Like a Coke With That?

After only buttered toast for lunch fairly famished. Usual Indian place opposite City Square here with a view down to the old railway station. Exceptionally busy on this early evening, a Friday perhaps the reason. On the way to the Net place the offering was examined, nice plate of sotong, squid, done with onion and something else that the chap translating lacked in English. (Give the burger place next door a try next time. His trolley.)

         An hour and one half detained at the screen one hurried back; prominent place like that it was not likely to last long. Returned, in fact one found the tray untouched, couple of the usual veg. likewise remaining. OK. Good Oh.

         The same fat Indian attending had leapt to his feet at the prospect. Owner; not hire.

               —    Sotong? He hadn’t forgotten the draw.

         New operator. Otherwise the man would have been recalled; twenty visits over the three years. This time we made do without assistance. Having heard the fragments of Bahasa earlier the chap proceeded like a steam train.

         Hang on my man. Whoa. I’ve still got my training wheels on.

         Non comprende. Rattling ahead.

         Sikit, sikit only. Only a little can…. No nasi thanks. A plate, yes. I’ll take that one below the fly hasn’t crawled over yet. Yah, ta.

         —    Ten. Ten, the man.

         Ah. Don’t really get ya. But OK.

         —    Want makan, eat, right?        

         You got the idea pal. The sotong, yah, let’s roll.

         Again the ten. Ten.

         He was fixated, collecting the pieces carefully, gingerly, one by one, counting them it tumbled eventually. The ten.

         Oh, OK. Don’t load me up too high. What was this worth but did you say?

         Thumb and forefinger rub.

         Ten. Ten ringitt.

         Ten for ten then he meant. No wonder the broken record. A ringitt a piece. Sounded rich; quick calculation. That was over $Aust3.00, a fair stab for the broken, dirty pavement in Johor Bahru. The crowd didn’t look desperado exactly, not all of them. But none here would be shelling out ten ringitt for grub—add two for the veg. Nope. There had certainly been no sale of the sotong the last couple hours. Did the office crowd over from City Square tower usually polish that off lunchtimes? Twenty storey, lots of biz shirts, ties and pleated skirts in there. Slow today for some reason.

         At the end the chap may have flipped an extra two onto the plate in a generous little flourish. There. One or two, the second on the house if it was seen right.

         —    Ten ringitt, he reminded of the agreed arrangement.

A red ten and two blue ones. Did he think there would be some argument?

         — Minum? Something to wash it down? Thumb jerked at the gob.

         — Nanti. Later.

As you wish. Folded up his wings.

         Five minutes later half-way through the meal he rounded back. Observing the belly from the chair the girth was larger still. Kept his eyes off the mirror in the bathroom. How was he going to cope with puasa, the Ramadan fast? You had to feel for the man. We were on the cusp right then; tomorrow night the new moon expected. He had better tuck in the night before and up early on Sunday. The penultimate azan was in fact sounding just then from the mosque, sending a shiver through the fellow no doubt. There were Hindus in JB, many around in the quarter near the temple, a fine, elaborate one of the usual kind; on a par with Sri Sivan in Geylang. Ten to one this chap was a Mohammedean.

         No one has a meal in these parts without something to wash it down.

         — Coca cola? the belly guessed helpfully.

         BLAH!... Lucky the mouth wasn’t full just then.

         You kidding man! What’s got into you. Wanna get fat like you you seriously think?.. Poke in the guts in case he was struggling with the comprehension.

         — Teh Oh kosong alright!... You got that?...

         His turn to burst out in a gloriously natural and easy laugh like one remembered had not been heard in the last ten years in the great Southern land before departing. Correction: the last twenty or thirty years.

         HoHoHoHoHo. Like an audition for a Santa of the tropics.

         A white guy in a fine panama—an upgraded number brought up by Altaf in a hat-box specially—could only choose Coca Cola surely. Like in the TV ads and the magazines. The place was halal: therefore no champers.

         Nandri for thanks in his own ancestral language when he came to collect the plate and cup hit the sweet spot too.

         HoHoHoHoHo.

         Earlier the chap at the adjacent table in a large Chin group had been at the trash can twenty metres along. Still took some getting used to Chinese vagrants.