Truly Asia

The thinly sliced chicken crackled over fire as the vendor turned the sticks skewered to the meat. Searing clockwise for a minute or two, she brushed the sweet peanut sauce, oil dripped over charcoal making sizzling sound. The sweet smoky smell of the chicken made my nostrils tingle. “Lima Ringgit,” she said handing me a pink plastic bag filled with cucumber wedges and a handful of chicken sticks.

There I was, bumping shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of people, taking the first bite into the succulent syrupy yet savory meat. Satay, as the Malaysians call it, is one of the mouthwatering delectable and a must try food in the streets of Pasar Malam-the Night Market. Every Friday, as the sun comes down the broad alleys of Putrajaya does not stand a chance to divulge in the dark since it is illuminated with stalls along the roadside, each housing a different kind of traditional food.

Men and women carrying pink or orange plastic bags filled with foods passed by from one stall to the other. From the tip of the last stall where I was standing, I could see the herd nibbling into their hearty fare delightfully. The unsatisfied stomach would stop at another stall to buy more.

Sweets in light green, yellow and pink color in shapes of flower balls were lined at some of the stalls. I reached for one and asked how much it was. Hardly did I understand the amount uttered by the vendor. “Come have our chicken! Mee Goreng, Nasi Goreng, Satu Ringgit, Satu Ringgit, Satu Ringgit!” the high-pitched shouts from other stalls interrupted and almost made me deaf.

As my eardrums kept ringing like the 90s telephone, I turned my head to look at the three figures standing next to the blue tent selling drinks. A Chinese girl was giggling sarcastically at her two Malay and Indian friends who happen to drop a bag of cold coconut water on the ground splattering the ice-cubes around them. The colors of their clothes complimented the color of the tent, but what captivated the most was the sight of three individuals from three different races rejoicing under one shade. It reminded me of the time when my mother once said, “a fruit basket is nice with one kind of fruit. But it’s even nicer when it is decorated with several kinds”. It was then I truly understood what racial harmony in Malaysia meant.

As I strolled back to the bus stand for my ride home, I looked back one more time to see the festive air that painted the most beautiful picture anybody could come across.