On
each return to KL the place is visited even if only for a cup of tea.
Bukit Bintang is not exactly first choice locale for this traveller; on this
visit the trip out was left to the last week. After lunch the boss at Kader had pointed out the direction and
a couple of enquiries en route made it a walk in the park more or less, overcast
afternoon helping.
Pleasing to report, the building was
still standing and all bar the youngest sister were in attendance; on this occasion
even Chief Helper was found in place. At the last visit two and a half years
ago Helper had been absent; on that visit too Youngster’s absence had been
explained by duties with grandchildren. For the latter we’ll assume it was the
same again today—the author was not game to ask for fear of other news.
Here is the initial discovery of the
Mee place almost five years ago (lightest revision).
Four Sisters – Bukit Bintang, KL
Bars, screens, pumping music — Hollywoodized Bukit Bintang, Starry Hill comes with a
wallop after Chow Kit. (The latter commemorates a Chinese tin miner—without
checking Wiki, a fellow who set up a provisions store, made a mint and became a
pillar of the community. After spices and rubber, and before petroleum and palm
oil, tin was the largest economic concern in Malaysia, KL and Ipoh built on the
trade.)
....Contemporary funk laid on thick and high by Indian and Chinese hipster
entrepreneurs employing pretty front-of-house faces paid for smiling. The hill
under-foot failed almost entirely to register beneath the blare and colour.
On a corner beside the zone one could get lucky stumbling upon a mee place untouched in sixty or seventy years; a good day even one run by four elderly sisters who were born in the building and spent their entire lives within the walls.
Understandably, it might take a while to tumble to the realization.
Youngest sister was in her mid seventies, a Hazel Hawke lookalike; oldest in cream and chocolate cheongsam jerking on worn hips. Before too long the two others put in an appearance. The third was just beginning to suggest herself with some development of feature and line when the youngest ruined the game by her revelation.
Four sisters across a floor space of twenty or twenty-five square metres where they had first crawled as children.
One single dish served—mee with either chicken or pork, one green leafy vegetable and mushrooms. Not exactly take-it-or-leave-it, but that’s how it was there. No apologies.
Two cups of teh O kosong—tea without milk or sugar—could easily stretch to a couple of hours in the presence of four busy sisters in live display.
Sometimes when the order was placed in these quarters by a tall white-fella in a panama in clear and decisive bahasa, the effect can be like perfect high C at a climax in the opera.
At the Four Sisters slow owl-eyes turned upward all together like birds in a nest.
An entree into intimate family walking onto the stage of the lives of four women, four sisters, from the footpath in Bukit Bintang.
Across the road a multi-storey hotel had replaced former neighbours; opposite a hole in the ground with piling started. Traffic coming down the hill grew as the afternoon wore on. Something out of a novel (and Chekhov of course) acted out before one's eyes to a well-rehearsed script and in original setting. Price of admission three ringgit ($Aus0.90—forty-five cents per cup.)
On the return after lunch elsewhere the youngest guessed right: — You’ve come back for your teh.
The talkative chap with his own questions in the early part was correctly picked as son-in-law. Spinsters was unlikely and widows did not fit either. How had the enterprise held together against grasping and selfishness? How had the foursome endured with perfect amity this long while?
The four women were occupied at various tasks. A central table between counter and servery was their gravitational centre. At one point three sat around a spread of dried mushrooms that looked like over-sized walnuts and needed prising from husks. Two in their eighties and the youngster working with blunt knives beside a large ten kilo plastic bag half-full on a chair. Occasional customers came and went. One or another served, crossing the floor carrying plates and dishes back and forth. At some point the bag of mushrooms was put away.
Seating arrangements changed constantly. None of the sisters remained in place for long. The customers were no more than half a dozen at the peak, yet the movement was constant. One sister made herself a bowl of noodles and sat to eat; another a cold Milo or teh, pulling strongly like a child on the straw. The table beside the counter, against the long stair, took the one who was displaced from the central table. Above this table whirred an overhead fan; other fans were turned off or no longer working.
For some reason having the four seated at the one single table seemed to be avoided.
The tables were small. But that was perhaps not the whole of the matter.
Numerous different formations the women made in their clustering. Like a biological organism in the environment where it has adapted, they separated randomly and re-formed—outward motion and return, around and back. The pattern was elaborate and intricate over a tight domain.
After a time sitting and watching, the choreography became slightly dizzying.
Years before the women had moved in similar steps, more quickly to be sure. Over the years they would certainly have broken more than a single heart cavorting across their grandfather's fine, newly tiled tea-house tiles.
It would have been out of order to put too many questions; the looking had been long and hard enough.
A son-in-law older than the first told of eleven siblings, one sister deceased and the remainder married and departed. The fortunate four had remained.
How did those returning to visit bridge the gulf that had been created?
To the side of the larger housing block up on the rise the truncated form of one of the Petronas towers reared up. Over the years dust from the street had risen up the walls. Someone kept oiled the hinges of the steel screens that closed off the sisters at the end of the working day. Reaching the starry top of the hill would be beyond the elder two now.
Other younger women helped in the back kitchen and dicing in front. Extended family or something similar; otherwise they would have been included previously. Occasionally one or another of the support staff emerged from the rear and quickly retreated.
The odd one out who had a fixed role working on the floor preparing and fetching stood apart. The eldest sister in the cheongsam berated this woman at one point, but got back as good as she gave. The odd one didn't remain in the corner to hear the last of the low snorting.
A short and brief eruption. Co-operative sisterliness governed here—it was hard to imagine a cross word between the core foursome over the years.
The odd one out eschewed the dowdy wear and dark, drab colours of the sisters. Perhaps five years junior to the youngest and English on a par, this woman wore her hair loose almost onto her shoulders, iron gray and white. (The four chose the same manly cut.) In younger years the other had clearly been a beauty. The assemblage of red tones that she favoured on this particular day took a long while to notice.
In the shadows her pale crimson short-sleeved blouse shone like a badge. The array in complementary tones slowly became apparent one by one.
Under the blouse the long sleeves of a tee partly rolled up bore bands of bright green and red. For hair cover the woman wore a sheer patterned scarf with the dominant element a tone in-between the other two.
Red ear-rings added a further layer, a scarlet hue the size of the old fifty cent coin. Finally, when the woman passed close by the table, it was this adornment that got the compliment, even before the form of the pieces had emerged.
The pendants of the rings were plastic cut-out: a lamp suggested in the first instance. Candle possibly.
Closer inspection revealed the uncanny form of a bird-cage, the classic, elongated and domed cage for hanging in a prominent position for a colourful and loved song-bird that had become an adored member of the family.
Only in this part of the world, where the bird-nest beverage was so famous, could one find such a motif.
The admiration raised a smile and almost a blush.
On a corner beside the zone one could get lucky stumbling upon a mee place untouched in sixty or seventy years; a good day even one run by four elderly sisters who were born in the building and spent their entire lives within the walls.
Understandably, it might take a while to tumble to the realization.
Youngest sister was in her mid seventies, a Hazel Hawke lookalike; oldest in cream and chocolate cheongsam jerking on worn hips. Before too long the two others put in an appearance. The third was just beginning to suggest herself with some development of feature and line when the youngest ruined the game by her revelation.
Four sisters across a floor space of twenty or twenty-five square metres where they had first crawled as children.
One single dish served—mee with either chicken or pork, one green leafy vegetable and mushrooms. Not exactly take-it-or-leave-it, but that’s how it was there. No apologies.
Two cups of teh O kosong—tea without milk or sugar—could easily stretch to a couple of hours in the presence of four busy sisters in live display.
Sometimes when the order was placed in these quarters by a tall white-fella in a panama in clear and decisive bahasa, the effect can be like perfect high C at a climax in the opera.
At the Four Sisters slow owl-eyes turned upward all together like birds in a nest.
An entree into intimate family walking onto the stage of the lives of four women, four sisters, from the footpath in Bukit Bintang.
Across the road a multi-storey hotel had replaced former neighbours; opposite a hole in the ground with piling started. Traffic coming down the hill grew as the afternoon wore on. Something out of a novel (and Chekhov of course) acted out before one's eyes to a well-rehearsed script and in original setting. Price of admission three ringgit ($Aus0.90—forty-five cents per cup.)
On the return after lunch elsewhere the youngest guessed right: — You’ve come back for your teh.
The talkative chap with his own questions in the early part was correctly picked as son-in-law. Spinsters was unlikely and widows did not fit either. How had the enterprise held together against grasping and selfishness? How had the foursome endured with perfect amity this long while?
The four women were occupied at various tasks. A central table between counter and servery was their gravitational centre. At one point three sat around a spread of dried mushrooms that looked like over-sized walnuts and needed prising from husks. Two in their eighties and the youngster working with blunt knives beside a large ten kilo plastic bag half-full on a chair. Occasional customers came and went. One or another served, crossing the floor carrying plates and dishes back and forth. At some point the bag of mushrooms was put away.
Seating arrangements changed constantly. None of the sisters remained in place for long. The customers were no more than half a dozen at the peak, yet the movement was constant. One sister made herself a bowl of noodles and sat to eat; another a cold Milo or teh, pulling strongly like a child on the straw. The table beside the counter, against the long stair, took the one who was displaced from the central table. Above this table whirred an overhead fan; other fans were turned off or no longer working.
For some reason having the four seated at the one single table seemed to be avoided.
The tables were small. But that was perhaps not the whole of the matter.
Numerous different formations the women made in their clustering. Like a biological organism in the environment where it has adapted, they separated randomly and re-formed—outward motion and return, around and back. The pattern was elaborate and intricate over a tight domain.
After a time sitting and watching, the choreography became slightly dizzying.
Years before the women had moved in similar steps, more quickly to be sure. Over the years they would certainly have broken more than a single heart cavorting across their grandfather's fine, newly tiled tea-house tiles.
It would have been out of order to put too many questions; the looking had been long and hard enough.
A son-in-law older than the first told of eleven siblings, one sister deceased and the remainder married and departed. The fortunate four had remained.
How did those returning to visit bridge the gulf that had been created?
To the side of the larger housing block up on the rise the truncated form of one of the Petronas towers reared up. Over the years dust from the street had risen up the walls. Someone kept oiled the hinges of the steel screens that closed off the sisters at the end of the working day. Reaching the starry top of the hill would be beyond the elder two now.
Other younger women helped in the back kitchen and dicing in front. Extended family or something similar; otherwise they would have been included previously. Occasionally one or another of the support staff emerged from the rear and quickly retreated.
The odd one out who had a fixed role working on the floor preparing and fetching stood apart. The eldest sister in the cheongsam berated this woman at one point, but got back as good as she gave. The odd one didn't remain in the corner to hear the last of the low snorting.
A short and brief eruption. Co-operative sisterliness governed here—it was hard to imagine a cross word between the core foursome over the years.
The odd one out eschewed the dowdy wear and dark, drab colours of the sisters. Perhaps five years junior to the youngest and English on a par, this woman wore her hair loose almost onto her shoulders, iron gray and white. (The four chose the same manly cut.) In younger years the other had clearly been a beauty. The assemblage of red tones that she favoured on this particular day took a long while to notice.
In the shadows her pale crimson short-sleeved blouse shone like a badge. The array in complementary tones slowly became apparent one by one.
Under the blouse the long sleeves of a tee partly rolled up bore bands of bright green and red. For hair cover the woman wore a sheer patterned scarf with the dominant element a tone in-between the other two.
Red ear-rings added a further layer, a scarlet hue the size of the old fifty cent coin. Finally, when the woman passed close by the table, it was this adornment that got the compliment, even before the form of the pieces had emerged.
The pendants of the rings were plastic cut-out: a lamp suggested in the first instance. Candle possibly.
Closer inspection revealed the uncanny form of a bird-cage, the classic, elongated and domed cage for hanging in a prominent position for a colourful and loved song-bird that had become an adored member of the family.
Only in this part of the world, where the bird-nest beverage was so famous, could one find such a motif.
The admiration raised a smile and almost a blush.
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