On the Corner

Woman waiting tables next door owns only the one good pair of tights for work, lurid pink which a darker toned scarf off-sets in some kind of rough harmony. In between the blouse is unimportant with the apron. Thus she carries it off night after night. Rolled up makes it half nine, in for the overnight haul. The hot fluro not a sign she’s putting out by the way: even on Meldrum–Sui Nam corner a modicum of finery is required serving customers. Here the Bangla lad with four years schooling back home explains that he has never had any kind of problem with the Chins, the Malays or anyone else. Nobody. Many in fact do not know his nationality and assume he is Malay. Nice looking skinny boy sporting a recent rust tint he did at home with a RM5.50 sachet from the supermarket. Two years here his accomplished Malay has been added to native Bengali and serviceable Hindi/Urdu. English can be parroted rather than read, but Yasir is well in advance of any of the other foreign workers on that corner and when interpreting is required it is he who is called upon. Fitted in well to his new environment, — Nobody disturb me. The verb too in possession had surprised. Well done lad! Written in caps back of journal syllable by syllable there was need of encouragement and aid, but Yasir does climb that mountain and pleasure found at the summit. Broad grin. Not so hard, hey. A task now to find something appropriate for the lad on the Popular shelves at the mall—not the worst bookshop in creation by the way; possibly print up for him this little sketch of himself and his corner where he will spend the remaining three years of his contract, before returning home for good he hopes if some kind of business there can be engineered. RM1, 000 per month, board & keep provided by the Tamil boss. Six hundred sent to parents and the remainder sufficient for new tees from the bargain tables at the mall, phone and ciggies. Yasir reminded of the simple mnemonic for Bengali Thanks: Dunno vat — Oz-Germanic intonation. Nineteen.