Just Any Old Street

Just any old street in any old town ravaged by the best of our New Brutalist architects. Somehow I’d much prefer the aroma of fish coming ashore and krills rotting in the sun, and coconut fronds sussurating in the breeze that’s swept in across the Broads — well, not quite — but the blue expanse of water looked good enough to drink in a shell of the coconut.

Only this is left to remind us of the old Tanjung Ngabbang (Mengabang) of Pök Mat the amok (Pök Mat Ngammök), whose descendants used to live exactly a mile from the old Clock Tower roundabout in Kedai Payang. We knew this because the stairs leading up to their house stood almost in line with the stela that had on it the number ‘1’. This is bucolic old Tanjong Ngabbang flanked by the hard edged box of the post-modern. An arrow [on the signboard, extreme right] points to a spot hidden between the leaves and the Brutalist where Old Ngabbang still probably lives, “KEROPOK LEKOR M. CHIK ANI” (Auntie Ani’s fishy thingamabob) it says, while two men whisper intimately in the shed:I have a thing about Brutalist architects for their thinking that things — their things — are more important than the place. For this we just have to look around us. Have you ever wondered why there are tall flats (oh alright, condominiums) jutting out in their unspeakable awfulness from our once green hillsides? Why do the LRT stations in Kuala Lumpur hide the beauty of the Masjid Jamek on the point where two rivers meet? Why is a stupid hotel blocking the view of the river where the taxi stand used to be in the bend of Jalan Banggol in Kuala Trengganu? The list is endless: this green and little land of ours appears to be one long Brutalist Fest.

Oh all right then, the country has to develop, money spent, jobs created, egos burnished, and then we must keep pace (with what? I shall leave here for you a blank space ). But now dear brothers and sisters, there is such a thing as art: just look at those carved woods in those old houses, the payang boats that our fishermen pushed out to sea, the old Istana Kolam that some idiots have now demolished. With that art comes heritage beyond price. So sad then to see the old historic Kampung Datuk (of old Datuk Amar) demolished to make way for an ersatz piece of Turkish delight cooked up in someone’s kitchen of kitsch. So sad to see the old Masjid Sultan in Chendering pulled down by barbarians who simply gave away the fine carvings that were probably the last to be seen intact in an old house. So sad that old Tanjong Mengabang could not have benefitted from a more imaginative development (ah, perish the word) that could have given long time residents due respect, where low rise buildings would not have blocked out the sea, trees and krills and the breeze coming in from Sambas.

But where do you develop? Take an old well, for instance, the old well of Surau Haji Mat Kerinchi or Surau Besar or Surau Tok Sheikh Kadir of Tanjong. Ten thousand new blocks can rise in a year but an old well is so unique because, well, if you lose that you’ll not have another like it. Why can’t old wells (old trees, old houses, old landmarks) be born again in a new place? Why do they have to be demolished and then remembered again in old pictures? There’s dignity in the old that stands above the brashness of youth.

Take a look at Tanjong Mengabang now and weep:
But what about the people...To be continued.

Thanks:
Aji Dol for the photos. [Double click on pics to enlarge.]