This news caught my fancy the other day. The obsession towards durian, and especially the goddamned Musang King, is going overboard, especially with our neighbouring country.
Back when I was working in Singapore, from 1995 to 2000, I was astounded to note the presence of Durian, the so-called king of fruits (that is stupid; I feel Jackfruit should be king, despite the Jack status), all year long.
Aside: Here we pronounce the fruit: Doo-ree-yahn. There, they pronounce it "dew-reehan." We are separated by just a tiny strait. I don’t know. End of aside.
You see, growing up, durian was a seasonal fruit. You have a durian season; only then will you see the fruits at the shops and passed around among friends and relatives. Talked about to death, and life strikes vicious reality, things get back to normal.
Now, my dad (traditionally referred to as Acha), who was a field conductor back in the plantations we grew up, used to get sacks of those sons of guns, courtesy of contractors who were either thankful for dad’s assistance or something, or was it a thorny bribe?
But here’s the damndest thing. I can’t eat durian, say, more than two pieces. This used to astound many. When I open up on my predicament on this, their jaw will drop, their voice going high, “Whaaaa...”. As if the Pope said he is allergic to white.
Here’s the deal. Growing up, I was just a regular kid, enjoying all sorts of fruit, and all of us loved durian, which was hard to come by because of the season issue. And when the season hits, those who have orchards will invite friends over to sit below the tree and wait for the heavy, thorny fruit to fall, crack open their heads... wait, though it may have happened. Anyway, when there’d be a “thud!” sound, they’d go looking for it, sit down there and there, crack it open, and eat the creamy inside pronto. And another durian will fall and crack open their head.
Now, I can’t quite recall when the seasons were, but upon heavy researching (Google), there were two a year; it looked like, as mentioned here:
“...Durian stalls can be found all throughout both Peninsular and Eastern Malaysia. Peninsular Malaysia’s durian season takes place from late May to early September, with a second season from December to January; East Malaysia’s durian season takes place from October to February, with a smaller season from May to June...”.
Back to the matter I wanted to talk about. Here’s what happened...
One day, as usual, a conductor gifted Acha with a sack of Durian. I am talking about the old school sack here, the kind that can shrinkwrap murder victims. It was kept in the third room (in our tiny estate quarter), which also doubled as a storage room.
That day, some relatives happened to drop by. and me—I must be nine or ten when my asthma is at its peak, and therefore I can’t play long with the other kids—decided to take a nap. The other rooms were filled with some beings or another. I was without choice. The storeroom it shall be.
Upon walking into it, the durian stench (aroma?) had already started wafting and filling up the cubic meter of space in the room. But I didn’t care. Why should I? There was a spare bed there. I crept up on it, sliding lazily towards the pillow, rested my head, and shut my eyes.
An hour later, I woke up. With high fever. The durian stench (yes, stench) filling up every cubic inch of my being. It was beyond atrocity that even nausea decided to take medical leave. It was horrid. It was one of the most unforgettable moments of my life.
Henceforth, I had forsaken durian. But I never badmouthed it, like those who would do about their ex-partners. I never treated it like the opposition party member. I never looked at it the same way cats look at onions.
Whenever these damn fruits appear in any family gatherings, the others will look at me as if I were an atheist at a temple kumbabishegam. I do step back cautiously, but dammit. I do steal a piece or two just to remember how reprehensive it was, just like how occasionally I go to temples.
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