A Nyonya mosaic : memoirs of a Peranakan childhood

THE BIG EVENT 97 should weigh all her actions fairly in her life. A cheok or Chinese ruler came next followed by a pair of scissors and a razor. The ritual was repeated with each of the items, indicating that she should exercise sincerity, good judgement and care in all her actions. This vowing ceremony affected some of the audience emotionally and I noticed them dabbing their teary eyes with their silk handkerchiefs and sniffing softly. Even the bride had tears running down her cheeks. I was too young then to fully appreciate the reason for the tears which were certainly not due to happiness. The word we used to describe what brought on this reaction was pilu. The dictionary definition of pilu is ‘sorrowful’ which does not fully convey the feeling behind this word which could only be appreciated by one coming from a total Baba upbringing. Other factors lending impact to this word on such a night included the melancholic strains of the seroni, the sanctity of the occasion as the bride made her vow before God, the late hour of the night when the ceremony was enacted and the sudden lonely feeling of a bride without a mother and a father. As I watched, starry eyed, the unusual reactions at this ceremony, little did I foresee that in a matter of a few years when I went through this same ceremony my reaction and the reaction of those around me would be an exact duplicate of this scene. Just before the end of this ceremony I began to feel the full effect of too much excitement for one day and had to rush to bed before the end of the cheon thau. What I had missed was the bride changing into her bridal costume and paying obeisance before the sam kai and the other altars at home. Early the next morning I could hear the bustle of activities in the house in my half sleep. Under normal circumstances these noises would have fully awakened me but I was so exhausted that I went back to sleep in spite of the ever increasing noises.

98 A NYONYA MOSAIC When I finally woke up at eight-thirty everyone in the house was already dressed and most of our relatives had arrived. They laughed to see me so bed-raggled and urged me to waste no time if I did not intend to miss any of the excitement of the hari kahwen, the Marriage Day. As usual, eldest sister-in-law came to my rescue and helped me to dress up. She laughingly admitted that she had purposely allowed me to continue sleeping to enable her to complete her chores unhindered by my presence. When I woke up the bridal room was locked but by nine-thirty when the bride had finished dressing, the doors were opened. I wasted no time in rushing to the room the moment word had gone round that the bride was ready. There she was all dressed and dolled up in the most gorgeous red wedding costume imaginable. The best of words would be inadequate to fully describe the beauty and colour that surrounded the Baba bride of old in all her splendour on her wedding day. Although it was still early in the day and the weather was cool the bride was continually being fanned by the bukak kun. This was understandable considering the heavy headgear she had on coupled with the four layers of costumes she wore. What at a distance might appear to be a crown on her head was actually made up of over a hundred gold pins, each with a floret, stuck into her top-knot so close to one another that they gave the appearance of being joined together. Upon her chest was the best of grandma’s jewellery. There were so many of them that they literally covered her whole chest which glittered brilliantly. The innermost of the four costumes she had on was the white cheon thau dress of the night before. This was followed by the baju getah, a layer of clothing of rubbery texture to absorb the sweat, the baju bamboo which was a fairly stiff sort of coat of finely interlaced bamboo strips, and, finally, the elaborate wedding dress on top. Cousin Swee Neo, who kept her eyes

THE BIG EVENT 99 downcast appeared calm and collected, not betraying the inner tension building up as the hour drew closer when she would have her first glimpse of the man with whom she was to spend the rest of her life. By that time, there were already many brides and grooms who had seen each other in photographs or at social receptions before their marriage day. Cousin Swee Neo was probably among the last few who did not enjoy the privilege of even seeing a photograph of her future husband and was kept in suspense right up to the moment of the chim pang. Even then she was not expected to look at him square in the eyes; she had to steal glances of him surreptitiously. As a contrast to the solemn ceremony of the night before, the morning’s chim pang promised excitement. Besides the bride, all of us were on tenterhooks, waiting to get our first look at cousin Swee Neo’s husband. This chim pang ceremony was another occasion where great pains were taken to divine the incompatible horoscopes. The findings were not merely made known by word of mouth, it was written down and pasted on the front gatepost for general information. Those who chose to ignore the warning of clashing horoscopes had only themselves to blame for the consequences. When cousin Swee Neo was all ready she came downstairs to pay obeisance before the sam kai and to father, grandma, her sister, her brother-in-law and other close relatives who were present. After this her face was covered with a thin black veil. All she had to do now was to sit and wait for the arrival of her husband. As I stood staring at her resplendent costume, eldest sister- in-law nudged me and whispered that I should sneak out of the house via the Rumah Abu in order to catch the procession. I quickly complied and was soon standing outside our house with a commanding view of the direction in which the groom

100 A NYONYA MOSAIC and his retinue were expected to come. After about ten minutes of waiting there was an excited murmur from the crowd lining the roadside as all eyes turned to the direction of several cars that had stopped a few doors away. One or two excited cries of ‘Lai lo, lai lo’ (They have arrived, they have arrived’) confirmed that the groom had indeed come. As the occupants of the cars arranged themselves in proper order for the procession, some of the people around me ran towards the assembly so that they could walk alongside the procession. I stood firm at the same spot and soon heard both the seroni band, and the four-piece band that had accompanied the groom, strike up to signal the beginning of the short procession. At the beginning my attention was naturally focussed on the groom but, alas, he was too far away to be seen clearly. All I could make out was a tallish man in red. Walking at the head of the procession were two lantern bearers who carried six sided lanterns on red poles. These were the lanterns which bore the groom’s family surname. We called them the teng ji sehnh. Then came two young gong beaters known as the pah kims who beat the instruments they were carrying as loudly as they could. We named these brass gongs breng breng for the sound they made. The bearers of the red buntings known as the chai ki came next. After the tasselled chai kis came the sinseh flanked by two pages, the kiak tengs. The sinseh was the master of ceremony for the day. He carried an open fan with which he fanned himself as he walked slowly towards our house. All three of them were shielded from the sun by umbrellas carried by bearers who walked close to them. Behind them were carried another pair of six sided ceremonial silk lanterns, the keong tengs. The groom flanked by a pua kianh on each side followed behind these lanterns. These pua kianhs like bestmen of today, were the groom’s contemporaries who

THE BIG EVENT 101 were still unmarried. Walking close to the groom was the same koo ya who had helped the bride with her cheon thau the night before. Close behind the groom walked his pak chindek, the male equivalent of the sangkek um to the bride. Like all the bearers of the lanterns, the umbrellas and the buntings, the pak chindek was a Boyanese and was in Malay costume. The Boyanese are people who originated from the Bawean Islands of Indonesia. In later years whenever it was not possible to get Boyanese to be the bearers or the pak chindek for our traditional weddings, Chinese were employed to do the job but they had to dress in Malay costumes. Close on the heels of the koo ya were four elderly ladies who represented the groom’s family. The seroni musicians walked ahead of the procession. Altogether it was a noisy affair with the two pak kims competing with the seroni band by beating the breng brengs with all their youthful vigour. The centre of attraction was naturally the tall groom. He was dressed in a red tng suanh beh kua which consisted of a short red jacket with dragon motif and gold border over a long gown. He had a Chinese skull cap on his head. In the front of the cap was a brooch of brilliant stones and the top was diamond studded. I felt so happy for cousin Swee Neo because her husband did not take after his mother at all. He was tall and presentable. With an open fan in his right hand he walked with the dignified steps he had been taught by the pak chindek. In front of our main doorway a ko pow had been placed on the ground earlier on. This was a framework of bamboo covered with colourful paper flowers. On the circular base of this structure a packet of firecrackers had been placed. As soon as the groom stepped over the ko pow the firecrackers were lit. The ko pow was subsequently hung in front of the main doorway until the rain and sun took their toll. In the days when

102 A NYONYA MOSAIC some weddings had taken place without a procession the ko pow hanging in front of the doorway was an indication that there had been a wedding in the house and that there had been a procession as well. The procession came to a halt at the main doorway. Some of our relatives sprinkled the groom with rose water and showered him with beras kunyet (saffron coloured rice). An orange was presented to him as a token of welcome. Then a couple of our male relatives came out to perform the kianh lay, a form of greeting executed in stylish moves. The groom’s party reciprocated with the master of ceremony leading the gestures supported by the two pua kianhs. During these elaborate movements the Boyanese pak chindek joined in and ‘stole’ the two hard boiled eggs from a table nearby. These eggs were meant for the bride and groom to consume on their wedding night as a symbol of oneness. This was the churik telor ritual (stealing the eggs ritual) which was a speciality of the pak chindek. Everybody knew he would be ‘stealing’ the eggs but it seemed that a good pak chindek could still manage to do it without being detected by all present who were watching him intently. I failed to see the pak chindek take the eggs on this occasion because the kianh lay had somewhat distracted my attention for a while. Those who claimed to have caught him in the act were rather proud that they had been sharper than the rest. After the kianh lay the groom and his party were invited to sit down for a cup of tea to await the exact time for the next ceremony, the chim pang. At the appointed moment the sinseh stepped into the hall and called out loud and clear in Hokkien ‘Sangkek um, si kau lai chim pang’. It was a call to the sangkek um to tell her that the appointed time had come for the bride and groom to meet. Without further ado the sangkek um led the veiled bride out to

THE BIG EVENT 103 meet her groom. At the precise moment when they faced each other for the first time many of us averted our gaze momentarily from them. This we did as an extra precautionary measure even when we had beep given the green light to witness the ceremony. I was rather surprised that at this stage cousin Swee Neo did not really look at her husband full in the face. True to the traditional prim and proper bride she had continued to look down when brought face to face with her husband for the first time. He was privileged to look at her but could not have seen much of her face through the thin black veil. Flanked on either side by the sangkek um and the pak chindek the bridal couple walked slowly and gracefully, upstairs to their room. There the groom unveiled his bride with some help from the sangkek um in case the veil should get caught in the myriad of gold and silver pins that studded her hair. Again, there were those who averted their gaze at the moment of unveiling. The surrounding area of the bridal room was packed with relatives waiting to see the next ceremony when the bridal couple were to take a meal together. With much tolerance from the adults I squeezed myself in front to get an unobstructed view of the proceedings. On the table were twelve dishes of food and a pair of burning candles. Every care was taken to ensure that the candles remained burning for it was believed that should the candle close to the groom be the first to go off it meant that his death would precede his wife’s and if the candle near her were to go off she would predecease him. What we all wanted to see at this choon toke ceremony was how graceful the bridal couple were in their movements. Both of them went through a series of movements and gestures symbolic of having a meal together without actually eating anything from the dishes on the table. Among those dishes were two small bowls of kueh een (glutinous rice balls in syrup). Later that evening the contents of these two

104 A NYONYA MOSAIC bowls were combined into one bowl and the syrup discarded. The bowl with the kueh een was then covered with the other empty bowl and placed under the bridal bed. Twelve days later the contents of the bowl was checked for the quality of maggots found in it. If a large number were present it indicated a fruitful marriage blessed with many children. If few were found, it meant the opposite. At the conclusion of this make-believe feasting cousin Swee Neo left the room leaving her husband and his pak chindek in the bridal chamber. The doors were then locked and the groom changed into a lounge suit. It seemed so unfortunate that a wedding so oriental in flavour should suddenly find a western touch in it just for the pride of being ‘modernised’. As soon as he had changed his clothes the doors were opened and the bride came back to her room when she symbolically combed his hair as a gesture of serving him. He then took his leave and the bride had an opportunity to rest. In the mid-afternoon the, pak chindek came to fetch the koo ya back with him to the groom’s house to invite him for lunch at our house. Tradition dictated that the groom would come to our house only when properly invited. Still in his lounge suit he ate his meal alone while his bride was busy changing into another costume. After lunch he exchanged his western suit for the traditional wedding costume and accompanied the bride downstairs to pay their respects to the altars and to the elders before setting off for the groom’s house. Prominently displayed on a table for all to see were the jewellery and ang pows which had been presented to the bride. These barang teck pai or gifts were placed on two trays each lined with red velvet material. One tray contained gifts from immediate family members while the other contained presents from relatives and friends. I was informed that in weddings among the well-to-do the gifts

THE BIG EVENT 105 of jewellery from the parents alone could fill more than a tray. Names of all those who had given the presents were placed against their respective gifts. Four elderly representatives from our family accompanied the bride and groom to his home. In a classic twelve-day wedding, this trip home was celebrated on the third day taking the marriage day as the first day. At the time of cousin Swee Neo’s wedding, however, it had been modified to take place in the mid-afternoon of the first day. The bridal couple travelled in separate cars: he with his pak chindek, his two pua kianhs and his koo ya and the bride with her sangkek um, the assistant, and a page girl, the pengapet. I had originally been nominated to be the pengapet but as I was rather tall for my age, a distant cousin who was a few months younger and not as tall was given the role instead. Cousin Swee Neo subsequently related to me what happened at her first visit to her in-laws. There was a short procession to the house. This was the berarak tiga hari (third day’s procession). As soon as she reached the house the sangkek um quickly took the pengapet inside ahead of the rest where she was given two pomegranates to welcome the bride with. When these fruits were offered to cousin Swee Neo, the sangkek um accepted them on behalf of the bride. Strangely enough, although pomegranates were used this ritual was known as sambot lemo meaning ‘to be welcomed with lime!’ The groom’s mother personally led the bride into the house. The usual obeisance to the various altars and family members followed. The wedding gifts from the groom’s relatives were also displayed on trays for all to admire. When the bridal couple came back to our house these gifts accompanied them for, after all, they were meant for the bride. I was still having my afternoon nap when they came back. It was an exciting moment for those who had

106 A NYONYA MOSAIC waited for this balek tiga hari (the third day’s home coming) for they wanted to see what sort of wedding gifts had been given by the groom’s family and friends. Eldest sister-in-law told me that the groom did not accompany the bride up to the bridal room. He merely took a few steps up the staircase, turned round, and went off. On his way home he visited and paid his respects to all his and our relatives who had been invited but could not be present because of old age or infirmity. There was a wedding dinner at the groom’s house that evening for his friends and relatives. After a heavy bout of drinking his friends were ready for the chianh sia which was a form of ragging for the bride especially. Immediately after dinner they came in several carloads. As they arrived they made their presence felt by throwing firecrackers out of their cars as they sighted our house. At the sound of the bursting crackers all the young unmarried girls in our household ran into the bridal chamber to conceal themselves behind the bridal bed and to peep at the goings on through the thin lace curtains. I was among them as we waited with bated breath for the fun to begin. Cousin Swee Neo was ready for the ordeal. Soon they came into the room: the inebriated, the not so inebriated and those who pretended to be inebriated. The groom stood there helpless. This was their moment to tease the bride with a hope of raising at least a smile from her which would automatically qualify them for another dinner which the groom was obliged to give. Although their main purpose for being in the room was to tease the bride and perhaps be rewarded with a dinner, the other reason was the presence of the girls behind the curtain. They played to the gallery and the giggling hidden audience gave them added incentive. In order to prevent cousin Swee Neo from laughing or smiling at the antics of her tormentors her sangkek um had

THE BIG EVENT 107 instructed her to look down and had given her a piece of areca nut to clench tightly between her teeth. Cousin Swee Neo stood there offering cup after cup of drink to the groom’s friends as they took their turn at this si koo (literally quatrain). Every time one of them came to accept the drink he either danced, pranced about, cracked jokes, sang funny pantons or performed comical antics like sucking a baby’s dummy or exposing a pot belly just to attempt to raise a smile from the bride. But, of course, it was the presence of the girls behind the curtain that inspired them to bring out their best. In spite of all the rowdy behaviour there was a code of conduct that had always been fully respected by all in that nobody should disturb or frighten the young maidens in the room. It was also an unwritten law that as long as the koo ya remained in the room the guests could remain too. They had to leave the moment he stepped out of the room. Amidst shouting and laughing a tug of war ensued between some members of our family attempting to tempt the boy out of the room while others tried to hold him back. Finally, when the koo ya did step out of the room the young men left as riotously as when they arrived and we came out of our hiding place thoroughly entertained. The groom left together with them. Cousin Swee Neo was typical of most brides in that she had managed not to smile at their antics. A while later the koo ya bearing a lantern was sent to the groom’s house to invite him back to the bridal room. He came accompanied by the pak chindek. The moment he stepped into the room sangkek um Ah Bee left the room. Then the pak chindek took his leave and closed the door of the room behind him. Cousin Swee Neo and her husband were left alone for the first time. A quaint and romantic sequel followed in the wake of the couple’s first night together. Out of shyness and modesty

108 A NYONYA MOSAIC the groom was not expected to be seen leaving our house the next morning. The best time to do so was therefore naturally in the very early hours of the day. Well before dawn, the pak chindek came to wake him up in time to dress and leave the house while it was still dark. And to make doubly sure that the groom was not recognised, the pak chindek covered his face with a fan as they both walked quickly to the car. Needless to say there were many who did not want to miss this ritual and had got up early and stationed themselves at strategic concealed points to catch the groom leaving our house. Neighbours peeped through tiny openings in their windows and doors. In fact, when the groom walked out of the house there was a large hidden audience watching his every move. It was all one big farce and everyone enjoyed participating in it. From the wedding day onwards it was expected of the bride’s family to supply nourishing food to the groom who came nightly. Not only he, but even his parents were pampered with this thiam sim for four evenings up to the twelfth day of the celebration. On the first occasion grandma sent bird’s nest in syrup. I accompanied our maid Ah Sum who carried a bakol sian containing the soup in a kam cheng (porcelain bowl with cover). I remained in the car while Ah Sum went in to deliver the soup. She did not mind the chore because she was rewarded with an ang pow for it. On the second and third occasions it was steamed spring chicken in ko lay som (a chinese herb) and a pair of pigeons steamed in bird’s nest respectively. For the final occasion it was the same sweet dish as the first one. This was in keeping with our adage: Manis di-kepala manis di buntot (sweetness to begin, sweetness at the end). The nourishing food served at the bridal room nightly was consumed by the bridal couple together.

THE BIG EVENT 109 The climax of the wedding celebrations was the twelfth day ceremony which was observed on the sixth day by some but for grandma, it had to be on the twelfth as dictated by tradition. For this final ceremony cousin Swee Neo wore the green costume which had been presented to her by the groom during the lap chai. Accompanied by her sankek um and representatives from our family she arrived at her in-laws’ house around noon. In this instance it was not compulsory that the entourage should be made up of elderly people, so cousin Swee Neo’s sister was among those who went along. There was a nasik lemak (rice cooked in coconut milk) party there on that day. I was not included in the entourage but managed to enjoy the nasik lemak because the groom’s family had sent some over to us. At such a party the host was expected to serve plain rice and fish maw soup as well as other dishes for those with hearty appetites who found the nasik lemak to be but an appetiser. On arrival, the sangkek um announced loudly: ‘Kemanteng menyembah’ so that all present were aware that the bride had come to pay her respects. Lunch was immediately served during which the bride stood dutifully behind her mother-in-law’s chair as a mark of deep respect for her. A tea ceremony followed where the bride was introduced to various members of the groom’s family to whom she had to offer a cup of tea. Cousin Swee Neo subsequently told me that at the end of this ceremony she could not remember a single name or face because there were so many relatives around. Before she took her leave the bride was presented with a pair of sugar cane stalks and a live cockerel and hen. Just as her groom had done at the end of the Third Day ceremony, cousin Swee Neo had to visit all our relatives as well as her in-laws’ relatives who had not been able to attend the wedding. She received a pair of red candles at every stop she made.

110 A NYONYA MOSAIC Usually a pair of chickens would be released under the bridal bed and the sex of the first bird to emerge was supposed to indicate the sex of the first born from the marriage. Experience, however, had shown that more often than not the birds refused to move from under the bed, probably due to fright or poor blood circulation in their legs due to the many hours of being trussed up. It requited considerable coaxing and prodding with sticks before either would make a move. Many a time this frightened the birds further which caused them to give way to nature’s call under the bed. For cousin Swee Neo’s wedding grandma would have none of this. It was perhaps not all that important to know the sex of the first born as it was to be blessed with many children. To predetermine this, the bowl of kueh een which had been placed under the bed twelve days back was taken out and opened. It had lots of tiny maggots in it. I was squeamish but everyone else was delighted and felt that this had more than made up for not knowing the sex of cousin Swee Neo’s first of many children. Towards evening sangkek um Ah Bee performed her last formal duty. It seemed that on the second morning of the wedding after the groom had sneaked out at dawn, grandma had gone into the room later on to collect cousin Swee Neo’s cheon thau trousers which she was wearing the previous night and kept it in a lacquer box for this final wedding ritual. Just before handing the box to the custody of sangkek um, a penknife, a lime, and jasmine flowers had been also put in. The knife was meant to cut the lime to perform a test to determine if the blood stain on the trousers was truly virginal blood. It was alleged that the lime juice would wash away any type of blood stain except that of virginal blood. The box was taken to the groom’s house and on arrival sangkek um Ah Bee openly invited its contents to be inspected and tested by

THE BIG EVENT 111 announcing in a clear voice: ‘Benda datang. Marilah pereksa. Marilah uji.’ The fact that the proof was required to be sent on the last day did not impose upon the bride the absolute necessity to consummate her wedding on the very first night. After all the careful divination for an auspicious day and time for the wedding the bride could still have her monthly period on the wedding night. Contrary to popular belief, a mother-in- law rarely accepted the invitation to look at or perform the test to prove her daughter-in-law’s chastity. She normally declined the invitation, thanked the mistress of ceremonies and awarded her an ang pow instead. There were two probable reasons for this. If she had inspected and tested the blood stain it could be construed that she had had doubts about the bride’s chastity and this was seen as a slur on the girl’s parents. It was claimed that a long time ago a few very strict grandmothers-in-law did check the proof but they were in the minority. In all probability it was mere hearsay rather than the truth. Moreover, we believed that to look at the stained trousers was suay or unlucky and might even result in blurred vision. As a matter of fact, a bride’s mother-in-law would already have known about her daughter-in-law’s purity before the proof was delivered to her. Her dutiful and filial son would have already reported to her everything she wanted to know the moment the marriage had been consummated!

chapter six At Leisure IT TOOK THE best part of a month for the excitement of Swee Neo’s wedding to wear off. For that duration the wedding remained the main topic of conversation in the household. All other activities practically ground to a stop or took secondary importance. Every aspect of the wedding ceremonies was dissected and studied most thoroughly. Friends and relatives who happened to visit joined in the discussion adding their opinions and comments. It was a relief for me when life finally returned to normal because during the period of the post wedding debate, father joined in and he tended to stay at home more. As a young girl I was more fortunate than most of the girls of my age. Father took me along on most of his outings and so at a young age I had seen more of the world outside our house than perhaps some grown-ups. Furthermore he gave me full rein to be my age. Thus, I was not ‘domesticated’ as my contemporaries were till a much later age. In the evenings at IOLA, the bungalow at Katong, father permitted me to explore the surrounding neighbourhood, which was then like a forest, and to make friends with the neighbours. There was a cowshed behind our house. Every time I visited the Indian cowherd’s family I was offered fresh

AT LEISURE 113 milk to drink. The sight of the container in which the milk was served to me, would have put most people off today. It was a badly dented little aluminium mug that could certainly have done with a bit of proper washing. Nevertheless I was none the worse for the experience. At home, we took our milk boiled. After being thoroughly heated the cream would separate from the milk and float on top: the richer the milk, the thicker the layer of cream formed. This layer of cream was popular with us children and we rushed for it the moment it was solid enough to be lifted off the milk with the fingers. Those who did not take to it objected to its rich taste rather than for dietary reasons. People were very much less conscious of weight problems then. In fact with tuberculosis (or consumption, as we knew it then) being quite rife, to be thin or underweight was thought to be risky whereas to be fat was considered healthy. One of my delights was to watch the cows being milked. If I happened to visit the family after milking time was over, in order not to disappoint me the cowherd would milk just one more cow for my benefit. Conditions at a cowherd’s home were far from sanitary especially since young calves shared the same sleeping quarters with the family. A strong odour of decaying grass and cow dung pervaded the surroundings all the time. There was cow dung everywhere. In one corner of a shed for the cows, not far from the cowherd’s kitchen, was a pile of dung that was meant for sale as fertiliser. The cowherd’s eldest son was Pakri. He was about fourth brother’s age. Whenever he was free he took me round the neighbourhood in search of adventure. Sometimes we had frightful escapades as when we were chased by unfriendly geese, while at other times pleasant surprises like when we discovered turkey eggs in the bushes. The trips to father’s rubber estate at Paya Lebar were just as interesting and educational. The Paya Lebar Road that I

114 A NYONYA MOSAIC can still see clearly in my mind had lots of buffaloes and was flanked by vegetable farms. When father was busy in his estate office he left me to roam round the estate. The perimeter of the property was bounded by a large vegetable farm. The. farmers were friendly and took a liking to me, sister Puteh and fourth brother. Occasionally they offered us vegetables free of charge. They fertilised their vegetables with human waste which they stored in a covered well-shaft in the middle of the field. Most of these Chinese farmers spoke bazaar Malay and they did not mind my presence when they were at work. They went as far as to teach me to identify the various types of vegetables they grew. Besides the common vegetables which they grew in abundance they had smaller patches of ground where less popular types which catered mainly to Baba tastebuds were grown. Some of these leafy shoots and vegetables had exotic names like puchok buas buas (buair buair as pronounced by Babas), kadot kadot, temu konchi, puchok lampong, lempoyang, tapak itek, and sireh mengkaboh. Nowadays some of us have modified the original age-old recipes which require such ingredients because they are no longer available. In so doing, the results are unfortunately a far cry from the taste of the authentic dishes. Besides all these outings I had my share of tuition at home. I was privately tutored in English by a series of female tutors whereas for my upbringing as a typical Nyonya, one skilled in domestic expertise, I had eldest sister-in-law to guide me. She did not have much trouble because I was interested in sewing and cooking. With the minimum of guidance I often produced good results with my needle. As for cooking, I learned more by observation rather than by actual practical work. In addition to watching Ah Pok at work, eldest sister- in-law also shared her cooking expertise with me. In this

AT LEISURE 115 respect I did not differ from my contemporaries who spent much time learning to cook and sew. In spite of these domestic pursuits I still had time for other activities in the house. One which I looked forward to was the feeding of a freshwater fish, the ikan betok, which most Baba families reared at home in large earthern jars. We bought ours from a Hainanese who also sold buah keluak (Indonesian black nuts) and temu konchi (a type of tuber). These fishes were reared to a suitable size before landing in the cooking pot. It was said that the longer they were reared at home the more they would loose their muddy odour when eaten. We fed them either with kang kong (water convolvulus) or chunky pieces of pork fat. I enjoyed feeding them and found it fascinating to watch them gobble up their food. However, I did not fancy the manner in which they were killed. Leaving them out of water to die was not the answer as they were a hardy species. The gruesome method employed was to bash them on the floor till they expired. Each of them needed several bashings before they died. Removing the scales was not an easy matter either because these were small and sharp, with barbs near their mouths. An inexperienced worker would most probably end up with a few cuts while trying to clean this fish. There were two dishes made with this fish. One was masak pedas (a hot dish) and the other was goreng chilli asam (fried in chilli and tamarind). They were both equally delicious and were among our favourites. At one time we reared labi labi (freshwater turtles) too. They were fed with kang kong. Father took its blood in the belief that it was good for his health. At other times I busied myself with handicrafts. One of the items I was pretty good at making was lekair. This was a thick coaster for placing cooking pots on. Those that were sold in the shops were made of bamboo but I made use of a totally

116 A NYONYA MOSAIC different material to weave them: discarded cherki cards. Supply of such cards was plentiful because of the regular cherki sessions in the house. I could also make a good job of weaving a tudong saji. Every household had such a dish cover and ours more often than not was homemade. In order to make one I had to wait patiently for a couple of months until I had amassed enough cigarette box covers for the purpose. For these cigarette box covers I depended mainly on my brothers who collected them from schoolmates or picked them up from the roadside. At other moments especially when grandma was not in, I joined my brothers in mischievous pranks. At that time there was a certain gentleman by the name of Teck Guan who was said to be of slightly unsound mind. He had the unusual passion for collecting ladies’ handkerchiefs. On entering the house of a person he knew, he went straight to the point saying, ‘Ada mimpo tak? Kasi gua boleh?’ (Have you any handkerchiefs? Can I have them?). Teck Guan was a rather tall man who still kept a queue and he walked with a gait. In his right hand he carried three folded handkerchiefs in the formal fashion of elderly ladies and in his left hand was a large bundle filled with more handkerchiefs. Above all he was rather effeminate in nature. All this naturally made him the butt of a lot of name calling from the neighbourhood children who repeatedly teased him, ‘Teck Guan gila, Teck Guan gila’ (mad Teck Guan, mad Teck Guan). Whenever he was in the neighbourhood we could hear the children shouting and teasing him. When grandma was not around, I too never failed to join the other children in teasing him. However, Teck Guan did not react to our catcalls but just continued along his way collecting as many handkerchiefs as he could. As no one in our family was on friendly terms with him he never called on us for handkerchiefs.

AT LEISURE 117 When social gatherings were held at our house and the guests had brought their children along, organised children’s activites were occasionally arranged by eldest sister-in-law. We had our own little party in a room with singing, story telling and riddles. The theme of most of the stories tended to centre around cruel stepmothers and their helpless step children, with a happy ending for the latter and due punishment of the former. Among the most famous of those that were told and retold was Bawang Puteh, Bawang Merah. Bawang Puteh was a beautiful and filial girl whose father had married a second wife. Her stepmother had a daughter named Bawang Merah and they were both jealous and cruel. One day, Bawang Puteh’s stepmother and stepsister plotted to kill Bawang Puteh’s mother. They pushed her into a river and as the woman could not swim, she drowned, and was transformed into a fish. When Bawang Puteh discovered this, she went to the riverside daily and fed the fish that was her mother. These clandestine meetings were soon made known to Bawang Puteh’s stepmother and she and Bawang Merah caught the fish, cooked it and served it to Bawang Puteh who ate it without realizing what she had done. From then onwards, although Bawang Puteh continued to go to the river, her mother no longer appeared to her. Meanwhile, the discarded bones of the fish grew into a tree and it was on one of her visits to the river that a voice revealed to her the whole story and told her that the tree was now her mother. From then onwards Bawang Puteh spent time each day with the tree. One day, while she was seated on a swing tied to the tree a Prince first set eyes on Bawang Puteh and decided to court her. However, her stepmother and Bawang Merah were jealous and made several attempts to harm the Prince. They were unsuccessful and were soon put under arrest and sentenced

118 A NYONYA MOSAIC to death. When Bawang Puteh learnt of this, she graciously pleaded for their lives in spite of what they had done. And how does the story end? Like all good fairy stories, Bawang Puteh married her Prince and they lived happily ever after. As for the sing-along sessions our favourites were ditties. Among the best known ones were: Dang dang Si-Bongkong Si-Bongkong kampong saga Nak beli bunga rampay Nak minang anak dara Dance along my master Bongkong Master Bongkong of Kampong Saga Time to buy the scented flower Time to court your maiden lover Pak pak lang bertuntot buntot Ayam katek bergendong telor Pechah sabiji telor Minta ganti bunga melor Pesan Inche Ali Inche Awang datang Let us follow the leader Mother hen upon her eggs Break an egg Replace with a flower Call for Mr Grundy, came forth Mr Gower Hai, hai, mak sarong Pergi pasair beli terong Pulang rumah terserong serong

AT LEISURE 119 Hail, hail, my sarong-clad maid To market street for Brinjals make Then homeward bound heavily weighed Tabor tabor jawi Tabor sakerat pinggang Datang anak Betawi Tak tao kupair pinang Chorus: Hassan Hussain anak emak Satu sen mintak emak Scatter the jawi grain Scatter from the waist Along comes a Batavian bairn Who cannot cut Areca nuts Chorus: Hassan Hussain, mother’s boy Ask for one cent to buy a toy Teng teng gula batu Naik loteng pukol satu Turun bawah jumpa antu Teng, teng, sugared rock Upstairs we go at one o’clock On coming down a ghost we’ll block. The first line of each ditty formed its tide. It has indeed been a long time since I last heard these ditties sung so I crave the indulgence of my living contemporaries for any possible slip-up in the lyrics. The second ditty was sung accompanied by action play. We walked in single file one behind the other in follow-the-leader fashion. The riddles we fired at one another

120 A NYONYA MOSAIC were rather tough and occasionally controversial. I did not quite take to our teka teki (riddles) and I failed miserably to answer any of them. To quote just two typical examples: Satu barang empat segi Boleh pakay tak boleh chuchi A four-sided certain something Meant for use but not for washing Answer: A box of matches Satu lorong sempet Dua budak terkepet Along a certain narrow alley Found two children clinging tightly (Answer: A peanut – with presumably two nuts in it. This is to me controversial as a peanut can have one, two, three or even four nuts in it). Conditions changed the moment a girl reached puberty. A strict and rigid code of conduct was expected of her. As an anak dara she had to be prim and proper at all times. Marriage did not help matters very much either. A young wife had always to be at her best before her husband, in-laws and their families. Otherwise accusations of not having been properly brought up might be hurled at her at every opportunity. Therefore, for many a girl, marriage was the beginning of difficult times. By and large Baba sons were obedient and filial to their parents and siblings. It was all too natural for a young bride to have to face a fierce and uncompromising mother-in-law and several equally fierce, spiteful and wicked sisters-in-law, especially those who were not married and were no longer considered young. Brothers- in-law, however normally did not pose a problem. To top it all,

AT LEISURE 121 a typical Baba husband tended to consider wives as being akin to pebbles on a seashore and so his full and unswerving loyalty was always with his family. There were a lucky few who did not go through these unpleasant experiences. Eldest sister-in- law was one of them. She had a gentle mother-in-law and her sisters-in-law were mere toddlers. It was true that grandma was strict and fierce, but she behaved in this manner to everybody so there was no real hardship. A housewife in general began to enjoy a certain amount of respite and respect when she reached middle age when her children had grown up, her fierce mother- in-law had passed away and all the sisters-in-law had married and moved out. Young women were generally kept on their toes with daily duties of cooking and sewing as well as preparing for the many regular memorials and festivals held in a year. The average family could expect to observe not less than six memorials annually in addition to the birthday celebrations of the senior members of the household. Each of these social events entailed a lot of work. In our house there were four memorial days each year. Not every home was as privileged to have a large retinue of domestic staff to help in the kitchen as we did. It was not unusual then, that the womenfolk of the family had to bear the burden of all the cooking and preparation for each event. However, all this does not necessarily imply that they were kept so occupied all the time that there was no leisure for them at all. While busy at work with their hands they were just as busy with their mouths – gossipping. Nyonyas were as good listeners as they were at spreading the latest news. There were several of our elderly relatives who had earned apt nicknames like Si Mulot Bochor (the one with the leaky mouth), Si Jaga Pantat (the one who watches others’ backsides) and Si Keras Meleteh (the incessant nagger), not

122 A NYONYA MOSAIC without good reason. At their age they had freedom of movement and were the bearers of the latest scandal from the community to those not yet privileged with such free movement. It was only natural in a close-knit society that after a visit to a few houses they had gathered enough material to fuel a gossip session. Their topics included family disputes, forthcoming marriages, and weddings just taken place. Even during these sessions, certain rules of etiquette prevailed. The policy that the young should be seen and not heard nor be detected anywhere near when adults talked was never relaxed. I continually received a tongue lashing for my persistent attempts to surreptitiously include myself in such sessions. Much as I was reputed to be her pet, eldest sister-in-law did not spare me her verbal chastisement whenever attention was drawn to my uninvited presence. Another pastime that was indulged in with even greater vigour was gambling. Among the most popular was, of course, cherki. Both father and grandma spent the best part of their leisure hours at home playing the game and so there was a card party in the Rumah Abu practically every day. Play normally began after eleven in the morning with father being the only male in the group. His presence was tolerated because the female players were much older than he. If it had been a group of younger women it would have been totally unseemly for him, a widower, to join them. No self-respecting young woman would have wanted to be present in a cherki group if there was to be a man in it. Young unmarried girls did not dare indulge in this pastime openly for fear of earning a bad reputation of being ‘tak seronoh’ (without decorum). However, in the confines of their bedrooms and among sisters and cousins they did play the game and in those situations, the adults usually turned a blind eye. I picked up the game from such clandestine sessions organised when grandma was out. We made it a point to find

Nyonya ladies playing cherki.

AT LEISURE 123

124 A NYONYA MOSAIC out the time she was expected home and always stopped before she returned. Young men rarely participated in the game. While we young children played for fun, the adults, however, played for money although stakes were nominal. During the game the old Chinese coins with a hole in the centre were used in place of real money and were exchanged for cash at the conclusion of the game. The term tikam pee was given to these coins. In the early days there were three games that could be played with the cherki cards. These were the Cholek Tiga, the Bukak Lima Belas and the Pak Tui. Through the years three further games known as Choke Ramay, Balek Satu and Choke Kiong were introduced. The last could only be played by four players whereas the other types could involve as many as a dozen people during each game. The old Chinese coins were later replaced by small black and white dome shaped celluloid pieces known as pee chees. Cherki sessions were rather expensive to host. Players had to be supplied with drinks, snacks and meals depending on the length of the game. In order to cover such expenses some households levied a nominal sum for the refreshments served. Generally this developed into the lucrative business of punggot tong where, for every win, each player was obliged to make a contribution to a collection box, the amount depending on the points of the winning hand. Grandma’s neighbourhood cherki friends were a cosmo- politan group. All her contemporaries, some were her personal acquaintances while others were brought along by her friends. In general, this same group of ladies would be invited to come for a card game every day. One of them was Mama Alice, a bulky Eurasian lady usually attired in a long gown and a large hat pinned onto her hair by a long pin. Every time she came to gamble I had the pleasure of donning her hat which

AT LEISURE 125 she left on a table near the entrance and imitating her slow lumbering walk. I often accompanied one of our domestic aides who was sent to her house to invite her for a game. It was spotlessly clean. Mama Chik was another Eurasian lady very fond of cherki. Like many of her race at that time, she dressed in the Nyonya’s baju panjang and looked every bit like one. Then there was Si Mati Badan, a Nyonya married to an Eurasian. The nickname was given to her because of her frequent exclamation of ‘Mati badan’ (Goodness gracious) in her conversation. She probably gambled against her husband’s wishes because she had to rush home by four with some excuse or other. Everyone suspected that she was trying to avoid not being found at home when her husband came home from work at five. Kak Neng was the only Malay lady in the group. She was a rather stern and moody person who practised card fortune telling. Surprisingly father did not patronise her. Being a Muslim she was served different snacks from the others. For her there was little variety; it was almost always hardboiled eggs, bread and butter. Some of these ladies came from well-to-do families. Among them was Bibi Ah Thor a Teochew Nyonya who had a slave girl who accompanied her. Throughout the card game the girl sat next to her and fanned her continuously. Bibi Ah Thor was very fond of father and his jokes. Father seemed to be at his jovial best among these ladies and he was popular with them. After father’s death Bibi Ah Thor never stepped into our house again because, as we learned later, the very first time she came to visit us after father was no more she could not bring herself to come into the house; the moment she saw our front doors sad memories of father started to flood back. She made several attempts on other occasions but couldn’t go through with it. Finally, she decided to give up the idea of visiting us totally.

126 A NYONYA MOSAIC There was another Teochew Nyonya and she spoke our language very fluently. We knew her as Pee Ting. She was occasionally accompanied by a daughter who was addicted to the card game. Pee Ting’s daughter was the first person I witnessed who breast-fed her baby in front of everybody. It happened during a card game and there she was with one hand holding the cards and the other hand around her baby who was breast-feeding. Fortunately father was not present on that day. The third Teochew lady was younger than either Bibi Ah Thor or Pee Ting. I can never suppress a feeling of sadness when I recall this lady. There was a time when she was in financial crisis and she pawned a young daughter of my age to grandma in order to secure a big loan. The poor girl spent her first few days in our house crying for her mother. After a week she began to settle down to her new surroundings and became a playmate to me. Unfortunately, less than a fortnight later her mother was able to redeem her but, by then, she was so used to us that she refused to leave our house. She cried in protest as much as when she was first brought to us. Finally, she was forcibly dragged home by her mother. I was subsequently informed that she had, in fact, been sold to a rich merchant in Malacca to be one of his concubines. It was this merchant who had provided the money for the child to be redeemed. The next regular member of the group was Nek Ah Wan, a Chinese Nyonya of Javanese origin. The last Nyonya in the group was Wak Jee Neo who lived diagonally opposite us. She was extremely old fashioned and could not tolerate anything not conforming to the old ways. She was unable to pronounce the word kalu (if ) properly. She was always saying ‘alu this’ and ‘alu that.’ Although she lived but a stone’s throwaway from us, a servant girl had to help her cross the road and this same girl had to sit by her side throughout the card game to attend to her needs.

AT LEISURE 127 Occasionally she brought along her neighbour Wak Burok. Wak Burok was a Teochew Nyonya and she was considered rather unique in those days in that she was a Christian. Another form of gambling that had a powerful grip on the Baba community was Chap Ji Kee, the twelve numbers game. From time immemorial this illegal betting game had been organised on a large island-wide scale by several syndicates. Punters were not confined to the Babas alone but included others of various racial backgrounds coming from varied stations of life. The game involved the correct forecasting of two out of twelve numbers to be drawn by a particular syndicate. For a successful bet of one unit a payment of ten units was made. There were hundreds of runners who collected the betting slips and they earned a commission of 5% from the winning numbers. As an incentive, bettors were offered a 30% discount on the bet placed. The various syndicates had cooperated among themselves and had divided the island into several sections, each of which came under the influence of a particular group. One had to know which syndicate one’s bet had gone to because different alliances announced different results each day. In my childhood days there was only one draw per day per syndicate. Betting slips had to be in by noon and the result was known by 10 am the next day. As this form of gambling increased in popularity the daily draw was increased to two. One syndicate took care of the first draw of the day and another looked after the second draw. The last bet for the first draw was at 11 am and the result was out by 5 or 6 pm while the final entry for the second draw was around 9 to 10 pm and the result was known by 11 am the next day. The well-established syndicates had peculiar names like Tow Kuanh (Bean cake) and Paya Lebar. All bets were expected to be written in Chinese numbers. This proved a dilemma to most Nyonyas who could not even

128 A NYONYA MOSAIC converse in Chinese let alone write the numbers. In order not to lose the patronage of such a large number of bettors, the syndicates permitted the Nyonyas to use a set of symbols to represent the numbers 1 to 12. I often wondered who originated these unique symbols. For the numerals 9, 10, 11 and 12 it would certainly have been a much simpler task to have attempted to write the Chinese numerals instead of the quaint drawings. However, grandma and her contemporaries insisted that it was not so. They stubbornly refused to attempt the Chinese characters but doggedly struggled on with their symbols for those higher numbers. The notations used to indicate the bet placed was just as unique. Instead of numerals a system of circles and crosses was employed instead. Here are several examples: For bettors who could not write at all, the additional service rendered by the runners who came to collect the betting slips included writing out the bets for such helpless souls. A variation of Chap Ji Kee was Chap Ji Kee Panjang. Unlike the former where punters did not get the opportunity to witness

AT LEISURE 129 the drawing of numbers they were present and witnessed the draw for the latter. There were many illegal gambling dens catering to Chap Ji Kee Panjang addicts. At the same time there were itinerant operators of this form of gambling. A session at a private home began with the owner of the house making contact with one of these operators and inviting him and his partner to the house where a group of eager punters made up of friends, relatives and neighbours were waiting. Slender Chinese playing cards bearing numerals from 1 to 12 were used for the purpose. Each punter was given a set of these cards while the banker himself had a similar set which he placed in a cloth bag. The session began with the operator placing the bag out of sight under the table as he drew a card out and put it into an empty matchbox. He then placed the matchbox on the table and the game was on. Each punter endeavoured to match the card in the matchbox by placing one or more cards from his set of cards face down on the table with the bet on top of each card. Those who were busy in the kitchen could participate by placing their bets on a tray which was placed on the table. After everybody had placed their bets the banker’s assistant gave two to three raps on the table to signify that no further bets would be entertained. Because of the assistant’s rapping on the table this game was also known as Tok Tok. To indulge in it was, therefore, to main Tok Tok. The banker revealed the drawn card by tipping it out of the matchbox. The punter who had successfully predicted the winning card was required to tum his card face up. All the money bet was then scooped up by the assistant before payment was made to the winners. The dividend paid out was 10 to 1. Unlike Chap Ji Kee with its one or two draws a day, Tok Tok could have hundreds of draws in a day-long session and many punters have been known to have sustained heavy losses.

130 A NYONYA MOSAIC Nevertheless, there were punters who boasted of knowing a system of knowing the card in the matchbox successfully. They claimed that all they had to do was to mention the number or numbers they intended to bet on and then watch the reaction of the operator. If this was true then punters stood a good chance of making money out of Tok Tok. However, to the best of my knowledge bankers had not been heard to go bust whereas punters had very rarely been heard to have won. The government banned both forms of Chap Ji Kee but the ‘fine’ for those guilty for indulging in Tok Tok was heavier because a punter risked losing a lot of money playing it and many in fact had lost vast fortunes by it. On rare occasions grandma had Tok Tok sessions at home but that was only after father had passed away. Father was fond of cherki which he considered a harmless pastime but he did not tolerate other forms of gambling which he thought could ruin a family. The authorities did not agree and cherki was deemed to be as illegal as Chap Ji Kee. Many a time elderly womenfolk from well-known families found themselves in court as a result of being caught playing cherki. It was said that grandma had once landed in this predicament. In court, grandma acted as the spokeswoman for her friends. She pointed out to the magistrate that she and her peers were all elderly folk and if they were not permitted to indulge in a harmless pastime once in a while, life would be very boring. After all they had gambled in the privacy of their homes. The magistrate sympathised with her and acquitted all the ladies after ticking off the police officers for being over zealous. As a child whenever the older folks gambled I emerged the winner. This was because winners were always generous and they seldom failed to give me some pocket money after the game. Some gamblers were sore losers. We could tell whether

AT LEISURE 131 Above: A Portuguese Eurasian Nyonya lady. Right: Grandma’s contemorary, a Chetty Malacca Nyonya. (Both photos courtesy of Mr Cheo Kim Ban) Ah Pok had won or lost by his mood after a gambling session. Whenever he had sustained a loss he would be sullen and would be heavy handed with everything he handled. Grandma was even worse. She tended to unleash her frustration on those around her. The moment we discovered she had had a bad day at cherki we made great efforts to avoid her. The hapless domestic staff who could not do the same fell victim to her tantrums.

chapter seven The Tradesmen THERE WERE NO food centres or shopping complexes in the early years of the century but we did not miss them because similar facilities were literally available at our doorsteps. Staying at Prinsep Street, which was an important road in the heart of town, meant that a regular stream of itinerant tradesmen passed our home throughout the day. The first hawker to make the daily rounds was the chee yoke chok (pork porridge) seller. Our household patronised this food vendor regularly but I never had a good close look at his stall which was normally stationed a distance away from our house. The hawker’s assistant carried a tray on his head upon which were several bowls of steaming hot pork porridge. Each bowl was covered with a lid made of zinc. Any customer who placed an order was required to transfer the porridge from the hawker’s container into his own bowl. The pig’s blood seller was a rival hawker who came around the same time. His call of ‘Buay too huake’ attracted a lot of customers including grandma who patronised him fairly regularly. He carried two wooden tubs slung on a pole and he sold both the uncooked as well as cooked pig’s blood. Grandma never permitted us to consume any pig’s blood after noon because she firmly believed that it was not

THE TRADESMEN 133 good for the health as the blood became ‘hidop’ (alive) once again. Until today, I have not been able to find a satisfactory explanation for what was meant but I have nevertheless avoided consuming pig’s blood in the afternoon. Besides the food sellers, other itinerant pedlars were a common sight throughout the day. Some called their wares by making some sort of sound while others went around noiselessly. The latter did not attract any fewer customers because once they had built a clientele the customers would wait for their arrival daily. The Chinese barber who could be seen around the neighbourhood twice a day belonged to this category. Besides having customers who waited for him, he studied some of his customers’ habits so well that when he knew they wanted a haircut he would just walk straight into their houses unbeckoned. Barbers in those days served both the sexes. Young girls had their fringes trimmed by him while ladies had their strands of false hair known as the chemara reset by him. Womenfolk who fashioned their hair with a topknot required additional false hair to lend bulk to their hair style. This process of resetting and retying the hairpiece was known as ikat chemara. While the barber could be said to be important to the ladies the ting ting man was every child’s favourite pedlar. His arrival around nine-thirty started our day on the right note. Whatever his trade may be known in the Chinese language he was the ting ting man to us because of the sound he created by striking a short metal rod on half a bicycle bell to attract his young customers. He carried two small glass cupboards slung on a pole. Each of these cupboards, packed with toys, dolls and other playthings, was a veritable chest of delight to all those young at heart. He catered for both boys and girls with his large selection of toys that ranged from paper balls to stuffed dolls.

134 A NYONYA MOSAIC On top of one of the glass cupboards was a glass showcase with compartments, filled with different types of preserved fruits of doubtful hygienic quality. Grandma never stopped me from buying the toys and dolls but she strictly forbade me to touch these preserved fruits. She never had to worry about my going against her instructions because they did not look attractive and never proved tempting to me. Following the ting ting man was the trader with the answer to housewives who had problems with their kitchen utensils. At that time few kitchen appliances slightly worse for wear were discarded. Instead they were repaired and continued to be used for as long as possible. The poh tianh man specialised in this field of minor repairs. He did not perform the actual mending job on the spot. When given, say, a leaky wok to patch up he took the appliance away with him and returned it duly patched up in the evening during his second visit to the neighbourhood. Another mender of sorts who could be seen around the same hour was the Indian ketok batu man who called out his trade as he walked along armed with a hammer and a chisel. He specialised in chipping the surfaces of grinding stones that had become smooth due to heavy and regular use to render them effective again. These grinding stones were popular with some older Nyonyas who ground their own spices but to others it was an impossible skill to master. I could never successfully manipulate this appliance which appeared so simple to use in the hands of experts. Most of the Eurasian families in the neighbourhood also had grinding stones in their kitchens. Unlike the poh tianh man, the ketok batu man performed his job in front of his customers and to their satisfaction. This Indian tradesman was not the only one who went about with minimal equipment; the potong ayam man was another. He was an elderly orthodox Jew with a long white beard· and a skull cap

THE TRADESMEN 135 on his head. His customers were from the Jewish community around our neighbourhood who depended on him to slaughter their chicken according to their religious requirements. He did not call out his trade and seemed to know the very customers who needed his service for the day. Considering that cooking at home was a way of life it was surprising that there were so many of these food hawkers. Undeniably food vendors of old served inexpensive but tasty foodstuff but still this did not justify the eating habits of most people. Take our family for example. We were never short of home-cooked food at anytime of the day yet we still patronised many of the hawkers. Obviously Singaporeans had been bitten by the eating bug long ago and the habit has persisted and worsened through the years. By lunch hour the number of food sellers on the road increased by leaps and bounds. They went from house to house to sell their food and when they were delayed at a particular house because of a good sale other potential customers further down the road like us just had to wait their turn patiently. Where we were concerned the lor mei seller was an exception. He stayed not far from us and he normally made a beeline for our house the moment he was on the road to start his business for the day. Father was simply addicted to his food. This was one hawker who was so confident of our patronage that he would walk straight into the kitchen every day where father and all of us were waiting for him. His lor mei consisted of a wide selection of roasted foodstuff: roasted duck, chicken, pork and pig’s tripe. In addition there was char siew (grilled pork), siew cheong (a type of Chinese sausage), pai kuat (roasted pork ribs) and ark keok pow (duck’s leg stuffed with liver). Father liked them so much that he encouraged the hawker to continue serving us. After we had all eaten our fill the hawker was paid,

136 A NYONYA MOSAIC without questions, whatever price he named. Considering that he spent about twenty minutes in our house I often wondered how many other customers he could serve in a day. After all he started his business only after noon and so the number of houses he could visit before sunset must have been rather limited. As the afternoon wore on, more and more tradesmen could be heard calling out their wares and services. Most of them walked but among the exceptions was the cobbler with the loud voice whose call of ‘Tampal kasot’ could be heard over an impressive distance. He rode a tricycle. Most of the menfolk then did not discard their shoes when the soles had worn out. They had them replaced with new ones and a pair of good quality shoes easily lasted two to three changes of soles. Another repairman who passed by around the same hour was the tampal kerosi man who specialised in patching up the rattan seats of our chairs. This man was usually seen with a coil of rattan round his shoulder. A complete change of the seat of a reclining chair took him about three visits to complete. Two haberdashers helped to increase the variety of tradesmen who plied their trade in our neighbourhood. The Hokkien man, identified by the felt hat he wore, carried a limited range of products and was rarely patronised by the ladies in our house. His Teochew rival, recognised by his tall bamboo hat, however, had a wide selection of goods and was popular with our household. Both of them utilised a unique instrument to advertise their presence in the neighbourhood. It consisted of a little leather drum about 10 cm (4 inches) in diameter fixed to a handle. On each side of the drum along its diameter were tied two short strands of strong thread, each with a solid metal piece at one end. When this instrument was held by the handle and twirled about, the threads were flung about and the metal pieces struck the drum at the opposite faces giving out

THE TRADESMEN 137 a ‘kelentong, kelentong’ sound. From this we coined the name Kelentong Man for the haberdasher trader. Another peculiar feature about them was that the pole employed to carry the goods was curled up at both ends in contrast with the straight poles of other hawkers. All our sewing and embroidery supplies were met by these traders, especially the Teochew one and at dream prices. Cloth was sold by three different cloth sellers. There was a Malay cloth seller who made his appearance daily with his call of ‘Kain, kain’. He carried the cheaper varieties of cloth and was not much sought after by most of us. Another cloth seller we never patronised was the Cantonese man who carried a limited stock on his shoulder. He catered mainly to Cantonese families among whom was the family who lived to the right of our Rumah Hylam. The Arab cloth trader or ‘Habib’, as we addressed him, had a large clientele. He carried with him two bundles of largely batik sarong materials and enjoyed better sales because all of us women wore sarongs then. He had different quality sarongs to cater for different budgets but his materials were generally moderately priced and well within the reach of most families. The more expensive fabrics were sold by a fat Bengali we named Baboo. He publicised his silk and lace materials with the loud call of ‘Kain stra, kain renda’. He had a large quantity of cloth which he loaded on a rickshaw pulled by a rather elderly Chinese man. He himself, however, did not travel in the rickshaw but walked alongside it. We patronised him so frequently that even without being summoned he used to walk into the house with the rickshaw puller, carrying the bundles from the vehicle, trailing behind him. He would then proceed to open each bundle to tempt us with its contents. If he had not brought anything new or exciting to capture one’s fancy he was automatically chided

138 A NYONYA MOSAIC by the ladies for wasting their time and letting them down. Baboo had a good rapport with his customers and he took it all in his stride. He was never annoyed if nobody made any purchase. Patiently he would bundle everything up again and instruct the old man to carry it back to the rickshaw. They then took their leave, but only after Baboo had first assured us that he would bring something new on his next visit. Whenever he had new chee bee material he was bound to make a good sale. This was a type of material that stayed crisp when starched and there was nothing more popular with the ladies of the era than a well-starched and ironed dress. There were so many hawkers and traders passing by our house each day that before the voice of one faded away another loud call would be heard approaching to take its place. Closely following Baboo’s heels came the tikar rombong woman. Sometimes, several of them would pass by in a single day. These unusual traders were usually middle-aged Malay ladies from Malacca who bore on their heads, gripped in between their arms, and carried in each of their hands a wide range of mengkuang mats and fancy rectangular lidded baskets. The mats, which we sat on during cherki sessions came in all sizes and designs and the receptacles ranged from tiny ones used as a coin purse to those that could be filled with a big pile of neatly stacked clothes. These items were not meant for sale. They were traded for old clothes. Doing business with these ladies involved a lot of haggling but, in general, the unofficial exchange rate was two secondhand sarongs and a secondhand baju or dress in exchange for a medium-sized rombong, the lidded receptacle. Men’s used clothing were just as acceptable. Even after the barter rate had finally been agreed upon it was not unusual for them to nag and plead with us to tokok or to add a few more old garments. These secondhand kebayas and sarongs were meant for the rural

THE TRADESMEN 139 folk in Malacca who had woven the mats and receptacles in the first place. If one of these traders happened to have a lot of goods to carry she might be accompanied by a man who carried two stacks of various sized rombong tied to several rolls of mats of different sizes slung on a pole. I enjoyed it immensely when these traders were called to our house. At times eldest sister- in-law traded some of my old clothing for a couple of small receptacles in which I kept my needles and thread. For some unknown reason many of these ladies suffered from a nervous affliction known as ‘melatah’. When subjected to a sudden unexpected shock or a fright they reacted in a most bizarre manner that might range from uttering unintelligible sounds hysterically, screaming obscenities most unbecoming of women and dancing and prancing about to some extreme cases where they lifted their sarongs much to the delight of their tormentors and the others around. Their hysterical outburst might last from a few seconds to a good many minutes. The moment one of them was known to be suffering from this affliction she became the butt of a lot of sudden short unexpected jabs in the ribs and loud clapping of the hands to trigger off the comical reaction. Actually this affliction was not confined to the Malacca lady traders alone. Many of our elderly lady folk suffered from the same malady. Coming from Malacca, these ladies were naturally exponents of Malay pantons and were occasionally asked to share some good ones with us. They generally obliged without any hesitation. It is a great pity that in later years malicious rumours started circulating round the island alleging that these women were skillful in black art and were not to be trusted in one’s home. It was said that they were able to put the whole family under their spell and if there were young girls in the home they would entice these helpless victims into slavery. Unfortunately,

140 A NYONYA MOSAIC many among us believed wholeheartedly in the rumours and these traders found their clients dwindling with each passing day. There were many instances where, the moment they were heard coming down the street, doors and windows were hastily shut until they had left the neighbourhood. Business rivalry was probably the culprit behind these cruel rumours. The final outcome was that these traders were pushed out of business and away from the local scene. Another trader who was somewhat different from the rest was the mai tong see man who carried two small cupboards on a pole. Of all the hawkers and traders who plied our neighbourhood, he was the most impressive with his height and a well-built body. His two cupboards contained very contrasting items. In one were several types of preserved vegetables from China. It was what he had in the other cupboard that made him a favourite of young maidens like me. This cupboard was jam-packed with everything that could possibly attract a girl. They were nearly all made in Shanghai and consisted of combs of different sizes and colours, face powders, bead necklaces and lace handkerchiefs. I patronised this stall so regularly that Auntie Chye often said that, besides the man who sold mee siam, this trader was the person whom I would one day be induced to elope with. Among the food vendors who arrived early in the afternoon was the Hainanese breadman who sold mainly two types of bread. The warm and crispy French loaf was everybody’s favourite. It was as delicious when taken plain or with curry gravy. The other type was the light square loaf just like those sold in coffee shops and roadside coffee stalls today. In the early days it was known as the roti Tanglin (Tanglin bread) because it perhaps originated in the Tanglin neighbourhood. Malay cooked food sellers generally appeared around three in the afternoon. The satay (skewered meat), mee rebus (steamed

THE TRADESMEN 141 vermicelli) and the tauhu goreng (fried bean cake) sellers made their rounds about the same time. Satay is meat (chicken, mutton, or beef ) skewered on a thin stick slightly more than 2 cm long. A satay hawker charges a customer by counting the number of bare sticks left behind after a meal. Mischievous boys employed a ruse to leave less number of sticks for the hawker to count. The technique was age-old. After the meat had been consumed, one end of the bare stick was held tightly clenched between the teeth while the other end was pressed down by the fingers. At the correct moment the stick was released and it was propelled a distance away. I did not succeed in learning to do this. Moreover, I doubt I would have had the courage to do it even if I had mastered the move. Every time I joined my brothers in a satay meal at a hawker’s stall I was scared and worried that they might be caught in the act. Happily this never happened. Eldest sister-in-law’s favourite hawker was a Malay lady who sold mee siam (Siamese rice vermicelli) and jaganan (mixed vegetable salad). She did not carry her paraphernalia on a pole like most hawkers did but she carried the ingredients in a large round rattan basket held close to her side by a sarong that was slung over her shoulder and in a covered aluminium tray balanced on her head. For customers who patronised her along the roadside she served her food on banana leaves. Her mee siam was prepared with the finer rice vermicelli known as mee hoon. She had a rival who sold mee siam that was equally if not tastier. He was the young Siamese hawker Auntie Chye warned me about. It was a common belief among us that, in general, people of Thailand were well-versed in black magic. We were especially scared of their monks who were alleged to possess such power as to cause locked doors to fly open by merely repeating the appropriate mantras.

142 A NYONYA MOSAIC Some Malay hawkers sold fruits and vegetables. There was a particularly popular one who sold the sweetest buah binjay (Binjai fruit) in addition to buah kelondong (Hog plum), petay (pungent bean), jering (strong smelling pods) and blachan (shrimp paste) which he kept in strong lacquer baskets on both ends of a pole which he carried on his shoulder. When he had the sweet variety of binjay he called out ‘Buah binjay manis, binjay kueh’ . (Sweet Binjai fruits, Binjai cakes). On the occasions when he had only the sour variety for eating with rice as an appetiser, he had a different call, ‘Buah binjay serba rasa’. What made him popular was he invited all his potential customers to sample a piece of the fruit to verify his claim that it was the sweet variety. Moreover he was not stingy with the portions he offered for sampling. His blachan or shrimp paste came packed in a tight coconut leaf bag. Again, potential customers were invited to test the quality of his product for sale. Shrimp paste is an ingredient of sambal blachan (chillies pounded with roasted shrimp paste) without which no Baba meal is complete. We thus consumed a fair amount of blachan each day. Grandma never bought blachan without first assessing its quality. The test involved taking a small piece of the blachan and rubbing it on a plate with a little water to detect the presence of sand which was an indication of poor production technique. Naturally, every time grit was discovered the blachan seller would deny that it was sand and claim that it was salt instead. After all salt was an ingredient that went into the manufacture of blachan. Another appetiser sold by this Malay hawker was buah remnia. This is a sour greenish fruit the size of a marble with a purplish seed inside. As an appetiser it was pounded with sambal blachan and then soya sauce, sugar, and a pinch of salt added in. Sometimes grandma pickled the fruits. I did not have

THE TRADESMEN 143 the patience to wait until the pickle was ripe for consumption and furtively gorged myself on the half-ready pickle, much to grandma’s disgust. To add to the cosmopolitan nature of our neighbourhood there was a fair share of Indian hawkers as well. There were, These worn baskets carried some of the most delectable eats. (Courtesy of Antiques of the Orient Pte Ltd)

144 A NYONYA MOSAIC hawkers selling the popular vaday (Tamil fried cake) which was taken with fresh chilli. We noticed that Tamil hawkers carried only vaday whereas the Bengali vendors also had other types of Indian delicacies to offer. Both put their goods in a basket which they carried on their heads. Every Tamil vaday hawker who passed by our house was an adult but for some strange reason those who hawked the same commodity along the Esplanade were inevitably Tamil boys. Most of us at that time were not aware that this food item’s name was vaday. We pronounced it either wadah or wadak for we thought the hawker pronounced it that way: Vaday was popular with us especially when it was fresh and warm. The Indian rojak (mixture of fritters taken with salad and peanut gravy) hawker carried two cupboards with him. In one, he stored his gravy in a big pot and on top of this same cupboard were the different types of fritters that went into the rojak. The other cupboard had a drawer in which he stored the bean sprouts, cucumber and yam beans. Under this drawer was an opening in which he placed his wooden tub of water to wash the dishes and his round chopping block which he used to cover the tub. On reaching a convenient spot he would place his two cupboards on the ground. He then proceeded to take the tub of water, with its cover, out and place them in between the two cupboard stalls. While seated on a stool he struck the chopping block with the back of his chopping knife loudly, to announce his presence. The mee goreng (fried yellow noodle) seller rode a tricycle. As he pedalled he made use of his frying ladle to bang away at the wok as his trade sound. In the days before the average Singaporean had acquired a cosmopolitan taste, except for the Babas, the traditional Chinese very rarely took non-Chinese hawker food. However, where the Indian kachang puteh (assorted nuts) hawker was concerned he

THE TRADESMEN 145 catered to everybody’s taste. He carried his different varieties of nuts in a covered basket on his head. Some of his nuts were fried while others were boiled. He sold them in units of 1¢ and he utilised a small bamboo cup as his unit measure. For the purchase of as little as 1¢ worth of nuts he provided the extra service of removing the skin from the nuts without extra charge. He did this by pouring the nuts onto the inner surface of the basket’s cover, rubbing the nuts gently with the palm of his hand, and gently tossing the nuts in the air to catch the breeze (and a little bit of blowing with the mouth) to separate the nuts from the skins. It had been a strange but established fact that in spite of selling their nuts for as little as 1¢ at a time, peanut sellers were still able to maintain a wife and children in India and travel back to see them at regular intervals. Towards evening hours more and more hawkers appeared on the streets. The tick-tock, tick-tock sound brought about by the striking of two pieces of short bamboo sticks together as a trade sound of the Hokkien mee (noodles Hokkien style) and the kway teow kuah (rice noodle soup) seller, mingled with the loud call of the loh kai yik seller who carried his cooked food in an earthenware jar in a rattan basket with a long handle. He catered for those with a taste for stewed food, which included chicken wings, pork meat, dried pork skin, kang kong (water convolvulus) and towkua pok (dried soya bean cake). These hawkers were followed by the fruit drink seller, the ham sar lay man who sold a tangy drink which was a favourite of mine although grandma had repeatedly pointed out to me that she did not consider this drink safe as it had not been hygienically prepared. Other types of food hawkers who appeared around this time included tradesmen selling goreng pisang (banana fritters), yew char kway (crullers), fried kway teow (fried rice noodles), hay pianh (prawn in batter), sek bak (stewed pork