Sing again, Uncle....

Yesterday T, my batman, was in such a rush. He had an assignment. To push uncle, in his wheelchair fom his flat to the hospital – a good 20 minute walk. He’d drop anything for uncle. I can almost imagine him and uncle in the wheelchair crossing the A-40. Ten years ago, the picture was different. It was uncle who was pushing little T in his pushchair, while singing to him songs from his favourite Bollywood movies. Little T would laugh and giggle and little N would say, “Sing again, Uncle”, and he would oblige.

It moved me to tears just thinking about this role reversal.

Uncle, who I called Abang and his wife, Kakak, are such a huge part in our life that without them, living away for so long, doing what I do, would not have been possible. They became our extended family in this country we have adopted as home.

Abang and Kakak came to London perhaps forty years ago. Being a staff of the British airforce in Singapore afforded Abang the luxury to seek employment here. But that wasn’t the reason that brought him here. Abang was riding pillion in a busy street in Singapore forty years ago, when his motorcycle was knocked down by a car – the driver a British officer. It was tragic because Abang lost a leg. And not only that, the officer returned to England, without paying the compensation for the injury.

It was the search for this officer that brought him and his young bride here. But luck was not on his side and he found jobs here and there and later worked with the London Transport. When we found this lovely couple, they already had four children, living in a council flat in west London.

When we had our first, we could still afford a nanny who would come to work with me and look after the baby at the office. You see, we would never leave our first born with anyone. Then, there were times when both my husband and I had the same assignment and that would mean having to leave H with the nanny. But to cut the story short, someone recommended Kakak and on our first meeting with the family, we knew we could leave our baby with them. H was one when he went to Kakak and Abang and that was 23 years ago. Since then, both Kakak and Abang were there from day one of my other children. The children were well fed and happy and clean! We’d take them there in the mornings and come back in the evenings, sometimes late, to find them under the duvet with Abang, watching TV. And the youngest one would always be under Kakak’s huge jubbah or cradled in her warm embrace. So comfortable, so loved.

A daily phone call from the office, would be something like this:
Me: Hello, kakak. Budak2 buat apa tu?
Kakak: T tidur. Dia tidur jam satu...er..satu empat puluh....(turning to Abang) satu empat puluh berapa, Bang?
(Abang, in the background): Satu empat puluh tiga, kut)
Kakak: Aa ahah..satu empat puluh tiga dia tidur sampai pukul tiga dua puluh, kalau tak salah. Lepas tu...

How can I not be assured when I got such detailed reports like this. But I always made sure never to phone her minutes before going to the studio cos, there was a time when she said, "Ahhh tadi kakak tengok dia main kat ampai di luar..ermmm sekarang mana entah...”
Eeeekk, I’d be panicking right thru the transmission!

Most of the time, when its winter and Abang had to work late, we’d take him to his workplace because walking on icy paths with one wooden leg can be very dangerous. And T would cry his heart out as he couldn't bear to see uncle going to work. Come morning, when we took them to their house again, Abang would be back from work and the children, would then rush to disturb him in deep sleep.

Their children – much older – became my children’s adopted siblings. We’d ferry them off on Saturdays to the mosque for their religious classes. Now they are all married with families of their own.

Our children soon acquired a funny kind of language:

“Mama, aunty bilang hari dua dia kasi barang tu,” said H.

Hah? when did my children learn this strange kind of Malay?

And, from Abang, they acquired: “Ya maaan! “ That, from his West Indian workmates.

Once we were on working holiday in Vienna, the children were getting restless in the hotel room and then started singing Hindi songs, much to our amazement. Apparently, Abang, an avid fan of Bollywood movies, had been entertaining them with Bollywood all time greats! And P Ramlee classics too.

Kakak, bless her, was more than a childminder to us. On arrival at their small council flat to fetch the children, there’d tea or dinner ready for us. Or, if she knew I’d have guests, she’d pack food ready for us to take home. How spoilt I was compared to my friends back Malaysia who had to suffer heartaches when dealing with maids.

Anyway, as the children grew up, Kakak took on other children. But Abang, by then had bought a gleaming Mercedes with his pension money and was ferrying T to and from school. This, inspite of our protests that the school is just behind our house.

It was only until recently that we didn't need a childminder but the children still went to see their uncle and Aunty down the road.They still send cards for Mother's Day or Father's Day and never forgot their birthdays. We had actually bought a house to be near them. And the last few years, Abang’s health had deteriorated. His amputated leg which was always giving him phantom itch, was becoming more of a problem. He couldn't walk now and his hands tremble so much, he couldn't feed himself. When Kakak went back to Singapore for a while , our H spent two weeks looking after his Uncle. I asked him what he did.

“I had to button his shirts and cut up his food,” he said trying to hide the sadness in his voice. Sometimes, he helped his Uncle to shave.

“That was what he used to do to you when you were small, H” Abang and Kakak looked after our children in a way that disqualified me as a parent.

Abang doesn’t go out much now, only trips to the hospital. Kakak, who has severe chest pains, goes to her weekly mengaji at the mosque and T would sit with his uncle, cutting up his food and help him to the bathroom.

I admit I have not done much recently, too absorbed and too selfish in my pursuit in I dont know what. But I am thankful that my children see that it is now time they look after their Uncle and Aunty.

"Sing, Uncle..." and I imagine the sound of Junglee drifting along with the busy traffic of A40.