If we’re familiar with two things, it’s food and where to get the good stuff. 

Before Michelin introduced “two-stars” to indicate “excellent food worthy of a detour,” Kuala Lumpur residents had their own BKT index which showed precisely where, in Klang, a 30 minute drive from KL, the best bah kut teh was served. 

So it came as  no surprise when a national culinary team won gold at the Best National Dishes in the World Competition, held in Dubai last Saturday. 

Yes, it was titled as such. I’d blame the copywriter but maybe that’s Dubai for you.

First, a pointer.  Whenever you patronise a place that uses  “cuisine” instead of “food,” expect your bill to be at least 60% higher than normal. 

Now, back to Dubai. What was the best international dish in the world, according to the Dubai Deemsters? 

It was Nasi Kerabu aka Herb Rice. 

You could say the said rice leaves an impression. It’s in a hue so virulently blue that it may have driven US pop singer Halsey to dye her hair turquoise.

These actions have karmic consequence. The blue tinting of Halsey’s hair was what finished off poor Cyndi Lauper who’d thought orange was the way to go.

Everything’s up in the air now. The fat fruitcake currently occupying the White House has proclaimed Orange the new Plaque so who’s to know how the karmic wheel will spin? 

But I digress as we were talking about the competition, no? Apart from the signature rice dish, the six Malaysian chefs prepared chicken and shrimp dishes delicious enough to convert the heathen. 

The two dishes were also chili-fiery so the sweet and ice-cold cendol served as dessert later may have been such a relief to said judges that it pushed Malaysia over the top. 

As the lead chef said after the fact: “I love it when a plan comes together.” 

He was quoting someone, not the Cannibal for sure, but certainly some Hannibal. 

The Syrians came in second which was no mean feat. Its head chef Youssef Youhanna was already famous for his best-selling book A Device Dodger’s Directory of Damascus but this had to be icing on the cake. 

No, he didn’t make cake but sensibly had opted for what he generally prepared in his house. And everyone knew hummus where the heart is. 

Surprisingly, the Italians were eliminated early: “We just-a needed some Gouda luck.” The Japanese felt bitter thinking they had been given short shrift; “Udon even know our cuisine.”  

But the French were the most outraged. They had been placed third which was wholly unacceptable to a nation that had gifted the baguette to the planet. 

Much to the fury of central banks the world over, they’d also been the people who’d invented the Michelin star system of grading restaurant fare. Over the years, it’s had the effect of boosting food prices and thus, central bank chagrin. 

But the Dubai dilemma was different and delicate. The judges thought alcohol was as necessary to cooking as a bicycle was to a fish. 

“Sacre bleu!” exclaimed the French head chef as he wondered how his coq was to be prepared without the vin? ( His coq au vin was, essentially, bone-in chicken slowly braised in red wine).

“Don’t go bacon my heart,” he  pleaded.

But the judges were unrepentant.

“Dill with it”. 

ENDS

Above all, do no harm.

It’s the overriding objective of the Hippocratic oath, a promise all doctors know. 

Not Akmal Salleh. He’s the go-to guy for petrol whenever there’s a fire raging. And, just when you thought it was safe to believe in medicine, the firebrand is a Russia-trained medic. 

Dr Akmal joins a list of former alumni steeped in the time-honoured practice of divisive race politics to rise in the hierarchy of Malaysian politics. The list includes  four former premiers. Translation: there’s method in his madness, only it’s called the Hypocritic Oath.

The English writer Samuel Johnson put it succinctly. Patriotism, he declared, “is the last refuge of the scoundrel.” 

And scoundrelly stuff seems to be the order of the day.

More than a year ago, a 24-hour convenience store was found selling socks with the word “Allah” printed on them.

It was an honest accident and the owner, an ethnic Chinese businessman, apologised repeatedly. 

No thanks to Akmal, the incident got whipped up to the extent that a few stores got fire-bombed. 

The fact that barely anyone remembers it now illustrates how disproportionate the then-response was.  

Now the fuss is over the flag. The vituperative medico got his knickers in a twist after a hardware shop in Penang accidentally  displayed the national flag upside down. When the owner realised the error, the mistake was rectified and the fellow even apologized.

You’d think that would satisfy a “reasonable” man. Nope.  

The way the pushy physician  pressed for the Chinese shop owner’s prosecution, you’d think he was Heinrich Himmler. 

If only Umno Youth, the branch of the United Malays Nationalist Organisation that Akmal heads, treated corruption with the same evangelical fury….but that is another story.

Things have now changed in a way that makes you believe there might be a God. 

Earlier this week, a chapter of Akmal’s own youth wing  posted an incorrect version of the national flag on social media. It led to a hasty apology and red faces all around – especially in the light of the initial holier-than-thou threats. 

It defused  that particular crisis but it now appears there’re other fish to fry, 

Nurturing  mountains out of molehills was all very well but Umno Youth yearned to see former Malaysian Premier Najib Razak aka Jibsworth exchange his prison cell for house arrest.  

Yes, they wanted him snug as a bug in a rug in the comfortable, air-conditioned climes of his luxurious, Jalan Duta  home where he might serve out the rest of his sentence for “abuse of power and corruption.” 

Lest we forget, Jibsworth together with his pal, the rotund and still-missing  Felonious, were responsible for what the Wall Street Journal described as the “heist of the century.“

It revolved around the theft of RM19 billion from the Malaysian government. The money was raised through US dollar- denominated debt which taxpayers are still paying for.

Putrajaya has paid out RM43.8 billion so far and a balance of RM9.7 billion remains. 

This gargantuan robbery was committed under Jibsworth’s premiership.

You’d think Akmal might be incensed with his former leader’s greed, but no, Umno Youth is calling for the First Felon to serve out his sentence in the comfort of his home. 

Strange would be an understatement, wouldn’t you say? 

ENDS 

The President of today is just the postage stamp of tomorrow. – Words to live by considering the current incumbent.

What does a leader do when confronted by suggestions his policies are bad?

If he’s Donald Trump, he fires bearer of said news and declares victory. 

If it worked before on reality TV, why not in the White House?

Last Friday, US President Donald Trump sacked the head of an important economic institution hours after it released weaker-than-expected jobs data that suggested his tariff policy was hurting the US.  

The Orange Oddball claimed Erika McEntarfer, head of the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS), had “RIGGED” jobs figures “to make the Republicans, and ME, look bad.” 

Actually, the capitals-crazed Top Dog didn’t need Erika, or anyone else, to make him look bad. He could, and often did, that by himself. 

America’s Certifiable Chieftain is convinced that tariffs are the US’ way forward. The markets don’t agree and the BLS’ figures  didn’t help. 

Indeed, Friday’s figures released by BLS showed that employers in the US added only 73,000 jobs in July, far below forecasts of at least 109,000. 

To add insult to injury, the agency revised down employment growth in May and June, reporting 250,000 fewer jobs than previously thought. It was the largest downward revision in employment in 45 years.  

In fairness, the Saffron Sage isn’t the first President to be data-rebuked. During Joe Biden’s presidency, statistics for 12 months over 2023-4 were retroactively revised downward by 818,000 jobs. 

Even so, the BLS’ latest revisions weren’t unexpected:

analysts said it was consistent with other data showing a slowdown. 

If there was one thing America’s Beefy Bossman hated more than illegal immigrants, it was criticism. And any talk of a slowing economy under HIS watch, was DEFCOM 4 and not to be tolerated.  

It was back to the old playbook: Deny, Obfuscate, Contradict and Punish.  

That’s exactly what the Corpulent Commander-in-Chief did. 

He denied and contradicted. “The Economy is BOOMING under TRUMP” he posted on his Truth Social network. 

Interestingly, he referred to himself in the third person, a trait often associated with narcissism.  

The Hefty Head Honcho had better get used to bad news because the majority of economists are now united in decrying his “Brilliant” tariffs. 

Even the Economist, a right-wing  publication, described his  tariff war as “mindless” and “bound to cause havoc.”

Some people see more sinister overtones in his latest outburst. This from former US Treasury Secretary Larry Summers: “Firing the head of a key government agency because you don’t like the numbers they report is what happens in authoritarian countries.” 

Mr Summers was alluding to Project 2025, a political initiative to reshape the US federal government and consolidate executive policy in favour of right-wing policies.   

The Nobel-craving, Heavyset Head of State has consistently denied any attachment to Project 2025 but analysts note that his term seems devoted to entrenching the executive’s grip on the state. 

Next in his cross-hairs could be Jerome Powell, the hapless chairman of the Federal Reserve. The central bank continues to leave interest rates unchanged much to Donny’s chagrin.  

The First Felon is demanding a cut, but the Fed is holding fire until it sees the full impact of tariffs on the US economy. 

The trouble is Donald “I-know-more-about-interest-rates-than-anyone” Trump knows he cannot lose. 

That’s just not in the script. 

ENDS 

It’s so hot, the cows are giving evaporated milk. – Anonymous 

When we were playing in a pub in the late 1970s, the only free drink we could expect from management was ice-water. 

Except it was never called that. In the spirit of the booze-fuelled environment we were in, it was always sky juice on the rocks.

I’d say we need a lot more sky juice right about now, preferably falling from the heavens in bucketfuls.

There are certain things Malaysians, especially those living in Kuala Lumpur, accept with resignation. Traffic jams spring to mind. 

But when did the haze become part of the Kuala Lumpur condition?

People accept the haze with the same fatalistic resignation they accord cancer. The Meteorology Dept now casually throws it into the weather mix – “hazy and hot with a 30 per cent chance of rain in the evening.” 

To us elderly gents who remember the “no haze at all” years, it’s a disturbing  phenomenon that began in the 1990s. Suddenly, the Indonesians, who’ve been practising  “slash and burn” cultivation techniques for generations, were letting those fires get out of control. And like an invading army, smoke is no respecter of borders.   

Now that we accept it, we quibble, we rationalise and, yes, we play it down if only to make us feel batter. 

“Yes, it’s hazy but at least you can’t smell it.”  

“C’mon, it’s nowhere near 1997. Now that was a  real horror. This is nothing.” 

In fact,  I do remember 1997 as a real horror. In late 1997, the Kuala Lumpur skyline emerged as a  dystopian landscape of fog, fire and unholy smoke. 

It felt like the end of the world not least because the Asian Financial Crisis was upon us. Companies were going bust, people were losing jobs and it appeared Pandora had simply dumped the contents of Her Box all over Southeast Asia. 

The good news is this isn’t 1997. Not by a long chalk. 

It’s hazy and bloody hot but it could be worse. And let’s face it, that’s something to talk about right there. I mean, if the weather didn’t change once in a while, most people wouldn’t have a conversation starter. 

“I bet you doctors just love this haze. They must be minting money.” 

And so on…..

Maybe climate change is behind this. I certainly don’t remember such hot nights when I was growing up. Two nights ago, I think it was still 30 degrees after 11. 

Seriously, I don’t think anyone In Seremban ever had air conditioning in their houses in the 1970s but I  remember, with a fan on,  we still had to have blankets when we went to bed at nights. 

But strange things are happening courtesy of climate change. In North Vietnam, apparently, a heatwave is causing hens to lay hard boiled eggs. 

Worse, it was so hot in Washington  yesterday, Donald Trump was chagrined to see a squirrel fanning its nuts. 

Finally, this weather business is unpredictable so we should stop cursing the Meteorological Department.

Weather forecasting is a lot like sex: it may produce some practical results but that’s not why we do it. 

ENDS

What makes him think that a middle aged actor, who’s played with a chimp, could have a future in politics? – Ronald Reagan, on Clint Eastwood running for Mayor of Carmel 

Thou shall always blame someone else. 

It was a Golden Rule for Donald Trump. When confronted with a misstep – from deadly Texas floods to fatal air-crashes into the Potomac – the Donald’s reflexive, go-to option was to blame Joe Biden. He even blamed his hapless predecessor for Gaza, a stretch if ever there was one. 

All this in addition to the Golden Rule itself: he who holds the Gold, Rules. He’d never forget that. It was how a Grifter-in-Chief kept his bank balances healthy after his term ended. 

This reality seems to have eluded the Republicans. The same group used to pillory the Biden “crime family.” But Hunter Biden’s “lapses” are penny-ante stuff compared to the billions being raked in by the Trump Empire.

When asked if this wasn’t hypocritical, a Republican Senator retorted that “at least, it’s done openly.” 

Apparently, transparent conflict-of- interest behaviour is manly cheating in the Republican Book of Ethics. Except there’s a small problem – it’s forbidden by US law. 

The US Constitution’s Emoluments Clause expressly prohibits a sitting President from “accepting  gifts, payments or any benefits from foreign governments.”  

Truth be told, no one thought the Donald worried about trifling things like The Law, least of all the US Supreme Court. 

He’d promised to go to Washington to “drain the swamp” but there’d been too many friendly alligators there and he’d ended up being their King, 

Mr Trump was an intensely insincere man who vowed to do everything he could for the working man, except become one. 

He was a profoundly religious politician who, when he assumed office, insisted on taking the oath of office upon the Bible. Yet his prudence dictated that he not touch it lest one or the other burst into flame. 

His faith allowed him calm, nay resolve, in the face of revelations that his Big, Beautiful Bill would add over US$4 trillion to an already-colossal  deficit. 

He merely recited what he remembered from the Sermon on the Mount: “Blessed are the children for they shall inherit the National Debt.”

Israel’s Benjamin Netanyahu tried to suck up to him by nominating him for the Nobel Peace Prize, a grotesque endorsement that one late night show host likened to “receiving a Husband of the Year nomination from O J Simpson.”

But the US Internal Revenue Service knew the truth: it felt the Donald  should be nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature. His income tax returns were the most imaginative works of fiction being written today. 

The President was a modest fellow who was generous to a fault: he didn’t mind the strain of having to be right all the time. Actually, he enjoyed it so much he kept telling everyone how good he was. 

Don’t believe me? Ask him.

The US legislative system was based on a simple principle – that no party could fool all of the people all of the time. That was why the US had two parties.  

That was the theory. In practice, the Donald  never consulted Congress, issuing, instead, a slew of Executive Orders that no one read, least of all himself. 

What’s amazing is that the American people not only put up with it, they accept his near-constant lying. 

They will have to put up with that for a very long time, even after he’s left the presidency.  

Because, even in death, he will lie still.

ENDS 

It’s a little bit frightening, reaching 100. – Dr Mahathir Mohamad  

He’s as old as some trees. – Anon

People generally know who you’re talking about when you refer to the Old Man. 

Thirty years ago, the candles already cost more than 

his cake. Like the night, or a sunset, he seems to have always been around.

That’s because heis. Dr Mahathir Mohamad, twice Malaysia’s premier, turned 100 on Thursday. 

I first interviewed him in late 1987 in the aftermath of Operation Lalang. It was the name the police gave a nationwide crackdown during a period of racial tensions. It saw 119 people – mostly oppositionists and civil activists – detained without trial Two newspapers were also shut down. 

As we awaited the Prime Minister’s arrival, something caught my eye. Directly behind his chair, there was a poster of a cruel-eyed eagle, hovering, its talons outstretched. Beneath it, however, the caption read: “How Can I Soar Like An Eagle When I’m Surrounded By Turkeys?”

Truth be told, Dr Mahathir Mohamad preferred the turkeys: he’s even said he prized loyalty above competence where his staff were concerned.  

When Dr M assumed the premiership in 1982, the government he took over was relatively clean. His predecessor Hussein Onn may have been considered slow and indecisive but he disliked, and didn’t tolerate, corruption.

Case in point: In 1977, Harun Idris, a very popular Chief Minister of Selangor state, was sentenced to six years in jail for accepting a MYR250,000 bribe. 

Ironically, such a sum is considered penny-ante, even laughable  these days. 

But there is a larger point here. When Dr M took over in 1982, most people in positions of power were careful to keep their noses clean because they feared retribution. 

During his 22 years in office (1982-2004), Dr M, like Lee Kuan Yew in Singapore,  had near-absolute power. During that period, his ruling party had a two-thirds majority in Parliament which meant he could push through any law.  

But while Lee Kuan Yew used his power to crack down on corruption without fear or favour, Dr M did not.  

It cannot be a coincidence that Malaysia began appearing on Transparency International’s global corruption lists by the time the 2000s rolled around. It was a dubious first for the country.  

The ex-physician did not believe some of his own policies. His Vision 2020, for example, spoke of a single Bangsa Malaysia (Malaysian race) whose people walked “free and equal under the Malaysian sun.” 

It was empty talk in the main and he largely ignored any attempt to forge a united people. Indeed, when he first took over, the civil service was aggressively made more Malay. Its non-Malay population currently stands at less than 10%. In 1982, it  was probably around 35%.

Dr M never seems to have accepted the merits of multi-racialism, surprising for a doctor of Western medicine educated in Singapore. 

On the contrary, he’s consistently harped on issues of race and religion while simultaneously decrying its use. 

He’s all for Malay dominance whilst asserting he wasn’t its architect. His current preoccupation is that Malay interests – its unspoken dominance – is under threat from without. He does not specify the threat and it’s the old us-them bogey all over again. 

He once had this to say about Anwar Ibrahim: “A leopard cannot change its spots.” 

The same might be said of him. 

ENDS

The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.  –  Proverb

When I was in Form 6, a wise old teacher summarised the role of a constitutional monarch into seven words: “The King reigns; he does not rule.”   

That’s concise wisdom101. As is its wont, the English language even has a word for it. 

They are called proverbs and they are sometimes considered advice to live by.

Example: If only Fearless Leader aka Jibby had grasped the concept of honesty being the best policy, he might have saved himself, and the country,  a whole lot of money and trouble. 

That’s the problem with having a friend with a degree from Chicago’s Wharton School of Business. Fatboy almost always agreed. Yes, he’d say, it’s generally considered the best policy but…

You have to watch these fellows like a hawk. It’s their “buts” that get you every time. 

There are some proverbs that are baffling to say the least. There is this old chestnut, for instance: people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.  

Only a moron would throw a stone inside a glass house because that’s the way to rack, ruin and expensive bills. I’ve a better idea: people who live in glass houses shouldn’t!

I’m not sure which genius  came up with this obvious proverb but surely it’s the pits. “The way to a man’s stomach is through his mouth.”

Duh.

Maybe it’s an intro to the new Spanish Cooking for Dummies. 

The ancient Indian doctors were a cynical lot. What else are we to make of a Hindu proverb that goes: “No physician is really good until he’s killed one or two patients.”

Mark Twain was either a weirdo or a philosopher because he was the one who came up with this: “Eat a live frog first thing in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day.” 

I suppose it’s a reflection of the old adage: “It can’t get any worse.” 

You have to love the optimism of this old Italian proverb: “Since the house is on fire, let us at least warm ourselves.”

To the inscrutable, and sometimes scrutable, Japanese, everything is Zen and mystic. But some of their proverbs are maddeningly obvious, which make it even more enigmatic. A case in point would be this confounding conundrum: “The reverse side also has a reverse side.”

Here’s the Polish equivalent of “a bad carpenter” – “A man who can’t dance thinks the band is no good.”  

I’m not sure which Czech guy came up with this theory but my gut tells me he was an artist and a prince among men: “A fine beer may be judged with only one sip but it’s best to be thoroughly sure.”  

When I was still working for a salary, I’d probably agree with this philosophical nostrum: “Monday is an awful way to spend 1/7^th of your life.”  

Jim Fixx was the guy who advocated running as a motto to live by and his hugely  popularThe Complete Book of Running remained on the best seller lists for a long time. Even so, the man died at a relatively young 52. That must have inspired this cynical American proverb: “Eat well, stay fit, die anyway.” 

And if anyone still thinks this century isn’t about information technology, think again. Even the Sermon on the Mount is being rethought.

The latest has this to offer:

The Geek will inherit the earth.    

ENDS

Education is what remains after you’ve forgotten everything from school – Albert Einstein 

This morning I read about one of my final-year university classmates becoming Malaysia’s first scientist to be made a Fellow of the United Kingdom’s Royal Society.

That’s no mean feat as her peers would include Charles Darwin and Stephen Hawking. Clearly she’d drunk deeply from the river of knowledge that life presents us.

Then there is the guy who’d been staring at me the other day at the Selangor Club. He came over and said he thought I’d been his science teacher in 1979. 

I had. 

He seemed delighted to see me. Alas, It was more a reflection of my public relations’ skills than anything of a pedagogic bent: he confessed to   flunking out of school and now sold insurance. 

Remember said river? He’d probably only gargled its waters but appeared no worse off for anyone’s wear.  

In 1979, I was playing guitar in a pub band and was happy as a lark until a news daily featured us. My father read it and was understandably furious because I’d told him I had a temporary job with the university. 

The band had to find a replacement guitarist and I went back home to become a “temporary” teacher. 

I wasn’t happy but, truth be told, it paid a lot more than gigging in a pub. 

The replacement guitarist is now the chairman of a  think-tank while my  other two bandmates settled and thrived in the US, but in non-musical careers. The pianist though still tinkles the ivories at weekend gigs in Tampa, Florida. 

Back in Seremban in 1979, I didn’t have a driving license which meant I had to do what I generally did when I went home – use the bus. When you’re a teacher in charge of the “rougher” classes in the Anglo-Chinese School – said insurance salesman et al – that can get tricky.

The mornings were fine because my father generally dropped me off. But the afternoons had to be managed. 

The trick was to wait a prudent half-hour after the bell when the bulk of the students would have left. 

There is precious little moral high ground or dignitas to be had when you board a bus only to find your students sitting while “Sir” has to stand because there are no more seats. It’s even worse when, God forbid, a student actually offers you their seat.

I think that’s what Shakespeare meant when he babbled about “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”

That’s the beauty of the half-hour wait. There are enough seats and most, if not all, students would have left.

During weekends, I went to the Seremban Bowl with my old classmate, Chris, because it served good beer.

One evening, a large person looked us over for an uncomfortable while before sending over a complimentary jug.  

He joined us and said we were all in the same class but we wouldn’t remember him because he was in a “lower class” and “you  were the Smarties” (his words).

He said he dropped out after Form 5 to help in his dad’s pig farm. Now he ran “all three.” 

He asked me if I’d been to university and what I did now. I told him. 

“Teaching” appeared to genuinely grieve him. That made two of us. 

Then he asked how we got to the Bowl and I confessed I’d used the bus. 

As if to reinforce his point, he pointed to a gleaming Volvo in the parking lot.

“I can give you  guys a lift,” he said. 

ENDS

I found out recently the most common reason we head for A & E (Accident and Emergency) rooms in Malaysia is to obtain relief from stuck fish bones in the throat.  

In New York City, it’s for gunshot wounds. OK, the US doctor gets better on-the-job training but I think we’ll stick with fish. You could argue the point but this is neither the time nor the plaice. 

Speaking of fish, I’m  reminded of a story I heard about Justice Eusoffe Abdoolcader. The man had a brilliant legal mind but occasionally could get tripped up. 

While hearing a case in Ipoh, the Judge was irritated with a lawyer who, in his opinion, was belabouring a point to death. 

He called a timeout for lunch and, glaring at said lawyer, advised him to “repair in haste” to a shop nearby where there was fish head curry. Fish, remarked the judge tartly, “is very good and might help your brain.”

“Very good, My Lord,” replied the unrepentant  belabourer. “And you will be joining me?” 

I interviewed Justice Eusoffe for a profile in the early 1990s and he was all he was reputed to be – sharp and testy. 

When I asked  for some judgments he was proud of he summoned his secretary. Ms Lee was asked to fetch MLJ (Malayan Law Journal) Vol 26 and photostat pages 124 through 148. 

The man had a photographic memory. 

But his writing could be over the top. There was one particular sentence that I read with incredulity. It went through word-thickets and muscular metaphors, through comma, semi-colon, parenthesis and colon, winding its way in perfect grammar to  its bitter end, 220 words later. 

It was during the late 1990s when I heard of a case being heard in the High Court involving Japan’s Yomeishu.

I was working for a foreign newsmagazine and it was a dry news-week so I went to court. 

Yomeishu is a potent medicinal liqueur that’s claimed to promote vitality through its boosting of circulation.

The Japanese firm was outraged that a local company was selling a similar product with a similar sounding name and was suing, claiming patent infringement. 

The judge hearing the case was one V C George and things got interesting when Yomeishu’s President took the stand. 

The President was extolling his product’s virtues using words like “health” and “blood circulation” when the Judge wondered aloud if it had any effects on male virility. 

The President replied in the affirmative, so certain was his opinion that Viagra itself would have folded its tent and stolen away into the night.

But the answer didn’t satisfy the Judge because he followed up with a question so keen and penetrating it reduced the courtroom into hysterics. 

Judge:  “Do you drink it or does one apply it?”

All this with the deadpan gravity of a Walter Matthau. 

The Japanese interpreter had a fit of giggles before he translated the question. 

After the President digested the question, he had a giggling fit himself  before he composed himself sufficiently to inform the suddenly-interested courtroom that one had to drink it for full benefit.

Remember, you read it here first. 

ENDS

Before we were sent off on our postings, the Ministry of Health sent us to the Institute of Medical Research (IMR) for “training.” 

I don’t remember much of the training but I do recall being taken by a senior colleague to the best chap fan restaurant east of Suez.  It was along Jalan Pahang and the trick was to get there before 12.30, after which the hospital’s hungry hordes laid waste to its spread. 

After three months, we were dispatched to the front-lines. I got Perak. 

I reported to the state’s Chief Medical and Health Officer, a suave Sikh, who informed me that The Plan – he liked to Declaim in Capitals – was to send me to Teluk Anson. No one had heard of Teluk Intan, not even Intan herself.

The prospect filled me with alarm as the place was only a district hospital with a rudimentary laboratory. 

Sensing my unease, the CMnHO suavely slid in this caveat: “Pending your  transfer, you’ll serve in Ipoh General Hospital.”

It was 1980 and the government wasn’t computerized so I wandered around in abject  poverty for three months! Then my file reached whoever it was supposed to reach and I was deemed salary-worthy. My first salary came in a rush, all three months of it. (In the IMR, we only received an allowance).

Apart from the blood bank, the biochemistry department was the largest component of the pathology department. In Ipoh, we had two labs. There were smaller labs for hematology (bloodwork including the preparation of slides for biopsies) and serology (tests on serum).  

You might see how a young man might rapidly get disenchanted amid such cheerful company first thing in the morning, three years in a row. But that’s another story. 

At the time, medical lab work was primitive. Only the blood gas machine was automated. Everything else was done manually. Hundreds of titrations a day and it had to be reasonably accurate because the results mattered.

There were two of us and we needed to know the basic work as well in case of  emergency.  Nowadays almost all blood tests are automated. Back then, it could be soul destroying. 

I had great admiration for some of the medical lab technicians: they performed very skilled work rapidly and uncomplainingly despite not being paid much.  

Most of them depended on overtime pay: someone had to man the labs on weekends. 

When I joined, Mrs Ang, the senior biochemist, immediately told me to take over the OT assignations. 

I quickly realised why. Many of the MLTs, who depended on OT, were highly suspicious of whoever doled it out. Try as I might I couldn’t convince some people of my scrupulous neutrality. 

You can only be a good guy for so long. One day, I lost my temper and I threatened to transfer a constantly grumbling staffer to Teluk Anson. 

I had no such power but he didn’t know it. Neither did anyone else because no one ever questioned my methods again. Even Mrs Ang gave me an approving nod. 

I think it was then that she went to bat for me and I got off Telok Anson’s hook. 

ENDS