Stories from Malaysia
The Indian-Muslim masters of cendol A bowl of cendol pulut is a must. Rojak is optional. Time to head home and take a nap, I asked him for the total in Malay. He replies in Tamil. I start fishing for coins from my wallet. Haven't see you in awhile. How's your mother? he asks. She's …
Brilliant colours of blue, light grey, pastel pink, golden yellow smeared across the sky, shifting as quickly as the wind hurries the clouds. One frame morphing into another, no two moments are alike. I share the birthing morning with coconut trees, boulders and sand, moist from last night's high tide. Unfamiliar, nameless faces cross my …
A bus stop is the worst place to ponder on the purpose of life and existence. In fact it's the worst place for any thought at all. Lengthy ones are usually interrupted by the arrival of the bus and short ones only make the wait increasingly unbearable. It is best to simply exist, as if …
Earlier this afternoon, I sat on the RapidKL bus from the city back to Ampang. As I was walking back to my car, parked quite a distance away from the bus stand, I bumped into three schoolboys. They must have been brothers, with the eldest maybe 9 or 10 years old and the youngest maybe …
Mahen Bala 