My Seed Stories

Being a Malaysian Indian, you can’t help being viewed in public in a stereotyped manner. Nah, I’m not talking about the famous potrayals of the drunken wife-beater image. I’m talking about the wonderful kinks that are prevalent amongst the Malaysian Indian community itself. The kind of things that when it is happening, you can’t help but to break a smile and shake your head. You complain about it, but in your heart, you never want it to be over. What is it about us?

The Malaysian Indian culture is very much different from our ancestral home, England. Err I mean India. What better place to learn about the Indian culture if not for an Indian weddings?

My ancestor. Lord Blackballs

Forget Malaysian timing. The Indian timing is far superior (in a warped sense). You’ll receive a wedding invitation for 7.30pm. We Indian men have to pester our wives, girlfriends, mothers or sisters to get ready ASAP while they were deciding on whether to wear 5 kilos or 7 kilos of jewelery. Your battalion (yes, Indians call big groups of other Indians a battalion) arrives there at 8pm to find yourself being among the first 10 or 20 people there who end up waiting till 8.45 for the actual ceremony to start.

All the jewelery and saree shops from Jalan Tengku Kelana, Klang (Rembau Street) have their representatives there, judging by the amount of gold necklaces and rings and “pattu” sarees present. As as soon as the groom ties the 3rd knot on the “thali”, you’d be fighting with 200 grown men and women to get in queue for the buffet line. Then you’d be fighting with another 100 people to get in the queue to give your gifts or envelopes to the newly married couple. Ahhhhh… aren’t weddings beautiful?

Jalan Tengku Kelana, Klang. You can either rob this place, or any indian wedding scene. No difference.

Ever went to an Indian cultural show in any of Malaysia’s premier (or lowly) universities? Probably the main reason young adult males flock there is to feast their eyes upon young adult females. You’d see immaculately dressed men (pressed shirts and pants, with blazers) together with idiotically dressed men (bleached hair contrasting a dark complexion, silver studs, red or yellow shirt, faded jeans and Ronald MacDonald shoes)  trying to swoon glamorous ladies while the performance music is blasting your eardrums to Mars.

The performances lined up are spectacular, to say the least. You have one measly Bharathanatyam dance for 10 minutes, followed by an hour and a half of Malaysia’s finest Tamil hip-hop outfits. Very cultural indeed. Oh, did I forget the customary samba rock song from The Keys towards the end of the show? But you never stop to think twice, because it is our brand of entertainment, and God forbid you should ever deny them. You end up having a blast at the show and go home happily.

A must-have for cultural events.

Indians love going on vacations. My dad has a dream vacation like most of the members of his generation. Nope, it’s not sauntering in Paris cafes with the Eiffel Tower as the ultimate backdrop. It’s taking a flight to India, hopping on a rickety bus with 20 other people and go for a tour of the great temples of India (with him being a Hindu). Everyone comes back home a month later with a broken foot or hand after being trampled by the vicious mob there. They also would gladly give bribes to temple guards to give them “express” access for prayers, yet come home complaining how the police here took 50 bucks from them as “duit kopi”. How many elderly Malaysian Indians have that dream? More than half of the population, I’d say.

I simply do not understand when someone calls that a “vacation”. But we, as their children, have the unwritten rule and  “duty” to send them on such a pilgrimage. And no matter how much you’d think that was a stupid endeavour, at the end, no matter what, you’d have a sense of pride on your accomplishment. That can never be understood, and there is no need to. Thank God AirAsia now has a lot of Indian routes.

My dream vacation. Amsterdam. This is how you window-shop. Legalized prostitution. And Weed. But hey, that’s just me.

The education culture among Malaysia Indians is still something very important. I’d bring back home a 98% on my maths test, and I get the best congratulatory wish ever. “What happenned to that other 2%?” Yeah, I know. It’s priceless. You get 2nd place among 40 students, and they ask you, “Why cannot get No.1?” I’m all smiles now. We all know now that they were proud at that moment. You should’ve heard your grandma tell the neighbour about her grandson. 3 months later, a relative that you’ve never seen before comes before you at a wedding, pinches your chubby cheek, and exclaims “OOOOoo…. such a smart kid…! You got 98% for maths huh? Gooooood. Wanna become an engineer when you grow up?” . Most Malaysian Indians only know of 3 jobs that can guarantee you a secured future: doctor, engineer, and lawyer. At least that’s what most grandmothers think.

Come home with me. My grandma would love you and ignore me.

Stay tuned for the next part of the seedy guide to Malaysian Indians.