The joys of Indonesianization

JAKARTA (JP): "I think," cousin Joseph said, "I'll have to change my name."

He, I mean Joseph (among family circles also known as Jos and occasionally Jop), is the kind of guy where you never know if he is being serious or pulling your leg. So, among the four of us, a few variations on the theme of "what do you mean" popped up.

Sorry, I mean the three of us.

Stella -- Mrs. Jos, that is -- who has grown accustomed to his quirks 15 years after they promised each other to love, honor and obey, obviously couldn't care less what he was going-on about. She probably didn't even care what he had been saying, what with bending over a crossword puzzle trying to find another word for "togetherness", five letters, of which only a "n" had been revealed.

"My name," Jos continued looking even more owlishly serious as he peered at us through titanium-rimmed glasses, "is not an Indonesian name." Of course, when Jos looks owlishly serious I know he is nothing of the kind, but just to keep the talk flowing I asked what he intended to do with his moniker.

"I think I shall change it to Yusuf." That elicited a snort from Stella (she had been listening after all).

"You do that, and I'll file for a divorce."

"Why?"

"It'll mean," she continued, "that they'll start calling you 'Jus' for short and I refuse point blank to be hitched to someone whose name sounds like he's been squeezed out of an orange. Besides, Yusuf isn't Indonesian. It's Hebrew or Arabic."

"Hebrew or Arabic?" Jos interposed. "But so many Hebrew and Arabic names have been received with open arms in Indonesian, so I think it'd be alright. Hey, maybe you should do something about your name too."

"I can't do that, sweetheart."

"Why not?"

"I will not be called Bintang. Also, when I file for divorce I shall demand such an enormous lot of money you'll be broke for the rest of your life. Extreme mental cruelty, you know, trying to make me change my name. Bintang indeed!"

Of course that led to an explosion of laughter, led by none other than Jos himself.

"Y... You," he spluttered, "you would sound like you've been poured out of a beer bottle."

Still wiping away tears, Cia (pronounced "chee-ah" -- short for Felicia) put in her pennyworth of wisdom. "I take my hat off for our distinguished language profs. You know, Indonesian has been enormously enriched in one enlightened stroke."

That was too much, even for me.

"I don't call Lippo Bank changing itself to Bank Lippo enriching a language."

"No, no. That's not what I mean," Cia continued, "it's words like senter and poin (I saw those in Bandung). And there's besmen, and..." here she was interrupted by another hoot from Jos.

"Now, what?" asked his better half.

"From now on," Jos managed to utter in between bouts of giggles, "I shall think of Pondok Indah Mall as crazy Pondok Indah or sick Pondok Indah."

"Would you kindly stop tittering for a moment," I said, "and get on with it."

"Well, we still have to get used to all these new words, don't we? Now, as far as I know, mal doesn't exist in Indonesian, but it's very much alive and kicking in Dutch and French. I really can't help it, but to me Mal Pondok Indah is either crazy Pondok Indah in Dutch, or sick Pondok Indah in French. And of course I needn't tell you that in English any word prefixed by mal always has a negative connotation. You know, there's only one word to describe the way Indonesianization is going."

"Let's have it."

"Malodorous."

-- Jak Jaunt