By Lediati Tan

OUTSIDE, fruit trees grew as testament to green fingers. Inside, a punching bag hung in the living room, perhaps pounded by fists of a terrorist bent on violence.

The neat interior of the house complemented the neat garden surrounding the house.

But two things stuck out like sore thumbs which did not fit in with Mas Selamat Kastari's masquerade of the gardener and soft-spoken man that neighbours thought he was - the punching bag, and a tankful of dead fish.

Inside the living room on the first floor was another contrast - it was almost too cheery for a terrorist accustomed to dark ways.

The walls were painted a bright blue-green, contrasting with the red checkered curtains that were neatly held up by matching curtain holders.

The living room was filled with mismatched furniture, as though someone had furnished the place with whatever they could lay their hands on.

The room held two sets of sofas with wooden frames - one had pink flowery cushions, while the other was blue - but, comically, one of the legs of the pink sofa had an egg tray tugged under it to balance out a wobbly leg.

A large dining table, able to seat six to eight people, stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. There were no matching chairs.

The tiled light blue floor looked tidy and clean - like it had been swept only recently.

The well-ventilated room had a low ceiling that was cooled only by a wall-mounted fan.

Books stood on a shelf mounted on the same side as the front door. On the same wall stood a dirty beige door that appeared to lead into a windowless room.

As there was no proper bathroom in the ground floor room, neighbours said Mas Selamat often showered by the well about 5m behind the house.

It was a house of contrasts, certainly, one that was heightened by the irony that, for a terrorist's hideout, there was only one way out - through the front door.

This article was first published in The New Paper.