Meeting Pak Pram

Pramoedya Ananta Toer, who is 78 years of age this year, is Indonesia's grand old man of letters. Last night I had the opportunity to get close to the great man at his book launching event held at the Taman Ismail Marzuki Art Centre (TIM). It was actually a re-launching of his five women-themed books: Larasati, Panggil Aku Kartini Saja, Midah, Gadis Pantai and Calon Arang.

Imprisoned by Suharto's Orde Baru regime for 14 years for alleged involvement with the Communist movement, Pramoedya's books were also banned in his own country while the rest of the world collected, translated, analyzed and pored through every word that he has written. Today he is regarded as the Malay world's leading candidate for a Nobel Prize.

I mentioned in a previous blog entry that his novel Keluarga Gerilya was (I'm not sure if it still is) a mandatory text for arts stream students in Malaysian secondary schools. I was quite amused last year watching an episode of the Indonesian version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" (a misnomer actually because the prize money is 1 billion and not 1 million rupiah) when a participant was asked to pick from a list of books by Pramoedya, which title was used as a textbook in Malaysian schools. He didn't get the answer right.

Arriving at TIM straight from the office, I managed to grab a quick dinner of soto ayam Lamongan at one of the warungs nearby before securing myself a good seat inside the Galeri Cipta II hall.

A thin but healthy Pak Pram (or Bung Pram as he is affectionately called here) arrived, wearing a cap and holding a walking stick, looking like an elderly man out to cheer his grandchildren on a Sunday afternoon game of soccer.

The literati of Jakarta was also present that night. A crowd of 300 people, mostly students, milled around the stage, some sitting cross-legged on the floor waiting in anticipation to hear the man speak. Their reverence for this man was clearly evident.

When Pak Pram spoke, everyone was spellbound. His voice was clear and spirited. He joked about his hard of hearing (he is deaf in one ear after being rifle-butted by a soldier during his arrest in 1965); and he evoked melancholy and defiance when he spoke about the women who had influenced him most in his life--his grandmother, mother and wife.

He praised their independence of spirit, kindness and bravery in the face of adversity. He also did not mince his words when asked to comment about the present government. Ocassionally he would also break into a mischievous laugh like a scoutmaster telling horror tales over a campfire.

I kicked myself for not having the presence of mind to bring along my video camera. Soon I found myself scribbling notes on whatever pieces of paper I could find in my wallet--credit card slips and ATM receipts. I will save those notes of mine as the subject of my blog entry tomorrow as I do not want to make today's entry too long.

After having to fight through hordes of fans and reporters, I am happy to say that at the end of the evening I managed to get six of my Pramoedya books autographed by the man himself--including my precious English and Bahasa versions of Tales from Djakarta.

I regretted having left my copy of The Mute's Soliloquy in KL. I must make sure that I bring it back with me to Jakarta on my next trip home. Who knows, I might get a chance to meet Pak Pram again.