Posterity

Great-grandmother was
a Miss Ondaatje.
Grandmother's name
was Miss Mercy Hoole.
Mother began
as Miss Navaratnam.
I am a Miss
Rajendran.

Great-grandmother lived
in Colonial Ceylon.
Grandmother moved
to Straits Singapore.
Mother was born
and bred in Malaya.
I am an-other
Malaysian.

Great-grandmother married
a Jaffna Mudaliyar.
Grandmother fell
for a medical officer.
Mother nearly
eloped with a teacher.
I am an unmarried
daughter.

Great-grandmother bore
so many children.
Grandmother bred
four girls and a boy.
Mother carried
a son and a daughter.
I have no child,
nor ever.

Great-grandmother never
knew me.
Grandmother often
spoilt and indulged me.
Mother is
so much a part of me.
I endure in my work,
my posterity.

(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999

So mush of me

So mush of me is English.
My dreaded colonial heritage.
From Enid Blyton to Beatrix Potter
my idylls lie distant in Yorkshire.

So mush of me lives Anglo.
My dreaded white inheritance.
From Laura Ashley to Marks & Spencer
my istanas all built in Windsor.

So, mush of me
misplaced.
Really I am Malaysian,
Ceylonese, Tamil,
Anglophile, All.
Mingled by history
not choice.

So, mush of me
misfit.
My outfits all merge
and combine.
From kurungs of kashmere
to kain batik ballgowns,
my palate eats roast beef
with rice.

So mush of me
mixed up,
sejarah
that spans a globe.
From Perth to Papua
Toronto to Trent,
my saudaras
by boat and by flight.

So mush of me is
muddled.
Malaysian, Ceylonese
Unsure.
My anglicised fancies
in tempatan dreams
make mush
in so mush of me.


(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999

Miracles

Always water into wine.
Never other way around.
Crushed ice into ice-kacang,
Syrup into leng chee kang,
Bubur into lemang.
Water into wine.


(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999

Kitchen Rules for Supper

        The gardener must drink
        from a different cup.
        The servant must eat
        from a different plate.
        The bullock-cart man
        cannot enter the house.
        Why God did you make them
        different?

Man in a veshti
thundu slung over,
barefoot on a cool earth floor,
sambaranee wafts
as the ghee sounds a sizzle.

        The gardener must drink
        The servant must eat

He stoops to light
oil lamps, flickering wicks,
flaming coal stove,
the dhall curry simmers,
chappatis on gridle.

        The bullock-cart man
        The man in the veshti 

Freshly made tairu
slightly sweet salted,
ever-silver serving bowls,
sprinkles of chopped herbs
table laid ready with leaves.

        Why God did you make
        them different?

The guests will arrive.
He’ll wash their sore feet.
Perhaps this will be
his last supper.

Perhaps for this meal
we’ll remember.


(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999

Devotions of Difference

temples churches mosques
altars rituals prayers
candles jossticks oil-lamps
songkoks pottus robes
kadis samis priests
thundus purdahs veils
guilty pardon blessing
temples churches mosques


(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999

Community Vows

To love you, for the chronic ways
In which you make me yours.
To hate you, for the poison days
In which you cast me out.
Adore you, for the spectacles
Of colour that you splash.
Resent you, for the obstacles
Of status and finesse.
To marvel that you pioneered
And thrived among the rough.
To shrivel at your arrogance
And piteous, sense of pride.
To ponder all your principles
Of culture, faith and life.
         How much I wish to leave you.
         But am held by a thali that binds.


(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999

Community Wedding

Gold borders sparkling

off Kanchipuram silks.
Navaratna pendants,
blood rubies aglow.
Thick gold chains hanging,
diamond laden bangles.
The bride stands and waits
at the door.

Songket Kebaya,
Kelantanese Silver,
Balinese Selendang,
Malaccan Krongsang,
And each of the aunties asks
"Why?"

Carefully pleated veshti
with crisp ironed thundu.
Cream coloured talappa
and bronzed leather sandals.
Nehru collar kurta
shot coloured, refined.
Deep set gold emerald ring.
Groom sits waiting on dais.

Padini blue suit,
Gucci leather shoes,
Issey Miyake tie,
Gianni Versace shirt.
And none of the uncles asks
"Why?"


(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999

Concoctions

I belong

to a community
of only a few.
With only a few
mirrors to bounce off
the colours, tastes, smells,
of my childhood
my home
my history.

As only a few
have created windows
through which I can peer
to see faces, tears,
smiles and scars
of my childhood
my home
my history.

I long for my community
to declare its small strong voice,
adjust, adapt, acclimatise
but never forget,
erase.

...............................


I belong
to a nation
of many,
diversely.
With many a mixture
of sireh and dhalcha
chap fan and laksa
that mixes and blends,
concocts its own recipe
stirs up its own steaming brew.

I belong
to a nation
where many,
diversely,
have forgotten that mixtures,
of sireh and dhalcha
chap fan and laksa
are boring, bland, pallid,
if not for the mixture
that savours the flavour
of many,
made up of a few.


(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999

Rasam Recipe

If I write in Tamil

does it mean then
I have deeper sense -
of what we are
and who we fear
and why we stir
from here?

And if I write Malay
then have I strayed
and lost my roots -
become a curried nationalist
betrayed my race
and pride
as I shift lonely
to the side?

And if I write in English
just because
the taste is mine,
it is my strongest condiment,
I've used it all my life
to spice and flavour piquancy
does this mean I have
right?

does this mean I am
right?


(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999