http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jmj5Yz0PvY
That must have how we felt when we were decided to go down south from Penang to Seremban to visit Mama. Probably not the adults, i.e. Appa and Amma, who were more worried about the dollars (it was still known as Malaysian dollars, not Ringgit Malaysia) and cents (not sen).
My most vivid recollection of my trips down south with my family are the first trip (circa 1973-74) to Seremban and Malacca and the family trip to Kuala Lumpur in 1977.Each trip had its own talking points and adventures to boast about. Thankfully, there were no misadventures. The second trip was essentially a mission to locate a Mrs Booram Shariff (a.k.a. Saroja Devi s/o. S.M.Muthu)!
The unique thing about the 73-74 trip that makes it memorable and different from travels usually done is that the whole family actually travelled in a lorry from Penang to Kuala Lumpur! As it costs the family (2 adults and 3 children) more than $50 one way train ticket to KL, my family decided to jump on a New Strait Times lorry that travelled empty to KL after transporting newspapers to Penang. This was before the printing plant at Perai was operational. Anyway, the driver only took $15 for his kind deed. Of course, it was illegal as the lorries were only meant for transportation of own goods, not passengers! (RTD 'C' type licence).
If you think that sitting in a KTM mail train is torture, with its constant wobbling and bone shaking, you have not seen anything yet. Travelling in one of these lorries is a million times worse. No thanks to the poor maintenance and cheap shock absorbers!
We were all ashamed to have travelled in such transportation that we made a solemn pledge amongst the family members (especially the younger ones) not to let the cat out of the bag and inadvertently blurt it out to our relatives down south!
We finally reached our destination in one piece. On our way back, Mama was sending us back to KL in his Volvo 121. As luck had it, we happened to be trailing a NST lorry and Sheila excitedly blurted, "Hey, there is the paper lorry!" All of us were caught with our pants down. After a few hard stares, the topic was quashed immediately, The trip back by train as the NST lorries from KL were stacked to the brim with newspapers.
The second trip was a fact finding mercy mission, much like the unmanned robotic space mission to Venus! From Amma's correspondence with Mama, it came to her knowledge that her long lost sister Saroja Devi - no, not the Saroja Devi, MGR's constant companion in his 1960s feel good politically motivated movies - was well and running around the kampung roads of Kampong Baru in Kuala Lumpur!
In 1976, the Shams were affluent enough to purchase a second hand 1966 Austin Mini 850. Naturally, a trip down south was inevitable after persistent and consistent insistence of Amma. Armed with road maps, automatic camera that Amma purchased on her trip to Singapore with her friends and home cooked nasi lemak (to ease on the budget to relieve unnecessary wastage on buying meals), we set out on our mission during the school holidays of December 1977. Reminiscing the journey which involved threading through the wavy road of the old North South federal road, listening to reruns of songs from the cartridge playing car radio, it is indeed a nostalgic trip into my adolescence. I remember the songs 'Renge Enge Sheela' (Hindi) which Sheila hated, KJ Jesudas' songs,TMS' songs [esp. Manithan maari vitaan, maraatil erivitaan (not marathil erivitaan)] and Moonram Mudichi songs.
After what seemed like eternity, the faithful BP6162 finally took us to Kepong. Our contact in Kepong was Mr Narasimman, our old tenant in Brown Garden. Wow! This is sounding like a war-espionage novel. Using Kepong as our base, we ventured into the concrete jungle of KL in search of Booram Shariff of in the squatter area of Kampong Baru. After many dead ends and run-arounds, we finally located her after almost throwing in the towel.
After the emotional tearing and hugging and chit-chatting of the old times, Mr Booram Shariff finally arrived late that night after fulfilling a long day job of a bread vendor. He was a nice guy after all but a bit hard of hearing. He asked me what my name was to which I replied that it was ‘Asokan’. He excitedly blurted, “Hah? Hassan Gani?” It was a talking point among our family members for quite a while. Amma reiterated the importance of speaking clearly and succinctly.
He single handedly cooked us a mouth-watering meal of chicken curry after slaughtering his chicken cooped just below his Malay-styled stilted house. Whilst engaged in a conversation with my parents, he de-feathered and sliced the meat right in front of us using a single bowl of water! You will appreciate the value of water when you depend on wells for water.
All good things must come to an end. The trip ended the following day. As we bid our farewells and was about to leave, good old BP6162 refused to start. Everybody in the kampong was there to witness the ‘event’ and give their two cents worth of opinion on automobile maintenance, however, contributing little to our desperate situation. Alas, out of the blues appeared a young gentleman who started fiddling a few knobs and managed to start the engine in no time, much our relief. We all had a good exposure to kampong brand of hospitality. We thanked him incessantly in Malay and gave him a small token to which he politely refused and wished us a safe journey home in fluent Tamil! And all the while we thought that he was a Malay chap. Now, that is the new Malaysia to you. He was a Chindian (of Sino-Indo parentage). The return was marred by heavy thunderstorm and extremely poor visibility on the roads. This was worsened by our late start, as it was night by the time we passed Ipoh. We had a near miss situation somewhere before Taiping when the car swerved uncontrollably due to poor road conditions and just missed plunging into a ravine! Our prayers were finally answered when we all reached the safe arms of RRF way past midnight, shaken, stirred and exhausted but thankfully in one piece.
Another trip worth mentioning, even though it is not a family trip, is my trip with Sheila (I was 13 years) on the then (1976) newly launched ‘Ekspres Rakyat’ trains that travelled from Butterworth to Singapore in 12 hours. We were left to travel on our own as part of training on being independent. The train left promptly at 8.30am as per schedule and was supposed to reach Seremban at 4.15pm. The seats were numbered and my classmate Tan Hock Hin (now a dentist in JB) was in the same coach. His father was amazed at seeing us travel alone.
The journey proceeded smoothly till Ipoh. After that the whole plan went into disarray. We had to disembark, travel via bus to Kampar and continue the rest of the journey to KL on a local train all on own with me leading my sister by hand. After another train change in KL, we finally reached Seremban station at about 8.15pm – 4 hours late – much to the relief of Mama and Atteh.
KTM, with its lethargic, lacksadical staff with their pre-colonial mentality has not changed much since those days. Even though they have had many cosmetic changes with the introduction of Komuter services and double tracking system, it is just the same old clowns donning a new outfit doing the same outdated tricks to which we can laugh at, not laugh with! Shobha has also a bone to pick with KTM. During one of her night mail train trip when she was in varsity, her train was derailed and she and the other victims had to walk aimlessly in the pitch darkness of Malaysian wilderness along the railway track till they saw an illuminating light from a passing car on a road near the track.
My earliest encounter with my aunt (Pastor Indra), as far back as my grey matter can bring me, was when I spent a good one whole month during the year-end school holidays in December 1970. We (my sisters and I) were awed by the appearance of her bungalow in Malacca. It was furnished with exquisite furniture, carpets, and the accessories that went with it. I particularly remember a large aquarium in the living room with a fish named 'Oscar'! To complement this entire bourgeois ambience was an orchid garden and a walk-in bird cage with parakeets, sparrows and parrots.
