“Why you want to go Petaling Street? You buy watch may be?” asked my Malay host. Before I could reply, he added, “Be careful. Salesman say 200, you say 20 dollar, ok?” It was my first day in Malaysia's capital. Those words came back to me as I stood under an ornate Chinese arch announcing: Jalan Petaling.
I was in the heart of the old ‘dream factory', the old Starch Factory Way where the alpha city got going. Old ways and tradition hang here heavily like so many rare sepia-tinted pictures in a home where youngsters are impatient for the future. But that panorama with its raffish rough edge that fascinates Western tourists is coming in increasingly limited editions. Such are the changes sweeping Kuala Lumpur.
Celebrating the past
The crumbling old faded colonial mansions, attap-palm two-storeyed shop houses, the covered passages, the bustling wet markets and such are fast becoming history. Before the historicity is bludgeoned by hi-tech cameos, I was determined to experience the celebrated quarters… and experience its old charm.
I was immediately rewarded. An attractive girl was video-taping her male companion haggling with a hawker, who was selling Rolex, Breitling, and other such amazing up-market chronographs of every man's desire.
Except that these were masterpieces of imitation. “I tell you what,” said the vendor, looking around, “You nice man. Wife taking photo... nice lady... so I give watch for 150 dollar, ok?” These words sent the videographer ‘ wife' into giggles. That's when her Bermuda shorts-clad friend said, “ I give RM 35 (Rs 450),” and strapped on the Rado. The wide-mouthed hawker slapped his forehead, and exclaimed “Aiyaaah!” It was pure Cantonese opera.
“Fake? C'mon, it's a replica, a tribute to the real ones,” explained an American, “Guys in trench-coats hawk them in NYC for fancy prices!” Around me, the street was abuzz with happy vibrant sounds. Overhead blue sheets of Perspex filtered the sunrays. Red Chinese lanterns decorated the street. Stalls and hawkers were doing brisk business in cameras, computer parts, jewellery, and clothing... with famous brand names. Were they the real thing? No telling.
The indisputable ‘genuine article' were also there: exotic Durian, Rambutan, Dragon fruit, Longan. Beyond the hawker and beach-umbrellas were flashing neon-signs beckoning customers to massage and beauty parlours, pizzas and burgers. Pretty young things in tight jeans and tudungs, the Muslim headgear, jostled with leggy blondes in mini-shorts.
Petaling Street wasn't always this savvy. It was once a farmer's market for the men from Canton, Hakka and other regions of China. Back in the late 1800s, they sold rice, fresh fish, live chicken and ducks, vegetables and tapioca. This wasn't why these immigrants took the boat. Their original plan was to work in the tin mines and rubber estates. But these plans didn't quite work. The young Chinese had no work, and no money. They turned to loan sharks. That got them into deeper trouble. Gang fights became common.
The British administration quickly sized up the situation and clamped a lid on it. The unrest took its toll; several immigrants lost jobs, their lodging-houses and belongings. Just when they thought life couldn't get worse, the Selangor Civil War, fires, devastating floods and disease added to their misery.
Luckily for them, an able leader —a Hakka, Yap Ah Loy — emerged to mentor the desperate bunch. Stay united, work the land like you did back at home; grow paddy, vegetables and rear farm animals. Accordingly a range of crops were cultivated. Tapioca, in particular, had a wide demand. “Tons of it was dried and milled on this very street,” said my guide. “Old-timers named the area ‘Chee Cheong Kai'” or Starch Factory Way. The modern Petaling Street came much later.
Old structures and ways can still be spotted on the ‘touristy' shopping destination: two-storeyed ‘shop houses' that serve as store and living quarters on top. Another Chinese tradition is the push-cart vendor roasting hot chestnuts. I bought a bag (RM 2), and picked away at the haul, and chatted up the hawker. He had an interesting Shanghai lineage. Working the handle of the small cylindrical drum over a charcoal fire and as the chestnuts burst or went clattering up and down, he remembered his family's struggle, smiled and spoke in halting English.
Like other contract labourers, his forefathers were brought to work in the tin mines, plantations and public works in the late 1800s. His ancestors toiled in difficult conditions. Years later, many in the family became traders and merchants. The less successful ones, “like me,” he said with a disarming smile, “remain chestnut vendors!”
Further up the street, I was greeted by another immigrant tradition: the scent of jasmine, aroma of traditional south Indian filter coffee, and asafoetida-infused cooking in the vicinity of a towering Mahamariamman temple. Near the pilgrim destination were flower and banana vendors, kiosks selling framed pictures of Hindu deities, devotional music and the latest DVDs of Indian movies… and Teh Tarik or ‘ stretched tea'. As at roadside stalls in Tamil Nadu, the piping hot brown beverage flew in an arc from one tall mug to another
It was mid-day. The aroma of cooking greeted me everywhere: Malay, Chinese, Indian, and an array of international fusion entrees and fine food. Another sign of the diverse immigrant heritage that forms the Malaysian society today.
See seafood
I stood at the entrance of an eatery crowded with westerners, studying the large menu. A passing teenager with a laptop, said, ‘Go for the ginger seashells. It's got fresh little clams, stir-fried scallions and ginger. Mmmmm, great stuff!' With that he cried, ‘Oops, I am late' and took off.
In the modest restaurant where I finally decided to lunch, ginger seashells weren't on the menu. Instead, there were noodles, rice, and a wide choice of inviting colourful and aromatic accompaniments — greens, vegetable, tofu … and meat, sea food, and poultry that were grilled, stewed, deep-fried, stir-fried or curried. Before long, I was in a food coma! What better way to start a Kuala Lumpur visit than falling on traditional fare of the Old Starch Factory Way?
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