PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE
By Maureen Lim
(The first 10 lines are sung to the tune of “I’m a little teapot”)
- “I’m a little tingkat, short and stout,
Carrying Bibik’s food, Peranakan ‘take-out’.
There’s my older sister, four tiers high.
Her trays are filled with Nyonya chap chye
.
- Ayam buah keluak, satay babi,
The filling and garnish for kueh pie-ti.
All the chuchi mulot is with me,
Kueh dada, lapis and kueh ko swee
.
- And bubor terigu, chukop perkat,
Surely you can smell that durian pengat…’’
“Hey! Stop please! You shouldn’t be singing that song,
As for your made-up words, they’re horribly wrong.”
.
- “Oi! Who said that?” Tingkat asked coral Kamcheng
“Was it you?” This directed at old Tien Teng.
“It’s so dark here, it’s impossible to see.
Besides, not your business! This song’s about me.”
. - “Oh no, it’s not!” squealed the yellow teapot,
“It’s all about ‘teapot’. ‘Tingkat’ it is NOT!”
“Who doesn’t know that?” enamelled Tingkat said.
“I’m not daft! I’m perfectly right in the head.
. - Do you know I’m somewhat of a history buff?
May not know a lot, but I do know enough.”
All eyes were on her; they were willing to learn.
The Tingkat – she loved it. It was her star turn.
. - “Did you know this shop in Katong’s an icon?
Was here long before many people were born.
Here all the precious Peranakan things can be found,
It’s the avid collector’s rich hunting ground.
. - Once filled to the rafters with antiques so rare,
Some of you behind glass, and ‘preserved’ with care.
But there’ll soon be an auction, I heard them say.
That’s why we’ve been gathered here, put on display.
. - Some of us have not met each other before.
Shall we introduce ourselves, and chat some more?”
“Hello,” said the porcelain Spoons, dainty and fine.
“There were once 10 of us, and then we were nine.”
. - When Ah Soon dropped Elsie (it happened of late)
She smashed into pieces, and now we are eight.”
The pink Teacup sisters, a set of just four,
Had never known this. They were shocked to the core.
. - Tingkat was now eager to tell them her tales,
Well aware that with ageing, one’s memory fails.
Since others seemed ready to hear, so why not?
What’s that we were told? ‘Strike while the iron’s hot.’
. - “My ancestors came from India, so they say,
Where workers packed their own lunches for the day.
In Penang and Malacca, and Singapore,
My parents too carried food from door to door.
. - Many had made the ocean trip with the Brits,
Here, Peranakans decorated us to bits!
Adorned us with colours, blooms, and butterflies…
We’re conversation pieces now, highly prized!
. - Then Kokums, from Sweden, made plain ones, good stuff!
Pale yellow with green rims – these tingkats were tough!
Once easily found in every Bibik’s dapor,
Perched close to the daily pot of kopi-O.”
. - “Ahem,” said red Kumcheng, “you speak of design,
Few can match me – just take a look at my fine
Ogival medallions with blossoms and bird,
A pity lion-dog on my lid looks injured.”
. - They tried not to stare at the dog’s missing tail,
Some thought they heard Kumcheng suppress a faint wail.
No one spoke. A sad hush fell over the hall,
Till Mama Bakul Siah said, “I do recall…
. - I was sent to a wedding, shown off with pride,
Bearing gifts for the groom and his blushing bride.
Though my black, red and gold have gone rather grey
The scenes and the memories burn bright to this day.”
. - “Adoi! What glamorous stories all of you tell –
Unlike me – brown, glorified portable ‘well’.
I’m a Tempayan. I’m green-glazed inside.
The dragon emblazoned outside is my pride.
. - I was not displayed, and always on the floor.
I carried no gifts, plain tap water my store,
To be used for a bath in the penchiwan.
Trust me, nudity all the time is no fun.
. - I could have been outside collecting the rain.
That’s water so useful for washing the drain.
Or used as a pot to grow butterfly pea.
Its indigo-blue colours pulot inti.
.
- And my bigger cousin was used to rear fish
Fresh ikan betok makes a very nice dish.
To kill it, the cook had to bash in its head.
My cousin hated this; it filled her with dread.
. - “Hey!” yelled the cracked Spitoon, “my role was far worse!
In fact, my whole family’s convinced it’s a curse!
My decorative outside hid what is unseen.
Inside swirled all kinds of phlegm, yellow and green!”
. - “Oh, that is so sickening! You’re crude. Have some class.”
This came from the lady in ruby-red glass.
Ms. Epergne considered herself partly French.
She tried to speak crisply like Dame Judi Dench.
. - “My people were European,” the group was told,
“Our flutes and curled vases were fashioned to hold,
In earliest times, chips, dips, fruit and sweetmeats,
Finger food, candies….impressive party treats.
. - Then when their descendants were brought to this place,
The Peranakans loved us, our beauty, our grace.
They used us for flowers. I posed on a stand.
With my four perfect flutes, of course I looked grand.
. - See that silver epergne hiding at the back?
No pride! She’s let herself go, and turned quite black!”
“Shut up!” the twin vases chorused with one voice.
“You don’t have to be mean! It wasn’t her choice.”
. - “What if I’m useless too, and quite out of date?
Discarded like rubbish…will that be my fate?”
Rose Chupu’s small voice echoed every one’s fear.
Said Tingkat with confidence, “One thing is clear.
. - We’ll increase in value as we get more rare,
And we SHALL be displayed gloriously, somewhere.”
“Like a museum?” said Epergne hopefully,
Where we’ll be admired for eternity.”
. - The vessels were thoughtful. A truth or a lie?
The words of a prophet or pie in the sky?