​AUDREY CHIN 

WOMEN IN MEN'S ROOMS

In my grandmother's house, we knew what was what and who belonged where.

The bedroom was my grandmother's. Although she shared it with my grandfather, the legal owner of the house, there were only two signs of his occupancy in the room. The first was a wooden clothes stand on which a freshly laundered bajut tutup was hung each day. The second was a commode which smelt faintly sour. The rest of the room was pure Mama - the large double bed dressed in monogrammed linen; the teak dressing table with tiered shelves, hinged side-panelled mirrors, and drawers filled with her kerosangs and what seemed like a life time's supply of Penang rice powder; the pervasive Mama smell of wintergreen and 4711 eau-de-cologne. Even the armoire contained no hint of my grandfather's occupancy. When one opened its doors too quickly, it was her collection of kebayas, sarongs and bead shoes that fell out. To this day, I have no idea where my grandfather kept his clothes.

Other areas belong to my grandmother were ...