Nothing changed much!

The Return (1981)

Author: K S Maniam

A plethora of emotion flowed through as I perused through this book. The memories of yesteryears, of the dilemma in wanting to retain the Indian identity as well as knowing that Indianness was taking me nowhere. The perplexity of needing to get out the rut of being born in the lower class of society as well as not wanting to be one to forget his past. The predicament of not wanting to speak the Tamil language so as not to attract the wrong crowd but to converse in English, which in my mind, was the language of knowledge. Enduring the insults of being 'white-assed' for pretending not to understand the language whilst living in a place equivalent to a ghetto. Of being embarrassed by the fiasco of the Indians in the neighbourhood as if I was the bearer of everything Indian.

This story also reminds me of all the people in my life who work hard as if it was the last thing they need to do but lack the foresight to prepare for their future and that of their family. There were also people who went to great lengths to outdo their neighbours in meaningless festivities just to satisfy their own egos.

It also reminds me of a time when I was admonished for not contributing enough to the family well-being as the economic situation demanded. I was accused of finding the easy way out by immersing myself in my books as if I was the only kid in the world who went to school.

It was déjà vu once again, those loud days when neighbours raised their voices in acts of family feuds and loud decibels of music from gramophone players. Just because they have a rough day at work or is Deepavali eve, the neighbours made it the social duty to entertain the whole neighbourhood with their brand of cinema songs.

Then there were those who do things knowing very well it is wrong just because they can. Some people never registered their marriages leaving their spouses in a quandary as they kicked the bucket, quite prematurely in those days, when health awareness was not a priority but living the moment was. Even births were not registered, making school registration a Herculean task. What more to excel in school.

K. S. Maniam 

I thought with the passage of time,  these scenarios would be events of a bygone era. Unfortunately, half a century after witnessing all of the above, these events are still very much alive.

The book narrates how two generations of Indian migrants failed to lay claim to a place in the country they decided to call home by their ignorance or probably failure to conform. The Indian community in this story seems to be at loggerheads with everybody, the authority, with people in power, Indians of higher stature (and vice versa, with people of lower strata), with relatives, with teachers and within the family.

It is a sad tale of all Indians in Malaysia. From the time this country started to evolve into a nation-state, they have been putting in their hard and soul into its soil. The sweat, blood and soul that they contributed to the country's development somehow seem to have been buried in the shadows of the tropical clouds.

Talking about shadows, no matter how far we try to run away from our shadows, they return to haunt. Bonds of blood and DNA are not easily broken. They come recoiling back. The emotional chains are simply too strong. Even if the eyes do not want to see, the skin, nevertheless, quivers.