Teh Tarik Kaw Wunne - A Malaysian Smorgasbord

218 Zaim Al-Amin for the whole of the Hari Raya month. Whereas in the modern open house concept as practised by urbanites nowadays, a house is declared ‘open for guests’ on a particular day. And that also for a specific period of time (often for not more than four hours). And that, too, only if you get invited. Hence the irony; by declaring an open house nowadays, you are in effect suggesting that your house is ‘closed’ for the remaining 29 days. What happens when somebody is not invited (accidentally or on purpose)? Or if somebody gets invited but cannot come because of distance, timing or a clash of dates with his own open house? And what happens if somebody cannot afford to hold a full-fledged open house? Wouldn’t he have to keep a low profile and just hope that he gets invited to other people’s do? In the end, nobody visits any house unless he is invited, lest he’d be seen as a gatecrasher. Gradually the spirit of visiting each other at will might just fade away. For better or for worse. Whilst it’s noble to share nice food with people, an open house is not all about dishes. After all, Hari Raya should be more about meeting people and asking for forgiveness and less about eating. So, it would augur well for everybody if we all stick to the original way of having an open house. Unless, of course, if you are a Minister. Or a rock star. Or an angkasawan in orbit ...

CHAPTER 49 Of French Spiderman & Malaysian Cicakman, or, La France Peut, Monsieur ! Life seems to revolve around titles. We already have more than we need. From Dato’ (or Datuk or Datok) to Tan Sri and Tun. Having a title appears to suggest the individual’s high net worth. Whilst having the latest BMW 635iCSL would certainly help to an extent; it seems that in order to get a celebrity wife (preferably a singer, model, actress or at least an Akademi Fantasia student), you have to be Dato’ A, Dato’ B or Dato’ C. For lesser mortals, but professionals nonetheless, you can have a Dr. or an Ar. as prefixes; but only if you happen to be a doctor or an architect. Others are bound to follow suit and true enough, the surveyors couldn’t resist the temptation, recently jumping into the bandwagon and declaring that the names of their senior members will be prefixed with an Sr. Perhaps lawyers will henceforth (or hereinafter) opt to use Lr. instead of the more traditional ‘Esq.’ (for Esquire; a gentlemanly title but which, in the first place, was not exclusively reserved for lawyers). It would then be just a matter of time before barbers decide to add a Br. (for barber) to their name. Or then again they might not; since now modern barbers prefer to be called hairstylists. 219

220 Zaim Al-Amin The more haute coutre ones refer to themselves as hair consultants and operate not from traditional hairdressing saloons but from designer hair treatment boutiques at Suria KLCC or Times Square. Even the city’s ubiquitous massage parlours, their very existence recently lauded by a Chief Minister, employs ‘masseurs’ instead of the more readily understandable ‘massagers’. Or whatever. So you think, there’s nothing wrong in calling a person whatever. What’s wrong if I address someone as a Mister or Sir? After all, a simple show of respect is innocuous, right? Wrong. The recent argument over whether policemen deserve to be called Tuan (the Malay language equivalent of ‘Sir’) kind of confirms this. Somebody is obviously unhappy over the fact that a lowly ranked cop enjoys such privilege whilst a senior government officer of high standing in the society has to be content with, for example, the more ordinary and down to earth Encik (which more or less means Mister). Now, my father would be one of the first people to dismiss all this brouhaha over such a trivial issue. In a town where a lawyer is called a lawyer (e.g. “I bumped into Lawyer Sivam and Lawyer Muthu yesterday.”), I vividly remember that he had no qualms addressing a very junior police officer as Datok. He used to justify it by saying that cops deserve the highest respect (especially true if you happen to be trying to avoid a ticket). On the other hand, my father expected none of those for himself. He insisted that people refrain from calling him a Haji, despite the fact that he went on pilgrimage twice and for umrah about thirty times. But the townsfolk adamantly called him Ustaz Haji Kamaruddin out of respect and over time he sort of resigned himself to the fact that there’s nothing he could do about it. I suspect that he was just glad that his PJK, PPT and AMP honorary

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 221 awards did not carry any titles. Or perhaps people always place importance on titles and adjectives. We have heard them all before. The biggest this and the tallest that. Climbing this high and sailing that far. 17 As, 19 As and what-have-you. All kinds of feats accomplished which, invariably, brings instant fame to the doer and supposedly pride for the whole nation. So much so that you begin to wonder if such an achievement is actually the start of good things to come or is a tragic end in itself. Undeniably, it’s all a fantastic ego booster. A feel good factor for us all. But ultimately, it’s still simply about self-satisfaction; which in colloquial Malay can be aptly translated as syok sendiri. After all, what we consider as a great achievement might be dismissed as meagre by others. We climb the highest mountain and then proudly shout “Malaysia Boleh!” (meaning ‘Malaysia Can!’) the same way Evil Knievel would cry “Geronimo!” each time his bike leaps. Did we for a fleeting moment honestly believe that people in other countries were applauding us? Call it poetic or a paradox; but the case of the French Spiderman should serve as an eye-opener to us all. He scaled up the KLCC Twin Towers and managed to reach the 60th floor of the 88-storey building in a matter of minutes before being ordered to stop and was later arrested. The stunt itself would make any Fear Factor challenge look like kindergarten sports. He was using his bare hands; no special equipment, and no safety device. Plus this was the second time he did it; the first being exactly ten years ago. Did we, as Malaysians, view this astounding bravery as a French achievement? Obviously not. So maybe, just maybe, we should also take our very own publicity hypes with a generous pinch of salt. Perhaps, just perhaps, we shouldn’t

222 Zaim Al-Amin be shouting too much after all. Much the same way as the French are not likely to cry “La France Peut!” (meaning France Can!) for their infamous Spiderman ...

CHAPTER 50 Of Brazilians, Russians & Malaysians, or, From Teluk Intan To Turkmenistan Malaysia is a nation in crisis. Okay, I admit; I’m sensationalising a bit here. We are not in some clear and present danger of any sort. At least, not of the Palestinian kind or the likes of it. But I’d be the first to agree if somebody should point out that we have an acute identity crisis. It often struck me, though in an abstract sort of way, how some things are attributable to certain countries. The French are known for their French kiss, French fries (though fries are actually strictly of American origin) and French horn. Brazilians are famous for their Brazilian football, the Brazilian lock (whatever that means) and the Brazilian wax (Ouch! That really hurts!). And the Russians keep morbid thoughts alive merely by sheer reminders of their version of the roulette. So what have we, Malaysians? And it doesn’t help much either when our closest neighbour, Indonesia, accused us of stealing every other bit of culture which we have come to consider our own. From the traditional dance of the pendet to the kuda kepang; the batik design to the wau (kites) and even down to the folk song Rasa Sayang. So what does that leave us with? 223

224 Zaim Al-Amin Nothing much, really, except for a super huge dent in our ego. Some Malaysians would, in a desperate attempt at self- redemption, smugly claim that we can lay ownership to teh tarik. And nasi lemak. And – hey – what about the famous and oh-so-Malaysian Hari Raya open house? If nothing else, we Malaysians take pride in our quest to conquer the superlatives. Hence the obsession for all things biggest, tallest etc. Never mind if the obsession went a bit too far; to the point of holding too many trivial records that we run the risk of holding the dubious world record as ‘The Country with the Most World Records’. It seems that the whole nation is at odds with itself, being a multi-ethnic, multicultural and multi-religious country. Being ‘multiple’ in nature acts like a double-edged sword; one moment it could prove to be an advantage, the next it could become a liability. One moment we have the Ministers and the people glorifying words like ‘unity’, ‘muhibbah’ and ‘harmony’; the next we have potential brouhahas at the slightest hint of compromise. Such paradox threatens to render the current Prime Minister’s concept of 1Malaysia to sound abstract, if not downright absurd. So it’s little wonder that we are constantly bickering and reaching for each other’s throats in almost about anything. For example, the Government’s decision to teach the subject of Science and Mathematics in English was construed by certain parties as an attempt to undermine the rural Malays. It goes on to show how hard it is to be fair. Let alone to please everyone. To be seen as really fair, why not let the Chinese and Indians choose to learn the subjects in their own mother tongue? Or the way I see it, in order to be neutral, why not for once make a drastic move and teach those subjects in the Russian language? At least the kids will have better chances

Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! 225 of becoming the next cosmonaut. But seriously, learning another language shouldn’t be that bad. I hail from Teluk Intan, and my father’s English is hardly fluent. He was the one who inspired me to learn English, which I did, and in a way I think somehow my father saw it as his own personal redemption. Later in life I had the opportunity to learn Arabic and, recently, I am learning Russian as my fourth major language. But that is due to my frequent work postings to Turkmenistan and certainly not because I harbour any suicidal intention of becoming the next cosmonaut; much less contemplating to play the Russian version of the roulette. But I’m digressing, of course. What I’m trying to illustrate is that we shouldn’t confine ourselves because of our own limitations. Not only should we think outside the box; we must also learn to live outside it. Perhaps the answer to our identity crisis is right here under our noses. It’s not about finding a symbol or label to tag ourselves with. It’s not about satisfying our anxiousness to appear united as one. Rather, it’s more of a slow but honest discovery process. Of realising our differences. Of readily accepting them and to henceforth learn to naturally co-exist with each other. We must recognise and accept our differences, rather than merely ignore them and live in pretence and self-denial. Over time, those pent-up emotions could prove to be potentially dangerous. The world is continuously a-changing. Soon globalisation and cosmopolitanism will take precedence over traditional, political and racial lines. Ethnicity would be celebrated, rather than be frowned upon. We will see more standardisation of laws and fusion of cultures. Maybe even greater tolerance between religions. Hence in anticipation of that future, we

226 Zaim Al-Amin must be ready not only as a race, but as a nation. A nation that is comfortable, proud and most importantly at peace with itself. With whatever shortcomings and all. It will surely take some effort, as it will surely take a while. But the crucial thing is that we must start to change for the better. And start now. We should no longer jump at each and every trivial racial, language and even religious issue. Politics, above all, should be more transcendental and not confined along those lines. People should learn each other’s language and culture. And make it a point to attend each other’s celebrations and ceremonies. And should also feel at ease wearing each other’s traditional costumes. And of course, ultimately, to encourage and engage in more mixed marriages. That would be akin to wishing for Utopia, I hear you say. But wait, it’s not downright impossible. Uphill, yes. But futile, no. In fact we have come a long way already. We hear of fantastic friendships and marriages that surpass racial borders. Stories that make our hearts melt. But it should be more widespread and consistent. So let’s make this the rule, rather than the exception. Only then, hopefully, we can be truly proud of our beloved nation. That, without the need of any symbols or tags. Or any more dubious world records ... THE END

About the Author ___________________________________________ Zaim Al-Amin prefers to describe himself as “a lawyer by training, Group Legal Advisor by profession, writer by passion, author by chance, part-time actor by coincidence and singer by hobby”. He went to an Indian-run kindergarten, a Catholic missionary school, a Malay college and an Islamic university, hence he proudly declares himself to be the epitome of 1Malaysia. Teh Tarik Kaw, Wunne! is a collection of his articles, most of which deals with ordinary yet intricate details of daily multi-racial life that is uniquely Malaysia. Whenever he runs out of creative juices, he finds himself poring over international cross-border oil & gas agreements, working for Sigur Ros Group of Companies.