He who laughs last didn’t get the joke. – Joey’s judgment

People will believe anything if you whisper it. 

That’s a sentiment first expressed by The Anything Whisperer. Or it might have been Ripley of Believe-It-Or-Not fame. Unfortunately, neither is true  because I made it up. 

I made it up because I wanted to illustrate the power of words. So long as they exist, words have a power, in and of themselves, to compel belief. 

If that’s true, then a number of made-in-Malaysia phrases have just obtained that mystique. Indeed, some inimitable Malaysian expressions and food names have made it into the latest edition of the Oxford English Dictionary (OED). 

The OED is the main historical dictionary of the English language. Published by Oxford University Press, the 225 year-old lexicon continually introduces new words, through global usage, which ultimately enriches the language. 

Going forward, it will mean the modern-day Malaysian Archimedes will one day have his own  Alamak moment. Loosely translated, that’s a “By Jove, I’ve got it!” flash. Oxford, however, translates it as “an exclamation expressing surprise, shock, dismay or outrage.” Actually, it runs the gamut from the former “Hallelujah”  instant to outright resignation depending on intonation, inflection and volume. It’s not unlike the head-nod in India. The only thing it does not convey is anything religious. You wouldn’t expect that from “Mother of God” would you? That’s its literal translation. 

Several local food names have been added to English, including ketupat (in use from 1886) and otak-otak (1929). Ketupat is the diamond-shaped rice cake that usually accompanies satay (grilled meat on skewers), while otak-otak is steamed spiced fish with coconut milk. How the fish dish got its name is a mystery. Otak-otak literally means “brains.” Maybe it was a colonial invention. After all, Bertie Wooster, a character so dim-witted he had to be a colonial, attributed his man-servant Jeeves’ intelligence to all things fishy: “He’s very smart: he eats a lot of fish.”

Other items making the cut were nasi lemak and kaya toast. Both dishes are also claimed by Singapore – but it would, wouldn’t it?  

Half-boiled eggs (1931) is also surprisingly described as a Malaysian breakfast dish. The idea that no Englishman ever thought of briefly cooking two eggs in boiling water before tucking into its salted and peppered contents with some toast, and coffee, beggars belief. You begin to understand why the only English contribution to haute cuisine has been the chip.

Tapau (1997) or “takeaway food” has also made the cut. Other items include the Anglicised “fish head curry” and “steamboat” (1960). While the latter has other Asian variants ( the Japanese shabu-shabu, for example), fish-head curry (1972) can be said to be a Malaysian original, which is surprising: the thought of eating the head of a fish might be repellent to the English but surely not to the Japanese?  

Mat Rempit, our version of motorcycle menaces, is now an English term meaning “young men involved in illegal racing.” What should be tacked on to that is this: “They are generally a curry short of a puff and a leading cause of stress to other motorists.”

To the chagrin of the US Homeland Security, “terror” has also made the cut, as in “Wah, he so terror-one.”  That’s fluent Manglish for “He’s very cool.” OED has described it as an adjective meaning either “terrible” or, conversely, “admirable, even excellent.” 

We’d advise strongly against its use in any Western airport though.

ENDS

A lie goes halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on –  Winston Churchill

The laws of sexual discrimination work selectively in certain instances. 

This is most apparent in Malaysia when it concerns the titled. And there are many such people in Malaysia.

One of them is my wife. Rebecca’s ascension in government meant that she began attracting a string of titles which got capped, in 2015, when Malaysia’s King  awarded her a Tan Sri-ship. That’s akin to a knighthood in the United Kingdom. 

Don’t get me wrong. I was proud of her and she fully deserved it, but, in cricketing terms, you might say I was on a sticky wicket. 

I realised it the day I accompanied her to the Palace when she went to receive the honour. The official bowed and called out her full name with new title while addressing me as Dato’ – he assumed it was the least I could be. 

On my part, I assumed a vaguely lofty manner. 

At such functions, you cannot  just sit anywhere. Instead, I was briskly escorted to the ranks of the spouses where a sea of women looked  blankly up at me. 

Needs must, as they say. “We Puan Sri’s have to stick together,” I said to them and got a big laugh in return. 

That is the rub when it comes to titles in Malaysia. The wife of a Dato’ in Malaysia has her own title (Datin) while the wife of a Tan Sri is a Puan Seri. The husband of either is, however, neither and, at best, is a Mr. 

Did I mention that Rebecca is a Datuk three times over?  

If society would only observe these niceties, it would be fine but sexual prejudices almost always blur them.

Take the condominium we have been living in. It took a long time for the Nepali security guards to finally figure out that the TS wasn’t me. They simply assumed it had to be the guy.

It sort of cut both ways: it got you deferential looks from passers-by and outraged, or scandalised,  people who knew my wife. 

The worst times were when I had lifts from acquaintances. I’d roll down the window to allow the guard to see me only to hear him reply in a roar that frightened birds a kilometre away: “Of course, Tan Sri.”  

That’s when I wonder what the driver is thinking? 

It’s no fun. 

It was even worse in Singapore where Rebecca was stationed as the head of an international agency for six years. 

Had an 01 in it. I was to find out that they were the numbers routinely given to Ambassadors. 

I found it out by accident. Every time we pulled up at any hotel, someone would always  spring to my door and address me as Excellency. All this, despite the fact that my wife was always the one sitting in the power seat (the back left). 

It was one such  doorman who explained the significance of the 01 on the number plate. 

In fairness and in my defence, I almost always left Excellent smiles and a thoughtful nod or two in my waka.

ENDS

It was my cousin who gave Rebecca the idea.

Meera had spent two weeks at an ayurvedic retreat in Kerala, India  and returned extolling its benefits. 

My wife thought we should make the trip as well. 

Kerala looks a lot like Malaysia except it’s like 19 degrees in the morning after which the temperature climbs steadily to 33 degrees by noon. As there’s little cloud cover, it’s a dry heat that can make your head spin. 

Even so, the temperature begins falling after 4; but then again, it was January – we are told it gets brutal in July. 

The place encompasses 14 acres, a lot of which is still being developed. When we got there, the guests were mostly foreigners (Ukrainians, surprisingly). By the time we left, the guests were mostly Indians but from various countries – the US, the UK, Malaysia and the like.  

The place is meat and alcohol-free; only vegetable salt – 10 times less sodium than table salt – and hardly any oil are used in cooking. 

Anything processed is a no-no and only ancient grains like millet are usesd in lieu of flour. Milk, even yoghurt, and other dairy products are frowned upon. 

Nothing is mandatory so, after two days, we skipped the early-morning martial-arts exercises and went for walks around the place. We were almost always accompanied by the retreat’s dog – an amiable mutt called Princess – and two courteous guinea fowl that seemed determined to make up for an ill-tempered goose that was prone to homicidal fits of rage if approached closely. 

On those walks, we noticed that the place grew its own food. Or tried to.  

Certainly, there were all manner of fruit – papaya, jackfruit, mango, banana, breadfruit, watermelon, etc.  

The meditation and yoga classes  before breakfast were always interesting because, at the very least, it stimulated our appetites. We also learned how to “breathe” properly.  

Every day, we had our weight and blood pressure monitored by a doctor – there were three in attendance.  What was surprising was that both began dropping, after two days in my case.  

Indeed, I went off my regular BP meds on the doctor’s advice because my readings became too low (95/65). For the rest of my stay, I was entirely off meds and my readings were either normal or slightly low. 

Rebecca has always had low blood pressure so it wasn’t a problem.  It’s a family joke that when she’s stressed in her job, her BP climbs to “normal.”  

Through a screening method that seemed inexplicable to me, we were given different modes of detoxification which, to put it delicately, necessitated numerous trips to the bathroom. 

The results were amazing, Both of us lost a significant amount of weight: Becky lost over 3 kg while I lost about 4.3 kg. One suspects a lot of that might have been water but we both looked and felt better. 

The record weight loss in two weeks there, however, belonged to a guy from Tamil Nadu but it was pointed that he had a stomach the size of a small country: you could say it was the base effect.  

Neither of us are early sleepers but I was generally  asleep by 9 every night there. Becky usually read until 10 or so but both of us were up by 5.30 every morning. For me, anyway, this was a one-off. It hasn’t happened since, 

And, lest we forget, the treatment also consisted of over an hour of daily massage. In my case, it was done by two men who pounded on me using enough medicated coconut oil to float a tanker or two. 

It was only embarrassing the first time but the matter-of-fact manner in which they worked soon dispelled any discomfort.

The hot bath that followed made me relaxed and sleepy and my skin felt a lot better. 

The problem now is maintenance. It’s trying to hold on to those gains in the face of Malaysian food. 

And I think I’m losing.

ENDS