SS15’s Rojak Lunch Crowd
At 1pm in the afternoon, the sun was scorching and the heat, sweltering. I was parked at what appeared to be the most congested intersection in SS15. This particular one was at Jalan SS15/8B, right opposite the field where food stalls fill the street throughout the day. People swarmed the stretch of stalls for lunch, while crows scavenged the bin steps away. The unmistakeable aroma of rojak, a combination of oily fritters and freshly julienned cucumbers, reached me. Struck by its fragrance, I’d unknowingly stopped walking and became part of the queue for rojak, just by standing where I was. It was almost as if it was common knowledge that anyone who comes here, is here for rojak. And indeed, rojak was what I came for. Not because I was hungry, but because I needed a photo of the dish for work. I’d planned to whiz in and out in under 15 minutes, with a serving of rojak stuffed into a plastic bag to shoot later.
Standing in line, I noticed the different kinds of people around me holding that same red plastic plate of rojak. It almost felt intrusive to watch them stuff their faces with the messy dish, bright orange nut sauce dripping at the corner of their lips, but no one seemed to care. They were in no way alike, except that they were all happily eating their rojak. The group of industrial workers sitting by the curb, easily spotted by their identical polo tee uniforms, were laughing their heads off with plates nearly empty in their hands. If hungry people make angry people, what makes happy people?
In another corner, two well-dressed older men held their plates close to their chins. Those crisp, white shirts weren’t about to see some colour today. Brows furrowed and mouths chewing, they seemed to be in the middle of a serious conversation. Maybe something to do with an investment. Banking? Property? The topic would be continued in their chauffeur-driven Vellfire when the meal was over. I wondered if they were friends or business partners. Maybe both. I also wondered why they picked this muddy spot for lunch, putting their shiny leather shoes at risk.
Ahead of me in line was a young man in his t-shirt and sports shorts, ordering his rojak to go. That seemed like a wise choice. That backpack sagging from his shoulders looked heavy, its rectangular outline tell-tale of the laptop it carried, along with the bulk of assignments filed away in folders within. I pictured him leaning over his notes with his sloppy lunch, pen in one hand, fork in the other. I’ve had days like those too, and I hoped for his sake that the sauce would spare his notes later.
Suddenly feeling a little less out of place, I bravely told the Indian uncle I’d have my rojak here. Watching the rest enjoy their rojak had unleashed an appetite that wasn’t there before. He chopped up beancurd with a cleaver, crushed fritters with his hands and slathered sauce on top in one quick motion. I passed him a single RM5 note, a small price to pay for happiness.
As I held that plastic-rimmed plate in my hand and stood awkwardly alone amidst the crowd, it felt strangely comfortable to devour the shabbily chopped pieces of dough fritters among all these people, orange sauce trickling down the corner of my lips and all. I thought of the song my colleague beseeched me to use when writing about SS15. In local rapper Joe Flizzow’s hit Havoc, he spoke of Fifteen being the place that every kid in Subang Jaya wants to be. It goes like this:
Budak Subang Jaya memang ada gaya
Macam hari-hari hari raya
Cuma nak pergi Fifteen
Still so fresh so clean
Memang nampak ballin’ walaupun tengah miskin
I once thought he meant that these were the “cool kids” spending money they didn’t have, and SS15 was that pretentious place where people did that. Perhaps what he actually meant was that here in this neighbourhood, where businessmen and students on a budget alike come to eat, people can be themselves — ballin’ or not — even when they are skimping on a plate of streetside rojak for lunch.
Feeling full and contented, I left, contemplating whether lunch was the only SS15 rojak I experienced that day.
