Monthly Archives: February 2020

Prior to 1971 in Hong Kong, it was legal to have several wives and concubines. Polygamy and concubine were common in Imperial China and continued in Hong Kong till 1971, making Hong Kong the only Colony in the British Empire embracing this practice. It is interesting to note that the “main wife” often encouraged the husband to seek a concubine, where she was unable to conceive. Further a concubine automatically raised the status of the main wife to “Tai Ma” (big wife) with undisputed authority over the concubine.

My father-in-law was a druggist and he owned a successful drugstore in Western District, which is a stone throw away from the business centre of Hong Kong. He had two wives, maintained two households, owned a business and drove a car, not an easy feat for someone living in the 1940’s. Unfortunately, due to his neglect and penchant for a leisure life, he lost his drugstore business to one conniving nephew. Overnight the comfortable lifeline was severed.

Hong Kong people were and are still reputed to be resilient, adaptable, persevering, undaunted, so was my father-in-law. He had to re-invent himself, and he did but not without some hardship. There were times when there was no money to put food on the table and my late mother-in-law, a good-hearted easy-going woman, had had to seek help from some caring neighbours. This was at a time when her seven children were still young and had yet to finish school.

My father-in-law moved on to a new business venture and began manufacturing medicinal pills, for cure of internal disorder like diarrhea, stomach pains, ulcers and other ailments. If you are envisioning a plush state of the art laboratory, think again. The manufacturing process took place at home in the kitchen. Powders and crushed herbs were mixed with water into a dough, shaped into small pills and baked, a crude way to produce medicine. Imagine the consequences today if the pills cause health complication. Hong Kong was then famous as a free country, with a liberal “Laissez Faire” policy which led Hong Kong to progress quickly from a “Barren Rock” to one of the most sophisticated cities in the World.

Later my father-in-law tried his hand at “Fung Shui”, the Chinese art of Geomancy. He quickly became a Fung Shui Master. He did very well in this enterprise because not only was he knowledgeable or perceived to be knowledgeable in this field, but he was a convincing talker. He could hold an audience. Further, Hong Kong was flooded with newcomers from China who were superstitious and willing to pay high price for a glimpse of what the future lay ahead for them.

My father-in-law had a bad temper, a trademark of the household. Here is an episode. The family lived on the third floor of a building with no elevator.  Every time my father-in-law returned home, he pressed the buzzer, which was located on the ground floor, three times, effectively a siren to warn people to hide. Should one cross his path, hell broke loose. He needed no shout, just one long penetrating side glance, this was enough to send a shiver down one’s spine. Only after he had cooled down through a face and torso wash, life resumed its normal course.

In fairness, I had also witnessed the good side of my father-in-law. One time, he was in a good mood, a rare occasion. He gave her youngest and favourite daughter a twenty-dollar bill, quite a sum then, his face radiating with a caring smile and fatherly love.

Face was and is important to Chinese people. People from Shanghai in particular were reputed to dress extremely neat for appearance when in public while at home they might have to endure a meagre meal of simple congee. My father-in-law, not from Shanghai but from Chiu Chow, never left home without a well ironed shirt and pants.

Mother-in-law and all siblings regularly enjoyed Dim Sum together, an established family activity, but father-in-law never joined once. Instead he indulged heavily on his pet birds, a popular and prestigious past time of the older folks, spending numerous hours feeding the birds with live crickets and grasshoppers, cleaning their feathers, exchanging whistling, talking to them, and keeping the bird cage in tip top condition. He needed his treasured pets to be at their best when show casing them at the morning gathering of bird lovers at the park.

When it comes to punctuality, no country can beat Japan. There was a case in Japan last year when a commuter train had left the platform one minute earlier than scheduled. The next day commuters who had missed this train, strongly expressed their dissatisfaction through the social media. The Station Master had to apologize and humbly bow to the public.

Since an early age I was very conscious of the importance of being punctual. It is a good habit that is always appreciated by the people around you. When I was attending primary school in Mauritius, I hated to be late because the school gate would be locked. Then, it required great courage to knock on the door to be let in and brought straight to the Principal’s office, and further endured embarrassment in front of the teacher and the class. Little kids we were, frightened and abandoned. On some occasions, I and other kids chose to skip school rather than go through this horrendous experience. We lingered around town until end of class and went home as we normally do. Mothers were always too busy to check or care. We got away scot-free.

My first serious test of punctuality occurred when I was about 17 years old. I was a Form 7 student at St. Andrews School, Rose Hill. St Andrews was at that time an Anglican School run by British Priests. Discipline was stricter than in the Local Government schools, and students behaved well.  One summer during the school break, a small group of classmates decided to climb the “Montagne Le Pouce” (Thumb Mountain). From my home in Port Louis I could see the North side of the mountain, which peak has the shape of a thumb. I had always wished to climb it. The night before the hiking, I was very nervous because I was afraid to oversleep and miss my rendez-vous. In that era, most families did not own an alarm clock. They woke up to the cry of the cockcrow. I relied on my mother for the wake-up call.

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I did not need a lot of preparation for the journey, no hat, no sunscreen, not even a bottle of water. I rode my bicycle from home on Aleppo Street to the central bus station near Government House, from where I took a bus to Rose Hill. We were to gather at a designated bus stop. From Rose Hill, we were to take another bus to the foot of Montagne Le Pouce, on the south side. I arrived at the meeting place, rather punctual but could be a couple of minutes late.  I fretted when there was nobody at the bus stop. I waited a couple of minutes and still no sign of any of my classmates. “Oh my Lord, I must have been late and the group had left” I told myself. In a panic, I jumped on the first bus that showed up, and hoped to catch up with my friends at the foot of the mountain. I remember the bright sun, the serenity of the route, sugar cane fields, the exotic flamboyant trees and the occasional nonchalant ox cart stacked to the brim with freshly cut sugar cane. When I got off near the foot of “Le Pouce”, I frantically looked left, right and centre, still could not locate even one shadow of a man. It was early in the morning, not a soul to be seen.

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My mind quickly told me that I must walk up the path fast. Time was of the essence. I should then be able to join the group. The climb was rather easy for the early part, the foot path was narrow at times but not intimidating, luxuriant shrubs and bushes and trees lined both sides of the beaten path. I was too agitated and eager to find my friends that I missed out on enjoying the hike. The temperature was bearable because as I climbed higher the air became cooler. Still, I sweated a lot and my shirt completely drenched due to the fact that I was racing against time. No stop, no rest, no water. Just pushing hard ahead.

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Thinking back now, I could have put myself in a lot of trouble had I, for instance, slipped or lost my balance and fell, or attacked by wild animals. None of these crossed my mind and it never occurred to me that there might be some degree of danger. Just need to catch up. After a good half an hour, I was halfway up the mountain. At that time, I met a couple of local people coming down from uphill, I did not know why they were there, if not to hunt for wild animals. I asked them if they had seen a group of youngsters. “No” was the answer.

I covered the upper half of the mountain just short of an hour, until I reached the lower part of the ‘Thumb”. This last stretch was quite steep and required more effort on my part, but that did not deter me. When I reached the summit, I was astounded to see the place empty. I wondered what had happened to my classmates. Why were they not here. The summit was very small in area and could only accommodate a handful of people. I took a brief break to enjoy the vista, a 360 degree majestic view of the Island. I was pleased with myself for accomplishing something that as a kid, I had always wanted to do. I could see Port Louis City and Champ de Mars, the racecourse, a place my friends and I frequented many Saturdays.

I did not want to stay too long all by myself and started my descent. The descent was much easier and comfortable and in no time, I was halfway down the mountain. Then, to my relief I saw a group of young people coming up my way. My face secretly revealed a smile. “Here they are, my buddies” I said to myself. I was not late. They were.

Needless to say I was very happy to join the group to climb up Le Pouce for a second time.