Penamoli

I’ve heard and read many stories titled The Elephant and the Ant , most of them inspired by Aesop’s timeless fables . Out of curiosity — and perhaps a bit of mischief — the tip of my pen began carving its own version. So, if I were to tell a tale using the elephant and the ant, this is how my story would unfold… When the Ant Met the Elephant A gentle tale of unexpected friendship when you see the world through someone else's eyes. Once upon a time, in the heart of a green, whispering jungle... An ant was marching proudly along a tiny trail. She was on her way to bring a crumb back to her colony— her fifth crumb today! Suddenly— THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. The ground shook. The towering trees trembled. And right in front of her, a giant foot landed— just inches away! “HEY!” squeaked the ant. “You almost squished me!” The foot froze. A deep, gentle voice replied, “Oh no! I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t even see you down there.” The ant looked up and up and up ... until she saw a wrinkly gre...

  My Spice Dabba In the serene village of New Village, Beruas , where the rain tapped zinc rooftops and chickens wandered like old gossip across dirt lanes, my kitchen whispered stories—stories that began with a round, dented brass box: the spice dabba . The gilded casket sat like an heirloom moon on the corner shelf, above a gas stove that hissed with the tired breath of age. The dabba had crossed oceans from India, tucked in the arms of my great-grandmother, who arrived in Malaya with a suitcase of silence and a soul full of spice. Among rubber and palm oil trees and dusky roads, she found a home—and in the heart of her home, she placed her flavours. The brass dabba was nothing grand—just seven little tin cups tucked into a timeworn circle, glowing softly with the patina of years. There was manjal (golden turmeric), kaanja milagai (fierce and red), natchiragam (cumin’s soft sigh), kadugu (tiny mustard seeds that orchastrate in hot oil), venthaiyam (bitter fenugreek), malli ...

Kampung Ulu Bayu berdiri di pinggir hutan-kaki Bukit Kayu Lama -terpisah dari dunia luar dengan sebatang jalan tanah merah. Tiap kali hujan turun, jalan itu hilang ditelan lumpur. Tapi bukan itu yang membuat penduduk resah. Di kampung  itu, orang lama sering berbisik tentang satu perkara yang tidak terlihat tetapi sentiasa terasa: paku berbelang . Bagi awak dan saya yang orang luar-kita tidak akan faham apa itu paku berbelang. Tapi bagi orang Kampung Ulu Bayu, ia bukan benda yang boleh dilihat, disentuh atau dirasa. Ia datang dalam bentuk mujarad atau kata orang putih, ‘ abstrak ’. Kadang-kadang dalam bentuk keputusan yang tidak akan difahami, janji riuh yang bertukar menjadi sunyi, atau suara manis yang hilang entah ke mana. Kadang-kadang jugak ia muncul dalam bentuk papan tanda gergasi di simpang masuk kampung, bertulis: ‘’ Projek Komuniti Akan Dilancar Tidak Lama Lagi’’. Tetapi  tanah disitu kekal kosong bertahun-tahun. Mak Nyah, yang lantang berlaung-laung menjual kuih di...