by Sharmilla Ganesan
They call each other macha, macha.
Who, macha? They, macha.
The Chinese and Malay fellas, macha.
Dei, macha. Yes, macha?
They don’t even look at our face, macha.
Ya lah macha, what to do, macha?
They’ll say our face so dark, macha.
What macha. No lah macha.
We all one Malaysia what, macha.
Correct, macha. You’re right, macha.
Keep quiet, stand at the back, and smile, macha.
Careful macha, jaga macha.
Don’t talk so loud or move so fast, macha.
Chill macha, cool macha.
After they get scared seeing you, macha.
Ei macha, wait macha.
They love Bollywood and banana leaf rice, macha.
Go macha, count macha.
See how many fellas will give you job macha.
Come on macha, how macha.
Got so many big name Indian fellas, macha.
Ya macha. Try, macha.
Rent house also they look at your skin, macha.
Then macha, how macha?
Maybe from small time must teach, macha.
Please lah macha, no point macha.
They only see drunkards and gangsters macha.
Why macha, why they don’t care, macha?
Not enough people, not enough money, not enough power, macha.
Eh macha, you heard ah macha?
Another Indian fella died inside the jail, macha.
Come macha, we got voice macha!
Yes ah? How many people listening, macha?
But macha, this our home also macha.
Ask lah, they’ll tell you balik India, macha.
Sharmilla Ganesan: The word “macha” in Tamil, literally translated, means brother-in-law. But in everyday usage, it has also become a term of endearment used among friends—more common among men, but not unusual among female friends either. While it comes from Tamil—the most commonly spoken Indian language within the Malaysian Indian community—in Malaysia, it has crossed over as slang into wider vernacular as well; it isn’t uncommon for groups of friends of various ethnicities to call each other “macha
That said, the term “Indian macha” can often be loaded, depending on who is saying it and how—too often, there are particular stereotypes associated with being an Indian man that bleed over too easily into even a casual usage of the phrase. This is made more problematic by the differing levels of access and privilege even within the Malaysian Indian community, which can greatly change how casually or comfortably you wear (or discard) this label.
This poem has its roots in a number of issues (and ensuing discussions) that have happened in Malaysia over the course of the last year or two, which in themselves are only the most recent iterations of challenges we’ve been facing for decades. Primarily, the work is a push and pull between the larger idea of unity and harmony that is packaged and presented for the Malaysian public, versus the alienation and discrimination that many Malaysian Indians live with as a minority community in the country.
Some of the incidents that swirled through my mind as I worked on this poem: the racist backlash faced by many Malaysian Indians when they criticised an advertisement for appropriating Indian costumes while largely excluding Indian faces; when it was highlighted that the national dictionary was still using a racial slur in an entry describing Malaysian Indians, the number of people saying in response words to the effect “it is just a word, you can choose not to let it hurt you”; and perhaps most of all, the disproportionate number of Malaysian Indian men who keep dying in custody with seemingly no repercussions.
I am aware of my own privilege in this discussion; in many ways, I am able to choose to step in or step out of it. But as the idea for this poem came to me, it arrived in the voices of people I know, machas I grew up with, sentences I’ve heard uttered, thoughts and cadences I recognise. People are not numbers, or concepts, or ideas. They are people, and they deserve to be seen.
Published: Wednesday 8 September 2021[RETURN TO AUDITORY CORTEX 2021]
Sharmilla Ganesan is a radio presenter, writer, and culture critic based in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. She was with The Star newspaper for over a decade; currently, she is attached to BFM 89.9, where she hosts shows on current affairs, the arts, books, and film. Her articles have appeared in The Atlantic, the South China Morning Post, NewNaratif, and ArtsEquator. Her short fiction can be found in KL Noir: Yellow, Cyberpunk: Malaysia, Remang: An Anthology of Ghostly Tales, Bitter Root Sweet Fruit, The Best Asian Speculative Fiction, Endings & Beginnings, The Principal Girl, and KL Noir: Magic. She was also runner-up for the 2017 D.K. Dutt Memorial Award for Literary Excellence. Her works have been featured at the George Town Literary Festival, and the Yoni Ki Baat showcase in San Francisco. Sharmilla is a former Fulbright/Humphrey Fellow (2015-2016) and Asia Journalism Fellow (2017).