Being a Malaysian Indian

Being a Malaysian Indian, you can’t help being a bit viewed in public in a stereotyped manner. Nah, I’m not talking about the famous potrayals of the drunken wife-beater image (which is fucked up, by the way). I’m talking about the wonderful kinks that are prevalent amongst the Malaysian Indian community itself. The kind of things that when it is happenning, you can’t help but to break a smile and shake your head, at the same time asking youself when will all these be over. The truth is, will it be over? No. You complain about it, but in your heart, you never want it to be over. What is it about us?

Weddings, for one, is a favourite. Forget Malaysian timing. The Indian timing is far superior. You’ll receive a wedding invitation for 7.30pm. But you never complain. Even if you had to pester your wife, girlfriend, mother or sister to get ready fast while they were deciding on whether to wear 5 kilos of jewellery or 7 kilos of jewellery. You arrive there at 8pm to find youself being among the first 10 or 20 people there who end up waiting till 8.45 for the actual ceremony to start. You couldn’t help but wonder whether all the jewellery shops from Jalan Tengku Kelana, Klang have their representatives there, judging by the amount of gold jewellery present. As as soon as the groom ties the 3rd knot on the “thali”, you’d be fighting with 200 grown men and women to get in queue for the buffet line. Then you’d be fighting with another 100 people to get in the queue to give your gifts or envelopes to the newly married couple. Ahhhhh… aren’t weddings beautiful?

Ever went to an Indian cultural show in any of Malaysia’s premier universities? I sure have. Probably the main reason young adult males flock there is to feast their eyes upon young adult females. You’d see immaculately dressed men trying to swoon glamorous ladies while the performance music is blasting your eardrums to Mars. The performances lined up are spectacular, to say the least. You have one measly Bharathanatyam dance for 10 mins, followed by an hour and a half of Malaysia’s finest Tamil hip-hop outfits. Very cultural indeed. But you never stop to think twice, because it is our brand of entertainment, and God forbid you should ever deny them. You end up having a blast at the show and go home happily.

My dad has a dream vacation. Nope, it’s not sauntering in Paris cafes with the Eiffel Tower as the ultimate backdrop. It’s taking a flight to India, hopping on a rickety bus with 20 other people and go for a tour of the great temples of India, if you’re a Hindu. Mecca for Muslims. Christians, well, perhaps they’d wanna go visit all the great churches. Everyone comes back home a month later with a broken foot after being trampled by the vicious mob there. How many of elderly Malaysian Indians have that dream? More than half of the population, I’d say. I simply do not understand when someone calls that a “vacation”. But we, as children, have the “duty” to send them on said pilgrimage. And no matter how much you’d think that was a stupid endeavour, at the end, no matter what, you’d have a sense of pride on your accomplishment. That can never be understood, and there is no need to.

Education is still something very important amongst the Indian community. I’d bring back home a 98% on my maths test, and I get the best congratulatory wish ever. “What happenned to that other 2%?” Yeah, I know. It’s priceless. You get 2nd place among 40 students, and they ask you, “Why cannot get No.1?” I’m all smiles now. We all know now that they were proud at that moment. You should’ve heard your grandma tell the neighbour about her grandson. 3 months later, a relative that you’ve never seen before comes before you at a wedding, pinches your chubby cheek, and exclaims “OOOOoo…. such a smart kid…! You got 98% for maths huh? Gooooood. Wanna become an engineer when you grow up?” Some things will never change. And you still treasure all those moments, don’t ‘cha?

But I’ll tell you the best part of the whole Indian community. It’s the traditional banana leaf dinners. Yes, they require a helluva lot of work to be done, no doubt, BUT, the togetherness that comes with it is simply non-substitutable with any buffet line. The leaf is laid out, with you guest grinning from ear to ear. You start shouting to your cousin at the other end of the tent, asking him to bring in the vegetables. You proceed to dish out rice, while you guest says “Enough, enough….”, but you just go on, telling him to eat more this one day, and stop after he says “Enough” for the 14th time. Your cousin arrives with the vege, and you go hunting for the curry bucket. On the way, you see your dad’s close friend washing his hand after the dinner. You ask him whether did he enjoy the food, then ask about his family, and say thank you for his attendance, all in 7 seconds flat before rushing to rushing to the guest you left behind with the curry bucket. Relatives and friends walk up to you saying that they had a good time, not to mention the good food. You are happy that everyone has eaten to their heart’s content. Though you are dog tired, it was all worth it. As soon as you’re done, you catch glimpse of the girl you’ve been having an eye on during the whole function. She walks past you, head lowered in shyness. You smile at her. She smiles back. You smile to yourself. All is well.

At the end, all you can say is, “I’m proud of my Indian heritage”. And you should be.