He-who-will-cycle-to-work-because-he-laughed-when-I-said-I’ll-one
-day-own-a-Bugatti Veyron says I owe him an update, so here goes a lengthy one:
A couple of Saturdays ago, I brought my sister out to Central Market.
It was initially a spur of the moment plan – I wanted to hop
on a train and go there alone, just to wander around for a bit, take a few
photos and head home. Seeing as I’m not very outgoing in the first place, I
thought it’d be a nice change to have a little solo act, plunge straight into
KL with nothing but a camera in my hands and a book in my backpack.
Widad somehow got word of my plan and wanted in. Having just
finished her mid-terms, she was itching to get out of the house and asked
whether she could tag along. I relented out of sympathy.
What followed was more than just a sibling outing. That day,
my sister was exposed to realities that she had only previously heard of from
other mediums. I decided to take an opportunity that day. I wanted her eyes
opened, wanted her to see another side of KL, away from the comfort zones of
our car, TV screens and newspapers. This was no shopping mall, no OU. This was
going out for real. For KL old-timers, Central Market is no big deal. Petaling
Street is practically a safe haven, compared to the likes of places like Chow
Kit Road. But having led a sheltered, safe life and not knowing the ways of the
streets, this was all very new to my sister. I wanted her to learn little by
little, instead of pulling her straight to the heart of some notorious crime
spot, where she’d probably have her outlook on the world change drastically.
I’m not street-smart myself, but I know a thing or two about watching my back.
I decided that we weren’t going to use the car at all. It
was going to be public transport all the way. Lesson numero uno was waiting for
the bus that would take us to the commuter station. That took all of one hour.
Throughout that time, we goofed around at the bus stop. I’m guessing we
probably annoyed the other quiet people waiting with us, but why be static when
you can move? My sister was making the silliest comments, like how she was
going to meet her soulmate on the train, how the late bus was keeping her from
him, and how she’d blame the bus driver if she didn’t get to meet him. She’s
like that, my sister. She once proposed to me that she was going to find my Mr.
Right for me by holding a Qur’an-reading competition, and the winner would be
him. Sometimes I wonder how we could ever be related.
That day, I asked her to name all the Jane Austen books she
knew, to which she confidently answered “Pride and Prejudice, Atonement,
Becoming Jane, Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, Huckleberry Finn, Nicholas
Nickleby and I Capture The Castle.” Daad would probably be aghast if she was
with us. As for me, I was torn between laughing and crying. I asked her again who
wrote Oliver Twist, and she replied: “Roman Polanski.” After that, I stopped
asking altogether. My sister isn’t stupid, she knew she was getting it all
wrong, but the classic literary world really isn’t her cup of tea and so she
might as well annoy me while I gave her the chance.
Once we boarded the bus, she started to get excited. “We’re
on a bus. Wow.” The only time she’d ever been on a bus was for going to school during the early years.
When the ticket vendor came to us, I paid and got us our tickets. As we were
getting off on our stop, she waved her ticket around a little panicked, asking
what she was to do with it. I realised then that I had my work cut out for me that day. I
told her to keep it.
On the commuter heading to KL Sentral, I pointed out to her
the squalid areas around us. We passed residences where people lived in
destitute conditions, where children played precariously close to the tracks,
where there was almost zero privacy among the squatters. It reminded me of
pictures I’d seen of the Sabra-Shatila camp. As we passed factory after
factory, churning out their choking plumes of smoke, I told her about labourers
and their working conditions, their long hours and low pay. I dubbed the area
‘the industrial slums of KL.” I told her about the rising costs of living,
about people struggling to make ends meet, about the working class who have to
rely wholly on public transport every single day and would have to put up with
its incompetence every single day. I told her as much as I knew, as little as
it was. From the look on her face though, insya Allah I think I told her
enough. I wanted her to understand why I found extravagance revolting and
profligacy obscene. I wanted her to see.
Bringing her to KL Sentral was great. Being it her very
first time there, I got to see her marvel at everything, the people, the crowd
rush, the sheer movement of the place, how the station was practically
pulsating with a life if its own. She looked like a little kid then, standing
there, just taking everything in. I wish I had caught that look on camera, but
she was sticking close to me and would’ve noticed me pointing the lenses her
way.
After a quick ride on the LRT to Pasar Seni (on which I
taught her the art of train surfing, which is essentially the skill of not
holding on to anything as the LRT lurches forward) we finally arrived. There we
roamed until our feet gave way, until we decided to call it a day. A note for
booklovers, there’s a little store on the ground floor that sells and rents out
books in bulk. I didn’t think much of it until I stepped in and saw the shelves
haphazardly stacked with them, and I’m not talking about Mills and Boons
material either. They were REAL books. I almost cried.
On the way back, while boarding the LRT, my sister learned
her final lesson of the day. The carriages were jam-packed with people, and as
we were getting on, some idiot gave her a hard shove from behind and she
tripped forward, letting out a shout. I pulled her in next to me and told her
to calm down. She looked at me in protest. “That guy pushed me straight in,
just like that! I almost fell! And how come it’s so full in here?”
I gave her a wry smile.
“My dear, welcome to Malaysia.”
She never did find her soulmate on the train that day, but
knowing that she gained a little insight on how the world works, even if it was
just a small peek, was enough for me.
It’s a start, and we all have to start somewhere.
Enough said here.
