THIS place is certainly my mother's domain.
The indefatigable 80-year-old walks briskly through the narrow corridors of the pre-war shops, nimbly dodging fortune tellers and throngs of shoppers. We pass by rows of brightly coloured Punjabi suits and duck under hanging vibrant sarees that brush the tops of our heads.
Jalan Tengku Kelana has been home to this modest but colourful area of wall-to-wall shoplots on both sides of the main road, with its pungent aromas, spices, sarees and earnest workers from India hell-bent on making a sale.
It's the place to come to pick up that framed print of Krishna, a little Ganesha statue, eat delicious food and where you might end up with a great deal on a saree after bargaining furiously with the resigned-looking uncles over the counter.
Somewhere past the endless maze of shops, loud Tamil music drifts through the cluttered pathway. A restaurant with stacks of brightly coloured jelebis, palkovas and more Indian sweets are on display. "That's one of the oldest restaurants here in Klang," my mother murmurs. She smiles widely, my veritable history book of sorts… all five feet of her.
Mum walks a little slower these days, gets tired easily and finds cooking and gardening — activities she'd loved in the past — exhausting. But her eyes light up as she remembers our little provincial town, Klang.
She's quick to point out the changes and the things that have remained despite the test of time. Even at an advanced age, my mother still inhabits a mansion of visual memories.
Scores of yellow or saffron coloured robes, suits and sarees are on display everywhere. It's Thaipusam season, after all. "It's right up ahead," my mother's voice floats over her shoulders as she leads the way. Brilliantly coloured garlands of flowers cover the pathway from ceiling to floor. "The shop is here!" announces my mother blithely before slipping past the garlands.
"Sarojini Enterprise…" my mother had told me days before. "You should interview the aunty who owns it. They've been around for as long as I can remember." That's saying a lot. After all, we've been living in Klang for more than four decades.
This is — in essence — what this town is all about. A place where families are raised, where people live and grow old together in relative harmony. There are plenty of history keepers in the neighbourhood where I live.
Across my house lives a family, who runs one of the oldest goldsmith stores in Jalan Tengku Kelana. Aunty Sarojani Ramasamy, owner of Sarojini Enterprise lives just a few doors away.
GROWING BUSINESS
Her lively eyes follow me curiously as I enter her house. The 83-year-old proprietor walks towards me with a pronounced limp. The pungent, delicious aroma of mutton curry wafts from the kitchen. Sarojani had just finished cooking. "I retired 10 years ago," she says half-regretfully, telling me that her niece now runs the store.
"I'd like to visit the store sometimes, but nobody wants to take me there," she adds wistfully, earning a quick look of disapproval from her daughter, Dr Maheswary Chinniah.
"I keep telling her to leave the running of the shop to my cousin. She should relax now but she still wants to help at the store!" protests Maheswary, shaking her head.
What do you sell? I ask curiously. "Oh, everything! We have everything!" answers Sarojani almost at once. From wedding decorations, flowers, statues, oils, blessed beads, pictures of Gods to religious artifacts and even costume jewellery, Sarojini Enterprise has it all.
"We even carry wedding decorations. In fact, we were the first to bring in wedding decorations here! We've got all sorts of articles for the altar in your house. If you're carrying the kavadi for Thaipusam, we have vel spears and hooks for devotees," reels off the old lady, a trace of pride in her voice.
The store, which opened in the 1960s, was originally a small-scale costume jewellery purveyor owned by Sinniah Saminathan, an immigrant from India. Sinniah was Sarojani's uncle.
"My granduncle was one of the first to bring in the costume jewellery from India. He had a steady clientele, mostly locals, who loved the unique designs of the imitation jewellery," explains Maheswary.
"Do you know where the Bomba (Fire and Rescue Department) is?" Sarojani asks me eagerly. Without waiting for an answer, she continues gleefully: "That's where we were first located, next to the Bomba!"
As business grew, the tiny shop expanded and moved to a bigger space. "This time, opposite the Bomba!" exclaims Sarojani, chuckling. According to the sprightly octogenarian, her older brother Vetrivel @ Vailadam Ramasamy started helping out Sinniah in the shop.
The railway class 1 officer initially assisted by sourcing items for the shop in Kuala Lumpur for his uncle. Eventually, he went into full-time business upon retirement. "My granduncle's health was failing so he soon passed the business to my uncle to run," shares Maheswary.
It wasn't smooth sailing after that.
The shop tragically burnt down as a result of faulty wiring. Picking up the pieces, the family moved the shop to another location nearby. "We started selling other things," recalls Sarojani, adding: "We sold videotapes of popular Hindi and Tamil movies. We also sold books… mostly religious books on Hinduism and prayer books. We sold just about anything we thought would draw customers to our shop."
As bad luck would have it, that shop burnt down as well. "Faulty wiring again!" explains the older ladywoman, shaking her head resignedly. "It wasn't easy. We were financially strapped. Again, we had to pick up the pieces and restart the business at a different location."
After a brief sojourn on the second floor of one of the shoplots that lined the main Jalan Tengku Kelana Road for a few months, Sarojini Enterprise eventually moved to its current location on the opposite side of the main road. "We've been there ever since," says Maheswary, smiling.
OLD DREAMS, NEW DREAMS
"I wanted to be a teacher," Sarojani confides softly. She grows quiet, her eyes clouding over briefly, but she continues smiling. The youngest of four siblings, the Klang-born Sarojani dreamt of being a teacher. But her strict grandmother soon put an end to that dream.
At the age of 17, the young girl was married off and sent to live with her husband in the capital city. She doesn't say much about her life there, choosing to remain quiet despite my prodding questions. She simply smiles and shrugs her shoulders.
It's Maheswary who finally reveals that a contentious separation brought Sarojani back to her family home in Klang with her young daughter in tow. "My older brother took care of me," the older woman shares finally. "He was a good man. He wasn't rich, but he still took care of the family."
Sarojani soon got a job as a temporary teacher, teaching Tamil for the Pupils Own Language (POL) classes in Convent, Klang. "I remember my mother as being resourceful," recalls Maheswary, adding: "She learnt baking and tailoring when she wasn't teaching. I remember waiting for her to finish her baking class. She'd return with delicious cakes that she baked!"
The young mother soon left her temporary teacher's position and got involved in the family business. "My brother had done so much for me, so I wanted to help himlah!" she says.
There was no question or doubts about leaving teaching for the shop. It was difficult, she readily admits, adding: "I didn't have the experience or the exposure. I spent the first few years following what my brother had to say. But I enjoyed it! I really did!"
Looking at my surprised face, she laughs gaily. Continuing, she says: "I enjoyed talking to people. So, I liked that part of the business — getting to know the customers and chatting with them. It's something I enjoy doing to this day. My customers know me well, and vice-versa."
Her old dreams may have been crushed, but the business gifted Sarojani with a renewed purpose. The fledgling businesswoman picked up some tricks of the trade, which included learning how to craft wedding decorations using ribbons and flowers.
"We bought the ribbons from a shop in Kuala Lumpur and I learnt from the taukeh how to create bows and create other decorative features. We were the first shop to bring in these decorative items. People from all over town got their decorations from our shop. I'd personally decorate wedding cars by myself," she reveals.
The business was run by Sarojani and her siblings for decades. "My mother was somewhat of a permanent fixture in Jalan Tengku Kelana. Everyone knew her well," recalls Maheswary.
This also meant that the old lady had front seat row to the changes that swept Klang over the years. "I remember the older stores like Shanmuga Villas restaurant, Muthu Pillai grocery store, V. Gopal Pather goldsmith shop, Palaniandy Pillai grocery store, Jamal Mohamed spice store, Caxton Press, Chin Trading… these were the old businesses in Klang," says Sarojani, adding: "The rest came later."
Klang has changed so much, she laments, shaking her head. Most old businesses have made way for new. It's a lot more crowded than it used to be. The older generation who first built this bustling part of town have all but faded in time.
Vetrivel passed away in 2005, while Sarojani's sister Nadiammal passed away two years earlier in 2003. Sarojani and her brother Kolandaveloo continued to run the business with the help of their nieces until they eventually retired. These days, the shop is being run by her niece Guna.
"My mother insisted that I studied medicine instead," explains Maheswary drily, adding: "So I've never been involved within the business at all."
Despite having retired for more than a decade, Sarojani remains reluctant to hand over the business completely to her niece's able hands.
"The shop is still somewhat sentimental to her," explains Maheswary, half exasperatedly. "I keep telling my mother to let go. She's so old but my mother stubbornly holds on. 'It's my name on the signboard,' she tells me. 'How can I let it go?'"
How can she let go, indeed?
The musty little shop crowned with brightly coloured garlands has something for every customer that walks in. My mother's eyes gleam as she steps in.
Waving a cheery hand to Guna — Sarojani's niece — who sits at the counter, she rummages through the cluttered racks of powders, lotions, oils and more. "I've found my lotion!" she tells me gleefully, waving a bottle at me.
Behind the counter where Guna's seated, hooks and skewers for the devout glint under the bright fluorescent lights. On another shelf, rows of cherubic Ganesha, the elephant god, smile benevolently at me.
If you need a boost, there are beads to balance your chakras. Are you assailed with bad luck? There's Akasa Garudan Kizhangu that can absorb negative energy. "Just hang it on your doorway," Guna says, smiling.
"We sell a lot of things!" Sarojani's voice rings through my head as I look around.
Times change, Klang continues to change, people change. And along with that, the little shop which has stood steadfastly through the decades will surely evolve once again.
Who knows what it'll sell tomorrow?