Malaysian Moment

Even though Malaysia’s KL didn’t satisfy my oh-so-refined tastes in cityscapes and urban planning and activities, KL is home to one of the finest moments in human kindness and is responsible for one of my dearest Southeast Asian memories. That is, on top of all mishaps that went on there (the three trips to KL’s busiest, most famous electronics shopping centre for a new netbook cable being just the tip of the iceberg of lost patience and nerve wrecking Malaysian experiences) providence, the gods, karma or whatever, gave me a short but fulfilling occurrence in return.

After the daily afternoon rain, I was aimlessly wandering on the capital's streets when I decided I needed some nourishment, preferably in the form of meat-less food; as much as I love Indian food, the choices at hand were not to my timely tastes or to my budget at hand and the Chinatown market was missing one important element, that is the owner of the food stall that fed me the previous days a choice of fried noodles or fried rice, him being the only one as all the other cooks don’t serve much except meat in various shapes, sizes and combinations. So I headed away from the market (some might call it an open-air food court barricaded on all sides by little Chinese kitchens on wheels), and found a nice corner place where my culinary requests were understood and were about to be met.

The place was crowded, packed to the ceiling with hopeful locals who stormed through their foods and left, only to make room for more hungry people, but I played my tourist card and claimed a whole table for myself and my trusty sidekick, THE KINDLE, and waited (somewhat impatiently) for the noodles to make their way towards my eager appetite. As seats were hard to get, an elderly lady politely asked if she could sit down and I happily offered her a choice of four or five seats waiting for someone bold enough to sit with the tourist.

She sat down and insisted on engaging me in an extensive interview, as if she was there to give me a full psychotherapeutic assessment: where I came from; what I do; where I’ve travelled and where I wanted to go next; what religion I was and how many siblings I had. I scrupulously answered every question to my best abilities, not forgetting to mention how sorry I was for not having enough time for a proper visit of her home country and city. She was thrilled by my interest in her life and home and proceeded to tell me how, after the recent passing away of her husband, she visited her daughter in Hong Kong:

‘It was beautiful, but I don’t want to go again. It was too tiring, too confusing... You must be so brave to travel alone...’

‘Well, if I meet people like yourself, it’s a pleasure to travel...,’ I retorted.

We went on chatting until she paused:

‘I must buy you a tea. You know, the tea here is great, not too sweet... usually, everywhere else they serve tea that’s too sweet...’

I tried to refuse as politely as possible because I felt she was already being too nice but mostly because I like tea as much as cats like to take baths; but there was no way she’d back down. So I got the tea.

‘Do you like it? Drink, drink. It’s not too sweet, is it?’

‘Oh, no, it’s great, thank you!’ I said gulping down another mouthful of black tea with milk, just to get the thing over with. Honestly, it wasn’t all that bad, except for the taste of, well, tea.

‘Be careful not to burn yourself.’

Still, she wasn’t happy. She seemed to be thinking; she looked around in her handbag and handed me a bag of fruit candy. She insisted I take it, the candy being a great energy booster, yet, again, not too sweet. She’d only opened the bag a couple of hours before so I could be sure they weren’t expired. And they were sooo good... Refusing her was not an option. So I ceremoniously took the bag, thanking her the best I could, all the while making a mental inventory of the contents of my bag so I could return the gesture, alas to no avail. I thought she would leave after finishing her tea, but she proceeded to explain to me where the most beautiful Kuala Lumpur temples were, which I surely must visit. And still, her kindness was not over: she rummaged through her bag again and this time she produced a half a dozen of nicely wrapped drugs.

‘This you might need,’ she said showing me the drugs. ‘They’re antihistaminics. Very expensive so don’t throw them away. If you have a headache or stomach problems you can use them. But not more than one at a time.’

‘You’re too kind and I thank you very much, but I have a lot of medicine...’

‘Oh, no, no. You must take them. Here. I have some more. And I’ll give you these as well. Here’s ten of them. Use them. You travel a long time so you need them.’

By this time I was half impressed and half embarrassed and just a tiny little bit sceptical about the wonder-drugs that I couldn’t say anything but thank her again. Refusing was, as you might have guessed, still out of the question.

‘Well, I have to go now,’ she said. ‘Don’t pay for the tea, I will handle it. Don’t let them charge you for it. Tourists get into this kind of trouble so be careful.’ But she didn’t get up. She looked tired and lonely. But she was determined to be the best spokesperson for a country I hadn’t enjoyed so much until then.

‘Can I give you something?’ she asked.

‘Oh, you gave me so much already, I couldn’t...’

‘Oh, no, wait. I told you I was a Buddhist? Well, I want to give you something for protection, something you can take with you.’ and she searched around for a small string bracelet in her wallet. ‘I make these,’ she said holding the bracelet with both hands. ‘It will help you, I’m sure... Can I tie this on your bag?’ Of course, I agreed and she tied a wonderful bow on the side of my bag and petted it lovingly, blessing it while doing so. Finally, she was satisfied. And so was I. But the smile on her face while soundlessly chanting a small mantra when she tied the strings on the bag was the best gift she gave me.