Aizuddin H. Anuar

Fiction Story

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[Transcript of selected community testimonies to Dewan Bandaraya Kuala Lumpur and Funding Bodies on the Petaling Street Rezoning, Rejuvenation & Reconstruction (3R) Project]

The first time I tried looking for the storefront I circled the block a few times, wondering if I was in the right corner of Petaling Street. Actually, it was a scorching midday in Kuala Lumpur—sweat was pooling around my ankles and they began to itch. I gave up and told myself, maybe next time lah.

The first time she came into the store her head was spinning and craning, taking everything in, mouth slightly open. Always a funny sight—it’s like our customers just entered a new dimension where the proportions of things were not quite right. That’s how I always know it’s their first visit; we’ve been at this business more than 100 years. I was restocking chopsticks and metal cutlery, arranged by type and size into clear packaging with yellow price tags like tiny flags. People come looking when there is 团年饭, kenduri, or opening new restaurants…Well, I will have to check that for you. My daughter can pull up sales figures if you want. Oh yes, I heard the lady asking my daughter…a great help you know, it’s a blessing when your children take after you. Oh, asking about opening hours. We open every day, well not during Chinese New Year, but we don’t close for too long.

I collect pinggan mangkuk lama you see? No, not for money or anything, it’s a hobby. Anyways, the store is slightly hidden, somewhat pressed in from the kaki lima. But don’t be fooled ya, inside it’s huge! I had to walk sideways like a crab between the tall shelves that ran up to the ceiling, not quite sure where to look. Woven bamboo baskets and mangkuk tingkat hung from the ceiling. Ceramic teapots, Nyonya ones glazed in pink and yellow, others in white inlaid with Chinese characters, blue patterns of mountains and carps. Neatly arranged on the shelves, their spouts turned outward as if offering kisses. It’s all quite overwhelming at first. Occasionally my eyes landed on those “nice to see, nice to hold” signs scattered about, so I held my breath a few times as I figured out the lay of the land.

She has come up to me a few times, eventually becoming a regular customer. Always asking about the history and traditional use of the ceramic and enamel pieces she buys. When I’m not around—well actually I’m always here, probably upstairs or in the back—my daughter tells me Siti will ask, looking around the store trying to spot me. She speaks to me in slow, careful English, like a teacher. When she gets excited there is a smattering of Malay words, and I respond in the same way…Ah? Yes of course we get plenty of foot traffic, both locals and tourists. I can’t give you a number off the top of my head, but they have kept us in business.

“Haiyaaaa, you ask too many questions ah”—That’s what I thought he would say. But you see, this Mr. Kuang, squatting on the stool arranging soup spoons…blue rims with roosters, unpacking boxes with smaller boxes in them, on the phone speaking rapidly to suppliers. He patiently responds every time. I think that’s why people adore him. 

Siti can’t keep quiet when she comes. Always asking about this and that. I tell her if all customers are like her, I will have no time to get anything done around the store!

I love enamel ware especially. We used them a lot in my family growing up. Ibu bequeathed me everything in her own collection. I remember when Mr. Kuang showed me his collection of vintage enamel plates, bowls and trays. No, not for sale. They have a gallery upstairs. These pieces have patterned rims in red, blue and green. He told me his mother was an avid collector…I guess we have that in common? The delicate patterns of fading flowers and goldfish were hypnotising, as if suspended underwater. When you turn them over in your hands, there are circular and triangular backstamps indicating their origins in China. I don’t know exactly the value, why do you ask? Anyways, it’s so moving holding a piece of history like that, a shared moment between people with a common interest, grasping to remember. Scuffed and chipped here and there but still there—much like this store.

Become a museum? I wouldn’t want that. We are a business for the community. Ma and Pa taught me everything I know about ceramics and enamel ware, their origins and uses. We help customers find what they need, and we also teach them about the heritage behind these wares, how to care for them like heirlooms. My daughter, she shares and trades recipes with customers. You can ask Siti lah how many new dishes she’s learned to cook. Consulting fee? For the recipes? Haiyaaa no need lah. Can’t put a price on these relationships we’ve built day by day.

The pieces I’ve purchased from this store and elsewhere, usually I take them out for use to remind myself what I have collected over the years. When I have guests over, these plates and bowls invite curious conversations. We admire their quiet beauty, trace our fingers over the simple or ornate patterns, feel their weight in our hands. I pass down the stories from Mr. Kuang and others. I try my hand at Chinese cooking also, unlocking foggy childhood flavours—fried eggs with bitter gourd, steamed fish with sour mustard greens, stir fry of long beans with belacan. Yes, of course I think they should stick around. Why? What has Mr. Kuang said?

Who knows how long I will be here. These stories, I don’t know if I can keep them all to myself. You know, this store has more than just stories of the items arranged neatly one on top of another, side by side. Over time, we’ve seen the different faces of Petaling Street, of Kuala Lumpur, of Malaysia. Businesses around us come and go. We’ve said our hellos to new friends, farewells to old neighbours. But we’re still here right? Sometimes I get anxious, like the ground and facades are shifting too rapidly, the towers getting taller and taller, time ticking so loudly I get a headache. Sorry ah…What, wrapping up already? Well like I said, we’re still here. But…these proposed plans, actually this is the first time I’ve been told. So do we have any say on what happens next? Will you all come by the store and see for yourself?

[End of transcript]

About the author

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