W for Wong

Wong started vending dumplings from baskets balanced on a bamboo pole in the vicinity of Malacca port. His Cantonese taste buds had been triggered to localising the savoury steamed dumplings of his country to a sweet version made from rice flour and shredded coconut laced with gula Melaka.


The essential ingredient, gula Melaka, was the sap extracted from date palm flowers, boiled till thickened then poured into bamboo tubes for that extra aroma. Mixed with coconut, the result was a  comforting chocolaty treat.

As business grew, he had more money to spend on ingredients. "Why only  have coconut on the inside of the dumpling?" he thought. "Coconut has such a refreshing crunch when raw, I will coat the dumpling with freshly grated coconut." These furry dumplings sold like hot cakes.


The next generation dumplings took on a colour change. Rice flour cooked with Pandanus leaf imparted a green colouration and a distinctive herbal  flavour. The ladies were enchanted with the attractive green.


Despite brisk sales, Wong felt the dumpling had not reached perfection. He thought and thought and asked for feedback from his customers. Some admitted that being parched from a day of hauling cargo, the dumpling was rather dry and tended to stick in the throat.


A dumpling moment hit him. Fresh grated coconut outside, soft chewy green envelope: check. To avert the dryness of the bolus, he would replace the caramelised coconut centre with a liquid centre of gula Melaka instead. The result was a runaway success. People were queuing for not one or two dumplings, but packs of 6 or twelve.


Nothing missed Wong's keen eye. He noticed no one talked while eating. They stood or sat seriously contemplating their snack, waiting for the 'pop' of syrupy liquid goodness to ooze out, sensuously glide over the chewy green gelatin and then slosh onto the freshly grated coconut. Some even closed their eyes savouring the experience.


Regulars would educate new customers with a smile, "You must keep your mouth closed while you eat, otherwise  you may squirt sugary delight onto the person in front of you."


And that's the story of Wong and his dumplings and how within a year he secured the lease for the coffee shop on Jonker Street.  
   

V for Vishwalingam

The rubber estates of Malaya would not have been a success story if not for the South Indian labour force brought in by the British from the 19th century.

Vishwalingam and his cousin Raju were second generation rubber tappers, their fathers having started the family move to Malaya from Madras. The East India Company fleet not only traded in valuable spices from the Far East, but with the establishment of the rubber plantations, manual labour was transported over as well.

David loved Malaya. He was home schooled by his mother and never went to England for his studies, unlike his brother Henry. His knowledge of the people and the land was acquired from his Malayan upbringing and hands on experience in the estate.

David loved his nanny. Osman Baharom, the Malay houseboy was employed to clean, cook and look after the boys when they were young. He was David's only true companion all those long months when mother, father and Henry were abroad for months on end. He always thought it odd that his name was David Bradwall, when he felt more like a Daud Baharom.

As he grew older he found his feelings change from brotherly to not so brotherly any more. It developed overnight, almost, when he overhead his mother telling his father that Osman was getting married. His family had found him a wife in the village, a padi farmers daughter. That would mean he would have to work on his father-in-laws land. This news troubled David and kept him awake for nights aching for some form of physical consolation from his soon-to-be-lost companion and friend.

David was given the task of managing the labourers of the estate. The Indian labour line quarters, at the edge of the estate, were complete with housing, a Tamil language school and a dispensary for minor ailments.

His monthly inspection visits exposed him to the rubber tappers and their way of life. Young men like Vishwalingam and Raju had never set foot in their homeland, just as he had not, and could only rely on stories from their father and co-workers on the estate to learn about Tamil Nadu. The women folk kept the food and cultural traditions strong in the community.

One visit, he was passing the quarters towards the school. It was 7 in the morning. All the adults should be out tapping. They only get back by 10 before it is too hot, then out again at 3 to 7 before dark.

He heard heavy breathing and movement as if two people were struggling. He peeped through the louvres of the window and saw two glistening bodies wrestling on the floor. The rattan mat beneath them was awry and wrinkled, and yet this continual wrangling of bodies persisted.

He caught the side of a face. It was Vishwalingam. The other boy, was pinned down and had submitted.

David silently crept away. The visual kept playing and replaying in his head, excited and aroused as he found he savoured the experience.

He called Vishwalingam to his office the next week. "Vishwa, I want you to learn some clerical work. I need help in the office. You will be my assistant. You start tomorrow."

Vishwa visibly confused and thrown by this order asked "Sir may I ask why? I have brought in my share of latex everyday, have I not, Sir?"

"No, no it's nothing like that. You are one of the few who can read and write, and your English is not bad. So I have chosen you to help me in the office, that's all. You start tomorrow."

Vishwa turned and walked away, but David only saw the sweaty glistening tight back. 

U for Sungei Ujong

Sungei Ujong, or River's End, somewhere north of Malacca, was a busy river port for the Federated Malay States. A tin-mining centre surrounded by acres of rubber plantations kept it thriving. A railway line linked the northern part of the country from Penang down to Singapore running through Sungei Ujong, but not Malacca.

During one of his monthly visits to the Indian labour line quarters at the edge of the plantation, David Bradwall made a startling discovery.

"Raju did you do this?" he had asked in surprise when he spotted stuffed squirrels, birds and musang, a local breed of small fox, adorning Raju's room.  

"Yes Mista Daveed. Tuan, I hope I have done nothing wrong. I found the animals dead in the estate. Back in Madras, my grandfather used to teach me how to preserve the animals in their natural form as they have beautiful fur and feathers. I will bury the animals if it offends you, Tuan."  

"Raju, you gem! I have been thinking of getting someone from England to do exactly this. Now I have you! Capital!"

"Capital? Yes Madras is the capital of Tamil Nadu, Mista Daveed, but what has that got to do with my stuffed animals?" Raju recovered quickly, wobbling his head from side to side.

"No, no...I mean, jolly good show old chap. Now Raju, you will be promoted to master trainer of taxidermy for our Natural History Museum. Your rubber tapping days are over my friend."

Before Raju could say 'Madras is the capital of Tamil Nadu' in his dreams, his new apprentice, in the form of Mista Ee, arrived from Malacca. "A China man! Amma!" Raju called out to his deceased mother's spirit in vain.

"Is it not difficult enough to make Mista Daveed understand what I am saying, now I have to teach a China man who speaks no English or Tamil how to stuff animals. Ah yo yo." Raju berated to himself.  

David Bradwall was a master strategist. His regular expeditions in to the jungle had been successful and safe thanks to the aboriginal guides he used for trekking. The Orang Bukit or hill people, were the nymphs of the rain forest, familiar with the birds and animals and their habitat. 


Although they travelled with blow pipes, it was a sacred principle that they only kill when in need of food. Mostly they lived off fruits and herbs of the jungle.


David Bradwall's plan was to learn about the rain forest and all its treasures from the Orang Bukit. Following herds of elephants, tracing the paths of tigers and scouting for mouse deer, tapir and bears were exciting and informative. Dead animals found on their forays would be preserved and brought back for the taxidermists and their handiwork.  

The first Natural History Museum of Malaya was well on the way to becoming a reality.

T for Taxidermy

Mista Ee had spent the last five years in Malacca, Malaya, working hard at making a living and finding his niche in this life he had chosen. Under the good auspices of coffee shop owner Wong, he had a smooth start. He met people from all walks of life; traders from China, India, Java, Arabia and Europe. 

There was plenty of talk of work in the tin mines up north in Ipoh and Kuala Lumpur. Some how, he felt a connection with Malacca and decided to stay put. He took on early morning chores collecting and delivering laundry to and from dhobi shops. Bicycle business was booming and there was always a need for handy repairmen. 

English planters dropped in at the Jonker Street coffee shop when they came to town for supplies. They had managed the rubber estates and tea plantations for many years. Some had even married local women after their English wives returned home as they were unable to cope with life in the tropics minus many of the finer things in British life they felt they deserved.

Henry Bradwall, second generation planter in Malaya, studied in Eton and Trinity College, Cambridge. After training as an accountant in England, he returned to Kuala Lumpur to join the family firm. Henry had a keen interest in natural history of the rain forest. His brother, David, led expeditions into the jungles of Pahang and the Main Range, the mountainous spine running down the peninsula studying the wild life and birds. Every second month, the brothers would find themselves in the Jonker Street coffee shop catching up with local businessmen. 

The Bradwalls had decided to set up a Natural History Museum. They wanted to document the taxonomy of the flora and fauna in Malaya, as well as the birds and wild life. This visit they were looking for a couple of capable men to train as taxidermists. Mista Ee always served the Bradwalls their coffee just they way they liked it, boiling hot, no sugar. His ears perked up.

"Mista David, I want to learn taksee-dermee. What ees dat?" he asked showing interest in this word he had never heard before. When it was explained to him he nodded violently, "I see hunters in Canton province bring furs for trading. They buy for this - stuffing dead animal skins."

David, impressed by his enthusiasm and basic understanding of the process, jumped at the chance of his first volunteer. "When can you start Ee? Let me talk to your boss ok?"

To keep his important customer happy, Wong released his loyal employee, pleased that the young man could learn a new skill, taxidermy.  

That night, too revved up to sleep, Mista Ee came to a realisation. It is so important to be surrounded by the right people, good people, to have a chance to move ahead in life. 

S for Song Leng

Song Leng was waiting for him at the Guangzhou dock with her parents. 


At twenty seven, Song Leng  was well past marrying age and not a prime target for a suitor. Life as the eldest in a family of four girls left her working as apprentice to her father, a traditional dentist. The younger siblings were married off one after the other to young men in the Guangzhou province.


A chance meeting with a match maker on the look out for girls who wished to travel overseas to be married set her mother in a tizzy. "Song Leng is a clever girl and has a promising future as a traditional dentist. She is beautiful in a strong way."


The match was agreed upon and the anxious parents had to wait a full year to get some sense of whether the arrangement would be accepted.


Meanwhile Song Leng completed her apprenticeship. As a farewell and wedding present, her father gave her a complete set of dental instruments and paraphernalia to set up a surgery in her new home.

Mista Ee had spent the last five years in Malacca working hard at making a living and finding his niche in this life he had chosen. It was time to get married and start a family. The match making process was a long drawn out one, but nevertheless a well tested system even in this remote port. The monsoon season brought not only traders and goods to the shores of Malacca, but also news of a successful match.


Elated, he planned his return trip to visit his parents and most of all meet his bride. He was told her name was Song Leng. A good sturdy name. He tried to put a face to the name but it was hard. He hoped she would be good looking, clean and of course fertile. He couldn't deny he was rather wary that she was a dentist. 


"Maybe she would be too smart for me and think I am unlearned" Mista Ee speculated. "But on the plus side, she could fix my teeth for free" he grinned, exposing his discoloured teeth. "It would definitely be useful to have a dentist in the house" he thought feeling pleased with himself. 


Now that day had arrived. He had imagined this day for months. He scanned the crowd. It was impossible to guess. "But wait, her name was Song Leng which means beautiful mountain. I will look for a strong beautiful girl who is to be my wife."


His eyes landed on a tall woman with a strong jaw line and large dark eyes. Her nose was flatter and wider than he had imagined, but overall she was pleasing to the eye. He marched up confidently to her father and bowed respectfully.


"Song Leng?" he ventured. She raised her lowered eyes and smiled. He knew he had found her. 

R for Ruhsar

Ruhsar, which means 'cheeks make a beautiful face', was a fashion savvy girl from the get go, voted most likely to be a fashion designer at her high school prom. 

Well it all happened as it was meant to. From fashion design college to family textile business, Ruhsar  learnt the ropes of the textile trade from scratch and was good at it. 

A reunion with high school friends was a turning point in her life and career. Of course she did fall in love with Kopi, but she also saw the advantages. An up and coming politician in Istanbul would be her ticket out of the sticks of Konya to the high fashion metropolis. She was attracted to his serious nature and naive ways when it came to love making, refreshing after the raw country boys who craved after her.

Their whirlwind romance of four months ended in a flamboyant traditional wedding in Konya and a terse, she felt, formal reception at the Parliament restaurant in Istanbul. Political big wigs and potential donors. One guest stood out for Ruhsar, prominent media moghul, Dogan of Dogan Holdings, Turkey's own Rupert Murdoch. He had been accompanied by his daughter Zhuhan, the active spinner of the Dogan empire. 

Ruhsar made an impact on Zhuhan Dogan, by her choice of designer wear for the reception, Ice Edge of Bursa. With a name sounding more like a rapper, this young designer was the current rave and Zhuhan was duly impressed. 

The two struck up a friendship. Teas moved on to lunches and within four months Ruhsar was taken on as an assistant editor of Harper's Bazaar Turkey. 

Kopi and Ruhsar worked hard at their careers, harder than at their marriage. Both travelled frequently and separately. Their last holiday together was never. Children were not part of the equation, which was just as well.

Returning to Konya after a seven year hiatus hit a nostalgic note. Perhaps it was seeing her school friends married with a houseful of children, her parents still so much in love with each other and the old cafe where she and Namuk used to hang out, reminded her of something she was missing.

She recalled the brief but intense interlude with Namuk back in college days. It had been a summer love, memorable for its poetic walks in the plains of Cappadocia when young hearts seem to beat as one.

The fact that she had slept with her husbands' best friend never bothered her. After all Namuk was then, Kopi is now.

Namuk joined her for a drink that night, not at the old cafe, but a new jazz bar. They talked about her work, his writing and Kopi's political aspirations. It all sounded pretentious. The writer had lost his words and she had lost her flair. 

They went back to his apartment, which she knew was a mistake, feeling the way she did. They never did have that night cap in the end.  

Q for Quraishah

Quraishah studied in a Convent school in Kuala Lumpur, got married after her Higher School Certificate when she was seventeen and a half, followed her husband to London while her studied law, kept house and had five children.

Now the wife of the Minister of Justice, five children and their six spouses and 12 grandchildren later, she was loving the hectic schedule of chairing board meetings of her pet charities, attending Ministers' wives lunches and high-teas, meeting foreign dignitaries and travelling the world.

Life became much sweeter when her husband was conferred an honorific title for his service to the country. Quraishah cherished her title Datin Seri, more than her mothers' set of 12 solid gold bangles handed down to her. The title, crudely equated to mean 'mini Lady', opened up doors to the echelons of society that would otherwise have remained closed. 

After one of many visits to Istanbul, Quraishah, decided to put her 6000 square foot space in a swanky  shopping mall to good use and earn back her investment. Malaysians love the spa experience. "We have Thai, Ayuverdic, Swedish, Chinese. Why not a Turkish hamam?"

She had done her homework and after surveying many hamams in Istanbul and Bursa, she decided to set up a business meeting with the owner of Cagaloglu Hamam, a successful hamam, only a stones throw away from the Blue Mosque.

Mr Onan was surprised to get a call for an appointment. Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur? He had seen TV advertisements of Malaysia Truly Asia and smiling faces, but it was just another place that he was not likely to visit. 

An entourage arrived at the appointed time to lay the ground rules and explain the protocol expected. Mr Onan should not offer to shake hands, but must be sure to use the correct address. Da-tin Se-ri was enunciated slowly for Mr Onan to repeat. "Dah-teen She-ree" he attempted, finding it difficult to twist his tongue over the teens and the shrees. 

Mini Lady arrived forty-five minutes later. Introductions over, the business plan was proposed. An 80-20 % partnership was proposed by the Datin Seri quoting the fact that it was her premises and that she was a prominent member of KL society.

Never under estimate a Turkish businessman. "Madam" he said forgetting the Datin Seri title, "without me, Onan, 20 years in the hamam business you have nothing. I know the design, steaming system and the skills of the girls, the masseurs, like the back of my bald head", and for effect slapped the back of his now sweaty bald head. 

Entourage quivered, waiting for mini Lady to lose it. He didn't address her as Datin Seri!

Quraishah shifted in her seat. "Mr Onan, yes, you do have a point. Perhaps a visit to Kuala Lumpur as my guest will convince you that my proposal is a good opportunity for our two countries to start a business."  

Entourage sighed with admiration. DS averted a diplomatic crisis. She doesn't have an MBA but she sure can sweeten a deal!