On
a steamy morning in downtown
Kuala Lumpur, the distinct smell of fresh dough and pepperoni
permeates the usual smog. For the past 14 hours, a crew of 40 has
been preparing to create an epic pizza. It's going to be really
long. The current Malaysian record is 272 feet, but today the staff
of the
Westin hotel is hoping to reach 492 feet - 150 meters - in five
hours. Nobody is quite sure why they have only five hours; that just
seems to be the rule of making unnecessarily long pizzas in
Malaysia.
Banquet tables pushed end to end snake from the hotel's front
doors, around the corner, and down the block to a parking lot.
Westin chef Rajesh Kanna ticks off the ingredients: 330 pounds of
flour, 231 pounds of mozzarella, 18.5 gallons of tomato sauce.
"Definitely we will do it!" he crows.
The madness begins at 9 am. Six assistant chefs dump ingredients
onto 3- by 1-foot rectangles of dough and send them through a
conveyor oven. After the cooked pizzas emerge, they're positioned on
the tables in a line. A second crew covers each seam with more
toppings, using blowtorches to fuse the sections with a layer of
melted cheese.
A sound system blasts party music by Cher, Bon Jovi, and C+C
Music Factory. A spiky-haired emcee named DJ Naughty Puppy works the
crowd: "Come on, let's make some noise! You can do it!"
Finally, a clown sounds a bullhorn siren, signaling countdown
time. When the crowd reaches zero, Naughty Puppy screams, "157
meters! We've got a record! We Malaysians have set the record, right
here!"
The mob explodes into cheers and whistles. Kool and the Gang's
"Celebration" pumps out over the PA. TV cameras descend for postgame
interviews. Tearful chefs hug each other. And 515 feet of pizza is
boxed up to be sold for charity.
From the dangerous (most days spent inside a box with 6,069
scorpions) to the inexplicable (most faces captured on a phonecam)
and the outright banal (first independent tire-testing facility),
not a week goes by without a record-setting event somewhere in
Malaysia. The country might just be the world record holder in
holding records.
The efforts are chronicled in the Malaysia Book of Records, a
compendium of 2,005 of the country's bests, firsts, biggests, and
longests. Many attempts are so outlandish - most time spent cooped
up in a vehicle - that they're regularly slotted into the "wacky
news" segments on newscasts around the world. To Western eyes, the
country seems like a nation of attention-hungry circus freaks. But
in Malaysia, the desire to build the largest tea bag or gather the
most twins at a single location is a form of national pride.
The record frenzy began under the leadership of Mahathir bin
Mohamad, the country's prime minister from 1981 to 2003. He was
obsessed with making his country one of the great nations of the
world, especially in the late '80s and early '90s, when neighbors
Singapore, Hong Kong, South Korea, and Taiwan - other so-called
Asian Tigers - grew to become more significant economic powers,
giving Malaysia a serious inferiority complex.
Mahathir championed the motto Malaysia boleh! (Malaysia can do
it!) as a way to motivate citizens to embrace modernity. It was a
key pillar of his Vision 2020 campaign: If everyone strived for
excellence, he promised, Malaysia would be a fully developed first
world country by 2020.
Determined to raise Malaysia's global profile, Mahathir drove the
country into debt in the 1990s with a series of ambitious public
works projects. In 1998, the 1,483-foot-tall twin Petronas towers
opened in Kuala Lumpur, becoming the tallest buildings in the world
(they've since been eclipsed by Taipei 101 in Taiwan). Kuala Lumpur
unveiled a new public transit system, international airport,
administrative capital, and technology corridor. An excellent
nationwide highway system was constructed and is now filled with
Protons, Malaysian-made cars driven by people who can't afford
Japanese or German vehicles.
Megaprojects are good for his country's ego, Mahathir told the
Far Eastern Economic Review in 1998. "Small people always like to
appear tall," he explained. "If you can't get tall enough, you put a
box under you."
The Malaysia boleh! slogan took off. Advertising agencies used it
to promote products; fans chanted the phrase at the Commonwealth
Games and other sporting events. And along the way to courting
national pride, the call to excellence somehow got translated into
setting the record for creating the highest stack of cans in 15
minutes.
The Malaysia Book of Records is published every other year by
Danny Ooi. At the product launch of the country's first
theft-resistant handbag, Ooi, 51, is wearing a blue short-sleeved
shirt with the MBR logo stitched on one side, and danny on the
other. He looks like a gas station attendant circa 1975.
Ooi published the first MBR in 1998; it combined a childhood
fondness for the Guinness Book of Records, a formidable instinct for
promotion, and an unabashed enthusiasm for boleh. He has since
started a weekly TV show and is now raising funds to build an MBR
museum and hall of records. Ooi also organizes beauty pageants
throughout Asia. One night he might crown Miss Tourism
International, the next day he is handing out an award to 8,000
people, all wearing clogs.
"Our book is a selling point for the country. If I go to your
country, you don't even have a book to show. Which is your tallest
building, who is your tallest man?" Ooi says, spreading his arms
wide. "It's something to shout about!"
It's also a manifesto for global peace. "If the whole world was
trying for excellence, it would be the perfect world to stay in," he
says, "because we would no longer be talking about fighting. We'd be
talking about breaking records." Perhaps instead of disarming
Iraqis, the US should be encouraging them to play checkers
underwater.
The day-to-day operations at MBR's publisher are handled by
Sujatha Nair. When she signed on four years ago, Nair was skeptical
about her job. But when she witnessed the attempt for the longest
grill of satay (a Malay kebab), she saw how seriously her fellow
Malaysians take records. "I saw the work put into it: 5,000 students
in the hot sun, all sweaty," she says. "Some of them were in tears."
Nair's daughter has since set the Malaysia children's record for
hula-hooping (two hours and 12 minutes). The accomplishment has made
the
10-year-old a regular performer at fundraisers for AIDS research
and other causes.
Nair manages a staff of 10, who scan newspapers for award ideas,
attend and monitor record attempts, and review submissions from the
public. During one week in January, they considered bids for the
highest-altitude radio broadcast, the first technology that would
let students take college entrance exams via SMS, and the first
Malaysian to win a German embroidery competition. All were accepted.
The
book sells for 88 ringgets (about $24). Publication of the updated
edition every two years is heralded by a red carpet gala broadcast
across the country. Record holders come from all over:
Subang Jaya has the longest pencil.
Kuala Lumpur has the largest pair of jeans.
Sabah is home to the youngest sumo wrestler. Selangor has the
largest leather shoe.
Melaka boasts the oldest pharmacist. Sarawak offers up the first
cat museum. And
Penang has the largest pizza in the shape of Malaysia and the
siblings with the most extra toes.
Jayabarathy Letchemanah drags cars with her hair. The 22-year-old
set the women's national record by pulling 5 tons of vehicles 73
feet.
Her father, Ramasamy Letchemanah, was the family's first
champion, setting multiple records for pulling heavy objects with
his tresses. In 1990, he dragged a 32-ton Boeing 737 more than 50
feet, an achievement hailed by Hinduism Today as "an awesome
demonstration of his yogic power." But last October, the Malaysian
"Mighty Man" died from heart failure at age 55. His obituary ran in
newspapers around the world. Luckily he had already taught his
daughter his secret technique.
Many record holders are like Jayabarathy - individuals who have
found a way to show their boleh and enjoy a little fame. Some are
participating in massive social events that serve as community fairs
in the spirit of boleh. And some are business owners who either want
to show their company's nationalism or capitalize on the boleh
phenomenon to increase sales.
Not all records are whimsical. Take former newscaster Ras Adiba
Radzi, who was paralyzed from the waist down after a car accident.
In 2003, she rolled her wheelchair 260 miles, from Johor Baharu to
Putrajaya, to call attention to people with disabilities, setting
the record for longest journey in a wheelchair.
The idea that Malaysia's national image is burnished by, say,
having its citizens parachute a car onto the North Pole doesn't sit
well with everyone. One woman in a Kuala Lumpur suburb put it this
way: "It's a waste of time. It doesn't mean anything." A letter in
Malaysia's New Straits Times lamented, "Here we are, a nation
gearing itself for Vision 2020, proud of our largest Hari Raya
greeting card or the longest performance of a lion dance."
Sure, events like the largest gathering of people with teddy
bears may trivialize the nation's ambitions. But is it any less
crazy when Americans wolf down worms for cash or sing off-key on
television for a shot at a record deal?
In the southwestern city of Melaka, a man stands under a banner
that reads MALAYSIA BOLEH! Four coconuts are set out in front of
him. This is kung fu master Ho Eng Hui; he pierces coconuts with a
finger faster than anyone else in Malaysia.
He addresses the crowd, describing boleh. His voice fills with
emotion, and he frequently points to his heart. The spirit of doing
the best you can, striving for achievement because you are
Malaysian, he says, is the driving force behind his art.
He passes around a coconut for people to inspect. He shows his
index finger, cruelly bent from previous coconut penetrations. And
then he pauses to pitch a bottle of red-colored oil that supposedly
eases pain, stimulates muscles, and saves marriages.
After an impassioned riff on his special elixir, the boleh spirit
summons him. He emits several screams and jabs his finger into the
shell over and over until it punches through, splattering coconut
milk everywhere.
The crowd cheers. An assistant runs to help extricate the mangled
digit, and then - in a masterful stroke of product placement - Ho
dumps a bottle of his own miracle potion onto his hand and rubs it
into the skin. He bends over and groans in a superior display of
showbiz and promotional savvy.
Told about the coconut triumph later, Nair shrugs. "I know a guy
who can do it faster," she says. "He just hasn't had time to set up
the record."
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