Genggong Trooper

            “Well, they are always there no matter what we do to them.” a cop in brown said to me. I hadn’t caught his attention. He was still reading a newspaper when he replied.

            “But sir,” I raised my voice a bit to catch his attention, “well, if you say so, am I wrong if I say that you are unprofessional police officer? Yet you vowed yourself to bring discipline to society. I’m afraid I don’t find playing chess and reading newspaper at office hour quite discipline. Those beggars need to be disciplined, dear ‘responsible’ officer. They make our traffic become worse than it was.” Well, I was quite angry, that sentence which was just said sounds quite intimidating.

            The cop lowered the newspaper. His eyes gazed deeply on me. I became little bit scared and regretted my words.

            His stares seemed like saying “If Human Rights doesn’t exist, I would totally kill you and shut your impudent mouth and then kill you again once more time.”

            “Listen young man,” the cop seemed hold his anger so bad that his grip tore the newspaper little bit, “We are working on it. About the traffic jam, I’m sorry. You ride bicycle, use the slow lane then. Then, if you may, you can leave. I have so much to do.”

            I got, politely, kicked out from police post.

            Well, don’t you think if cops who act like this don’t exist, Indonesia’s traffic would be more satisfying?

            Just a moment from when I kicked out, I saw a group of three elementary students still in their white and red uniform. They changed their outfit to a casual beggars clothing – bit stinky and bit torn but still cover the subjects.

            “Ah, another beggars?” I muttered. “Much to do, he said, eh?”

            Well, they caught my interest when they drew out their instrument. They weren’t beggars, they were buskers – beggars who sing (I’m pretty sure you know what I mean). They drew out a pair of cuk and cak.

            I was student of local high school. Do you think knowing my name affect the story much? I was ordinary student who lived ordinary live and lived in beautiful yet ironic, beloved Indonesia. I found music interesting. I found my passion there. If I write my passion about music there then this story won’t be a short story but a novel. I was nobody but a keroncong musician. Despite my position as violinist, I was quite ingenious with other keroncong instruments.

            Well, for your information, there is a pair of ‘ukulele’ in keroncong. The three-nylon-stringed one is named Cuk which plays main tone. The four-steel-stringed one is named Cak which plays contra-bass part. They make especially beautful harmony.

            I approached the group’s performance in the junction. I barely listened to keroncong music. I shed a tear which means I laid too much expectation from these kids. More or less they sounded like a cat grounded by a truck. Made my ears cringed.

            “Hey kids, come here!” I yelled sign of getting enough of this rubbish music.

            They turn their head. They continued their, they called it so, performance until the traffic signaled green.

            “What’s your problem, big boy?” The biggest one who brought cuk confronted me.

            I didn’t feel insulted. This kind of talking is their way to talk. Who was I to judge them?

            “May I take a look on your instruments?” I asked as polite as possible.

            “Nah, I meant no offense, but who are you? To be more precise, what are you?” the littlest one who brought cak asked me. His voice was, more or less, like a chipmunk with helium.

            “I’m only student who is fond of keroncong music. Well, don’t take it as insult, but your play wasn’t so good.” I tried so much to be less intimidating but well, it sounded little harsh.

            “And your point is?” the tallest yet the most skinny boy said.

            Well, despite my hate against beggar, I realized that not all beggars were despicable. There are beggars whose income as much as government worker, yet government are trying to get us worked for same amount of income with more effort rather than wearing stinky outfit and begging for pity in junction. These kinds of beggars are to be terminated ones. Well, at that moment I had more tolerance to beggar especially buskers.

            “Guys, why do you busk? Why don’t you just study in school?” I asked, curious.

“Thing happens out of blue, doesn’t it?” the biggest one replied, seemed sad “Father passed away when we were little boy,” he took some deep breath “Mother is sick. In these days, what would you do other than begging the, well, ones who fortunate enough to live in rich?”

            The tallest boy continued “At least we’re clever and smart enough that school pays for our fees but still, what would we do for living? Doctors don’t cost a little, young man. I know nothing about health card but as I heard in media these day, no money means no proper service.”

            “These little guitars are memento from father. He said that being a poor has more dignity than beggars and those who steal, especially those who steal poor citizen’s right – corruptors. But still, we can’t make a living without money, can we? Because father said so, we don’t beg money just by begging, but we also give them entertainment. It’s keroncong big bro! Everyone loves it.” The littlest one murmured “But yeah, we have no money for proper music lesson.”

            I cried little bit. I was so monstrous for once hate them and labeled them as lazy bumps without knowing their struggle.

            “Whoa man, don’t cry! We’re not begging for pity.” The biggest one snapped “If you let us, the red signal is coming, excuses us.”

            Just a moment they turned their body, I yelled “I can teach you proper keroncong music! For free! For true!”

*******

            The biggest one was named Samson. The tallest one was named Jakung. And the chipmunk who inhaled too much helium was named Encrit.

            Started from that day, every Saturday we learnt keroncong in my house. Alas, my mother was little bit disturbed with their present so I picked Saturday because that was the day my mother went to afternoon chatting with other mothers.

            They were quick learners. Jakung had beautiful voice and bloody handsome face. He sang gracefully. Girls would fall in love if they heard him sang Bengawan Solo. Samson played cuk. He played main tone so gentle. I teach him a lot variant of picking. We started from standard picking, langgam picking, double picking and mando-pop picking. He adapted so quick. Encrit who played cak was little bit hard to teach but once he started get the soul of the song, well, I got outplayed by him. He had too much energy – hyperactive. When he touched a cak, he lost his cute appearance then he turned into furious little monkey. Well, not literally.

            In three months we learnt many songs. From local’s masterpiece such Keroncong Kemayoran, Bengawan Solo, Jangkrik Genggong, Jembatan Merah, Tirtonadi to International re-arrangement like I’m yours or even old school music like Oh Carol. More or less, they got popular. They made more money from ‘the junction stage’ and got more sympathy from society. Encrit was right - Everyone loves Keroncong.

            Irony is beautiful isn’t it? There are tremendously motivated poor people who don’t get proper education or teaching which make them being seen by society as lazy bumpkins. But also, there are also those who lucky enough to attend proper formal education yet they waste their time (and their parent’s money of course) in school by doing, well, meaningless delinquency. Why don’t we swap their places? Nah, just kidding, but hey, it’s an open truth which get less attention.

            I said it was only 3 months, did I? Well, after the three months I never saw them again, not even once, not even at the junction. They were poor, so they had no cell phone. We missed contact for a long time. Until the end month of July, I got a written letter addressed to me. Well, I was surprised, twice. I was surprised about their letter. And I was surprised about the written letter use. I mean, who would use written letter in these days? Beggars often have cell phones.

            “Big bro, we’re sorry we don’t tell you immediately. Thing wasn’t so cash. Mother passed away when we got home at first July. We’re in orphanage in Semarang now. Well, we’re still playing keroncong. Don’t worry, our passion won’t die. –signed your pupils.”

            I gasped. My tears wouldn’t stop pouring. I had never in blue so much as this since I had my first love. Since that day, whenever I saw Cuk and Cak, I lost in blue. They lost their mother but their spirits not even shrink, not even a bit. But well, there are still rich people who are still being spoiled brats. What an irony. Irony, mate. Irony. As bitter as brotowali.

*******

            It was first Sunday in May. It was Sunday so there was Car Free Day. Whenever I got there, there was music themed festival. I remembered those kids. Then, I heard one shouted.

            “Big Bro!” high pitched voices snapped.

            “CHIPMUNK!”

            “And now, for our Big Bro who IS also the greatest music teacher in whole universe, we present you all, Waljinah’s masterpiece, Jangkrik Genggong!” Jangkung shouted along with passionate clapping from audiences. Then they played their first song – Waljinah’s Jangkring Genggong.

            They started as local busker who labeled by society as lazy bumpkins. They were buskers whose tremendous amount of motivation and dreams. How beautiful god set their journey, fate and dreams. At that time, they had their own spot of festival as ‘grown’ artists. How great! See? Artist! They named their selves “Genggong Trooper”, due to the first song I teach to them. God is always listening and understanding, isn’t he?

Passion and motivation is great things, isn’t it? No doubt there are people who make a living just by speaking motivational sentences. They are wise elders if not opportunists.

Most of them aren’t lazy. Most of them are just unfortunate. Don’t hate them. Help them. Also don’t forget to learn your own culture. Say, how many people who know Japanese thingy more than Indonesian culture? They memorized ALL OF JKT48’s songs when they can’t even wear Jarik properly. Then, may Indonesia be better place, for you and for me.

In those crowds, I cried of joy.