Lat draws me through the sound of madness

Tue, 05/13/2008 10:39 AM  |  City

On many accounts getting through the day is a test of one's sanity. A collection of peeves could quickly pile up in your chest, if not tempered with, say, a suggestion from the famed nanny in last century's classic, The Sound of Music: Just remember a few of your favorite things.

But at the point of exploding at the man in the brown uniform who is attending, or not attending, to your papers, remembering brown paper packages, as the pretty nanny sang, doesn't help much.

A better cure for many instances of urban madness is to recall scenes from Malaysia's best cartoonist, Lat. Well sorry, that's also "sooo last century." But this cure works.

I forgot the real name of the stout curly figure. What comes to mind are his street scenes of Malaysia's early years of urbanization because those pictures are still around us.

Some of his sketches portrayed markets with all details lovingly recorded. Chaos reigns but there is a pattern and locals know exactly how to get around, for it is their turf. Among Lat's favorite characters is the lady in high heels, dark glasses and beehive-Amy Winehouse hairdo. She's among all people buying and selling and trying to move in a tight area where pedestrians compete with bicycles, motorcycles, big cars, stalls and whatnot.

The scene is exactly like my local market and I wish Lat would come to my neighborhood and sketch the strewn garbage and the muddy streets. Or he could come to our office and equally enjoy an afternoon of doodling with a view of coconut and banana vendors on the roadside. A stream of mikrolet (public minivan) accompanies pedestrians trying to stay in one piece without their backs being grazed by motorcycles zooming past.

The Jakarta driver inevitably grinds her teeth when passing through stall-filled streets.

You refrain from honking, it feels ever so impolite, but nobody hears your big Kijang creeping right behind them. Then you honk ever so loudly and the ibu in her kain (traditional sarong) remains in position -- her butt out on the street as she peels something or fries tofu while bending down. Likewise for the males, young and old. In the market, they're ever so busy. No time to make way.

It's a market where they've done business for ages. Traffic in the form of automobiles came later; so these vendors simply return and regain their territory with determination, even if officials move them elsewhere.

When you've just managed to pass the squatting vendors, the minivan or angkot driver gestures you to move on, signaling the tiny space he's reserved for you in which your van just fits. And you grind your teeth again.

Wouldn't you get mad?

Then suddenly I realize I'm smack in the middle of Lat's sketch with the chicken seller on the right, the heap of jackfruit skin in front and a midnight buyer bargaining for his groceries nearby. They're all oblivious of the passing driver who's trying to calculate in split seconds the number of inches available to the right and left of the vehicle -- one.

It's a hapless situation; I'd be in a time machine if I were in Lat's Kuala Lumpur, but this is now.

Today visitors to Jakarta can have a similarly entertaining insight into the capital and its surrounding areas through the cartoons of our now famed illustrators Benny and Mice.

But whenever I grind my teeth and am on the brink of popping, I credit Mr. Lat for lending me a smile, albeit a wan one, in this crazy jungle that is our home.

-- Ati Nurbaiti

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