“Saya mau Puri. Kasi itu kentang extra,” said one of them after the waiter was done wiping.
“Bagi saya Vadai yang tadak lubang. Saya tak suka Vadai ada lubang,” said his friend.
Both were reasonable, but unimaginative orders which failed to pique my interest (try harder, people!). The waiter shook his head in the signature way we Indians do when affirming or acknowledging something, then turned to the third patron, the eldest of the trio.
“’Tosai Rawang’ satu,” the uncle said.
At this, my head snapped up (and my busybody journalist instincts kicked in). In my 40 years of existence, 20 of which were spent with a mother who prepares a variety of ‘mean’ tosai like a boss at least three times a week, and having experienced tosai in various localities (I even went on a hunt for tosai while in Myanmar, of all places), I never once came across ‘Tosai Rawang’.
And it turns out that I wasn’t the only ‘Tosai Rawang’ virgin, as the uncle’s companions – and the waiter – responded with: “Huh? Where got?”
“‘Tosai Rawang’ is the thick tosai,” explained the uncle as he put on his reading glasses and began reading his newspaper. “I usually have ‘Tosai Kampung’ and ‘Tosai Rumah’, so today I decided to change, lah.”
Now wait just one minute. ‘Tosai Kampung’ and ‘Tosai Rumah’? (What talking he?).
“Wah, you know a lot about tosai, ah! Very clever ah you!,” one of his friends responded, at which I smiled as I sipped my kopi. (Yes, I was eavesdropping full-on by this point).
“Of course, lah!” the uncle responded. “You know, there is nothing like eating tosai in the morning. Very healthy. See! My stomach is also getting smaller these days. And because I go Indian so much, I can walk more and travel more. I just came back from Ipoh yesterday, and next week I am going to Penang with my church group.”
I examined the uncle more closely. He must have been in his mid-70s (his friends seemed slightly younger), and he had minor trembling in his hands – but he was still quite a ‘solid’ specimen, I’d say.
The uncle smiled as he began to dig-in to his ‘Tosai Rawang’ (which I couldn’t quite get a good look at). He continued by explaining that in spite of the increase in the price of everything, he was still able to travel thanks to agencies which are now forced to offer more affordable packages to customers.
“My travel partners and I make smart choices, lah. We eat simple, cheap and healthy food like this, and then we can save money and go travel. Even when I’m on vacation, I stay in motels – they are cheaper than fancy hotels,” he said.
“People have to make smart choices now, instead of grumbling about high prices and inflation all the time.”
This didn’t sit well with one of his friends who responded: “But now, even Indian food already go up in price, leh! Like the idli I had yesterday – it used to be 80 sen per idli, now it’s RM1.20!”
“You eat two idlis and one glass of Kopi C (which come to less than RM4) and still want to complain, ah?,” retorted the uncle. “You should go eat at that restaurant that charges RM10 for air conditioning – then you know!”
The other friend, who had been quietly enjoying his Puri all the while, suddenly piped up.
“You know, I have been driving a taxi since I lost my job 35 years ago. While all the other taxi drivers complained non-stop about metres lah, customers lah, permits lah, competition lah, I just drove my taxi day and night. Today, all my 3 kids study and work overseas. I bought 4 houses – one for me and my wife, and the other 3 for my kids. And look at me, I am still working,” he said.
(4 houses! Fullawei!)
“It’s easy to complain,” the taxi driver continued. “But it’s easier to not complain. If people just stop complaining and do what they need to do, everything can kawtim, I tell you. Can go travelling, can eat puri, idli and tosai every day.”
“Aiyyah, if people stop complaining ah, anything also can do one,” said the uncle in agreement, as he walked to the nearby sink to wash his hands.
To my surprise, on his way back to his table and while wiping his hands, he stopped at my table, looked at my Roti Canai Tsunami for a moment and said good-naturedly: “Roti canai ah? Next time you try ‘Tosai Rawang’. Very tasty and better for health. Good Indian breakfast!”
“Thanks! I’ll do that”, I blurted, although I still didn’t have a clue what it was. But after overhearing such an inspiring conversation on practical living, I’m certainly going to find out.