Kulai

I have often wondered how much a change in my life would be had I not stepped out of my little home town. Looking back, I was young and stupid (okay, as opposed to old and stupid now), eager to see what lies beyond the stretch of road after the police station. My world then, ends at the junction of the police station which is situated at the other end of the town. I remember myself as an incessant dreamer as would be the case of most teenagers of my generation (or, was I the only exception?) from the rural of the rural Malaysian hinterlands. To be fair to all my peers, our only hobby then was to idle on the branches of the tree and count the number of cars passing by. I am not sure if I am able to count the sheer number of cars passing by today on top of the same of tree. I say that because my eyesight is failing and I can no longer remember the counts after 100. But the worst of all, I am not so sure if I can ever climb that old tree. It certainly looks smaller with ailing branches that gives you an impression that it may snap even under the weight of two little eggs.

Whilst at home recently, I had the pleasure of renewing an old acquaintance. I asked him what his main pre-occupations were these days. He answered me in a matter of speech manner……counting cars and climbing trees. I looked at him dearly and desperately seeking for a word to continue the conversation. I couldn’t find the word. He said, “I am old now, I don’t have much obligations towards my grown children anymore”. “I climb trees because it is fruit seasons now, and since I ‘sapu’ the orchard, I need to make sure every single fruit is harvested”. “I count cars because my normal job is a caretaker for the second hand car dealer”. I felt a sense of relief descending down my throat, but not until I took a sip of the kopi when he asked what my present pre-occupations were. I am waiting for the arrival of SOMEONE, I said. He looked at me with the same glare and astonishment I had a minute ago but unlike me, he took a sip of the kopi before administering his soiled feet. He……..took a deep rub and then unassumingly sniffed in the very similar manner as if you were using a snuff bottle.

Folks don’t care about mannerism in small town. If you cared about life’s little habitual involuntary actions, then you are not in a small town. You don’t have to wear your Sunday’s best to enjoy your dim-sum or nasi lemak. A simple attire of a t-shirt and shorts with a pair of the old faithful slipper will do. You won’t be the odd one out, that much I am pretty certain. You don’t whisper when you are gossiping, you talk as loud as you can. That way you will invite potential mongers’ attention and make the topic juicier. I can’t be sure if that elite group includes my brother for he is always the last soul in town to digest the various intricacies of the commonest gossip. But I can be sure, if I am around, I would be the first person to chip-in with my finest kopitiam hypothesis. I can it the “finesse lingua and directus demonstrandum” hypothesis in between mouthful of kopi and dunks. Loosely translated it is something like, “can’t say you are right but I know the answer” or something of that order. Then again, and I am beginning to regret this now, the hypothesis wouldn’t be as convincing as it claims unless it is accompanied with a loud and prolonged fart. Subconsciously I have forgotten the involuntary action, having been away from the small town for a dang long time.

I can’t describe the mixed feeling of quaintness and tranquility whenever I step foot onto my little hometown. No matter how much the world may change, for better or worse, this hometown of mine is forever there. The people, their culture (okay, our culture) and the ever busy kopitiam bustles are still, I am glad to add, our way of life. I have come a long way since the day I was introduced to Federal Readers' craps on "Here is Osman. He lives in this house. This is his house".

The passage of time may have given me the various opportunities but you simply cannot find the people and the place that amply describes you. You are always a stranger in a forever strangers' land except for that small place you called 'home'.