I feel the heat. The stench of rotten rubbish in the sun, the sweat, the hawker stall. One thing I appreciate about having a cold is its ability to make you sleep like a baby all day long. Which was exactly what I did today. For a couple of hours, I was ‘transported’ back to my home land. I pictured a milder version of India, but with the culture, language, corruption and ingenuity of the spices in a hot bowl of Rogan Josh.
Oh, how I miss the tandoori and the naan under the stars at Pak Putra. Or the diarrhea inducing ‘teh tarik‘ due to expired milk, the outstanding ‘asam pedas‘ at the corner shop in Melaka, ‘Cendol‘ under the tree (I hope the old man running the stall is still alive and well when I get back) and most importantly, mummy’s ‘Nasi Lemak‘. The ‘siput sedut masak lemak cili api’ (the Malaysian, spicier version of escargot), the laksa, the regular ‘Nasi Goreng Kampung‘, ‘Keli Masak Lemak Cili Api‘ (catfish stir-fried in hot chilli), ‘Pucuk Rebung‘ (young bamboo shoots), and I can go on and on and on.
I had a slightly queer episode in my dreams where a young man in baju melayu was giving me unwanted attention (but in a civil kind of way, not perverted or anything) and I was dressed in a cheongsam when he came over in his motorbike. He was asking me out, and I was replying, ‘Yeah, okay. Wait. Let me get changed.’
Another scene in my dream was some big boss/CEO/head of a mafia was asking for my hand in marriage and I told him he’s got to speak to my mother first. He proceeded to arrange for his private jet to shoo us to Malaysia and I was jumping around ‘Rejoice! Rejoice!’ once we touched down on the tarmac at KLIA.
Haha. Yeah. Dream on.
Oh, Malaysia. How do I miss thee, let me count the foooood. . .