Showing posts with label Malaysian Indian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Malaysian Indian. Show all posts

Sunday, 27 November 2022

Another piece of Malayan history

Carey Island - Historical Island (Tamil; 2022)
வரலாற்று சிறப்பு மிக்க கெரித்தீவு
Author: M Govindasamy

In 1988, when I was a doe-eyed newbie starting work in Klang, I was assigned to many in-patients who hailed from a peculiar place called Carey Island. I swear I knew the small islands around Malaysia, but I had never encountered any Carey Island. In Penang, where I grew up, my contemporaries and I tried to excite ourselves by quizzing each other and trying to locate islands on the atlas. Our interests were piqued by the people manning the now-defunct ferry services between Penang Island and Butterworth. The ferries were named after islands around Malaysia - Langkawi, Tioman, Pangkor, Redang, etcetera. The name that excited us most was Pulau Babi Besar. Sadly, Pulau Babi Besar is now renamed Pulau Indah, as the previous name hurt the sentiments of small hogs and those who perceived the animal as unclean.

Carey Island is no island at all. It is part of the state of Selangor, which is dissected by a river on one side and maybe an irrigation canal on the other side to make it an island of sorts. 

I remember many patients who were brought in from Carey Island were plantation workers with a multitude of social problems, including domestic issues and suicide attempts. 

The history of Carey Island is strongly interlinked with the history of British rule in Malaya. Even before the British exploited the group of land over the western part of Selangor, the island was already occupied by indigenous people and a smattering of Malays, Chinese and Indians even before the land was 'developed' by the colonial masters. 

Carey Island is technically not an island.
The Carey family was related to one of King Henry XIII's wives. Edward Valentine Carey's family acquired a massive piece of land in Ceylon to develop a thriving coffee plantation named Amherst. Through appeasement deals with the British, Edward Carey was gifted with a parcel of land in Gombak and, later, in 1899, a piece of land on the western coast of Selangor. The Gombak plantation land was christened New Amherst Estate Gombak.

Carey Island, a piece of land that came to be called later, was exploited to cultivate coffee, coconut and rubber. Together with the development of this land came labourers from South India and other immigrants to complement the bustling economy.

This book is a trip down memory lane of some of the landmarks on the island via photographs to remind the readers of how this island contributed to the national economy and became part of the narrative of the three generations of settlers who call this place home.
 
A few exciting snippets here. Unlike the common perceptions that crows, who are currently the unceremonious natives of Klang, came as stowaways on a merchant ship, they were actually actively sourced from Ceylon. Crows were brought in to gobble up worms that were a menace to their plantation.

Malaria was a severe problem for the occupants of Carey Island. Many died due to the disease. Only after Ronald Ross discovered the cause and ways to keep this menace under control did the State Health director institute measures to rein the ailment under control. The director went on to be knighted later on.

There used to be an active ferry service until a modern bridge was built to make the service redundant by the 1980s.

Wednesday, 14 April 2021

We built this country!

Some stories I have told and some that I haven't
Author: VC George (2021)

The powers that be wants us to believe their narrative. They assert that their concocted tale of how history happened keeps true to the natural chain of events. They create a smokescreen to justify the turn of events to explain social strata's current status and how social justice should be. 

Our history likes to paint Indian immigration to the peninsula as a single wave of settlement. With a single stroke of ink, they put all Indian in the same basket. That they were brought in the colonial masters as indentured labour (a milder wording for bonded slaves) to milk out not only the juices of rubber trees but also the milk the wealth of the nation. It was no coincidence that the Malay Peninsular was referred to as "Swarnabhumi" (Land of Gold). In the same breath, these keepers of Nation history declare that the British never really colonised us. They were just administrators

Sorry to burst your echo chamber, purveyors of fairy tales. Indians were sailing the seven seas even way before the Malaccan Sultanate, often quoted as the spark of Malay identity. The Malabari Indians even showed Francis Light the route Pulo Pinang, the island they had been frequenting for so long. How many of us know the Malaccan Sultanate kingmaker, Tun Perak, was of Indian extract? But then so was the despotic and corrupt Tun Mutahir, an Indian Muslim. On the royalty side, Raja Kasim who was summoned to the throne after Raja Muhammad's knifing fiasco had a mother who was Indian.

The Indians who reached here were traders and master boat builders in the early part of the country's history. Indian sojourners then sauntered in later at the end of the 19th century, equipped with the best of what English education could offer. They arrived at the behest of the colonial masters to help out in the day-to-day administrative work of a cash cow of a nation that paid for half of the Englishmen's extravagances back in their Motherland. 

Unlike other European colonialists who hurriedly left their posts in a hurry in total pandemonium, the British actually left Malaya with a comprehensive post-independence roadmap. They cast in stone the Constitution and the citizens' charter to ensure equality for all.

Somewhere along the way, this arrangement was hijacked. Politicians with self-serving agendas and a blank cheque for eternal power decided to use what they learnt from George Orwell and Joseph Goebbels to good use. They rewrote as they saw fit.  They knew that he who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past. They understood that they can create the illusion of truth by repeating a lie often enough to become the truth. 

They try to say that the indentured Indian labourer got immersed in estate life only to be torn about in the quagmire as the British planters left their plantations and the new owners decided to cash out. The Indian poor were forgotten in the greater scheme of things. Lost of job, home and wanting of skills drove them to the wild side of society, a world of crime and subsequently justified police brutality.

That is why we need more books like these - to tell the contribution of different communities to what was one time expected to emerge as one of emerging Asia's Tigers.  Sadly, the other sibling cubs have all gone places. We are left alone as the sick and wounded feline without a roar and probably needing crutches soon. 

VC George, a 90 years old retired Court of Appeal judge, tell us his life and times growing up in Klang in pre-WW2 Malaya all through his journey into adulthood and his illustrious career. He (Honourable, Lord or just George) has inked his narration in 100 short notes, which tend to end up with an unexpected twist or a witty footnote. This man was there in the flesh during the nation's birth, just like the many others referred to as pendatang (newcomers, just off the boat). These wrongly called pendatangs are the very people who helped to produce enviable students of international calibre, established medical facilities that transformed our health services to be at par with international standards, founded research centres and universities, and gave dignity to august Halls of Justice in the country.  

A good read. It is filled with many anecdotes and 'one liners'. It tells of a time when people would take jokes in a good spirit and not be offended or raise a big hue and cry, claiming victimisation. 


Sunday, 2 February 2020

All kinds of everything reminds us of our past!

If a genie would suddenly pop up in front of me today and want to grant me three wishes and asked me what would it be, I would probably ask for an alternative life where I have the luxury of travelling to small towns. That decision would be made, of course, after considering the merits of knowing whatever happened to Flight #MH370.

In my alternative life, I would take a long slow leisurely ride (or drive) along the coastal and interior roads of Peninsular Malaysia. Since time is expandable, I would stop at every small town that I would come across, spend a few days there, mingle with the local populace to learn about the little things that unique is about them and write all about it. Just for the kick of it. Indeed there are many unexplored gems around. Now did you know that there is a Customs Museum in Jelebu District in the State of Negeri Sembilan? Customs not as Customs and Excise but traditional customs.

Talking about Jelebu, during one of our long rides to Kuala Klawang in Jelebu, our team happened to meet an unassuming gentleman who turned out to be a team member's friend's father. After the customary greetings and small talks, he insisted on showing us a 'museum'. Not fully understanding what he was saying but at the same time not wanting to offend, we just followed him. 

The mentioned museum was actually his personal collections of memorabilia of the generation of Indian immigrants used in early Malaya, at a time when she was a land of natives waiting to be cultured. His family has been here for over five generations. That is much more than many of bigoted national leaders who label non-Malays as newcomers.

Our gentleman proudly has rubber-sheet pressing machines, ancient weighing scales, kitchen utensils, the legendary woven 'Sikh' bed and many more day to day items. 

The family tree

Above all the guidance of the Divine Forces

Protection
Not Grimm Reaper's weapon of choice, Scythe






How the two-wheeler had evolved?
That is his little way of reminding the generation after him how the country benefited from everyone who dared to sail the rough seas and decide to settle in this wild country. Their taming of the land was no walk in the park but involved sweat, tears, dysentery and malaria. The concerted effort by all our forefathers, irrespective of their race, creed and religious convictions brought the name Malaysia to be known at the international arena for all the right reasons. Let us not destroy all that and propel us back to a time when only savages dwelled here.





Friday, 13 December 2019

More than meets the eye!


Nothing seems like what we hear, read or see. We will never know what is real from fake. We can surely, learn from the experience of others. 

People are left in high esteem when they leave the building sooner than expected. On the other end, if they linger longer than their shelf-life, the legacy they leave behind is not entirely pleasant. The sorry state of the flailing body and declining function of the body is all that is remembered. If all else does not fail, the mental capacity eventually would, and the elder will go by many titles; screwball being one.

That brings us to the case above. Samy Vellu used to be the de facto head of Indian community in Malaysia. Passionately referred to as 'Uncle Sam', he was the darling of the Malaysian media of the 1990s and the butt of many of the political jokes of the day. His awkward pronunciations and his recurrent attributing many of his department's follies to 'act of God' still rings a bell. He had also sarcastically accused many Malaysians of being mentally deranged and need to be hospitalised.

Now it looks like the joke is on him. His son is trying to get an injunction to declare him of unsound mind. Or is it?

Oh, how the general public scorn at the ungrateful son who chose to chose to wash dirty linen in public. The dharma loving generation expresses contempt at the conduct of bringing family secrets to the public eye. All the caring and nurturing by the elders gave him the strength to bite the hand that fed him, they say.

The sceptics, however, would not buy such a story. They assert that it is all part of elaborate legal wrangling to offset certain unaccounted transactions to balance the books. There is a lot more to it than meets the eye.




Saturday, 30 December 2017

They don't make them like they used to!

V. M. Shamuganathan
(1938-2017)
Just a few months short of completing his eight decades of existence, the soul that who infused part of his genetic material into my DNA sighed his last breath in the early hours of Christmas 2017. At a time when most revellers would be in a state of a stuporous daze after a long Eve dinner, he did his last bodily duties and travelled into the horizon to the Otherside. He died in his sleep, finishing his dharmic obligations.

At a time when serenity was the order of the day in the green-lushed tropical port city of Penang, in 1938, he was a born to first-generation Malaysian parents. His cry was greeted with smiles and waves of laughter of thankful parents and relatives.

Growing through the tumultuous years of the Second World War, the sluggish economics years of the post WW2 era, the poverty of joblessness, the street-smart years of the 50s, through the euphoria of the independent Malaya with 15 other siblings, he had seen it all. The whirring sounds of Japanese planes, the meagre diet of tapioca and rationed low-quality light, nature as his playground, having sacrificed education to feed the hungry mouths of the siblings, the courting style of the late 50s in the newly independent former British colony, the marriage, the loss of the first newborn, the elevation of living standards, the fall from grace and the proud moments brought by the three offspring.

November 1958
The opulence brought with it the lifestyle disease of diabetes at the age of 35 years. The undercurrents of the bug reared its ugly head towards the late part of his life in the form of two significant episodes of hemiplegia which resolved miraculously with a minimal residual handicap. He lost two toes on his right foot after a recalcitrant infection burrowed under the fascia. He fought that valiantly. Grimm Reaper must have been working overtime on his case. The morbidity of disease pounced upon him again. Renegade cells on the bladder wall underwent malignant change. He stood stoically against the cancer cells to bowl them over.

He even came out of his recent bout of fight against with the spreading sepsis with flying colours. He defied the odds, at his age, to have a full recovery and healthier than he had been.

October 1986
December 2017
Feeling victorious after thumping all the obstacles that came his way, he must have lied down to sleep in content, albeit the aches and pain of time, in the early mornings of Christmas Day. The hum of the silence of Yuletide morning must have gently rocked him over to the abyss of no return.

Still smiling from the comfort of lying on the lap of Mother Nature, he left his earthly body. Unlike the time when he was born, when he was crying and the others in the world smiling; he lay in a boxed abode with a perpetual grin whilst the others were wailing.

We are intertwined in a cosmic bonding destinies called genes that interact us with affections indestructible with the passage of time. You are one, and I am one, and we are in this together. We are all a piece of existence. The final rites with its symbolic representation of our brittle and subjective existence on earth affirm our karmic and infinite interaction with another.

The inner diety that seeks its soul mates, in this case, father and son, has completed yet another cycle. The recital of ancient slokas and mantra, rendered with Agni as the witness, hope to call upon the all-encompassing Consciousness, to purify and elevate the soul. May his soul protect the living. May the bliss of Knowledge comfort the loved ones and help to live the legacy that he left behind.

(N.B. Thanks AqS for kind words)

Sunday, 1 October 2017

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.

Monday, 6 March 2017

The Journey!

The Chulia in Penang
Patronage and Place-Making around The Kapitan Kling Mosque 1786-1957
Author- Khoo Salma Nasution
With a year like 1786, they knew they could not go wrong. Muslims from South Asia are known to use the numerals 786, a calculation in a traditional numerology system of the Abbasid Caliphate, as a short form for the salutations b-ismi-llāhi r-raḥmāni r-raḥīm.

It was that year that the British decided to make 'Pulo Pinang' as their trading post and Tamil Muslims choose to place their future in this land of fortune. The British never 'discovered' Penang as it was already inhabited by fishermen and villagers. Only the British saw their potential for big things. The Tamil Muslim traders and talented sea-faring merchants had earlier established their own trade routes along the Straits of Malacca all the way to North Sumatra and beyond with the help of the monsoon winds. They had marked their presence into the Malacca Sultanate and other Malay courts. 

The term 'Chulias' mainly refers to Tamil Muslims from the Coromandel coast (east) of South India who sojourned our shores when seafaring vessels and businesses got sidelined by the burgeoning might the European might and influence. The word 'Chulia' must be a corruption from the mighty Cholas. Even, shipbuilders from the Malabar coast, Muslims who were descendants of Arab traders, got displaced to the east by the European fleet. They, the Marrikars, were also in the influx to this new found land. 

Cauder Mahuddeen, the Captain of the Tamil Muslim community, is said to have acquired a piece of land from the East India Company for the establishment of a 'Mohamedan Church' in the place they use to call Tanjong Penagrie @ Tanjung Pudukarai. Generations of immigration followed suit. Slowly with integration with the local populace, slowly appeared a group of people who called themselves 'Jawi Peranakan'.

Nagore Durgha Sheriff, George Town

The Marakkayars, fighting against the forces of Nature, moved around putting their trusts in patron saint, Saint Nagore. They built a shrine in appreciation with the donation from wealthy Sufi donors.

Slowly and steadily, through the book, one can see how the Chulias made this country great through their engagements with the ruling British. When the rule of British Law came into effect, they exerted their influences within the confines of the law, dancing to and sometimes skirting it. They also brought in the concept of waqf land to ensure that the property they possess continued in their family for generations to come, immune against unscrupulous leaders. 

The book guides through many names that still ring a bell to pure-bred Penangites. Names like Noordin of Noordin Street and Noordin Flats are known to many but know that Mahomad Merican Noordin was a famous and influential shipowner and international merchant.

Dato Koya was a Malabari convict who was banished to Penang. He later found revelation and became a Sufi saint with healing powers. His shrine is located in Transfer Road in town.

Kapitan Kling Mosque, the first principal mosque, catered for the Tamil speaking Muslim population. Later a mosque was built in Acheen Street to cater for the Malay speaking congregation. Over time they were a serious cleavage within the Muslim community. The elders decided that, in order to mend fences, the Friday sermons would alternate between the two mosques.

There was a time in the late 1850s when the Red Flag and White Flag secret societies reared their ugly faces. The activities usually flared up during Muharram celebrations and boria performances which became eponym with Penang. At one time, boria was blacklisted as bad, promoting promiscuity and polluting the minds of the young. It was the domain of the Jawi Peranakan. Bangsawan theatre is another product from Penang which made its origin from the Farsi theatre and was a hit amongst all layers of Penang society.

In 1905, the British enacted the Mohamedan and Hindu Endowment Boards to allow locals to administer their own affairs. The Kapitan Kling mosque, with their loyal worshippers, contributed vastly to their upkeep. The Mosque council went on to renovate its premises and acquired land around it to build quarters and shophouses to collect rent.

As steamships rolled along the Malayan shores, the Tamil Muslim sea-faring days seem over. They ventured into various businesses locally and internationally.

The Muslim society in Penang was also instrumental in developing the printing press.

Penang, in the early 20th century, was a changed place. With deteriorating living conditions in India and migration of Indians into Malayan, the landscape changed again. Tamil Muslim migrants started filling up the harbour workforce. Migrants from different parts of Tamil Nadu came with their own expertise to offer. Jewellers and precious stones moved in. To feed the empty stomachs of the workforce, cooks and eateries sprung up. Their foods and taste soon the natural flavour of the country. Recreational clubs gave a lot of support to the development of football in the state.

Many things happened after the two world wars. The nationalistic spirit in Malayans finally earned them independence and the right to choose their political path.

Saturday, 4 March 2017

See you when I get there!

Top cops, ACP Bala (R) and
brother Shunmugan
There you lie, a pale shadow of the larger than life image that you used to portray. The look that sent shivers down the spine of the bandits, outlaws and hoodlums who named themselves 'Robin Hood'. You lost your wit long before you called it a day.

You rest in peace, unshackled from the pains of living, free from the bondage of birth, in bliss to meet your Maker. I have not seen that glow in your face in years. Guess, the strain of living bogged you down, huh? The relief from the torment of dragging your soul with your physical must be lightening.

You came, you grew, you lived, you build bridges, break walls, made the country a peaceful place, a more livable nation, you conquered hearts, you planted memories and you leave us all with broken hearts. The hearts of the living would go on beating reminiscing the good times that you created for us and the lessons you taught us, directly through your words and indirectly through your actions and inactions for generations to come.

Farewell and goodbye. See you when I get there!

Uncle B has left the building.... for a long journey.

http://epaper.mmail.com.my/2017/02/18/former-kl-cid-chief-passes-away/

Thursday, 2 March 2017

We all deserve the leaders we get?

Jagat (Trilingual Malaysian; 2015)


History has taught us again and again that the fate of a tribe/community/race is so dependent on the foresightedness of its leaders. Many civilisations soared to great heights or conversely disappeared into obscurity due to lack of direction, all because of the presence of a capable or weak leader respectively.

A leader is the one who foresees any untoward incidents that may come the way of his flock so as that he can pave a safe path. His mission is to serve his kind to ensure their continuity as a formidable group. For this task, the leader is accorded certain privileges which the society can withdraw at any juncture they feel apt. When the followers continue to follow blindly to the tricks of the sycophantic leaders and play doormat to their demands without batting an eyelid but wallowing their misfortune in fate, they truly deserve the leaders they get. Instead of the politicians working towards the well-being of the plebeians, looks like the people are hoodwinked to ensure the reign of the leaders stays uninterrupted! Whose fault is it, anyway?

The first thing I noticed when I caught this film aboard an Air Asia flight was the extremely picturesque shots of the landscapes around Malaysia. It was sometimes difficult to believe that those scenes were literally taken off our own backyards. The scene at the jetty, at a factory and even the open spaces, gave a luring view of the Malaysian outdoors.

The theme of the film is the story of any failed Malaysian Indian citizen who lost out in the rat race of development. The Indian diaspora which scaled the shores of most countries has done well. Indians in Fiji, South Africa, Mauritius, Surinam, Uganda, you name it, they control the economy. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the descendants of Indian migrant workers who were brought to the Malayan shores to toil the land. Sure, many have succeeded and have left their mark. The unsuccessful ones remain rudderless and bury their sorrows in the tombstones of their ancestors and the proof of their forefathers' sacrifice to the nation.

Aboy is a 12-year old boy who is at a crossroad. On the one hand, there is his hardworking father who works for a pittance to ensure his son gets a decent education. He does not want his son to repeat his same mistake, to immerse himself in drama and literary stuff that does nothing to pay the bills. He disciplines his son in the only way he knows to put him on the right track. Then there is Aboy's uncle, his father's brother who seems to be well to do without working too much, by indulging in gangsterism. Aboy's schooling system and teachers have no time to spur his hidden talent. Their emphasis is rote learning. With the adverse environment in school and the village he lives in, it is inevitable that Aboy is drawn to the dark side of society. Ironically, at the end of the movie, the uncle decides to leave the decadent life, but Aboy is initiated into it! History just repeats itself.

It is one of the few Malaysian Tamil movies that drew a sizeable multi-ethnic crowd to the cinemas and made quite an impact at the local film awards. It was even screened at the international level.

Wednesday, 26 October 2016

Not just another tale to tell

There must be something wrong with our top down approach in teaching History to our young ones. And what do you expect from the politicians who always keep changing the origin and the course of history as they fancy to befit their bedevilled agenda?

The real history of a civilisation and a nation should be rightly learnt from a ground-up manner. The real story lies hidden amongst the many untold narrations of the little people, the fabric who make the nation, not the generals and warlords who look at events of the day through their rose tinted glasses who would want themselves to be portrayed in Annals of times as heroes.

Many such stories of the ordinary people remain untold in this country. Their viewpoints had never been seen as sexy or newsworthy. After all, they are just economic migrants in pursuit of survival from a land already in ruins. What do they know? They are sometimes viewed by the earlier dwellers as just snatchers of the country's wealth to send it back to their land of origin. They never had it good in any way. If the push factor from their Motherland was not bad enough, the situation in Malaya was no bed of roses either. If there they suffered from deprivations and diseases arising thereof, here they had to battle with the excesses, the torrential monsoon rain, the scorching heat and its illnesses as well - malaria and filariasis. And the war that rocked the whole world. If that was not enough, the scourge of the communist and political interplay of the superpowers were to follow.

Prof VGK Dass, putting aside his academic hat to indulge in a biography-novel writing, did his part by paying homage to this deceased mother. He relives his mother 's escapades through the turbulent years of old pre-WW2 Malaya all through to her demise. He inked her struggles of bringing up her seven children as a young widow in a foreign country with her strong determination as her weapon, her trust in God as her shield and her never-say-die attitude as her ammunition to bring her family to steady ground. Along the way, she contributed her share to nation building. The biography tells her interactions with her new comrades of various ethnicities and her adjustments to the new country. 

The book also narrates of this matriarchal's travels, her friends, her relatives and her joy with her kids and grandchildren.
"Gowri' is a tribute by the eldest son to his mother who was widowed at 42 and he lost his father at 17, who co-parented his six other siblings.

To order  http://www.gowribiography.com/buy/

P.S. Another struggle yet to be told (http://asokan63.blogspot.my/2014/01/eulogy.html)

Wednesday, 31 August 2016

THE TRUE HISTORY OF CHINESE & INDIANS IN MALAYSIA

http://malaysianindian1.blogspot.my/2011/01/true-history-of-chinese-indians-in.html?m=1
As stated by Raja Petra Kamarudin (RPK)

RPK
A confusion has erupted due to ignorance. It has been stated that the Indians came here as beggars and the Chinese as prostitutes. Actually, if you were to really study Malayan and Malaysian history over the last 500 years or so, you will find that this country’s history is not just about beggars and prostitutes. It is about much more than that.

Malayan history has to be dissected into many periods. And each of these periods saw immigration involving almost all the races in Malaysia, save the Orang Asli (the Original People). In New Zealand, these Orang Asli would be the Maoris and in Australia the Aborigines. Therefore, anyone who is neither a Maori nor an Aborigine is a ‘pendatang’ or immigrant.






THE ARABS IN MALAYSIA

The Arabs and the Indians (Muslims from Gujarat) came to Malaya more than 500 years ago as traders and merchants. These were the people who brought Islam to this country. At that time, the locals were mostly Hindus while those from Negeri Sembilan were Buddhists, plus many who worshipped trees, the sea, rivers, mountains and whatnot. The coming of the Arab and Indian merchants exposed the locals to Islam.
In those days, the people followed their Rulers. Therefore, when the Rulers converted to Islam the people followed – although they may not have believed in Islam or understood the religion. In fact, many till today still do not understand Islam after more than 500 years.




THE CHINESE IN MALAYSIA

Then along came the Chinese and many were actually Muslims as well. Islam first reached China around 100 years after Prophet Muhammad. This means Islam had ‘migrated’ to China about 1,300 to 1,400 years ago, 800 to 900 years earlier than Islam in Malaysia. Of course, in the northern states bordering Thailand, it was earlier than that. (Refer to the Batu Bersurat discovered in Kuala Berang in Terengganu).
Is it not ironical that Malays call Chinese Muslims ‘mualaf’ when the Chinese were Muslims almost 1,000 years before the Malays even heard of Islam?
Okay, now take my family as an example. The Selangor Sultanate was founded in 1745. The first Sultan, Raja Lumu, migrated here from the Riau islands in Indonesia. By then, of course, the Arabs, Indians and Chinese had already been here 200 to 300 years, some even longer.


But these Arabs, Indians and Chinese were traders and merchants, not warriors or fighters, whereas the Bugis from Riau only knew one occupation – fighting and plundering. In short, they were pirates, which was a noble profession back in those days where even Queen Elizabeth the First knighted those English pirates who plundered Spanish ships.



In fact, the Bugis came here because of a sort of civil war in their home country. There was a fight over a girl and the son of the local Ruler was killed in that fight. So the offending party was exiled and had to leave Riau. And that was when they came here in the 1700s and founded the Selangor Sultanate.
Do not members of the Selangor Royal Family fighting with their Ruler and going into exile sound very familiar to you? Yes, 300 years ago this was the ‘tradition’ and still is in my case.


Invariably, the Bugis, being fighters, took Selangor as their territory by the sheer force of its ‘army’. None of the traders, who although were here earlier, would dare resist the Bugis who enjoyed killing (some Bugis still do today, as you may well be aware). But Selangor was under Perak patronage.



So Raja Lumu had to make a trip to Lumut in Perak to get crowned as the First Sultan by the then 17th or so Sultan of Perak. (Can’t remember if it was the 15th or 17th but it was around that). And he took the name of Sultan Salehuddin Shah.
Selangor eventually grew in prosperity. Actually, tin had already been discovered even before Raja Lumu became Sultan in 1745. And it was the Chinese who were working the tin mines. But now, since Selangor had a ‘government’, all the land in Selangor became ‘state property’. And therefore the Chinese had to get permission from the Sultan before they could mine for tin.


Around 100 years later, only when Sultan Abdul Samad took over as the Fourth Sultan of Selangor in 1859 (he was born in 1804) did they properly organise the tin industry. New areas were opened up in Ampang, Rawang, Kajang, and whatnot. And of course, all these tin mines were owned by the Sultan and members of his family — brothers, sons, nephews, etc.


The Malays, however, did not want to work those mines. Conditions were hard and diseases wiped out entire communities. Those who survived these brutal conditions were the exception rather than the rule. So they needed people who were desperate enough to work those tin mines and were prepared to take the risk and probably lose the ‘gamble’.
And who else to talk to if not the Chinese who had already been working those mines for hundreds of years?



So members of the Selangor Royal Family went into ‘joint venture’ with the Chinese, just like they did in Perak, another rich tin state. The Malay Royals would ‘arrange’ for the tin concessions and the Chinese would provide the labour force to work those concessions. In a way, you could say that the Selangor Royal Family were the first to ‘invent’ the Ali Baba system back in the 1800s, long before the New Economic Policy in 1970.
Anyway, to reach Ampang and those other surrounding rich tin areas, they had to travel up the Klang River. Raja Abdullah and Yap Ah Loy led the first expedition and they landed on the site where the Gombak River and Kelang River meet. The place where they landed is the site of the famous Masjid Jamek in Kuala Lumpur.


From there they marched overland through the jungle into Ampang. And thereafter Kuala Lumpur was never the same again. It prospered and continued to prosper over more than 200 years from the 1800s.

Yap Ah Loy bought up a lot of land in Kuala Lumpur and built his business empire. He opened bars, brothels and all sorts of businesses, legal as well as illegal (illegal by today’s standards though). Even the British Colonial ‘masters’ would patronise Yap Ah Loy’s brothels to sample the latest ‘China Dolls’ brought in from the mainland.


Of course, the normal customers would have to pay for these vices. The British masters, however, could enjoy all these services for free. Yes, even back in the 1800s the Chinese businessmen were already bribing the government officials.
Now, while Yap Ah Loy has been entered into the history books as the ‘Founder of Kuala Lumpur’, Raja Abdullah is never mentioned. The only thing associated with Raja Abdullah is that road in Kampong Baru that carries his name. Yap Ah Loy may have been the capitalist who opened up Kuala Lumpur.


But he was only able to do so because he had a ‘sleeping’ partner, Raja Abdullah, who gave him all this land to develop.
Okay, that is the Chinese story. So, yes, some did come here as prostitutes working for Yap Ah Loy. But that was incidental. Whenever frontier land is opened up the girls servicing these frontier men follow – like in the Wild West of America. Would you say that the White immigrants to America were all prostitutes?


THE INDIANS IN MALAYSIA


Now, over to the Indians. As I said, the Indian (and Arab) traders and merchants first came here more than 500 years ago and even brought Islam to this country. But the ‘other’ Indians, the workers, came at about the time that Yap Ah Loy and Raja Abdullah were turning Kuala Lumpur into a thriving metropolis.
At that time, the British planters were in Ceylon (Sri Lanka today) growing cocoa. Then a plant disease spread throughout the island and all the trees died. But this disease not only killed all the trees but contaminated the land as well. This means the land was now useless and it was not a matter of just replanting.


Then the British looked at Malaya and decided that the conditions (land, climate, etc.) in Malaya were the same as in Ceylon. So they relocated their cocoa estates to Malaya. But there was no way they could get the Malays to work these cocoa estates. Furthermore, the Ceylonese workers were well trained and had been doing this work for years.
So, in the mid-1800s, the British brought the now unemployed Ceylonese cocoa workers to this country to work the Malayan cocoa plantations.

Then disaster struck. Brazil over-planted cocoa and this triggered a worldwide glut. It was no longer economical to plant cocoa. The price you would fetch for your cocoa was lower than your production cost. The British had no choice but to close down the cocoa plantations.
Around that time, the British, who had mischievously smuggled rubber seeds out of Brazil (which was a crime then), successfully grew rubber trees in the Kew Gardens in London. They also did some research and discovered a better way of planting rubber trees where the trees would give a better yield compared to the trees in Brazil. Rubber planting in Brazil was haphazard and not properly organised.


Since Malaya had to close down all its cocoa plantations and it now had idle plantation land and surplus Ceylonese workers, the British planters decided to switch over to rubber. And because the British took advantage of research and technology, the Malayan rubber trees were more productive and profitable. Eventually, Malaya dislodged Brazil as the top rubber producer in the world.


So, from the mid-1800s to around 1920, Indians and Chinese came to Malaya in great numbers. This was more or less the second wave of mass migration. And it was for economic reasons and to provide the labour for jobs that the Malays would never do. But there were earlier and other migrations as well.


For example, around the late 1800s and early 1900s, the British set up English medium schools for Malays. One such school, the Malay College Kuala Kangsar, was a school exclusive for sons of Royalty and the Malay elite. Invariably, they needed schoolteachers who were proficient in the English language. And India offered a good source of English medium schoolteachers (Malays could not speak English yet at that time).


On the commercial side, there were many Indian businesses, workers and whatnot. But there was no way they could qualify for loans from British-owned banks. So the Indians from the Chettiar community came here to set up money-lending businesses to service their community.
When the Malayan rail network was being developed, where else to get the workers if not from the country with the largest railway in the world, India?

WE ARE ALL MALAYSIANS

“Be afraid. Be very afraid.”*