TO ONE BROUGHT UP on Shakespeare, Silas Marner, Wordsworth and Coleridge, Adibah Amin’s writing is a constant delight not only because it is a lighthearted introduction to the cultural upbringing of a different generation but also the vast gap between us and the Malay culture is delicately bridged with humour and compassion. It surprises that part of her schooling included the anatomy of a toad, a pleasure of which I was denied being confined to the mysteries of heat, light and sound.

That one of her teachers was so loved that they were drawn to call him "Papa" brought memories of my unflappable teachers and their patient ability to remain dead pan when tolerating impudent provocations such as having their legs pulled. And do teachers nowadays evaluate composition with a terse "trite"? And do they have to do composition? Once upon a time there was precis writing, which was a great help to those hoping to become great reporters, but they dont't teach that either.

Her stories of the not-so-fool peasant reminded me of the gentle mannered farmers who came during Hari Raya with presents of eggs and who exhibited gratitude and simplicity. Were they brainwashed by proverbs and stories to accept their humble position in life and not to hope for more?  And I must thank Adibah for my learning that Mat Jenin's fall from the coconut tree meant more than just carelessness and for her account of dedicated open house eaters and advice to female executives, it had me chuckling.

I put down the book and thought, It would be a wonderful world if we had Adibah Amins for our neighbours instead of  those demagogues sulking round the block,  breathing their self-contempt and brandishing their keris.

Lim Kean Chye

Book reviewed

MPH 2008