There was a brief period in my life when I felt the urge to see, with my own eyes, how those on the other side lived, especially those on the outermost fringes of our society, needing to be saved from the edge. There were the desperately poor, ill, deranged; there were the very young, scarred by years of brutality within the family itself; there were the orphans and the abandoned babies. I suspect I get these periodic bursts of altruistic fervour because of the secret guilt that comes from realizing that I have more than my share of good luck in this life.

Years ago, I paid a visit to a mental hospital for women, to see for myself what I had only heard about—women broken by hardships that I would never imagine myself experiencing. I was talking to the superintendent of these inmates, a cheerful-looking Indian woman in her late forties whose hearty laughter matched her large size, when a Chinese woman of very slight build who looked to be in her late thirties walked up, immediately grasped the superintendent’s hand and held it for the entire time she spoke, rapidly and breathlessly, in a dialect I couldn’t understand. The superintendent—we will call her Miss Pandy—nodded her head, smiled, patted the woman on her head and face, interrupted the woman’s rapid flow of speech with bits of her own which was a rather comical mix of English, Malay, Tamil and the woman’s dialect. And all the time, the two women, one a towering giantess, the other no taller than a child, were bobbing up and down as they faced each other, in an amusing dance of perfect sisterly camaraderie. The only thing I could understand, as I watched with both amusement and fascination, was the thumbs up sign, accompanied by a wink, that Miss Pandy gave the Chinese woman as she left. Of course I demanded to be told the story. It is one of the most heartening stories I have ever heard.

The Chinese woman, about two years back, was brought to the hospital after a complete nervous breakdown. She had been living in a two-room flat with her husband, a small businessman, and her two young daughters, the older of which, aged eight had been born with a birth defect that left her mentally and physically handicapped. The husband was abusive, squandering whatever money he had on drink and bar waitresses. The poor woman soon came to the end of her tether, and had to be committed. A relative took care of her children.

Miss Pandy thought very hard about how best to help her. She needed to be with her two children; she needed money; she needed to be free of the abusive husband. Suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to the superintendent, that could provide the answer to all three problems. She swung into action immediately.

She contacted friends who could put her in touch with those who were in the business of organizing traditional Chinese funerals. Among the paraphernalia of mourning they had to provide was the peaked hood made of rough gunny sack material, covering the face and shoulders, a sign of deepest mourning, worn only by the immediate family members of the deceased. Now these mourning hoods, when returned after each funeral, had to be washed in readiness for the next use. But no laundry business would take them, as to touch them would bring bad luck. No amount of money offered could overcome this deep taboo.

Miss Pandy, after arranging for the Chinese woman to be sent home, arranged for as many of these hoods to be brought to her flat, for her to wash. ‘You can’t afford to be superstitious,’ she said severely to her charge. ‘You wash as many of those awful things as you can, and earn all the money you can!’

Her plan worked like magic. The woman was able to be with her children while she washed the piles of strange laundry that arrived regularly at her doorstep, the money was good, the children were better fed, she could afford better food for herself too. Best of all the woman gained enough confidence to stand up to her husband. Miss Pandy told me with much relish,’ She said to him, ‘Get out, and stay out’. He had the audacity to ask her for money for his drinking and his women, and she said, ‘No way. You leave me and the children alone! You give me more trouble and I’ll set the police on you!”

‘What were both of you so busily talking about just now?’ I asked. ‘Oh,’ said Miss Pandy, ’she was telling me about how her second daughter is doing very well in school, even teaching the older sister how to read and write. And she is beginning to take better care of herself. She told me she was on her way to get her hair permed, her first one in many years!’ So that accounted for the encouraging thumbs up and wink I saw.

Miss Pandy told me she was leaving her job in the mental home. ‘What a loss for the home,’ I thought. She told me she was getting married to someone, a widower, who had been courting her for several years. ‘What a lucky man,’ I thought.

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About Vignettes...

A continuing flow of little, readable pieces that will constitute what I feel is an important 'legacy of values' to leave behind. Read more about Vignettes...