Tag: childhood memories

Paradise Almost Lost

Five years, that was how long I had waited to do make that one journey again. When I was still staying in Penang, when I had moved to Kuala Lumpur and made trips back to Penang, it was always on my mind. But there were errands to run, obligations to fulfil and friends to meet. Most trips back were rushed. There was hardly time to do it at a leisurely pace.

We went up to Penang the week before Christmas after a one-night stopover in Ipoh. I was resolute that we were going make it by hook or by crook this time. We kept one whole afternoon free for that and only slotted a dinner appointment for the evening. That, I estimated, should be sufficient for us to do what we had planned and explore a little more while we were there.

What I missed most about this place was the chilly atmosphere. Dad used to drive Mum and me there in his small car that had an oscillating fan inside. It was a cream coloured Simca. The registration plate was PH 656. Most times, we would just wind the window down to enjoy the breeze on the way there. On warmer days, he would turn the fan on. Cars did not come with air conditioners then.

The moment we passed the playing field with the granite wall, just before Moon Gate, no matter how hot the weather was, the temperature would suddenly drop by a degree to two. That stretch of road up to the car park outside the garden was shaded by tall overhanging tree branches. The fresh and cool air was as refreshing to the skin as it was to the lungs when inhaled.

That was back in the 1970s. In the early-80s, that coolness, although somewhat diminished, was still there. The cicadas were still incessant with their monotonous piercing melodies. After my spinal injury, I did not go back until in the late-90s when I became less ashamed of being seen in public. The tarred roads surrounding the garden made it easy for my wheelchair, as long as I did not venture off to the lawn. I went there a few more times since. The very last time was with Mum and Wuan in 2001 for the Penang International Floral Fest.

So much had already changed by then. The soothing coolness on cloudless afternoons, the sounds of the cicadas, the all-enveloping greenery, they were not like what they used to be anymore. In their place, an unpleasant humidity permeated, making the skin sticky and breathing laborious. The screeching of the cicadas were barely audible. The road had become brighter due to the thinner cover overhead. I thought that was already bad enough.

Nonetheless, I was not prepared for what I saw this trip. The trees – what happened to the trees? That stretch of road that was so familiar to me as a teenager has lost many of the trees that stood on both sides the road. Further in, Coronation Camp with the familiar triangular roofed huts was no longer there. The camp ground used to be hidden from the road by thick undergrowths. Now, I could peer right through all the way to the trees that marked the camp’s perimeter on the other side. I have so many good memories of that place as a Boy Scout with the 13th GTS and then 7th GTN Scout troops.

That was not all. The familiar row of staff quarters and coffee shop just outside the Penang Botanic Gardens entrance were gone too. In their place, construction of some kind was going on. Whatever was being built there, I hope the structure blends into the landscape. As it was, that area already looked obscenely naked without the trees that were chopped down to make way for the garden expansion project.

Penang Botanic Gardens under expansion
Penang Botanic Gardens under expansion – December 20, 2009.
On the background is the fence of the formal gardens.
Photo by Wuan.

(to be continued)

Pisang Goreng

As I got nearer, I could smell the aroma wafting from the boiling oil. I was on my way home. I stopped my bicycle right in front of the cart where the pleasant smell emanated from. The cart strategically occupied a spot under a tree at the spacious car park outside the teachers’ training college in Hamilton Road. I think it was called Malaysian Teachers Training College, MTC in short, or something like that. The base of the trees were ringed with bricks and cement.

Right across the road was Convent Green Lane. School was in session. I could hear voices of teachers and students. I could see their heads on the first floor over the tall hedge and through the louvered glass windows. Towering casuarina trees lined the fence inside the school. They provided shade and littered the place with pines and tiny cones at the same time. The two-lane road was rather quiet, save for the occasional cars or motorcycles passing by.

The sizzling from the big black kuali pulled my attention back to the purpose I was there for. The uncle, as we would call all middle-aged men irrespective whether we were related or not, was gently feeding the bubbling oil with slices of batter-coated sweet potatoes. A cluster of ripened bananas hung from the roof of the cart. Some of them were already turning dark. Greasy fumes rose from the boiling oil as it simmered and frothed.

Uncle lifted his eyes off the kuali and looked at me, his hands still deftly feeding the slices of potato into the oil. I pointed to the wire tray where the crusty pieces of fritters were laid out. There were bananas, sweet potatoes, yam, cekodok (mashed banana fritter), lek tau (green bean patty) and tnee koay (glutinous rice cake) sandwiched in sweet potato and yam, all nicely browned.

“Keng jio,” I told him, indicating I wanted one with my index finger.

He nodded but did not speak as he slid the last slice of sweet potato into the oil. The fritters bobbed up and down in the oil, slowly turning a golden brown. He picked a banana fritter off the tray with a food tong and placed it in a bag made from brown paper. I dug into my pocket and fished out one 20 sen and one 10 sen coins. I handed him the money with one hand and received the bag with the fritter with the other. The oil began to soak through and stain the paper.

I let half of the fritter slide out from the bag and sank my teeth into it, rolling the piece in my mouth from side to side to prevent my tongue from getting burnt. The crust was fragrant. The pisang raja within was slightly sourish and still piping hot. I could see vapour escaping from the bitten off end. A few more mouthfuls and all that left was the greasy brown paper bag with morsels of crusts at the bottom. My appetite satiated, I continued on my ride home.

Jingle In My Mind

The television was the centrepiece in the rather bare living room. A box made from laminated wood encased the cathode ray tube. The box was supported by four legs about the height of a coffee table. The convex screen provided many hours of entertainment in black and white. There were only two channels – RTM1 and RTM2. The dial pointed at the “2” position all the time. That was the channel with more entertainment programmes. Households that owned televisions or radios needed to get a license from the government. This was renewable annually and can be applied through the post office. The framed license hung on the wall next to the set.

That was the time before the VHS video casette recorder was invented. It was either watching shows in the cinemas or on televison. P. Ramlee movies ruled the silver screens and airwaves. One of the most popular sitcoms on television was Empat Sekawan also known as Li Kor Bo Wa Kor (Your Hardship Does Not Compare To My Hardship) in Chinese. It featured four friends conversing in four different Chinese dialects. There was Lai Meng, Wong Ah Hor, Hon Ying and the other actor whose name escapes my memory at the moment. They were hilarious on screen. We would gather and watch everytime the show came on.

Chinese movies were usually from Hong Kong and Taiwan. The few Hong Kong artistes whose name stuck with me till now are Liu Kei, Leong Sing Por, Lee Heong Kam and Tze Yin. The plots were usually run-of-the-mill: good guys versus the bad guys, lots of tears from the fair maidens mistreated, lots of scheming by the bad guys and evil stepmothers, rain, thunder and finally good triumphing over evil.

I was in primary school then. My school was one of those few that was in the afternoon sessions. During school holidays, apart from playing with the neighbourhood kids, I would be glued to the television screen. The stations started broadcasting at 3.00 pm. The national anthem come on first. The Jack Lalanne Show was next with his signature jumping jacks and a series of other exercises for the audience to follow. Jack Lalanne would be in a track bottom and tight cap sleeved shirt that showed off his muscular arms and chest.

Commercial advertisements were usually slotted before and after shows. There were very little interruptions in between. Cigarette advertisements were rampant. Dunhill and Benson & Hedges were the two more prominent brands. Dunhill cigarettes were packed in glossy maroon coloured boxes with gold on the edges. Benson & Hedges was unmistakeable with its gold coloured boxes. Dad smoked Benson & Hedges. He usually bought the 20 sticks per box packing.

Of all the commercials on television, I remember one particularly well. Nearing the end, three pretty ladies were walking away from an aircraft parked at the tarmac. They were dressed in smart cabin crew uniforms. They were cheerful with their million dollar smiles. At the end, the jingle went like this: Lady lembut, Lady selesa, Lady selamat, with the word “selamat” trailing till the end of the clip.