Kerambit: The Curve That Cuts With Intent

4/16/2025

The kerambit is not a showpiece. It’s a weapon born of purpose — forged in the shape of a claw, made to tear, not just to slice. When I train with it, I don’t move for the sake of motion. I move because every gesture has a reason.

Normal reverse grip

Watching back the recent footage, I saw what I needed to see. The form was clean. Wrist control was solid. No flair, no flourish — just honest mechanics. Forward grip. Reverse grip. The transitions flowed. The blade knew where it was supposed to be.

Click on this screenshot image to watch this Kerambit video.

I only recently adopted the full forward grip in my kerambit training. Before this, I trained mostly in reverse grip, and sometimes transitioned into a half-forward grip — where the ring slides onto the middle finger instead of the little finger. That variation gave me reach and control. But full forward grip shifts a lot of things. The angle. The feel. The speed. It’s like being one with the blade — not just holding it, but wearing it. Movement becomes more instinctive, more alive. Still unfamiliar. Still raw. But worth exploring.

Full forward grip

Sometimes, my wrist tensed a little. Not much — just enough to notice. That kind of stiffness slows down a live blade. In real use, that half-second matters. Something to refine. Maybe I was still thinking with my brain instead of letting the muscles lead — a side effect of adapting to the new grip.

Footwork held its ground. The steps weren’t loud. They didn’t have to be. Silat teaches you to move with the shape of the fight — triangular steps, shifting weight, reading space. It felt natural. But I think I should demonstrate more in the lower stances — where Silat and weapons truly dominate. Dropping down at the right moment adds layers: deception, evasion, even timing traps.

Combo Kerambit grips

The bladework itself? It felt alive. Hook, slash, recoil. Flip, cut, redirect. The kind of movement built over hours of repetition. The kind that starts in the hand, but ends in the whole body. In one sequence, I managed a double-action — cutting forward, then back on the return. That’s the kind of moment that reminds me I’m on the right path.

But I keep a mantra close: don’t flip the kerambit unnecessarily — as drummed into my head by the late Silat master, Guru Jak. May Allah have mercy on his soul. Say Aamiin, and send more prayers his way. His dedication and contributions to Malaysian Silat were tremendous. Every flip must serve a purpose — to cut, to trap, or to hurt. Otherwise, it’s just noise. And motion without meaning is wasted in combat. I’ve got no interest in wasted motion.

When you train alone, rhythm becomes your sparring partner. Mine felt right. Not constant — but steady. Shifting from flurries to stillness. That contrast builds tension. Stillness before the storm makes the storm hit harder.

Combo Kerambit grips

Style-wise, I see my roots showing. Harimau Berantai, the style I studied for many years, gives my movement its grounded, instinctive flow. The newer Silat Sekilat system adds layers of tactics — stripping away rigid forms while giving me more freedom to express, to explore, and to stay effective and in full control of the weapon.

Some comments suggested a ghost of Filipino influence in the rotations. But I beg to differ — I’ve never trained in Filipino arts. The only non-Malay art I studied briefly was Krabi Krabong and Muay Boran. And a Thai guru once told me: their mother art is Silat. Controversial? Maybe. But for me, the heart is Silat. Not performance. Not theatre. Just movement built for impact.

What I appreciated most, reviewing the footage, is that I didn’t waste motion. The blade stayed close to my centerline. Extended only when it needed to. Every movement had a place, a reason. And that’s what separates play from practice.

Combo Kerambit grips

Still, if I want to make this educational — for students, for the curious — I need to show more. A dummy arm. A capable training partner. Something to map the intention behind the movement. Where does the blade land? What does it do? Why does it move that way?

This video was a checkpoint. A reminder that I’m not here to impress. I’m here to express. To sharpen what I know — and share it in a way that’s honest.

The kerambit teaches that economy of motion is power.

And power, used right, is quiet.