Sunday, March 31, 2013
My Stories: The Chilli Farm
My Stories: The Chilli Farm: The chilli farm that my father once possessed was a place of enchantment. Besides its undulating terrain of newly cleared land with burnt t...
The Chilli Farm
The chilli farm that my father once possessed was a place of enchantment. Besides its undulating terrain of newly cleared land with burnt tree trunks and their equally charred stumps scattered all over the hills, there was a fairly large pond very visible to any visitor to the farm. It commanded one's attention as it was located in the valley amidst a very different landscape from itself. Its brackish water did not look appealing but the dozens of white ducks that waddled up and down, sometimes flying across the water could not deter one from not stopping and observing the activity over there. A closer look at the ducks' territory would bring much delight because one might even chance to see some eggs on the wet and rather muddy banks of the pond. However, it would not be possible to have such a view in the hot afternoon as these ducks would have gone into a shelter, away from the heat.
There was a hut that was built further up one of the hills and it was a quaint little house. It was mainly made of wood and its roof was of palm leaves. There was no tap water supply, so we could not cook there. We had to bring drinking water, bread and packed homecooked food whenever we went there. I remember my family of six stayed a night there. All of us went and I remember very well how much I complained about having to squeeze in the back seat of the car with my other siblings. When it was evening, before dusk, we had to quickly wash up using the water from a well. The water was not as clean as we had hoped to be and my father explained that it was due to the geology of that area. The granite layer ran too deep and they had to dig a lot into the ground to get cleaner water. It would be an almost impossible feat when the only tool available was a 'changkul'. To solve the problem, my mother had brought along a muslin cloth(part of an old mosquito net) to filter the somewhat cloudy water and the filtrate was quite satisfying, probably the result of the double layering that my mother insisted on.
After washing up, while my siblings and I were having dinner, my father had the kerosene lamp ready. That was our only source of light that night. Unfortunately,we had to jump up to bed early because the lamp was not working too well and it had a low flickering flame which had us all very depressed.
It was hard to fall asleep in total darkness and in extreme quietness. There was totally no sound from the duck population , and that amazed me a lot as they were quacking and quacking earlier on in the day. All I heard was the shrill sound of the cicadas and occasionally, the eerie sound of the wind blowing through some banana plants behind the hut. I blinked my eyes hard to look at my sister who was very quiet. I was sure she had fallen fast asleep due to fatigue after the hard day's work harvesting the ripen red chillies.
The harvesting job involved a lot of walking and climbing the slopes of the hills. Occasionally, she had to climb over the huge logs that were in the way. My brothers were quiet and not talking to each other; the result of a fight that afternoon. My parents were talking to each other in the dark and I could soon hear the snoring sound of my father, indicating his tiredness after toiling in the hot sun.
When I woke up the next morning, I realised that everybody was ready to go home. I was surprised that it was already ten in the morning, and still in a daze, my elder brothers told me to get into the car before I had time to wash up. My second elder brother shoved me a piece of bread and told me to eat up. He called me a 'sleepy pig' and it made me so mad that I threw the bread at him. I supposed it was the usual 'getting from the wrong side of the bed' condition on my part that made me do that. I started crying when I realised that was the only piece left and I had to go hungry when the piece of bread was soiled. My stomach was growling in hunger and I truly regretted my action that morning.
I cried and cried, hoping that my father would do something but there was no shop in sight for about twenty miles.
Finally we were out in the main road but every time I saw a shop or stall, I hoped my father would stop to get something for me to eat but he told me to be patient because it would not be long before we reached home. It was an agony indeed to be hungry and I learnt not to throw food. I guessed my father wanted to teach me a lesson. I have learnt my lesson very well that day..
There was a hut that was built further up one of the hills and it was a quaint little house. It was mainly made of wood and its roof was of palm leaves. There was no tap water supply, so we could not cook there. We had to bring drinking water, bread and packed homecooked food whenever we went there. I remember my family of six stayed a night there. All of us went and I remember very well how much I complained about having to squeeze in the back seat of the car with my other siblings. When it was evening, before dusk, we had to quickly wash up using the water from a well. The water was not as clean as we had hoped to be and my father explained that it was due to the geology of that area. The granite layer ran too deep and they had to dig a lot into the ground to get cleaner water. It would be an almost impossible feat when the only tool available was a 'changkul'. To solve the problem, my mother had brought along a muslin cloth(part of an old mosquito net) to filter the somewhat cloudy water and the filtrate was quite satisfying, probably the result of the double layering that my mother insisted on.
After washing up, while my siblings and I were having dinner, my father had the kerosene lamp ready. That was our only source of light that night. Unfortunately,we had to jump up to bed early because the lamp was not working too well and it had a low flickering flame which had us all very depressed.
It was hard to fall asleep in total darkness and in extreme quietness. There was totally no sound from the duck population , and that amazed me a lot as they were quacking and quacking earlier on in the day. All I heard was the shrill sound of the cicadas and occasionally, the eerie sound of the wind blowing through some banana plants behind the hut. I blinked my eyes hard to look at my sister who was very quiet. I was sure she had fallen fast asleep due to fatigue after the hard day's work harvesting the ripen red chillies.
The harvesting job involved a lot of walking and climbing the slopes of the hills. Occasionally, she had to climb over the huge logs that were in the way. My brothers were quiet and not talking to each other; the result of a fight that afternoon. My parents were talking to each other in the dark and I could soon hear the snoring sound of my father, indicating his tiredness after toiling in the hot sun.
When I woke up the next morning, I realised that everybody was ready to go home. I was surprised that it was already ten in the morning, and still in a daze, my elder brothers told me to get into the car before I had time to wash up. My second elder brother shoved me a piece of bread and told me to eat up. He called me a 'sleepy pig' and it made me so mad that I threw the bread at him. I supposed it was the usual 'getting from the wrong side of the bed' condition on my part that made me do that. I started crying when I realised that was the only piece left and I had to go hungry when the piece of bread was soiled. My stomach was growling in hunger and I truly regretted my action that morning.
I cried and cried, hoping that my father would do something but there was no shop in sight for about twenty miles.
Finally we were out in the main road but every time I saw a shop or stall, I hoped my father would stop to get something for me to eat but he told me to be patient because it would not be long before we reached home. It was an agony indeed to be hungry and I learnt not to throw food. I guessed my father wanted to teach me a lesson. I have learnt my lesson very well that day..
My Stories: The Struggling Farmer
My Stories: The Struggling Farmer: During the early 1960s, there weren't as many kinds of businesses or jobs to be engaged in in this part of the world. In the small tow...
The Struggling Farmer
During the early 1960s, there weren't as many kinds of businesses or jobs to be engaged in in this part of the world. In the small town that I grew up , the people were mainly farmers, either involved in livestock rearing or in vegetable or commercial crop cultivation.
My father was a very enterprising man. He would go all out to secure whatever small agricultural projects available in the small growing town. He had a few friends who had businesses in town and they would the first ones to receive any news of available projects. Often he would be offered to be a partner because of his experience in working in the rubber estates owned by the British then. His expertise would be the ability to get a workforce of strong and hardy men to toil in the farms or to work under harsh conditions in the virgin jungles as loggers. Being the head of these groups of men and having to work in another town often, it had at one time widened the gap between myself and my father. I remember when I was about nine years old, I was quite afraid of him. There was one occasion I was almost frightened to tears when his loud voice thundered in the living room as he explained his situation to a group of men who came in the middle of the night to claim their wages. It was scary as I heard the men's angry voices from my bedroom. Before these men left finally, they threatened that they were going to come with axes and 'parangs' on the first day of Chinese New Year if my father could get the money to pay them. I could see my mother's worried face as she laid on the bed with me.
Strangely, when I woke up the next morning, I did not see any sadness on both of my parents' face.
I kept on asking my mother about the noisy men the night before but my mother refused to say anything at all. Why are my parents not reacting to the situation? I saw them happily preparing for the Chinese New Year which was a few days away. However, my brother and I were reminded to watch our mouths and be on a good behaviour,otherwise we would be disappointed to see what was going to be in our 'red packets'.
When I grew older, I realised that my parents were actually regretful that such disturbing matters were brought to the knowledge of their children and they did not want us to be unhappy as the festive celebration was just around the corner.
As for the problem that was looming over my father's head that Chinese New Year, they had it settled by pawning some of my mother's gold jewellery to get the cash to pay the workers. It was a problem that had arisen due to a delay on the part of the government authority but the workers would not believe it.
When I was a child, I never considered myself as poor nor rich. It just never occurred to me that there were these categories of people. There were not that many things (clothes, fast foods, toys etc) to buy and consequently not much comparison or competition as such. Perhaps the adults had, in terms of money earning opportunities. I remembered my father's comments about his own career; he seemed to be quite happy and he considered himself lucky to have met a few kind people who had attributed to his improved lifestyle. He had progressed from someone who had to rent a room for his family to someone who owned a few houses and tens of acres of agricultural land.
My father related to me of how he used to grow chillies, watermelons, pumpkins and tapioca while waiting for the rubber seedlings to grow big enough to be transplanted. I was taught never to waste time sitting around and wait for money to drop from the sky. Venture out, go and find something to do, open your mouth to ask, be humble, and yes, humility is the virtue he had always reminded me about. Be not afraid to give, because in giving, you will find that you will be blessed. He went on to elaborate but I had been naughty, so I could not remember what examples he had mentioned.
The one thing I remember is, as a child, I was extremely proud and happy to go on the farm trips, either to the chilli farm or any of the other farms. I used to enjoy the wind blowing on my face as I gazed across the huge farms of chiili trees, watermelon or pumpkin creepers or swaying tapioca trees. I remembered running free in the vast land and I could see the wide blue sky with the clouds fleeting away blown by the strong wind of the day. Birds, of more than one specie appearing suddenly and flying away as I walked around in the farm, to which I had apologised for disturbing their peace and explained that I wasn't aware at all that they were there. I remember I just loved being able to look far away and sometimes I wondered what was beyond the 'impossible to reach' horizon. My poor little feet became tired after the attempt to reach that mysterios line where the land touches the sky.
Now I am in my adulthood, and with my parents long gone, I realise that there were too many words of love and appreciation for them unexpressed. Even so, I am not sad, because it was the same with them with respect to their parents....too many words left unsaid and it will be the same with my children. One day when I am gone, they will also have too many words left unsaid. No regrets, my dear children. Parents don't need you to tell them....they will know and after all, they do not expect anything in return at all.That is how parents love us. Always giving, never taking. You can't beat them in this.
My father was a very enterprising man. He would go all out to secure whatever small agricultural projects available in the small growing town. He had a few friends who had businesses in town and they would the first ones to receive any news of available projects. Often he would be offered to be a partner because of his experience in working in the rubber estates owned by the British then. His expertise would be the ability to get a workforce of strong and hardy men to toil in the farms or to work under harsh conditions in the virgin jungles as loggers. Being the head of these groups of men and having to work in another town often, it had at one time widened the gap between myself and my father. I remember when I was about nine years old, I was quite afraid of him. There was one occasion I was almost frightened to tears when his loud voice thundered in the living room as he explained his situation to a group of men who came in the middle of the night to claim their wages. It was scary as I heard the men's angry voices from my bedroom. Before these men left finally, they threatened that they were going to come with axes and 'parangs' on the first day of Chinese New Year if my father could get the money to pay them. I could see my mother's worried face as she laid on the bed with me.
Strangely, when I woke up the next morning, I did not see any sadness on both of my parents' face.
I kept on asking my mother about the noisy men the night before but my mother refused to say anything at all. Why are my parents not reacting to the situation? I saw them happily preparing for the Chinese New Year which was a few days away. However, my brother and I were reminded to watch our mouths and be on a good behaviour,otherwise we would be disappointed to see what was going to be in our 'red packets'.
When I grew older, I realised that my parents were actually regretful that such disturbing matters were brought to the knowledge of their children and they did not want us to be unhappy as the festive celebration was just around the corner.
As for the problem that was looming over my father's head that Chinese New Year, they had it settled by pawning some of my mother's gold jewellery to get the cash to pay the workers. It was a problem that had arisen due to a delay on the part of the government authority but the workers would not believe it.
When I was a child, I never considered myself as poor nor rich. It just never occurred to me that there were these categories of people. There were not that many things (clothes, fast foods, toys etc) to buy and consequently not much comparison or competition as such. Perhaps the adults had, in terms of money earning opportunities. I remembered my father's comments about his own career; he seemed to be quite happy and he considered himself lucky to have met a few kind people who had attributed to his improved lifestyle. He had progressed from someone who had to rent a room for his family to someone who owned a few houses and tens of acres of agricultural land.
My father related to me of how he used to grow chillies, watermelons, pumpkins and tapioca while waiting for the rubber seedlings to grow big enough to be transplanted. I was taught never to waste time sitting around and wait for money to drop from the sky. Venture out, go and find something to do, open your mouth to ask, be humble, and yes, humility is the virtue he had always reminded me about. Be not afraid to give, because in giving, you will find that you will be blessed. He went on to elaborate but I had been naughty, so I could not remember what examples he had mentioned.
The one thing I remember is, as a child, I was extremely proud and happy to go on the farm trips, either to the chilli farm or any of the other farms. I used to enjoy the wind blowing on my face as I gazed across the huge farms of chiili trees, watermelon or pumpkin creepers or swaying tapioca trees. I remembered running free in the vast land and I could see the wide blue sky with the clouds fleeting away blown by the strong wind of the day. Birds, of more than one specie appearing suddenly and flying away as I walked around in the farm, to which I had apologised for disturbing their peace and explained that I wasn't aware at all that they were there. I remember I just loved being able to look far away and sometimes I wondered what was beyond the 'impossible to reach' horizon. My poor little feet became tired after the attempt to reach that mysterios line where the land touches the sky.
Now I am in my adulthood, and with my parents long gone, I realise that there were too many words of love and appreciation for them unexpressed. Even so, I am not sad, because it was the same with them with respect to their parents....too many words left unsaid and it will be the same with my children. One day when I am gone, they will also have too many words left unsaid. No regrets, my dear children. Parents don't need you to tell them....they will know and after all, they do not expect anything in return at all.That is how parents love us. Always giving, never taking. You can't beat them in this.
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