Mixed Messages

Three or even four times an enquiry after this chap’s health in his own language here while he was taking his lunch, all completely unsuccessful. When the seat was chosen the man had not been recognised as one of the waiters. Must have been a busy holiday afternoon—Merdeka; Independence for Malaysia; and to be doubly celebrated this year after the recent election turfed out the horrendous kleptocrats. No time for the crew to pause before 3PM. Man bent at his plate straightened to bend an ear in order to receive the offering properly. Nope, nada. Zero each time, could not catch it. Cupping his ear, chap  shook his head hopelessly on the last try and explained, — Chennai. Chennai was all the language he knew, sorry. Shaky with his other languages. (Many a White in Malaysia might mistake an Indian Indian for a local of course.) Under a minute later, after the last failure had defeated us both together, within the last quarter of the minute’s pause, the fellow turned again and with some little elation, in a boyish kind of tone now repeated what he had just been served: — Eperi irke! By which there was an implicit concession what a fool he had just been too....  Ah! Like a win in the lottery. A breaking of long drought and light after darkness. The fellow had it in the end — the jackpot. Ya! Ya!...Halal are you then, ah?... Man agreed: Halal irke.... Fine and dandy was he. Not wishing to be boastful, but really and truly the enunciation here was quite faultless and authentic; perfectly honed this particular Tamil phrase at least after how many years and how many performances. Rather the problem lay elsewhere. Where the problem lay here was with the handsome authentic panama nodding at the chap; the problem lay in the olive skin which in the eyes of this man appeared as purest virgin snow; the pen and paper sign of the professions too had been well recalled from the half dozen earlier visits. (When the man’s younger colleague came over to confirm the order, guessing teh tarik, the other corrected, teh halia was more like it.) An understandable confusion of sensory impressions received by a man unused to suchlike engagement. Not the most salubrious decor or locale there beside all the rubble, the old footbridge over the dirty, rubbish-strewn river, never a girl within cooee to be seen. Yet for a drop of that fine ginger tea, for fine young men of character and warmth, one could not better ABC Restaurant. (After enduring middling poor halia for so long in the capital here a shopkeeper up by Kader had been enquired the week before.)

NB. The informal, truncated form here of எப்படி இருக்கிறீர்கள், Howdy partner?