The lunchtime crowd at Old Uncle Kopitiam had thinned to its usual collection of retirees, office workers stretching their lunch breaks, and the three self-appointed experts on everything under the Malaysian sun.
Ali stirred his kopi O.
Ah Hock folded yesterday's newspaper into a neat square.
Muniandy attacked his roti bakar with enough butter to frighten a cardiologist.
Above them, the television replayed highlights from the FIFA World Cup.
The sports presenter chuckled.
"Social media is buzzing after younger fans began referring to pop icon Madonna as 'Makcik Madonna'. And in another reminder of how time flies,
The three men laughed.
Ali nearly spilled his kopi.
"Makcik Madonna! Imagine calling Madonna 'Makcik'!"
Ah Hock shook his head.
"That's what happens when you're famous for forty years."
Muniandy pointed at the television.
"And that Spanish player... he was a baby when Messi held him. Now he's playing against Messi. Time really flies."
Ali grinned.
"Messi must feel ancient."
All three burst into laughter.
Old Uncle wandered over carrying another round of kopi.
"You three laughing at who?"
"Madonna!" Ali said. "Now she's Makcik Madonna."
"And Messi," added Ah Hock. "Playing against babies."
Old Uncle smiled knowingly.
"You three laugh first. Life laughs last."
Nobody paid much attention.
Ah Hock picked up a copy of The Star newspaper.
A headline caught his eye.
"One in 10 Malaysians will be aged 65 and above by 2035."
He adjusted his spectacles.
"Hmm."
Ali looked up.
"What?"
Ah Hock slid the newspaper across the table.
"Read."
Ali read the headline.
His smile disappeared.
Muniandy leaned over.
"What does it say?"
Ah Hock read it aloud.
"One in ten Malaysians will be aged sixty-five and above by 2035."
Silence.
Only the ceiling fan could be heard.
Finally Muniandy broke the silence.
"They're talking about us, aren't they?"
Ali sat upright.
"No, no... not us."
Ah Hock looked at him.
"How old are you now?"
Ali coughed.
"That's not the point."
"It is exactly the point."
"I'm still fit."
"You got out of breath climbing the kopitiam’s three front steps."
"That was because I was carrying groceries."
"You were carrying one plastic bag."
"It was heavy."
"It had two packets of biscuits."
Muniandy nodded solemnly.
"Very heavy biscuits."
Just then, three university students walked into the kopitiam.
One of them smiled politely.
"Excuse me, Uncle..."
The three friends automatically turned around to see which older gentleman the student was addressing.
There was nobody behind them.
The student pointed.
"No... you, Uncle."
The silence returned.
Ali slowly turned back.
"Who are you calling Uncle?"
"You."
"I'm not your uncle."
The student looked confused.
"Oh... sorry."
Ah Hock leaned forward.
"I don't even know your mother."
The student blinked.
"What?"
"If I don't know your mother, how can I be your uncle?"
Muniandy joined in.
"Correct. Family relationships are important."
The poor student looked as if he'd accidentally wandered into an oral examination.
"So... what should I call you?"
Ali answered immediately.
"Boss."
Ah Hock frowned.
"Boss? Since when are you Boss?"
"It's better than Uncle."
The student turned to Ah Hock.
"What about you?"
"Towkay"
"Weren't you a financial clerk?"
"Businessman."
Muniandy puffed out his chest.
"You can call me Captain."
Ali looked at him.
"You drove a forklift."
"Head of a technical crew working on aircraft maintenance”.
From behind the counter Old Uncle couldn't take it anymore.
He burst out laughing.
"What nonsense!"
Ali looked offended.
"What's so funny?"
"For years everybody has called me Old Uncle."
"So?"
"So I'm still alive."
"That's different."
"Why?"
"Because... because..."
Ali searched desperately for an answer.
He couldn't find one.
Throughout the afternoon the battle continued.
A delivery rider called them "Uncles."
They corrected him.
A waitress called them "Sirs."
Ah Hock complained that it made him sound like a school principal.
A young executive called Ali "Boss."
Ali smiled proudly.
Five minutes later another customer called him "Datuk."
Ali smiled even wider.
Ah Hock muttered, "Tomorrow someone will call you 'Your Majesty.'"
As the afternoon crowd drifted away, a young mother walked past the kopitiam with her little daughter.
The little girl waved cheerfully.
"Hello, Grandpas!"
The three friends froze.
Nobody spoke.
Slowly...
Very slowly...
Ali lifted his kopi.
Ah Hock sighed.
Muniandy stared into the distance.
Finally Ah Hock broke the silence.
"You know..."
"What?"
"'Uncle' wasn't so bad after all."
For the first time that afternoon, nobody argued.
Even Old Uncle said nothing.
He simply smiled... and quietly poured three more cups of kopi.
Outside, the afternoon traffic rolled on.
Inside the kopitiam, three men had reluctantly accepted a truth that every generation eventually discovers.
No matter how young you feel...
...there is always someone younger waiting to call you Uncle.
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