Friday, February 26, 2016
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Impetuous Fire
The source of class conflicts were external---mainly status-conscious parents and relatives. All the young couples were so immersed in each other that no obstacle could dampen their ardor. Their world was seen through rose-colored eye glasses and their path was strewn with primroses. Trite one-liners---Love means never having to say you're sorry, memorable song and dance routines set in 16th century Verona, verdant hill stations with myriad flowerbeds and picturesque winter wonderlands (A Time For Us, Love Story, Cinta Pertama), dashing and good-looking actors who died tragic deaths---were the standard formula that never failed to pull at the audience's heart strings.
Unfortunately, pop culture is a poor imitation of life. Its goal is to distract viewers from their everyday problems, not to confront them.
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Into the Valley: Albatross
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Underneath the frivolous outfit, she shoulders heavy responsibiltiesRevised Blurb:A poignant story of gratitude, compassion and entrapment. Three adolescents --- Moon, Mat and Betty --- desperately sought escape from their tumultuous lives. The end of a disastrous affair forced Moon to move out and head for the city, leaving Betty stranded and saddled with Mat's heroin addiction. Her effort to get Mat into Rehab turned into a noose that bound her to a stifling relationship to an author who was more Albatross than Svengali.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=QVwZqoyLsw4
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Friday, January 22, 2016
The Gold Standard of the Seventies
| Those were the days when Malaysian beauties were content with Japanese beasts
Like the passenger who missed her train ride, I felt that I always arrived at the station just as my coach was leaving. The Malays' term for it is ketinggalan kereta api.
My career in journalism began at the end of its Golden Age when A. Samad Ismail was arrested in mid '76. Though I was spared of profanities and news copies being hurled around the newsroom, I missed the opportunity of being under the tutelage of one of the greatest Malay journalists who had ever paced the editorial floor of the NSTP building.
My college education commenced three years after the Universities and Colleges Act was introduced in '74. The Orientation Week was tame compared to the notorious Shampoo & Wash and the Panty Raids of yesteryears. Gone were the decadent Freshie Queen pageants, Varsity Balls and Screaming Contests. No more fiery oratory at the Speakers' Corner. No trace at all of protest demonstrations and defiant sit-ins.
The early '70s were the worst of times. They were the best of times.
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Thursday, January 21, 2016
A new beginning
KL,
December ‘65
I
felt like I had been guarding my luggage for ages before I caught sight of a kuning langsat nymphet fluttering in
through the haloed entrance (or was it the arched exit of the Kuala Lumpur
Railway Station?) like a capricious illusion created by the morning mist.
The yellow-skinned young
lady looked around the station platform and waved frantically as soon as she saw Mak circumnavigating our bags and boxes. Mak and I frowned and blinked. And frowned and blinked.
It was hard to
reconcile the image of this pretty lass in her black, shiny, tight sarong which
split in the center up to her knee caps and her soft, pink chiffon
blouse which ended just above the V-shaped creases which followed the shape of
her now flat tummy with the picture of the miserable, pregnant teen in her drab blue a baju kurung when we first
saw her sitting on that white iron swing in the garden of the Home for Wayward Girls
on Jalan Rimau.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
An Angry Young Man
Picture yourself on a train in a station,
With plasticine porters with looking glass ties.
Suddenly someone is there at the turnstile,
The girl with kaleidoscope eyes.
The Abandonment
I’d been my Baba’s
and Siddi’s Blue-eyed Boy as far as I could remember. When I was eight, I completed
all thirty juzu’ of the Qur’an three times over. When I was twelve, I made
Baba’s sad eyes glisten with tears of joy when I was announced the Over-All
Best Student of Sekolah Rendah Melayu
Johor Baru.
Just ten months
before that historic accomplishment, Baba’s had shed tears when Ummi fled with
the Scotsman she met at the JB Lake Club. Baba knew that he shouldn’t have
followed his heart and disobeyed Sitti’s wishes when he married that Perempuan Habshi (Abyssinian Woman)
twenty-two years ago in 1942. Ummi had stolen his heart the moment he laid eyes
on her at his cousin’s wedding reception. She was the singer with the famed Tanjong Puteri Quartet.
Ummi was sixteen and Baba
was twenty-three. They had special nicknames for each other. She called him
Skar, her special acronym for Syed Karim, and he called her Gyp, short for
Gypsy. She thought he’d always be her fair-skinned and light-eyed Lawrence of
Arabia. He knew she’d always be the husky-voiced, dusky-skinned, dark-eyed
Gypsy Jezebel with that untamed curly locks. But twenty years, and four
children later, he wasn’t the Lean and Hungry Machine that she fell in love
with. All the scars from sailing the choppy waters of the Johor Straits and the
South China Sea for antiques and curios were now covered by unsightly rolls of
Folds and Flabs.
Gyp couldn’t help but
yearn for the Young Skar. She longed for the Youthful Body and the Adventurous Spirit. Instead, she had to slip into the
covers and lie down next to an Old, Gunny Sack, night after night. Staring at
the ceiling next to a Broken Spirit, chipped away by frequent setbacks in
running Arjuna Antique & Curios Shop.
An old friend alerted
her of a vacancy as a Resident Singer at the JB Lake Club. The extra income
would help shore up his dwindling profits. Gyp had written down a long list of
‘The Children’s Needs’. Syed Muchtar needed to pay the fees for his third
attempt at the Senior Cambridge Examinations. Sharifah Hana needed the fees for
her typing and short-hand classes. As a mother, she couldn’t just sit by and twiddle
her thumb while her eldest son and daughter toil away as delivery boy and sales
girl at their Baba’s ailing Antique & Curios Shop. They needed the paper
qualification and the skills to ‘go out into the real world’. The two younger ones
– that bright spark and full-of-potential Syed Muhammad needed pocket money for
his books and Boys Scouts’ uniform and activities, and the not-so-bright and
not-so-promising Sharifah Maimunah needed hers for her Girl Scouts’.
With a heavy heart,
Skar let his vivacious wife be the Resident Singer for the JB Lake Club. Things
were great for the first year. There was more than enough money for ‘The
Children’s ‘Needs’ and everyone was happy. But dark clouds gathered in the
second year of Gyp’s contract with the Lake Club when a certain Scotsman
started to patronize the Club’s Bar and Lounge. He had lost his blonde
blue-eyed wife and still-born baby prior to his posting to Malaysia and was
still drowning his sorrows in Vodka and Bacardi. During his inebriated evenings
spent at the Club, he was intoxicated by Gyp’s sultry voice and sensual charms.
“Heck, like how old
are these Oriental Ladies anyway? They don’t look a day over twenty-two!”
As she regaled her
guests, Gyp saw her escape hatch from Old Gunny Sack while she perched
precariously on the high stool of the normally deserted bar. Robert McLeod was
his name. A young widower at thirty-four. Three years difference is no gap at
all. Tall, muscular, blonde and blue-eyed. Such a sight for sore eyes. And a
thick wallet to boot!
As she sat at the bar
next to him in her black lame evening dress, a glass of pink Baby Champ delicately
balanced between her gloved slender fingers, Gyp talked Bob (they had gotten to
first name basis by then) into applying for a transfer to KL.
“That’s where you’d
want to be. And that’s where you should be. Where the bright, neon lights are.
Not in this dingy, damp watering hole!”
“You think so? You
really think so? I’m thinking of doing that. Yes, I’m going do just that!” He
said, peering at her through his light, blonde eye lashes.
With each tinkling of
her dainty champagne glass against his sturdy Vodka tumbler, with each trail of
her light laughter against his gruff guffaw, his resolve to take her away with
him to the capital city grew stronger.
Baba was stunned to
find his beloved Gyp gone when he returned home on February 14th,
1964. He simply couldn’t believe that, after twenty-two years of what he
thought was a happy marriage, she could just pack up all her newer clothes,
shoes, handbags and stuff into her big Baby Blue Samsonite hard-shell suitcase
and leave with Bob in his cream-colored Volvo 124 to KL while everyone else was
away at the shop and school.
As he slumped himself
on the leather Ottoman he ordered from Cairo and sighed:
“How am I going to
break the news to your brother and sisters?”
How would I know,
Baba? I just turned twelve. I thought you were The Most Loving Couple in JB. I’d
never, ever thought that Ummi could just walk out on you … on us all!
“Abang Tar’s World of
Football, Training and Body-Building, Motivational Pep Talk, Readers Digest,
National Geographic and Psychology Today, would be shattered,” Baba continued. “Do
you think he’ll be able to pick up the pieces and recover from this scandal?”
You should know him
better, Baba! You’re his father! The voice in my head screamed.
“Kak Hana would be
devastated … Who’s going to remind her now that Her Face is Her Fortune, that
Good Girls Go to Heaven but Fair, Pretty Girls Go Everywhere?” Baba smiled
wryly. “Do you think she’ll blame her Baba for not being Man Enough to keep her
Ummi from the clutches of a brawny Scottie?”
Again and again he
was looking for answers that I didn’t have. Or, perhaps, he wasn’t. He was just
voicing his thoughts aloud. But I was filled with hate and rage for Ummi. I
wanted Baba to get up and bring her back home!
“You can’t just sit
there, Baba. You’ve to track her down and drag her home. Make her repent for
her sins!”
But Baba’s butt was
glued to the Ottoman. His face was still resting on his palms. And his eyes
fixed on the Tree of Life motif on the Persian carpet Siddi bought from
Isfahan, long before I was born. I promised myself then that I wouldn’t forgive
him if he didn’t redeem his reputation as a Cuckolded Husband. Suami Dayus … Such a vile word on my
tongue!
But he just shook his
head and rambled on.
“Sherry … carefree,
little Sherry … would be wondering if she had been a Horrid Little Girl that
her Ummi, like the mother in Batu Belah
Batu Bertangkup, decided to just leave her for good. Will she blame herself
for this?”
I couldn’t stand
another second of this soliloquy. I got up, clutched my school satchel and
walked to my room. I locked the door and sat at the edge of my bed. Silent
tears of anger --- of frustration --- welled up at the corner of my eyes.
It turned out that my
siblings reacted differently to Ummi’s departure. Abang Tar grew more sullen
and withdrawn. Kak Hana bolted off to Singapore like an angry mare. When she
was tracked down at her best friend’s place in Opera Estate, Baba had to comply
with the Family Court’s ruling that she be sent to the Home for Wayward Girls.
I threw myself into my
studies and Scouts and excelled beyond everybody’s expectation. I had to prove
to Ummi that her ditching us didn’t bother me one bit!
And Sherry, Knuckle
Head Sherry, struggled on with her homework and her Qur’an reading classes. Sometimes,
at the silent dinner table, she’d wonder aloud if Ummi will ever come home.
Abang Tar finally surrendered
after his fourth attempt at the Senior Cambridge Examinations. He fell behind
in his training and had to forsake his chance to play with the Youth Football
Team. He left Baba’s business and settled for a job as a police constable with
the PDRM --- Polis DiRaja Malaysia. Kak Hana gave her baby up for adoption and moved
to KL, where a rich relative found her a sales job at a cosmetic counter in
Robinson’s. I was selected into the Science Stream and continued to shine. And stupid
Sherry had to deal with puberty problems with help from her dim-witted friends.
Five years had passed
since Ummi left. Baba’s body and spirit grew weaker by the day. Ummi, on the
other hand, went on with her new life with alacrity, promptly getting a proxy
divorce from the Qadi’s office at Jalan Othman, Petaling Jaya, and marrying the
newly converted Bob at the same office three months and ten days later. Nine
months later, she delivered his child at thirty-nine.
The Dockyard
After my devastating
results in March ’70, I’d been back and forth between PJ and JB, working at the
dockyards and quitting whenever I needed a break.
Finally, when Abang Tar’s
bloated body was fished out the water tank in March ‘72, I simply couldn’t bear
to be in JB with Baba and his relatives who had callously let Abang Tar to
wander aimlessly in life and ended up working as a menial laborer at a laundry
shop.
Once Abang Muchtar
was interred six feet underground, I hopped on the train to KL. I swore that
I’ll never to return. I was angry that Baba let his health deteriorate and
ignore Abang Tar’s pain. I was angry with Abang Im for being preoccupied with
his Nyawa and neglecting his Best
Buddy. I was angry at all my relatives who could have done something to stop
the slippery slope into depression and despair. The anger festered like a boil
that had to be assuaged, first by weed, then by acid, and in the end … speed.
Someone, somewhere
had to pay attention to my pain. Save me from my path of self-destruction!
Someone, somewhere
had to have a conscience … to feel the pangs of guilt, to apologize and compensate me
for all my sorrows and disappointments!
As the train sped
through the night, the lyrics of The Marmalade’s Reflections of My Life played
on my mind, over and over again.
All my sorrows,
Sad tomorrows,
Take me back,
To my own home ...
From A&W to Woodstock
Joni Mitchell, singer and composer of the song Woodstock (1969)
Anne’s Mum was worried
that Sherry was mixing with the Wrong Crowd. She asked her daughter to arrange for
Double Dates with Decent Boys. And if Anne had to work on weekends, Betty would
be the Substitute Blind Date for the Poor, Unsuspecting Boy. ‘Cos instead of
getting a slim and confident eighteen year-old, he would end up with a plump
and awkward fifteen year-old.
But Freddy Danker wasn’t
A Shallow Cad. He wasn’t like the Other Superficial Band Boys who ogled at
Girls’ Boobs & Bottoms. The Good, Church-going Christian Boy that he was,
he looked beyond the Skin & Flesh and appreciated the Beautiful Person
inside.
He and his twin, Roy
Danker, were Anne's rich cousins on her mother’s side. Their Mum, Anne's Mum’s
sister, had just 'expired' a few months ago. The concerned aunt that she was,
Anne’s Mum thought that dating would help The Twins get over their mother’s
demise.
The Twins had just
received their Independence Keys when they turned twenty-one prior to their
mother’s recent 'expiration'. They had followed their Dad's footsteps and
formed their own band - La Liberacion, a household name in the disco circuit.
Freddy was the keyboardist and Roy, why of course, he was the vocalist.
True to their status
as Pop Princes, Freddy and Roy picked Sherry and Betty up in their red Alfa
Romeo sports car. Freddy jumped out of the driver's seat and opened the car
door for Sherry and Betty to sit on the back seat. For the first time in their
lives, Sherry and Betty felt they were treated like Proper Little Ladies. Both
Freddy and Roy were Super Squeaky Clean – all the way - from the top of their
poufs to the tips of their white boots.
After a few wholesome
Saturday outings, Mak returned from one of her regular excursions and puts a
HALT to All This Nonsense.
"Just who do you
think you are now? Elvis Presley's gurlpren?" She asked, arms akimbo.
"No lah, Mak, Freddy and me are only
friends. His Mum just died. He needs to cheer himself up. So, he takes me to
A&W and bowling. Just that!"
"Iya lah, now it's root beer and bowling.
Then, to chers!"
"No lah. Why would he take me to church
for?"
"To drink holy
water. So you'll pray to Jijes!"
"You don't even
know him. How could you accuse him of trying to convert me?"
"Dah, dah. Jangan mengada-ngada. Enough. Don’t
be cheeky. I won't hear any more of this. You stay home and study hard for your
MCE next year. Don't be gallivanting with that Freddy ever again. Or that Wild
Sherry, for that matter! Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Mak. I
heard you."
"Unless you want
a taste of sambal in your
mouth?"
"No, Mak. No
pounded chillies, please, no."
*********
But Mak went off to
Kuantan again and left me alone at the flat with the university students.
Sherry told me,
“You’ve to get out. It’s not safe to stay at home with the tenants too much.
You might be giving them ideas.”
“What ideas?”
“The wrong ideas!”
“What wrong ideas?”
“Alah … you know lah. Do I
have to spell it out?”
“Please spell it out,
Sherry.”
“It never crossed
your mind that Jamil might get fresh with you?”
“No. Never. Why should
he? He’s, like, dating all the kakaks
in the blocks and terrace houses behind. And Abdul Hayy is always around. And when
any one of them is home, I lock myself up in the front room and read.”
“I know about him
dating all the silly kakaks who think
they’ve snared a university student. And I know that Abdul Hayy is an Angel without
wings who never look at girls. But you can’t lock yourself up in your room all
the time. You’ve got to get out sometimes!”
“What about Anne?
Can’t she go out with you?”
“Anne and her Mum
have given up on me. I told them I’m not ready to go steady with Roy. Now, the
Sour Plum Girl have set up a double date for me and her brother Faisal and his
college mate to go Ipoh.”
“College mate? Ipoh?”
“Yes! One of those Budak-Budak Kolet Kuala Kangsar. They’re
in Form Six. About my age. It’s just a three hour trip to see the Malaysian Woodstock.”
“And three hours
back? How long is the concert? What if Mak comes home when I’m away?”
“Aiyoh! Just say you slept over at Anne’s place or the JB girls lah! Why are you so straight?”
“You want me to be
crooked then?”
“No lah, once in a while you’ve to tell
white lies ... Come on, let’s not waste time. Just get ready and go!”
We had heard of Kak
Hana talking about Abang Shid being a Budak
Kolet MCKK … Malay College Kuala Kangsar, the Eaton of the East, a
prestigious residential school for selected Anak-anak
Orang Kaya, rich men’s sons. Boy, were we surprised to see that they looked
just like the Jay Be Blues Band Boys, with their shoulder-length, stripe
bell-bottoms, tie-dye t-shirts, tong headbands and Peace Pendants. Mak would
have fainted if she saw them. Even the other Budak-budak Universiti, the University Kids, were dressed like Hippies.
If she had shook her head when she first saw the Beatles' Mop Tops in the
Sixties, she would have been flabbergasted to see MCKK boys with their Hippies'
Locks in the Seventies. Such a far cry from Jambul
Elvis Presley of the Fifties!
All the way to Ipoh and back,
the boys and Sherry were humming Joni Mitchell’s Woodstock.
We're stardust,
We're golden,
We've got to get
ourselves,
Back into the garden.
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