Petronas - postcard from KL (May24)

A prize-winning photograph suddenly appearing tonight on a lazy stroll cutting through looking for a place to eat. It was caught out of the corner of the eye and immediately called one back. For the uncanniness more than the thing itself. Yep, quite uncanny. On the ground one had forgotten about the towers, as if they had never been. There they stood as ghostly mirage, known from countless news-reports and references. Nothing else was known about them.

         Only one way to shoot in this particular case, from this particular vantage. Down in a squat position, or half-squat perhaps. The Ozu camera level pretty much, about one point three. Barreling tightly across the grimy wall of buildings down the narrow lane, with the twins perfectly framed at the end, perhaps three-four kilometres distant. They were so perfectly framed one would need to skew the angle ever so slightly, both the horizontal and also the placement of the pair at the end of the tunnel vision. 

        The approaching dusk in that heavy atmosphere added to the effect —again, rather too perfectly. An important part of the capture the black smear over the foreground. In Singapore they paint the HDB’s every five or seven years. The Malaysian economy does not allow the same. In the dank tropics the signature mark of creeping damp is everywhere.
         On the slow entry to KL from the south, along by the garbage-strewn ground, tin shacks and road-side cantinas, the project involved in the erection of such an edifice was abundantly clear, perfectly self-evident. On a very low sky-scape, the Petronas Towers stood like the strangest of exclamation marks. It seems the initiative had been driven by Mahathir personally, a master boat-builder himself.

         Poor jittery David at the hotel in Joo Chiat complained, shaking his head, that on his trips to KL he had been unable to take the towers properly. No matter how he angled it, he couldn't fit them within his frame, David said. Three times he had been to KL. Although he didn't say so, one could tell from stories of European trips that David would have tried again and again on each occasion. The reason for the three trips in the first place might have been the unwieldly towers. Ungot, David’s trip hardly seemed worthwhile.

         The towers looked particularly good at night, said David. Even a little after mid afternoon today a few jewel-like lights were visible up near the tops of each tower. Of course David, Singaporean through and through, would not have ventured out into the badlands away from the shopping district, not even for the sake of his photo-album. Up close in the business district, even with a decent camera, impossible to get the things in the frame.

         The terracotta pavement ovens were not bad either at the Pakistani place out on the main road shortly afterward, one either side of the entryway of Ras Balouch. One was perhaps a bit older, pretty badly cracked. Lines led to gas bottles behind; within a naked flame under the plate lightly scorched the bread. When the naan arrived it stung the finger-tips, thereby recalling another of Bab's stories.

         Old King Nikola of Montenegro was making a round among the people, touring the villages, such as the one where Bab was born. The heroes, the eagles, naturally came from the high, stony villages. They didn't come from the towns or sea-side, naturally.

         Asked the old King, — How do you like to eat your tatters here? Tell me. How are they tastiest?

         Out back a wizened old one, a granddad (often it was women who spoke most forthrightly), piped up.

         — When they sting your fingers and scorch your throat going down.

         Stopped the old King right there. Hunger among the populace was always a worry for a regent. 
         Only the hungry appreciated food, Babi held. 

         The naked flame and the cracked ovens in KL brought it back. Breast-bone clasps and greetings of the men similar too.