reduced and recycled

“So they are no longer two, but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let no man separate.” - Matt.19:6

I’m trying to figure out how best to record one of the happiest days of the year. The last time I was down in KL was in December for some national convention thing (which, it turns out now, is complete bullshit), and I was with friends and colleagues. This time I was down in KL for real… it’s as if being down in KL is only ever for real when I meet up with my relatives. My apologies to howsy for not being able to turn up although I was not far from the bum2007 location.

that deathroad past Senawang
The rest of my family was asleep as I drove past the exit to Senawang. It wasn’t so late, but nights on the highway are deep, and the lights of cars speeding away from me looked like will o’ wisps rushing onward to heed some unknown call. The sound of the car’s engine struggling to churn out horsepower was loud, a hoarse roar above the deeper bass of the sound of tyres on tarmac.

It took me a few minutes to realize how dangerously close I was to concrete barriers on my left. The construction of a third lane meant preventing cars and buses inadvertently driving into excavated profiles waiting to be filled with road tar. I swerved away, keeping a steady hand on the steering wheel while blinking against the glare of my headlights reflecting off of overtaking buses and cars.

I never trusted bus drivers; I knew firsthand how they drove, and didn’t want to imagine what a combination of sleep-deprivation and reckless abandon could do to other road users. Road users like me. A bus in front of me kept swerving in and out of lane, as if the driver was unsure if he should believe the demarcation of lanes painted onto the road.

“Holy shit!” I said, and woke my mum.

“What?” she said.

“That bus. Do you know how close it is to those concrete barriers?” I said. She leaned forward and peered at the unsteady bus.

“You better slow down,” she said, sitting back.

“Slow down? Not just ‘slow down’. I want to get some distance between the bus and the car. Can you imagine what’ll happen if it knocks into one of those things?” I said.

“Slow down,” she repeated.

before the doors of the church
My relatives, my aunts and uncles and cousins descended on us like a wave of saris and batik shirts and double-breasted jackets and flowers. I was quiet and slightly overwhelmed by the size of the crowd coming at us, with faces I recognized and which didn’t change with the years. It wasn’t just a wedding but a reunion, a gathering of cousins and uncles and aunties who’ve all grown older.

I was lost in a sea of smiles and backslaps. It made up for the faces that weren’t there, and the faces that wouldn’t be around anymore.

“Why is it we only get to see you during weddings and funerals?” my uncle asked me. At fifty, he still looked dashing and he smiled easily. His kids were all working already and they weren’t the kids who came over and played with our Lego toys anymore.

I didn’t know what to say. “I will come down this Christmas,” I said, smiling. I mean to keep that promise.

the dismal choir
“The choir’s horrible!” my cousin said. She leaned closer and whispered, “all old ladies!” I was about to make some quip about how everybody aged when the priest began reciting the nuptial rites. I never quite understood how a priest, standing with hands outstretched over a couple, could confer that special grace of being married. The heat made me drowsy, and I had rolled up my sleaves, and fanned myself. I imagined power in waves pouring out from the priest’s palms like they do in old comic books.

It wasn’t long before the ladies began singing again. I looked past the seated guests and saw the four ladies that made up the choir. They wore loose-fitting cassocks that made them look like orange teepee’s. I couldn’t help chuckling.

The priest had just pronounced his blessings and declared my cousin and his bride man and wife. He lifted her veil and kissed her. The sound of applause was thunderous, and I turned and looked and saw the whole church filled with people. I had never seen so many people at a church wedding before.

And then the choir took up another song.

I saw my aunt wince and shake her head. I laughed and said, “Wah, the choir’s fantastic, ya?”

the one about that crush
My cousin and I hefted the gifts and made our way to the elevators. The reception was underway and I didn’t want to miss it. It was turning out to be a beautiful evening. I felt in my pocket for the groom’s keycard and took it out, inserted it in a slot in the elevator and we were on our way.

“Bloody lot of presents,” I said.

“Yah, man. You got the laptop with you?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said and slapped the bag carrying that piece of mobile equipment.

“We’ve got to hurry up or we’ll miss the presentation,” he said, grinning. He looked as if he’d seen it. I said as much.

“No lah, but I heard it’s damn good. You’ve got to see it, man!”

“I hope it’s not just a slideshow, dude.”

“No lah, it’s an interview thing where they talk about how they first met and all that shite,” he said as he thumbed the lift button.

“Eh, I’ve not seen your aunties in ages, man. How are they?”

“You mean from my mum’s side?” he said.

“Ya lah. Dude you’re not gonna believe this, but remember you came down to JB and we went to Singapore and did that whole tourist shit? And your aunties came along?”

“Oh, ya, all five of them. Why?”

“Dude, I had the most unbelievable crush on one of them!”

“Holy fuck, who?!”

“I’m not saying, man!” I laughed, blushing. He paused and then couldn’t stop laughing.

“I was in my early fucking teens lah,” I said.

“I know who. It’s got to be [her] right?”

“Fuck you, I’m not saying.”

“Dude!!” he said, laughing.

that photograph
A beautiful presentation, and then the photographs. There was one of an older cousin, arms crossed and wearing a polo t-shirt and shorts, standing in front of the boot of an old Datsun. My cousin the groom and his brother were so young, barely ten years old, sitting on the boot of that old Datsun. It was a photograph that I knew well, and one I saw every time I went back to my paternal grand-dad’s house. It stood in a metal picture frame, the gold sheen of the frame dull and worn.

It brought back memories.

that nepalese waiter
We kicked back and eyed the chicken; it looked succulent and there was so much of it. Cousin held up his glass and said he couldn’t abide by orange juice. Actually, what he said was “Why the hell are we drinking orange juice?” I reminded him we had at least four or five special guests who wouldn’t take well to a bunch of drunk fellas making a mess of things. It was eight already and we were feeling the lack of alcohol, a staple of any wedding.

“Can I clear?” said the waiter, his speech heavily accented. My cousin nodded, and as the waiter turned to go, he called him back.

“Can I have something else to drink?”

“We got juice, sir,” said the waiter. He rolled his “R’s” spectacularly, and I couldn’t help laughing. The waiter looked earnest, and the sort of person one does well to cultivate a temporary alliance with.

“So where are you from?” I asked.

“From Nepal,” said the waiter, smiling for the first time.

“How are the weddings in Nepal like?” I asked again.

“Oh, very good,” he said. The resemblance to characters in “Mind Your Language” was a bit too much by this time, so we all laughed, though I wonder why the waiter did.

“So, do Nepalese drink water at weddings?” I asked again, and the waiter had the good sense to shake his head, grinning.
“Two whiskey waters, then,” my cousin said.

Two hours later and we were still sober but nursing a nice buzz. My cousin called the long-suffering waiter over again, and pointed to our glasses. “Whiskey water” said my cousin. The waiter shook his head and mouthed “no more!” I was shocked. “Beer?” I said aloud. “No more, also!” whispered the waiter.

Yah, right.

“Get some whiskey from the store,” said my cousin. The waiter nodded and left. In a few minutes, he brought back a glass half full with golden-hued joy. Ahh.. Talk about reliable help.

“Dude, this guy’s the man,” said my cousin.

“I agree. Now stop talking and fill my glass,” I said. He poured in a generous quantity and I sipped at it. It tasted funky. Not like any whiskey I’d ever tasted. And it had a sour tang. I frowned, and looked over at my cousin. He had a grimace on his face, and when I turned the waiter was no where to be seen.

“This isn’t piss, right?” I asked my cousin. He got up and left and I followed. We arrived at the bar and we looked at each other.

“Bloody stupid fucker, he gave us apple juice!” said my cousin.

“I’m going to murder that bloody Nepalese whatnot!” I muttered.

denouement
I’d called howsy and told him I wouldn’t be able to make it for bum2007.

That was three hours ago, and my cousins had gathered next to the bar, downing whiskey and celebrating the end of a damn fine reception. I was at a table with my uncle, the groom’s dad. It was one in the morning, but it didn’t feel like it. I was tired but happy, feeling a little sweaty from all that dancing in the hall.

The blue haze of our cigarettes rose and rose, and my uncle was reflective. “I’m very happy you boys managed to make it down to KL for the wedding,” he said quietly.

I looked over to my older brother, who was sitting and chatting away with my cousin sisters. He was fantastic on the dance floor, and wowed them all with his waltz, his swing and his cha-cha. I smiled, remembering how as kids, when we were still in KL, how every weekend was spent playing ‘war’ with toy figurines with the groom and his brother at my uncle’s house. I remembered how we’d catch longkang fish and feed them to their now-massive fish, and suffer mild electric shocks from their faulty aquarium every time we made the mistake of touching it.

“It’s him. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” I said. My uncle nodded and smiled.

Intermission.

It was about five in the morning before I hit the sack. The time in between was lost in a haze of Dewar’s and ice and plans to invade “Rush” and attempts to make Joel, the only ‘Chinaman’ and my cousin’s dear friend, stay. Somewhere in between, we spent almost a hundred ringgit on bak kut teh along Jalan Ipoh, the best I’d ever had.

I can still see the smiles on their faces.