The Silent Room

“That’s the problem, you see,” laments my newly-acquainted friend. “You can’t do anything without having your neighbours talk shit about you,” he continued, taking another sip from his health-conscious teh tarik kurang manis while holding a smoking ticket to a coronary bypass [or probably lung transplant] surgery between the fingers of his left hand.

He’s obviously facing some trouble with neighbourhood gossip, there.

“My immediate neighbour works a government job, rents his house and drives an Iswara. I bought my house and drive a Honda Civic, whilst being unemployed – and he made a big ruckus about this to the other men at the surau! Can you believe that?”

For the unfamiliar, middle-aged Malay men are sad creatures who gossip just as bad as their female counterparts. They are only slightly worse at it as the men gossip at places of worship, of all places.

My fresh new buddy, let’s call him Abang Din, is a self-employed man, so to speak. He doesn’t run a business or anything, but instead he is a true freelancer. In his late forties, he has earned decent paychecks doing various odd jobs throughout his life.

He has built houses, workshops and bridges. He has fixed plumbings, wirings and has even repaired and modified vehicles ranging from personal cars to commercial buses and industrial backhoes. Yes, Abang Din is a ‘very, very skilled man‘, or so my mechanic whispered to me across the mamak table. Every time he did that, his words were masked by puffs of smoke that drifted toward my face. He could afford to goof around with us because the parts he ordered for my repairs have yet to arrive.

Abang Din detailed his story further, “He’s employed, earning a palatable salary and lives in sub-par modesty. I live without any steady income and still manage to school my kids, and enjoy some simple luxuries. I’d have no problems taking them out to McD or Pizza Hut every once in a while,”

I chuckled slightly at that remark. Abang Din was definitely not the first hardworking and resourceful Malay man I’ve shared a table with. Reflecting upon this, I took comfort in the fact that there is hope of salvation and redemption for the Malay race, yet.

“So he questions where I get my money. Not only that, he’s made other men in the whole kampung question me. What the hell do I tell him, then? Aku jual dadah lah, itu sebab aku kaya! Aku tanam ganja belakang dapur aku!”

Everyone at the table broke into a merry laughter and my mechanic took a long draw from his hand-rolled cigarrette before he picked up the conversation amidst the happy noise.

“Alaa…Malay neighbours are like that. It’s hardwired into their brains, saturated in their blood. They are programmed to be busybodies.”

The lively chatter went on as another fellow related his version of neighbourhood gossip madness. Stories include jealousy over neighbours who competed among themselves, beginning with the guy who bought a 32″ television set, and another who bought a 34″, and another one who announces that he would get a 40″. Then there was the story about the neighbour who bought a piano, and the next day another neighbour set up a lawn chair and relaxed on it with the mouthpiece of a shining golden saxophone planted to his lips.

Towards the end of the sax story, Abang Din rolled another cigarette for himself and flicked alight a borrowed neon pink Alladin lighter, his callous thumb pinning down the gas lever with an unconscious muscle twitch. I watched as the little flame flickered gently in the cool midday breeze that swept through the shabby mamak stall, sending whiffs of fragrant and delicious-smelling roti canai down our olfactory canals.

The tip of the rough-looking roll burnt a bright amber as Abang Din drew a long breath through the scented tobacco shavings. Exhaling a satisfied trail of second-hand smoke, he gave me a sideways glance and a mischievous grin.

“That’s why, kid. If you’re ever gonna buy or rent a place, be sure to look out for Chinese neighbours. They make better friends and their dogs would bark if someone tried to break into your house, too.”

And there was nothing I could say to that.