Mbak Rita

Jakarta’s main streets are mostly heaven for the famous trafficjam, and thank God for those creative people who willingly risk their safety to sell some stuff — crunchy krupuk snack, fried tofu, newspapers, even artworks– during the painful hours. Here are some daily activities I can capture from my window in busiest hours.

Wish you were here….*

(*speechless and in tears)

In a drizzling Monday morning

A little princess laughed in the royal wagon

Sheltered under painted trees

With a huge rainbow as her colorful umbrella

Keeping warm with daddy’s smile as her invisible blanket

While her knight brother protected with a twig sword

Keeping her safe from dragons and vultures

Whose faces hidden in daylight

And masked in our daily basis ignorance…

The pouring rain has stopped

time to leave the shelter

Clickety clack…clickety clack….

Welcome aboard in the voyage of Daddy’s wagon 

 Something surely went so wrong, I felt so sick and having nausea yesterday after reading Masseuses Say They’re Unbothered by Padlocked Pants, an article in The Jakarta Post.  As you know, the resort city in East Java, (m)Batu, has pioneered a padlocked pant for female masseuse, to avoid the possibility of genital contact with her (mostly) male costumers. 

Sexual encounter between masseuses and their clients in the massage parlour is considered illegal here. But it happens frequently too. What silly is, instead of enforcing the law or coming up with new hi tech monitoring system, the gov’t chose to simply move back into Dark Age!

To “imprison” the female genital when the “owner” was not around to keep his eye was known centuries ago, the inhuman practice that thankfully has been vanished for a civilized reason. And suddenly, today, about a hundred years after our very own founding grandmothers paraded their bravery to the Indonesian very first female national meeting “Konggres Perempoean Indonesia” in 1928, established a perfect example for their unborn children, you and me today, how  to behave as civilized citizens; by speaking up, having participatation in public domain, and never let the authority telling you stupid stuff just because you are a woman, I had to read that very annoying article. Surely the pride given by those heroines seemed to end up in deaf ear in mBatu resorts…   But the worst part was the reaction of the victims, those female masseuses who said that they preferred being locked like that. Honey, what they have actually done to you?

 Photo : Venus lock,taken from Intisari Magazine

Let’s have fun today.

Hmmm, how about finding reason why the capital city should be moved from Jakarta to, say, Jayapura? There is for sure no polluted air to breath and the view is fantastically beautiful!

Well okay, maybe Jayapura is too far for you who already felt home in BSD (Bekasi Sonoan Dikit), Binjay (not Bintaro Jaya real estate but “Bekasi nJuga Siy”) or that nDepokcity Maharame.. . Its okay, this archipelago is still plenty of choices.

About an hour driving and snorkeling from Jakarta, we can surely move the capital to Lampung  where we can always count on the Gajah Lampung elephant army for helping our PSSI “almost always lost” soccer squad in the upcoming Sea games. Good idea, eh?

What? Lampung is still too far for those mBekasians? Ahhh, okay, I’ll check out my Google maps further. Hmmm, how about Seribu Islands in the north of Jakarta? It was proven perfect for drug dealers’ business, so it could be much efficient for the self claimed righteous people like our very own governments, right?

Yea, only our government and its enormous staff should move from Jakarta. You know, it feels really hurt when you are in an almost routine bumper to bumper traffic jam, and then, in the middle of nowhere there comes sirens, a sign for you to pull aside, for giving chance to a glossy black European imported posh car with two digits police number in red, the government’s car, and its bodyguards’. They never know how it feels being trapped in the traffic for more than an hour, as Jakartan commuters like me have in daily basis.

After they all leave to a new place, I will happily stay with my friends and families, selling bananas, dancing Javanese hula in Monas Park during full moon, and living ever after heh heh heh

Once the capital city is officially moved to a new place there will be no fear the President will be hijacked again by the seasonal flood during his tour of duty. We can finally say good bye to the continous traffic jam because of those frequent massive demonstrations to Senayan or Thamrin.  Their old building can always be sold as new malls or maybe Pak Ciputra finally fed up with those malls in town and started by build a real happy place for all Jakartans regardless with or without big bucks, such as libraries, museums, and of course, parks.

By the way, I have a big idea, how about selling the building of House of Representative in Senayan into a new hotel, where a particular room in it can be sold as tourist destinations titled “Maria Eva”. It would be another Vegas in real Tropic World, eh?

Oh, and don’t worry about the money. We are already in big debt for the next century, so why bother the increase?

What do you think? Should we start our own petition to relocate Jakarta to our glittering legislators? Would they give it a damn? Ahhhhh……..

Dream on, Baby!

Yea, I am living in a hollow dream….,ouch!

That silver haired gentleman is Yok Koeswoyo of Koes Plus Band, an Indonesian real “Beatles” for its eternally phenomenal songs. It was a little hard for me to recognize him when I tuned on Empat Mata TV show where he was invited to accept such “legend award” last week. Yok is known for his very rare public appearance and it helps me to keep him staying young in my mind, like any other childhood heroes.

Well, as a faithful squad from an “old school”, Koes Plus belongs to my heroes list… heh heh heh.

Somehow, the show brought back memories…

As a journalist I once happened to conduct an interview with the defunct Koes Plus band, about…errr…years ago. At that time I only met with lead singer Yon Koeswoyo, Yok’s brother, and his in law, Murry the drummer. Yok wasn’t available because he was officially left the band.

Yon and Murry gave the impression of being “not so old” at that time.  It was a casual meeting in a Bogor resort owned by their former music producer. To my surprise, the always- look- shy Murry turned out to be the most talkative and very funny. His endless jokes kept me and my dear pal and mentor, Tuti Gintini, then was editor for Suara Pembaruan Daily, who went with me for the interview, being fully entertained. 

There is something very personal with me with Koes Plus song, I have a strange routine when heading home from traveling anywhere, I will automatically hum a refrain from their song titled Kembali ke Jakarta. It was funny how I will always slowly hum, “Ke Jakarta aku kan kembali, walau pun apa yang kan terjadi” before stepping on the aeroplane to Jakarta. Silly eh? Heh heh heh…

I don’t mind people laugh at me, because Kembali ke Jakarta is a warm and sweet song.

Watching Yok on TV made me eager to call Tuti, it’s been a while I haven’t talk with her. And then I realized another setback. Tuti has gone last year after months of battle with cancer. I remembered hugging her daughter, Lala, who sang a very moving song in the funeral. I believe Tuti has her own beautiful home with Kolam Susu in the Kabut Biru now.

Many things linger with Koes Plus’ songs….

Her name is Eneng Wati, thirteen years old. I met her in the posh Riau Boulevard, Bandung, West Java, where the famous local boutiques like Cascade or Heritage and giant bookstore  Gramedia’re located.

She came from a village named Gantungan, Padalarang.  “We went to Bandung by train, all of us, about 15 kids to sell these cobek,” Eneng pointed the stoned plate for traditional cooking she tried to sell. “Would you buy,” she asked me, politely.” It is only 20,000 Rupiah, Bu?”

Eneng with other kids, the youngest is only 5 years old; go to Bandung’s busiest street every weekend. They always spend the night in Local Park,”Sleeping here is cheaper because, right now, it is getting harder to sell such cobek. Sometimes I can’t even sell a piece,” explained Eneng who had four heavy cobek stone to sell. I can see her friends selling the same plate near us.

What a heavy burden, and, oh, no,  I am not speaking about those cobek….!

Pretty in pink, this stall captured my attention on one busy morning in town.  In an instant it gave me a warm feeling, thinking about home and my days as kid where such snack and beverage were easily found. As you know, today it is much more easy to find Starbucks coffee here than our very own bajigur or kopi tubruk.  B471gur or bajigur is a traditional hot beverage and its best companions are “oldies” snacks shown in the glass tank; steamed cassava & banana, combro (”oncom” inside) and  nagasari cake. Ahhh…those old good days…!

I think of Bali today. It is Day of Silence, a very big holiday in Bali. Like a magic, the very busy resort could remote itself from all activities in an instant, nothing heard just a beautiful numb of our own conscious.

I gave it a try for only an hour this morning, and did stop it when my eyes got warm for no reason, I simply saw many sad things I did previously, kept coming back like a haunted horror movie. I took a deep breath and opened the window. Ouch!

Yeah, no wonder we made many mistakes, eh? It is indeed a hard thing to hear our own conscious…

Have a peaceful Day of Silence, Pals

Another human tragedy hit the headlines this week.  This very sad story came from Makassar, South Sulawesi. No, I didn’t mean the seasonal attack from those so-called-students who are now famous for being like a mob, crashing their own campus over any simple rift between them, not at all, I am talking about a pregnant women, mother of three, a wife of a pedicab driver named Daeng Basse. The 35 years old Basse suffered malnutrition and later a very bad diarrhea. Three days of starvation and without proper care, the neglected woman was found dead with her youngest kid, Bahir. This kid, Bahir, was only 5 years old, followed his mother miserable departure while his big brother and the oldest kid, a daughter, survived the terrible fate. Those two children now are, thanks to media spotlight upon them, treated with good handling in local hospital and showing a good sign of healing.

Please just don’t blame Basse’s neighbors for the very late help to her families. Those people are living in their own poor condition, the slum place where a cabin like Basse’s was available for rent at Rp 50.000/month, equivalent to just five bucks! And don’t start to mention rumors about her husband drinking problem. A man without skill and future, who has to live a hard life of such big families with a pregnant woman and three very young kids, is more than enough for me if sometimes, as scapegoat, he tried to escape the burden in such stupid ways like drinking. The real ghost in this tragedy is their poverty. Our very own poverty….