Text by Jasmine Low.
Works in progress from a documentary script titled ‘The man from Bangkok Lane’. Written and performed at the first CROSS BORDER poetry slam! co-organised by Chris Mooney-Singh, Bhavinda and Sharon Bakar at Seksan’s Kuala Lumpur, 31 March 2007. Tsk. Along with Han, KG and Datuk Shan, I was eliminated in the first round ;(
On 63 where my mother grew up
her father would tune in
listening intently to the gallops of chance
his mother would be rolling her ‘cerut’
grand-daughter on the potty
right from under her nose
watching Aussie sailors
Chinese fishermen
and dark-glassed platinum-suited musicians ride pass.
From that balcony overlooking Gurney
where my mother grew out of her size 8 cheongsam
My father in his starched whites and skinny leather tie
would ask her hand for a stroll at the esplanade
Only with her mother trailing astern, said he
the man of the house, unnecessarily grim
That was just how the man from Bangkok Lane
showed his love for my mother.
On 63 where my mother grew up
I sit on the rattan bed
a green safe on one corner
a writing table like the ones in curio shops on another
missing the man from Bangkok Lane.
He, a Teo Chew from Swatow
would strut the streets of Georgetown
chest up with hat poised at just the right angle
A stern father with a temper
as hot as the Chinese New Year sun
he would quote quotes from Churchill, Gandhi and Kuan Yew
Family steamboat dinners were moments of truth
amidst steaming fishballs and vermicelli
lowered voices would discuss his father’s will
while grandchildren from Australia, Singapore and Canada
decide between Slippery Senoritas or supper at New Lane
You would know if you made him proud
as only those in graduate gowns made it onto picture frames on the mantle piece
He himself never became the lawyer
Nor did he successfully crack the stock market
He didn’t always win at the races either
What he did become
this man from Bangkok lane
was my storyteller
and the purveyor of my millionaire dreams
– Ends –
Copyright 2004.