10 January 2014
Did you notice setiap kali pergi makan steamboat/grill, mesti rambut dan baju bau macam seafood lepas habis makan? I hate it and kena basuh rambut 2-3 kali baru hilang bau tu. Is there any tips nak hilangkan bau tu dengan cepat?
By the way, did you read my post last time about how I witnessed a woman molested in a KTM commuter by some foreign dudes?
Today I had the chance, well, to see quite a different angle of foreigners in our train.
I parked my car dekat TBS, then naik LRT dari TBS ke Masjid Jamek, lepas tu tukar line Kelana Jaya nak ke Wangsa Maju.
I was all alone in the train, I mean in a sense that I did not have any companion with me. I refused to fight for empty seats this time, since the last week fiasco of a pregnant woman who had to sit on the floor because two healthy women didn’t grant her a seat.
So anyway, while I was standing there stupidly when the train moves from Dato’ Keramat to the next station, suddenly an Indonesian man asked me “Bang, kalau nak turun di Titiwangsa, di Setiawangsa atau Wangsa Maju?”
This guy is taller than me, and a thin guy. He was wearing two layers of shirt, with the outer white shirt was looking quite dirty.
“Titiwangsa bukan di line ni Bang.” I replied.
“Emangnya ingin ke Titiwangsa bukan naik train ini?”
Then suddenly a Bangladeshi man, who was standing right next to me, answered “Boleh, boleh. Memang naik train ni” – he said, I mean, with words to that effects. The Indonesian guy was clearly relieved listening to the Bangladeshi’s man explanation. I know it’s a wrong explanation, so I asked him again.
“Abang nak turun di Titiwangsa ke Setiawangsa?”
“Titiwangsa, saya ingin ke Bukit Antarabangsa!”
Then the Bangladeshi man said again “Boleh, boleh, turun dekat Setiawangsa boleh pergi Bukit Antarabangsa.”
I was quite confused myself, for I am not sure of their understanding of the Malaysian railway sistem. While Setiawangsa is indeed nearer to Bukit Antarabangsa, it is not in any way could be Titiwangsa.
“Saya letak motor di bawah stesen Titiwangsa sebelum pergi kerja. Jadi saya ingin kembali ambil motor saya” he explained.
“Oh, jadi abang bukan nak pergi Setiawangsa? Abang pergi Titiwangsa kena patah balik ke Masjid Jamek, kemudian ambil train ke line Sentul Timur.”
“Waduh, peningla saya.”
Then the Bangladeshi man interjected “Ya, kena naik KTM komuter ke Titiwangsa.”
Now for the second time, I became confused of the conversation between the three of us. I think I could understand the Indonesian man quite clearly, but the Bangladeshi man seems to lead him the other way.
“Sekarang abang kena turun dekat sini, kemudian pergi ke seberang dan patah semula ke Masjid Jamek. Kemudian tukar train ke Sentul Timur.” I suggested
“Oh tidak mengapa. Saya naik teksi saja. Lebih mudah.” He said, rather frustratedly.
Before I could tell him that the situation was simpler than he thought and that taking a cab does not worth it, the train came to a halt. We reached Setiawangsa station, and the man’s significant other, an Indonesian woman cladded in a hijab insisted that they should leave the train now.
The woman, I noticed, was carrying a large backpack behind her back. It almost looked like she is a student here in Malaysia.
He tried to argue, but the woman’s conviction of their need to get down at this station subdued him. He seemed to agree, and both of them went out the door.
His situation, I thought was like this: he thinks that Setiawangsa is the same as Titiwangsa, thus he parked his motorcycle at Titiwangsa and board the train and went to work, wherever that is. He seemed to know that Bukit Antarabangsa, where his current house is located at, is near to Setiawangsa, but he didn’t seem to understand that Setiawangsa and Titiwangsa, and Wangsa Maju, for that matter, are not the same.
Thus realising that he was lost and clueless, when the couple left me and the Bangladeshi man on the train, I could not help myself from sympathise. The irony of the situation is not lost on me. We both – the Bangladeshi man and me were trying to help with our own understanding. The Indonesian man and his woman were lost in this city.
It would be a harsh night for them, having to take taxi, and left his motorcycle at the station. He struggled for his living here.
Then it struck me hard. If I really realised what situation they were in, I should have left with them and guide them to the right station. It might sound overboard, but the couple leaving me without them having the solution pained me. I think that that was the least I could do, directing them to the correct way and going late to my own appointment with my friends.
Nevertheless, it made me realised how harsh we were to these foreigners. In this land we are proud to call Malaysia, the Indonesians, Bangladeshis, Vietnameses, Nepaleses and whonots are treated inhumanely, for simple reason that they come from across some man-made invisible borders. It’s as if kindness is restricted to a certain boundary, and we forget that people who come from the other side of the borders are simple men and women who have their own share of frailties, insecurities and history.
True, many of them are hard-boiled criminals, but they deserved to be treated as equal humans as long as they do not harm us. I mean, in a setting like the train, these people are trying to find a way and there is no virtual possibilities that they wanted to harm us.
I have seen many of them that were treated like shit, being called names and slapped in the face because they are minorities and they don’t have any rights, or equal rights as the citizens. But aren’t they humans, a father, a mother, a son to somebody, a daughter to somebody?
And for those who are Muslims, shouldn’t they be treated like equal Muslims? I mean, surely God did not mention that if they are Indonesian Muslims, they deserved to be treated like second class brothers and sisters.
It bothers me that while we are marching towards a developed nation, our humanity has become lost.