Old Portrait Of The Bus Driver

Old Portrait Of The Bus Driver

What a style, how manly, majestic he was seated on his throne. How polite his gesture of refusing new passengers along the roadside by courteously waving his hand and bowing his head.. There was a warm friendly almost a big family atmosphere in his over crowded bus, the soft music, the soft light, curtained windows, some humorous pictures, writings were pasted on the front window pane - e.g. Cinderella and Charles Bronson - How easy he held his driving wheel, lighting his cigarette, overtaking all other cars with his very big, long Mercedes bus with such ease and that with so many windings, slopes along a small road. He is indeed Sang Juara (the Champion) as is pasted on the writings.

What a way of saying farewell, goodbye to the passengers. He just said “hati-hati”, (be careful) and aided passengers who had some difficulty in climbing down his bus out of the high emergency exit door, as the entrance of his bus was stormed by new passengers.

And that was already 8 o’clock in the evening and he had been driving since morning and he should drive the same route again Jakarta – Sukabumi. About midnight will he arrive. Fortunately it is not so crowded as it is during the lebaran (Moslem feast day) season. That was about 40 years ago.

I think there are not many drivers who do bus-driving as profession with dignity and enjoy it.

Reader's Letters, People's Voices

Reader’s Letters, People’s Voices

Reader’s Letters are People’s Voices. As a fruit tree, the author offers the fruits of his pen free to anyone who likes them or as a bird who warbles for anyone who cares to listen.

Though not commercial, Reader’s Letters contribute to a news paper or magazine with thoughts and information. It’s not like an ad that must be paid, or like an article that would receive a honorarium, perhaps with a tacit agreement, for the author not to “sell” it to other publishers.

Posting a Reader’s Letter is like gambling in a lottery, since it isn’t certain that the editor would publish it. But you shouldn’t lose your wits. Instead of people not being warned, and thus mistaken, deceived, … because it wasn’t published, it would be wiser if you sent your letter to many other papers at the same time and not just one only. Suppose you have a nice suggestion, a fine thought or good news, it would be a pity if it comes to no good purpose. More over, it’s not just those who subscribe to the news paper who should be favored. Every one has a right to express his thoughts and everyone has the right to have access to information.

How engaging to write a Reader’s Letter. A lot could be learned. How to write or paint and color it with the right words. From the editor we improve our language and learn how to edit, which is something as delightful as arranging flowers or painting in words. Your letter that’s published, well edited is like a heavenly gift.

How nice, lucky you were if the editor illustrated it with a picture, more so if it is picked up, translated and published by another news paper, magazine in the English language and you were so lucky to find it or someone told you so.

And what’s so interesting in Reader’s Letters is that it’s live, bubbles, throbs with anger, grief, hopes, suffering, sorrow, gladness, gratefulness, humor, … of the people. A keen eye would find a “pearl” even in a hidden corner of the news paper.

Well, having written this Reader’s Letter, I’ve paid off my moral debt and can sleep soundly. Imagine the immense power of 190 million people’s thoughts, feelings, no book, whatsoever, could ever cover. Don’t suppress!

From Sinar Indonesia Baru, Medan, July 12, 1990

Note:
Wow, today, by internet, people and me aren’t limited to one news paper, magazine, one city, province only, but may reach, have access to the entire world, for free!

Old Portrait Of Tien

Old Portrait Of T i e n

Tien was a bit crazy, silly in the eyes of people. Just got Rp. 200.- (that was almost 50 years ago) as “Cinderella” for some days, of which Rp. 100.- was sacrificed to buy three apples and some oranges. Two apples and some oranges she gave wholeheartedly to her “colleagues”.

She had no one who cares for her except Mother Nature. She had no home but she always found a way to crawl somewhere in and had a lodging for the night.

She worked so hard that she sometimes nodded to the merriment of her co-housemaids. Every time she awoke with a start.

Yet, she had been a teacher before. But no one wanted her. The only one who wanted her, her “prince”, stole her money by borrowing and not return it.

Tien was as a weed, whom no one wanted. She’s “hell” a fury but also a blessing. She got poor, simple fare, but that cheap, worthless food was perhaps tastier and nutritious: The fish head, shrimps head, the chicken head and feet (ceker they say}, frogs spine, no coca cola’s, no white polished rice but brown rice. She slept on a bench without mattress and pillow, mosquito net, did rough, course work and without being pursued, these treatments had become a blessing in disguise.

She sleeps anywhere as sound as ever, has a keen appetite, is strong and healthy, has good teeth, though having no recourse to a dentist, forgets her worries almost immediately and harbors no hate, ill will. Those are her riches, her treasures.

Certainly, Mother Nature loves all her children. Every dark side has its sunny side.

Live Open-Air Concert

Live Open-Air Concert

In spite of annoying, roaring motor vehicles passing by, a very rare, exquisite, live open-air concert can be heard free every day at dawn.

It is staged by hundreds of singing crickets on the new grassy strip in Jl. Majapahit in the very heart of Jakarta. Choirs no less wonderful than Bach’s and refreshing as a mountain breeze. And seen through a frame of gate of a pair of trees, which look like giant sized Bonsai, grand and old with age, with perching, flitting birds, they have the Palace Park, the Monas Park and the glorious rising Sun as their wondrous background décor.

Indonesia Times, March 19, 1987

A Manyar Nest

A Manyar Nest

How lovely, cozy is a nest of the Manyar bird hanging high up on coconut trees. It’s cleverly woven from dry leaves of grass, picked up somewhere, into a form of a boot. How deftly they fix it on the leaves of the tree as though to adorn a Christmas tree, safe from predators, rocking gently in the wind, sheltered from the sun and rain. They’re so happy to have a nest to live in, with their mate, to lay their eggs and rear their kids. How I wish I could have a little home in a tree, or in my Dream-house of the future floating on a lake. So si Upik mused.

An inner voice whispered: “just calculate how many hundreds of square meters land would be required, the many trees that should be cut down, cubic measures of sand that should be taken from the river, sacks of cement hollowed out from the rocks to build a mansion to shelter his family, his servants, his dogs, cats, birds, his cars and all the household furniture, not to say of building a villa somewhere in Puncak and invest in tens of hectares of land.”

“Hmm, that’s none of your business. Just sour grapes. You but envy those who are happy and successful.” She pictured the owner’s retort.

Yet, it’s greedy, she mused; without much concern for the land, the rocks, the rivers and its inhabitants.

From Merdeka, February 15, 1995

Angon

Angon

Today have I angon-ed (herded, tended) my dogs, yesterday my rabbit, in earlier times my children. Angon is a great joy. I remember a Chinese painting, painting the happiness of a boy just in his trousers, sitting on a trunk of a tree, playing his flute, his slippers below and his buffalo wallowing in a pool near him, I also remember the lovely sound of the flute in the song, Der Hirt Auf Dem Felsen (The shepherd on the rock) by Schubert. So do I know the happiness of shepherds and the beauty of the flute. Otherwise wouldn’t have I a share in these joys.

A Cricket's Philosophy 5

A Cricket’s Philosophy 5

A Cricket’s Praise

Surely, Opa Johan couldn’t travel, journey abroad, afford world tours but he still can bicycle about 50 Km up- and down-hill on his 78th year.

The Artist

He doesn’t seek after the dazzling light of clever people. As a firefly he carries his own (God given) so precious, breathing, living light.

A Cricket’s Comfort

Though if you would win the Nobel Prize for your works, merits, you’re not becoming a bit greater except in the praises of the people. And though if you got no Nobel Prize, your works and you, are not becoming less and are still the same as before.

A Cricket’s Thought On Love

For a mother, the smallest corner is so vast to share it, the littlest food so much as to give it all to her child. For a miser, a palace, all the treasures of the world is him too small.