Me and Mark go roadtripping Part 5

Amaranathan attended school at La Salle with me though we weren’t very close then. Quite understandably we lost touch thereafter and it wasn’t until many years later that we bumped into each other again. I had decided to take Mark up to PJ by overnight train, just to give him the experience and for me to relive some of mine.

It was on an overnight train that I had made my very first trip to Singapore in 1980 and in subsequent years I often rode the old steel wagons between my old and new homes.

Stepping off the train at KL Railway Station that morning with Mark, I heard someone call out my name and turned to see a vaguely familiar face who introduced himself as my ex-schoolmate Amaranathan. Amaran, as he was typically called, was working temporarily in Singapore and was making his weekend trip back to Melaka to be with his wife and family. We’d been on the same train and he’d spotted and recognised me as we disembarked.

A gynaecologist, he had gotten himself attached to the KK Women and Children’s Hospital in Singapore for 6 months, just to get more experience. We met up in Singapore quite often after that and became good friends. When I cycled through Melaka in 2007 I dropped by and celebrated one of his children’s birthdays as well.

Now whenever I go through Melaka I try to meet up with him and my other good friend, Singam. I couldn’t get the two together this time so decided to meet Amaran at night and Singam in the morning. That evening Mark and I drove along the coast up to Bert’s which I used to dine/drink at occasionally some years ago. It’s a nice restaurant/pub by the sea - a seaside bungalow with a large wooden deck right out onto the seashore, large trees in the garden, good food and cold beer.

That night I was corrected by one of the staff - Geragau is not pronounced ‘Grago’ as I thought, but is indeed ‘Ge-Rah-Gow’. We ordered that and some other food and a few beers and had an easy, pleasant evening.

Bert’s was almost a victim of the land reclamation works - when once it sat comfortably by the sea, with the waves lapping against the stilts upon which the wooden deck was built, it suddenly found itself some distance back, beached on the dry sands the reclamation works had suddenly transformed that part of the sea into. I have no idea how they managed it and don’t really want to ask, but they somehow contrived to have a breech made and like magic, a lagoon was formed and although the waves no longer come in like they used to, water is once again prettily a few feet from you when you sit down for dinner.

Amaran and Mark at Bert's

I fear I might have sidelined my dear son a little, as Amaran and I got reminiscing then discussing the current Malaysian situation. Within what seemed like minutes, we’d finished dinner, knocked back a few drinks (not too many as I had to drive) and caught up in that relaxed manner good friends do.
We got back late, were thankful for the private secured carpark and eventually hit the sack ready to get up early for our breakfast with Singam.

Singam arrived the next morning and we strolled off for breakfast at Saravanan, a popular banana-leaf rice place in town. Breakfast was like Chapter 2 of the night before without the meat and the beer, but with all the friendship and good conversation I’ve come to treasure from my friends in Melaka. A walk along the back lane led us back to the Baba House and eventually our own exploring later that morning.

The riverside from the backs of some shops

An old shophouse with a new shop inside

We drove off to Kampung Ayer Salak a place Singam introduced to me in 2007. It’s an interesting village - a Catholic Village in fact, built on land owned or managed by the Catholic Church. Everywhere you turn, there are signs of this village’s religious affiliation. One of the largest of this is the statue of the Virgin Mary built on a slope at a quiet road junction. Mark and I stopped to have a look and this was the first time I noticed that Mary was standing on a serpent. Mark told me that’s how she’s often portrayed.

The statue of Mary showing her stepping on a serpent.

We drove around a bit and then stopped at the St Mary’s Church and Kindergarten. On these sprawling grounds were a small school, an old church, a newer one, a basketball court and a large grotto. Stunning blue skies framed this scene and I thought it was such a beautiful place to attend kindergarten in. Certainly the memories of those first few schooling/play years would be wonderful ones.

The old church

The inside of the new church

The Grotto

The old church

A wider shot showing the new church on the left, the main school buidling on the right and the Grotto in the middle

At Montfort.

Singam is on the board of the Montfort Youth Centre and I told mark how my father used to help out with the one in KL too. We once visited and I remember noticing how nice the young boys there were and how earnest they seemed. My Dad explained then that they knew this was their last chance of making something of their lives and they worked hard at it. Youth probably have much wider horizons now, but the complex times they face must surely be the same. Tough situations lead to some poor decisions and places like Montfort serve an important role in helping pick up lives that have perhaps gone too far down the wrong path.

Kampung Ayer Salak is a peaceful and calming contrast to our typical hustle-and-bustle neighbourhoods and I’ve always enjoyed an hour or two here. But soon the call of food became more strident - not hunger but, shamefully probably gluttony (considering our surroundings) was the culprit I think… We drove back to Melaka town and found Sun May Hiong open and bustling.

The staff recognised Mark and I from the evening before and laughingly brought us our food. And oh what glorious food… I’ll wager no one makes Satay as tasty as this. Apologies to those who don’t eat pork, but the satay here is simply fantastic. The succulence of the meat, the texture and tenderness of the liver, the simple flavour of the pineapple-laced sauce, the smokiness from the charcoal pit… mmmmmmMark agreed…

I took the scenic route back and tried to retrace some of my bike route back but missed the steep cemetery-adorned hills around Batu Pahat. We didn’t miss the 2-storey high trishaw on the border though. Some hours later we were back in Singapore.

It was too short a trip, but in this day and age we take what we can. 4 days might be shorter than ideal, but it’s longer than no-days and for that I’m grateful. Almost as grateful for how despite some foolishness on my part, my son is turning out to be a fine young man. Warm, friendly, creative, intelligent, sometimes moody (though not on this trip) in the way many similarly-talented people are, kind and patient with his old man, I’m learning how to be a friend and less a father and I’m relishing it.

Happy Malaysia Day!

This was written by a dear friend, Singam, and very eloquently expresses a transformational idea that is long-overdue but not too late to make a crucial difference. The only thing I would change is to move into a position of ownership and intent: from 'We have to regain our independence' to 'We WILL regain our independence'. Let us all work towards that. Happy Malaysia Day!

"Happy Malaysia Day everyone.

In Melaka, it has just begun to rain. Throughout my life, whenever I was about to begin an important event, it has rained. I see the rain as a blessing. Ritual washing or cleansing is practiced in many cultures.

Today is an important turning point. Today, some part of the nation remembers again that day on which this nation was born. The date is not important in itself. But it is a powerful symbol of all that went into the forging of this nation. It is a reminder of the principles that were established, the promises that were made, the hopes that were ignited. It is a reminder of the future that we looked towards 46 years ago.

Ku Li will remember, perhaps with bitterness, the number 46. He will remember how the old was torn apart and replaced by a pretender. He will remember how promises were scattered willy-nilly and how untruth formed the basis of everything that followed.

Let this new 46 rewrite the meaning of that number. Let this be when the process of returning to those old promises begins. Let this become the symbol of hope.

The plight of Sabah and Sarawak is the clearest evidence of what ails this nation. We managed to get rid of the colonisers from Europe, but only to replace them with neo-colonisers from within. While we have all the trappings of a democracy, democratic principles continue to be sacrificed at the altar of expediency. We are led by a person appointed by one man and ruled by a clique that no longer enjoys majority support but remains in place due to control of the instruments of government.

We have to regain our independence. We have to restore the independence of the institutions of state. We have to revert to rule of law. We have to establish a government of the people, by the people, for the people.

Today, we launch the Saya Anak Bangsa Malaysia initiative. Today, we formalise our efforts to tear down the walls that were put up to divide us and thereby conquer us. Today, we begin the process of healing the nation and making it whole again. Today, we join hands and say to the powers that be, "Enough! We will take no more of this. We want our nation back!"

Today, we fast, as we pray for peace. We pray for deliverance from this evil. We pray for the strength to uphold righteousness. We pray to become worthy of grace.

Let this fair nation of ours be blessed.

Happy Malaysia Day."

The Year of Magical Thinking

Life changes fast.

Life changes in the instant.

You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking.

In late 2003, Joan Didion and John Dunne’s daughter, Quintana, fell ill with what at first seemed to be the flu, then pneumonia, then complete septic shock. The doctors put her into an induced coma and onto life support.

Then a few days before Christmas, just as they were just sitting down to dinner after visiting Quintana in hospital, John suffered a massive and fatal coronary.

This book is about the year after, as Joan tries to make sense of a world without John. Her grief, bewilderment, anger, all come through clearly and painfully. You follow Joan viscerally and vicariously as she, a respected American writer herself, seeks solace and answers in literature - she searches for the hows and whys in medical journals, and in poetry and prose she asks yet more hows and whys.

I picked up a copy at Borders over a year ago now and got a few chapters in but then put it down, not to pick it up again until a few days ago.

I have dealt personally with death and am no stranger to grieving - my father 20 years ago, uncles, aunts, even friends. All were sad, and some truly shocking in their unexpectedness. My own spiritual outlook on life is that death is simply a step to another life.

And yet, I struggled with this book. Joan’s pain was too alive, too clear, like a bleeding cut washed for the first time under running water. It was a pain too sharp.

I eventually pulled my hand away and put the book aside until, as I mentioned, a few days ago.

In March this year, my ex-schoolmate Nicholas lost his wife, Karie. She had, like Quintana, started with a flu, gotten worse but then was gradually improving. An obstruction in her trachea reversed the situation with deadly and tragic effect. From thousands of miles away we read the news by email and were all shocked and saddened. Nick and Karie had a daughter and we heard often about their happy home life, now shattered by grief.

A couple of months ago, my Aunt Helene passed away. She had just come back from dinner, complained of feeling unwell then suddenly slumped over. She was 70 and had until the last moment been bubbly, loud, lively, friendly, caring.

When I got the message early the next morning, I thought it could not be - that the sender had got the details mixed up. Not Helene, she was indestructible. She was too full of life, closer 50 years than 70 - surely not her.

But it was our families, her siblings, and her daughter, Pauline, and husband, Henry, who had to carry on, asking hows and whys.

Then yesterday afternoon, I saw an email from another friend in Australia saying our friend in Singapore, Pritam, had lost his daughter who was studying in Melbourne. The details emerged after some frantic calling, emailing and messaging about. A freak skating accident, she had fallen and failed to regain consciousness.

She was a houseman, embarking on a medical career - like her father before her. And like her brother, who had passed away the year before.

Our friend, Singam, wrote “I cannot begin to fathom why this has to happen to anyone - to first tragically lose a son and then a daughter just as they end their studentship and are about to begin their careers. If life is random, this is utterly cruel. The imbalance defies all odds.”

Singam and I share a commonality of spiritual perspective. In previous discussions we have found that we agree on a number of spiritual concepts, not the least of which is that physical life is impermanent and transient and death is merely a step for life to begin afresh.

And yet… Singam’s words indicate a sort of confusion. One I am feeling all too acutely now too.
In the last year and a half I have lost relatives and friends.

“Life changes fast.
Life changes in the instant.
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.”

What did you discover, Joan, at the end of your year of magical thinking? What answers came to you? What enlightenment did you attain? How did you come to deal with your grief?
I think it’s time for me to finish the book now.

Sad to think that shortly after you finished writing it, you had to deal afresh with grief - Quintana too, died.

Find out more about:
The Year of Magical Thinking

Day 8 Oct 22 Melaka

Perhaps it was accumulated fatigue, or simply a very comfortable bed and quiet surroundings. Whatever, I slept in this morning - right up to past 9. That is a very later hour for me indeed!

Andrew updated me on the goings on in Melaka since the last time I was around. It seems the river has been cleaned up and all the river cruise operators had been asked to cease operations as the state government was taking over the business. Needless to say Andrew had a few choice words about this. And a few other things as well, including the land reclamation and the rapid and pervasive development that was going on.

Singam picked me up about 1030 and we went for another exploring drive.

We visited Kampung Air Salak again and as it was daytime this time, we could stop and have a look around. The church and one of the nearby houses was constructed from the same stone that was used at St Paul's Church - a red-brown rock with a pock-marked surface.

There is a particularly peaceful air in Kampung Air Salak. I couldn't quite put my finger on it - there was hardly anyone about at the time so it had nothing to do with the people. The homes were, for the most part, like the homes in most any kampung, so it wasn't that either. And yet, the atmosphere had a distinct quality which made me think it would be a lovely place to live.

We also visited a temple with the tallest spire in SE Asia - or perhaps even further. It was originally two temples which eventually were combined with the result the layout is unique.

Lunch was at the Saravana (Singam, help me out with this name again please - nto sure if I got it right...) Restaurant in Little India and it was fabulous. I've often said there is no good Indian food to be had in Singapore and when I eat at places like this, the bar is raised ever higher and all the Singaporean establishments, bar none, fail miserably to compare. One of the dishes I like very much which is quite rare is the thinly-sliced deep-fied bitter gourd. It is fabulous and I've often wished it could be vacuum packed. I would buy dozens of packets at a time!

After lunch, I tagged along to an Artist's gallery. Singam had commissioned Tham Siew Inn (or rather his son) to do a brass-tooling piece for his entrance area. It's turning out very nice indeed, although Singam felt the colours needed muting a little. Decisions made, we stood around talking for half an hour.

As with many conversations about the ride, the initial reaction centres on the distance and the physical qualities of the ride. Shortly after, however, the emotional side comes through. It's wonderful how many people get a little 'provoked' when I start talking about why I'm doing this. There is an underlying passion in many people and the ride is a catalyst for conversation and conviction.

That night, I stayed in and had dinner at Andrew's - the chicken rendang was exquisite so that made 3 fantastic meals in a row. I knew there was a reason I liked Melaka...

Bernard, one of the those whose livelihood was lost when the river cruises were taken over, was in the cafe and the conversation naturally flowed onto that subject. For someone whose 21-year business had suddenly been washed out from under him, Bernard was remarkably calm and lucid. He had been interviewed in the papers and on TV and his main point was that the whole could still be salvaged through negotiation and cooperation. He recognised and accepted the motives of the state, but also reckoned that the accumulated knowledge and expertise of the cruise operators should not be underestimated. Bernard was optimistic a compromise could be reached. I was impressed - I certainly would not have had the patience nor confidence.

Andrew and Bernard have faced tough times recently. Falling tourism numbers have not helped either of them. While Bernard believes in evolving a solution, Andrew is trying something new. Next month, he takes off for a few months to learn something new in his brother's restaurant in Switzerland. He hopes to bring some new ideas and skills back.

I hope he doesn't change things around too much - I shall miss the chicken rendang.
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