Ram was late. We waited, Milkha and I, patiently at Newton circus food center in Singapore. We talked excitedly about our planned trip – the things we were going to do and how much fun we would have doing them. We had planned to travel to Thailand via Malaysia. We would stop at a few places in Malaysia, then leave the jeep at the Thai-Malaysia border and take the train up to Hatyai, Thailand. The anticipation was electrifying!
He arrived; 20 minutes late. Wished we could have kicked his butt, but his wife was there with him. Saved by his wife, that devil!
After some food and drinks, we got ourselves in the jeep. It was cramped but still comfortable. Ram took the wheel and was about to inaugurated the journey when we heard someone calling. “Ram! Ram!”
It was his wife. She was running after us with a blue pail in her hand.
“What the hell is that?” I asked laughingly.
Well, we found out what the pail was for but ah ah, we won’t say – for Ram’s sake.
It was almost 2am, we were traveling through “Palm Country”(Malaysia). The only illumination on the road was the jeep’s headlights; everywhere else was pitch-black. Up ahead in the distance was a fluorescent lit wooden hut slowly increasing in size.
“Wow that’s what I call ‘happening,’” I said.
It made Ram and Milkha laugh – they knew me well enough to know, it could only be someplace like a Disco or a busy nite-spot that would normally command an expression like, "happening," from me.
Upon closing in, we realized that the wooden hut was a coffee shop, a lonely coffee shop, miles away from any other, by the side of a lonely dark road that stretched across states. It had a mystical “feel” about it that we just couldn’t let pass. There’s nothing like it in Singapore. Curious, tired, and hungry, we pull over and walked toward the hut. We were greeted by flying insects, attracted by the fluorescent ceiling lights, whirling over and around us.
We sat at a crudely crafted wooden table by a small window. Outside, darkness stretched forever, and engulfing us, were crickets' chirpings. The ambience gave us a sense of mystery, mystic and suspense. And, as the night progressed, the temperature fell, slowly and surely.
The proprietor, a young man, came to take our order. We ordered roti prata (flat, fluffy, crispy, Indian bread served with curry or dhall) and tea. We were the only customers there.
While waiting, we engage ourselves in some corny jokes. In the midst of one, we were astounded by a figure appearing at the window. There, standing dimly lit by the shop’s escaping fluorescent light, was an old woman. She stretched a hand out halfway with her palm facing up; as if begging. In her other she held a small papaya. We presumed she was selling the papaya, I didn’t want the papaya but I reached inside my pants pocket and took out a ringgit (Malaysian dollar) coin and placed it in her hand. She put her hand at her heart as a gesture of appreciation, tipped her head low and beckoned away disappearing into the shadows.
Just then, the proprietor appeared and asked why I dropped the ringgit coin outside. We were all perplexed by his question. "Dropped the coin? Didn’t he see the woman?” The three of us most likely thought in accordance. Nevertheless, we explained it to him. He smiled, apparently wiser than us, and asked me to come outside with him. I went, frowning. He took me to the spot where she was standing. He pointed to the ground and I looked. There it was – the ringgit coin! Right there on the ground. We were bewildered.
“Did she drop it? But, I put it in her hand and she walked away with it, didn’t she?” These thoughts were rushing through my head desperately seeking answers – I felt a little embarrassed!
He also showed me, just steps away from the spot, — a grave! It was a small headstone protruding from the ground. I looked at him, and felt a chill rush through me all of a sudden. He said that the 'woman' was the lady who used to own the hut before him. She was poor, and sold fruits to travelers, but would never accept charity.
The experience left us feeling uneasy. There was a strange silence in the jeep after that. We didn't feel like talking, or joking, or listening to the radio, or anything at all for that matter. We felt a strange sense of another being's presence in the jeep — a wiser being.
After some hours of travel, we came to a rumah tumpangan (motel). We grabbed our backpacks from the jeep and made our way into the hotel. We checked into a nice big room.
In the room, away from the jeep, we felt the presence disappear. I broke the ice and asked, “Did you guys feel it? The strange forth presence kind of feel?”
Milkha and Ram exchange glances. They shuddered, took a long deep breath, and let out a sigh.“Foooh!” “Ya man, f__king scary, man!” Milkha expressed.
After showers, we sat for a drink of suku,(hard liquor) as Ram calls it. We talked again about the strange incident. It just wouldn’t leave our minds, especially mine. We could have talked all the way till sunrise but we stopped a little after 4 am. We wanted to have some rest before driving off again the next daylight.
Only like an hour or so into our sleep, Milkha’s jeep alarm went off, waking almost everyone in the hotel. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his keys and scurried out hurling, “What the F__K!”
We followed suite. “Was it a cat?” Ram asked.
“Don’t know! F__K! The remote doesn’t work!” Milkha yelled.
“Open the door and slam it back!” Ram shouted over the loud alarm.
By that time, we had not only awaken the hotel guests, but the duty manager as well. He was wide eyed and enquiring.
Milkha was closest to the back-seat door, so he slipped the key in and opened the door. The alarm stopped - only murmurs from the commotion was heard.
Milkha was shaken by what he saw lying on the floorboard of his jeep – THE PAPAYA!
He arrived; 20 minutes late. Wished we could have kicked his butt, but his wife was there with him. Saved by his wife, that devil!
After some food and drinks, we got ourselves in the jeep. It was cramped but still comfortable. Ram took the wheel and was about to inaugurated the journey when we heard someone calling. “Ram! Ram!”
It was his wife. She was running after us with a blue pail in her hand.
“What the hell is that?” I asked laughingly.
Well, we found out what the pail was for but ah ah, we won’t say – for Ram’s sake.
It was almost 2am, we were traveling through “Palm Country”(Malaysia). The only illumination on the road was the jeep’s headlights; everywhere else was pitch-black. Up ahead in the distance was a fluorescent lit wooden hut slowly increasing in size.
“Wow that’s what I call ‘happening,’” I said.
It made Ram and Milkha laugh – they knew me well enough to know, it could only be someplace like a Disco or a busy nite-spot that would normally command an expression like, "happening," from me.
Upon closing in, we realized that the wooden hut was a coffee shop, a lonely coffee shop, miles away from any other, by the side of a lonely dark road that stretched across states. It had a mystical “feel” about it that we just couldn’t let pass. There’s nothing like it in Singapore. Curious, tired, and hungry, we pull over and walked toward the hut. We were greeted by flying insects, attracted by the fluorescent ceiling lights, whirling over and around us.
We sat at a crudely crafted wooden table by a small window. Outside, darkness stretched forever, and engulfing us, were crickets' chirpings. The ambience gave us a sense of mystery, mystic and suspense. And, as the night progressed, the temperature fell, slowly and surely.
The proprietor, a young man, came to take our order. We ordered roti prata (flat, fluffy, crispy, Indian bread served with curry or dhall) and tea. We were the only customers there.
While waiting, we engage ourselves in some corny jokes. In the midst of one, we were astounded by a figure appearing at the window. There, standing dimly lit by the shop’s escaping fluorescent light, was an old woman. She stretched a hand out halfway with her palm facing up; as if begging. In her other she held a small papaya. We presumed she was selling the papaya, I didn’t want the papaya but I reached inside my pants pocket and took out a ringgit (Malaysian dollar) coin and placed it in her hand. She put her hand at her heart as a gesture of appreciation, tipped her head low and beckoned away disappearing into the shadows.
Just then, the proprietor appeared and asked why I dropped the ringgit coin outside. We were all perplexed by his question. "Dropped the coin? Didn’t he see the woman?” The three of us most likely thought in accordance. Nevertheless, we explained it to him. He smiled, apparently wiser than us, and asked me to come outside with him. I went, frowning. He took me to the spot where she was standing. He pointed to the ground and I looked. There it was – the ringgit coin! Right there on the ground. We were bewildered.
“Did she drop it? But, I put it in her hand and she walked away with it, didn’t she?” These thoughts were rushing through my head desperately seeking answers – I felt a little embarrassed!
He also showed me, just steps away from the spot, — a grave! It was a small headstone protruding from the ground. I looked at him, and felt a chill rush through me all of a sudden. He said that the 'woman' was the lady who used to own the hut before him. She was poor, and sold fruits to travelers, but would never accept charity.
The experience left us feeling uneasy. There was a strange silence in the jeep after that. We didn't feel like talking, or joking, or listening to the radio, or anything at all for that matter. We felt a strange sense of another being's presence in the jeep — a wiser being.
After some hours of travel, we came to a rumah tumpangan (motel). We grabbed our backpacks from the jeep and made our way into the hotel. We checked into a nice big room.
In the room, away from the jeep, we felt the presence disappear. I broke the ice and asked, “Did you guys feel it? The strange forth presence kind of feel?”
Milkha and Ram exchange glances. They shuddered, took a long deep breath, and let out a sigh.“Foooh!” “Ya man, f__king scary, man!” Milkha expressed.
After showers, we sat for a drink of suku,(hard liquor) as Ram calls it. We talked again about the strange incident. It just wouldn’t leave our minds, especially mine. We could have talked all the way till sunrise but we stopped a little after 4 am. We wanted to have some rest before driving off again the next daylight.
Only like an hour or so into our sleep, Milkha’s jeep alarm went off, waking almost everyone in the hotel. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his keys and scurried out hurling, “What the F__K!”
We followed suite. “Was it a cat?” Ram asked.
“Don’t know! F__K! The remote doesn’t work!” Milkha yelled.
“Open the door and slam it back!” Ram shouted over the loud alarm.
By that time, we had not only awaken the hotel guests, but the duty manager as well. He was wide eyed and enquiring.
Milkha was closest to the back-seat door, so he slipped the key in and opened the door. The alarm stopped - only murmurs from the commotion was heard.
Milkha was shaken by what he saw lying on the floorboard of his jeep – THE PAPAYA!
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