Monkeycups at Malayan Hamlet

By Penny Singham

A little story about an Indian immigrant family post-independence from British Malaya which tells of the memories of the long ago colonial past including the changes that took place as the children of the family grew-up and story of sibling rivalry within and ups and downs that came about.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Penny Singham
• Release date: Dec 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393765653

Penny Singham

I was born in a seaside town called Mersing on the east coast of West Malaysia. I went to uni in Singapore and lived briefly in NYC before returning to Malaysia. I live with my cat Putih and two dogs, Brownie and Coco. I enjoy ancient history and mysteries, cooking, baking, yoga and walking. And I love coffee at Starbucks.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Monkeycups at Malayan Hamlet

12/5/1990

Monkeycups At Malayan Hamlet

Chapter One : The Indian Immigrant

No.63 Butler Road, Mersing, Johor : that is the address where the story began. The red roofed house with thick white walls with garages on either of its side, with a servants’ quarters lodged adjacent to the kitchen linked by a small pathway roofed  by greyish asbestos. No.63, sat on a small hillock overlooking the stormy South China Sea in the monsoon days. The architecture spelt Government Quarters that dotted throughout the small towns and cities of West Malaya since the 1800s. The scenery brought with it a knowing of a calm in the air - quiet dignity-stature of the dweller and entrenched stability of British colonial government.

In 1953 Mr.Ponnusamy Selvam was the bread winner of No.63. He was the Chief Clerk at the police department downtown. He started his career at the Singapore Central Communication Office at H.M. Dockyard in 1946 as a typist and teleprinter earning a wage of $65/- with cost of living allowance provided for. In those days the currency in both Malaya and Singapore were referred to as dollars and not as Her Majesty’s pound.

Mr. Ponnusamy Selvam – meaning Prosperous God of Gold in his native language - was schooled both in Singapore and Johor Bahru in the English medium. He arrived in Singapore from South India at the age of 10 accompanied by a benefactor of Indian community, a certain Mr.Kasipillay who took Mr.Selvam and some others under his wings. For all intents and purposes Mr.Kasipillay was his adopted father – mentor – guide. Mr. Kasipillay was a remarkable man who knew the world a little more wisely than others. To add a bit of debonair to Mr.Selvam’s  5’ 8’’ frame and charming looks especially his big bright smile which flashed perfect set of white teeth – which he kept in perfect order in his coffin as well 30 years later- and those unmistakeable dimples that had a tendency to light-up – albeit temporarily- anyone’s spirit, Mr.Kasipillay had Selvam’s name changed to  Arun Alagappan which was what he was known as up to his death, officially and otherwise. And his children carried the  Alagappan surname.

Mr. Arun Allagappan was an ambitious man. The British trained him well as a typist – he mastered it very quickly and typed at 100 w.p.m. He also sat for exams in arithmetic in 1949 issued by Bennet College of Sheffield, UK. This knowledge and love for figures carried him to the many finance departments of the government as he rose in ranks. It also brought his downfall in his silly business ventures which he ventured into with only mere knowledge of money and interest and profit but very little of the stuff that made a business a success like market study or  commercial advise from men of commerce he was acquainted with. He was a very proud man – and full of pride. Asking for help – apart from asking for speedy loans from Chinese and turbaned moneylenders – was out of the parameters of his vast mind.

Mr. Arun Allagapan lived in two worlds. His native language Tamil – meaning cool and sweet gave depth and sense of calmness that helped him to  grasp the official language of English which was rule bound with numerous exceptions – which made if difficult to understand and master, edgy, structured and formatted to express science and that of the physical world and required a fair bit of memory. Mr. Arun stringed his sentences not only with commas and periods but also semicolons, colons and  the like in the world of punctuation. He reserved his native language for his beloved wife Madam Nilam. He forbade his children to speak Tamil to him since the first born simply failed to pronounce the slippery word banana in Tamil in its allegedly tribal sounding phonetic alphabets. It was a bit of a tongue twister – all siblings gave up when none passed Mr.Arun’s pronunciation test. But all continued to speak to their mother in a mixture of badly pronounced Tamil and bits of English and Malay. The children took to English like ducks to water. And over the years they added their own colloquial brand to it – which often brought about laughter ringing through the household especially by son No.3 – Raja Bohja. His name was an oddity that he soon adopted for himself the name Jack.

Mr.Arun unlike the rest of the Indian men in little Mersing town dressed neatly and niftily. His clothes were tailor made - of cotton and rayon. And wore them in plain white and pastel shades of powder blue and fenugreek beige. And had them dry cleaned and pressed downtown at Lam’s Dry Cleaning Shop. He did not – at any point- allow his wife to inter-meddle with his office wear including his leather shoes which he polished himself or sometimes his boys did it for him.

Chapter Two: Arrival of Mrs.Arun

IN EARLY 1953 MR.ARUN took 15 days leave to sail to the old capital of South India – Tanjore- to get married to Madam Nilam- a 25 year old lass – who was ready to enter a teacher’s training college – only to be stopped in her tracks by her father who upon meeting and being impressed with Mr.Arun gladly gave away his precious daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Arun did cut a figure. Nilam, a dark dusky beauty had a lithe figure, a small face and dark brown eyes. Arabian Jasmines tied in small bunches were  pinned onto her long hair kept neatly in two long plaits. She exuded a calm, soft spoken personality that bellied a tenacity that was ready to battle anyone who belittled her family and nationality. She could pick up a crying baby and silence it – that was mighty Nilam.

Arun and Nilam sailed to Malaya soon after. Nilam adjusted rather quickly and easily to the small civil service community her husband was attached to at the Police Department at district of Mersing, Johor. And she picked up colloquial Malay rather speedily.

On the left to No.63 – about 100 metres away stood the quarters of the Assistant District Officer. An esteemed position in the hierarchy of British-Malaya civil service. A position held by the likes of James Birch, Henry Ridley in British-Malaya history. The British ADO usually was a young lad from Oxbrigdge who had pledged his loyalty to the British  government.  He was simply known as the ‘ADO" and rest of society of that time knew the length and breadth of such a title and position. He had much superior benefits and privileges. The government provided not only a servants’ quarters but also inhabitants who were cooks, cleaners, gardeners and a driver. The ADO’s quarters was picturesque with rows and rows of colourful zinnias, Dahlias and African Daisies planted on the front.

Nilam became fast friends with the ADO’s wife. She was Puteri Zulekha Hassan who was from royal lineage of the Johor Sultanate. Her great-grand uncle was Sultan Abu Baker affectionately known as Albert Baker to Queen Victoria. Puteri Zulekha shared many stories that of the grand uncle to Nilam. Nilam also shared many stories of India especially of  her school days at the RC Girls’ School at Tranquebar, in Tamil Nadu.  Puteri Zulekha was generosity, kindness and grace personified. Her humanity and ability to impart whatever she had – without any of those debilitating thoughts of insecurity that plague the 21st century – knew no end. Nilam learnt many womanly skills from her : embroidery-croquet-knitting-and above all baking the wondrous butter cake and that inimitable and hereto unheard of even at Waitrose or Tesco or anywhere in Malaysia – the coffee and lime cookie. Nilam passed on the secret of that cookie to children. Then there was that  pineapple-jam tart which  was fashioned to be miniature pineapples which had a clove pressed into its buttery pastry as its stem. Biting into the crumbly buttery pastry and hitting the lovely pineapple jam made with pineapple pulp and its juice stirred lovingly till became a golden mass infused with the light-flavoured local limes called kasturi limes and cloves-made it unforgettable. A lot of Malaysians attempt to make perfect pineapple tarts – but only a handful succeed. She also taught Nilam to bake fish using the oven at her quarters.

Arun although did not own a car, was privileged enough to have the police land-rover pick-up his wife or children on emergencies or when necessary. Mr.Arun turned down the fixing of telephone and possession of a rifle. He did bring the rifle from the police department – hung it on the living room of his home and a ghastly thought of his four sons