Ti House

Teh Tarik - A National Institution

THAT the teh tarik stall has become a National Institution, alongside Parliament, Proton cars and poor public transport, is now beyond doubt.

It's the great meeting pot, if not yet the melting pot, of Malaysia's diverse ethnic groups; a halal yet neutral ground for peaceful coexistence. Run mostly by the affable mamaks or Indian muslims, every ethnic group can feel at home here without any nagging sense of having "invaded" the territory of other races.

A sample of its babble typically contains all four major languages. It might, for instance, include the "ah... ini dia kontrek tandas dari YB," of a kontrekter kelas F; the "Nia-Mah" of a permed hair, gold chained mechanic or the "pohdah-lah dey" of a pompous security guard.

English is often heard too. No teh tarik stall, at least in the Klang Valley, is ever complete without the necessary evil of "No, no, actuallee, I'm doing my external lawlah." What a quadrophonic cacophony of Malaysian tongues!

The neutral ground cuts across class barriers as well. It's cheap, yet still good enough for executives - ties loosened, sleeves rolled one-third up - to sit next to the proletarian likes of lorry drivers, labourers and factory workers.

Unlike pretentious watering holes, crammed full of yuppies parading their designer best and pretending to be happy, the teh tarik stall is a place where we can be our true slippers-and-T-shirt Malaysian selves. For a mere 90 sen, we can indulge in intellectual masturbation and verbal diarrhoea till the wee hours - thanks to the open air, the noise and the dirt.

Yes, it is these fertile elements of the stall that allow our humbler egalitarian instincts to germinate. After all, it is perhaps the only place where everybody is a "boss". Listen to an archetypal conversation:

"Oi! Hello boss!"
"Yes boss."
"Kasi teh tarik satu."
"Baaaaaik. Makan boss?"

Indeed, the teh tarik culture is a symbol of national independence, a weaning away from the polite society of English tea, drawing rooms and fine porcelain tea-sets; a liberation from those painstakingly punctilious and polished butlers. Merdeka! For we Malaysians have reclaimed the fundamental human right to slouch and burp over our sickly sweet brew. What a collective dismissal of the old colonisers, a resounding "That will be all, Jeeves."

But a new imperialism has sprung up. Crash landing into our homes, the aerial invasion of soft drinks via TV ads threaten the sanctity of teh tarik, possibly our last bastion of economic resistance against the Coca-Colonisation of our tastebuds by big foreign multinationals.

There is a case therefore to push for the formal declaration of the teh tarik stall as a National Institution, while the brew itself should be honoured as our National Drink. Honestly, it's time to glorify and promote something of our own in the face of all that fizzy foreign soda flatulence.

(But then again, there's no stopping McD from co-opting our drink into a new franchise. McT anyone?)

However, like any other National Institution, the stall has its share of warts. Three times, a few friends and myself were almost duped at one particular stall in PJ. Seriously. Picture this. 1.30am and it's time to kira the bill. Lying on the oily, sticky table are maybe five empty glasses, four nasi lemak wrappers, some telur rebus shells and one Dunhill besar. In less than five seconds the "boss" hops over, mumbles, "oon-neh, rren-de..." while wagging his finger ominously and voila (!) proclaims "empat belas tujuh."

"Mana boleh boss!?" we protest.

In a flash, a deadly studious look appears, eyes are screwed and "Oh... I say, sorry, sorry... ahh... Sa-puloh empat."

Well, there we are. A truly Malaysian institution, just like Proton, no? It's awkward to condemn stall owners for overcharging when there have been so many complaints that Proton's cars are more expensive locally than overseas. Perhaps, like any good citizen, the teh tarik people are simply learning from that old 1980's slogan Kepimpinan Melalui Teladan (Leadership by Example).

Which brings us to Parliament. But how can the humble teh tarik stall possibly measure up to that Noble House? The stall falls short in one respect: it has no rubber stamps. Otherwise, it equals, perhaps exceeds Parliament in the number of scandals exposed and argued over each night.

Every other teh tarik session encapsulates the fury of a Mat Sabu vs Samy Vellu vs Teresa Kok mud-slinging match. Given the restrictions in the formal media, the people have voted to turn the stall into Malaysia's unofficial news agency, a place to discuss the "real issues". Yes, the rumour mill culture is alive and well, let a thousand teh tarik stalls bloom, let a thousand schools of talk contend!

A National Institution should also reflect prevailing social values. Here too the stall scores. The get-rich-quick mentality can easily be found here in the persona of multi-level marketeers peddling their latest schemes.

"No, no, we don't ask you to sell products. We only ask you to recruit people. But of course, you must set an example to your downline, isn't it? Very simple one. For every member you recruit, you should buylah 50 bottles of our premium product, Diamond Hard Tongkat Ali," pitches the pyramid schemer.

"And then every bottle ah, you get 100 bonus points. Once you collect 500,000 bonus points, you reach our nirvana, the Holy Executive Platinum Square Table."

Another patriotic value that the stall epitomises is the boleh kow tim principle of skirting the law. This ajaran sesat or deviation from Malaysia Boleh usually manifests itself in little, shall we say, inconveniences, such as concrete which is nine parts sand and one part cement.

In the case of teh tarik, the Selangor Health Services Department has confirmed several cases where used tea leaves are "recycled" by dying them with tartarzine, ponceau and sunset yellow - chemicals which are also found in brown shoe polish. Not content with that, some traders have even added dyed shredded paper to tea dust.

There is an easy way to detect this adulteration. Ask the stall owner for a glass of cold water and a pinch of tea leaves. Genuine tea can only be made in hot water. If the leaves start leaching brown the moment they hit the cold water, well, that means you've been drinking liquid shoe polish kasi khau sikit all this while.

This little "tea test" has been published in the newspapers several times. The question is, why do stalls still serve us that orangey hogwash?

Well, let's face it, Malaysian customers aren't really too bothered about their consumer rights. It's not part of our national culture. Maybe we should admit that we have a nouveau riche mindset which places more importance on external appearances rather than substance. So there we have it. How could the teh tarik stall be anything other than a National Institution? It's multi-racial and multi-lingual. Rich or poor, you're a "boss" here. It's where we find the authentic belching and slouching Malaysian clad in his true plumage of slippers and T-shirt.

It's also a living monument of Merdeka! which resembles Proton and Parliament. And, to complete the picture, it enshrines our most gracious national values, through the pyramid-scheming, kow tim the law, nouveau riche mentality.

Yup. Warts and all, the teh tarik stall suits Malaysia to a T(ea).

Andrew can be reached at [email protected]