Of Laksa, Sate, the Rich, and the Children

As I stepped out of the car, a rush came over me. The hustle and bustle – the myriad of noises; different people talking loudly in different languages, children crying or throwing tantrums trying to get attention – and of course, the very strong smell of various Malaysian cuisine. But I was very, very comforted by all this. Indeed, it seemed like ages since I last stepped into my neighbourhood pasar malam (night market).

Ah yes, the first thing I did was look for my favourite assam laksa stall to see if they had been sold out (it was minutes to nine, and yes, they do sell out pretty fast). I almost squealed with glee when I saw the familiar face manning the stall (gosh, it has been THAT long! My, my, he’s grown a lot older… ha-ha marriage does lots of “wonders” to the human anatomy :P)

We (Dad, bro and me) took a detour to the sate stall first, bought 20 sticks, then went over to enjoy them with the Laksa Nan (never asked them ‘bout the name). Ooooh, the fat rice noodles swimming in the warm, sour-spicy fish soup… Heaven! This laksa is undoubtedly the best I’ve ever tasted!


And the memories came flooding into my mind. Throughout the 11 years I was schooling in BM, every Monday was my family’s “Laksa Night”. All five of us would walk there (unless we had lots of things to buy), then head straight to the laksa stall. After having our tummies filled to the brim (yep, slurped every last bit of the soup), we’d buy some sate and have them while shopping for fruits… wow, really miss those days…

While I was reminiscing and enjoying my laksa, a man walking past us, whom I recognised to be quite well-off, was greeted loudly by a passer-by. He was decked in a white top and a pair of shorts (both top and bottom appeared quite aged). Then I thought, “this is one of the few places where people just let go of their busy, uppity life- just to enjoy the little things in life. The reputed doctor in his shorts and tee, the wealthy business man decked like the Ah Pek at the market… this made me smile. Again, I was comforted by the simple life that not only the people who visit the pasar malam, but the people who live in peaceful yet lively neighbourhoods like mine… the wealthy always take time out to enjoy life (I always greet the Uncles and Aunties when they pass by my house during their almost-daily evening walks, either by themselves, with their spouses/pet dogs/children/grandchildren).

Which reminds me; a lot less children come to the playground across my house these years. I figured their evenings were filled with unnecessary “tuition classes” (oh, for God’s sake, they’re YOUNG CHILDREN!). How I had a blast when I was a child! We three siblings would rush to the playground at the stroke of four, disregarding our mom’s warnings of skin cancer (hot sun bla bla bla). The best part was playing with children we met for the first time. We didn’t need to invite, they didn’t need t ask. No introductions as well; just loads of fun! It did not matter who he/she was, or what language they could (or could not) speak. Many games we played. Some were passed down by older children; some invented by our own. Yes, “ice-and-water”, “Buaya (alligator)”, “pepsi cola”, “aci-ligan-duduk”, and my personal favourite- dodgeball! Wow, the more, the merrier! (also more challenging). We’d run and squeal and laugh so much, and then some more! I really don’t think I’d survive a second without panting myself blue in the face if I attempt that now. (gosh, up to now, my stamina right now is at its all-time low. Thank God for Tasik Komanwel; now I’m picking up… I hope.

I’ve reached the bottom of the deep plate on the unstable portable table beside the electricity generator. The sate sticks are clean, and the cucumber slices have settled in my stomach. Now, if I could just lift myself off my chair…