Dog Days

There was once a sign. It had become weather-beaten and a little dog-eared over the years that it had been posted on that notice board, in a leafy Shanghai park. That black and white sign prohibited dogs and Chinese from entering the area of the park. From the very precise wording, it was quite clear that the park was reserved for foreigners only, despite the fact that Shanghai is in China.

That sign has long since vanished. Shanghai has moved on. Dogs, Chinese and many other nationalities share that once forbidden playground. The sun shines and all may seem well with the world. Yet here, in equatorial Malaysia the vestiges of cultural separation and ethnical misunderstandings yet prevail.

Recently, over teh tarik, I was told this story...

A friend of mine, and his lovely Chinese wife, were invited to brunch with an old acquaintance. It was right across Kuala Lumpur from where they lived, so there was much effort made to get there. The road was tangled with highway and byway, misdirection and dead-ends, yet my adventurous friends navigated well and soon – ok maybe not so soon, but soon enough, arrived at their acquaintances’ door.

The door opened. Their acquaintance beckoned them in. There was a slight look of surprise when she noticed the husband, but quickly adjusted her smile and led them to a table where sat three women. It was a hen party. There were no men. My friend’s husband was gently escorted back outside, in the most gentile of manners, and into the yard. It was explained that he might prefer the garden. Admittedly, it was a very charming garden – replete with water features and green leafy plants, sturdy furniture and enough shade to cool the eternally equatorial sun. But it was, nevertheless, a yard.

 After the initial shock had adrenalin-rushed through his system, my friend’s husband had the distinct inclination to bark. He did not bark, but perhaps barked an internal bark, a hound of the Baskervilles howl, or a werewolf howl to the moon that was then hidden by the bright sun. That urge to converse like a canine was so very strong that it consumed much of his time, sitting on the designer furniture, watching shadow play as a slight breeze stroked the lovingly planted plants and swayed the leaves.

In a thoughtful mood, my friend was reminded of that Shanghai sign. He too was reminded of the fact that both his wife and his ‘host’ were Chinese, and he English. It was an irony, he thought, that he should be escorted out of the house of his host, very much like one of those unwanted Shanghai dogs, or Chinese.

Over time, just when he was beginning to cool and look dispassionately at his situation, his host reappeared with coffee and food. Once again, my friend was reminded of his dog-like situation - he sought for the dog bowl and leash - there was none. There was only the dog bowl and leash in his mind as he surveyed the food and drink. Grabbing at his hand phone, my friend’s husband SMSed his wife, who was inside the house. He told her of his feelings – his kennel-like treatment, the dog bowl and his inclination to bark. They left – all smiles and regrets that they could not stay longer.

He recovered, with no ill effects, save the need to pee on seeing lampposts. Perhaps, in that dim distant leafy lined suburb of Kuala Lumpur, there should be a sign - posted for all to see. Like that Shanghai sign, the suburban Kuala Lumpur sign should be prominent and available for all to see. In clear, concise, writing it should state that no husbands, and certainly no Englishmen would be welcome in that corner of suburbia – giving advance notice of that household’s preferences.