Rest In Peace, Paul Ponnudorai

Probably ’cause the Zoloft had run out, I was more emotional than normal when I read the text on the morning of 7 July 2012 informing me that Paul Ponnudorai was no more. The man who’d long been regarded as the finest guitar player Malaysia has ever produced was gone. And I, like anyone and everyone who’s watched and heard the man, was gutted.

I won’t pretend like I knew Paul. But so what if you never chatted with the great man over beer and bak ku teh? Paul Ponnudorai was an icon. A legend. The man moved people with his music. With his soul. His presence. And if you’d ever been in the vicinity of one of his performances, be it in Rasta Pub or Backyard, you’d have been proud to call yourself Malaysian.

I was 16 the first time I saw Paul perform and he, for want of a better phrase, blew me away. I don’t remember his entire set but I remember one song, which he introduced by saying: “I wish I’d written the words to this next tune. But no. This one was written by a far greater man.” That “song” was The Lord’s Prayer.

When I heard that Paul had passed away, my first instinct was to take to Twitter. The idea was to join the nation in mourning and post my own tribute (in 140 characters or less) to the legend. It would have been simple enough. Yet, as I scrawled through my timeline, I found that my countrymen were not mourning the loss of a national treasure.

There were a few, of course. YouTiup for one. But there were loads more who had no idea what Paul Ponnudorai had contributed to Malaysian music. In fact, I saw one tweet that went: “Who the fuck is Paul Ponnudorai???” 

I forget the name of the idiot who posted that. But you know, instead of flying into a rage (which, let’s be honest, I’m prone to do), what I felt was just utter sadness. Sadness that Paul was no more. And sadness that despite the fact he was revered by the likes of Wynton Marsalis and Bill Cobham, at home, towards the end of his life, he was a nobody.

Malaysians like to talk about art and culture and how we are better than our brothers across the causeway. Well, fuck that! And fuck you all! Because you know what? Singapore held Paul Ponnudorai in high regard right till the very end. And you, Malaysia, you forgot he even existed. Just like you forgot about Terry Thaddeus.

Paul, I’m sorry Malaysians didn’t stop in their tracks when we heard you’d gone. That we didn’t fling our Chatime cups in anger. That we didn’t wring our hands. That we didn’t cry... But right here and right now, I’d like to say to you: thank you. Thank you, for turning that 16-year-old onto music and making him dream about playing guitar half as good as you. 

Rest in peace, you legend.