Kuala Lumpur

                                    A tiny bit of Malaysia: Our Way

The hammock swung lazily, light breeze. Glass of vodka in hand. Three ice cubes. Tiny beads of water flowing onto my hand. Sun beating a lazy retreat. I was content, no worries in my head. The vodka took care of that. It even took care of the mosquitoes. Versatile liquid this. Scooby was lying in his room. Bastard was probably jacking off.

Funny how we landed up at this island. Nipah beach. That’s what it was called. Part of the Tioman Islands, Malaysia. Quite a pretty set of islands I must say.

Conversation preceding the planning of the trip, a week earlier:

Me: Dude, this flight is like so like cheeep [my terrible imitation of a Californian accent]

Me: So lets like just like go there maaaan. Like totally [Now drugged Hippy accent] Scooby: Ok [He was tugging at his armpit hair, hence the brief reply]

Which is roughly how we ended up at the Central Bus Station in KL, that’s Kuala Lumpur in socialite speak dahling.

Pointed at the map and said this is where we want to go. A six hour bus drive later, during which time Scooby nearly missed the bus since he was picking up some weird fish-based snacks, we reached the ferry point. Took a ferry and there we were.

Hotel owner pleasantly surprised. “Can can. Ya stay here. Can can.” Recognised us as the nomadic college students that we were. Gave us a tiny room. One bed. One fan. Bathroom missing a door. We didn’t care. We were took kicked about getting a discount.

Dumped our luggage and ran into the sea. Scooby had somehow forgotten the fact that he did not know how to swim. Crazy nut nearly drowned himself! Panted back to the beach, kissing the sand. He did not enter the sea the whole day.

We behaved as if were the only ones there. Pestered this French couple who wanted to go for a “walk” into the island. We all know what they really wanted to do. Followed them. Even asked for directions. You know there is some truth to the belief that the French are rude. So anyway, we “trekked”. Found a stream. Tried to fish with bare hands. Enjoyed the silence. On the way back, we realised were lost. Panic. Backtracked a couple of times. Imagined our parent’s faces when they found out.

Indian Students found dead on Tropical Island. Grief-Struck Parents Collect Largest Ever Insurance Payout.

Found our way back. Ate by the beach. Shrimp and noodles. Yummy. Took a canoe into the sea. Tougher then it looks, this canoeing business. Arms tired out in few minutes. Scooby with lifejacket on snug. Drift with the waves. Try to keep the home beach in sight. Scooby decides that he actually does know how to swim. Jumps into the sea, over turning the canoe. Discover that the sea is rather shallow. Walk back to the beach, towing the canoe.

A couple of days later, we were back in KL.

It’s evening time now.

Sweltering heat replaced with a light evening breeze. Petite women with sweet lips and beautiful hair walk by, and I try not to stare. Afraid I am failing miserably at that endeavour. Smell of cooked meat leads us to this tiny satay stand on the street. Hot and fresh with sweet peanut sauce. I thoughtfully provide a eulogy for the half-dozen chickens we must have consumed. Scooby nearly cries. [In all modesty I admit that it was one of my best performances]

We had spent most of the day wandering the streets looking for a cheap bargain, fake watches and pirated movies. But we are real cheap bastards. A couple of vendors lost their temper. My Malay vocabulary increases two-fold.

In a couple of hours we will be taking the cheapest bus back to Singapore, spend a few days there and then head back home. Singapore is a fine place, no really it is a FINE place. You can get fined for nearly anything. And not one of those “Sir, college students sir”-type fine. They make sure you pay them.

Singapore was all about walking around in the early hours, stuffing ones face in one of the food courts, drinking a Singapore Sling at the bar in Raffles [too expensive, but you can eat unlimited peanuts and throw the shells on the floor; oh the rebels that we are!].

The International Terminal at Kolkata, bags heavy with the duty free alcohol. We walk to the domestic terminus since the taxis are too expensive this side. The Durga pooja is about to start and you can feel the excitement in the air. I step into my room and go to sleep. The pujos start the next day. I am tired but impatient. I sleep.