UNINESS – Page 8 – Together we unfold Malaysian local cultures.

Fú Zhōu Red Rice Wine with Vinasse

In the kitchen at the rear end of the house, the floors are lined with newspapers, the pestle and mortar making crisp sounds while pounding. Grandmother Yap Ah Hwa (transliteration) woke up before dawn, busying herself with preparing ingredients to make red rice wine, from her energetic and smooth workflow it’s hard to discover that she is already 72 years old. This is the red rice wine which every single FúZhōunese household brew on their own, an indispensable ingredient in preparing Fú Zhōu dishes, its unique mellowness a key factor in complementing aroma and taste, coating food with a rosy tint, and also symbolizing good luck during festivals. The familiar native taste did not fade away with migration, instead it increased unity, as well as spreading the intense love for red rice wine to community members from other nativities.

Fú Zhōu red rice wine is a type of Chinese rice wine, made up of three simple ingredients: wine yeast cake, cooked glutinous rice, and specialty red yeast rice produced in the Mǐn region in China. The ingredients are mixed together and inserted into an urn, storing in a cool shaded place for the lengthy brewing process. At the end of the fermentation cycle, the liquid extracted from filtration is red rice wine, and the final residue is called vinasse. Red yeast rice is a type of fermented rice which acquires its colour from being cultivated with the mold Monascus purpureus, with health and nutritional benefits in traditional Chinese medicine of promoting digestion and improving blood circulation.

FúZhōunese make up the majority of the population in Chuah, Negeri Sembilan, where every household withholds the custom of brewing red rice wine by themselves, however the recipes and methods used may differ. Some families will insert the ingredients layer by layer; some add in water; some will add red yeast into rice wine and mix evenly; the length of fermentation also ranges, and the resulting taste varies. Grandma Yap (transliteration) who lives in Kampung Baru Sungai Nipah is particular in the ingredients she uses in brewing red rice wine, ensuring good quality and rich taste, which her family and friends enjoy. Initially, the red yeast rice and wine yeast cake are sun dried and finely pounded in advance, the urn being repeatedly washed and thoroughly dried. When brewing red rice wine, the glutinous rice is cooked and let cool overnight. The next day, all ingredients are mixed evenly, poured into a canvas bag, and tied up tightly. Then the urn is sealed and kept in a cool dry place to ferment for at least 75 days.

When she was young, Grandma Yap (transliteration) learned by asking relatives and friends for advice and doing research, experimenting on her own, never once slacking during the preparation and brewing procedures, therefore her brewing method is extraordinarily successful with a high yield. After fermenting for two months and a half, she could reap ten bottles of red wine, compressing the vinasse till it dries up, without wasting even one drop of red wine, and finally keeps the vinasse. Luck is crucial in brewing red rice wine, depending on favourable conditions for a smooth and successful brew. Some people who are having bad luck will be unsuccessful in brewing, or the yield is low and tastes bad. Other precautions and instructions include: from preparing ingredients, to sun drying the urn to expel residing flavours; some are beware of people who attended funerals, pregnant women, women in their confinement, or menstruating women from approaching the red rice wine they brew.

Embarking on a tipsy culinary journey, experiencing an intoxicating lesson in cultural customs. Over the decades, Grandma Yap’s red rice wine became a familiar and unforgettable fondness of her family, an essence of blended native cultures. Treating family and friends to red rice wine during festive celebrations, using vinasse to cook a table full of reddish Fú Zhōu dishes such as red wine chicken and mee sua, red vinasse pork etc. Acquiring the skills of brewing red rice wine could bring about the continuity of Fú Zhōu dishes over several generations.

Text: Daniel Lim & Pua Hui Wen

有你 UNI Production
Producer : Mok Yii Chek
Coordinator : Daniel Lim
Cinematographer : Amelia Lim / Evon Pang
Video Editor : Amelia Lim
Production Assistant : Michael Lerk
Music : White River

COPYRIGHTS 2019 ECHINOIDEA SDN BHD

Fú Zhōu Lard Cakes

The nutty aroma of peanuts, paired with the rich aroma of lard, and a thick mouthfeel, the almost extinct lard cake was a must-have specialty dessert in Fú Zhōu banquets. Within 15 minutes by car from Bukit Pelanduk, at the rear of a sky blue wooden cottage in the village of Tanah Merah Site C, Mr Chong Teck Fong (transliteration) could be sighted busying himself in the kitchen, attentively crafting traditional lard cake. Lard cake, also known as Manchuria cake, is a Fú Zhōu treat made from a mixture of lard, peanuts, sugar, and flour. It is also commonly found in Sitiawan, Perak and Sibu, Sarawak, however the preparation methods and mouthfeel may differ.

In the mid-18th century, the Manchuria Eight Banners army were garrisoned at Fú Zhōu, leaving a plethora of snacks and treats, among them is lard cake, which was rumoured to be a royal dessert. Migrating from Yún Nán, China to Malaysia, Mr Chong’s father mastered the skills of making lard cake in his hometown, even though he set up a swine farm in Malaysia, he continues the craft in supplying banquets, gaining fame due to the familiar native birthplace taste.

The process of making lard cake is complicated and time-consuming, stressing on the quality of ingredients as well as the skills of the chef, requiring at least two days to complete. The ingredients include lard, flour, sugar, peanuts, sesame, and egg, slowly mixed together, poured into a wooden mould, and then steamed. Nowadays, the production of lard cake found in other regions rely on machinery, even substituting lard with vegetable oils, resulting in a shriveled oily cake. Reluctant to affect the mouthfeel and quality of lard cake due to the crude production process, Mr Chong persists in genuine handcrafting, without involving machinery.

First of all, lard is scraped off the pork flesh, cut into small cubes, stir fry and season, mix evenly, add in flour, rub into a paste, then add in sugar to maintain a thick mouthfeel. Peanut is the most laborious ingredient involved, requiring selection of suitably sized peanuts, ensuring the peanuts are evenly heated during stir frying, then pick out peanuts with the same cookedness and colour to crush. These procedures take a lot of patience to be completed smoothly.

The advice of Mr Chong’s late father on how to make lard cake still rings in his ears, especially how to determine the suitable cube size when cutting the lard. As Mr Chong starts to learn making lard cakes in his middle-aged years, dispersed together with the lard cake aroma wafts are strands of discreet yet earnest love from his father, hugging him in an embrace. Time flies without leaving any trace, reminiscence and missing the family becomes more apparent. On the annual mark of his father’s death day, Mr Chong always makes lard cake as a tribute to his late father.

The wooden moulds made by Mr Chong himself have removable corners to ease taking out the end product of lard cakes; underneath the wooden pane are small holes to eliminate excess fat so that the mouthfeel would not be too oily. The length of steaming duration depends on the volume, as well as affecting the oiliness, where extending the duration may eliminate more excess fat, however steaming for too long will cause dryness to the lard cake. As the piping hot lard cake is removed from the steaming pot, it needs to be cooled down to set before cutting into inch-size cubes, so that it won’t stick to the knife.

The 60-year-old Mr Chong is the only person in his family to master the skill of making lard cakes, besides worrying about the continuity of lard cakes, he is also uneasy about people lacking the will to learn and persistence in enduring the strenuous traditional making process, therefore he has not passed on the skill to anyone yet. As tides of time sweep through, will this centuries-old legacy regain its glory?

Text: Daniel Lim & Pua Hui Wen

有你 UNI Production
Producer : Mok Yii Chek
Coordinator : Daniel Lim
Cinematographer : Amelia Lim / Evon Pang
Video Editor : Evon Pang
Production Assistant : Michael Lerk
Music : The Path from Serenity Studio – YouTube

COPYRIGHTS 2019 ECHINOIDEA SDN BHD

Prawn Fishing

Early in the morning, when moist fogs still permeate the air, the old house surrounded by tall and straight palm trees, 64-year-old Seah Tiam Chai sorts out his tools in front of the doorstep, packing them onto his motorcycle and rides to the small jetty nearby in preparation to go out to the sea for prawning. Dozens of small fishing boats are parked in the intertidal zone of the estuary, with mangrove forests all over, the rivershore is not deep, Mr Seah races against time to steer his boat out of the estuary before the tide ebbs. As a layer of golden rays pop up from the horizon, and the sky gradually brightens, the motor of the boat is already ignited, sailing towards the unpredictable sea.

Since his childhood years, Mr Seah has a close relationship with the sea, accompanying his elder brother in deep sea fishing at the age of 10, picking up fishing skills and knowledge from his two elder brothers. When he was 13, he went out to sea alone in a sampan, without an engine in the olden days, rowing manually and cast a net to catch fish and prawns. Mr Seah is much experienced in sailing at sea, in his 50 years of fishing he used fishing nets of various sizes, catching different fishes according the different mesh sizes. In his youth he used to steer a fishing boat with medium horsepower, often witnessing and experiencing pirate attacks, being robbed off the fish that he worked hard to catch, the industry having a high degree of risk. Among all risks, natural hazards especially storms are beyond control.

The opposite shores invisible across the boundless blue sea, the five-metre long fishing boat seems extremely meagre, unable to withstand slightly stronger waves, even more at a loss against the sudden occurence of natural hazards. Any storms or strong waves cause direct harm to a fisherman’s production, and even life. Mr Seah’s fishing boat is not big, with sufficient room for three persons, with the addition of fishing tools and operation, the narrow boat has barely room for one to two persons to move about. Hence usually Mr Seah works alone, fishing at sea on his own.

After deciding on a suitable spot, he starts to cast prawning nets piece by piece into the sea. Twenty pieces of prawning nets forming into a fishing net, laying horizontal in the sea, the half-kilometre long shaped net drifting along with the tides, when fish and prawns pass through they will be caught in the mesh, this traditional and widely used fishing method is named: Gillnetting. Due to the fishing net being set up on the migration pathway of the schools of fish, catching them all regardless of size. An hour afterwards, Mr Seah draws up the net, keeping the prawns that are entangled on the mesh fresh by freezing them with ice, the rest of the fish will be further processed upon returning to the jetty.

Besides the unpredictable natural factors, industrial development in recent years brought upon environmental damage, endangering the fishing industry in Chuah area, especially with the construction of two power stations at the seaside. The lessening of mangrove forests and the changes in water quality caused reduction or damage to the natural habitat of prawns, directly impacting Mr Seah and his livelihood, the amount of his catch declined more than a half from usual. The fishing industry which faced higher risks than the general industries on the ground is dealt with a heavier blow.

The open-minded and optimistic Mr Seah does not wish for riches, nor did he encourage his children to work in the fishing industry. He leads a rustic life in the 50-year-old cottage which houses three generations, enjoying delightful family times with his wife and granddaughter.

Text: Daniel Lim & Pua Hui Wen

有你 UNI Production
Producer : Mok Yii Chek
Coordinator : Daniel Lim
Cinematographer : Amelia Lim /Evon Pang
Drone : Daniel Lim
Video Editor : Michael Lerk
Production Assistant : Michael Lerk
Music : Peder B. Helland – Our Journey from YouTube

COPYRIGHTS 2019 ECHINOIDEA SDN BHD

Paku Vegetable Gatherer

As dawn breaks, there is still mild fogs throughout the air, dewdrops rolling down from the tips of leaves. Husband and wife, Lim Boon Seng (transliteration) and Loke Yuet Kwai (transliteration), parked their motorcycle aside, heading into the bushes after getting their stuff and tools ready. In what seemed to be thickets overgrown with weeds, both husband and wife utilise their sharp eyesight and deft hands, each holding a sack in one hand, while the other hand accurately picking fiddlehead ferns growing among the bushes and weeds.

Fiddleheads are wildgrown foliage, the young shoots curling inwards, looking like dainty commas or question marks, belonging to the family of edible shrubs (ferns), also known as Diplazium esculentum. They generally grow at moist, watery but sunny guttersides, having incredible vitality and wide adaptability. Common edible parts are the curly tips of young shoots and upper stems which are more delicate. Fiddleheads are nutrient-rich, boasting of high mineral content, high protein, high fibre etc. After cooking, its texture is smooth with a little mucilage, its mouthfeel crispy without any trace of bitterness.

Growing naturally in the wild, fiddleheads have a strong resistance, after the rain, they grow tenaciously in broad stretches, full of vitality as in the poem “undestroyable by fire, growing again when the breeze blows”. Nowadays, urban development and environmental pollution, as well as artificial cultivation and pesticides, are unsuitable for the growth of fiddleheads. They are only found growing wild in swampy wetlands, a type of foliage popular with rural villagers and indigenous folk. Due to the wide distribution and diversity of Diplazium esculentum, they have different names and nicknames across all regions, such as paku vegetables, wild ferns, perennial ferns, tsuen choi, midin (East Malaysia), lynx (Taiwan), sayur paku, pucuk paku, fiddleheads etc.

The hot sun shining above their heads, the ground beneath their feet humid, the 70-year-old Lim Boon Seng (transliteration) and his 67-year-old wife Loke Yuet Kwai (transliteration) each bearing one or two sacks full of fiddleheads, as well as ripe cassava harvested along the way, loading onto their motorcycle, ready to trade with restaurants or customers who placed orders. The both of them stay in Bukit Pelanduk, giving up swine farming 20 years ago in consequence of the Nipah virus outbreak tragedy, shifting towards the agricultural industry such as planting cassava and yam to make a living, one of their activities being gathering fiddleheads.

Due to the growing environment and distinctive feature of fiddleheads, there are certain dangers in the gathering process. Apart from preventing bugs and mosquitoes bites, there is need to constantly staying alert, taking precautions against attacks from snakes, lizards and wild bees which often inhabit the wild. Besides, to ensure a consistent supply of fiddleheads, the duo will walk around in search of suitable thickets, some of them as far as 20 minutes away by car. There are a few regular locations where they take routine care and manage properly to facilitate continual growth and ease gathering.

After the disaster brought upon by the Nipah virus outbreak, Lim Boon Seng (transliteration) and Loke Yuet Kwai (transliteration) and their family pull themselves back together, returning to their home in the village to seek an alternative way in making a living, their unyielding spirit similar to wildgrown fiddleheads, determined to survive.

Text: Daniel Lim & Pua Hui Wen

有你 UNI Production
Producer : Mok Yii Chek
Coordinator : Daniel Lim
Cinematographer : Amelia Lim / Evon Pang
Drone : Daniel Lim
Video Editor : Evon Pang
Production Assistant : Michael Lerk
Music : Beautiful & Emotional from MorningLightMusic – YouTube

COPYRIGHTS 2019 ECHINOIDEA SDN BHD

Fú Zhōu Peaceful Eggs

Inside the well-lit kitchen, both mother and daughter, 77-year-old Tan Ai Hua (transliteration) and 53-year-old Low Lan Chee (transliteration) are busy at work, each performing their own duties while at times helping each other, without a moment’s slacking. Briefly, a spread of Fú Zhōu home cooked food is served, the sumptuous dishes fit for a banquet. Among them is Fú Zhōu Peaceful Eggs with its complicated procedures, a must-have during festive celebrations, weddings, funerals, gatherings and farewells of FúZhōunese and their relatives. It symbolizes serenity and peace, bearing hopes for year-long good health and safety.

Peaceful Eggs are also known as Golden Eggs. Folklore goes that in year 1564, when General Qī Jì Guāng and his army faced pirates at Fú Níng (now Fú Dǐng district), the villagers try to support, therefore deciding on deep fried hard-boiled Golden Eggs, to feed the military personnel, as it is easy to keep and delicious, without the need to peel shells. After General Qī Jì Guāng succeeded in banishing the pirates, the local livelihood was back to normal, the seaside areas were peaceful, and people went around happily. As a remembrance of General Qī Jì Guāng’s contribution, Golden Eggs were renamed to Peaceful Eggs.

To date, due to changes in regional food culture, the poultry eggs used in Peaceful Eggs are different. In the seaside areas of Fú Zhōu in China, people mostly use duck eggs, homophonic with “suppressing waves” in the Fú Zhōu dialect, praying for calm waves and a safe, fruitful journey. Chefs use quail eggs or dove eggs as replacement in banquets to suit the recent food trends, quail is homophonic with “safety”, therefore well received by most people. There are also FúZhōunese who source materials locally, replacing duck eggs with chicken eggs. The only thing unchanged is the deep rooted inheritance of native food culture from generation to generation.

In Bukit Pelanduk where the majority is FúZhōunese, Low Lan Chee (transliteration) and her mother uses up to nine ingredients to cook Fú Zhōu Peaceful Eggs, including bamboo shoots, shiitake mushroom, black fungus, carrots, cabbage, lily, minced pork, and eggs. The preparation of ingredients is extremely time-consuming, apart from cutting all ingredients into fine shreds, the selection of ingredients and the cooking method is also quite particular. For instance baby bamboo shoots needs to be pre-ordered from vegetable farmers, depending on its harvest; the eggs are peeled after being hard-boiled, and then deep fried in hot oil, finally adding in the stir-fried ingredients, a pot containing a cultural dish inherited for generations: Peaceful Eggs, is completed.

To cook this dish, it contains hope and blessing towards life.
To consume this dish, it accommodates prayers and cherish from others.
To master this dish, it continues the cultural legacy.

Text: Daniel Lim & Pua Hui Wen

The Ferryman

The Ferryman. Sailing on rivers, cruising across two shores, ferrying people across the Sepang river, handling a small ferry, closing the gap between two states, and ease countless passengers who cross the river. The Tang family has been operating at this jetty for three generations, never ceasing in maintaining this travel passage for inhabitants from these two shores.

The Sepang river flows between the states of Negeri Sembilan and Selangor, a work of nature separating two states. Not only is Sepang river the source of living for neighbouring villagers, it also bridges economical activity for residents from both ends. Transportation via water plays an important role, especially between Sungai Pelek located in the southeast part of Selangor and Bukit Pelanduk located at the northwest of Negeri Sembilan.

In the earlier days where land transportation were not developed, the inhabitants in the proximity are dependent on the boat service, where students go to school, housewives go shopping, farmers go to work, and more on. The scene back then was extremely busy, with plenty of boats crossing to and fro the river. In the golden era, there were plenty of boat and ferry services along the riverside, with some running their own independent business by building a simple jetty in their own territory. Since the traffic system connecting with the city were developed and roads were built, for now there is only one remaining ferry service.

The 63-year-old ferryman, who goes by Tang Kah Chai, navigates the small ferry skilfully over the shores of Negeri Sembilan (Bukit Pelanduk) and Selangor (Sungai Pelek) on a daily basis, fetching batches of passengers across the river. The family business is now in the third generation. During the Japanese occupation, Tang’s grandfather initiated the business with a small sampan rowed manually. It was hard work. In the recent decades, evolution of technology made life easier for boatmen and ferrymen, as the boats and ferries are powered by engine. This also boosted the safety of passengers, as well as increases the number of passengers each trip.

The river surface is about 150 metres wide, the trip across the shores only takes a couple of minutes, yet it employs the services of three generations of ferrymen for almost 80 years. They even earned the regard of the local community. A short encounter on the ferry daily makes passengers familiar with the ferryman, chit-chatting while on the ferry makes them more close knit, and illustrates a warm affection for each other.

Even though nowadays the traffic system is completed, the communion between Bukit Pelanduk and Sungai Pelek on the opposite side since settling in for half a century, where their living and economy has long been inseparable, however there is still no news about a bridge construction plan that the local residents were looking forward to for ages. The main communication and transport channels are travelling 20 minutes by land or two minutes by water.

Since ferries powered by engines replaced manual rowing, the tickets inflated from just a few cents to 50 cents. As the last ferryman in three generations of the Tang family, Tang Kah Chai remains committed steadfastly, crossing the river daily from early morning to the evening all year long.

For now, the two families of Tang and Chong taking turns weekly to be in charge of the jetty.

Text: Daniel Lim

有你 UNI Production
Producer : Mok Yii Chek
Coordinator : Daniel Lim
Cinematographer : Amelia Lim / Evon Pang
Drone : Daniel Lim
Video Editor : Evon Pang
Production Assistant : Michael Lerk
Music : Touching from Ashamaluev Music

COPYRIGHTS 2019 ECHINOIDEA SDN BHD

Chuan Lee Chan

Wearing a protective eye mask, then simply wrapping the nose and mouth with a rag to block fumes and metal dust. These are the standard procedures practised daily by octogenarian Master Lim Chang Wan (transliteration). The blazing charcoal fire burns through the steel, turning it bright red. Striking while the iron is hot, husband and wife joined forces to pinch and hammer, cutting the steel bar into small pieces. After that, the steel is beaten into shape with the use of an air forging hammer and an iron hammer. The shaped steel is then returned to the fireplace to be burned until red. With the above steps repeated over and over again, only could the raw steel be shaped. The final step is quenching, which is air-hardening. Putting the red-hot steel into a liquid for immediate cooling can enhance the hardness and strength, this process puts the ironsmith’s skills to test.

Having almost 100 years of history, the blue single-storey antique wooden shop lot is covered beneath tree shades, nestled in the old streets of Pasir Penambang, is the iron shop Chuan Lee Chan. More than half of a century ago, Master Lim Chang Wan (transliteration) who was born in Klang relocated to Pasir Penambang with his family in 1952. His father who was also an ironsmith bought the shop, negotiated with the ex-shop owner to continue using his signboard, and started running his own iron shop. Lim Chang Wan (transliteration) and his elder brother followed in their father’s footsteps to manufacture knives since they were teenagers.

At the beginning stage, competition was intense, as knives are durable unlike daily supplies. The Lim siblings learned the forte from others in the industry to enhance their skills. Not only so, they also personally sell the knives they made to other areas, such as Sasaran, Kapar, Banting, and Tanjung Sepat. After decades of diligence and contribution, Chuan Lee Chan gained recognition around 1982, as word of mouth spread and customers came to purchase and place customised orders. As their business stabilised, they stopped selling knives in other areas.

As times moved on, the elderly Master Lim is still energetic and enthusiastic. Although he is downcast that traditional household ironsmith could not compete with industrialised manufacturers in terms of high production numbers and low costs, Master Lim enjoys forging knives as usual, and immerses himself in it, especially when receiving praise from the customers. Customers are willing to purchase a better quality knife at a higher price, especially plantation owners in the neighbouring areas. As the saying goes, “To work efficiently, your tools must be sharp”. The sharp and durable knives Master Lim manufactured not only helped increase productivity at the plantations, his ironsmith store earned a good reputation as well, in a win-win situation.

Master Lim has been working with knives for 65 years, and experienced the ups and downs in the ironsmith industry. Half-retiring, he no longer accepts large numbers of orders or large projects. He still operates on a daily basis, providing walk-in customers from all backgrounds knife sharpening and air-hardening services. He also sells a variety of knives sourced elsewhere. None of his three children were interested in taking up the labouring trade. The metal tools produced by hard labour of ironsmiths, the sounds of the hammer striking, and one by one the household iron shops may become obsolete, vanishing from sight.

The blue wooden shop lot underneath the trees’ shades, and the ’22’ mark on the knives, Lim Chang Wan (transliteration) has been hammering most of his life.

Text: Daniel Lim & Pua Hui Wen

Nipah Water

Peeling the flower cluster of the Attap plant layer by layer, wrapping with a plastic bag for the liquid to gradually flow in, that is how Air Nira Nipah or more commonly known as Attap seed water came to be. Freshly extracted Nipah water can be consumed immediately. The liquid is translucent with a hint of brownish colour, its taste is richly sweet, its function is to cool down the human body and aids digestion. Nipah water is naturally fermented after standing in the open for 8 hours, the liquid will turn into a semi-translucent with milk white colour. Being kept properly and set aside to ferment for 44 days or more, the Nipah water will ripen into Nipah vinegar, which is said to have medical efficacy and helps in treatment of the digestive system, as well as kidney stones. Nipah water is popular among the Malay community, especially in the region of Kedah, Kelantan, and Terengganu.

The fit and agile Halim is 67 years old, he plants Attap trees all around his humble abode in Bagan Pasir, a small fishing village in Tanjung Karang. Seven years ago, he got his father to show him how to extract Nipah water, brought the technique from his hometown in Perak to his own property, and started a small business of selling Nipah water. From cultivating Attap plants with the utmost care, to the maturity of the fruits, and extracting the liquid from the flower cluster of the plant, all these processes require his attentiveness and skills. For instance, the flower cluster needs to be taken extensive care of and be massaged for one month, so that it may yield more liquid.

Planting and extracting Nipah water is a challenging task. The only species of palm adapted to the mangrove biome, Attap palms grow in humid swamp areas. Besides constantly immersing both feet in the muddy swamp waters, he also need to take precaution against insect infestation and animals sabotage. Nipah water needs to be collected from the flower cluster daily, as it is unsuitable to be left in ambient temperature for long. It needs to be promptly chilled to prevent fermentation and preserve freshness. On the other hand, changes in the weather will directly impact the harvest.

There are various values and usage of the Attap plant. In old times, humans found out to use Attap leaves as material for roofs, and to weave handicraft such as baskets. The Attap fruit grows in bunches of dozens, its semi-translucent flesh sweet and tender. It can be consumed raw, made into beverages, or added into shaved ice to add some texture. Due to the complicated steps in the production of Nipah water, the need to adhere to a strict timeline, and prone to deteriorate after extracting therefore must be consumed freshly, it is disadvantaged and has limited potential for commercialization. Even so, it illustrates the wise ways humans employ natural resources.

Text: Daniel Lim & Pua Hui Wen

有你 UNI Production
Producer : Mok Yii Chek
Coordinator : Daniel Lim
Cinematographer : Amelia Lim / Evon Pang
Drone : Daniel Lim
Video Editor : Amelia Lim
Production Assistant : Michael Lerk
Music : If You Close Your Eyes I’m Still With You

COPYRIGHTS 2019 ECHINOIDEA SDN BHD

Grave Stone Smith

Walking along the narrow road across the grove, you may spot a few irregular-shaped big stones between the grass and trees, some of them with traces of cutting. At the end of the winding path, you may hear loud hammering. Looking over to the source of the noise, there is a small wooden shed hidden within lush green bushes and branches. The shed is made up of rustic wood and a few pieces of zinc, scattered around are some iron chisels and hammers, as well as nearly a hundred of granite pieces. These are long-time friends of Master Kuah Leong Chuan, who has been keeping up the ancestral business for over forty years.

The crude and unremarkable tiny shed is located in Kuala Selangor, beside the main road of Kuala Selangor bridge. In the past few decades, it has witnessed the birth of countless tomb stones, mostly those of muslims called ‘Batu Nisan’. All these are the works of Master Kuah, who himself pick the stone, cut, and then carefully carve into shape. He even writes and carves the Jawi words on the grave stone too.

Mr Kuah, who is 64 years old, and his elder brother have been helping his father running the family business since young. Their family has been stone smiths for four generations. Since Mr Kuah’s great-grandfather migrated overseas from China to Malaysia, the family made a living by carving holy figures and stone lions for temples, whereas Mr Kuah’s father worked on stone tools like mortar and pestle, stone mills etc. When Mr Kuah graduated from high school, he went into business together with his elder brother until now. They are the fifth generation of the trade, now they mainly craft and sell grave stones, instead of stone tools.

Material sourcing, material selection, and carving are all done locally. For the past forty over years, Master Kuah has been using granite from the hills nearby, which used to be a famous stone quarry during the British colonisation era. Due to the granite stones being of high quality, in the heyday of stone craft, there were five or six families of stone smiths who set up workshop in the same hill area. Having been through decades of stone mining, the number of stones in the quarry were not exhausted, on the contrary the stones surprisingly grew into an infinity number. Master Kuah named those as ‘living stones’, as these unique granite did not corrode but expand over time. Such a trait is greatly popular among the Malay community.

The process of transforming a huge solid stone to a piece of tomb stone exhibits Master Kuah’s skills and expertise. From deducing the stone’s age by its pattern, determining the quality by the stone’s surface, the artful skills of cutting open the stone, to self taught Jawi, not many stone smiths can achieve such a feat on their own.

As times progress, some of the traditional trades and skills might be drowned in the swift development. Fellow stone smiths in Kuala Selangor either retire or concluded business, and Master Kuah’s brother with whom he has been working hand in hand over the years became unable to shoulder such tedious work due to illness. As he has no children, and no apprentice, now there is just Master Kuah carving away all alone in the little wooden shed beneath the trees shade.

Text: Daniel Lim & Pua Hui Wen

有你 UNI Production
Producer : Mok Yii Chek
Coordinator : Daniel Lim
Cinematographer : Amelia Lim / Evon Pang
Production Assistant : Michael Lerk
Video Editor : Michael Lerk
Music : Dyathon – Hope from YouTube

COPYRIGHTS 2019 ECHINOIDEA SDN BHD

Floral Lanterns

As the Cantonese saying goes, “Light up the lanterns when you walk on the streets, don’t be scared of police arresting you,” Granny Thong Aw Loy reminiscing about the mid-autumn festival celebrations in her childhood, where everyone gathers together playing with lanterns and wandering around the streets in the village while humming this playful little tune.

Despite her octogenarian age, Granny Thong is bright and optimistic, paying full attention to the lantern in making, not slacking for even a moment. The small space between the parlour and her room is Granny Thong’s personal workshop, the materials and tools she needed tidily kept in boxes of all sizes arranged around her, the handy distance easing her production. Rows and rows of various traditional lanterns are hanging above her, from her handmade floral lantern and hexagonal lanterns, to the cellophane lanterns her family crafted and sell.

Born and bred in Teluk Intan, Granny Thong comes from a family of lantern makers. Since a tender age, she and her siblings help their parents to assemble lanterns, almost 70 years ago. Her signature floral lantern is now rarely seen in the market, and there are only a handful of gurus who mastered the craft. Besides deft hands, the process of making a floral lantern requires the utmost attention, patience, and effort. The thickness of bamboo sticks used attest her skills and experience, while the six types of colourful paper flowers, such as rose and chrysanthemum, are made carefully, lining layer by layer using featherweight wrinkled paper. The creation of a traditional lantern is meticulous and time consuming, like an artwork masterpiece, seldom seen. It is especially painful to see this craft gradually dying out in this era due to the mismatch in profit and time costs.

Under the same roof, Mr Yim Sai Peng and wife Chek Hiu Lan (transliteration) are the third generation in the traditional family business, focusing on producing cellophane lanterns of all shapes and sizes. More than 30 varieties of the cellophane lanterns are sold and distributed across Malaysia, as well as overseas. Since entering the 21st century, the rapid development of information and technology emphasizes efficiency, digital communication overpower socializing and interactions between human beings. In this day of reunion, maybe you should take a break, light a lantern, feel the warmth of the candlelight awakening the meaning of this traditional festival, and may the culture be handed down endlessly.

Text: Daniel Lim & Pua Hui Wen

有你 UNI Production
Producer : Mok Yii Chek
Coordinator : Daniel Lim
Cinematographer : Amelia Lim / Evon Pang
Video Editor : Evon Pang
Production Assistant : Michael Lerk
Music : Blue Butterfly from Felt Music

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