Some of the faces at the tables at Mr Teh Tarik straight out of Cafe d'Afrique in Footscray-town, Australia. Light skinned particularly displaying their Arab descent. It was the Hadhramaut traders from Yemen that brought Islam to this far corner, to the Malaysian Peninsular, the Indonesian islands, southern Thailand and the rest.
Faisal and Fausi, the brothers who run the cafe back home, must have felt very much at home in Malaysia on their recent holiday. Of course on Malaysian territory proper there must have been countless echoes for them, many more than in Singapore. Here it is the area around the old Malay Village, more than anywhere else, that casts back into the history of the island.
Other histories apparent too in some of the dress, the behaviours and mannerisms, familial and gender relations, and much else at Mr Teh Tarik.
The old scarfed Malay great-grandmother across a couple of tables tonight showed many familiar gestures and mannerisms. In this case age a great leveler amongst peoples. Endurance and overcoming was the old woman's display, same as with so many aged here and elsewhere. Hers was a triumph over life, the ultimate attainment. Settled and patient. Resolved and adamant. Pointing the way.
The scarves the women wear present a fine ennobling. Such a powerful fashion accessory too in so many ways. Even some of the older women into their sixties create an allure. This old babushka sits opposite her daughter or daughter-in-law, their meal having been completed. Babushka's finger goes under the rim of her scarf, making a little half-circle over her forehead. Relieves the pressure of the band in front. With a tug at the back the scarf more comfortably seated now. That's right. Crumpled tissue used through dinner dabbing at her crumbs. Nothing worse than a disorderly celjade, our Baba at home would rightly say. Disorderly being or person.
Babushka's finger under her eye giving a little rub. The rhythm of the motion. Not much more than a jab. Lifting the hand up and out shortly after to declare, Enough. Let's away. For which daughter-in-law her prompt.
Without false teeth Bab was spared that endless discomfort. Never would she have endured them. Lifting the plate regularly to relieve the gum. Tonguing reflexively. Never at peace. Somehow Babi would have disposed of them. Flushed them down the toilet. Lost them somewhere where they would never be found. Kill me better, she would have demanded. It will choke me, she would have complained. Just like a horse! Certainly she wouldn't have borne it. Not Baba.
This old great-Babushka had managed.
Family scenes completely captivating. Ten or twenty groups nightly. Great Babushkas and granddads, sons with their numerous children, daughters-in-law. Relations between the different tables sometimes. Fifty or more tables every night packed tight.
Tonight the two kids opposite, the elder well into her teens, were not asked what they wanted to eat or drink. When the trays arrived with dad and dad's friend, the pair find they have placed before them an iced teh tarik each. Smiles subdued. All in the eyes. Cross referenced pleasure in brief flickered looks. The pause prior to digging in might have been waiting for the go-ahead from father or mother. Given in fact by dad's friend. This fellow was the host tonight. Earlier he had awaited their arrival. A Chinese. English the language of communication.
Naturally the kids know to keep quiet through the meal. They eat. The talk of father and his friend washing over their heads, little that can concern them. At a couple of points mother bends an ear. Some English in her possession.
Earlier at table the Chinaman had asked the man how he liked Singapore.
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