Food, Glorious Food!

I love food. And there's no two ways about it. The problem is that I have a lousy stomach and have to be careful of what I eat nowadays. I sometimes envy some of my colleagues who just scoff down roti canai's, mamak mee, mutton paratel, char kwey teow, fried potato chips, and guzzle down pints of beer and don't have a problem. I wish them well. It is just my luck.
But I do like to check out new places to eat.
When I was in my early twenties, I had a Chinese friend who would take me to the best Chinese restaurants and some of the most dirty Chinese stalls you can ever imagine. But, he would say, " the dirtier the place the better the food, we Chinese believe this." Anyway, I never argued with him because he was always right. Some of the shanty stalls he took me to served some of the most delicious food I have ever tasted. I remember the one occasion in the early seventies when he took me to a shop near where the Guinness Brewery is today. Then there was a village around there. He had to drive quite a bit into the area before we came to the restaurant. But guess what, there was a whole load of Mercedes Benz's parked in front of the shop. How did they know about this eating place?
" You see," he told me, " the Chinese are like this. They spread the word when they eat good food in a place."
So he took me in. All eyes were on me. A young Indian with a Chinese towkay in a Chinese restaurant meant only for food connoisseurs. I did not bat an eyelid and sat down to a meal of ' Kum Loong Yee', butter prawns, abalone, deer meat and frog legs. Then one day he said to me, " Today you come with me, one table only for ten people." It was at the Hotel Malaya. So I went with him. There seated around the table were some of his business friends. Again, the young Indian sat among the wealthy Chinese businessmen and waited for the dishes to come. It came. The piece de' resistance that day, I was told, was the bear's paw. A bear's paw from a honey bear shot in the Malaysian jungle. It was illegal, but then how could I protest. So I took a bit from the plate, it tasted like stewed beef. No big deal. I thought that the king prawns served that day was any time better. I may be wrong, it could have been my aversion to eating poor honey bears!.
Nowadays I go for simpler food though. I enjoy a nice bowl of fish ball noodles or a good pak cham kai chicken rice. I try to avoid fatty food but you see, these are the things that taste good. So I do indulge sometimes in a good steak or lamb chops or even a good steak and kidney pie.
I happen to be a good cook also. My kids and my wife enjoy my cooking but that has also been far and in between these days.
Must get back to trying some good food soon.

'Today a child from this village has entered the gates of heaven'

The bells tolled at 6.45 am in a small village in south India on 13 March 2005. The priest who presided over the mass that morning in the village, said to the congregation,'' Today a child of this village has entered the gates of heaven". He was talking about my mother who passed away on 12 March 2005, at the age of 85.
I was told about this statement made by the priest by my mothers' relatives who live in the village of Viriyur, somewhere near Pondicherry. I remember the village quite well as I visited it with my mum in 1978. We had gone there to transfer the title of the property on which our relatives lived from my mother's name to my brothers and I. I was only 27 then, young and energetic.

Easy enough I thought. But when I reached the village after a frightfully long trip in a ramshackle bus in the wee hours of the morning, I was never prepared for what I was about to see. Our 'property' was thatched huts without electricity and running water! The land under our name was dry and devoid of any real crops. They had to do with whatever they could grow. Water was from a well and light was a kerosene lamp.
That was it. I told my mum in no uncertain terms that I will never be able to transfer the land, from where they were eking out a living, to the well to do ones in Malaysia. She did not argue. And so I stayed there for two long days enduring the heat, hard water and no toilet.

My mum came to Malaya as a 16 year old bride in the early thirties with my dad who wanted to work in Malaya, make some money and return to India. Unfortunately he died at the age of 57 in 1965, and his dreams of returning with the family to India was dashed. It dawned upon us then that we could never live in India and so we had to manage with what little we got from the government as a monthy pension (RM 62.90). We had to leave the government quarters and live above a shoplot. Seven people crammed in two rooms. I had to work and earn some money to supplement the family's income. I had just finished my Senior Cambridge. And so one day I trudged to the La' Salle Peel Road School, met the Headmaster and was given a temporary teaching job at the age of 17. My salary, RM 190. Most of it I gave my mum. To save money, I walked to school everyday, about 6 miles each way.

I can still remember my mum and how hard she worked trying to keep us fed and together. Relatives and friends disappeared overnight. We were alone. Then May 13 happened and we had leave to leave Kampong Pandan, one of the hot spots, and settle in Petaling Jaya.

My eldest brother had by then got a better job in the Welfare Department, My second brother was doing well in the University of Malaya and my youngest brother was still in school. I had finished my HSC by then and was looking for a job again. My mother was so proud the day my brother graduated from the university. He got a job immediately in TV Malaysia and we were slightly better off. My mother's brother lived with us then and he recommended buying a house in Bangsar. It costed only RM 27,000 for a double storey one. My mum made the down payment and we settled in Bangsar in 1973. We were one of the first famlies to live on the Lorong Maroof stretch. My mother began to live comfortably as by then I too had a good job and she managed the family comfortably. Relatives and friends became more visible. My brothers and I began to have our own circle of friends and our house became a meeting point for a motley group of people. Some would come and spend week ends with us. Many came because mum made the best curries you could ever imagine. Her fish curry was legendary. Her mutton chops, awsome. Even the simplest meal was something to relish. She was always hospitable to any one who dropped by, never allowing them to go without a meal or at the least a cup of tea.

Then came the grandchildren. While she was still healthy, she took care of most of them, always doting. She exerted herself when she was in her late fifties, carrying flower pots in and out of the house and the doctor advised her to take it easy from then on.

It was now our turn to look after her and we began to make her spend weekends at our homes. She was quite reluctant at first prefering to remain in Bangsar with my youngest brother, his wife and kids. But soon she got used to the idea and came willingly.

How she used to enjoy watching TV in the evenings. Her favourite show on the black and white TV was, guess, Johnny Cash, the Saint, Ironside, The Big Valley,and tamil movies. She began enjoying fast foods and her favourite was the McDonald's fish fillet burger and chips.

As she grew older, she began to slow down. She sufferd a stroke in the early nineties, went into a coma and came out off it miriculously. She had little strokes after that and her speech began to slur. We wanted her to go for speech theraphy but she adamently refused. Slowly we could see her getting slower and weaker but she stiill visited us at home. She would spend the weekend with me and I would try to get to tell me about the Japanese occupation, her early life in Brickfields, my dad and her relativers in India. We used to speak well into the night and then I would take her to bed. She would always kiss me and ask whether her rosary was under her pillow. In the morning I would wake her up and make breakfast for her and spend the whole day beside her in case she needed to go the toilet. She used a walking frame so that she would not fall.

Then one day her face swelled on the right side. We took her to hospital and the doctor thought it was a dental problem. Her molars were extracted but the swelling did not subside. Suspecting something more sinister they did an MRI and found that she had a cancerous growth in her sinuses. We were told that she hadn't much time left. By this time she could hardly speak anymore. It was December 15, 2005, when she was diagonised. We made sure that that Christmas, which we knew would be her last, would be remembered by her. All her children, spouses and granchildren came to wish her. Some she could recognise, others she could not.

My second brother and his wife took her home for the last few months of her life. She was taken care by a maid and my sister-in-law. We even managed to celebrate her 85th birthday on February 19 although by then she could hardly recognise anyone.

On the 12 March 2006, I received a phone call from my brother to come over to the house. She was going into a coma he said. I rushed over and saw her lying in bed, her life slowly ebbing away. All her children were around her when she breathed her last.

A legend had passed away.