Paloh, the movie had a grand plan. It wanted to be an art movie and it wanted to do well in the box-office. It dealt with a serious subject of the last days of the Japanese occupations in a small Malaysian town. It threw in inter-racial romance between a Chinese communist sympathizer and a Malay policeman. It tried to question one’s loyalty to parents, love and country; and what if one loyalty conflicts with another. It tried to elevate freedom on the pedestal. It has the biggest budget for a local production in its day. And it all fell apart and bombed louder than the fireworks in the movie. It tried to be so many things and it ended with nothing. It just so happened that on the day I returned home after this trip, “Paloh” was shown on TV and I could not keep my eyes open for 10 minutes. Yes, it was that bad. So unfortunately, what Paloh is most famous for is a bad movie. This is the police station where most of the scenes are shot.
As the policewoman drove her scooter out of the station, we caught her on camera.
This is the two Lees mini-market where you can get your necessities of life. More colorfully decorated than many supermarkets. 
Life is slow in a small town and that is the beauty of it. A book in hand, a comfortable rattan chair facing away from the street (to cut distraction, I guess). One leg over the other, not a care in the world – this is a good life.
A typical small town scene – a motorbike parked in the walkway of the wooden building that is shuttered by wooden board by late evening. Next door is another Indian barber shop; just the place to go if you want to get your neck slapped.
The Indian barber can gave you a basic cut but if you want to fancy curly hairs, you will visit a Chinese Hair Saloon. But I am not sure if you want that style shown in the billboard.
And on the balcony of another building, family and friends gathered to have a friendly chat and watched the occasional vehicle crawling by. In a slow town, everything moved at snail pace and they are loving it.
Fancy fast food? How about trying it in this shop with wooden stools and red lanterns hanging overhead? It is cheap and good but the soup is too hot any finger licking.
Every small town will have at least one fruit stall. Bananas, coconuts, jackfruits, watermelons and starfruits waiting for customers on a rainy evening. It was not durian season or I may make an emergency stop to have my fix.
But even small town cannot resist the ravages of time. It must has been a long time since this old style cinema played its last show. It used to be the centre of attraction but it is now only nostalgia for those sat with it in the dark and saw magic when the light came on. They called it a theatre then and for some reason “Capitol” is a very popular name for a theatre. Today they are called Golden Screen and Tanjong Village, beautiful soft sexy young things but oh so cold and plastic. Something pulled at my heartstring every time I looked at one of these fallen angels for I too have loved them before. And love them still, even in their sorry state. But this one has been claimed by a loud, violent cyber-café and it was my tears that wet the street.
I asked the Indian deity under the tree but it replied with a riddle – “What is your faith?” “Where is your faith?” Don't know what he is talking about.
So I dropped into a friend’s house and was greeted with bouquets of wild flowers. Just looked at the size! You can find them these in the city too but at one quarter the height. Anyway, they are destined for the cooking pot not the flower pot for they have medicinal values. We city folk only know how to take aspirin.
And a feast of 7 home cooked dishes awaited us for such is the hospitality if you stayed for dinner in a small town.
There were loud Indian music blaring in the street and people were contorting in a happy frenzy. We received an invitation to join even though we were strangers. Hospitality is readily extended to friends of friends. This is a story of a small town. Made me wonder if I make a mistake staying in the city.
Next: Kluang Sunrise...
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