By Malachi Edwin Vethamani
The Old Brickfields
The world changes. Yet, the memories captured and frozen in time, moments that one never thought would come to pass, remain. In my child’s eyes I still see and recall a world that has gone by, the space and the people and all in it that I still love. Brickfields was no remote Indian enclave even in the 1960s. It was about 5 miles from Kuala Lumpur, the capital town. The outside world would soon collide with my small space called Thambapillai Kampung[1] in Brickfields amidst 13th May 1969 race riots and my childhood world would become the past.
We were a small community, a kampung of about 100 households. We were all tenants to a lawyer landlord who charged a small rent to occupy a small portion of his land. It was home to many Indians who were barely scaping for a living above the poverty line. What we lacked in the material world, was made up with a sense of community. It was not perfect, but we co-existed amicably and often looked out for each other.
Thambapillai Kampung composed a good mix of Hindu and Christian families, mostly of Tamil ethnicity, both Indian and Sri Lankan. Mine was a Christian childhood here. The Methodist Tamil Church was a ten-minute walk away from our home. The Hindu temple, Sri Kandaswamy Kovil, at the end of Scott Road was even closer. The kampung is now replaced by condominiums none of us could have afforded, except the lawyer who sold his land for the gentrification of this place. The church and temple still remain.
The Days Before Christmas
Christmas Palagaram-Making
Our house was often the hive of Christmas palagaram making activities. My mother and her group of women friends, Hindu and Christian, all housewives, would plan a schedule on making traditional Indian palagaram[2] like muruku, achimuruku, chippi, neiyi orrundai, monturikottu and sometimes even kalu oorundai (almost as hard as cricket balls). They would take great care to get all the ingredients and make the palagaram from scratch.
Below is an excerpt from my poem ‘A Brickfields Christmas’ that narrates my childhood experience of witnessing this activity over several years:
December descends on us.
Womenfolk, friends of
Amma, Sithi and Paati,
all aunties to us arrive.
Palagaram-making begins.
Muruku, achimuruku, chippi
and neiyee oorundai –
South Indian festive fare.
We wait at the side lines
like cats for scraps.
My elder sisters put their
culinary skills to work.
The fragrance of freshly baked
cookies and cakes
waft through the house,
giving a sweetness
over the usual aroma
of curries in our home.
A festive air spreads
and seeps through the house.
Annual House Spring Cleaning
The days before Christmas fell during the school holidays and we the children were homebound. It was also the time for our big-time annual spring cleaning of our house as part of the preparation for Christmas and new year. All the children were involved in various tasks to clean and repaint the whole house. This is re-counted in the extracts from my poem ‘A Brickfields Christmas’:
It’s November and school’s out.
We are all home-bound.
There’s an excitement
despite the work at hand.
Paint brushes appear
and paint pails sit next to Appa’s bicycle.
The yearly routine is set to begin
in our house.
…
The house waits
like a patient giant
its coat slowly scraped away
and its nakedness to be clothed
by an eight-sibling work team.
Chores allocated according
to seniority and skills.
I am happy to scrape
last year’s peeling paint.
Limestone white
for personal living spaces
ICI blue paint just for the hall.
The worn-down white planks over
the months are slowly lapped up
by paint-laden brushes.
Large black spiders once secure
in crevices now scuttle about.
Plank by plank whiteness emerges.
A new brightness which in time
will wear off once more.
The house smells fresh
and a lightness caresses us.
Annual Christmas Shopping
Our family practice was that all the children would get clothes for the festive season. Three set of clothes one for Christmas eve, Christmas day and New Year’s Day. Amma was the prime mover in all our activities. We would set out to Batu Road (now Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman) to Globe Silk Store and Kishu’s Departmental Stall, for their affordable prices, to buy our shirts. Along the way, we would stop at Central Shoe Shop or Bata to buy our shoes. Taking a break from shopping, we would be treated to murtabak at the famous Kassim Restaurant which was also situated among these shops.
It was also the time of year for buying gifts. For this, my eldest brother, Annan, would accompany us and we would go to Deen’s to buy our board games, toys for building and construction sets and even musical instruments. All these would be gift wrapped and placed under our Christmas tree. Besides our choice of gifts, there would some surprise gifts too.
Appa[3] was busy with his work and left this work to Amma[4]. Being a newsvendor, he had no holidays. He worked every day if newspapers were printed and needed to be delivered to his customers. Yet, he still found time to take the boys to the tailor near our house in Scott Road to get our short pants sewn.
Christmas Decorations for Our Home
The last few weeks, the postman would have brought tens of Christmas cards for the family and individuals who were of card-sending/receiving age. We used to look out for who would get the most greeting cards besides our parents. In the last few Christmases in Brickfields, I was among those assigned to write the greetings and addresses on the Christmas cards before they were sent off to the nearby Brickfields post office. I can remember the many times I wrote: To, Mr & Mrs xxx and fly … Best wishes from Mr & Mrs N Vethamani & fly (short form for family).
A few days before Christmas we would begin putting up the decorations. The cards we received would be strung and hanged on the living room walls using a string to hold them. Balloons were blown and hung in the corners and sides of the living room walls. Finally, the Christmas tree that had been stored away after last year’s celebration would be brought and decorated:
Last year’s Christmas tree
is uncovered from its yearlong dust.
My younger brother and I
hang the glittering trinkets
fearing a drop could shatter
the fragile bells and baubles.
Our friend Ahmad is cutting
out crepe paper and
making streamers.
A golden star crowns our tree.
Annan places the lights
A final touch, Akka sprays the snow.
For the first time that night
the lights come on again.
The multi-coloured twinkling bulbs
complete the advent of Christmas
into our kampung home.
Christmas Eve
Christmas eve marked the height of the festivities for us children. It was a day of giving and sharing. Christmas cheer through palagaram, Christmas goodies. Around five in evening, as the day grew slightly cooler, we would begin the palagaram-giving to our neighbours, both Hindu and Christian. Amma, Paati[5] and my elder sisters would arrange our homemade palagaram on trays. They would be covered with a tray lace.
It was a joyous occasion, carrying trays of goodwill to our neighbours’ homes. We were warmly greeted. Often, the mothers in the neighbours’ houses would receive our gift. They would then take our gift and often leave a small gift, one Ringgit or five Ringgit note even. These cash gifts often thrilled us to no end as it meant more spending money during Christmas. Seeing my elder siblings, even as a child, I knew that I best enjoy what I had as with each passing year the younger ones would take my place. What I didn’t know was how quickly this world would come to an end.
The Christmas tree would be lit in the evening, and our presents lay on the floor below the branches. Annan[6] would be playing Christmas carols on the gramophone. The day would end with playing with crackers and fireworks with my cousins who lived a few doors away. We would wait anxiously for the evening to pass and soon it would be Christmas. We seldom stayed awake till midnight. The excitement through the day wore us out and we were soon in our beds.
Some Christmas eves, our Sittappa[7] would butcher a young goat in his garden. We, children, we were not allowed to see the actual killing of the goat but once it was done, we would watch Sittappa cut and clean the carcass. On Christmas day and the next few days, we would have mutton curry along with mutton tripe, mutton dalcha and other mutton delicacies.
Christmas Day
On Christmas morning, the air was filled with everything fresh and new, the house with its freshly coated paint and all of us in our new clothes. Morning would have started early for Amma, Paati and my elder sisters. They would have started to cook the food for us and our guests who would arrive for our Christmas lunch. Amma was a good cook and all of us and our guests looked forward to her biryani and dishes. Often, we had turkey kurma curry for Christmas lunch. For breakfast we had fruitcake, jam tarts and other palagaram.
Soon it was time to get ready for church. My poem ‘One Christmas Morning’ captures how the day began on a Christmas morning while we lived in Brickfields:
One Christmas Morning
The smell of curries
and familiar kitchen sounds
of Paati, Amma and my sisters
have awakened me.
My younger brother already about
caught up with his presents
opened at midnight by the Christmas tree
has no time for me.
Annan has switched on the gramophone
and Pat Boone sings carols
that he’d be home for Christmas
though not my sister, away in a distant land.
The smells of curries and ghee rice
waft through the house
guests will arrive,
but not yet.
Appa’s come back,
his bicycle still laden with the day’s newspapers
offices closed for the holiday
deliveries can wait another day.
A brother’s in the bathroom,
another awaits his turn,
soon we’d all have bathed
and dressed in our Christmas best.
Ready for church,
a quick walk away.
Now dressed in our Christmas best, we make our way to Church which is a few minutes’ walk. Amma, Paati and my elder sisters in their new sarees, Appa in his new vesti and shirt and we the sons in our new shirts, shorts and shoes. The church would be decorated in festive Christmas colours and among the congregation there was a general sense of joy celebrating Jesus’ birth.
Once the Church service is over and we are back home, the busy hours in our home begins. Our family friends begin to make their way to our home for lunch. We would have gone to their homes for Deepavali and other occasions. We, the children, would have invited some of our friends too and we get to play hosts to them. Annan’s and Akka[8]’s friends and work colleagues and our classmates come calling.
Going to friends’ homes during festive occasions is very much a thing of a past. Malaysians used to invite friends from different races and religions to their homes. Unfortunately, the practice of ‘open house’ slowly declined and has mostly faded. There are no more closely knit communities as when we were in Thambapillai Kampung, Brickfields. Most people seem quite happy to celebrate in neutral places like restaurants where there is no fear of offending religious sensibilities. Muslims want halal food and Hindus should not be served beef. Then there are the vegetarians and the vegans. The spirit of coming together is lost by that which divide us and not celebrate our diversity.
All my Christmases have changed over the decades. Now many years on since the Brickfields Christmases, with our parents having passed away there is no family home Christmases. My siblings have their own families and my sons all grown up and with their own families do not celebrate Christmas either. So, I’m left with the happy memories of my childhood Christmases. Still, it is a happy occasion.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
[1] Malay word for village
[2] Tamil word for snacks, sweets and confectionary
[3] Tamil word for Father
[4] Tamil word for Mother
[5] Tamil word for Grandmother
[6] Tamil word for Elder Brother
[7] Tamil word for Uncle
[8] Tamil word for Elder Sister
Malachi Edwin Vethamani is a Malaysian Indian poet, writer, editor, critic, bibliographer and academic. He is Emeritus Professor with University of Nottingham. More details at : www.malachiedwinvethamani.com
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