Skip to main content

Kopi Siew Mai

“Aunty, Kopi Siew Mai”.

She stared back at me half bewildered, half stoic. I knew I had uttered something wrong, thought precisely where I got it wrong, I could not pinpoint. I should have just stuck to my usual Kopi and not let my sister’s impassioned speech about a Kopi something that contained no condensed milk disrupt my habit. But I had and now I was facing the consequences in the form of a postmenopausal woman staring at the Indian boy dressed smart and talking stupid, wondering if this was his idea of a joke.

“You mean Koi C? Siew Mai is the yellow meat thing you have for breakfast”, my attractive friend tried to help, unable to resist giggling at the humour of the situation.

“hmmm.. Not Kopi C. Its Kopi siew something. But nevermind, KopiC also can”, I replied wanting to save face and half not knowing what Kopi C. As long as it saved me from this, anything went. Even tap water.

“Oh. Kopi Siew Tai arh?”

“Oh yea. That one. Aunty, Kopi Siew Tai!”

But the damage was done. Never again would I get this wrong. But still. Kopi, Kopi Siew Tai, Kopi C, Kopi poh, Kopi don’t know what, I regretted having the choices and the unfortunate result of it making me look like a foreigner (and a bad one too) in my own country. Coffee less sugar should have sufficed, but there was an uncontrollable urge in me to blend in, without preparation.

Of course, it wouldn’t have been this bad if my friend was a little less attractive.

The lady handed me the coffee.

“Haha. I am a terrible Singaporean”, I admitted sheepishly, trying to make light of a self-perceived major embarrassment.

 “Don’t worry. You are improving”, she replied, with the least of interest.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Fool's Pride

I was rolling up the sleeve of my uniform, preparing for a call up that might never come, when I realised that somehow I was overcome by a strange sense of pride, a pride that wanted the length of my sleeve to be precise as I have always pictured in my mind. Any longer, I would look shabby. Any shorter, I would look amateur. Then I donned the green, tightened the velcro around my waist and looked in the mirror. It was just like before and the memories started flooding me. I never really liked it when I donned it for 2 years in a row. Then I was in a place where I detested the culture, the harsh discipline, the unreasonable demands and the lack of purpose in everything I did. But now that it was over, when I look back, it was perhaps the greatest time of my life. The suffering, the digging, the starving, the cold, the banter, the rowdiness, the jungle, the marches,the mountains, the food, the stories, the friendships, it was all worth the 2 years. A girl friend of mine once asked...
2 comments
Read more

Marriage and All That : Part 2

"How about I get married?" "Are you serious?" "Yea" "No really. If you are serious, I can start looking for one" "Uhh....Nah. I was just kidding" After a while, she stopped asking me if I were serious. Instead, she would laugh it off every time I suggested it, which was the original intention of my question. For me it was just comic relief, this idea of marriage that parents back in India would pester their children with once they reached just about where I was right now; young, working with a steady income and of totally no use at home. Though when she did ask me if I was serious, I do remember feeling a palpitation in my heart, the kind one gets when having to make a yuge decision (#trump2016 #makeamericagreatagain), knowing very well that she, along with an army of aunts, waited for my green light to start searching for a bride for the most promising of their nephews. A NRI (non residential Indian used to refer to the ...
2 comments
Read more

6:15 on Hardy Toll

My left hand lies curled in a tight fist between my thighs, while the right presses stiffly against the coarse leather of the steering wheel, bearing the burden of the task. Though to call it a burden would be an overstatement of an activity that once gave me a sleepless 23 hour flight but now bordered on mindlessness. Now, being on the that road, at that time, when even the sun was too lazy to rise from its sleep, was second nature to me. Thoughts raced through my mind, thoughts about the destination I was headed to. The bulk of them recollected old frustrations and the remainder imagined new ones. My left fist curl tighter as I sped ahead in the air conditioned cocoon. I try to keep to the right of the two lanes as I drove, quasi subconsciously,  at 60 miles per hour on a a 65 mile per hour lane, which still had an additional legally tolerable 10 mile per hour buffer. Lost in my unending imaginings, I stay at that speed until an even slower traveler in front jerk me i...
1 comment
Read more