Missing the beauty and magic of yesteryear

Missing the beauty and magic of yesteryear

April 27, 2014

The beautiful and magical years of innocence have fled this good country. Each individual citizen can’t absolve or escape from the responsibility that we allowed ourselves to lose all that is most precious to us. I remember life from the tail end of the 50s. As children we never knew anything about differences in religion and colour. Our parents never spoke about what distinguished or set us apart from the other.  We were protected from the ills of the world and words such as apartheid and division were just words to be used in language studies.

The physical meaning of such words was a rare experience. There was it seemed a common unbreakable bond that held us together. The public bus drivers knew us by name, the traders in central or Chow Kit Road market knew our families. When one purchased from them they would actually choose vegetables, fruits or fish that was of quality which would last. This epitomised the age of personalisation in business way before corporate entities conjured such language.

It was not uncommon to have to find neighbours sharing and exchanging what little that was acquired with each other. Neighbours gave each other vegetables from their own garden. There were no peculiarities in sharing; a neighbour who possessed a fridge would share the fridge space with another on occasions where that family had a special function. Families would get together and help each other out in cooking meals for big groups.

Something as small as a new plant would be shared with a neighbour either by means of a giving seeds or the grafting process. DIY or do it yourselves which are found in products and stores were common within families, fathers and sons would as far as possible fix fences, bulbs, change a faucet, or paint a house themselves and sometimes the friends from school or the neighbours would help.

Hired help or external labour was not required. It was not unusual to use one contractor to do all the work in a house over the years thereby developing personal relationships, the workers of the contractors shared meals with the family. Recipes, gossip, the triumphs and tragedies of life were shared across fences. It was amazing but our cab or taxi drivers would actually have a drink when they send a customer home, this was common courtesy and respect at its best.

The landscape of life would be incomplete if we do not mention the young Chinese ladies usually coming door to door direct from the farm weekly to sell eggs or toothpaste and this eventually progressed to variety of other items, there was the market on wheels where one could buy the daily vegetables, fish or chicken and the mother’s would congregate to speak over the latest happenings, and of course the bread man and ice cream on wheels which are still the only reminders in some parts of urban KL of how every life impacted us in the circle of life.

A simple piece of bun was a luxury and a red bean ice cream was heavenly, consumed ever so slowly while it was shared by quite a few licking tongues – Magnolia or Walls was out of the world. One could play casino wheels with the ice cream vendor and if a lucky person hit a jackpot, the ice creams were shared. There was also the local vendor who had the facilities to make and stock ice.

Households without fridges would buy ice on Sundays to make lime juice and it would take three person to purchase an ice block as carrying it back was an ordeal and pleasure, the ice was packed in old newspapers and each one who carried it shared the load so as not suffer frozen hands. Along the way the cold water that dripped would find it way into the mouth of each individual.

Newspapers were shared, and by the end of the day a whole block of eight houses would have read one English news daily. It was also not an uncommon practice to remove the newspaper packaging and read the contents, the news and information was old but yet it was read. If the article was of sufficient interest it was retained and passed around. There were occasions when a home did not have electricity as they defaulted on their bills and a neighbour would make the necessary payments to reattach the supply.

The television set was one that brought persons together, there were Guitar lessons on TV, Rawhide, Gun Smoke, Lone Ranger and the unforgettable moon landings that received a full audience of standing persons outside one house gates to watch the extraordinary event. Movies cost anywhere between 40 to 90 sen.

There were also the free movies, Indian, Malay or Chinese before an inoculation jab in a football pitch or a road was blocked off. Families brought their chairs and stools and watched such movies. Festivals were never known as belonging to Malaya’s, Indian’s, Chinese or others – the celebrations were cleaved into each other’s lives, and we anticipated the celebrations with energy and zest.

Recycling was the norm not the exception, furniture, beds, pots and pans were used beyond their shelf life and necessary changes would only take place when there was an acquisition of wealth. Some of the family belongings. More often than not clothes were a common possession and was passed down to younger siblings or relatives and friends. Acquiring new furniture or an electrical appliance was reason enough to celebrate with the ice ball sugar coated delicacies or anything else that was available. Where there was a gathering we were there as one.

In a hospital we enjoyed equitable care and shared common concerns and looked after each other. If a friend’s parent or sibling were to be embraced by the arms of death, we would spend the night over with them to provide solace and consolation. The desolation of any tragedy was bearable as we faced it together. Friends, relatives or neighbours had the liberty of dropping by unannounced, no formalities observed and no permission was required.

School was a remarkable environment we could fight with Ah Kow, Jebat Ali or Robin and yet it was never mentioned as a person from a certain race fought with me, it was just another guy with a name. God forbid if we got punished in school for misdemeanours, exclusive punishment was reserved at home. If report cards were not passed up with the signature of parents, either a phone call or a visit from the teacher was a matter of time, usually sooner rather than later.

If a teacher came over to visit a family and there was some handiwork or manual labour that was taking place the teacher would leave everything aside and pitch in to help before the discussion on the son or daughter in the family who was literally quivering with great anticipation and fear. Teachers were respected and admired, and yes, also feared. Creative punishment and rehabilitative detention of washing the school toilets, cutting grass or working on the agricultural patch was the norm. The teachers seemed to know the name of each and every individual student.

We could go to the homes of our poorest schoolmates and have the hospitality of a good meal. This would usually be the reality that stabs one’s heart of how one who had so little could give so much. There were achievements attained by the effort of individual students and this was always something that was scrutinised and the applause was something that was earned on the backbone of real talent or hard work.

Many a young person was self-taught with regard to music on the guitar or any other instrument, such knowledge was also shared. We could go to a restaurant and share a roti chanai in three equal parts and one drink was shared among three in a group. If a student had one ringgit he was deemed to be rich, five ringgit he was a millionaire and 10 ringgit was unspeakable.

Innovation was seen in the toys that were constructed from nothing but any available material that was around. A badminton court was built over a week by teenagers coming together and constructing a court in jungle land. There were forays into the nearby jungle to make tree houses.

Music was also a common catalyst for developing relationships. There were the young teens especially who would try and pick up a cheap Kapok guitar and try to imitate the stars of the day. One would cycle or walk to a friend’s house just to learn how to hold a certain chord or sing a certain song. One could find the young placing their ears close to a radio set to copy lyrics of a favourite song. The collaboration was strong in the sense that each one was assigned to obtain a specific line of the lyrics to get the complete song.

More often than not musicians were able to sing in several languages. I personally know of young musicians who could sing in Malay, Chinese, Tamil, Hindi, Portuguese, French and occasionally in Italian. The talent pool of young was incredible. Who can forget Paul Ponnudari, Hillary Ang and Razak Rahman. Each of these musicians were noted as among the best in the world.

We cheered for our sportsmen and women who came from varied backgrounds, they were never known as being from a particular race or community. We only knew them as Namat Abdullah, Soh Chin Aun, Mokhtar Dahari, R Aruguman, each and every Malaysian had a personal claim over their sports personality. When the Malaysian football selection entertained the Arsenal football team with a renowned goalkeeper, there wasn’t an Arsenal banner or Tee shirt worn by any of that team’s supporters.

It was a sea of Malaysians urging their team. The collective crowd were in effect the 13th player on the field, no matter how strong or powerful a team against Malaysia, we were a serious threat as we had unity in diversity. This was a powerful and eloquent example of togetherness that a political party could never sew together.

There were among us weird or oddball kind of individuals but none were ever categorised, despite each one having the extravagance of displaying their small individual preferences. This was accepted with loads of teasing and occasional fights. On the global front as young eight years olds we were united in grief when JFK was assassinated. On the home front we were very sympathetic towards our police force or army personal when they were killed in the line of duty.

It was a personal tragedy akin to a relative dying. This was a precious and special bond between the people of the country, rivers, seas or mountains never separated us. The burden and sorrows of a few was felt and borne by the nation as a whole. Nothing could defeat the spirit that gave birth to this nation. One could actually express that we were closer than brothers.

 The writer is a music educator and composer. He is also the owner of a music establishment,Carismen Dolce.

This article can be found on FMT.