Today there's a one-day discount on the latest gadget from
Samsung: Galaxy Note II. The retail handphone shop that is having this
promotion cut the price tag for about US$ 100 from it's regular price
(around US$ 800). When I saw the ad on internet this morning, I found
myself seduced by all the positive reviews and (of course) the
discount. I spent half a day researching on finding out how cool the
gadget is, and almost went straight to the shop before stock runs out as
I know the people of this country won't let this kind of opportunity
slips away.
But I didn't go.
The saner part of me finally kicked in. Why would I need a new
handphone? I already have 3 handphones: 2 Blackberries & a very
simple yet robust & effective Nokia which is cheaper than my pants.
As of now, I only use 1 of those gadgets. Some people think they need 1
handphone for each hand they have, or even for each finger attached to
their bodies. Not me, though.
I mean, no matter how hard we resist, consumerism is consuming us
Indonesians more and more, and we the proud residents of Makassar are
not to be excluded. We gauge ourselves with what we have; luxury house,
shiny cars, cool gadgets, latest clothes; no longer by who we truly are:
homo sapiens, The Thinking Beast.
For you who are not Indonesian resident, come see the modernization
ripped our logic apart: people struggle in the streets as traffic jam
gets worse just to find a comfortable place to eat and talk. Why is this
eating and talking not comfort in our own place?
Maybe this rambling is just a rambling and benefit nobody in neither
way. But maybe it triggers something in your head as it triggered mine
and save me from spending 3 months salary for something I absolutely
don't need. Money needed more and more everyday, but paradoxically, it's
real value actually plummets constantly thanks to inflation.
I don't know; maybe I can say this because I don't earn much now.
Maybe when someday I make stupidly large amount of cash, I will lose
this insight and buy whatever stuff my gut tells me. If that's the case,
I'll ask God the Richest of All: thank you, Sir, you can keep the all
bling, but please let me keep my thrift.
Makassar, 13 Oktober 2012
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Senja di Stasiun
Bersahutan azan.
KRL masuk pelan.
Antara Tuhan
atau tujuan.
Berdesakan,
berdesahan.
Syukurku ini pilihan.
Bukan kenyataan harian.
Sungguh kasihan.
Mereka rutin dibeginikan.
-----
Depok, 26 September 2012
KRL masuk pelan.
Antara Tuhan
atau tujuan.
Berdesakan,
berdesahan.
Syukurku ini pilihan.
Bukan kenyataan harian.
Sungguh kasihan.
Mereka rutin dibeginikan.
-----
Depok, 26 September 2012
Of Chennai, India
When I was ordered to go to Chennai, India, I had no clue that I
will have to haggle with a senile, got baked while sleeping, and use
neighbor’s cloth line without permission. I won’t get you too far to
those now because I haven’t told you why I should go to India in the
first place.
One of my many bosses told me that I have to go India to train in a fertility clinic. Fertility training in India? How come the second most overpopulated nation in the universe could be a major player in fertility training?
Infertility is about 10-15% of all couples anywhere in the world. Now run those numbers with India’s sheer population, and you have more than a handful of cases. The large number means you will have ample experience in whatever training you conduct. That's how you have the opportunity not easily found elsewhere.
So, on a Saturday at dawn, three ladies and I boarded the plane from our hometown to a place we only knew in map; Chennai, a.k.a. Madras, India. It took us almost 7 hours of air travel, 8 hours of waiting at airports, and 3 times of transits to get to the city. Having arrived at 2 a.m. in Chennai, we found out that we were poorly informed about accommodation. The hospital apartment that was supposed to be our place in Chennai couldn’t be found. Luckily, with the help of a fellow Indonesian we contacted earlier, we managed to stay in an affordable inn, R.J. Residence in North Boag Road near Singapore Consulate (according to the inn’s leaflet). We took a single standard room (2000 rupees) for me and a double standard room (Rs. 2200) for the three ladies. All costs added with 19% “luxury” charge. That makes about Rs. 5000 (almost USD 100) which is quite inexpensive.
I woke up in late the morning and curious about my companion. They were placed in room 306 but no one answered my knocks. I asked the receptionist and he told me that my friends were in 204. I checked 204 after the bellboy opened it with a master key but the room was already emptied. There are no bags and bed sheets were untidy. I got out the inn and horrifyingly, a very large crowd of crows rocketed, flocked and croaked everywhere. No one was in the street and this was 8 a.m. already. I checked my cellphone and there was no balance left. My SIM card is an Indonesian one, but when I wanted to buy a local one, nobody sold one. All those adversaries made me realize the fact: I was in the movie “Unknown” where a foreigner wake up and inexplicably lost his travelling mates. What do I do now? How can I communicate with someone familiar without any cellphone? What if my friends decided to left me? Those questions scattered in my head they made those chaotic crows looked like the cute Tweety.
I tried to digest the fact while wandering and observing the neighborhood. Apparently God was only testing me because a burst of calamity suddenly hit me. I somehow felt that my colleagues are fine and all of these were just misunderstanding. The locals I met later explained everything: it was Sunday so no one wake up early; the normal working hour started at 10 a.m. so nobody sells anything yet; my friends were actually in room 309 instead of 204 or 306. I eventually met them; they were safe and sound. When I told them how wild my imagination had taken me, that room was shaken with laughter.
Once we arrived at the actual apartment which we are going to call home for the next two weeks, we found out that it was far from ready. Wires were dangling all over the places; nothing can be found in the kitchen; air conditioner still inside the box; you got the picture. One handy man from the hospital who we’ll befriend (read: commandeer) in so many days later told us that the apartment will be ready at night. He suggested us to spend a little time in the nearby mall while he got things arranged. It turned out that it took three more days until we could live comfortable enough in the apartment.
The four of us Indonesians plus one native Indian from New Delhi occupied the three bedroom apartment. Since our apartment was barely furnished, we needed to go to department store almost every day. I am so glad that my travel mates are all comedians. Otherwise we’d all be driven insane by the over-usage of curry, the scorching heat of summer peak, and the general madness of Indian motorists.
The main problem was the very hot environment of Chennai combined with electrical cut. The blackout unfortunately was more frequent at nights when air cooling was needed the most. The locals sleep on their balcony; I saw this one morning while observing our neighborhood for good photographing angle from the rooftop. While the heat at daytimes wasn’t too bad as we remained inside the air-conditioned-hospital, it was excruciating at nights when hot air from the day trapped inside the ceiling and couldn’t be cooled because of the electrical cut. On the second night which was the worst, I slept on the floor at the kitchen doorstep with the door remained open all along the night. That was the only place I didn’t feel like being baked alive.
The heat has its own benefit. We washed our clothes quite regularly so the heat ensured that we have something to wear on the next day. This was the time when a dispute over cloth lines happened with a local who live downstairs. Our balcony might be for sharing with the whole tenants in the building, but apparently that was not the case with cloth line. So when this neighbor found out that we had been using her cloth lines and clips without permission, we were met with ramble in Tamil language which none of us understand (the Indian lady in our apartment speaks Hindi instead of Tamil) and crossed, fiery eyes which every living beings understand. We never found ropes for sell to make our own cloth lines, so we still use hers :D
The other concern was that South Indian food are not palatable to us. They’re either too bland, like idly, or too spicy, like curry. Even the North Indian lady had to resort to cook her own meal. We had in our bags some Indonesian foods like instant noodles, chili sauce, etc., but eventually we would have to cook anyway. We didn’t have any refrigerator so groceries needed to be bought in small amount suffice for one or two days only, otherwise they will get rotten and wasted. Personally I would buy a refrigerator but the other thought it wasn’t necessary. That’s another reason for keep coming to the mall. We suspected that the mall guard would remember our faces many years from now since we got there so regularly.
Nevertheless, on the third day we decided that we needed a break with the mall visits. Our days were usually ended with journey back from the mall to the apartment by the Indian motorized tricycle (“auto”). We temporarily ceased the visits because one of us got too stressed out by auto drivers whom all aspiring to become the Lewis Hamilton of India. If you’ve seen the “bajaj” drivers of Jakarta, you’d know what I’m talking about. They sway their way like a snake and they trust their brakes too much; your nose would literally touch the other vehicle at lightning speed before those mad drivers brake! The only ones who drove less violently were the elderlies. Thanks to the financially-aware Indian lady who shared the apartment and transportation with us, on one evening we all managed to fit ourselves inside an auto driven by a senile male after heavily haggling him. For your information, an auto is designed for two passengers sitting comfortably; three would show cheapness and five would be a total chaos. By the end of that five minutes journey, we couldn’t decide which one of our behavior is more disgusting, haggling with a senile or overloading his auto that way….
Those hilarious stories may last in our memories longer than the training itself. Our training usually started at 10 a.m. with a couple of lectures that finished before lunch and continued with laboratory work until the end of the day. I found the lab session was slightly competitive due to unmatched amount of lab equipment and participant. But at the fourth day, I finally seized control of a microscope before anybody else did. Thanks to the two lab staffs whom have been assisting us always, I was finally able to dissolve my frustration at finding and manipulating sheep egg cells in petri dishes.
At one point, I realized why our training costs USD 2500 for each person. We were using actual laboratory equipment used every day in helping couples with fertility problems; trained by very competent people in the field; and the fertility topic itself is using state-of-the-art technologies. One of my friends who previously had a similar training in Malaysia told me that this Indian center uses more expensive protocols to maintain their high pregnancy rate. While working in lab, the staffs would be more than willing to help whenever I failed to have desired results. We could ask for everything to hone our laboratory skill.
Of the fourteen participants, only four were foreigners; us Indonesians. The rest were native Indians from all over the country. Compared to us, the natives are seemed to be very serious about this training. That’s not shocking; for them this is a personal investment. But for us Indonesians, since every cost had been covered by our university, this institutional investment didn’t prevent us from laughing at every mishap we faced, whether it was crystalized egg cells due to lack of preserving media, or a silly dispute with fellow Indonesians over limited electricity for powering air conditioners in different rooms. We also have a feeling that the clinic’s staffs liked us more. Actually, one staff mentioned that Indonesian people are radiant. Well, maybe we were overconfident about this, but the other staff befriended us in a way that she let herself to pinch one of my friend’s cheeks out of joy.
Now that we are entering the second half of the training, I start to feel that our time in this Land of Spice is way too short. Yet within only a week of time, we have been having experiences worthy of telling to our families and descendants in many years to come; not only of the educational part but mainly because of the life-teaching moments we’ve had. The path of our lives have been crossing with some inspiring souls; helpful and seasoned laboratory staffs, grateful maid who wash all of our clothes for only a quarter of dollar per day; hospital driver who were preparing for railway factory labor entrance test while escorting us; and so many more in this humble country. It made us realize that our debt is not to the university only, but also to all couples in our country in need of help at having child, at having hope for the better world.
Chennai, 11 Juni 2012
One of my many bosses told me that I have to go India to train in a fertility clinic. Fertility training in India? How come the second most overpopulated nation in the universe could be a major player in fertility training?
Infertility is about 10-15% of all couples anywhere in the world. Now run those numbers with India’s sheer population, and you have more than a handful of cases. The large number means you will have ample experience in whatever training you conduct. That's how you have the opportunity not easily found elsewhere.
So, on a Saturday at dawn, three ladies and I boarded the plane from our hometown to a place we only knew in map; Chennai, a.k.a. Madras, India. It took us almost 7 hours of air travel, 8 hours of waiting at airports, and 3 times of transits to get to the city. Having arrived at 2 a.m. in Chennai, we found out that we were poorly informed about accommodation. The hospital apartment that was supposed to be our place in Chennai couldn’t be found. Luckily, with the help of a fellow Indonesian we contacted earlier, we managed to stay in an affordable inn, R.J. Residence in North Boag Road near Singapore Consulate (according to the inn’s leaflet). We took a single standard room (2000 rupees) for me and a double standard room (Rs. 2200) for the three ladies. All costs added with 19% “luxury” charge. That makes about Rs. 5000 (almost USD 100) which is quite inexpensive.
I woke up in late the morning and curious about my companion. They were placed in room 306 but no one answered my knocks. I asked the receptionist and he told me that my friends were in 204. I checked 204 after the bellboy opened it with a master key but the room was already emptied. There are no bags and bed sheets were untidy. I got out the inn and horrifyingly, a very large crowd of crows rocketed, flocked and croaked everywhere. No one was in the street and this was 8 a.m. already. I checked my cellphone and there was no balance left. My SIM card is an Indonesian one, but when I wanted to buy a local one, nobody sold one. All those adversaries made me realize the fact: I was in the movie “Unknown” where a foreigner wake up and inexplicably lost his travelling mates. What do I do now? How can I communicate with someone familiar without any cellphone? What if my friends decided to left me? Those questions scattered in my head they made those chaotic crows looked like the cute Tweety.
I tried to digest the fact while wandering and observing the neighborhood. Apparently God was only testing me because a burst of calamity suddenly hit me. I somehow felt that my colleagues are fine and all of these were just misunderstanding. The locals I met later explained everything: it was Sunday so no one wake up early; the normal working hour started at 10 a.m. so nobody sells anything yet; my friends were actually in room 309 instead of 204 or 306. I eventually met them; they were safe and sound. When I told them how wild my imagination had taken me, that room was shaken with laughter.
Once we arrived at the actual apartment which we are going to call home for the next two weeks, we found out that it was far from ready. Wires were dangling all over the places; nothing can be found in the kitchen; air conditioner still inside the box; you got the picture. One handy man from the hospital who we’ll befriend (read: commandeer) in so many days later told us that the apartment will be ready at night. He suggested us to spend a little time in the nearby mall while he got things arranged. It turned out that it took three more days until we could live comfortable enough in the apartment.
The four of us Indonesians plus one native Indian from New Delhi occupied the three bedroom apartment. Since our apartment was barely furnished, we needed to go to department store almost every day. I am so glad that my travel mates are all comedians. Otherwise we’d all be driven insane by the over-usage of curry, the scorching heat of summer peak, and the general madness of Indian motorists.
The main problem was the very hot environment of Chennai combined with electrical cut. The blackout unfortunately was more frequent at nights when air cooling was needed the most. The locals sleep on their balcony; I saw this one morning while observing our neighborhood for good photographing angle from the rooftop. While the heat at daytimes wasn’t too bad as we remained inside the air-conditioned-hospital, it was excruciating at nights when hot air from the day trapped inside the ceiling and couldn’t be cooled because of the electrical cut. On the second night which was the worst, I slept on the floor at the kitchen doorstep with the door remained open all along the night. That was the only place I didn’t feel like being baked alive.
The heat has its own benefit. We washed our clothes quite regularly so the heat ensured that we have something to wear on the next day. This was the time when a dispute over cloth lines happened with a local who live downstairs. Our balcony might be for sharing with the whole tenants in the building, but apparently that was not the case with cloth line. So when this neighbor found out that we had been using her cloth lines and clips without permission, we were met with ramble in Tamil language which none of us understand (the Indian lady in our apartment speaks Hindi instead of Tamil) and crossed, fiery eyes which every living beings understand. We never found ropes for sell to make our own cloth lines, so we still use hers :D
The other concern was that South Indian food are not palatable to us. They’re either too bland, like idly, or too spicy, like curry. Even the North Indian lady had to resort to cook her own meal. We had in our bags some Indonesian foods like instant noodles, chili sauce, etc., but eventually we would have to cook anyway. We didn’t have any refrigerator so groceries needed to be bought in small amount suffice for one or two days only, otherwise they will get rotten and wasted. Personally I would buy a refrigerator but the other thought it wasn’t necessary. That’s another reason for keep coming to the mall. We suspected that the mall guard would remember our faces many years from now since we got there so regularly.
Nevertheless, on the third day we decided that we needed a break with the mall visits. Our days were usually ended with journey back from the mall to the apartment by the Indian motorized tricycle (“auto”). We temporarily ceased the visits because one of us got too stressed out by auto drivers whom all aspiring to become the Lewis Hamilton of India. If you’ve seen the “bajaj” drivers of Jakarta, you’d know what I’m talking about. They sway their way like a snake and they trust their brakes too much; your nose would literally touch the other vehicle at lightning speed before those mad drivers brake! The only ones who drove less violently were the elderlies. Thanks to the financially-aware Indian lady who shared the apartment and transportation with us, on one evening we all managed to fit ourselves inside an auto driven by a senile male after heavily haggling him. For your information, an auto is designed for two passengers sitting comfortably; three would show cheapness and five would be a total chaos. By the end of that five minutes journey, we couldn’t decide which one of our behavior is more disgusting, haggling with a senile or overloading his auto that way….
Those hilarious stories may last in our memories longer than the training itself. Our training usually started at 10 a.m. with a couple of lectures that finished before lunch and continued with laboratory work until the end of the day. I found the lab session was slightly competitive due to unmatched amount of lab equipment and participant. But at the fourth day, I finally seized control of a microscope before anybody else did. Thanks to the two lab staffs whom have been assisting us always, I was finally able to dissolve my frustration at finding and manipulating sheep egg cells in petri dishes.
At one point, I realized why our training costs USD 2500 for each person. We were using actual laboratory equipment used every day in helping couples with fertility problems; trained by very competent people in the field; and the fertility topic itself is using state-of-the-art technologies. One of my friends who previously had a similar training in Malaysia told me that this Indian center uses more expensive protocols to maintain their high pregnancy rate. While working in lab, the staffs would be more than willing to help whenever I failed to have desired results. We could ask for everything to hone our laboratory skill.
Of the fourteen participants, only four were foreigners; us Indonesians. The rest were native Indians from all over the country. Compared to us, the natives are seemed to be very serious about this training. That’s not shocking; for them this is a personal investment. But for us Indonesians, since every cost had been covered by our university, this institutional investment didn’t prevent us from laughing at every mishap we faced, whether it was crystalized egg cells due to lack of preserving media, or a silly dispute with fellow Indonesians over limited electricity for powering air conditioners in different rooms. We also have a feeling that the clinic’s staffs liked us more. Actually, one staff mentioned that Indonesian people are radiant. Well, maybe we were overconfident about this, but the other staff befriended us in a way that she let herself to pinch one of my friend’s cheeks out of joy.
Now that we are entering the second half of the training, I start to feel that our time in this Land of Spice is way too short. Yet within only a week of time, we have been having experiences worthy of telling to our families and descendants in many years to come; not only of the educational part but mainly because of the life-teaching moments we’ve had. The path of our lives have been crossing with some inspiring souls; helpful and seasoned laboratory staffs, grateful maid who wash all of our clothes for only a quarter of dollar per day; hospital driver who were preparing for railway factory labor entrance test while escorting us; and so many more in this humble country. It made us realize that our debt is not to the university only, but also to all couples in our country in need of help at having child, at having hope for the better world.
Chennai, 11 Juni 2012
Kutukan Chairil
Waktu awal masuk SMA, saya iri sama teman-teman SMP yang ramai-ramai lanjut ke SMA favorit di kota sementara saya masuk SMA di dusun, di antara dua jurang dan dua sungai.
Waktu awal masuk kuliah, saya cemburu sama teman-teman SMA yang seru-seruan berbagi pengalaman jadi MABA di universitas yang sama & di kota yang sama sementara saya cuma sendiri kampus saya, di kota tempat saya merantau.
Pas lulus kuliah, saya ngiler melihat teman-teman kuliah mulai bekerja atau sekolah lagi di almamater kami, di kota megapolitan tempat semuanya ada, yang baik-baik apalagi yang buruk-buruk. Garis tangan saya malah memulangkan kembali ke kampung halaman di saat teman-teman lama sudah pindah satu-persatu dari tempat ini. Sepi lagi, sepi lagi.
Entah karena kebetulan atau memang "hasil intipan masa depan", puisi berjudul Aku (di beberapa buku judulnya Semangat) karangan Chairil Anwar yang dari kecil saya hapal memang menceritakan si Chairil yang mengambil jalan "sepi". Dia penyair yang satu-satunya bermodel "begitu" pada zamannya. Tidak ada yang menyerupai dia atau mengikuti jalan yang dia tempuh dalam dunia kepenyairan. Intinya, Chairil Anwar adalah orang yang jalan hidupnya selalu sepi, tidak ikut mainstream.
Saya hapal puisi itu pada usia kira-kira 5 tahun. Pada saat itu saya belum tahu jalan hidup saya akan sepi juga. Mungkin saat itu saya bisa menghapalnya karena jalan hidup saya ternyata selaras dengan puisi itu. Mungkin juga sih cuma kebetulan. Bagaimanapun, tiap kali saya melihat ke belakang, mau tak mau puisi Aku itu yang menjadi realitas dalam kehidupan saya.
Makassar, 22 Oktober 2011
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