Of Durian Runtuh and Gong Xi Fa Cai!!

**********************

Rest in Peace

I went to wish Chris and family Gong Xi Fa Cai but he wasnt there. His wife has lost her fight with the dreaded cancer. She died two days ago. Rest in peace, Mrs Chris and our sincere condolence to the family.

**************************

The car had barely stopped when my nostrils began to pick up something familiar in the air and following the scent, I burst into Chris’s shop searching for the object of my desire. “Where is it?” I asked without looking at the shop owner reading his daily behind the counter. He pointed to a basket near the door and there it was sitting all majestic and inviting. “How much,” I asked, my eyes transfixed on the king of all fruits, while Chris kept on reading his daily. “£23 for the whole fruit,” he said nonchalantly as if it was the cheapest thing on offer in his shop that day.

That made me turn and square up to him. Chris hails from Ipoh and is our local oriental supermarket offering everything from kicap cap kipas to penyapu lidi . My mental calculation told me that that fruit cost around RM 150.00, and with that amount of money I could probably buy a lorryload back home. But I told myself this is not back home and I badly needed durian.

“Whaat??!” I tried my haggling tactics and Chris relented by offering to half the price if I were to share and eat it in the shop with him. My other half knew better than to interfere and stayed as far away as possible reading ingredients on packets of instant noodles.

So, that was that. I was to pay £12 and Chris would cut open the fruit for us. I certainly didn’t regret it. I had two portions and admitted defeat for my conscience was telling me that my son waiting at home would love some too. I told Chris to pack the rest up for me and like a good customer, I was going to pay up when Chris said: “Never mind laaa, I belanja you!!”

We’ve known Chris for a long time and although sometimes we’d buy our stuff elsewhere in Chinatown or Loong Foong on the way to Wembley or Wing Yip in Neasdon, it is to Chris that we go to if we’re desperate for noodles to warm our cold afternoons. It was with Chris too that I had my joget lambak at the national day celebrations in Brickendonbury last summer.

That episode with the durian left me wanting for more. So one day, coming back from Malaysia Hall, we stopped by at Oriental City in Queensway. Oriental City used to be in Colindale in north London, and we used to go there in summer to enjoy the satay and karoke in the summer sun, while taking in the delicious smell of the durian from the stall nearby. That was where Siti Nurhaliza sang before her Royal Albert Hall debut, and where the Alleycats delighted their fans who came from as far as Liverpool.

The owners, Ronald and his wife Phoebe, had recently relocated their supermarket in Queensway, much to our delight, for it is certainly nearer. So, at Oriental City I followed my nose again and that led me to Ronald, who hails from Singapore. There, the durian was ready peeled and you know what you’re getting. So, I chose one packet with 4 slices and that cost £6.64. But once again, I was determined to buy this as I had read online, how to cook pulut. That was to be our breakfast. Ronald told me it was good value for money and at the counter, he told me, “Just pay for the pulut, I belanja you the durian!” Now talk about durian runtuh! Twice in two days!

Chris’ and Ronald’s Oriental City have made life so much easier for us these days. I remember the first Oriental supermarket, Cheongleen in Tower Street, in Leceister Square. That must be one of the first few Oriental supermarkets in London. Even then, thirty years ago, you’d never get lemon grass or daun pandan or curry powder, or durian for that matter. We got our serai powder in Harrods. Not that I knew what to do with it in those days.

Most big towns in the UK have their Chinatowns and the biggest must certainly be in Manchester. There’s another big one in Liverpool too. I remember one winter taking a break from filming the Pak Cik sailors in Liverpool, we went to have lunch in one of the Chinese restaurants. It is not surprising that the Chinatown there, like the ones in Manchester and London, are populated by Chinese from Malaysia. After lunch, we went back to find the cameraman’s car broken into. And as we wandered around looking for the culprits, a middle aged Chinese woman told me in thick Scouse accent that the area was certainly not safe. I asked her where she came from and she simply said: Ipoh mali.

Anyway, coming back to Chris and Ronald in London, I am reminded of my childhood friends growing up in the sleepy town of Yan and also in Alor Setar. We grew up in a small town with Chinese and Indian neighbours, a close-knit community who didn’t care about race or colour of the skin. Just the other evening at Malaysia Hall, I found an old friend from Sultan Abdul Hamid College. A true Malaysian you’ll never find. Come snow, rain or shine, Richard Ooi is always in his batik. He proudly drives a Proton. While waiting for the husband we chatted about those good old days in Alor Setar and the big reunion recently that we both missed. Suffice to say, when I went to pay for my meal, I was told it had been settled.

I cannot end this Chinese New Year piece without mentioning a a certain special friend who had been truly kind to me. He was the one who introduced me to the world of fashion, taking me to London Fashion Weeks and sharing great moments in his life with me. He introduced me to names in the fashion world and celebrities such as Jermaine Jackson, Debra Messing and Natalie Imbruglia.

Once as we were going to an event where he was to receive an honorary doctorate, he told me to change into a more decent pair of HIS shoes, muttering something under his breathe “Haiya, you journalists, so cheapskate,” casting a glance at my worn out shoes. And suffice to say, that translated into – “Haiya, I belanja you that pair of shoes laaa!”

So, to all these wonderful and generous friends, who proved that it is possible for us to live together and be friends, I wish you a very Happy and Prosperous Chinese New Year. And to my online cyberfriends too (Ilene, Judy, Alice, Argus, Lilian, Argus, Pey, Yang May Ooi, Lydia Xeus and Kenny Mah, Danial Ma and Uncle Lee and to Masterwordsmith who sadly has had to leave blogosphere) who have accepted Kak Teh as Kak Teh or perhaps as Margaret Chan – GONG XI FA CAI!!!!



Some related items:
Memoirs of Margaret Chan
A Date With Messing
And Jackson Makes Five

A day at the CNY celebrations

Yesterday I felt all excited about going out. True, I wasn’t all dressed up in a new floral frock that Ah Gek had made, but I was like 12 or thirteen and Margaret Chan again getting ready for my Chinese New year rounds. My sayang mama accompanied me before his silat class and we made our first stop at the Victoria &Albert Museum where Dato Jimmy Choo was given pride of place to exhibit his shoes and meet his fans to wish them a prosperous New Year. The crowd in front of the V& A had gathered for the promised of a spectacular entrance of the lion dance but the troupe took their time. It was freezing cold outside. It was also very brief; a few kids screamed with fright but many warmed up to the ‘lion’. Taufiq noted that none of the members of the troupe was Chinese. In fact, he further noted that the one holding up the head was a singh, prompting him to say that it was a ‘singha dance’ which I thought was very funny. Good sense of humour that, my sayang mama.

We followed the lion as it pranced about amongst the precious exhibits of the V&A and what a din the drums made in the usually quiet and sober surroundings of the museum. We then ended up in the room with our famous shoe designer and family. Fans were already crowding around him wanting to take pictures with him but Kak Teh managed to get this from him to you:

Looking around the hall, I saw a game I used to play and it brought such sweet memories. The Chinese Chess. When I was living with Tok the year Mak left for Mekah, I befriended the daughters of the Chinese contractor who rented the house that Pak built for Mak just next to Tok’s house. Everyday, after school, I’d rush with my homework and join the two girls whose name I forgot, but who also taught me the song Pu Yau that I sang wholeheartedly in the bathroom. With the chores done for Tok, such as the tulang belud and hemming up the baju kurungs that she made for her clients, Kak Cik and I would go over to the house and sit outside and play Chinese Chess. I believe I was quite good at it but now I have even forgotten the moves or the characters. So I persuaded Mrs JC to show me how.

When ewok came with some friends, we made our way to Trafalgar Square joining throngs of other revellers to celebrate the start of Shanghai Week. We had of course missed the Shaolin monks but we were in time to see some Chinese Dance by an all English girls troupe, and a very talented violinist. And we saw a very foolish martial artiste break several bricks with his head and an even more foolish one demonstrating a very effective method of birth control by having someone hit his you know where with a very long rod! I swear to you, as it was also shown on the big screen, every male had their legs crossed at that time, while letting our a chorus of groans.

Having seen enough of sadistic acts, we made our way to Leicester Square and a much bigger crowd had gathered to watch a display of fireworks. We managed to get a dragon which became everyone's favourite accessory for the day.

The operatic song coming from the square just before the fireworks brought my memories back to the time when a dance troupe would play night after night just down the road.

Kak Cik and I would persuade Tok to let us go and see. The actors wore very heavy make-up with fierce looking faces and beards almost touching the floor. I never knew what the plays were all about, but I remember being very scared of the character with the long beard. Even on nights when we didn't go, we could hear the soulful rendition carried by the wind into our bedroom.


Alas the fireworks was a disappointment. They could have waited for the sky to become darker for it to be more effective. So, apart from the din and the shouts from the crowd, it looked more like a community effort to burn their rubbish in the square – with smoke rising to the sky. And so it was time to go. We took our dragons and made our way to Mawar for a bit of koayteow and roti canai.

HOPE YOU ALL HAD A GREAT DAY!

Memoirs of Margaret Chan

Margaret Chan – yes, that’s what my friends used to call me. They decided that I had been mistaken for a Chinese too many times that I needed a Chinese name. They taught me how to say, “Wa emsi Teng Lang. Wa Honna Lang”. I don’t know how these words are spelt but they are Hokkien for “I am not Chinese. I am a Malay.” So, when that didn’t work, they named me Margaret Chan and I masqueraded as Margaret Chan when it suited me and I acquired quite an impressive volume of Chinese words –enough to carry a conversation.

I believe Margaret Chan was concieved in my mind when I was a mere toddler. People used to comment to Mak, “Laaa, anak sapa ni? Lain sangat. Anak nyonya mana?” And Mak used to play along and say, “Aha, anak Ah Nui kedai depan tu...dia suruh bela!” So, for a long while, especially when I felt slighted and entertained thoughts of running away from home after a quarrel with Kak Cik or when Mak favoured Lilah more, I really thought I was Ah Nui’s offspring.

Ah Nui helped her mum in that small shop by the big brick house across the road. It’s near enough for Mak to trust me to go and buy little things like matches and salt or sugar. I’d always take the opportunity to play ‘tikam’ and I remember having to stand on my toes to reach over the counter to pay her. And what a messy counter it was – full of buku tiga lima, old Chinese movie magazines and jars of asams and Hacks and Kiss Me. I always wondered how Ah Nui and her old mum knew where everything was among the clutter.

I didn’t have many friends then apart from visiting cousins, not even among those little girls whose mothers chased after them with their bowls of steaming porridge every evening. But I remember a regular visitor – a Chinese boy – a bit older than me, I think. He used to come to the house to escape the wrath of his mother. From the whisperings Mak had with Tok, I gathered that his mother was suffering from what I now know as post natal depression – but I heard Mak described it as gila meriyan. And I remember trembling with excitement hiding with him under the huge platform that Pak made in the kitchen, or in that small room under the stairs. Nowadays whenever I went home, I’d remember the boy whose name I never knew whenever I looked under the pangkin or in that small room that we now store old shoes. I never knew what happened to him or whether his mother ever recovered.

Anyway, when Pak got the transfer to Yan, we lived in front of Ah Gek’s house and Ah Gek had her nieces with her. One of them, Hooi Yong, was a classmate of mine. Very clever girl and we’d play hide and seek or do our homework together. But most of the time, she had to help Ah Gek, especially during Chinese New year, to sew up the hems or make kueh kapit. And sometimes, Poh Choo would join us. Thus my knowledge of Hokkien increased and at Chinese new year do’s where we all donned our brand new dresses with stiff petticoats underneath, no one was none the wiser about my ethnic origins. Poh Choo and Hooi Yong with their slightly darker skin looked more Malay than me.

Margaret Chan then moved back to Alor Star when Mak went to Mekah and acquired some new friends in the big house that Pak rented out to a Chinese contractor and his family. Thus besides learning the tulang belud from Tok, I also learnt how to play Chinese checkers with his two daughters who went to Keat Hwa. It was the year the song Pu Yau was a hit and I’d belt out the song with such emotions in the bathroom when Tok was having her afternoon nap.

Then, the big brick house across the road had a new occupant. Gaik Hong came to live with her grandparents and since then our friendship grew. At noon, when I waited under the big tree for the school bus, Gaik Hong would ask her trishaw man, Ah Chang to stop and give me a lift. We were like sisters going every where together. Almost every year when I go back, we’d have a reunion and last year, Gaik Hong made it to the party looking as lovely as ever. There were so many others from the primary school of SNC. Some of us proceeded to do our Form Six at Sultan Abdul Hamid College – our first direct contact with the boys whom we only used to see cycling the opposite direction to their school. Again, friends like Teng Boo, Wah Long, Hong Choo remained friends until now and four years ago we celebrated our 30th Anniversary.
Reunion of SNC friends

At ITM the Margaret Chan side of me didn’t quite lose her identity, nor forget her Hokkien for she found her soul mate in Fatimah Abu Bakar who at that time was more well versed in Hokkien than in Malay. And my dressing too alternated between the kebaya and cheongsam tops. Such was my split personality. I wasn’t complaining then and am not complaining now.

My first posting was to Penang and I lodged in Green Garden with Aunty Lucy, a stern looking lady with a no nonsence look about her. But I took to her instantly. Her small terrace house was spotless and she adopted me like a daughter she never had. Mak came all the way from Alor Star and was horrified to see me living in a house with a big altar in the front room. But seeing how Aunty Lucy took care of me, she didn't mind one bit. In the evenings I’d accompany Aunty Lucy to her temple nearby and late, late at night, together with Frieda and Uncle Boey from across the road, we’d drive along the esplanade and stop for some rojak or laksa Penang. Sometimes, when I stayed back during the weekends, I’d read stories to Darren, a young blind boy who visited Aunt Lucy. It is sad that now I have lost touch with Aunty Lucy and the Chinese family that adopted me during my stint in Penang.

Chinese New Year at Leicester Square

Yesterday I was in China Town, Leicester Square and was delighted to see the transformation in preparation for the festive period this weekend. There were lanterns and lanterns everywhere and of course the smell of oranges that for me will always remind me of Chinese New Year celebrations with my friends back home.

To all my Chinese friends, Hooi Yong, Poh Choo, Ek Ti, Adeline, Mui Ngoh, Bee Em, Ngoot Chooi, Wah Long, Kee Wan, Hong Chu and Teng Boo, Julie, Siew Phaik – Xong Xi Fa Cai....Ang Pau Gia Lai..hehe! And yes to Caroline and Annabel too if you are reading this.

And not forgetting my newfound cyber friends – Lydia, Mumsgather and Lilian – have a wonderful time with the family on this wonderful day!

Happy times with Aunty Lucy, Frieda & Uncle Boey

And last but not least – Aunty Lucy and Frieda and Uncle Boey, where ever you are, thank you for adopting me.

Knowing all of you has indeed enriched my life.

And of course, my little friend under the stairs – keep well.

HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR!!