Peace with a price...

Rambutan Kisses - Poems (2022)

Author: Malachi Edwin Vethamani

If the illustration of the cover is not provocative enough, the poems will definitely do. 

This is a sampling of the many thought-provoking poems, old and contemporary, found in this collection. Enjoy.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

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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.

Their Kryptonite!

Still on the topic of conforming to the status quo...

It is everyone's nature for wanting tranquility and sanity to prevail at all times, that life goes on almost on a flatline without too many undulations and surprises. Everyone has their life plans carved out nicely, and that everything goes on by per schedule, on the dot. In other words, we like to move along with time like automatons, without willpower as if everything is predetermined and preplanned.
Deep inside all of us, there is a desire to scream out, to throw everything away and scream our lungs out. But societal pressures and our wanting to conform to the rest restrain us.

There is a constant battle within us, all the time, always wanting to do the right thing, to follow the Truth. But what is the right way and what it the real truth? Is there a single truth or layers of truthfulness? Who determines what is right anyway? Nobody can tell us that, but help is on the way. There are people amongst us who can do just that. They can make us think out of the box, conjure up conspiracy theories, bring us into an utopic future of milk and honey, break barrier and shackles and occasionally laugh at ourselves.

These are the artistic people of performing arts, literary stuff, painters, poets, writers, storytellers and even cartoonists. They hold a special place in society and keep the unique weapon which is mightier than the sword. In their hands, like a Hindu godhead with an arson of weapons of mass destruction, they carry the tool -the pen that can stimulate the minds of the masses to raise the sickle and hoe against the brutality of the regimes that misplaced their trusts or overstayed their welcome.

No wonder the powers that be take a hostile stance against creative thinkers and those who have developed their non-dominant hemisphere of their brains! They like conformists, not smart alecs!

Malaysian pulp fiction

DUKE

Inspector Mislan & the DUKExpressway Murders

By: Rozlan Mohd Noor

Met Rozlan at a book reading event and was convinced by him to give a go at his brand of Malaysian crime pulp fiction. After leaving the police force, one of his lifetime ambitions was to write ten books. Apparently, he has almost filled up with bucket list; two more to go! 

He mirrors his protagonist after Horatio of CSI Miami, the mysterious cop with many hidden things in his closet. He juggles life as a single parent of a preteen and his demanding job of busting crimes in the city of Kuala Lumpur. 

A car crashes onto a divider in the DUKE highway. Initial investigations soon reveal the victims to be business colleagues and lovers. What is initially reported as a suicide-murder becomes murky as the investigating officer, Inspector Mislan Latif, finds more and more loose ends that do not fit. The case becomes hotter as many people from the top, his superiors and politicians, hellbent on putting a closure to the case.

Working tirelessly over the long Hari Raya break, Mislan with his Sergeant and the skeletal police and forensic staff swiftly puts a closure to the deaths in their fast moving tale. If only in real life, the Royal Malaysian Police would rise to the occasion and serve justice with so much dedication and impartiality unswayed by external influences.

Rozlan has been going around the countryside having discussion sessions with students of higher institutions as well as promoting his book. One of the comical comment that he received from the audience is from a teaching staff. The member had admonished him for creating a character who is not the exemplary depiction of how a true Malay-Muslim should behave! In the story, Inspector Mislan is a chain-smoking police officer, a single parent and has an extramarital affair with a single Malay pathologist who has no qualms with their bed-sharing 'friends with benefits' type of friendship! The characters in his novel are no angels, either. For Christ sake, it is a crime drama. Crime brings out the worse and the best of human emotions and ethics.

A light leisurely read of a story hovering around the familiar landscapes of Kuala Lumpur.

A sobering Malaysian saga

188, Hugh Low Street.
The Stories of the Scissors Sharpener's Daughter. Written by Ipohgal. 2013.

This is not a story of conquerors or industrialists who shattered the course of a civilisation or something like that but rather of the stuff that Malaysia is made of -  of small people who had a big strong heart to work hard to bring a better future for the family and the country.
Ipohgal, an avid blogger, has earned another feather to her cap. Now, she is an author and this is her maiden publication.

It traced to a time when it was peaceful and safe where children could play in the streets without a care. They did not need expensive gadgets to pass their time but rather they used their ingenuity to improvise. To give a nostalgic twang to her book, Ipohgal managed to capture a few pictures of the inside and outside the building that she knew as home. Coincidentally, the Indian eatery that she refers to 'Kedai Nasi Ganja' is the same one whose owner's son (deceased) was my brother-in-law's best friend.

The book starts by tracing the birthplace of her parents and the circumstances that brought them to Malaya. Her paternal grandfather, fleeing from the Qing Dynasty, landed in Batu Gajah with his young village headmaster's daughter wife. He built a reputation as an excellent bean curd maker. In those days, if you wanted a helping hand in your business, you just contacted your people in China and they would send you, not maids but rather maidens to be your wife. Like that, her Grandpa got himself a third wife after the second one got raped en route to Malaya and fell into depression. There is a funny part where the first wife avenges the husband through the grandchildren by cajoling them to get their grandfather broke by asking for this and that!

After panning through some harrowing moments during WW2, her father moved out of Batu Gajah to 188, Hugh Low Street, Ipoh to start a coffee shop. This shop was witness to many eventful events in the writer's life. Her parents were married and all her childhood memories were in that simple shop.

Kedai nasi kandar 'ganja', aptly named for 

the addictive quality of the food. Customers 

do not mind queueing long to be served!

The book goes on to innumerate many significant events that happened in her life - her memory of playing near the drain of her home, of a time she fell into the drain, her first exposure to the work peeping tom, her exposure to movies, the interesting places of leisure in Ipoh at that time, of the various tenants and characters who rented rooms in the building. A great proportion of the book is spent on the most important moment of anyone's life, the schooling years. 

Thanks to her stubborn mother, the father relented and Ipohgal received English education, unlike her elder siblings. Bad times befell on the family in the early 70s when like an avalanche, barrage of misfortunes fell on them. The family savings were exhausted when two close relatives where inflicted with aggressive terminal cancers. To add salt on wound, the shop licence was suspended. Her father had to give up the shop and had to use his resources to support the family. That is when he learnt the art of scissors and knife sharpening and he carved a name for himself as Ipoh's famous scissors sharpener.

She further narrates the many fond and sometimes unpleasant moments of her schooling life, especially in primary school. She soon discovered about discrimination and class segregation.

All good things must end. The last few chapters were melancholic as it describes the passing of her parents in such descriptive and touching manner. Their home is now in unkempt and is in a deplitatory condition, occupied by foreigners. Another topic that keeps popping up every now and then is the ability of the author and some of her relatives who had an eye to be able to see visions of the dead!

A light enjoyable read that reminds all its readers of where we came from. Like what the old adage states, 'One who does not know where he came from, will not reach where he is going to', I think it is important for all to be reminded of the past so that success does not go into our heads. It helps to maintain sobriety!