On Chivalry
I would like to relate a couple of incidents that left an impression on me.
1.
Midweek evening. Crowded home-bound train. A nondescript journey, if not downright plebeian. The flow of humans ebbed and waned, packing into the metallic cabin following the mindless dictates of some spatial economics. A group of angmoh blokes sat in my immediate area, joking boisterously in sexy baritones.
An uncle: 50s, maybe 60s, stood in the center of the cabin. Stood in the center of the cabin: singing, he did. Hokkein words rattled off his tongue in a litany: trance-like, purposeful. He had a bundle of joss-sticks in his hands which he waved periodically, punctuating his lyrics with masterful strokes. Crazed intent glinted in his eyes. I caught a few intelligible words amidst all the flourish; pidgin translated roughly into a caricature of local politics and otherworldly esoteric.
We stared, naturally. The cabin felt electrified; the blokes were grinning to themselves as they watched in bemusement. The spectacle made for interesting entertainment no doubt and the moment was pregnant with violent possibilities.
An altercation ensued. As if driven by a karmic script, another man stepped onto the stage: tall, lanky, half-crazy. The permutations of human traffic that allowed for this one chance amalgamation of crazed personalities struck me, at that moment, as possibly divine.
Harsh, unintelligible words sparred. Everyone stared with disguised interest. I pretended not to notice, preferring the book-sanctuary of my alternate universes and galactic opera. Periodically, I locked gaze with one of the angmoh bloke and was greeted with a mischievous glint and a half-knowing smile, as if we were sharing in some salacious secret.
Events slowly crescendo-ed. Things started to get physical. The singing uncle started doing pull-ups on the horizontal bars, kungfu-esque hand-chops and hearty bellows. The other responded with middle fingers and glowering sneers. They stood a hair-breadth apart, facing each other down.
Cityhall station - the crowd thickened. The atmosphere was palatable. The newly initiated wave of humans felt the brewing disquiet and instinctively moved away to other parts of the train. It was like watching a train wreck : inherently tragic and yet perversely attractive to the senses - one could not afford to look away for fear of missing the dramatic punch or knife stab that will warrant a brief interlude on the evening news.
Out of the blue, literally, a lady in blue tudung (bless her heart), wedged herself between the two simmering dynamics. Whilst everyone stood away in trepidation and apathy, mimicking the indifferent air of superior nonchalance (myself included, unfortunately), this feisty lady broke the tension with stern and powerful words that etched like fire in my memory.
"You two! Stop acting like children! This is a train! Stop it right now and get out!"
Whether they were literate enough to understand english was non-essential. Like chastised puppies, they retreated, whimpering. They continued their tirade of course, but it was done in the fashion of soliloquies; whisperings of whisperings to their demons and gods. The Lady-In-Blue took off on the next station, and the Singing Uncle got off one station after her. With two adversaries removed, the Lanky Uncle started talking to himself, and the momentum of the moment slowly bleed away into the collective calm of the cabin.
But of course, we knew that the climax of the drama had been reached; a culmination achieved. All that was required of the universe at that moment was a gradual diminishing, until none but I remained to document that one little burp in the brilliant fabric of apathy.
I learnt a valuable lesson that day; of the power of intercession, of bravery, of social responsibility. While I cannot promise that I will do better, or even match the lady, I believe that I must at least try: for what can one lady do, that we cannot?
Part 2 to be continued
1.
Midweek evening. Crowded home-bound train. A nondescript journey, if not downright plebeian. The flow of humans ebbed and waned, packing into the metallic cabin following the mindless dictates of some spatial economics. A group of angmoh blokes sat in my immediate area, joking boisterously in sexy baritones.
An uncle: 50s, maybe 60s, stood in the center of the cabin. Stood in the center of the cabin: singing, he did. Hokkein words rattled off his tongue in a litany: trance-like, purposeful. He had a bundle of joss-sticks in his hands which he waved periodically, punctuating his lyrics with masterful strokes. Crazed intent glinted in his eyes. I caught a few intelligible words amidst all the flourish; pidgin translated roughly into a caricature of local politics and otherworldly esoteric.
We stared, naturally. The cabin felt electrified; the blokes were grinning to themselves as they watched in bemusement. The spectacle made for interesting entertainment no doubt and the moment was pregnant with violent possibilities.
An altercation ensued. As if driven by a karmic script, another man stepped onto the stage: tall, lanky, half-crazy. The permutations of human traffic that allowed for this one chance amalgamation of crazed personalities struck me, at that moment, as possibly divine.
Harsh, unintelligible words sparred. Everyone stared with disguised interest. I pretended not to notice, preferring the book-sanctuary of my alternate universes and galactic opera. Periodically, I locked gaze with one of the angmoh bloke and was greeted with a mischievous glint and a half-knowing smile, as if we were sharing in some salacious secret.
Events slowly crescendo-ed. Things started to get physical. The singing uncle started doing pull-ups on the horizontal bars, kungfu-esque hand-chops and hearty bellows. The other responded with middle fingers and glowering sneers. They stood a hair-breadth apart, facing each other down.
Cityhall station - the crowd thickened. The atmosphere was palatable. The newly initiated wave of humans felt the brewing disquiet and instinctively moved away to other parts of the train. It was like watching a train wreck : inherently tragic and yet perversely attractive to the senses - one could not afford to look away for fear of missing the dramatic punch or knife stab that will warrant a brief interlude on the evening news.
Out of the blue, literally, a lady in blue tudung (bless her heart), wedged herself between the two simmering dynamics. Whilst everyone stood away in trepidation and apathy, mimicking the indifferent air of superior nonchalance (myself included, unfortunately), this feisty lady broke the tension with stern and powerful words that etched like fire in my memory.
"You two! Stop acting like children! This is a train! Stop it right now and get out!"
Whether they were literate enough to understand english was non-essential. Like chastised puppies, they retreated, whimpering. They continued their tirade of course, but it was done in the fashion of soliloquies; whisperings of whisperings to their demons and gods. The Lady-In-Blue took off on the next station, and the Singing Uncle got off one station after her. With two adversaries removed, the Lanky Uncle started talking to himself, and the momentum of the moment slowly bleed away into the collective calm of the cabin.
But of course, we knew that the climax of the drama had been reached; a culmination achieved. All that was required of the universe at that moment was a gradual diminishing, until none but I remained to document that one little burp in the brilliant fabric of apathy.
I learnt a valuable lesson that day; of the power of intercession, of bravery, of social responsibility. While I cannot promise that I will do better, or even match the lady, I believe that I must at least try: for what can one lady do, that we cannot?
Part 2 to be continued
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