she just adores nights when a silvery sheen spreads its fingers over the land. she always looks long and searchingly at the kind, mesmerising yet enigmatic moon in the darkened sky. sometimes she takes a turn in the garden on such nights, feeling and savouring the soft, soothing,tender moonlight on her ......
when the nightingales sing, a gust of wind ruffles her hair sending little tendrils onto her cheeks.....
and moonbeams tease little glow worms hiding in clumps of clover......
Friday, 31 August 2012
Thursday, 30 August 2012
mount ophir
her paternal grandparents' house stood at the foot of mount ophir, by a river with cold cold water from the mountain.
she remembered once while bathing there she saw a buffalo doing the same downstream!
every morning her grandfather would bring her a handful of dew covered oranges from his farm. they tasted so fresh and sweet .
and sometimes lunch would have fried tiny mushrooms which grew abundantly on nearby hillsides. fried fish, asam pedas, blanched tapioca shoots and sambal......eaten with steaming rice on the verandah in the late afternoons in pleasant company .......
she remembered once while bathing there she saw a buffalo doing the same downstream!
every morning her grandfather would bring her a handful of dew covered oranges from his farm. they tasted so fresh and sweet .
and sometimes lunch would have fried tiny mushrooms which grew abundantly on nearby hillsides. fried fish, asam pedas, blanched tapioca shoots and sambal......eaten with steaming rice on the verandah in the late afternoons in pleasant company .......
picnics by the sea
it was normal in those days for a village to be inhabited by the descendants of one or two particular families.
aunts and uncles, cousins and in-laws lived side by side. footpaths joined timber houses on stilts; airy well ventilated abodes with long windows, perforated gables, mysterious attics, floors with narrow gaps, deep eaves acting as transitional space against the tropical sun, steep nipah roofs allowing smooth unhindered flow of rain, verandahs where folks loved to sit of an evening ........
each household had its own kitchen garden filled with herbs, chilly, vegetables. chicken, ducks, cows, goats were reared by almost everybody. fish from the nearby straits of melaka were so fresh they tasted divine.
and the fruit trees were everywhere, providing shade and bounties to all. it was a self sufficient sustainable era. of course you had to buy salt and sugar, clothes and bicycles.
such was the rustic, simple yet wonderful pastoral life in the village clinging to the slopes of bukit gemuroh where hyenas still roamed, while tributaries of the 'pirate river' reached out to the open sea.
after the padi harvest, the village folks would have a picnic at a bay called 'telok ayer' facing the turtle-shaped island. she remembered walking in single file along a footpath by rubber trees on the sea facing hill to reach the sheltered inlet.
the children and teenagers were perhaps the happiest, frolicking in the shallow lagoon, then playing on the pristine white sands, the hills around echoing with their joyous laughter.......there was even a spring of fresh water from the hills forming a small pool before emptying into the sea. and the blue skies up above ........
under the shade of spreading jungle and 'ketapang' trees, adults busied themselves fishing at the rocky promontory, looking for 'remis' on the beach, and then grilling them , cooking rice and even curries using firewood in the open as well as making lots of 'kerabu' from shoots and young leaves plucked from nearby trees and shrubs.
oh the happy happy moments.........
aunts and uncles, cousins and in-laws lived side by side. footpaths joined timber houses on stilts; airy well ventilated abodes with long windows, perforated gables, mysterious attics, floors with narrow gaps, deep eaves acting as transitional space against the tropical sun, steep nipah roofs allowing smooth unhindered flow of rain, verandahs where folks loved to sit of an evening ........
each household had its own kitchen garden filled with herbs, chilly, vegetables. chicken, ducks, cows, goats were reared by almost everybody. fish from the nearby straits of melaka were so fresh they tasted divine.
and the fruit trees were everywhere, providing shade and bounties to all. it was a self sufficient sustainable era. of course you had to buy salt and sugar, clothes and bicycles.
such was the rustic, simple yet wonderful pastoral life in the village clinging to the slopes of bukit gemuroh where hyenas still roamed, while tributaries of the 'pirate river' reached out to the open sea.
after the padi harvest, the village folks would have a picnic at a bay called 'telok ayer' facing the turtle-shaped island. she remembered walking in single file along a footpath by rubber trees on the sea facing hill to reach the sheltered inlet.
the children and teenagers were perhaps the happiest, frolicking in the shallow lagoon, then playing on the pristine white sands, the hills around echoing with their joyous laughter.......there was even a spring of fresh water from the hills forming a small pool before emptying into the sea. and the blue skies up above ........
under the shade of spreading jungle and 'ketapang' trees, adults busied themselves fishing at the rocky promontory, looking for 'remis' on the beach, and then grilling them , cooking rice and even curries using firewood in the open as well as making lots of 'kerabu' from shoots and young leaves plucked from nearby trees and shrubs.
oh the happy happy moments.........
the golden rooster
the evening was balmy. children were playing. she was about four years of age, following her mother to a relative's house deep in the pastoral hamlet.
then she stood stock still. across the shallow earth drain sat a mammoth golden rooster leaning against a coconut tree! its head reached the palm fronds at the very top of the tree! and it was smiling!
it was beautiful, its feathers shone in a bright golden hue, yet it frightened her. the unexpectedness, the gargantuan size, the incredulity, the impossibility of it all!
tears in her eyes she told her mother about it, pointing to the very spot but her mother admonished her saying she was yet again making up silly stories.
and the golden rooster smiled in all its glory.
she ran home without a backward glance, not even heeding the village children's shouts to play with them, much to her mother's chagrin.
the golden rooster remained unexplained.
then she stood stock still. across the shallow earth drain sat a mammoth golden rooster leaning against a coconut tree! its head reached the palm fronds at the very top of the tree! and it was smiling!
it was beautiful, its feathers shone in a bright golden hue, yet it frightened her. the unexpectedness, the gargantuan size, the incredulity, the impossibility of it all!
tears in her eyes she told her mother about it, pointing to the very spot but her mother admonished her saying she was yet again making up silly stories.
and the golden rooster smiled in all its glory.
she ran home without a backward glance, not even heeding the village children's shouts to play with them, much to her mother's chagrin.
the golden rooster remained unexplained.
the hanging gardens of babylon
she was in primary four. it was nearing the end of the school year. the usual time for school exhibition and students rushed to produce the numerous exhibits.
her class teacher assigned her to do a poster of 'the hanging gardens of babylon', one of the wonders of the ancient world.
she did a likeness guided by an illustration in her history book. using water colours, she was captivated by the structure that came into being on the paper. terraces filled with exotic foliage rose into the air in layers not unlike a stepped pyramid, with footpaths bordered by trees, flowers, birds, butterflies, water features and all !
she imagined how it must have been like in reality in those times, so very long ago, by the tigris and euphrates ..........
her class teacher assigned her to do a poster of 'the hanging gardens of babylon', one of the wonders of the ancient world.
she did a likeness guided by an illustration in her history book. using water colours, she was captivated by the structure that came into being on the paper. terraces filled with exotic foliage rose into the air in layers not unlike a stepped pyramid, with footpaths bordered by trees, flowers, birds, butterflies, water features and all !
she imagined how it must have been like in reality in those times, so very long ago, by the tigris and euphrates ..........
sewing dresses for dear dolly
she started sewing at a tender age, using her mother's faithful manual 'singer' sewing machine, a heavy wrought iron contraption with pedals which made quite a loud noise.
getting hold of pieces of colourful cotton, she made dresses for her little dolls. it made her happy to see the little ones so well dressed in various styles and she felt like a tailor!
such were the simple joys of childhood!
getting hold of pieces of colourful cotton, she made dresses for her little dolls. it made her happy to see the little ones so well dressed in various styles and she felt like a tailor!
such were the simple joys of childhood!
gathering wild flowers
they were white fragrant blooms, rather large with rows of filmy petals and she never knew their name. perhaps they belong to the lily family. they blossomed profusely at the edge of marshes, and nobody in the village took any notice of them.
except her.
together with her best friend anna, they gathered armfuls to take home. and their houses would be sweet smelling until it made them dizzy!
nature's bounty is all around us, if only we would stop, look, smell, listen and appreciate.......
except her.
together with her best friend anna, they gathered armfuls to take home. and their houses would be sweet smelling until it made them dizzy!
nature's bounty is all around us, if only we would stop, look, smell, listen and appreciate.......
padi planting
She was about eight. After retirement, her grandfather worked their padi field situated right next to the sea.
During the padi planting season she loved catching little colourful fishes in the clear shallow water. These she placed in glass jars along with aquatic weeds for the fish to eat.
Standing on bunds she looked at a wide expanse of water, the empty padi field plots before planting. It looked exactly like a large lake.......the water rippled as a moist breeze blew in from the sea, disturbing the tapestry of reflections on the surface......
Her grandmother would bring along rice, sambal belacan, fried salted fish and pumpkin shoots cooked in coconut milk! They would have a picnic on the grass under a spreading tree and the humble fare was like ambrosia !
And then the plants grew yellow with ripened padi. It was harvest time. The whole village became a hive of activity. Everyone helped in a very convenient system of everybody helping his neighbour in turns. There was no need to hire helpers at all! Such was the goodwill in those days!
Her grandfather made flutes out of the padi stalks for her. If you were good, there would be sweet music....like those notes by the ever elusive Pan ......
Night time was like a fiesta, electric bulbs lighting up the lawn as padi was sieved or sifted using a mechanism like a bicycle to produce wind. The heavier rice kernels would fall onto a pandanus mat while the empty husks blew away.
There was much fun, laughter, sweet hot tea and even bubur kacang for all. The children would run and play to their hearts' content as dads, mums, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and grandparents chatted and worked the night away.
The following night would see the same at another neighbour's home. And so on.
It was a time when rice on the plate was grown on one's own land. Rice never tasted so good!
During the padi planting season she loved catching little colourful fishes in the clear shallow water. These she placed in glass jars along with aquatic weeds for the fish to eat.
Standing on bunds she looked at a wide expanse of water, the empty padi field plots before planting. It looked exactly like a large lake.......the water rippled as a moist breeze blew in from the sea, disturbing the tapestry of reflections on the surface......
Her grandmother would bring along rice, sambal belacan, fried salted fish and pumpkin shoots cooked in coconut milk! They would have a picnic on the grass under a spreading tree and the humble fare was like ambrosia !
And then the plants grew yellow with ripened padi. It was harvest time. The whole village became a hive of activity. Everyone helped in a very convenient system of everybody helping his neighbour in turns. There was no need to hire helpers at all! Such was the goodwill in those days!
Her grandfather made flutes out of the padi stalks for her. If you were good, there would be sweet music....like those notes by the ever elusive Pan ......
Night time was like a fiesta, electric bulbs lighting up the lawn as padi was sieved or sifted using a mechanism like a bicycle to produce wind. The heavier rice kernels would fall onto a pandanus mat while the empty husks blew away.
There was much fun, laughter, sweet hot tea and even bubur kacang for all. The children would run and play to their hearts' content as dads, mums, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and grandparents chatted and worked the night away.
The following night would see the same at another neighbour's home. And so on.
It was a time when rice on the plate was grown on one's own land. Rice never tasted so good!
Wednesday, 29 August 2012
leaves
Perchance you are under a Neem tree (Mambu), do look up at the leaves; soft green small ones curling in a circular formation forming concentric circles on slender branches. The canopy is a pattern of circles upon circles...spirals upon spirals.....
Passing by a Mempisang tree you can see ripply long leaves neatly arranged in layers in the overall conical form of the plant. Young shoots are crimson and mature leaves are deep green.
The Flame of the forest (Semarak Api) has really tiny leaflets perfectly lined, lacy, delicate and fragile.
The humble Tapioca or Cassava (Ubi kayu) has leaves in a stellar shape.
The Angsana (Sena) leaves are buxom, emerald green with pointed tips, lush and lovely.
Ironwood (Penaga) shoots are reddish, blossom-like, often deceiving the eyes....
Ah, the patterns in nature ..........
Passing by a Mempisang tree you can see ripply long leaves neatly arranged in layers in the overall conical form of the plant. Young shoots are crimson and mature leaves are deep green.
The Flame of the forest (Semarak Api) has really tiny leaflets perfectly lined, lacy, delicate and fragile.
The humble Tapioca or Cassava (Ubi kayu) has leaves in a stellar shape.
The Angsana (Sena) leaves are buxom, emerald green with pointed tips, lush and lovely.
Ironwood (Penaga) shoots are reddish, blossom-like, often deceiving the eyes....
Ah, the patterns in nature ..........
Tuesday, 28 August 2012
a valley of orchids
Going home for the school holidays, I travelled by train with some other students from the northern states in specially booked coaches with double decker sleeping berths. We normally took the night train from the capital city and arrived at dawn up north.
But once, I took the morning train.home. The train passed right through a huge blue lake somewhere in the silver state. Then I saw it. Out of the wilderness I saw......
A valley of wild, beautiful orchids....stretching into the distance like a giant lilac carpet interwoven with shreds of the palest green, so incredible.....so beautiful......
But once, I took the morning train.home. The train passed right through a huge blue lake somewhere in the silver state. Then I saw it. Out of the wilderness I saw......
A valley of wild, beautiful orchids....stretching into the distance like a giant lilac carpet interwoven with shreds of the palest green, so incredible.....so beautiful......
two strangers II
A glance
one in a million
two strangers on a street;
eyes locked for a second
two minds collided
an uncanny recognition
then gone
Yet it haunts
and tantalisingly lingers;
roaming
the fringes
of the sub-conscious
Now and then
to emerge
engulfing
with a bittersweet sensation;
a genetic memory?
a recycled event
from a parallel existence?
a glimpse
through a time warp?
Maybe just
two ships
passing in the night.....
Rose Avenue 1998
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
one in a million
two strangers on a street;
eyes locked for a second
two minds collided
an uncanny recognition
then gone
Yet it haunts
and tantalisingly lingers;
roaming
the fringes
of the sub-conscious
Now and then
to emerge
engulfing
with a bittersweet sensation;
a genetic memory?
a recycled event
from a parallel existence?
a glimpse
through a time warp?
Maybe just
two ships
passing in the night.....
Rose Avenue 1998
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
Monday, 27 August 2012
the door
It was in 1996. The whole family went on yet another foray into villages off the beaten track, looking for nothing in particular. just enjoying the ambience and the landscape. The kids were still in their primary school. Mum and dad still in their thirties.
It was nearing dusk when they saw the signage. Mum suggested they see the place even though they had to drive through a humongous rubber plantation. Dad was game. Or was it just to humour mum who was rather the amateur anthropologist? And archaeologist?
The rubber trees made the laterite path dark. Then mum saw some old buildings to the right, with an odd eclectic architecture. Temples with wide stone steps, moss covered but with green domes on them. And there were many compound lightings.
Pointing to these oddly shaped buildings in the middle of a rubber estate, mum said that they should pass through them on the way out as it was well lighted there. Dad agreed.
After spending about twenty minutes at the historical site, they started for home.
However hard they tried time and time again, they just could not find them.There were no quaint temples with huge green domes. There were no lighting fixtures anywhere!
Only glum rubber trees stood silently in rows as far as the eye could see.
Laguna 2012
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
It was nearing dusk when they saw the signage. Mum suggested they see the place even though they had to drive through a humongous rubber plantation. Dad was game. Or was it just to humour mum who was rather the amateur anthropologist? And archaeologist?
The rubber trees made the laterite path dark. Then mum saw some old buildings to the right, with an odd eclectic architecture. Temples with wide stone steps, moss covered but with green domes on them. And there were many compound lightings.
Pointing to these oddly shaped buildings in the middle of a rubber estate, mum said that they should pass through them on the way out as it was well lighted there. Dad agreed.
After spending about twenty minutes at the historical site, they started for home.
However hard they tried time and time again, they just could not find them.There were no quaint temples with huge green domes. There were no lighting fixtures anywhere!
Only glum rubber trees stood silently in rows as far as the eye could see.
Laguna 2012
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
kiko, koko and kangkong
They make me smile, sometimes laugh at their antics.
Kiko aka Chloe is dainty, gentle and often follows me around as I trim the jasmine plants or tend to the heliconias, cape myrtle and ferns.
Koko the black youngster is robust, eats heartily all day long and rushes through holes in the chain link fencing when not in the cage.
Rabbits they are and what wonderful companions they make. Kangkong seems to be their favourite so I have become a farmer of sorts.....Kiko has a penchant for pandan leaves too besides nibbling on the ferns.
The whole family dotes on them. Kiko and Koko travel quite extensively along with the family, sometimes looking out of the car window!
Kiko aka Chloe is dainty, gentle and often follows me around as I trim the jasmine plants or tend to the heliconias, cape myrtle and ferns.
Koko the black youngster is robust, eats heartily all day long and rushes through holes in the chain link fencing when not in the cage.
Rabbits they are and what wonderful companions they make. Kangkong seems to be their favourite so I have become a farmer of sorts.....Kiko has a penchant for pandan leaves too besides nibbling on the ferns.
The whole family dotes on them. Kiko and Koko travel quite extensively along with the family, sometimes looking out of the car window!
a sunset on an old fort
I could not fathom this wild urge to go to the northern shore.
Speeding through the grid-like narrow streets of Tanjong Penaga which used to be full of mangrove, passing rows and rows of dilapidated pre-war ancient shophouses complacent in yesterdays' dreams, I tried to unravel this puzzling situation.
A languid drizzle made the twilight a canvas splashed with dripping water colours. I shivered in the gathering dusk.
Treading the lichen covered rough hewn stone steps of the weathered old fort, I heard a gentle cry. Someone was leaning against the huge iron cannon. I held my grey head scarf in place as a gust of cold wet wind suddenly blew in from the north channel.
And then it happened. All street lights went out. Even lights from the surrounding buildings were gone.
I peered down and saw horse carriages on the esplanade! No more cars, no more tall buildings. In fact, only a few single storey habitats could be seen here and there. Even the fort was not of bricks and stone anymore! I was on a nibong platform!
"Anna...promise me you will wait for me. " he was obviously in pain.
That was my great-great grandmother's name! Ana!
I took off my headscarf and tied it around his injured arm. His startling blue eyes, caucasian features, manner of speaking and quaint clothes suggested he was not local.
A bolt of lightning struck the fort about six meters away. I was blinded for a second.
And then, "Is this yours?"
I turned to see a man, a western tourist probably, a tired backpack slung carelessly on his shoulders, dressed in normal sweat shirt and blue jeans; my grey scarf in his hands.......
1996
copyrights reserved by teh tam / wind flower
Speeding through the grid-like narrow streets of Tanjong Penaga which used to be full of mangrove, passing rows and rows of dilapidated pre-war ancient shophouses complacent in yesterdays' dreams, I tried to unravel this puzzling situation.
A languid drizzle made the twilight a canvas splashed with dripping water colours. I shivered in the gathering dusk.
Treading the lichen covered rough hewn stone steps of the weathered old fort, I heard a gentle cry. Someone was leaning against the huge iron cannon. I held my grey head scarf in place as a gust of cold wet wind suddenly blew in from the north channel.
And then it happened. All street lights went out. Even lights from the surrounding buildings were gone.
I peered down and saw horse carriages on the esplanade! No more cars, no more tall buildings. In fact, only a few single storey habitats could be seen here and there. Even the fort was not of bricks and stone anymore! I was on a nibong platform!
"Anna...promise me you will wait for me. " he was obviously in pain.
That was my great-great grandmother's name! Ana!
I took off my headscarf and tied it around his injured arm. His startling blue eyes, caucasian features, manner of speaking and quaint clothes suggested he was not local.
A bolt of lightning struck the fort about six meters away. I was blinded for a second.
And then, "Is this yours?"
I turned to see a man, a western tourist probably, a tired backpack slung carelessly on his shoulders, dressed in normal sweat shirt and blue jeans; my grey scarf in his hands.......
1996
copyrights reserved by teh tam / wind flower
Sunday, 26 August 2012
strolling in the rain
wandering
along shadowy lanes
in the grove of fancy
under monsoon skies
heavy with
sodden nimbus
which soon
empties;
and rivulets
rush against each other
among primroses
and bluebells
and sweet sweet rhododendrons......
Laguna 2012
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
along shadowy lanes
in the grove of fancy
under monsoon skies
heavy with
sodden nimbus
which soon
empties;
and rivulets
rush against each other
among primroses
and bluebells
and sweet sweet rhododendrons......
Laguna 2012
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
Mencari Langkasuka
ii
Dari manakah datangnya melodi mendayu-dayu ini? Sedangkan pondok kami terpencil jauh dari rumah-rumah lain.
iii
Tahun 80-an. Tesis ku tambah dimensi keturunan dan asal usul keluarga.
Nenek cukup suka bercerita tentang penghijrahan moyangnya dari tapak bekas kerajaan Langkasuka sekitar tahun 1820-an.
"Perang musuh bisik!" katanya sambil aku pantas melakar salasilah keluarga yang besar.
"Dulu tok kami selalu jugak main Menora. Tapi gendang dan rebab dah tak ada. Semua tu
ditanam di dusun kita, bawah pokok rambai tu." tambahnya.
Tiba saja aku teringat pada suatu malam dulu, sewaktu aku masih kecil.
Suatu malam bila aku terdengar irama misteri yang mendayu-dayu!
Mungkinkah?
2008
hakcipta terpelihara / teh tam/ wind flower
Dari manakah datangnya melodi mendayu-dayu ini? Sedangkan pondok kami terpencil jauh dari rumah-rumah lain.
iii
Tahun 80-an. Tesis ku tambah dimensi keturunan dan asal usul keluarga.
Nenek cukup suka bercerita tentang penghijrahan moyangnya dari tapak bekas kerajaan Langkasuka sekitar tahun 1820-an.
"Perang musuh bisik!" katanya sambil aku pantas melakar salasilah keluarga yang besar.
"Dulu tok kami selalu jugak main Menora. Tapi gendang dan rebab dah tak ada. Semua tu
ditanam di dusun kita, bawah pokok rambai tu." tambahnya.
Tiba saja aku teringat pada suatu malam dulu, sewaktu aku masih kecil.
Suatu malam bila aku terdengar irama misteri yang mendayu-dayu!
Mungkinkah?
2008
hakcipta terpelihara / teh tam/ wind flower
Mencari Langkasuka
i
Musim buah-buahan tahun 60-an. Aku, datuk, nenek dan abang bermalam di dusun di lereng bukit menghadap sawah nan luas.
Pondok berdinding buluh, atapnya nipah, lantai dan tiang batang nibong dibina datuk di dalam rimbun pohon manggis, langsat, rambai, cempedak, rambutan, durian dan nangka.
Di sebelah pondok mengalir anak sungai dari sebuah mata air. Air dari sungai ini disalur ke pondok melalui batang buluh yang dibelah dua. Kesejukan dan kejernihan air ini berlegar-legar di memori.
Selepas sahaja solat subuh datuk akan mengutip buah durian yang gugur di atas hamparan rumput hijau begemerlapan dengan taburan embun pagi.
Suatu malam bening, nenek di sebelah sudah nyenyak tidur. Abang terlelap dengan buku di tangan. Datuk masih di sejadah berzikir. Lampu pelita minyak tanah berkerdip diusik bayu dari atas bukit.
Aku menarik selimut. Dingin malam menusuk-nusuk. Mimpi masih belum bertandang.
Sahutan unggas dan orkestra cengkerik saling mencabar dalam kegelapan. Aku sedikit resah. Mungkin pulut dimakan bersama durian dan santan siang tadi masih belum sempurna penghadamannya.
Menoleh pada datuk, yang rupanya sudah tersandar di dinding, mata terpejam sambil tasbih masih di jari.
Wah, situasi semakin merisaukan. Aku seorang sahaja yang masih belum tidur. Dan di luar pondok berbagai bunyi mencurigakan menghimpit keselesaanku.
Ku cuba gapai sempadan alam mimpi. Namun ia terlalu jauh.
Tiba-tiba, halus gemersik bagai alunan serunai, menyelinap antara anyaman kelarai buluh di dinding, suatu irama begitu mengasyikkan!
Merdu meliuk lintok di celah fabrik malam. Aku terpesona.
hakcipta terpelihara/ teh tam/ wind flower
Musim buah-buahan tahun 60-an. Aku, datuk, nenek dan abang bermalam di dusun di lereng bukit menghadap sawah nan luas.
Pondok berdinding buluh, atapnya nipah, lantai dan tiang batang nibong dibina datuk di dalam rimbun pohon manggis, langsat, rambai, cempedak, rambutan, durian dan nangka.
Di sebelah pondok mengalir anak sungai dari sebuah mata air. Air dari sungai ini disalur ke pondok melalui batang buluh yang dibelah dua. Kesejukan dan kejernihan air ini berlegar-legar di memori.
Selepas sahaja solat subuh datuk akan mengutip buah durian yang gugur di atas hamparan rumput hijau begemerlapan dengan taburan embun pagi.
Suatu malam bening, nenek di sebelah sudah nyenyak tidur. Abang terlelap dengan buku di tangan. Datuk masih di sejadah berzikir. Lampu pelita minyak tanah berkerdip diusik bayu dari atas bukit.
Aku menarik selimut. Dingin malam menusuk-nusuk. Mimpi masih belum bertandang.
Sahutan unggas dan orkestra cengkerik saling mencabar dalam kegelapan. Aku sedikit resah. Mungkin pulut dimakan bersama durian dan santan siang tadi masih belum sempurna penghadamannya.
Menoleh pada datuk, yang rupanya sudah tersandar di dinding, mata terpejam sambil tasbih masih di jari.
Wah, situasi semakin merisaukan. Aku seorang sahaja yang masih belum tidur. Dan di luar pondok berbagai bunyi mencurigakan menghimpit keselesaanku.
Ku cuba gapai sempadan alam mimpi. Namun ia terlalu jauh.
Tiba-tiba, halus gemersik bagai alunan serunai, menyelinap antara anyaman kelarai buluh di dinding, suatu irama begitu mengasyikkan!
Merdu meliuk lintok di celah fabrik malam. Aku terpesona.
hakcipta terpelihara/ teh tam/ wind flower
two strangers I
two strangers
on a street;
two pairs of eyes
locked
for a fraction of a second,
two hearts
touched
for one mad instant,
and then gone -
like two ships
passing silently
in the night......
Rose Avenue 1998
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
on a street;
two pairs of eyes
locked
for a fraction of a second,
two hearts
touched
for one mad instant,
and then gone -
like two ships
passing silently
in the night......
Rose Avenue 1998
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
Roofscape of Tanjong Penaga
From the nineteenth floor;
in dawn's half light
I looked down onto
a patchwork of roofs
a tapestry of shapes, sizes
a myriad of colours,
some in deepest red
some in pleasant terra cotta,
yet others in the anonymity
of fatigued asbestos
or ambigious flaccid hues
of the upstart concrete tiles,
and the obnoxious glare
of confused metal decking.
In the uncertain distance,
lanky minarets and regal domes
persevered amongst
Bohemian tones
of glazed ceramics.
I saw too
glinting cunningly from semi-hidden crevices,
cringing in between spanking brilliant
new high rises,
the suspicious tint
of the ghetto's zinc,
weathered by age and chemistry,
humiliated by prosperity-
a pinch of spice
in the roofscape of
a pulsating city,
framed by the silvery sheen
of a mobile sea,
so enchanting
so bewitching!
1999
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
in dawn's half light
I looked down onto
a patchwork of roofs
a tapestry of shapes, sizes
a myriad of colours,
some in deepest red
some in pleasant terra cotta,
yet others in the anonymity
of fatigued asbestos
or ambigious flaccid hues
of the upstart concrete tiles,
and the obnoxious glare
of confused metal decking.
In the uncertain distance,
lanky minarets and regal domes
persevered amongst
Bohemian tones
of glazed ceramics.
I saw too
glinting cunningly from semi-hidden crevices,
cringing in between spanking brilliant
new high rises,
the suspicious tint
of the ghetto's zinc,
weathered by age and chemistry,
humiliated by prosperity-
a pinch of spice
in the roofscape of
a pulsating city,
framed by the silvery sheen
of a mobile sea,
so enchanting
so bewitching!
1999
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
love
Love came when least expected and she soon became a wife and mother to five beautiful children, three girls with names of flowers; Roselilyana, Rosenita, Rosealia and two boys Naqi and Ridzal.
Juggling a full time career and family was yet another challenge. But laughter filled days with husband and children are such poignant memories.This is the most important and priceless phase along the winding road.
Watching her children grow into honest, hard working, responsible, kind-hearted, successful, loving adults gives her much happiness.
She is most grateful to The All Mighty SWT.
Juggling a full time career and family was yet another challenge. But laughter filled days with husband and children are such poignant memories.This is the most important and priceless phase along the winding road.
Watching her children grow into honest, hard working, responsible, kind-hearted, successful, loving adults gives her much happiness.
She is most grateful to The All Mighty SWT.
if
If
on a mellow afternoon
tiny leaves fall
petals
of shy rosebuds
peep in trembling smiles
birds
with flashy wings
hide on slender branches
and
the breeze is soft
on the translucent gloaming.....
I
will try to look
beyond the horizon...
2000
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
on a mellow afternoon
tiny leaves fall
petals
of shy rosebuds
peep in trembling smiles
birds
with flashy wings
hide on slender branches
and
the breeze is soft
on the translucent gloaming.....
I
will try to look
beyond the horizon...
2000
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
a path of many roses and a few thorns
Like the first butterfly timidly emerging into a strange new reality. Like the first dewdrop balancing uncertainly on the tip of a blade of grass.
Yet armed with enthusiasm, fresh dreams, bundles of youthful exuberance, she delved into a career which would bring her to dizzying heights and lowly chasms in turn besides the plateaus studded along the way. However, her love for the field she chose, her perseverance and perhaps the stubbornness in her and of course with the gift from The All Mighty SWT, work was never a chore nor a burden.
The mix of science and art in her job was exhilarating, conjuring something out of nothingness was magical. Relating concrete to people, plants, animals, the rain, the sun, the wind, laughter, hopes, aspirations ...... was pure rhapsody!
And best of all, digging into history, feeling the vibrations from the past, re-living all those times of yore in building conservation that she loves best still......she feels truly blessed to be able to savour so much joy in her career!
And the other favourites she found time for. Fashion designing. Writing. Painting. Reading of course. She once went up the catwalk when one of her designs won a consolation prize in a competition. Her short stories published in magazines and newspapers brought in money. Her oil paintings decorate her home. Book filled home.
Yet armed with enthusiasm, fresh dreams, bundles of youthful exuberance, she delved into a career which would bring her to dizzying heights and lowly chasms in turn besides the plateaus studded along the way. However, her love for the field she chose, her perseverance and perhaps the stubbornness in her and of course with the gift from The All Mighty SWT, work was never a chore nor a burden.
The mix of science and art in her job was exhilarating, conjuring something out of nothingness was magical. Relating concrete to people, plants, animals, the rain, the sun, the wind, laughter, hopes, aspirations ...... was pure rhapsody!
And best of all, digging into history, feeling the vibrations from the past, re-living all those times of yore in building conservation that she loves best still......she feels truly blessed to be able to savour so much joy in her career!
And the other favourites she found time for. Fashion designing. Writing. Painting. Reading of course. She once went up the catwalk when one of her designs won a consolation prize in a competition. Her short stories published in magazines and newspapers brought in money. Her oil paintings decorate her home. Book filled home.
hill rain
I can still recall
those tender evenings
golden
and soft
in the ebbing light
leaves drenched
sparkling
when
drops of hill rain
were singing
to me....
Laguna 2012
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
those tender evenings
golden
and soft
in the ebbing light
leaves drenched
sparkling
when
drops of hill rain
were singing
to me....
Laguna 2012
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
Saturday, 25 August 2012
Fun filled school years
She remembers fondly those days at a missionary school, about six miles from her house. Friends, teachers, homework, examinations, games, the library....and representing her school in an art competition when she was only in primary two!
At age nine she stepped into a whole new world filled with Dickens, Enid Blyton, Mark Twain, HG Wells, Jules Verne, Lewis Carrol, Hemmingway, Louisa May Alcott, H Rider Haggard ..... progressing to Austen, Bronte, Elliot, Hamka, Abdullah Hussain, Solzheniytzen ....then Steinbeck, Hawthorne, Hardy, Chaucer, Tolstoy, Poe, Ben Okri, Usman Awang, Jose Rizal, Daphne du Maurier ...... and Tchaikovsky too ...
At boarding school later, she had her fill of Greek mythology, Shakespeare, Byron, Keats, Shelley, Robert and Elizabeth Browning, Frost, Longfellow etc etc ..... even though she was in pure science. She had a great time at the school situated on top of Merbah Hill where she spent most evenings at the fence, a book in hand, looking wistfully down into the green valley below.....
As a teenager she was quiet and enjoyed studying. When others were discovering love and rushing to embrace it, she was alone and comfortable being so. Perhaps she did not have the necessary looks at that age, being thin, dark skinned, bespectacled and terribly self-concious. Perhaps she was awkward and uninteresting to the young boys from other residential schools.
Much later she was thankful for this. When most of her friends were starry eyed with the taste of first love, she was the proverbial bookworm ,the wallflower. Yet she was also sharpening her mind, nurturing latent skills, getting to know Monet, Gauguin, John Constable, Desgas, van Gogh (Vincent by Don Mclean remains her best loved song), Cezanne, Picasso and the impressionist gang, Raphael, Michaelangelo, da Vinci, Mozart, Bach, Swan Lake, the Nutcracker Suite, Fiddler on the roof etc etc... and rejoiced in hard earned success. Winning competitions in essay writing, short stories, art. Getting some pocket money when her short stories and poems were published in magazines and newspapers.
At varsity she toiled in the field she loved since her primary days. Because of her passion the years were no burden. She enjoyed the euphoria of sleepless nights before presentation, the rush of adrenalin before exams, the tons and tons of assignments......
Acquiring knowledge is so very beautiful. And very rewarding.
At age nine she stepped into a whole new world filled with Dickens, Enid Blyton, Mark Twain, HG Wells, Jules Verne, Lewis Carrol, Hemmingway, Louisa May Alcott, H Rider Haggard ..... progressing to Austen, Bronte, Elliot, Hamka, Abdullah Hussain, Solzheniytzen ....then Steinbeck, Hawthorne, Hardy, Chaucer, Tolstoy, Poe, Ben Okri, Usman Awang, Jose Rizal, Daphne du Maurier ...... and Tchaikovsky too ...
At boarding school later, she had her fill of Greek mythology, Shakespeare, Byron, Keats, Shelley, Robert and Elizabeth Browning, Frost, Longfellow etc etc ..... even though she was in pure science. She had a great time at the school situated on top of Merbah Hill where she spent most evenings at the fence, a book in hand, looking wistfully down into the green valley below.....
As a teenager she was quiet and enjoyed studying. When others were discovering love and rushing to embrace it, she was alone and comfortable being so. Perhaps she did not have the necessary looks at that age, being thin, dark skinned, bespectacled and terribly self-concious. Perhaps she was awkward and uninteresting to the young boys from other residential schools.
Much later she was thankful for this. When most of her friends were starry eyed with the taste of first love, she was the proverbial bookworm ,the wallflower. Yet she was also sharpening her mind, nurturing latent skills, getting to know Monet, Gauguin, John Constable, Desgas, van Gogh (Vincent by Don Mclean remains her best loved song), Cezanne, Picasso and the impressionist gang, Raphael, Michaelangelo, da Vinci, Mozart, Bach, Swan Lake, the Nutcracker Suite, Fiddler on the roof etc etc... and rejoiced in hard earned success. Winning competitions in essay writing, short stories, art. Getting some pocket money when her short stories and poems were published in magazines and newspapers.
At varsity she toiled in the field she loved since her primary days. Because of her passion the years were no burden. She enjoyed the euphoria of sleepless nights before presentation, the rush of adrenalin before exams, the tons and tons of assignments......
Acquiring knowledge is so very beautiful. And very rewarding.
A tiny turtle-shaped island
The island basked in the tropical sun, two parts separated by a sliver of sea so azure blue it hurt the eyes. From the winding hill road it looked like a contented turtle, calm and dreamy.
The picturesque village where she lived her wonderful childhood took the name of that turtle-shaped island, Betong, right at the south western tip of the island state up north of the peninsula. Idyllic, unhurried, peaceful and friendly - it was a haven and more.
Oh the days of carefree laughter under spreading rambutan trees, gathering tiny wild flowers on the banks of a gurgling brook, climbing jambu trees with some close friends or just sitting quietly in the shade of a rain tree enjoying the cool of an evening...and oftentimes the splendour of a sunset!
Her grandparents' home perched on a hill slope, built with love by her retired police officer grandfather. A traditional vernacular timber structure "Rumah Melayu Tiang Dua Belas" with simple carvings at the long windows, fascia and "anjung", surrounded by tall elegant coconut trees, seasonal and other fruit trees.
The nights were cold. The days warm. The best times of the day were the early mornings, misty and ethereal in the half light; and the long lovely evenings in the glow of a setting sun...
The picturesque village where she lived her wonderful childhood took the name of that turtle-shaped island, Betong, right at the south western tip of the island state up north of the peninsula. Idyllic, unhurried, peaceful and friendly - it was a haven and more.
Oh the days of carefree laughter under spreading rambutan trees, gathering tiny wild flowers on the banks of a gurgling brook, climbing jambu trees with some close friends or just sitting quietly in the shade of a rain tree enjoying the cool of an evening...and oftentimes the splendour of a sunset!
Her grandparents' home perched on a hill slope, built with love by her retired police officer grandfather. A traditional vernacular timber structure "Rumah Melayu Tiang Dua Belas" with simple carvings at the long windows, fascia and "anjung", surrounded by tall elegant coconut trees, seasonal and other fruit trees.
The nights were cold. The days warm. The best times of the day were the early mornings, misty and ethereal in the half light; and the long lovely evenings in the glow of a setting sun...
Along the way to work every morning...
Cool morning
green green padi fields
and curls of mist
hanging low...
Sleepy trees
nodding silently
at
young birds
eager on trial flights
I am alone
but
not lonely...
Laguna 2009
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
green green padi fields
and curls of mist
hanging low...
Sleepy trees
nodding silently
at
young birds
eager on trial flights
I am alone
but
not lonely...
Laguna 2009
copyrights reserved by teh tam/ wind flower
Friday, 24 August 2012
Climbing hills...
A pastel rainbow arched the ever changing blue of the zenith. Sparrows and brilliant yellow birds chirped melodiously from the boughs of wild cinnamon trees, the flame of the forest and various fruit trees hugging the green slope. A waft of wild jasmine mingled with leaves of various shapes and patterns.
She was happiest standing among the ferns high on the hill with the sea breeze gentle and cool upon her face. The evening was mellow and serene, the sun lingering playfully over the distant shimmering waves.
The little hamlet below bathed in the peaceful glow of eventide, rustic palm leaved roofs interspersed with brownish zinc ones peeping shyly from the intricately shaped canopies of trees.
She looked out to the misty shades of turquoise etched against a fragile line of whitish sand in the far far distance. And the ephemeral colours of the western skies.
Oh, such glorious and spectacular beauty!
She was happiest standing among the ferns high on the hill with the sea breeze gentle and cool upon her face. The evening was mellow and serene, the sun lingering playfully over the distant shimmering waves.
The little hamlet below bathed in the peaceful glow of eventide, rustic palm leaved roofs interspersed with brownish zinc ones peeping shyly from the intricately shaped canopies of trees.
She looked out to the misty shades of turquoise etched against a fragile line of whitish sand in the far far distance. And the ephemeral colours of the western skies.
Oh, such glorious and spectacular beauty!
Once upon a time
Once, when the world was much younger, when rivers meandered merrily through dew laden meadows, and the air was cuttingly cold and fragrant; on a crisp new morning, a little girl peered hesitatingly into the hazy, uncertain horizon. Eyes intent, her young face too solemn, she tried hard to catch a glimpse of the future.
A tiny leaf fell. And the spell was broken.
She clutched her toy rabbit, grey with use but much loved, and walked slowly back to her house, nestling against the wooded slopes of a gentle hillock.
A tiny leaf fell. And the spell was broken.
She clutched her toy rabbit, grey with use but much loved, and walked slowly back to her house, nestling against the wooded slopes of a gentle hillock.
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