Some voices linger long after the train has gone.

For many in Kluang, it’s Aunty Tan Sua’s — soft, insistent, familiar. Her call once drifted through the station platform and in the train like steam from her basket: “Kacang rebus, kacang rebus...”

She carried baskets of steamed peanuts to the station, waiting for the moment the train doors opened. In those moments, she offered not just a snack, but a glimpse of local life — a connection, a smile. Her customers were passengers, porters, soldiers, school kids — each one part of the town’s daily rhythm.

Decades passed. Trains changed. Prices shifted. But Aunty Tan Sua remains.

"After she retired, she missed the train very much. I would take her to the station three days a week, just so she could sit there and listen to the sound of trains," said her son, who would like to remain anonymous.

Her presence became part of the station’s rhythm, a living reminder of the people who held Kluang together in quiet, steadfast ways. She is more than a vendor; she is a keeper of memory, a witness to a thousand arrivals, departures, and in-between moments that shaped the soul of this town.

To read more about her, check out “Postcards from the South” by Mahen Bala, from which the above quote was taken.