99 Ways To Tell, or Tear, a Malay Apart

I might as well title this
Caricature of a Malay as
A Short Walk into
the Malay Kush,
Or Bush;
Here gush:

In the Malaysian cultural pastiche,
What traits a Malay to distinguish?

If you see a tour bus at the KL Twin Tower,
Festooned with white and pink tuala,
Sure it is carrying a Malay group from upriver.

If you see the crepe-thin China-made towel,
Used as prayer mat, head cover, mouth cover,
Modesty blind, sunshade for the car window,
Anything, but to dry your body down with,
Safe bet the user is a Melayu le.

If on Friday a little past noon,
You see a traffic police
Turns the other way round,
As cars and vans double park
On both sides of a road,
Or is nowhere to be seen,
You know Malays are en-mosque,
Praying to Allah.

In Kampung Pasir Putih, Putatan,
Saw a patrol car with a full phalanx
Of two constables by it standing
With engine and aircon running
No doubt in a state of readiness
For the return of the duty officer -
Or it could have been just a sargeant -
Who was in the mosque about to berjemaah:
Don't ask if the mata-mata are Muslim -
Bad form! I did. They are mukmin!
Two sheepish mukmin eyes,
One petty-piety officer,
And one nosy parker.

Every time a newly comfortable Malay,
Hardly a generation removed
From the hardship of the kampung,
Now installed in an urban housing estate,
Starts to drive away in his new Kancil,
Expect him to blow his car horn
By way of saying "Jumpa lagi!"
Its timed regularity, morn, noon, evening,
Is only outregulated by the even more
Jolting call of the muezzin.

With another nouveau riche Malay newbie
Starting up his diesel-engined gray-yellow
Mitsubishi Storm a full fifteen minutes
Before driving off - he must have got that
Advice from a sixties manual -
For a neighbor -
Then your living in the Malay-malaise-matrix
Is just about complete, but no, there's more ...

If on being shown a map of KL city,
And asked for directions,
A passerby ignores it and starts
Jabbing with his hand,
Directing with his foot, and
Pointing with his mouth,
Transforming himself into
Instant street puppetry,
Confirmed, he is Abdulla.

If, while slowing down to a halt at the
Sabah-Sarawak Sidumin border post,
You find the booth unmanned,
And you remember moments earlier
The PA system mic was knocked tok-tok,
Followed by a piercing call ...
Settle back for a long wait - the Pegawai,
Being Muslim and Malay,
Has taken a "short" break to pray.

Upon seeing a newly bought anything,
The first thing a Malay wants to hear is
What is its price;
To a Malay knowing the cost
Is a consolation in liew of not having
Or being able to afford the thing;
It also gives him a chance
To up the ante by saying,
"I got the same thing
For a dollar a dozen."

If a Malay acquaintance smiles a friendly smile
And begs you to belanja/treat him/her,
Don't be put off, he's no scrounger,
It was only a friendly icebreaker;
Or maybe he was - a scrounger.

In Sabah, the tactical maneuver is "Pinjam!"
Just say "Yes." That will stop him in his jump.

Other overt curiosity-tripping-on-propriety overtures:
"Where are you from?"
"What is your original village?"
"Where are you going?"
"How much does the fish cost?"
What is that in your bag?"
While the eye darts sharply
To the object in your hand
Like a come-too-close tree frog
Suddenly leaping across your face;
He or she is not being rude or a busybody,
But his need for a positional fix,
A check on his social status,
And sense of group affiliation,
In liew of a social GPS gadgetry,
Got the better of his sense of propriety.

If you chance upon an open community well
And see a woman pouring water over her head,
While being encased in a sarong of modesty,
The water cascading from the top of the head
Down the outside of the sarong sheath,
Hung-draped under the armpits,
Tightened above the breasts,
Don't wonder if the whole body
Ever got the benefit of a wash.

And while you are at it, you
Might also catch sight of
Another kembang gantung
Squashed onto her haunches
Scrubbing clothes on the slippery,
slimy concrete floor underfoot.

If later you see one of these womenfolk,
Now in the kitchen, preparing to gut fish
Directly in the, yes, again, slimy, sink,
Without the benefit of an intervening
Bowl or board, yes, I don't blame you
If your tiered guts start to sink
Into its ground floor.

If you see a person implode into a squat,
Like a being-demolished building,
Or a closing, telescopic umbrella,
He is probably not into sumo or yoga,
But is only a Malay transforming his body into a collapsible sitter,
The way a tortoise uses his shell to form an instant shelter.

If a local insists that you enter his house
And offers you tea and biskut tawar
Or even a plate of rice
Be graceful enough and eat,
Even if you don't feel like it.

At gatherings, if
You see men mix with men,
Women with women,
No, they are not sitting on
Opposite sides of the gay-lesbian divide,
No, they have nothing to hide,
Only their fear of being ostracized.

If you see a driver or motorcyclist
Giving out an apologetic hand signal
Upon overtaking you and then
You notice the same guy
Nonchalantly jumping the queue
At the Rantau Panjang immigration checkpoint,
That's okay too since everybody does it.

If a traffic police asks you
Where you are heading to
Or where you're from,
Instead of just asking for your IC
Or driving license,
Which he will eventually,
Grant him your patience,
He is only stalling,
The better to check your sizing
In his mental CPI -
Criminal Potential Index.

If you see a Malay eating with his hand
Off his own plate and using his grubby fingers
To pick up the shared dish spoon,
That's okay too bcoz everyone does it,
And you are the oddball if you raise Cain.

Don't show your ill-breeding by
Pinching off a spot of food
Which a fly had alighted on,
For Malays and flies have accommodated
Each other in the kitchen and toilet,
Public or private, probably
Even earlier than the day
Munshi Abdullah visited the Terengganu
Kedai Payang wet market in the 1880s.

If you see an extra flick to the hand wave,
More repetitions than due,
Like a car wiper switched on fast,
Or waved at an undue moment,
A bit of added-on lift to the leg raise
In a keen sepak takraw match,
A bit of twang to the English,
A bit more throat to the Arabic,
On a talk show or news presentation,
A little more action in the act,
More acting in the action,
More shriek than lilt,
In the drama minggu depan,
A haughty smirk at a strawman in absentia,
Especially if he sits on a Majlis Fatwa,
Ah, he is a Malay trying to make light
Of a post-colonial sense of being under siege,
Or under a populist and religious vigilance,
A counter stroke to preempt
The generic strike from an honorary enemy,
Or a peace offering to appease
The impending wrath of a traditional authority,
Putting up a veil of virtue,
Or a blind of braggadocio -
Whichever is due.

If you see a Malay working himself up
Into a hairball of denials,
Obfuscations and contradictions,
Especially when it comes to his last stand -
Agama, Bangsa and Negara,
Forgive him,
He is only playing to the gallery -
Which could be himself -
Or just grandstanding
In memory of his late grandfather,
With you as sounding board,
Stepping stone, foil or whatever.

A Malay grandstanding
Is a sight to behold -
Catch a sighting of this crescent moon
At the Umno perhimpunan agong,
Pas muktamar, the kedai kopi kampung,
Serambi surau and now blogpungs -
Mouths frothing,
Neck veins swelling,
Mustache or goatee twitching,
Tone of voice all bangsawan,
Pahlawan or usahawan;
Slogans and cogans,
Words smsing and smashing,
Spewing like bubbles
From the bubur lambuk pot;
Incessant like the tuk-tuk
Of Burung Tukang, the night jar;
Cemerlang, Gemilang, Terbilang,
Glittering this, Towering that,
All to a captive audience listening out flat;
But to Umnouts, Pasouts and other Pak Sauts,
It is just more hollering,
With the same hollow ring,
As in last year's soundings.

If you see a gathering more steeped
In style, ritual and custom
Than spontaneity or substance,
Forgive the Malay adat,
It is only the rolling out of the mat.

If you see a Malay a kris unsheath,
No need to head for the heath,
He is not about to run amok
But only using it to do the talk
His leaking confidence to caulk.

It has not happened yet but don't be surprised,
If one day a self-respecting Malay were to apply for a patent,
The word Allah as an exclusively Malay or Muslim God,
Thus preventing the Christian Kadazandusun in Bundu Tuhan,
Christian Arabs in Beirut,
The Malay Christians in Cebu, and
The Jahiliah Arabs prior to AD 632,
From using it in their prayers too.

And then there's the common practice
of using western products
To denounce western conduct,
Of using a Nokia or Sennheiser
To stop Azhar Mansor
From reaching his sponsor,
Or Bruno Manser
From going back to Penansular.

If you are a Malay celup - as many are,
And mistaken for Chinese, Indian, et cetera,
You will recall many a slight,
To your sense of pride;
If you express a liberal opinion
Just slightly peeking out of the box,
Be prepared to be put on instant trial
By being asked to recite the shahadah
By a footsoldier of your
shared, common khutbah.

A Malay, consumed in his vanity, sees
Any divergence in view or behavior
As a threat or insult to his dignity,
Which by a sleight of solipsism
He calls an insult to Islam!
For the same reason cow dung
Is called King Solomon's dinner
Or the emperor's nakedness
Is called his new clothes!
If the difference is trivial or harmless,
You will be slapped with the label eccentric,
If you disagree a lot and become careless,
You will be tarred a murtad - heretic.

To Christians and Buddhists alike,
A Christian can become a Buddhist,
A Buddhist can become a Christian,
It is a non-issue and does not make news,
But to the highly risible Malay,
Who has put all his eggs in one identity basket,
Even getting an SMS rumor that a Malay
Is about to convert
Will send him and his sahabats
Jumping over the culverts.

There are Muslim Arabs,
There are Christian Arabs,
All dressed up as Arabs,
This could cause many a red face
Among the Malays who are all
Muslims - at least in the peninsula,
Not so in East Malaysia or Indonesia -
When they assume all Arabs, like them,
Share their faith.

Until today the Malays have yet to fill
Their quota of unit trusts allocation,
While the Chinese snap up theirs
In a matter of days if not hours.

Another Malay penchant is the media craze to make
The longest, biggest of a local take
Which the world has never heard of
Like the longest lemang,
And claim it is a world shebang.

If you lend money to a Malay,
Don't hope to get it back,
Near or distant,
Acquaintance or relative,
It is all the same,
It is not in the mindset
Of a Malay to return
A borrowed anything
For "Loan" is only a
Loan word actually meaning
A gift, once given, is gone for good,
Like an arrow released from its bow,
To ask for it back is to
Rot the elbow.

If you look up on the high achievers list,
You'll find occasionally a Malay,
But scroll down the neg stats,
Their representation is out of all
Proportion to the ratio of population;
For a Malay takes to buang anak, ponteng,
Lepak, mat rempit, syabu and conteng
Like flies to a suppurating sore;
Ask him to sail alone offshore,
Play the violin at Albert Hall,
Or gain English mastery,
He will report you to the state mufti
As a suspect for having converted to Christianity.

Whether in politics, marriage, or patronage,
A Malay is at best a fair-weather friend,
When in need, he is hovering near,
When want not,
He is nowhere to be got,
Indeed, a friend in deed
Is a Malay only when in need.
At worst, he will betray you
At the slightest sign of a change
In the climate, political or relational;
When he was down,
He wrapped himself around your ankles,
On the way up, all sweetness,
He used you as a stepping-stone;
Out of the piste,
He showed a clean pair of heels,
Loans, Mara or familial, to date, unpaid,
Passages or the whole script credited
To his PhDship, leaving you the crumbs
Of an unacknowledged manuscript;
Perchance he rose to be a minister or dean
And years later met you again,
You might just catch him saying:
"So you're still alive and kicking!"
As though only he had the extra something
To stay on, while others are done in,
Covering up the soiled spot
Like a tomcat his scat.

A simple matter of applying
For an OKU card can send you headlong
Into a free fall of ten people telling
you ten different things, entailing
Ten trips to ten different counters
At ten different pejabats:
All that right under the promising
Mission statement and work desiderata
Put up by the graphics boys
On the wall for decorum, who,
One suspects, do not care two hoots
About the message in the medium.

That, more or less, is my experience
Of being a detached Malay,
A part of and yet feeling apart
From the Melayu World.