The joys of Indonesianization

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