COMMENT | Back to the future: KLIA in a dream
COMMENT | I can’t call it a nightmare as it came to me in the afternoon. Besides, it had a certain surreal quality that was unnerving but not unexpected.
Perhaps also, I shouldn’t have been sleeping when everyone else was wide awake, watching the usual goings-on in our country, shaking their heads in disbelief.
In my dream, I was coming back from a business trip discussing US President Donald Trump, trade and tariffs. The flight itself was uneventful apart from a few beers quaffed down with almost religious relish. A screech, bump and thud, and we landed at the Kuala Lumpur International Airport (KLIA).
Now, for the sleek Aerotrain to take me like a breeze to the main terminal.
But looking out of the window, I couldn’t believe my eyes! Standing along the waiting Aerotrain was a long line of bullock carts bedecked in flowers, buntings and state flags. Their attap roofs reminded me of Minangkabau houses, pointed finials soaring into the hot air, hovering over the shimmering tarmac.
Then came the cabin announcements in an accent that didn’t quite register. But through the static, I heard something about Visit Malaysia Year 2026, a soft launch and rehearsals leading up to it.
There was also a mention of a trial period using environmentally friendly bullock carts, etc.
Trust Tiong King Sing, our maverick tourism minister, to come up with something out of the box! I retrieved my overhead luggage and strode down the gangway and past the rehearsed smiles of stewardesses looking tired and tipsy from serving intoxicating and non-intoxicating beverages.
I hit the ground, not exactly running, as more airport staff, all apologetic, ushered me to the waiting line of bullock carts. They were clearly herding me away from the Aerotrain. And yet it seemed ready and raring to go in either direction from its stationary position, eating up the tracks in a whizz.
I was beginning to feel unsure, but I joined the other passengers, all milling about like, yes, lost cattle. More anodyne words and polite gestures, and I was soon seated under the thatched roof of a gaily coloured bullock cart, hitched to a pair of bullocks, their humps a match for any camel from Arabia.
Of bulls and bullocks
In case you are wondering, there is a world of difference between a bull and a bullock. The latter is the castrated version of the former and bred for their meat.
But here in the East, these bullocks are used to pull the plough, turn waterwheels, thrash the grain and transport people and goods.
Both bulls and bullocks chew on their cud and emit enough methane to tear a hole in the ozone layer, not to speak of their bullshit, which polite society calls dung, whether fresh or dry.
While on this topic, there is also a huge difference between cows and heifers - the latter of which are cows that haven’t calved.
Anyway, the sleek pair of bullocks pulling my cart were magnificent in every way. Their gleaming coats shone like black velvet, their muscles bulged and rippled, and their horns painted in our national colours were more than a match for the moustache of the last German emperor, Kaiser Wilhelm II.
Not to be outdone, the bullock cart driver wore a turban that reminded me of a bygone era of Maharajas, Nawabs and Sultans. He greeted me with a smile, saying in a clipped pukka Brit accent: “Standing in for a train journey three quarters of a mile long. Been here since before Merdeka”.
To my utter surprise, he was an old “orang puteh” (Caucasian). I looked hard at him, but he wasn’t saying anything. Then from out of the blue, I heard him mumble: “We modernised this country with a few perahu (boats), lots of bullock carts, a few hundred civil servants and plenty of accountability. No bullshit”.
Bullocks in the airport?
I now noticed the hundreds of bullock carts heading towards the main terminal, bells clinking and hooves going clippety clop like in the fairy tales of my early youth.
There were times the carts slithered dangerously on heaps of fresh bullshit. Thank God there were no overhead fans around!
I got off the cart at the main terminal only to hear a rising tide of angry whispers and mutterings that refused to go away. I asked a gentleman with a cynical smile on his face what the hubbub was all about. He first looked around before whispering: “The Aerotrain has broken down for the umpteenth time”.
Before I could say anything, he added, “If it’s not the tracks, it’s the train. And if not the train, it’s the initial tender or the rain. The usual rip-off masquerading as canggih (advanced) and cantik (beautiful). Bullock carts are messy, but at least they work. If you hear anything else, you know it’s a whole load of bull”.
I looked past him to within the terminal. To my utter surprise, everyone looked happy, contented. I even heard some speaking of the wonderful experience they had riding on sustainable bullock carts, dispensing with both track and train.
Others were engrossed in checking their bullock cart selfies.
I was about to say something unprintable when I woke up. Yes, it was only a dream. But sometimes dreams are the stuff of life with a bit of bullshit strewn along a 1.2km track where a shuttle train can get stuck in a place called “Not Moving” somewhere between Coming and Going.
But if I had my way and to avoid more bullshit, I would dig a canal from runway to terminal, complete with a toll station and a sign that announces boldly, “Have a Nice Day!”
MURALE PILLAI is a former GLC employee. He runs a logistics company.
The views expressed here are those of the author/contributor and do not necessarily represent the views of Malaysiakini.
