GLASS WALKING - ZorbaBooks

GLASS WALKING

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                                                                             peace

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

                                            MY LASTING  EUPHORIA          

 

                                                 1941-1957

 

  SIVA R.MANIAM

  Neelamayils 2004

 

           

 

             

 

 

 

 

             MY PERSONAL EUPHORIA

                                               1941-1957                     

                                           Invasion

My father pulled me up to his Raleigh bicycle. I jumped along with the pull and sat on the cross bar of the bicycle. Riding on the bicycle with my father was like riding on a chaffer driven horse carriage. I grasped the handle bar and enjoyed hearing my father said “clever boy” “I always looked forward to that ride to town, where I could eat my favorite ‘vadai’ and ‘teh susu lembu’.

It was fun inhaling the evening breeze that blew across my face. I sneezed. “Are you alright”, asked my father with concern. “Yes,” I shook my head vigorously. We reached the Indian coffee shop, which my father visited frequently.

 When father stopped his bike, I jumped down and ran towards one of the empty tables and sat on the bright red chair. As I was nibbling a hot tasty ‘vadai’, the shop owner told my father, “Raju, better go home early, we are expecting some hostile bombing by the Japanese. We were told that a large force of Japanese army had landed at Kota Bharu in the east coast. So do not go out unless necessary”. My father looked worried, and shook his head. He urged me to eat up quickly. I did not understand what they were talking about.

Suddenly a loud sound of a siren started blaring away with frequent intermittent breaks- hon,hon,hon,hon.

 

“The Japanese are coming, run everybody, run to the field and lie face down” someone screamed.

Pandemonium broke loose and everyone started running towards the field, which was just across the road. 

“Abandon the buildings,” someone shouted. Everyone scrambled out and rushed to the field. Husbands were running holding the hands of their wives and mothers were dragging their children. Everyone rushed to the field and fell down on their bellies holding their napes with their hands. 

My father carried me and ran towards the field. Half the field was filled with people lying down on their bellies. My father put me on the ground and hovered above me like a chicken would cover its chicks. I was wondering, “What is happening?” Murmurs of prayers, were heard among the people lying down and some were crying. ” Apah, what is happening, why everyone is lying down” I remember asking my father. “Don’t worry, keep silent and don’t look up”, my father whispered.

There was a thunderous noise and just above the height of a full grown coconut tree, number of airplanes were zooming through the sky and flying in precise formation. The noise was deafening and the ground shook. As the curiosity of a small boy, I tried to peep through. “Don’t look up, my father whispered into my ears. Why appah, they can see me eh”.”Ssssh quiet”, said my father. The planes whizzed passed through the frightened town. No one got up. Within minutes a thundering noise was heard followed by a few more. Father murmured, “My God, the first bomb.” It was followed by more thunderous sound.   

My father said to himself, ‘It must be Singapore’. 

There was dead silence and within a few more minutes, the planes were flying back towards the direction from where they came from. They were flying so low, that frightened the guts out of everyone. All of them were shivering, and for sure, the pilots seeing the people frightened must have been happy. Someone counted and said, “My Gracious, seven planes on the first invasion. Pray to heaven, maybe many would come soon. God save us,” he pleaded.                                                                                                                                                                      

 

The planes zeroed around the field and then flew away towards the direction they came from.  After a lengthy break, the siren blew again but now  with a long “hoong, hoong”. Someone shouted “O.K., all clear, rush back to your homes and stay inside the house.” 

 

My father grabbed me, put me on the bicycle and cycled home as fast as he could. I turned my face towards my father and asked, “Have you paid for my drink at the shop? Through his worried look he smiled and said, “Maybe after the war?”

There was anxiety in my family and my mother and other family members were so relieved to see us back home safely.

The whole village was in a gloom, not a soul was seen around. Everyone stayed within their houses, worried and frightened. Night passed by without any incidents.

The next morning dawned with mixed feelings of uncertainties. Neighbors gathered hear and there and started moving some foodstuff and water into the already dug terrains near their houses. In the event of any bombing raid, they were to enter into their respective terrains. The terrains were small and could only accommodate about 4 adults standing closely. There was drinking water for a day. Everyone stored up water and were prepared to jump into their terrains at any emergency.

Opinions and gossips started afloat.

Some felt it was good that the Japanese came which would stop the aristocracy of the British. Others felt that the Japanese would be ferocious and merciless. The people were panicky and not sure what was in store for the future. Generally, they felt that war would damage peace and tranquility in the country.

Days passed by with anxiety and people restricted their movements. Some totally did not leave the house for fear of a sudden Japanese raid.

                                         

 

      Bicycle Infantry

It was the third day. The young cow herd who took his cows for grazing came running and shouting, “The Japanese are coming, they are coming on their bicycles” 

On bicycles!! There was a disarray and people started moving frantically. The lady folks were told to hide inside the houses.

The main road was about 200 meters away, but no one dared to watch the Japanese army coming into the town. . All the children were locked up in the houses and the doors and windows were shut.

My friend Muniandy and I were playing under the huge banyan tree and heard the cry of the cowherd that the Japanese were coming. We were curious and ran to the roadside and hid ourselves between two boulders. We were sweating and breathing hard with excitement.

 

 

At the far end of the road, we could see a cloud of dust and soon cyclists came pedaling, singing their military song and moving towards the town.

  (At a later time my uncle who learnt to speak little Japanese told me that it was a song by advancing Japanese soldiers and it is called, “Comrades in arms”)

The bicycles passed by where my friend and I were hiding within the boulders just about 200 meters away. The soldiers were dressed in khaki uniform, with a sort of cap and a flag with the emblem of the rising sun attached to the bicycle. A gun was strapped across each of their shoulders. They were cycling slowly in total uniformity.

I was excited but dared not come out in the open for fear of being shot.  

                      

                                   The Japanese occupation had begun.

 

People in the kampong were scared stiff and were worried about their lives and the lives of their families. 

Soon the rest of the army, trucks, and tents arrived. Two camps were established, one near my school, and one further and closer to our village. The camp areas were fenced and strongly barricaded from all vision or entries. The areas closer to the camps were out of bounds. Even cows or goats would be shot if encroached into the areas. A sentry was posted for 24 hours at the gate entrance.

The ruthless regime. Torture, killing and severe punishment for the slightest mistake were the order of the day. People dared not discuss anything, for they would be captured and punished, mostly by beheading.  

School children were daily given a spoon of oil palm, which was slimy and difficult to swallow. We were told that it was for our good health. The main stream teaching was in Japanese which was ‘Greek’ to us.

 Life was out of the norm and the rest was intolerable history. The situation was a living hell and time crawled and the years passed by like a slow snail.

                      

                       JAPANESE REGIME- in Segamat

When the allied forces withdrew, the Japanese soldiers started occupying all Govt Buildings including the big bungalow that was standing majestically at the top of the hill in Segamat. It was once the residence of the British Administration Officer. It was now occupied by the Japanese command.

An outpost with a sentry was posed opposite the building and facing the main road from town to Gemas. An armed Japanese guard was posted at the guardhouse and all passers by should stop, bow low and salute the Sentry and proceed with their journey. Failure to do so would be met by severe punishment, the minimum being a tight slap that would spin one to the ground. (The building still standing like the rock of Gibraltar, holding all the secrets of the Japanese occupation within the four walls of the building.)

Segamat was a town of utmost concern and being a town in the central region of the State had a large concentration of concern by the Japanese.

The people seldom moved out of the kampong as everyone was living in fear. Some even moved out deeper to the fringe of the jungles. People in the kampong were scared stiff and lived a most feared lives.

The brunt of the Japanese ferocity was towards the Chinese. The Malays and Indians were of lesser concern to the Japanese army. The reasons could be the reminiscent thoughts of the previous wars especially:

“The First Sino- Japanese War conflict in 1894-95 that marked the emergence of Japan as a major world power and which also demonstrated the weakness of the Chinese empire.

 

 

The Second Sino-Japanese was the military conflict fought between The Republic of China and the Empire of Japan from 7th July, 1937 to 2nd September, 1945. Maybe with the prolonged enmity between the two countries, Japan could have believed that the Chinese were involved in espionage activities. I cannot comprehend further the reasons and maybe one could read  and find out from other sources.”

 

The Japanese through anarchy and rule of terror, brought in a number of changes to Malaya. By 1942 the Japanese forces fully occupied Malaya.

                                     

INCIDENCES  

We shivered with fear, when one day the soldiers suddenly approached my house. My grandfather sitting at the corridor told us to go into the house. He was a brave man. He got up and bowed down politely and greeted them with “ohaya gozaimasu”, meaning greetings.  The Japanese Officer pointed to my grandfather and said in Tamil, ” Mandor, come here.”

 We were shocked that he knew that my grandfather was a ‘mandor’ (meaning ‘man in charge of a group of workers’). He smiled and said in good Tamil, can’t you recognize me? My grandfather adjusted his spectacles and recognizing him said with a trembling voice. “Tuan Doctor Gigi”. The officer let out a thunderous laugh and said, “Yes ‘mandor’, you recognize me. I am “Doctor Gigi” during the stupid British rule. (Obviously he was a Japanese spy and spied for his nation as a Dentist and observed all movements and reported to his headquarters back in Japan).

He looked up at the photo that was hanging at the door sill. He stood erect and saluted the photo. The other soldiers followed suit. We could not understand what was happening. Incidentally the photograph was of Subash Chandra Bose or Netaji as he was fondly called.

Our grandfather later explained that he knew that the Japanese respected Netaji, who was a National Leader, fighting for the freedom of India from the British. He and his Indian National Army fought alongside of the Japanese. He was highly respected by the Japanese. So he hanged the photo hoping the Japanese soldiers would not disturb us.

 The officer said “Don’t worry, I know you are a good man. Can I take some papaya from your trees?” Without waiting for an answer he said something to his soldiers, who rushed down and plucked the papayas.

The soldiers left and we were thankful to our grandfather who had a thought of the respect by the Japanese for the Indian Nationalist feelings. My grandfather also admired and respected Netaji who was his hero and in respect to him, he had hanged the photo at the entrance of our house.

 

ANOTHER DAY

It was another dull day at the kampong where we lived.

Towards mid-day, about 5 Japanese soldiers walked into the kampong, and started plucking the papayas, pineapples and other vegetables grown by the kampong people. No one in the kampong dared to say anything for fear that the soldiers could punish them.

 

We were terrified when the soldiers came to our house. We begged God to protect us. Once again, Netaji’s photo hanging on the door sill saved us. Seeing the photo, they saluted the photo and left the house without disturbing. Since then by the Grace of God, there were no more harassments from the Japanese soldiers.

                       

 

                       

A ROCKY SITUATION

 

My family that was running smoothly struck into financial problems. The household income was from the five cars owned by my father to run as taxis by hiring them to aspiring drivers.    The cars were rented out on a daily basis. That was our main source of income for a decent living. At the arrival of the Japanese army, the cars were hidden behind the house and covered with canvas sheets. 

 

The news leaked and reached the military and all the cars were confiscated for the use of the “Imperial Japanese army”. The Japanese were very furious with my father for hiding the cars. My grandfather pleaded with them and realising my grandfather was a supporter of Subash Chandra Bose, my father’s neck escaped from the most feared Samurai long sword.

 Here again we were saved from torture and punishment, because of the photo of “Subash Chandra Bose” hanging in front of the house.

Out of despair two years later my father died leaving us in the lurch. From thereon it was poverty and living hand to mouth.                    

 

I was fortunate to have 13 siblings but unfortunate that 12 of them died at infancy and one elder sister died when she was 5 years old. It could be due to be poor natal care and malnourishment. How and why I survived, only God knows.

 

Ruthless regime continued. Torture, killing and severe punishment for the slightest mistake were the order of the day. The people dared not discussed anything, for they would be captured and punished, mostly by beheading. Poverty continued and torture and hardship was the mainstay.

The staple food was tapioca and sweet potatoes, no proper clothes to wear, and unhygienic living conditions. Diseases and sickness, and malnourishment were rampant. The rest is history.

These were not isolated incidents. Similar happenings as such were quite common and there was no one who would oppose and seek for justice or fight against the non-humanitarian government.

 

Japanese classes were introduced and some of the words that I remember now are:   Arigato – please; ohayo gozaimasu= sorry; Doita shimashite- thank you, negai shimasu- No. The other words that I learned have been forgotten.

The situation was a living hell. Time crawled and years passed by. 

 

 

Uncle’s dilemma and daring action

 

The Japanese regiment from Segamat was ordered to leave for Japan.

The Japanese soldiers liked my uncle, Mr. Velayutham ak Vel Karuvi then known as Renganathan, and wanted to adopt him in the army and take him to Japan. He was reluctant but dared not tell them.

 My uncle was told to get ready to go along. The news broke all our hearts and my grandmother and the whole family begged him not to go. My grandmother was heartbroken and refused to take her meals. She sat on the ground in a corner of the house and prayed to God to save her son. Most of the time she was crying.       HHH

The trains that went to Kuala Lumpur passed by our house which was not far from railway station. At the bend near my house there was a train signal for the trains to slow down, due to the sharp bend.

On the day of my uncle’s departure to Japan, the village folks and my family members stood at the bend to wave good bye to my uncle. We were very worried because we may see him for the last time. It was night and the headlight of the train could be seen at a distance. We were excited. Someone whispered with a trembling voice of despair, “The train is coming.”

If the Japanese spotted us in the dark, we would be arrested and tortured or even beheaded, as suspected terrorists. We laid flat on top of the hill from a vantage position, we could see uncle.

 

We could hear the hoot of the train as it neared the bend. Our hearts were beating fast. It was dark outside, but as the train passed by we could see the inside of the coach through the windows of the lighted coaches. Suddenly someone whispered, ” There uncle in the coach sitting between the soldiers. My uncle must have realised that we would be there waving him ‘good bye’.

 He put his head out and waved. We could now see him but for him it was all dark outside and he could only visualize our presence.

 He must have felt sad.

It was a sad night and my grandmother could not eat. She leaned against a wall and closed her eyes, maybe praying for the wellbeing of her son.

 

The train reached the Kuala Lumpur railway station and being driven by steam engine, it moved up to fill coal and water. This was the opportunity my uncle was waiting.

 Most of the soldiers were fast asleep and my uncle slowly moved away in the pretence of going to the toilet and slowly jumped out of the train and grouped himself in the darkness and moved away and hid near the overhead bridge.

 

The train to Penang with the soldiers and without my uncle, left with a blaring ‘hoot’. Obviously, they were not paying attention to the absence of my uncle in the train. Uncle’s anxiety and fear eased down. He climbed up the small hill and hid behind one of the bridge’s pillars. He saw another train leaving the station towards Singapore. He steadied himself and as the train slowly moved he jumped down like a squirrel and hit the roof of one of the coaches. 

He grabbed one of the wind ventilators at the top of the coach and slowly slid down to one of the spaces between the coaches. His landing was smooth and fortunately it was a goods train, carrying some big boxes to Singapore. He laid down between the boxes and closed his tired eyes. He was not sure how long he slept. 

 

He was awakened by the constant blowing of the horn from the engine room. The train had stopped for signal clearing. He realized that the train had reached the corner where our house was. He scrambled up and decided to get down. The train started to move, there was no time to waste. 

He jumped out of the train and fell into a ditch and hid there for the coaches to pass by. He got up and started climbing the small hill. He felt a sharp pain in his lower left wrist. Crawling and crouching he reached our house.

 

There was a flurry of barks from the dog. “Someone is coming, be quiet and dim the kerosene light”. The barking of the dog gradually changed into a friendly ‘whine’. “Do not be afraid, it must be someone whom we know.” There was a knock followed by a flurry of quick knocks. Grandmother took the kerosene light and slowly opened the door. For a moment she was not sure whether what she saw was true or a dream. 

She held the lamp up and gasped, “Oh my God, my son has come.

 Come in quickly” she said. She put the lamp on the window sill and hugged him and murmured, “Thank you God my son is back.” “Yes ammah, I have come back for good.” “I am hungry; can I have some food.” 

Fortunately, grandmother always kept some food and she would say, “Always keep some food in the night. There may be a hungry stomach coming late night.”

 She was right and she had some sweet potatoes to give him.      

 

Job opportunities

Some of the villagers who were fortunate were employed in the Rice Store where sacks of rice were stored up for the soldiers. The Lorries that bring the loads of rice would be parked near the building, but unable to reach the building’s veranda. A plank was set as a bridge for the workers to carry the rice to the store. The workers would use a spike to lift the sack of rice on the shoulders. As they spiked a handful of rice would drop to the ground. Children who came in stealthily through the fence would wait there with coconut shell and would collect the rice mixed with sand and dust and took them.

 This was indeed a great risk and if the soldiers caught them, they would be in for a severe punishment. My grandmother had strict orders to us not to get involved in such activities.

 

  An odd incident

One of the lady workers in the store lost her entry pass. Though she was worried about the punishment, yet she had to report the matter to Officer in charge- a Japanese soldier.

He was very furious, and told her to stand outside in the hot sun. Hours passed by and she was sweating and exhausted. She was about to faint, when the officer called her into his office. She was trembling when she entered the office.

There was a man standing in front of the officer who was holding her entry pass. He told her in broken Malay, “this good man standing there found your entry pass.” “He deserves a prize and you should be punished.”

 

He took both of them to a room, told them to strip naked, “You enjoy her. I will come back in one hour.” He locked the room and left.

It was sheer shyness rather than fear that made them sit in different corners of the room. They covered their bare bodies with their hands and waited in anxiety, waiting for their ‘fate’ that would come in the form of the fierce Japanese soldier.

 About one hour had passed, and hearing the door being opened, the man quickly moved and sat near the woman. The soldier came in with a grin and returned the clothes for them to wear. He grinned showing his golden tooth and asked the man, “Enjoy?” The man shook his head. He looked at the girl and said, “I good officer, if bad officer, he would rape you. Next time be careful”. They left the room.

 A few days later, both of them left the job and disappeared from the town. One month later, the villagers came to know that they have gone to India and got married there.

 

            ANOTHER EPISODE

The Japanese soldiers who had their base near my kampong were a constant menace to simple folks like us. None could do anything about it. As usual we took our cows for grazing and the day being hot, sat under a tree. Across the road was the Japanese camp. There was a common bath covered with thin sheet of Zink as wall.

 Three Japanese soldiers singing merrily were walking towards the bath. Suddenly one of them saw a big cobra snake slithering along, He yelled out loud and started chasing. The cobra slithered faster and turned around and stood erect on its tail and started hissing wildly. Its hood was wide opened and was moving, like dancing left to right. My friend and I were scarred stiff and was wondering what would happen next.. The soldiers were excited and danced along with their only dress, the long loin cloth.

. The snake was a huge one of about four feet in length. It opened its hood and started hissing at them. Anytime anyone could be struck by the snake. Two of them stood in front and one guy darted to the back of the snake and like the striking of a lightning, switched with his middle finger struck the snake at the hood,

The swish was as swift and hard as a bullet and the snake fell dead.

They danced singing with joy. They lifted the snake and took it to the camp, obviously for a pot of delicious soup.  

 

          CHANGE IN CURRENCY

 

 One of the changes made by the new Government was replacing the British Currency with Japanese currency.

 

The new $10 note carried a picture of a banana plant, hence it became to be known as Banana Currency and large amount of money was circulated. The Japanese probably did not maintain monetary discipline and kept circulation without the proper backing for the value.

“The Banana currency was demonetized immediately after British rule resumed. Large sacks of money were destroyed after the surrender of the Japanese.”   The Malaya economic which largely depended on rubber exports was badly affected during the Japanese occupation.  Some changes that the Japanese wanted to make Malaya a Japanese sovereignty was to change the language and we were to attend Japanese classes where we learn some words like 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Japanese Invasion and occupation 

        

Japanese Invasion of Malaya began just after midnight on 8 December 1941 (local time) before the attack on Pearl Harbour. It The was the first major battle of the Pacific War, and was fought between ground forces of the British Indian Army and the Empire of Japan.

It was a ferocious battle and the British Indian army fought gallantly in defending the country, but they were outnumbered in manpower and the Japanese were well prepared with large amount of armament.

 

A large number of the Indian soldiers of the British Indian Army perished in the attack by the Japanese at Pak Amat beach near the coast of Kelantan, where the Japanese landed just after midnight.

After the victory they marched towards Kota Bharu, Sungai Patani, Butterworth, and Alor Star. The advance of the Japanese Arrny continued and more towns fell into the hands of the army. The British army set up a defensive line, from Muar through Segamat . The 45TH Indian Infantry brigade were placed along the western part of the line between Segamat and Muar.

The Japanese army proceeded towards the inexperienced Indian regiment easily defeating them. Fighting continued but the defensive collapsed. The British army had to retreat across the Johor causeway to Singapore. By 31.January,.1942 the whole of Malaya had fallen into the hands of the Japanese.

 

 

 

Singapore was then known as the “Gibraltar of the east” for its rock steady defence of the region fell to the onslaught attack of the Japanese Air attack and barrage of sea attack.

The sinking of Prince of Wales and Repulse that took place in the sea war that took place in the Pacific, north of Singapore off the coast of Malaya was a disaster to the British defence of Singapore.

 

The operation is notable for the Japanese use of bicycle infantry, which allowed troops to carry more equipment and swiftly move through thick jungle terrain. 

Royal Engineers, of the British army equipped with demolition charges, destroyed over a hundred bridges during the retreat. Yet this did little to delay the Japanese. By the time the Japanese had captured Singapore, they had suffered 9,800 casualties:

 

Allied losses totaled 138,708, including 130,000 captured

                                                                                   THANKS GOOGLE

Japanese invasion of Malaya that started at midnight on    8th December,1941 during World War II ended British   domination in  Malaysia.

 

After a torturous wait of 5 years.

the Japanese regime came to an end.

 

SURRENDER OF THE JAPANESE WW2

“The surrender of Imperial Japan was announced on August 15 and formally signed on September 2, 1945, bringing the hostilities of World War II to a close. By the end of July 1945, the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) was incapable of conducting major operations and an Allied invasion of Japan was imminent.”                   

     

Why the Japanese surrendered

It is generally said that the Japanese surrendered at the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki by America dropping the atomic bombs. Undoubtedly the bombs devastated their targets destroyed the two big cities and killed or maimed 90,000 – 146,000 people in Hiroshima and 39,000- 80,000 in Nagasaki. 

 

However, there is a believe that the defeat and surrender of the Japanese was also because of the Soviet entry into the war.

The book “Racing the Enemy” by historian Tsuyoshi Hasegawa, provides compelling evidence that the Pacific War ended due to the entry of the Soviets, not the atomic bombings.

Having tasted defeat at the hands of the Soviets twice in the late 1930s in Manchurian border clashes, the generals knew that the new front meant further resistance was futile.

So! Is it the Atomic Bombs or the Soviet entry into the war or is it BOTH that decided the end of the 2nd WORLD WAR.

                        INFORMATION FROM GOOGLE (With Thanks)

  Story highlights

·        In the jungles of the Philippines for nearly three decades, A Japanese soldier Hiroo Onoda who hunkered down in the refusing to believe that World War II had ended,

·        Hiroo Onoda wouldn’t accept Japan’s World War II defeat until 1974

·        He stayed in the jungle on the Philippines Island where he had been deployed.

·        His former commanding officer had to travel to the island to persuade him to give up.

·        Onoda died of pneumonia in a Tokyo hospital Thursday, a collegue says

Hiroo Onoda was 91 years old.

In 1944, Onoda was sent to the small island of Lubang in the western Philippines to spy on U.S. forces in the area.

Allied forces defeated the Japanese imperial army in the Philippines in the latter stages of the war, but Onoda, a lieutenant, evaded capture. While most of the Japanese troops on the island withdrew or surrendered in the face of oncoming American forces, Onoda and a few fellow holdouts hid in the jungles, dismissing messages saying the war was over.

For 29 years, he survived on food gathered from the jungle or stolen from local farmers.

 

After losing his comrades to various circumstances, Onoda was eventually persuaded to come out of hiding in 1974.

His former commanding officer travelled to Lubang to see him and tell him he was released from his military duties.

In his battered old army uniform, Onoda handed over his sword, nearly 30 years after Japan surrendered.

“Every Japanese soldier was prepared for death, but as an intelligence officer I was ordered to conduct guerrilla warfare and not to die,” Onoda told CNN affiliate, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. “I had to follow my orders as I was a soldier.”

 

Photos: Photos: Hiroo Onoda: Japanese holdout from WWII

— “If you have some thorns in your back, somebody needs to pull them out for you. We need buddies. The sense of belonging is born in the family and later includes friends, neighbours, community and country. That is why the idea of a nation is really important.”

— “Life is not fair and people are not equal. Some people eat better than others.”

— “Once you have burned your tongue on hot miso soup, you even blow on the cold sushi. This is how the Japanese government now behaves toward the U.S. and other nations.”

Onoda was born in March 1922 in Wakayama, western Japan, according to his organization. He was raised in a family with six siblings in a village near the ocean.

READ: (1996) Former WWII soldier visits his Philippine hideout

Hiroyasu Miwa, a staff member of the organization that Onodo started in 1984, said Onodo died of pneumonia Thursday afternoon at St. Luke’s Hospital in Tokyo. He had been sick since December.

Ever the faithful soldier, Onoda did not regret the time he had lost.

“I became an officer and I received an order,” Onodo told ABC. “If I could not carry it out, I would feel shame. I am very competitive.”

Hiroo Onoda, Japanese soldier who long refused to surrender, dies at 91

By Jethro Mullen, Yoko Wakatsuki and Chandrika Narayan, CNN

Updated 0059 GMT (0859 HKT) January 18, 2014

 

 

 

                                   

 

A Short History

The subsequent occupation BY THE BRITISH, of Malaya, North Borneo and Sarawak from 1942 to 1945 unleashed nationalism.

In the Peninsula, the Malayan Communist Party took up arms against the British.

A tough military response was needed to end the insurgency and bring about the establishment of an independent, multi-racial Federation of Malaya on 31 August 1957.

On 22 July 1963, Sarawak was granted a self-governance.

The following month on 31 August 1963, both North Borneo and Singapore were also granted self-governance and all states began to formed Malaysia on 16 September 1963.

Approximately two years later, the Malaysian parliament passed a bill without the consent of signatory of Malaysia Agreement 1963 to separate Singapore from the Federation.[2] 

A confrontation with Indonesia occurred in the early-1960s. 

Race riots in 1969 led to the imposition of emergency rule, and a curtailment of political life and civil liberties.

 

 

 

The End of the War              

With the surrender of the Japanese, a vacuum crept up and uncertainty of what was going to happen began to haunt everyone.

TIME CHANGETH

The frightening dark days of the Japanese era were gradually dawning into the period of vague brightness in the horizon. The land was yet to see the total brightness. Peaceful day break and total brightness had yet to come.    

 

An unexpected surprise

It was an unusually hot day and the neighborhood shook with the drones of aero planes. It drove fear into everyone’s mind. There was another scramble and everyone in the village ran frantically into the houses; some into the trenches and some laid down on the ground on their stomach and praying out loudly.

Soon large planes flew above at about the height of two coconut trees. Unlike the swift planes, we saw the day they came on a mission to bomb, the planes were flying at a normal speed with unprecedented calmness.

 Suddenly the big doors on the sides of the planes opened and some colored objects fell from the sky. Someone yelled, “We are finished, bombs are dropping, run, run, as fast as you can.”

An army truck drove by and parked near the quarry and soldiers jumped out shouting, “Do not panic. It is not bomb; it is food for every one of you. Stay calm.” “These are parachutes, carrying food for all”, shouted the man in Bahasa Melayu.

The parachutes were in various colors and were attached to large boxes. Each one landed softly with a mugged “thud”. One or two hit the ground with a hard bang, and broke on impact. Biscuits, chocolates and other food stuff fell from the broken boxes.

 It was colorful and beautiful to see the chutes opening up in the all blue sky and landing smoothly around the village. Soldiers mostly Chinese, with their starred caps were moving along with the British soldiers and collected the parachutes and boxes. 

 No one else dared to pick them up. Sometimes the British soldiers would call out the small crowd watching “Heh! Johnny, take this” and would throw some biscuits to the children around. It was the most delicious biscuits then. We were happy but dared not show our happiness.

 We were still in doubt about what was in store. The kampong folks seemed relieved and after many years, we could see smiles on their faces. There was talk the government was taken by the British Military Administrative and soon life would become normal.

 

British Military Administration

“The British Military Administration (BMA) was the interim administrator of British Malaya between the end of World War II and the establishment of the Malayan Union in 1946. The BMA was under the direct command of the Supreme Allied Commander South East Asia, Lord Louis Mountbatten. The administration had the dual function of maintaining basic subsistence during the period of reoccupation, and also of imposing the state structure upon which post-war imperial power would rest.”

Days passed by and life moved on slowly but without much fear. However, there were no sign of further improvements and the government seemed to be at a standstill.

 

Impending Independence

 

There were discussion by the elders in the kampong that Malaya would soon achieve its independence and there would be a stable government after that.

There were talks of independence and that a Politcal Party under the name of UMNO (  UMNO – United Malays National Organization )… –under the leadership  Datuk Onn Jaafar as its leader strongly worked towards independence. . UMNO along with other  political parties like MCA and MIC started negotiations with the British for independence.

                          

                                      

 COMMUNIST INSURGENCY

Though the Japanese period of fear ended, but once again troubles soared its ugly head and more problems were in store for the people. The interim government had to face problems from the Communists, who were against the British and targeted and attacked the British owned companies.

Life as usual became rough and tough and there was no such thing as  ‘earning power.’ Employment rate was rather low and only a few worked for wages. There were no jobs available. 

Some able and enterprising people were self-employed, tending to cows and selling the milk, or running small vegetable farms and rearing ducks and chicken and sold the produce to earn a living. The earnings never filled the full hungry stomachs. But people were contended and with hopes of a better life soon, carried on with their meager income.

 

Insurgency of Communist                              

Malayan Communist Party (MCP)   

The next hardship came in the form of “The Communist insurgency in Malaya. It was a armed conflict between the Federal Security forces of the interim government and the Malayan Communist Party (MCP). Their target was the British who owned large estates of rubber plantations. 

The rubber estates were spread throughout the state of Johor and all the neighbouring States, in the country. 

We were living closer to the town which was rather quiet. It was not so in the rubber estates around. The peace and tranquil of the rural areas and the estates were constantly marred by armed conflicts between the terrorists and the army.

All the estates were guarded by armed forces and the managers or assistant managers, mainly British moved around with armed body guards. The jeeps they traveled were barricaded with thick steel sheets and more than often followed by armed soldiers traveling in armored vehicles.

The estates were large and owned by companies from Britain. The Managers of the estates were exclusively English man, with a large force of Tamil laborers from India. 

 

 Life in the estate

My maternal uncle, Mr. Velayutham, due to necessity of compassion to the family worked as a conductor in one of such estates. The working conditions were tough and there were constant fear of the communists, who could attack and killed mercilessly.    

Most of the rubber tapers were Tamil laborers. They started tapping the rubber trees at about 5.00 a.m. with kerosene oil lamps attached to their foreheads and moved from tree to tree to tap and collect the latex in a pail and sent it for processing by a different group of workers.

The laborers stayed in the quarters provided by the Estate. A terrace type of little houses in a terrace type with a room, kitchen and a verandah. A shop mostly owned by Chines ‘towkay’ provided household needs on credit. There would be a small clinic and a Tamil School.

The luxury of the laborers was screening of an open air cinema or a propaganda film against the communist. A toddy shop cherished the men folks in the evenings, after a hard day’s work.

My uncle’s job was to leave the house every morning at about 4.30am to muster the laborers on their attendance and sent them to different areas for their respective jobs. Later in the morning he had to go to the working areas to supervise the weighing of latex collected for the morning.

 He moved around on his 150C.C. BSA motor cycle and was totally exposed to the mercy of the ruthless communists. However, with the grace of God and his loving care to the tapers, no harm came to him.     

His daughter, and another cousin and I stayed with my grandmother in the town of Segamat. A very strong force of the British army was stationed in my town and we were free to move around without fear or harassment.  

School Holidays

As young children we always looked forward for school holidays, when we could go to the estate where my uncle worked. It was fun and enjoyable to live in the estate where the healthy breeze of the greenery around, the smooth sailing cool springs and the captivating sceneries of the estate attracted us. The danger within the beauty of the area was not visible nor realized by us.

We enjoyed the life in the plantation until one day when there was a surprise attack by the communists on the estate and the fight that ensued on that frightening night. 

Terrifying incidents

School holidays began and my grandmother wanted to take my cousin and me to Muar to visit a relative. It was the joyous thing that we ever heard. On the day of travel, both of us got up early and readied ourselves to go to where we had never been, the town of Muar. The distance to the bus station from our house was about 4 kilometers. The morning was getting hotter, and grandmother, my cousin and I started to walk. We reached the bus station tired and exhausted. The bus was not there. It was expected to arrive in about 45 minutes. There were 2 more passengers waiting to go to Muar. 

One of the ladies started talking to my grandmother. “Achi, you know the bus would go only up to the Muar River and we have to walk across the river on a small wooden bridge to reach the other side. One more bus would be waiting on the other side. That bus would send you to Muar,”

“Aiyah, susah lah” my grandmother exclaimed. “Apa boleh buat, at the time of Japanese invasion, the British army blasted the bridges, to slow dawn the Japanese army, “bukan Jepun. Itu kerja orang puteh.” Aiyah! my grandmother sighed. We did not understand what they were talking about, and wondered why granny sighed. Someone said, “Bus sudah sampai.” Momentarily everything was forgotten and our thoughts raced down to the bus.

 

Seeing the bus coming even though after almost 45 minutes was a welcoming sight and our hearts pumped fast with unexplainable excitement. The bus was more a hackneyed carriage rather than a bus, but to our mind it was like a Royal Horse Carriage. We rushed in and sat as close as possible to the windows. There was no door to shut, but had a horizontal bar for standing passengers to hold. There were only about 7 passengers all seated in the 15 passenger mini bus. There was no fan and when the bus moved, the wind blew and was cooling. The wind caressed our faces and ruffled the hair. It was fun and exciting.

The bus was moving with a lot of “cranks and squeaks and was rattling away in its swaying moves and laboriously and gradually passed through the town, 

There was not a single person along the road and the town was deserted. The bus went up the hill, where the Police Station stood, and down the hill and along the river. It was a dry season and the river was almost dry but we were excited seeing a river. The greenery of the fruit trees, ‘durian, langsat and mangosteen’ grown in the Malay villages on the road sides whizzed past. Fresh air started to blow into the bus. 

The bus moved along to about 10 miles, where it was completely deserted. The road was flanked on both sides with wild undergrowth and cluster of jungles.

 Suddenly some people rushed out from the bush and stood in front of the bus at a safe distance and signaled the bus to stop. Someone in the bus whispered, “Oh God, save us. They are communists.” 

They were in khaki uniform, with caps with Red star marking. The driver jammed the brakes and stopped the bus, and two men carrying guns rushed into the bus. The bus driver lifted both his hands up and started pleading, “tolong, tolong” and said something in Chinese.

I held my grandmothers’ hand, which was shivering. She whispered “don’t be afraid.” The two guys ‘shoved’ all of us out of the bus, and told us to walk back towards the direction we came from. We hurriedly rushed out of the bus and started walking towards our town, where we came from. “The town is so far away, how to walk,” I sulked.

 We walked about 20 meters away from the bus, and suddenly there was smell of petrol and a sound ‘whoosh’. We turned and looked. The bus was burning. They had set the bus ablaze. We were scared and started running. Being exhausted after running about a kilometer, we stopped and all of us were breathing like a horse. We were tired and thirsty but dared not rest for fear of the gunmen coming behind us. We walked about half an hour and we heard sound of army trucks coming towards us.

The trucks were from the army camp from town. The bus driver explained to the soldiers about what happened. One lorry with soldiers carrying guns moved towards the burning bus. The other took us back home.

The whole night I could not sleep. The incident kept flashing past my mind. The trip ended up by returning home half way into the journey.                                            

                                         

Experience

                                                                          

Time changed, the period changed but the progress in our lives never changed. There was not a stable government and there were no proper plans nor projects for the benefit of the people. 

However, life moved along and people carried on their lives as friends. There were no religious sentiments nor racial indifferences. Probably the concern was more for the daily food. It was a difficult period but there was no ill feelings or racial instability among the people.

Bullock Cart

There were no school buses nor other modes of transport to school.  We walked to school a distance of 2 to 3 miles. Sometimes while returning from school, we came across bullock carts that would give us a lift. It was pathetic to see the bulls struggle to pull the carts with 2 big wooden wheels, struggling up the hills with sound of cranking and hissing.

On days when it was an early school break we would walk home, through a lonely bridle path. Along the path were while growth of banana plants and guavas trees, mostly grown wild in no man’s land. 

If it rained, the banana leaves became our umbrella. One big leave could cover two small figures.

Climbing the guavas trees and swinging from tree to tree like monkeys, to pluck ripe fruits were a challenge. We were small in size and the guava trees were rather strong and flexible. The trees would bend but would not easily break. Wow!! What an excitement.   

 Dreaming in the class

Due to shortage of classrooms some of the classes were held on the school verandah. I enjoyed the classes in the verandah. The wind would slash upon me and it was cooler outside. I was seated in the corner, almost at the end of the class.

 

 

As the teacher started her class, my mind wonder into the sky, observing the cloud formation. The magic formation by the cloud into various shape and sizes, and even forming the shape of a smoking old man and a pouncing animal was far more interesting then the lessons by the teacher. 

My mind would wonder away into the cluster of clouds, until the cane of the teacher struck the bench. The punishment for not paying attention to the lesson, “Stand on the chair” Strange, but standing on the chair, I felt nearer the clouds and the dreams would start again.

No canteen

There was no canteen in the school, but there would be some hawkers selling food. The “tafu” selling man was always crowded with children. Such delicious tafu – one fried tahu, split into two with cucumber, boiled ‘taugeh’, with the home made sauce was so tasty. It was so delicious that even teachers ordered it through the students. Each piece cost 5cents and 2 pieces cut into cubes and put in a plate cost 10cents. Believe me, I am not joking.

 

My paternal grandmother Madam Ramayee

Sometimes during recess my friend Muniandy and I would slowly creep out of the compound to see my grandmother. There were no prefects to check on us and during recess we moved freely out and back to class before the class began.

 My grandmother, sold some eatables like mutton fried, chicken fried and other eatables to the toddy drinkers at the toddy shop. She had a small umbrella over her head to protect from the sun. The food was cheap and she had a brisk business. I can still remember her hugging me and “sayang” me. We could take what we wanted to eat- free of course. Most of the time I would take the kachang, which was hot and spicy and so did my friend. As we were about to leave, each of us would get 5 or 10 cents from grandma. As we ran back, she would cry out “don’t run, be careful, and come tomorrow.” My paternal grandmother still stays in my mind- She had a weak neck and it was always shaking.

What a trip

My Maternal Grandmother, Madam VISALATCHI

Without my father, my grandmother took over the responsibilities of the household chores. To feed the family she worked as a road laborer at the Public Works Department). To substantiate the income, she also worked as a maid that brought enough food on the table. Later my mother Madam Amaravathi, joined her as a laborer in the same department. Life was tough but they managed to send us to school. 

My grandmother always told us, “Your school is your future, learn well and live well.” I am ever grateful to my grandma, without whose guidance and care I would not be what I am now.

 Holidays were around the corner, and we were waiting for grandmother to say. “Let us go to uncle’s house.”

                                                                          

                                         TERROR

        

Early November to December was a rainy season. I was worried that the continuous rain could flood the roads and make it impassable to buses. That would spoil our plan to have a gala and enjoyable free for all time in my uncle’s house. We prayed and prayed and fortunately the day broke with bright morning sun and made me jump with joy. My cousin, grandmother and myself left the house and walked towards the bus station- a distance of about 4 km. The distance was not a match for us, as we were used to walking long distances to school and back.

We reached the bus stop and were glad to see a bus about to leave to Labis. We quickly hopped into the bus and sat at a seat at the rear. The bus was not air-conditioned. The natural air that blew when the bus moved was cool and fresh.

 As the bus gathered speed, gust of wind hit our faces and we jumped with joy. We reached Labis and had to wait for a connecting bus that went to Yong Peng. It was a long wait and finally the bus arrived. I told my grandma that I would press the bell when we arrived at the place, where we should get down. My grandma understood the children’s desire and shook her head with a smile. After about 45 minutes, grandma signal to me and both of us, my cousin and I rushed in and rang the bell. We hit the bell twice and the driver looked through his rear view mirror and said, “Ok, ok, saya tahu”. The bus stopped and we rushed down. The bus continued its journey.

We had to stand by the roadside at the junction to go to Bekok. Another wait at the roadside for a connecting bus to go to the town of Bekok. 

Travels in those days were hazardous and tiring. It was a hot day, and except for the palm oil trees there were no shade anywhere nearby. We sat at the roadside with a towel on the head to protect ourselves from the heat of the sun. My granny shouted, “Bus coming, come quick. We got up, collected the bags rushed and soon we were in the bus that was going to the Town of Bekok. 

About 5 miles before Bekok, we got down. 

The journey was not over, we had to walk another distance of about 4 km. to reach the estate, known as Eldred Estate. We had to choose between the gravel road and the short cut that passed through bushes but was nearer by a kilometer. If we chose the gravel road, we could be lucky to get a lift from passing estate Lorries. However, it was not certain if the Lorries would.

Besides, it was blazing hot. The next choice was to walk along a bridal path which had small bushes and under growth.

It was cooler. The area was plunged with pungent smell of dying weeds and grass and toxic smell of the weed killer solution, sprayed to kill the grass and weed. We closed our nose and mouth with handkerchief and walked on. There was no choice except to walk through.  

I was tired and wanted to ease myself. I told my granny and moved away to a nearby stream. As I stood on the bank, I heard some voices. I peeped through the bushes and under the small wooden bridge, were 3 persons squatting holding guns and smoking cigarettes.

I was terribly frightened. I moved back step by step and whispered to my grandmother. She put her index finger to her lips a sign to keep quiet, and motioned to move away and walked briskly towards the estate.

We were fortunate that the three men did not notice us. They must had been terrorists.

We were tired and breathless walking and running away from the sight of the communists. A sigh of deep breadth when we reached my uncle’s house which was on top of a small hill. We told my auntie what we saw. She said, “It must be the communists, resting after patrolling in that area.” “You were lucky that the communists did not see you.”

She told us not to tell anyone other than my uncle when he came home from work.

Unlike the present days traveling were such a hazard. It took us the whole day to travel a distance of maybe 50 miles.    

                 

An Attack in the Night    

The bungalow given to my uncle was on top of a small hill. There were two other bungalows which were on a higher ground, one to the right and one to the left. The bungalows were strangely, painted with black paint, probably not to attract any attention to the communists especially when there were night raids that took place often in the estate. The electricity supply to the house would be stopped at 9.00p.m. We had a early dinner we went to bed. Our only means of light thereon was candle and torchlight. It was pitch dark all over and we were in bed by 9.30p.m.and hoped for a peaceful rest.

Suddenly we heard the clinging of the small tins attached to the wire fence that was set around the laborers quarters, manager’s bungalow, shop, clinic etc. The whole of the estate’s living quarters and other blocks, except the conductors’ bungalows were within the fence.

For fear of unexpected problems, uncle advised us to jump out of the bed and sleep below the bed. Even in the darkness outside we could see through the cracks in the wooden walls. Suddenly, in the dim of the street lights, we some figures crawling and crouching towards the fence. 

 

My uncle whispered, “It must be the Communist, I think there is going to be a raid.”” “Stay quiet and don’t be afraid.” We could see what was happening through the small partisans in the wooden walls. There were movements just outside the fence. 

The intruders were trying to enter through the fence when the tins attached to the fence started shaking and made a din of noise.  There was a sudden glare of bright light from the spot lights mounted near the estate fence. In the brightness of the spot lights we saw about 8 to10 people in khaki uniform moving towards the fence. My uncle whispered “My God, the communists!” Soon bullets were flying like a firework display, and we saw 2 of them fell to the ground. They were quickly grabbed by their comrades and dragged into the undergrowths. The fight continued, bullets from both sides were flying like barrage of stars being shot out into the universe. The noise was deafening. The fight lasted for about 15 minutes and we were shivering.

 The army trucks with armed soldiers from the neighboring army base came in. The soldiers jumped out from the Lorries and ran into the jungle with guns blazing. The intruders were cornered. The attack now was from the sides

and the terrorists were caught from the blind sides and were unable to match the attack from front and sides. After about 45 minutes, the terrorists withdrew into the darkness and the fight stopped. The soldiers ran after them in the darkness and went after the fleeing intruders. 

 

They dragged out some terrorists either wounded or dead. The others had disappeared into the still darkness of the night.

We were very frightened. The phone rang. My uncle grabbed the phone and said “Hello”. His voice was rather coarse. The call was from the Manager’s office. He told my uncle to stay indoor and not to be worried. 

Two soldiers were being sent to protect us. He suggested that he could follow the soldiers to work the next day and report for duty after 9.00am, when it was bright. The situation was frighteningly calm in the estate.

It was rather tense and movements were completely restricted. All new arrivals to the estate were thoroughly checked and going out on the estate road had to be escorted.

A few days later a Chinese Kepala (contractor), was shot by the communists and the laborers feared to go to the field to tap rubber. My uncle decided to send the family including us back to our kampong in Segamat. He obtained permission from the manager and with an armed car escorting the estate land rover, we were sent to the Bekok railway station. My uncle stayed back. He had his job.

                                          

SPORTS IN TROUBLE WATERS

Segamat town was rather peaceful. Whenever information of sighting terrorists and troubles were reported, a night curfew would be imposed. Except for such night curfews, it was rather peaceful and matters moved without any undue incidences.

 We lived in a kampong called Kampong Quarry. There was a rocky hill in front of the village, and rocks were blasted for many practical uses. Blasting normally took place for about one hour and the area was out of bounds to all during the blasting period. Some of the rocks blasted would break into large pieces and some to the size of a tennis ball or a football. These rocks and stones would be thrown during blasting to a distance of about 400 meters. Sometimes the stones fell into the houses through the roof. 

At one unfortunate moment a stone fell on a lady selling eggs, who had taken shelter under a tree during the blasting. She died instantly. The kampong folks had no other choice and with nowhere else to go, they prayed and lived on. It was a daily nightmare, but we lived on.

TIME FOR SPORTS           

Just beside my house, there was a plot of land that belonged to nobody. We cleaned up the area and made a badminton court. The lines for the court were drawn with the fine dust, from the quarry that broke the stones. Without rain, the lines could last about 4 days. Our team was known as the “Flying Shuttlers”. All of us in the team were students and we were financially supported by a sports loving contractor, who lived in the kampong. His name is Mister Aligirisamy. Out of respect we called him MISTER. The badminton team consisted of about 12 players, between the ages of 13 to 15 years of age.

There was a football team in the kampong also sponsored by Mister. The players were all adults between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-six of age. It was quite a formidable team no doubt.

Mister had arranged for a badminton and football match, with the teams from Gomali estate, which was about twelve miles away from Segamat. 

 

It was a Friday, and a holiday in Johore. We were happy to travel to Gomali Estate in Mister’s Willy’s Wagon. After reaching the 7th mile towards Gemas, we branched out on the gravel road that led to Gomali estate at another distance of about 5 miles. The dust from the gravel road started flying in all directions. We quickly wound up the windows. We reached and were cordially invited by the Staff and workers of the Estate.

 

ONE MORE EXPERIENCE

Badminton started on a well-made cement court, and our team being used to the gravel court found it difficult to play on a hard court. We could not slide to retrieve the drops and our feet started to ache at every hard step. 

No excuse. The other team was well matured and we had to put up a hard fight. We lost 2-5.

 Whereas the football team beat the estate team by a narrow margin of 1-0. The Estate workers were so thrilled and happy at our presence and invited us for a toddy drinking session. The toddy shop was within the enclosure of the estate and was meant for the adults in the football team.

 We being a young group stayed back in the van that was parked outside the fence. It was around 6.00 p.m. The senior group walked into the enclosure for toddy drinking and were supposed to return before 7.00 p.m.

 Time passed by and it was 7.00p.m. The gate of the enclosure was closed. The senior group was still inside unable to come out. At seven o’clock curfew had been imposed and no movement of any sort was allowed. We were inside the van and it was getting darker and night fall was frighteningly dark. The soldiers stationed in the estate refused to open the gate, without the permission of the manager.

THE FINAL TYRANNY

As we sat in the van, we were hungry and also very frightened. Suddenly Gopal said, “I think we are in trouble,” he pointed up the hill and we could see a column of lights descending from the hills. We had heard that tiger’s eyes would shine like torch in the dark. Could it be tigers coming down? “My God, it could be.” Naturally it took the guts out of our wits. It was warm, but we raised all the windows and locked the doors tight. It was better to be warm rather than be eaten by the tigers.

Gopal said, “Dai there must be two tigers. I could see four eyes gleaming in the dark and coming down the hill.” The other said, “We are finished lah.” They must have sensed our presence. “But how dah, our windows are all closed and how can they sense our presence”, asked the youngest in the group. “Tigers have a strong sense of smell, and I think they must be man eating tigers,” Gopal replied.

The eldest in the group Siva said, “Hai you two keep quiet, the tigers are nearing.” Suddenly Soman whispered, “It is not tigers, it is the communists coming to shoot us.” “But why, we are students, we do not mean any harm to them.” The eldest whispered, “ssh, keep quiet, let us wait and see.” 

 

The lights reached closer to the van, and seemed to be dispersing into various direction. They flew over the van, around the van and away, away from us. Everyone sighed “oh my God they are fire flies, flying in a group. They flew over the van and flew away, probably in search of food. We let out a sigh of relief but dare not laugh out. There could be other dangers lurking in the darkness.

 We checked the time. It was 7.45p.m. We were hungry and desperate. Still no sign of any chance of going home. “how are we going to spend the whole night, lonely, hungry and frightened.” Our eyes were glued to the gates and hoped that some miracles would take place.

 

We could not believe our eyes, the gates opened and three soldiers with their guns came running towards our van and told us not to worry. At last we were going home. ‘No, no’, we were taken within the enclosure and the gates were closed. That was under the instruction of the Estate manager. It was dangerous to travel at night in the estate roads. We were worried about the ‘blasting’ from our elders when we reached home the following day.  

The water from the well was chill like a mountain spring. We drew out buckets and buckets of water from the well and poured over our heads. The body was drenched and we felt refreshed and rushed into the small rooms in the empty houses where we were to spend the night. A mat and a pillow was provided. After enjoying a sumptuous vegetarian dinner served on the banana leaves, we went to sleep.

Our sound sleep was disturbed by furious barking of the dogs and the clanging of the empty tins attached along the fence. The siren blared and spot lights from the estate’s security unit shot into the darkness outside the fence. We could see through the cracks in the wooden walls. There were some intruders who were running towards the fence and trying to enter the estate.” Oh my God”, I thought to myself, “the communists, and what an unfortunate second experience for me”. The communists were just across the fence and closer to the houses where we were sleeping.

Gomali Estate had been relatively a calm place with no serious terrorist’s activities. But why now? Maybe we were at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was extremely quiet in the room, except for one of the guys by the name of Samy, He was sobbing and murmuring to himself. “Oh God, please protect me. They are coming for me.

They must have known that I am here.” His crying was sympathetic, but why should a grown up man, cry like a coward?

The fight outside intensified and the sound of firing from both sides were deafening. The shooting was just across the fence and closer to the houses where we stayed. For fear of flying bullets that could stray into our room, we laid flat on our bellies and prayed. Sound of military trucks came from the main road, and someone whispered, ” I think the army has come, do not worry, we are all saved.” Do not open the door till we are very sure.” warned Mister. The spot lights across the fence still shone bright and there were no movements. The terrorists had retreated. The soldiers rushed into the bushes and dragged out about 3 bodies of the slain terrorists. Everything was calm.

There was a knock at the door, and we could hear the voice of the Mandor, who was our kind host throughout the evening. “Thambi, do not worry, the communists have withdrawn and the army is here to protect us. We have stationed two soldiers in front of your room. Sleep well. I will wake you up in the morning.”

 

It was 7.00am. There was a knock at the door. Once again it was the kind hearted Mandor, who told us to get ready to go. Hot coffee was served and we got into the van and was escorted out of the estate by an armed military vehicle. As soon as we reached the main road to Segamat, the armed car ‘hooted’ a sign of ‘bye bye’ to us and returned to the estate. We reached home and had a lot of explanation to be made to our worried elders. 

Fortunately, Mister was there to explain the situation.

 The attack by the Communists in Gomali estate became the talk of the town. There were rumors that the attack was timed to shoot someone in the group. It was rumored that Sami who was shivering in the room, in that fateful night, was a surrendered communist and was highly wanted in the ‘wanted list’ of the communists. There must have been an intruder or spy of the communists who would have leaked out on the where about of Samy.

After about a month two of the football players who accompanied us to Gomali estate were traced to be high ranking officers in the Communists group. They had passed information of the whereabouts of Samy. The attack that night was staged to kill Samy. Fortunately, the attack was foiled, if not some of us could have been shot in the shootout. 

It was rumored that at a later date the two communist sympathizers surrendered to the authorities. Their whereabouts were not known to anyone, except maybe the police. 

 

Difficult times

Electric lights were rare in the houses in the kampong and we were using kerosene lamps in the night. The lights were dim and I found it difficult to do my homework. The street lights along the road were bright enough for me to study. It was quiet and concentration was easier. I walked up to the main road to do my homework and other lessons.    The road was quiet and lonesome. The surroundings were enveloped in total darkness, but I was not bothered by any fear of any howling or eerie sound that were heard.  Sitting on the sides of a little power transmission station near the road, I did my homework. Soon a few of my friends joined me under the street lights.

After school, my job was to take our two cows for grazing. I move along with another cowherd. The boy Palani was an orphan, who lived at the backyard of a lady’s house. She owned several cows. 

His job was to take care of the cows for which he was given a place to live with 2 meals a day.

Another 4 cows were added to this herd by another man and Palani was paid some pocket money as a token of appreciation. He was happy. He was a happy go lucky guy and never bothered about his unsteady life nor his future.

When my school examination was drawing near, Palani would drive my cows along with his and advise me to study for my examination. My place of study was on a tree, sitting between branches, while my cows were looked after my friend Palani.   

Fridays and Saturdays were school weekend holidays. My chores for Friday mornings were to retie the cows from the cow shed to a tree near my house. Bathe the cows and do a small prayer thanking the cows for the milk they gave, then feed them with cut pieces of tapioca or sweet potatoes and unleash them for grazing near and around the house.

 The cows were well trained by Palani and were intelligent enough to understand all our commands. In the evenings, I delivered milk to some regular customers. I have not seen my friend Palani since I left my home town Segamat to work in Seremban. I sincerely miss him my cowherd friend.

Certain weekends, I was at the rice fields. The rice had been harvested and covered with rich grass edible for the cows. A walk into the field would be through sharp blades of grass and weeds. The cut grass was carried out batch by batch, tied up into long packages and carried on the head to the cow shed. The grass would be spread out for the cows to munch throughout the night. The results would be good quality and plentiful milk, but both my legs up to the thighs would be scratched and drastically itchy. Rub of coconut oil would soothe the itch but the marks criss-crossing on the legs would make some ugly patterns lasting over many days. 

It was an experience of a life time.   We drove the cows up the hill, where the grass was fresh lust green. While the cows were grazing Palani ran down to the Military camp occupied by the British Ghurkha Contingent.

 Within a short moment, Palani ran down to the army camp and returned with one aluminium mug full of steaming tea and a loaf of bread. It was the most delicious food of the period. Every Friday was a tea and bread feasting day for us.

 

 

Road Repair

The gravel road leading to our houses were uneven, and Mister asked whether we could update and repair it. I was glad and agreed. I gathered my friends and fill all the pot holes and the sides with little stones from the quarry and plaster them with gravel earth. The road was ready for movement of his vehicle. 

A handsome cash payment of Ringgit 3 each was our reward.

TODDY TAPING

Mister Alagirisamy, was a toddy contractor. He had employed 10 toddy tapers from India. I was given a job to record the number of pints of toddy tapped and brought by the tapers. After measuring, the toddy it had to be sieved through a clean cloth and poured into a large jar. The jars would be collected and loaded

 

into the Willy’s wagon and sent to the estates, for the labourers’ consumption. The toddy was a cheap but healthy and entertaining form of intoxication to the hard working labourers.

 At these periods, there were no such fast food as KFC, MACDONALD etc. We thrived on a home grown chicken, which may be would be slaughtered once a month with one chicken for a family of about 10 people. But during the festival of Deepavali, a goat would be slaughtered and shared by about 10 families.

 

CATCHING FISH, THE UNIQUE WAY

 

Fish was in abundance and we had a unique supply of small fishes caught in the stream that was running smoothly at the fringe of our village.

A small stream, flowing in about 2 km. from our house was teemed with fishes of various kinds and sizes, medium and small. Once a month the neighbours would join together and go fishing in the stream. A unique system was used. The flow of the water was slow and was about knee depth. A dam would me made with mud and small stones and the water flow was blocked. Another dam was made at just about 10 feet to make the water to stop from flowing away further. The stagnated water was taken out by scooping the water and emptied on the banks.

 

After about 30 minutes of hard work the water be reduced to ankle depth and the gleaming fishes would be scoped and taken out and emptied into the baskets.

When most of the fishes were collected, both the dams were broken and removed, thus allowing the water to continue flowing.

The fishes are separated according to their sizes and types. The smaller ones are thrown back into the spring. The fishes are shared equally between the groups. Ample fish to last a month per family was available. A good proportion would be taken for a delicious curry and fried fish. The balance would be dried and stocked for weekly cooking which would last for over a month. 

 

Enough supply of meat: 

There was sufficient supply of meat in the sky and jungles. The fruit seasons especially wild fruits were a haven but also death traps for the large number of flying foxes flying in search of food. Large nets, like net used for the game of badminton were tied between two big trees, where the flying foxes would fly. The net being non visible in the dark night, the blind flying foxes would try to fly through the net and get caught. The net were brought down the moment the prey were struck and removed from the net, with a hard smack on the head. 

The catch would end in about 4 hours with about 20 flying foxes, which would be shared between the 3 hunters. The season always provided us with bountiful of tasty, nutritious meat supply.

Arumagam, a young athlete a competent javelin thrower was also talented using his home made ‘SLING’, a small armoury that was used to hunt iguanas. He was a sharp shooter and would never miss shooting an iguana climbing a tree. This was another source of meat supply. Then there were wild bores, mouse deer etc. which were turned into delicious food. Do I miss them now? A big no, I do not eat meat anymore.  

Fruits, Fruits everywhere

The fruit season was the happiest moment in my life. In and around my kampong, there were fruit trees of various kinds eg. rambutans, mangosteen, langsat, mata kucing etc. The durian season that was yet to come was eagerly awaited. During these seasons, we were on a fruit hunt. Some friends of mine and I would cycle up into the neighboring Malay kampongs. The houses in the kampong were thatched roofs, plank walls and stood on stilts. As we cycled up we would stop at a house with some fruit trees. An elderly lady would be sitting at the entrance and chewing ‘sireh’.We would politely ask in Malay, “Auntie, can we take some fruits, we are hungry.” The lady with utmost concern would say, “Take lah yourself. Auntie cannot come down.” “The stick is there and be careful.”

 We plucked what we needed, thanked her and move on.

Such politeness and kind benevolence and concern still lingers in my mind. 

 

 

This went on throughout the fruit season. Without paying a single cent we have tasted most of the fruits in the kampong. 

The durian season was a difference with more excitements. 

My childhood days were simple though filled with happiness.

 What was needed, other then luxuries were around me. I grew along with nature, a simple life with abundance of freedom.

 

Yeah, my memory shoots back to the durian season, the pleasant smell of the king of fruits and the thorny experiences that still make me yearn for such a life.

During weekends, along with two or three friends of mine, especially the energetic in both action and friendship was my friend Bijon Nandy, who had left me and had reached the kingdom of heaven. Let me pause for a moment to reach the reminiscence of his closeness and love as a friend.

Durian, the King of Fruits.

The pleasant aroma of the fruit draws me back to what happened then. We pedaled to the town of Buloh Kasap which was about 5 miles from my town. Why? With no explainable purpose or May I say, just for fun. The traffic on the road was relatively low and it was fun cycling ‘zigzagging’ and challenging one another. In this present period of the monopoly of the road by incessant traffic, it is out of bound for such pleasures.

 

 

I have not still touched my experience with durians. Keep the best for the last I agree with those who say “the durian is the king of fruits.” Since the place where I stayed was surrounded by Malay kampungs, the season brought in abundance of sweet and memorable durians. Without exaggeration let me say that I have eaten durians enough for my life time. May I share a small portion of my durian experiences. 

The pleasant smell of durians always drew us to the road side in the town of PEKAN JABI. A small town, it was but a big producer of succulent durians in abundance. The fruits were collected and heaped along the road to be sent to the neighboring towns as well as Singapore. There were several heaps at separate intervals.  

At the sight of the heaps, our bicycles would refuse to move further. We put the bicycle on stands and approach the person who was guarding the fruits and pretend to ask the price of the fruits. “This is not for sale, but to send to other towns including Singapore”. 

The pretentious disappointments on our face would probably bring sympathy into the man. He would say, “If you want to eat, take one or two fruits and no money. (Anyway, none of us had money to pay). Why worry about money? It was a period of good nature, goodwill and benevolence that prevailed in abundance. Not enough, our mischiefs and desire for durians would drive us to do crazy things. As we were in the open area near the house, a durian vendor carrying durians in a basket tied to his motr cycle. The thorns in the fruits would holdon to one another and needed no tying. The heap would be above his head. We would run slowly behind the bike, pick one fruit on the top and move away quietly. The poor man was not aware of what happened. The price of durians was cheap and for sure there was no loss on his part and it was more of fun to us.                                 

                            Durians do no fall on Good People

The night spent in a durian plantation with my classmate and friend Sufi is another memorable incident that I treasure in my mind.  It was a durian dropping season and I was excited. The kampong was about 6 kms away from my home and riding my Raleigh bicycle reached the kampong at about nightfall. 

It was rather dark and Sufi was waiting and we cycled up about another short distance and carried the bicycle across a railway track. I looked “right look left and to the right again”. Sufi laughed out and said, “mm! Alert eh! Do not worry, no trains around this time.” I smiled and continued and continued walking pushing my bicycle. It took us some time to reach his grandfather’s durian plantation which was at the fringe of the jungle on a slightly raised ground. I was worried of some wild animals lurking around. 

The grandfather a pleasant, energetic and friendly person assured me that there was nothing to worry.

We climbed the 4 wooden steps into a cute little hut, where we were to spend the night and wait for the durians to drop. Within a few minutes the grandfather brought us bread and black coffee. Sufi said, “Eat the bread when you are hungry and drink the black coffee when you are sleepy” What a rhythmic connotation.” I smiled and agreed.

“When would the durians drop”, asked meekly. Sufi looked at me and with a mischief smile, said, “When they feel like” and continued, “Sorry lah, that was to keep you awake. I saw you yawning and this could put you on alert.” “The durians would normally drop at dawn when day breaks, or on cold nights even at midnight.” “There is no hard and fast rule for the timing of its drop.

 At the break of dawn I jolted with fear, when I heard the sound ‘thud’. Do not be scared it is the first durian to drop this morning. I gathered myself and asked, “It is dark, how to find the durian in the thickly grown grass and weeds.”

 “Be patient, there are many more to drop and by then the light from the horizon would be sufficient to do the picking. Besides, we have our torch light.” 

One more ‘thud’ followed by a few more at frequent intervals. I counted 17 drops whereas Sufi counted 18. It was morning, and the surrounding was brighter. Treading through the thickly grown grass and weeds we walked around in search of the fallen durians. 

Sufi seeing me looking up to the trees every now and then, laughed and said, “Hai! do not worry, the durians won’t drop on good people.” I looked at the grandfather. He smiled and said, “cherita karat”meaning unbelievable story.  With their experience, they know that the durians had stopped dropping for the moment. “Do not worry, it is getting bright and durians would drop only at to night and morning. 

 

It is a legendry belief that durians do not drop on any good people. They are bound by their own discipline. “Thud”, one more dropped at about my arm’s length. Sufi smiled and said “I told you, it won’t drop on good people. I was happy that I was a good person. I helped Sufi to send the picking back to the hut before the next one dropped.

There were 18 fruits, I had miss the count. “EXPERIENCE won.                                

 

My family Life starts

It was 08.06.1963 – the day I married Miss Indrani Devi d/o Kasi. It was without doubt a love marriage, blessed by both the parents of the bride and groom. It was just like a fairy wedding going through mild ceremonies that we least understood.        

I was working as a clerk in the Land Office with a salary of RM.137.50 plus COLA (COST OF LIVING ALLOWANCE) of Rm.60.00, totaling to RM.197.50. MY wife was not working then. We started our lives happily in a rented wooden house near the Happy Gardens in Rasah, Seremban.              

The following year, 1964 brought in an additional member to my two member family. It was now three with my eldest son Saravanan born on 03.03.1964. It brought along an additional expenditure and my wife started teaching as a temporary teacher in a private school. She was fortunate that one Mr.Moorthy , a headmaster of the school assisted her in getting a place in the Government REGIONAL TRAINING CENTRE. My wife qualified as a fully trained teacher. Life turned smoother.

Over the period of time we were blessed with 2 more sons, RAMANAN- 25.08.1968 And MATHANAN = 03.12.1972. The children grew and we grew along with them.

I am fortunate my wife has the same wave length of mine in feelings, understandings and willingness to help the needy. We have sailed through the odyssey of the seas, bellowing waves and guided by God have anchored at the peaceful port.

  We pray to the Grace of God to keep us in pace understanding and love, and the world sails through smoother breeze.   

 

MERDEKA

Life in those days were rough and tough and earning power was slowly creeping into existence. Employment sector was rather slow but there were sign of further development. Most of them were self-employed, tending to cows and selling the milk, or running small vegetable farms and rearing ducks and chicken and sold the produce to earn a living. The days mostly ended with only half stomach full. But people were contended and accepted it. However there was hope for a better life.

After completing my studies, I joined the clerical service of the Malayan Government. My basic salary was RM.137.50 plus Cost of living allowance (COLA) I took home total monthly salary of RM.160.00. At that moment, it was a handsome salary.

 

The days moved on and came the D-DAY, (INDEPENDANCE TO MALAYA, and the country attracted the attention of other countries in the world.

 

The day 31.08.1957, dawned With the declaration of independence by the magical cries, MERDEKA, MERDEKA,MERDAKA,BY Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra Al-Haj ibni Almarhum Sultan Abdul Hamid Halim Shah DMN, DK … formation of Malaysia. As such, he is often referred to as Bapa Kemerdekaan (Father of Independence) or Bapa Malaysia (Father of Malaysia).

 Freedom was obtained and along with it the ambiguity of democracy started rising. Progress developed and people became more conscious of right and wrong. 

                                              IT DOES NOT END.      

           

 

 

                                                               

                                                MERDEKA, MERDEKA,MERDAKA

           

                              PREFACE

It is a moment of bliss to cast back my thoughts from about 5 years old to 80 years plus. Gladly my memory still stands to think back and cherish the moment of youth. Life may would have been different and difficult, but in the doldrums of miseries, there was pleasure. To look back over the shoulders brings a lot of tears of happiness and sadness. 

Most of the incidences referred were my personal experiences and true to the core. As a form of enlightenment, I have referred to some of the historical facts. (Thanks to Google). 

The names and characters mentioned in my episode are real and I am proud to have associated with them. My heartfelt thanks to all (both still living and those who have left this world.)

It is admirable to see that through thick and thin, people of Malaya and now Malaysia stayed united and worked towards the progress of the country.

For a small country, it had undergone immense unwanted attention from foreign entities, which was cruel and unnecessary. 

Proud to say the country has gained attention and admiration from the leaders of the countries of the super world for its resilience and progress through adversities.

 

I will be failing in my sincerity of living as a 4th generation and a 6th generation in the pipeline, if I do not appreciate and thank the leaders of the country, who have steered it through, from moment of terror and turmoil to be a peaceful and progressive country.

Siva R.Maniam

                 Neelamayils 2004@yahoo.com

               

 

                             

 

    

    THE DAY I DO NOT WANT TO REMEMBER 

To the best of my opinion the most dreadful day in Malaysia is 13th May, 1969.

On the fateful day we were on our way to Kuala Lumpur. At that period of time there was no highway and the old road through Mantin was the busy thoroughfare. The Mercedes Benz of my close friend M.S.Maniam was cruising through the winding road. 

(At this moment I would express my sorrow as he is no more with us. DATO M.S.MANIAM has left this world to be in the peace of the heaven.)

 

Kuala Lumpur was busy as usual but a sort of unexplainable uneasiness has enveloped the environment. It was strange though. After attending to some of our chores, we had a sumptuous lunch. There was an uneasy calmness in the shop that would normally be vibrant and noisy. It was around 1.30 p.m. and we had a lot of time in our hands. It was too early to return home. The idea to go for a film show was fortunately shot down.

The idea to visit DR.V. David was welcomed. Dr. David, a relation of M.S.Maniam had just returned from Penang victoriously in the just finished election. I have never met Dr. David and was glad to grab the opportunity to meet a prominent personal in flesh and blood.

Dr. David was pleased to see us and welcomed us with tea and snacks. His eyes were blood shot, probably from lack of sleep or the undesirable activities that were taking place and disturbing the peace of the country. His attention was slipping through and he looked inattentive to our conversation. His attention was slipping through. M.S. understood my look. He asked Dr. “Athan, is everything alright? You seemed to be disturbed.”  

 There was a dry smile from Dr. David, “Up to now everything is alright”. Before he continued the phone rang and Dr. David rushed in and lifted the phone and said, “Hello, and a very quick conversation ensued. He left the phone on the rest and rushed to us. “You have come at the wrong time.

Trouble is brewing around, leave now and rush back to the safety of your home.” He continued, “It was TAN CHEE KOON, who rang up. A deadly flare up has started around town. Go through Pudu and do not stop until you reach home.” It was a chilling news. We got into the car and drove out to the main road holding on to our shivering nerves.

(Mr.Tan Chee Koon was the leader of the Labor Party of Malaysia.)

 

The road was without the usual huff and buff of rushing traffic, and police patrol cars cruised through the empty street. As we reached the San Peng road junction, we were terrified that the main Pudu road leading to Seremban was blocked by fallen tree branches.

A few Indian boys came rushing to us and suggested that we do not go any further, “Go and stay within the safety of the Jabatan Kerja Raya (JKR) store”.

We were undecided but the presence of passing military trucks gave us confidence and we decided to go home. 

The branches were removed and we continued our journey. The boys wished us a safe journey.

My wife was surprised to see me back home early and before I could explain, the TV programe was interrupted and the then Prime Minister of Malaysia Tunku Abdul Rahman appeared on the screen. He was in a somber mood appealing to the people to stay calm and peaceful. The speech was interrupted again and the news “EMERGENCY DECLARED IN THE WHOLE OF SELANGOR. It advised people to stay indoors and keep away from the streets. My wife looked at me. I sighed with a relief and said, “Thank God, we decided to leave Kuala Lumpur at the right moment. The phone rang. It was Dato M.S. “Did you see the news?

I thanked him and said, “Thank you and take care.”          

We kept the TV on the whole night for more updating news. Selangor was under curfew but what about the other states. I rang up my boss, Enche Mohd Suffian, a young dashing Assistant District Officer.

He said that the situation was bad and advised me to stay indoors. It was too early and no instructions were forthcoming from the Federal HQ. “Stay put till I phone you.” he said.

The whole night was restless and fear kept us from sleeping. We opened our eyes and ears at the slightest dog bark. The day broke and there was uncertainties all around. The phone rang. It was my boss. He said that he has been appointed as the Deputy Chairman in the Operation Centre for the State of Negeri Sembilan. He continued, “You stay put in the house and I will keep in touch” I just said “Thank You tuan.”

 

Enche Mohd Suffian was from the district of Rembau, a graduate from University Malaya. A brilliant young man just about four years younger to me. He was the Assistant District Officer in Seremban. I was his chief clerk and he always addressed as C.C. (abbreviation for chief clerk). He had confidence in me and has assigned me to draft all memorandums to the EX.CO. N.S.State Executive Council) Ruler in Council. 

 

He had an excellent command of English and he would vet all that I wrote and submit it to the District Officer for approval and onward forward to EX-CO for the approval of Ruler in Council. The work naturally was demanding with lot of care and my boss had a lot of confidence in my work. As a team we never failed.

It was quite natural when he rang me again and told me, “C.C., I have got you appointed you as my clerk for the period. I will secure a pass for you to move in and out during any emergency or curfew within the State.” The job may be tough and demanding but I can count on you.”

 It brought some relief but coupled with fear that “Will the Pass has access through the blood thirsty mob”.

I relied back on my boss and the security personals in charge to control the situation.

It was 7.30 am. I was driving my Volkswagen Beetle and at the barbed wire sentry post, my car was searched, and the army personal took out my hockey stick that I always kept to be used for playing. It took some time explaining to him till I remembered the PASS. I duck into my wallet and showed him the Pass. Like a spell cast on him, he toned down and said with an apologetic voice, “I am sorry Tuan, but you may go but I have to confiscate the hockey stick. Even with a pass you are not supposed to carry any offensive items. You need a special permit for that. He was polite but strict.  I left the stick with him and left the area, sweating all over. My car had no AIR CON.

 

The period was filled with tension and there was a mistrust among the people. Even friends refused to be friendly. 

As I was driving back home, I accidently knocked at the back of a car that abruptly stopped at a road junction. The driver immediately came down from his car and started abusing me. I tried to explain to him, but he challenged me for a fight. I quickly pulled out my security pass and showed it to him, that I am an officer from the Police Operation Centre. His wife from his car was calling him to come back. He looked hard at me and got into the car and sped off. Other than a small dent, there was no damage to his car. 

Another incident of untold sensitive moment that I underwent was at the Seremban market. The fish that I wanted to buy was rather expensive and I asked the angry looking fishmonger to reduce the price. He responded with a scorn and said, “You………. Do not know how to eat fish, you go home and eat dried fish.” It was insulting but realizing the situation I left the market. I related the incident to my boss and please believe En. Mohd Suffian bought and sent me a succulent fish of about 2 kg. 

My account on that dreadful day is narrated in the mildest form. What more, unpleasant experiences and instances are best forgotten, needs no record nor repetition of such moments.               

           

                   MALAYSIA IS A GREAT COUNTRY.   

 

 

                               

 

 

             MEMOIRES OF MY LIFE IN SINGAPORE IN THE EARLIES

It was rainy season and I forgot to carry an umbrella. The best excuse as the case always be is ‘forgot’ but it was just sheer carelessness and laziness. The bus lumbered gently and had reached the last stop where my journey from school to home for the day ended. I was in Form one at the Sembawang Secondary School, Singapore. I was staying with my aunty and uncle at Seletar. As an average student I did not excel in the minds of my academic teachers. At more on average I shone well in the sporting activities of the three jumps, i.e. High Jump, Long Jump and Hop Step and Jump. I created some records in these events that stood firm over three years.

Fortunately, the rain had toned down to fine drizzle. With the small school bag covering the head, I walked up the little hill. It was fun kicking the little stones jetting out from the gravel road with pot holes here and there. The wooden shops on the side, more on the right were mostly closed and some looked dull with shabby business. The narrow winding road branched into two directions, one to the right and one to the left. In the centre on top of a raised land was a cinema theatre- the Sultan theatre. Facing against the cinema theatre there was a ‘Mamak Stall’ famous for the mutton/chicken soup. His politeness and the delicious ‘attu kaal mutton/chicken soup was the drag net to his vibrant business.

The aatu kaal’, mutton/chicken soup stall owner, an Indian Muslim was addressed as ‘mama’ with respect by all his customers. As I walked laboriously sweating and hungry, I heard mama calling, “Mani, come here for your lunch. Your uncle has arranged for daily lunch in my shop,” he said.

 

I hesitated for a moment, “why eat in a shop? I always had my lunch that was prepared by my auntie, who is like my mother. I always addressed her as ‘akkah’. I was rather confused then I realised that my auntie had gone to Segamat to our family house. There would be no one to cook lunch. 

The stall was fully occupied and I sat on a small round table, which was normally used by mama to cut his vegetables. 

He filled the plate with rice and asked me “What curry shall I give, “Chicken or fish?” Suddenly my worry reached my pocket. I hesitated. My pocket was empty and how to pay him. He must have observed my hesitation and realizing my worry, he said, “Mani, eat what you want. Your uncle has told me to give what you want. I will keep a record and he would pay me at weekend on his salary day. The payment of salary system then was weekly.    

Joyfully I said, “Fish curry with fried fish”. It was my favorite. I enjoyed the lunch, which was just delicious.

 My uncle (My dearest ‘Sithappa’, Mr N.K.Chandrakasan cared and loved me like his own son. With his active role as some personnel in the Singapore Navy, he was popular in the Naval Yard which was close to causeway Johore Bharu. His official authority card, he had transit privileges to exit to Johore Bahru and back. The card did not mean anything to the family. It was meant for his personal authority.  

The road to my house from the bus stop forked into two, one to the right and one road to the left. In the centre on a slightly raised ground was the SUN cinema theatre, standing erect and inviting with movies that attracted the small populace of the area.

The houses were large and built along the road-side one after the other in a very orderly manner. The house that we stayed was large semi- permanent type. It was a huge house with 12 rooms which were occupied by 12 separate families on a rental basis.  At the rear of the house, there were 12 places allotted for 12 stoves.

 Fire wood could be bought from the vendor ladies and used as fuel for cooking. There were no individual pipes to the houses, but water could be carried in pails from the common pipes that were installed at regular intervals of six houses. Water may also be bought from ladies sending water in pails on a normal payment. In the afternoon, the common pipes would be fully crowded by menfolk who would be bathing and washing their clothes. Everything moved well.

It may sound beyond belief that cost of living at that period was so ridiculously low, eg. A French loaf bread was 10cents and with a lavish coat of margarine or kaya was 15cents a piece. A ‘puttu mayam’ as big as a child’s palm was 1 cent each. You take 15 pieces it would suffice your need and so on and so on. Vegetables, grocery, fish and meat could be at the front of the house.  No one then would have heard of Super Market or Mini Market. It was always ‘hawker’s markets’ who move to where you live. Life was smooth and non-hassle.

 

A bowl of mutton soup or a chicken soup with a big chunk of meat was 1.00 ringgit and a chubby ‘roti Chennai was 20 cents, milk coffee 10cents a glass. Our favourite ‘nasi lemak’ with an egg +++ 20 cents. With progress and developments, only the days and weather remain the same but cost of living has rocketed sky high.

It was the time when numerous chartered buses filled with shoppers from Malaysia were strewn all over the Singapore city. The exchange currency then was more in favour of Malaysia and the better currency exchange of Malaysian ringgit and the low prices of commodities like clothes, dresses shoes and other wears and fruits in Singapore made the markets flooded with Malaysian tourists into Singapore. Rows of fruit shops along the road to the causeway were decked with selling  fruits like, apple, oranges grapes and pears which were bought in boxes and loaded into the tourist buses along with the passengers. Shopping was a haven then in Singapore.

The Inviting Sea

My uncle Mr Velayutham aka VEL KARUVI  wanted me to go with him for a swim at the sea, which was about 3 miles away from home. He always had a loving heart towards me and gave me a lot of kind attention. There was another day he wanted to take me to Singapore city. That was another interesting episode that amuses my memory.

 I had never been to an open sea and seeing one thrilled my heart. The large span of all blue water expanding into the far end and touching the horizon made my feeling filled with wonders. The gentle waves that caress along the shores and rushing back into the sea was unlike the water in the river that always flow one way with no return. It was amazing, “WATER” is same but with different colour and purpose and moving in different paths.

I dragged my feet through the loose soft sand that made me feel like walking through, maybe snow, except it was hot. It was fun.

My uncle and friends were already into the sea, and seemed to be enjoying themselves wadding in the water up to their knee level. He bade me to walk in. I have swum in rivers many a time. But seeing the endless blue water with no banks nor end, gave me goose pimples. I was hesitating. 

He held my hand and with a grimacing look asked, “Why are you in your shorts, not wearing a swimming trunk”? “I do not have one.”

“Never mind when we are going home we will buy one. Remind me right?” I shook my head.

 

He pulled me along into the deeper portion and the water was getting higher. I pulled back not wanting to go further, but he was stronger. He pulled me deeper until the water was almost near my neck. My feet were not touching the ground below, he held me, I was floating. “Now swim back” he said. I tried to put my feet below, and my head went under the water. Bubbles splattered from my breathing and I started beating and kicking the water.

 

 My experience in swimming in the rivers helped me, I could move but there was a difference in swimming in the river and the sea. The water in the sea was thicker and needed extra strokes to move, and of course salty. I swam to where the water is knee depth and panting. My feet touched the sandy ground. My uncle asked, “How do you feel, more confident?” I smiled and waved back to him. He smiled and dived into the water and started swimming to deeper level. He is a proficient swimmer. It brought in me solid confidence in swimming and also to overcome difficult times in life. It was not only a lesson in swimming but also to overcome the debacles in life.

The City

The bus to cover the 15 miles in distance from Seletar to Singapore city was moving smoothly. We never experienced air condition in the bus, but cold air would rush in through the windows. The moving scenery outside was better enjoyed through the open windows. The trees and small buildings and all immovable objects appeared to be moving in the opposite direction. Mystic of nature mingled with the cool air was gushing through the window and made my thoughts running hitherto thitherto.

 My uncle looked at me and probably seeing my confused look, “You are alright? “Feeling cold?” I smiled and said “No” “Uncle”.

Curiosity was the better of the valour and I, gathered by nervous guts asked him, “What do we see in Singapore”. Without opening his closed eyes and with his emotion hidden in his silence for a while, he unleashed his mischief and said, “Well, Singapore is a big city, but the roads are mostly empty with less cars and buses. We can walk to and fro at leisure. 

We can even stand in the middle of the road and chit chat”. My village ignorance and unnerving innocence was put to test.

His face simmered with mischief and he wanted to release some pranks on me- just for the day only. “We will go to Tiger Balm Garden, where tigers will be loitering around. You may touch them and even take a ride. It was a “WOW” news to me. Ignorance at its best made an exciting feeling.

 We can have tasty lunch at “SIRANGU ROAD”. It must be a disgusting road, I assumed. It was not, because his mischievous nature named SERANGOON road to SIRANGU ROAD. He paused for a while and then said ‘we go to the ‘naaku poochi road”. Naku poochi meaning crawling earth worms.  Later I knew what he meant was North Bridge Road. We can do shopping in Avaerakah road. My,my it was Havelock Road. We can pick some ‘shilingu’

In the ‘Shilungu’ road. He meant the SHILING ROAD where there is a beautiful Shivan Temple and not coins.   

Well it was not only part of his humour BUT I was told that the early Tamil settlers living there addressed the roads in their native lingo. By grace, Singapore was THEN called SINGAM PURI.

It was fun walking around the beautiful cities with vibrant shopping centers. The lunch and tit bits were still smacking in my tongue when we reached home in the night.

As it comes, it goes back. Life in Singapore came to an end, and I packed by little belongings and followed my family to Segamat where my Sittapah was employed as a technician at the Central Electricity Board- the current National Electricity Board. Life continues….

My life in Singapore

It has been fated that my live was destined to be nomadic, moving along with my auntie and Sittapah whom I treated as my mother and father. From the early days since been an infant, I was under her motherly care. Though she was like my mother to me, yet I called her ‘akkah’(sister) and Sittapah(uncle). Probably due to calling my own sister, ANDAL who left this world to heaven at her 5th year of age.

 I was then 3 years old. Do I remember her? Like an angel in my dream.

The dramatic sad tale of my life is that 12 other siblings were born over the intervals but never lived for me to claim as my siblings. I do not blame fate for their demises as infants or were still born. Maybe it is due to bad Karma of my previous birth.

It was early part of my life in Singapore and since then, time changed, Singapore changed. My age had gradually changed.

However, the memories and moments of happiness in Singapore is sentimentally ingrained in my aging heart and will never change.                                                                                       THE GREAT WORLD PARK

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MANIAM SIVAPERUMAN