BUANASENI

The Gun Incident

GUNS are only tools that the policemen carry with them and I had never seen one being used in front of me. However, in 2004, a gun was pointed to my head. It was late at night after work. I was an auditor from PricewaterhouseCoopers and I was working like a mad dog trying to sort out the financial statements of a subsidiary of Malaysian Mining Corporation (“MMC”) called Tronoh Mines Malaysia Berhad (later changed name to Zeelan Berhad). I arrived at the front gate of my parent’s house in Shah Alam and was having a smoke in the car with the windows down. It was Marlboro lights cigarettes and a Proton Satria GTi car. 

I picked up my now obsolete Nokia handphone and dialed my girlfriend’s number. We spoke for a while and then, suddenly, there was a gun touching my head. The man who was handling the gun said, “Oi! Lu kasi tutup itu talipon. Lu keluar kereta.” 

I calmly said to my girlfriend, “Hey! I’ll call you back. I need to open the gates. You knowlah, my parents refuse to put automatic gate.” Then, I switched off the phone, opened the door and stepped out from the car. I looked at the man. He was in a black leather jacket with a bandana wrapped over the bottom half of his face. 

The man then said in what I would describe as a normal Klang Valley Malay accent, “Ehhh! Apa lu tengok-tengok? Lu menirap atas jalan sekarang.” I was still in a state of shock. It did not register in my head that not complying would mean danger. He said again, “Oi! Berapa kali gua nak cakap? Lu dah lah tidur dengan bini orang, aku tembak kang!”

I was further shocked and said, “Huh! Mana ada saya tidur dengan sapa-sapa. Saya virgin lah. Saya virgin lah.” Without any warning, the man struck the gun onto my head. My head bled. I fell to the ground. Meanwhile, his other colleague jumped into the car with the engine still running and sped off. The man with the gun jumped onto his motorcycle and sped off. 

I stood up slowly with blood dripping from my head. Even so, my accountant’s head was still working. I was making an inventory of items stolen in my head. I lost a car most definitely. I lost my laptop. Well, it was PricewaterhouseCooper’s laptop. I lost compact discs for Yngwie J. Malmsteen, Kelly Clarkson, Search, Wings and M. Nasir. I lost a bottle of half-drunk Vanilla Coke. I lost a packet of Marlboro. I lost a lot of blood too.

I went to the house bell and started to press it numerous times. Everyone was asleep in their airconditioned rooms. So, it took me nearly forty five minutes before the door opened and my twin brother saw me with eyes wide open, “Whaddahelll happened to you?”

“Well, this is just another late night working as an auditor. Hey! Give me a cigarette, will you.” We went inside and as I was glancing the blood on my left arm, I noticed that my father’s 1969 Rolex was still intact. It did not make it into the inventory.

The Gun Incident Again

GUNS scare me. I recalled that in 2004, a gun was pointed at my head. It was as if future memory had been played in my mind showing episodes of my future wife and my unborn kids. If that happens again in 2009, then those images would have been my wife of five years marriage and my four years old son. In 2009, there was a “gun incident” but none was pointed at my head.

I was working in the Finance Department of a company that owns the intellectual properties (“IP”) for various Malay movies. Those days, significant portion of a movie revenue would be contributed by its Digital Video Discs (“DVD”) sales. The company had made a deal with a DVD pirate whereby they would produce original DVDs exclusively instead of pirating. The catch was, that pirate would use their “influence” to ensure that all the other pirates would back off and not do any piracy of those movies. The revenues were meant to be split between the pirate and the IP owner.

Observing the agreement that the IP owner had with the pirate, I was to collect the IP owner’s share of the sales collection. So, I went to pay a visit, reluctantly. I was waiting in the meeting room for the chief pirate, a Chinese Dato’. The wait wasn’t that long but it sure felt like eternity. So the Dato’, he came in. “Hello! Johan. Long time no see. Normally we just meet during Hari Raya open house. Why today you are here?”

“No lah! Dato’. Maintain relationship maaaa!. Like this Dato’. Usually, you would pay on time. However, I can see that the last few quarters, there hasn’t been any payment. I just wanted to check whether everything is ok on your side.”

“Ehhh! Johan, wait ahhhh! I don’t feel comfortable. My jacket is too tight.” He stood up from where he was sitting and took out a gun out from the jacket and placed it on the table.

“Ehhh! Dato’. What is this? I am nobody lah. I am no threat. No need to show your gun lah Dato’. We just have a chat lah. You just tell me how do you plan to settle this and I will talk to my boss lah.”

“Ehhh! What are you talking about? Why are you so scared? I am fat and this gun is taking too much space in my jacket lah. Aiyaa!!! Relaxlah.”

I smiled but forcefully. He then took a piece of serviette and a Mont Blanc pen from his jacket. He scribbled on the serviette what looked like a table with time frame and amounts to be paid back. Then he spoke, “Ok! Like this. I am facing some cash flow hick ups. If you guys can wait a bit, I will surely pay one. Here, look at this. How does this look like? Can work?”

I took the serviette and only stared at the total on the bottom right. The amount seems right rounded to the nearest thousand. I nodded. Then, I wasn’t sure which idiot spirit had entered my cerebrum, I foolishly said, “Huh! Ok! Dato’. Now can you sign on this piece of paper? At least I can tell my boss this is not something I made up”

The Dato’ stared at me. I stared at the gun.

Eating Durian with the Prime Minister

NAJIB Razak, the Prime Minister, was seated next to me. It was the 2016 Hari Raya Open House for MyCreative Ventures. I was already in my fifth year as the Chief Executive Officer of MyCreative Ventures. It was the first and last Hari Raya do that we had a Prime Minister attending. It was awkward. I did not know how to behave sitting next to a Prime Minister. Checking my hand phone would have been rude. Striking a conversation would have been tricky for what topics should we have talked about?

Najib made the first move. He asked, “So, how many investees are Indians under MyCreative?” What the hell. Why can’t the Prime Minister just ask, “How many kids do you have?” Sweat starts to develop on my forehead. This was because the answer to that question was “Zero”. Being a politician, a “Zero” as an answer is political crisis. I could see him waiting for my answer.

So, I gently answered, “Dato’ Sri, at this juncture, we have none. However, let me provide you with some insights. The Malaysian creative industry is predominantly contributed by the Malays. The Chinese comes second. Naturally, they are only few Indian players in the industry to begin with.”

The Prime Minister stared at me and said, “Go find the Indians. There must be adequate representation of every segment of society in your investee portfolio.” I nodded. By that time the waiter had brought our plates of durians and had placed it in front of us. I suspect Najib had sensed my embarrassment for not having Indians in my investment portfolio. Being the seasoned politician he is, he quickly remedied my uneasy feeling by asking, “Ok, now how do I eat this durian? Should we use our hands or the fork and knife?”

I said, “Let’s use our hands?”

He said, “Errr…., I don’t think so.” He picked up his fork and knife and looked at me before he even touched the durians. That day became the first day and the only day in my life eating durians with fork and knife.

My Second Encounter with the Demon

DEMONS do exist. When I was three years old, I encountered with what I can describe as a Huge Nasty Bloody Mouth Full of Sharp Teeth with Munching Clanking Metal Sound Demon (“NBMFSTMCMS Demon”). That was the only encounter with NBMFSTMCMS Demon.

Years later, when I was fourteen years old, a different demon visited me. By now you would probably think, “What is wrong with this dude?” and “Why is he frequently bumping into bloody demons?” Well, I can assure you, this was the last and I certainly hope for no more in the future. Anyway, it was the school holidays. My twin brother and I were back at our parent’s house. We were asleep at night peacefully (at first).

Around three o’clock in the morning, I felt an entity taking over my body. It felt as if it flowed through my veins and had now control my body physically including my voice. I could only see through my eyes and not do anything else. On the ceiling, there was a three feet diameter black cloud swirling around orbiting the mid-point of the ceiling. My body was going round and round following the black cloud. My eyes looking upwards. My voice growling like a werewolf. My arms and fingers positioned as if I was about to do Michael Jackson’s Thriller choreography.

A few minutes later, my parents stormed into the room. My dad grabbed me and threw me onto the bed. My mom was ready with a bowl of water. At this point, I realised that my dad knows a trick or two to fight the demon. He had recited some Quranic verse into the water. I suspect it may have been Ayatul-Kursi. He scooped some of the “holy” water and started to wipe my face. Eventually, the demon disappeared and I was back asleep.

Throughout the whole incident, my twin brother was hiding under his blanket. His bed was perpendicular to mine. The next morning, no one spoke of the incident as if it never happened. In fact, no one spoke of it until today other than my twin brother many decades later.

I Shook Slash’s Hand

SLASH is an iconic rock and roll guitarist for Guns N’ Roses. There are only three surviving rock and roll bands today. They are Rolling Stones, Aerosmiths and Guns N’ Roses; all from different decades, namely the seventies, eighties and nineties respectively. Slash was made famous for his memorable guitar solo for the songs Sweet Child O’ Mine and November Rain. With his appearance in Michael Jackson’s video clip for Give in to Me, Slash has also penetrated the pop genre fan base.

In the mid summer of 1994 in Melbourne, I was awoken from sleep by my housemate, Jin, in the early morning hours. It seemed that another housemate, Shimi, had given him a call to inform that Slash was coming to the radio studio, Fox FM, to promote the debut album for his band, Slash’s Snakepit. My housemate was working as a cleaner at the studio. I was a student and by then, I had only gone to two international live concerts, namely Metallica and Guns N’ Roses. The chance of meeting up close with Slash would mean the World to me.

So, we washed our faces, rolled the deodorant, got into a slim-tight black rugged jeans; and of course, a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt that we had procured from their open-air concert held at Calder Park the year before. My hair was about a year long, enough to qualify as a mean rocker. So, off we went onto the train at South Yarra train station towards Fox FM. I cannot recall where the studio is.

We arrived at Fox FM and were denied entrance obviously. So, we waited outside along with the stupid Melbourne summer flies that irritated us. Ten minutes later, Slash and his vocalist for Slash’s Snakepit, Eric Dover, came out flanked with bodyguards. We charged in to say “Hello!” to Slash but was pushed aside by the bodyguards. Slash noticed the commotion and came to us and asked, “Whatsup?”

I said, “Dude, I just want to take a photo with you. That is all.” We snapped a photo. We shook Slash’s hand. Then they went into their limousine.