Leaving USJ - Part 2

Bukit Jelutong is my new home. 

After all the dandy talk of  Paris, culture and character? I know it's anticlimactic and uninspiring in so many ways. But, yes, I've left USJ and  moved on to Bukit Jelutong.  Sorry to let you down.  Maybe I should've moved to Arau. Or Alai.

For those who're not good in geography or in anything, let me enlighten. Bukit Jelutong is about ten km straight line from USJ. Both are actually part of the overbuilt Petaling District. The district is so congested that the land office had to be relocated from Subang Jaya to somewhere closer to Tanjong Malim. Both USJ and Bukit Jelutong are connected to Elite (a toll road, not a credit card). Moving from USJ to Bukit Jelutong feels like moving from USJ to USJ.

Well, maybe not. My new pastures are a lot greener with verdant parks, lush bushes, shades, rolling hills, hillsides, waterways, monkeys and the occasional porcine. USJ is flatter than Florida, with white-washed buildings and strange-looking structures. Bukit Jelutong is roughly one-third the size of USJ, but it's more spacious with more air but less traffic and zero traffic lights. I can tell you life is fuller without traffic lights. 

Even to the untrained eye, it's clear that Bukit Jelutong isn't a model of multiculturalism. It's not the proverbial melting pot like USJ, where the commercial centre is called Taipan, which is Cantonese parlance for a businessman or a snake, or both. Bukit Jelutong is more of a Malay hotbed, if I'm honest. No, it's not the centre of Ketuanan Melayu. All I'm saying is that the population is predominantly Malay. It's pure demographics and statistics, nothing racist or malicious. Come here and you'll instantly see and sense it. All around are Malay eateries, Malay dentists, Malay preschools, Malay petrol station, Mydin. And there's only one bank here, a Malay bank. And many roundabouts. Not Malay roundabouts, just roundabouts. 

There are more roundabouts here than there are Chinese and Indians combined. I'm exaggerating, for effect. What's in here that has drawn in the hard-thinking Malays in droves? Hard to tell without a deep study. My guess is that they've all fallen for Teratak, Jendela and all the emotional names. You don't have to believe this, of course.

Sorry if you're progressive-type and all this Malay and Chinese stuff bothers you. I can promise you that I'm not Russian or right-wing. My purpose all along is to provide all of you with facts and good science. You've to believe this.

I'm no stranger to Bukit Jelutong. My eldest lives here, and many friends, including those from Petronas days, campus and even schooldays. My one-time boss Datuk Anuar had moved here from Subang Jaya. He's from Trengganu, but don't let this fool you because he's modern and English educated, and he's a serious thinker with a foresight. I don't know exactly his reason for migrating to Bukit Jelutong. Was he expecting a climate crisis in the next ten years? Or another water cut in the next ten days? 

Another Petronas connection, Faris, lives in Jelutong Heights, a neighbourhood famous for its hostile security guards. This youngish and flamboyant granddaddy dashes around in an alfresco sports car. I don't know whether he belongs to any of the numerous Javanese clans in Bandar Penggaram, his hometown.  Maybe I should ask him, and let you know. Not that it's important or urgent, but it's nice to be on top of things.

The Sultan of Selangor is also a resident here, at least technically. I've not seen his house in the flesh but it's safe to assume that it's palatial, and prettier than my sub-sale property. Anyway, we're not friends, I mean, he doesn't know me or any of  my sons. But if Bukit Jelutong is good for him, then it's good for me.

The cool and articulate Hj Nawi was a schoolmate at Tiger Lane, my old school. So was Awang Adek, now Dato, or maybe Dato Seri, I'm not sure, but he sure looks bouncy and cheery, the way he's been since Form One. Both were busy-looking prefects those heady days, and all the dawn raids and stake-outs on smokers dens were quite a spectacle, if I remember well.  I suspect words about Hj Nawi's past had travelled far and wide and his neighbours at Lagenda did the right thing by electing him to head the Security Committee, something like a Prefect, if you like.  Now he's busy again. 

And, of course, my old buddy Rahman Kasim, one of the pioneers here. He's Dato Rahman now and rightly so, I mean, for all his selfless service to the nation and undivided loyalty to his great home state. He was once a Shell hotshot and we spoke almost every day on some joint-projects with million-ringgit cashflows. These were all real, physical projects, please. After all these years he's lost none of his disarming charm and public persona - sharp dressing, swaggering stride and heaps of humour. Talk to him and you'll come away inspired not only by his useful ideas but also by the history of his great home state (not Kelantan).

A friend cautioned me that Bukit Jelutong is a "have-have" neighbourhood. I'm not familiar with this language, but I think it's something related to money or pitih. "It's out of your league, and a B40 retiree like you have to find your way around" He rubbed it in. I took all this philosophically because I wasn't sure what this really entailed, until I'd to navigate one of the roundabouts.

I was right inside the roundabout and I swear it's 100% my right of way when a Countryman just cut in from 9 o'clock at a Formula 1 speed.  He blared rudely and I'd no choice but to stop for my dear life. I'm old enough, but I don't want to die at a roundabout. Maybe this is what my friend meant by "you've to find your way around". 

I think I'm not the only resident with this near-death experience. Recently I overheard somebody trolling the notorious Lagenda circular just outside the mosque, the scene of daily traffic chaos and close-shaves. It's easy to single out underage Youtube drivers and their liberal-leaning parents for brunt of the blame. But with GrabFood riders and Ninja vans joining the fray, things are less clearcut.

If you want to know, there's a grand total of sixteen large-size and mid-size roundabouts in Bukit Jelutong as at this morning. This headcount excludes the numerous baby-size, sexy-shape ones scattered all over to test the cardiac condition of unsuspecting outsiders. 

You'd agree with me that roundabouts are a revered relic from the defunct British Empire. They are elegant as a theory, because they smooth out the traffic flow and propagate the delicate art of mutual respect and kindness. That was before the arrival of the Countryman. 

It's all too easy for anyone to see the disproportionate concentration of the Countryman and other upscale and flashy nameplates in this part of the world. I can almost feel and smell them as they crowd out my rural Myvi wherever and whenever I try to park. I love free market and my heart leapt the first time I saw the whole range outside the Bukit Jelutong mosque, all reverse-parked and ready to race out. These devices are bought not to stop at the roundabouts.

It's quieter and calmer around my new home, with trees and grass and open spaces, young and good-looking neighbours with good-looking cars and cats. I can breathe easier here all day long any day. There are 30 houses on our cul-de-sac, and we have nine doctors and one medical student. Only HKL has more doctors. I can run and I can  walk days on end with no risk of running over a drunk driver. I don't see pubs or dance clubs or Uncle Don's here. Not even one movie theatre.         

What I can see is laundries and more laundries, and cyclists, and cyclists in the laundries. Most are open 24 hours, which makes me wonder who actually does laundry at 3 am. Maybe the cyclists. Or maybe the laundry owners live in Tanjong Malim and they can't afford the Guthrie tolls. Anyway laundries can only be a good thing because people don't get drunk in a laundry. It's hard to find a place more sober and clear-headed than Bukit Jelutong. 

But does it have anything that amounts to culture and history? No. Not here and not in USJ. Both are new developments born out of depleting oil palm and cheap housing loan. For some perspective, I was born and bred in a fertile surrounding, rich in culture, history and industry. During my childhood days, the boys would run about and hang out at our local mosque, the mighty Masjid Kampong Laut (grainy pic below). The mosque, right on the banks of Kelantan river, was 400 years old. Man, that's some history.

The old, quaint Kampong Laut was laid back and understated. Nothing was urgent because there's no government contracts. The state government those days was, well, straight and honest to goodness, and cronies were a long way off even as a concept, so people were left to fend for themselves. Work and lots of things were left to the enterprising womenfolk. They bought, they sold, they produced and they kept the cash. The Chinese suppliers fondly addressed these entrepreneurs as "Mek". These Meks were actually smarter than the Chinese.

Men were always there to listen and motivate their hard-working wives, apart from doing what they did best - nothing. But, really, everyone was up to something. Without cellphones in the way, people were continuously and creatively engaged. No TV, no problem, because they could invent and improvise. They gave the world Wayang Kulit, Makyong, Wau Bulan, Dikir Barat and other forms of artistic expressions. There was plenty of culture to savour.

Well, I'm not suggesting that Bukit Jelutong should have weekly Wayang Kulit, or we should all move enmasse to Kampong Laut for a piece of history. I'm just musing while motivating my talented wife who's bent on reviving our aging Semangkok and wrought iron brought from USJ. She's happy to do just about anything as long as I'm sticking around and sticking to my promise to forget Arau, or Alai, for good.

My house is only 500 metres from the Bukit Jelutong Mosque, an intense and imposing piece of art (the mosque, not my house). Come here at dusk. The stunning and soul-stirring sight will attack your conscience until you'll feel guilty for not stepping in.

This mosque is 390 years younger than Masjid Kampong Laut, but it's ten times bigger and colder inside. This is more than enough mosque. I don't need to travel back to Kampong Laut or 400 years.  If I could just hang around this place and roll back my childhood years, it might just be all the history and culture I actually need.   

Now how to end this piece.   

A few days after we'd moved in we'd to call Pak Rudi, an Indonesian handyman, to fix our toilets and drill the wall for my wife to hang her art pieces. I barely knew him, but he certainly looked more competent than our prime minister. I was on the phone with my sister at the other end, talking loudly in our mother tongue. Rudi overheard and he spun around:

"Abang dari Kelantan ya". 

"Ahh, mana kamu tau?" my wife almost fell off the chair, totally wrong-footed by the Indonesian's clever piece of deduction.

 "Ah, ramai di sini, Kak"