The afternoon sun was glaringly hot outside the zinc roofed wooden house. Even the hens and cockerels knew better to go under the shade of the tall coconut trees behind "Ayah's" house. My grandma and I used to go there to look for chicken eggs because "Ayah" never bothered to pick them up. Ever since his wife died, he was mainly confined to his house and was rarely seen outside except when he had to go out somewhere in his car. He was known to be childless. "Ayah" was the middle-aged Indian landlord from whom my father rented a piece of land to build two semi-detached houses made of bricks and wood. He was a retired estate manager whose ancestors came to Malaya a decade or two before my grandpa. His parents sent him to an English school where he was educated up to Form 5. At that time, there were not many people who were able to get an English education and even if they did go to school, there were not many who could complete Form 5. "Ayah" was considered to be very educated and knowledgeable by everybody in the neighbourhood. He always had a manservant with him when he made his rounds to check if the residents kept their premises clean; no clogged drains or improper waste disposal.
"Ayah" was rich; he owned a car which I never saw him drive. It was usually Ahmad, a very friendly young Malay man who chauffered him around. Ahmad communicated with my grandma using a special sign language. I used to wonder how they ever managed to understand each other. My grandma who had lived in China since birth had stepped on Malayan soil for less than ten years. Due to her age which was about early sixties, she found it hard to learn the Malay language. Sometimes I would imitate them as they gestured to one another much to the annoyance of my grandma who would shoo me away like I was a persistent housefly.
As for my dad, his Malay vocabulary was very limited and he had me roaring with laughter in later years when I had learnt enough of the language in school to know his mistakes. Despite all these differences in races and languages, my family, "Ayah" and Ahmad got on really well. My father even had a photograph taken with the two men at a local studio. It seemed to be a trend then to have photos taken with good friends at the studio in town, all for the sake of remembrance. I had one taken with my friends too. I could not remember how we had decided to do that though. None of us had plans to leave town. What had prompted us to have that photo taken? Nonetheless it has now become one of my most precious possessions.
Grandma had a very funny habit. She would not want to sleep on a cotton mattress. Back then, there was not any rubber foam mattress yet. She preferred to sleep on her hard bed, on top of which she had spread open a straw mat. I had tried lying down on it but I could not continue doing so for more than half an hour. My body was already aching due to the pressure on the hard wooden planks of the bed. "Don't you feel any pain sleeping on that, Grandma?"
"No, it's fine for me."
"How very strange!" My grandma explained that my young body had not got used to the hardness yet. Once I get accustomed to it, I would find it much better than sleeping on the soft mattress. I could not believe it. Grandma was such a strange lady to me. The way she combed her long hair, sitting on a stool at the back of the house caught my attention and she must had had wondered too why this granddaughter of hers had so many questions to ask. "Why Grandma , why do you comb your hair here? Why don't you do it in front of the mirror? You can't see yourself."
Every time the daily 'sessions' I spent with my grandma were brief, about ten minutes or less because she would in no time shoo me away again. My mother would reprimand me for disturbing the patriach and would now and then remind me not to jump on the wooden bed. I actually liked her wooden bed, but not for sleeping. I liked to use it as a stage for imitating the Chinese opera performances which I had the chance to see when my mother went to the Chinese temple nearby. I liked to pretend that I was one of the opera performers doing my act. My brother would come in and tease me. He would say that I acted stupid, making me really very mad at him for teasing me. I would run after him, hoping to catch hold of him and give him a smack for mocking at me. Usually I would fail to catch up with him and I would hurl at him a string of animals' names.
"Ayah" was rich; he owned a car which I never saw him drive. It was usually Ahmad, a very friendly young Malay man who chauffered him around. Ahmad communicated with my grandma using a special sign language. I used to wonder how they ever managed to understand each other. My grandma who had lived in China since birth had stepped on Malayan soil for less than ten years. Due to her age which was about early sixties, she found it hard to learn the Malay language. Sometimes I would imitate them as they gestured to one another much to the annoyance of my grandma who would shoo me away like I was a persistent housefly.
As for my dad, his Malay vocabulary was very limited and he had me roaring with laughter in later years when I had learnt enough of the language in school to know his mistakes. Despite all these differences in races and languages, my family, "Ayah" and Ahmad got on really well. My father even had a photograph taken with the two men at a local studio. It seemed to be a trend then to have photos taken with good friends at the studio in town, all for the sake of remembrance. I had one taken with my friends too. I could not remember how we had decided to do that though. None of us had plans to leave town. What had prompted us to have that photo taken? Nonetheless it has now become one of my most precious possessions.
Grandma had a very funny habit. She would not want to sleep on a cotton mattress. Back then, there was not any rubber foam mattress yet. She preferred to sleep on her hard bed, on top of which she had spread open a straw mat. I had tried lying down on it but I could not continue doing so for more than half an hour. My body was already aching due to the pressure on the hard wooden planks of the bed. "Don't you feel any pain sleeping on that, Grandma?"
"No, it's fine for me."
"How very strange!" My grandma explained that my young body had not got used to the hardness yet. Once I get accustomed to it, I would find it much better than sleeping on the soft mattress. I could not believe it. Grandma was such a strange lady to me. The way she combed her long hair, sitting on a stool at the back of the house caught my attention and she must had had wondered too why this granddaughter of hers had so many questions to ask. "Why Grandma , why do you comb your hair here? Why don't you do it in front of the mirror? You can't see yourself."
Every time the daily 'sessions' I spent with my grandma were brief, about ten minutes or less because she would in no time shoo me away again. My mother would reprimand me for disturbing the patriach and would now and then remind me not to jump on the wooden bed. I actually liked her wooden bed, but not for sleeping. I liked to use it as a stage for imitating the Chinese opera performances which I had the chance to see when my mother went to the Chinese temple nearby. I liked to pretend that I was one of the opera performers doing my act. My brother would come in and tease me. He would say that I acted stupid, making me really very mad at him for teasing me. I would run after him, hoping to catch hold of him and give him a smack for mocking at me. Usually I would fail to catch up with him and I would hurl at him a string of animals' names.
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