysians just want functional words, and aren't bothered about style and grace in speech or writing. We think a thesaurus is a type of prehistoric reptile and an idiom is a cretin who decides to keep his mouth shut in the last minute. We're happy to be languishing in our linguistic realm, with phrases like "blom", "sume", "citer", "punyer", "hepi", "amik" and even "mesia" floating about in our alphabet soup. One needs vocabulary just large enough to send text messages. If you can type "x" instead of " tidak" or "bukan" or "tidak mahu", then why shouldn't you?

Here's my theory : we're bad at languages because words are tools of expressions and Malaysians simply don't need to express themselves. We're told there's no need. Teachers tell us there's no need. Ministers tell us there's no need. The media tells us there is no need. All the thinking has been done for us and we should just be good human resources and obedient voters. That's why pidgin words will suffice. (In voting especially, an "x" is enough. Or Afundi).

Who'd have the opportunity to use a word like "mancanegara" in a text message or an email? It's shorter to type "obersea".

But let's just say Malaysians are seized by this urge to tell others what they think, and the thoughts are not just about what they did today or their favourite TV star or gossip about the neighbours. Let's just say they want to express complex thoughts about their beliefs, their hopes, their fears, their anger. One would need more words, no? One would need to find the exact phrase to put one's point across. And one would need to read in order to find material to back one's argument. Suddenly language becomes a weapon, the mightier than the sword.

It's not too late to start in that direction and getting there is simpler than we think. Easy steps, like requiring kids to show and tell. Encouraging them to ask questions, give opinions.

Or blog.

mokciknab muttered at 7:40 pm ~ ~

Jadi dokter, apa yang harus saya lakukan sekarang?

You scored as Either. You brain is neither specifically male, nor female in the way you perceive your surroundings. As bad as this may sound to some, it can easily mean that you are capable of combining both gender aspects to your advantage. Rather than being genderless you are possibly able think freely. This does not mean that you are bisexual or androgynous or indecisive, but it might. Either 86% Female 82% Male 57% Neither 21% Should you be MALE or FEMALE?* created with QuizFarm.com

mokciknab muttered at 12:38 am ~ ~

"Humanity is part of nature and that is exactly the problem"

Philip Gourevitch, editor of The Paris Review, quoted verbatim from an interview with Boston Globe :

One of my complaints with contemporary fiction, and even some journalism, is that it's never as colorful as life; it's timid by comparison to the strangeness of the world. We're living in a really outlandish time. You can barely pick up the paper without being surprised. There are wild things every week. We have enormously interesting villains in public life and in daily life. We have enormously interesting failures, huge dramatic events. And then you pick up fiction, and it's about the inability to have a romance.

The book I am currently reading, a book written by Mr Gourevitch, is called We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with Our Families. It is about murder, deceit, political aggrandizement, heart-stopping escapes, Lake Victoria, pygmies, cheese sandwich, machetes. Needless to say, it is not contemporary fiction.

It is the book my husband disdainfully described as the one "that kept me from getting screwed"; and by "screwed" he did mean copulation. I'd probably finish the book in a few hours, and after I'm done reeling from the sheer horror and stupidity plaguing the human race, perhaps I shall tell you about it.

mokciknab muttered at 8:02 am ~ ~