s m e l l y m a l a y - Part2

s m e l l y m a l a y - Part2

This is a fictional short story. Nothing related to present, past or future occurrence.

This article is second of a two-part series, to read the first part follow this link

Taiyuan, China, 15 February 2008

China is nothing short of breathtaking. Maybe as a globetrotter you could miss other parts of the world, but never something as vast as China. Luckily I got to know Zhou Chang three years earlier when we tagged along for scuba diving to one of Malaysian coral beaches, Zhou gave me a word that he’ll be more than glad to host me if I were to drop by China. Being a man of his words, here I am breathing the air of one of most industrious and emerging economic power of the world, the mighty China!

Upon arrival in Taiyuan (not to be confused with Taiwan), the size of this city is enormous. Its akin to Hong Kong, except this one sits nowhere near the sea of Chinese plateau (and minus the glamour Hong Kong has). According to Zhou, Taiyuan is among the richest state in China. I can see that, with tall beautifully designed buildings and modern roads that stretches into several lanes, there is nothing much a rich state couldn’t do.

It is cold over here. Zhou told me its going to be colder in the night. Zhou brought me to see some of Taiyuan awesome temples and monastery which originates as early as 950ADs. They have intricate carvings and elaborate construction method that took Zhou hours to translate each for me. If given time, I could have written a book about them and become rich!

Zhou promised me to take to Taiyuan Spaceport, I told him I’m not a big fan of themed park. The last time had gone to was Disneyland and it felt like my few hours of life were flushed down the drain. There were nothing much to see and too noisy for adventure seeking person like me (plus, the mascots are plain annoying though). Zhou laughed and reinstated that the Spaceport he meant is a rocket launch facility few kilos off Taiyuan metropolis. He meant real rockets with propellants that blast through the sky and put satellites into the orbit. My skin turned red feeling ashamed.

“ They’re going to launch a meteorology satellite tomorrow morning…. Its your chance to see a rocket really lift off” true indeed, along the many times I’ve visited the United States, I’ve never had the chance to witness a shuttle or rocket launch. While the Russian launch pads lays in the deepest region where snow perhaps never did melt and waiting for lift-off could be as painful as being in Gulag. Great! I will be there! Zhou smiled.

Zhou understands Taiyuan quiet well, he appreciate Malaysian warm climate and predicted that I would have some issues enduring the Taiyuan nights. My night was cold, even as I turn the air heater to the max. Early in the morning, the classic boiler-style water heater my accommodation had takes a few moments before its ready to be use. Brrr….. but I succeeded making it on time to the launch pad. A vast concrete plain with monolith scaffolding-like tower standing still. There were many people over there but Zhou regarded it as not-that-many. “You should have watched the crowd when China send its taikonaut few years ago”

I chatted with Zhou for a few minutes when our conversation was interrupted by Chinese official announcing something from the spaceport loudspeaker. I asked Zhou what they are saying. “ Please be aware that launch of highly flammable rocket will take place…please take your seat at the allocated area for your safety”, although Zhou sentence did not make much sense, I knew he is very excited about the launch.

I readied myself with the camera, to take the best possible shot when the rocket leaves the launch pad. Since its going to be fast, I set my camera in quick ‘multiple-shot’ mode so I can arrange the picture later in sequence. It will be interesting! Minutes later the countdown takes place. A deep voice with intervals of one second per utterance. Its got to be the countdown!

The ground did not tremble, but the skies were filled with the scream of the rocket engine. Birds are seen breaking apart from groups, shocked by the thundering roar of fire vomiting rockets.

The anticipation gets even more intense. Finally, the cranes detached from the rocket, and steadily the few thousand pound rocket ascent and leave the shroud of smoke it had initially poured out. As it rises, the rocket picked up speed and the fire jet become much visible. Zhou who is without camera clapped his hands. Plenty of other spectators began to scream or shout in awe.

But the still gloom Taiyuan morning sky was filled with glare. A sudden absolute white glare. Accompanied with thundering sound of explosion. Its apparently clear, the launch that day was a failure.A fiasco. A disaster! The rocket exploded mid air sending debris down to earth. I did capture those moments them on my camera. For a moment, I thought I was in a dream… but no… its happening, the rocket is gone, Kaboom! There was an atmosphere of pandemonium as the rocket went into oblivion.

Some of the spectators were seen running; yet, the debris will never fall onto this spot. The spectator spot is somehow been rigorously calculated by engineers to be a safe spot. Zhou seems flabbergasted, stunned, shocked and astounded. Outside the spectators bench, there were trucks parked with covered load bays. The truck wasn’t meant to be there for nothing. Military personnel rushed out complete with riot-control apparatus. We were prohibited from going out of the site. Instead, we were ordered to be calm and to squat like a group of illegal immigrant caught by RELA. The perimeter seems to be secured with rifle wielding Chinese military personnel.

One by one were called fourth, hence our possession such as bag; books and camera were checked thoroughly. Are they trying to catch the culprit of the rocket disaster? Is there a pocket-sized future weapon among the spectators that made the rocket fail? Zhou little notepad were confisticated, even his pen. My camera memory card was taken by the authorities. Luckily it’s not the camera that they took which costs the most to procure.

On the way back to the hotel, Zhou said there were nothing written inside the notepad other than addresses and numbers (which he sometimes had problems to remember). Zhou become somewhat emotional “ I had brother who mysteriously gone missing during Tiananmen protest of 1989, I’m prepared to let go of any ill thoughts about that, but each time I tried, things like this happens, Im very sorry my friend ” Zhou suddenly become emotional and reveals chunks of history that I didn’t know. I gazed upon the Taiyuan skies and wondered what made the people there too paranoid. Now that my memory card had become the state property for ‘security reasons’, I’m left with a useless camera. It’s as good as bringing along a brick.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - 3 January 2010

I belonged to human race. Why are we so obsessed into categorizing things since birth? Our birth certificates had a column dedicated for race or ‘bangsa’ when we all are born into the world covered in blood and embryonic fluids, never any of us were born with garlands of flower around their neck or songkok on their heads. Though, I do not mind if our blood can be categorize according to its type and rhesus. The As’, the Bs’, The Os and negatives and positives. Since there is a scientific basis behind it. Through scientific findings, only certain blood can give to others and certain blood could receive from another, for that, I cannot question why God is being selective. But as human, I uphold the principle of equality.

I reminded my son that we never belonged to any race, we were never the ‘sons of earth’ which some pockets of irrelevant minded people emblazoned every day, yet, my children are obsessed with arts, traditions and etiquette which each of them will likely point towards a race or ethnic.

They would ask about baju kurung and baju melayu and why are they being called baju melayu? They were asking about foods like laksa, nasi lemak, puluts… and fondness of the meal to be associated with this race. Gabus, kompangs and dondang sayang all seems to be pointing to this race. Congkaks and silat pointing to this race. The race that I was thought to be belong to.

But I refuted, I explained to my children (with proof that I exhaustively tries to unravel) that laksa were just a fatter version of mee hon which originates from mainland China. Puluts are glutinous rice; a delicacy brought forth from India, we just renamed it. Congkak is a primitive game which, perhaps, the aborigines were the firsts to play. Silat? I asked my children to shift their attention towards silambam. Plenty other historical references which advocates the idea that this race is just a made up word – in short, a figment of imagination. A fictional race that ripped-off or steals other people tradition and lay claim its theirs. A type of segregation doctrine which itself denied the justification of human race commonality.

Its disturbing to know the fact that when my children went back to kampong, they admitted about feeling immense culture difference. The sight and sound, they really enjoyed it; I explained to them kampong is really nothing of a culture wonderland, but its just what the nature has to offer. I kept doing the Joseph Goebbels style of repeatedly telling my kids that the ‘race’ doesn’t exist over and over again so that someday they’ll believe what I recently believed.

They speak about courtesy and different dialects. I strongly kept them knowing the notion that courtesy can come from anybody and knows no race. Education intuitions in this country are shameful. They’re akin to incest. A race which is smart enough to say katak bawah tempurung, but too afraid to venture outside their circle. I guess, things are easier said than done.

Finally, the backwardness of this race is laughable. They will start to have red faces, stutter English pronunciation and even get mad. I witnessed several occasion chatting with the hulubalang of this race. I tested their patience to the edge. After all, what came out from my mouth are backed with fact. Facts that this race were never the original (even indigenous people), the fact that this race is just a bunch of refugee from Sumatra, the fact that aborigines were the firsts in this land, facts that there is no written consent about so-called contracts . But, I never tested their patience beyond the edge as I admit that amuck is a vocabulary coined after this race volatile mood swing. I pity and sorry for their backwardness, I hope someday they see the light of civilization. Or simply grow up.

Yet, I love to poke at the hulubalang which easily got offended when I say about their race (originally my race), I like it even more in the presence of other ‘friends’ which share my view about the quirkiness of this race. The hulubalang are childish, and each time they utter something remorseful I felt satisfied and say to my fellow friends “Hey! I’m different from them, I’m open minded and less dictated by irrelevant age old etiquette. I’m progressive!” . Each time the hulubalang responded with sinister, I felt fulfilled that I distanced myself from ‘them’ and had reached a higher echelon of intellect/maturity/liberty minus the racial pride a.k.a foolish pride. Finally, when the hulubalang kept silence, I took the stage and told my friends with confidence and pride “that’s why I never believed in this bullshit”.

I proudly referred those irrelevant people as ‘rednecks m’s’ or ‘typical m’s’, though my other ‘friends’ never had calling names for their chauvinistic counterparts, it seems I’m the one who is too knee jerk labeling around. Oh well, this is a brave new world which I had to position myself as farthest as possible from that race.

The feeling of parting from my own race is one word; sensational! I felt my voice is heard, my vision is well perceived and everywhere I go, I feel acceptable! I feel like I’am on the right track! I told my kids about this feeling, no matter what they think about it, I’m just being frank to them.

Maybe today, I might be the darling of society standing up for the mankind, well, someday, there will be a generation of this race which are wiser and in their right mind could defend their rights, uphold their identity and help amongst themselves without inviting hostility, prejudice and misunderstanding. They become vocal and pointed out things that is unequivocal. They read a lot of books, talked to lots of people, travelled here and there, had the same kind of exposure we had, work hard and earn well too. They will win the opinions of my ‘friends’ that lived together in this blessed nation and pushes people like me into the ‘opportunist’ den, or some dark corner. A smelly one, which forces us to survive minus the attention we thought we had. We were bare stripped that our mingling with ‘friends’ are rather dishonest. Even the aborigines will hate us for our sudden and hypocrite concern towards them. But for now, the moment is ours. Totally ours.

s m e l l y m a l a y - Part 1

s m e l l y m a l a y - Part 1

This is a fictional short story. Nothing related to present, past or future occurrence.

Nam Dinh, Vietnam . 13 September 2006

It was an unforgettable experience to be in Vietnam, the people, the culture and the aura I got around there. Its like having fresh air blown onto my face, the moment I arrived there I was greeted by Puoc Nang at the airport and he smilingly greeted me with his ubiquitous smile. He proceed by asking me “What do I want to eat?”, my mind was drifted away being surrounded by the then-alien atmosphere of this new world, so I simply told him “Anywhere unique”. The vehicle swerve through the corners of busy Vietnamese street, the street wasn’t as intensely busy as what I’ve seen in Hanoi, far off Kuala Lumpur , yet the presence of rickshaws, hawkers, bicycles and becas tagging along the roadside like crows on electric cable occasionally crossing the street without a care.

Sound of frying oil, buyer-seller negotiations and honking are everywhere. It abruptly gets softer as Puoc Nang rolled up the car windows through the centralized switch. “I’m sorry my aircond is not that cold, I haven’t repaired it”, just out of curious, I proceed to ask in the politest way why he didn’t he repaired the air-conditioner, he was reluctant to explain about it, he simply says “it’s a long story”, I later arrived at the restaurant which Puoc Nong eagerly wanted to bring me since I mentioned ‘anywhere unique’. There were mostly men over there sitting in groups over the round table. They are devouring their meal. As I was passing from tables to tables, I saw these happily eating men picking up a charbroiled-dark brownish chuck of meat with the slander chopsticks. Looks like mutton or lamb, but too huge for a chicken.

Puoc Nang pulled out a chair and invited me to sit. Minutes later, three men arrived at the place and quickly noticed Puoc Nong. They were Puoc’s friends – where else they would be? It’s a small town in Northern region of the country. For sure, Puoc will stumble upon someone that he knew or met before. The three men later joined us giving me never ending ear to ear smile as Puoc informed them that I was a tourist from Malaysia wandering in their country. Our speech is limited since they have limited English proficiency.

Yet, Im glad to learn a bit of the Vietnamese lingo. Simple sentences like “have you eaten?” “what-is-your-name?” or “good morning”, polishing my skills with every Vietnamese I met. I’ve always think that there is no other mementos that could be of higher value than trying to learn their lingos. It’s a refreshing learning process that bonds me and them inches closer with every bit of success constructing a sentence. They are proud of their language. I adore the pride they have taken in their language, and they cared much about their language. Nearly all signboard in this town is written in their language, which further alienates me…yet, that’s the beauty being in other people land. The feeling I described as being ‘lost-in-translation’

Our meal arrived, smoldered in thick black sauce, I asked Puoc “what is it?” “ Its dog meat”I was filled with shock and awe; for once I felt like to disembowel what I had back in the aeroplane. The other three friends of Puoc smiled and started poking each other. Puoc later explained dog meat serves as somekind of aproshidiac, “upping the sexual performance”, the statement that got me laughing. I did not touch that meal, yet surprised by such delicacies.

Puoc even gave credits to Malaysia, telling me that the meat was imported from Malaysia. He would always want it to be Malaysian since its much more succulent than the rest. There was clash of moral within myself, at first I pity the pain, torment and cruelty the dogs had to go through prior to being slaughtered. Yet again, I’m compelled to venture into the thinking of my dear Vietnamese friends and tries to uncover the driving factor that transcend all values which hinders a person like me to take a bite on a mans best friend meat . “Man best friends? There is no such thing as mans-best-friend? I thought all animals are created equal… chicken, cow and dogs, they’re all equal”, in this age where people enthuastically seek equality, his statement seems to make sense. No animal should be above the rest!

Yet, I stood my grounds and never eaten those things. I apologizes Puoc for the trouble of taking me to that restaurant, yet, I prefer to eat something which is much more ordinary and decent. Puoc intuitively understood and added that my statement was not the first he ever heard. Hundreds of times, documentary-makers, delicacy dare-devils and PETA ambassadors had raised doubt about any preventive laws to consumption of dog meat. Puoc easily replied “When lawmakers and enforcers exists in a separate entity, that’s where the magic happens”, I’am well acknowledged that Puoc never learned literature or similar kind of subject in his school, but his utterance says it all. “Lawmakers are rich bunch of people who travels to America, Italy or France for holidays” “ The others are little napoleons which were given powers, but exceptions can be made granted you have a few thousand of dong” again Puoc revealed his ubiquitous smile.

That’s why my air conditioner is still left unfixed; a workshop does exist in this small town, but charges you a bit too much to feed these little napoleons. These are not cases of exception arrangement but rather a monopoly arrangement. Any operators that tries to open a workshop here, ‘they’ will make life harder, squeeze every bit of life like squeezing your nipple with a pincer. They’ll swear to never open a workshop ever again!!” he laughed briefly. “In the end of the day, we suffer” added Puoc. I laugh at Puoc and the colourful ways his hometown psychology works, its quite refreshing the way Puoc still enjoyed life considering his alleged trouble causing little napoleons. His vehicle once again swerve left and right through the city street, I took my camera out capturing the livelihood along the streets until I saw a hawker that hanged meat strips that’s feline-like. I dare not to ask, but just enjoyed being present in such place.

“ Take me to the red river delta” I told Puoc Nang. Exhaustively apologetic, Puoc Nang seek my forgiveness for taking me to such restaurant. I can clearly see he is filled with shame. No need to be shame my dear friend! I like Vietnam the way it is.

Chandigarh, India. 30 April 2007

The marvel of architecture can be seen here in Chandigarh. Erected through systematic blocks of building, contained within road grids, Chandigarh is a place like no other. Many came to India wanted to witness the momentous taj mahal or perhaps watch belly dancing, but nothing beats the magnitude of modernity shown in Chandigarh. Its akin walking in our administrative city in Malaysia with big imposing blocks and precints that exists according to function. Unlike the winding millions of pot-hole road in Nam Dinh, roads in Chandigarh are mend for space shuttle crawlers! At some stretches they’re wide with ample sideways “It’s a bit of failure, many of these building are very expensive to maintain, or too underutilized” said Rabindranath. But I like it! This is never a waste! It’s a vision of modernity which India had.

The education sector, healthcare sectors and administrative sectors, all had their identities of its own. I had Raj taken me to Capitol Complex, the botanical gardens and bamboo valley and taken plenty of pictures over there. Prior to coming here, I did a little research on Chandigarh, which serves as the capital of two different state. Haryana and Punjab. Each of this state are requesting for their own capital state. I guess that is justified since they both spoke of different language. There must a whole load of communication problems amongst these two; I wondered whether this dispute lingered into clashes or demonstration.

“At first Haryana was nowhere in the map, or at least part of Punjab…” tells Rabindranath “…but the Punjabs are softhearted bunch of people willingly gave a piece of their land for the creation of Haryana” “due to what such state exists?” I laughed to myself, obviously, it was the language! Because of language, a state had to be broken into two! I retracted my question. “ In India we have hundreds of ethnic, languages and castes with each requesting for their own state and legistative assembly and parliamentary seats, the government is having a great deal of trouble entertainment each party…. If all request were fulfilled, India would end up having thousands of little states and our parliament would be larger than an Olympic stadium!” replied Rabindranath . Olympic Stadium? That’s fine enough for a country known as the largest democracy in the world.

I had problems adjusting my camera lens as most Indian vehicle is tall with short wheel bases and stability is an issue. Apart from that, there were too many junctions and roundabout making my aim for shots much more painful.

Rabindranath reckons a single common ground should be established, since Mahatma is long gone. Rabindranath preferred that a single large ethnic should anchor the establishment of the nation rather than government burgeoning to fulfill request of all sorts of types. Rabindranath prefer the way Malaysia does, an anchor race with a concurrent slow process of assimilation. “ You look at India, when they get their ways, they want more, and India is shattered like a glass – this all in the name of democracy”. I declined to respond to his statement. I continued snapping whatever I saw appropriate or anything that’s plain beautiful.

We decided to venture outside Chandigarh and I personally requested Rabindranath to take me where village food is available (not forgetting, someplace where they don’t serve cats or dog meat). Rabindranath insisted that there would be nice food once we get to the Haryana part of Chandigarh, these Hindi speaking region of the town are famous for agriculture activities and their tasty meals. I nodded and my mind starts to fill with smell and images of freshly cooked rice on banana leaf together with the accompanied condiments.

Finally we passed Sector 30, the easternmost part of Chandigarh. Starting from here, the roads are no longer straight arranged according to grid. It starts to twist and curve, conforming to the contours which are not much valley-like since Haryana is a vast flatland gifted by the God for agriculture activities. Only here I can get steady shots with my camera, so I meticulously choose whichever scene I wanted to capture as the battery juice is running out quick. Oh! The northern scene is very much pleasing as the mountain backdrop gives out spectacular picturesque.

Upon arrival, the tall van starts to rock like sail ship on storm again. Rabindranath is maneuvering through untarred roads leading into a village, leaving a trail of dust behind us. I recapped my camera lens and store it inside the bag, it begs to be recharged once I got back to my hotel. Rabindranath signaled me that we’ll arrive at the village in 15 minutes, I can barely hear his voice, as the tall van rethreaded type almost succumbed to get a grip on those loose gravel.

Finally, I was there. A mid-sized Haryana village with food to spare for us. The kids were trailing behind us as we moved along the narrow road. I was hysteric! It was like a bunch of screaming angry mob except these kids are harmless, they did make me peed a little. Rabindranath smiled at me. Once I got off the van, I entered a door(upon the many doors with many curious kids peeping their heads to see a total stranger like me). I did the greeting gesture we usually see in Hindustan movie. Clasping my hands close to my chest and half bowed. Rabindranath was seen talking to the host, unfortunately, the hindi language was too quickly uttered for me to decipher. The host greeted me into another part of the house where the meals are readily served, along with a few English speaking tourists.

They were Churchill from Britain and Nixon from United States, they all enjoyed their meal beginning with Raita; a cold soup made of yogurt, then, lots of Thali and Katrori (their bowl and plates) were lined up filled with curries and dal , rice, chaat, samosas, tikkas and pakoras. The salad thali were filled with sliced onions, cucumbers and tomatoes together with lime wedges. Wait a minute! They’ve got achar! Something which I had in my kampong in Malaysia by the same name! It’s a type of pickle in thick sauce with strong sweet smell. What a wholesome meal! Three of us later went outside the adobe made home for some cigarette break.

Churchill thinks Indian food are too spicy, by this time, his skin turns lobster red. While Nixon is cool with it, they offered me cigarettes to ‘wash off’ the rich taste of spices that remained in our throat. I refused, instead I took my camera out and drained the remaining battery by capturing photographs of a tree in Haryana which seems to have small sized leaves yet maintains large twigs and trunks. I took the photo anyway for its photography value, the tree had zero purpose for being there, and the sunray went through it like a glass. If it rains, the water could wash every inch of branches on it.

Out of sudden, I saw a men clad in sarong running with a bloodied parang in his hands. I’am hysteric again. This time I really peed more in my pants. Being a tourist, you would look so much different from the indigenous people, and that proves to be an easy target by a berserk man. I managed to hide beside a well and saw the parang wielding man fled across. I closed my eyes! Moments later a few other men were seen trying to intercept him, each wielding hoes or sickle. There was a little commotion in the background. Somewhere along the narrow streets of that Haryana village, a murder has taken place. An old village women were seen crying hysterically – consoled by a few others, probably relatives.

In the wake of terrorism, Nixon and Churchill were nowhere there; they seem to flee with whichever travel agency they came with. The crime scene was quickly swarmed with kids, women and men, but I managed to catch a glimpse of two lifeless body on the earthen floor, terribly bloodied. Rabindranath managed to grab my hand and brought me to the tall van. Along the way back to Chandigarh, Rabindranath later revealed it was an honour killing that occurred that day. The two dead bodies that I saw is a couple which are forbidden to get married as they belonged from a closely related caste, the caste laws. I was still in shock and awe. In honour killings, the decision to kill them was decided unanimously by caste council somewhere within Haryana state itself. The couple was unlucky, as they should have fled as quickly as possible. Best if they escape Haryana.

Poor couple. But I witnessed one of a great among thousand unique Indian traditions. I admire their colourful societal subliminal rules of caste which dictates who marries whom, or else, it would be useless to be in India, or Haryana probably. Once Rabindranath driven vans entered Chandigarh, the sight of mega buildings along Capitol Complex perplexes me with the paradoxes of how modern vision infused with age old cultural beliefs – simply a unique fusion, it should be preserve in some way.

That night, at my hotel, cable news further elaborate about the honour killing that I had just witnessed. I could recall the sari clad newscasters began her sentence with “ In times when India is well known for its thriving scientific research and fast growing information technology gains, we were shocked with tragic honour killings of a couple not far off Delhi” I smiled, there is nothing to be ashamed! It’s these kind of stories that gave a tourist like me the thrill.