Thirty years today - Alhamdulillah!

Thank you all for your best wishes and prayers.  Kak Teh & AG

Kak Teh looks back:

Twenty nine years together
An annivesary of sorts
Thank you for another year
Growing up and Growing old with Awang Goneng

Twenty nine years together today, and not looking back...

And thank you Danial Ma, for such a beautiful tribute here.

But Kak Teh takes a peek here:

An Anniversary of Sorts
Thank you for another year

Random Sharings Part 2

Anniversaries of sorts

It is December and we found ourselves on the road down memory lane. It must have been the second time in 28 years that we made this journey together to Singapore. The first was when we went there to take the flight to London. I was then a tearful bride leaving for a foreign land with a future firmly placed in the hands of God Almighty. The road that we took by car was a far cry from the modern highway dotted with R & R’s. The 6.45 Aeroline to Singapore was one hour late because of the rain, but I must admit the service was fantastic.

Twenty eight years ago, all manner of thoughts played in my mind but this time, it was filled with excitement and anticipations. Singapore holds memories of school holidays, walks in the Botanical Gardens, visits to Makam Habib Noh, of fresh buah lai and imported apples and gawking at window displays of Robinsons with Pak Lang – his words still ringing clear in my head: “Ni lah tempat orang-orang kaya shopping”, he said, as we walked away.

This time the visit to Singapore was almost like a visit to the official birthplace of GUiT. It was the launch of Growing Up in Trengganu, a meeting with publisher Philip Tatham of Monsoon Books and with friends old and new. GUiT was launched with four other titles. Read more about it here.

It was a very short visit and before we took the Singapore- Malacca Express the next day, we visited Makam Habib Noh once again to offer our respects.

We arrived in Malacca, all sweaty and tired, to be greeted by songs of gazal and gambus at a friend’s wedding. Nurul’s parents had decided to take her back from London to Malaysia for a real kampong style wedding and what a treat it was for us to find a big group of ex Londonders occupying two big tables. This was the first of several weddings that we attended.

Selamat pengantin baru to Leya and Ashraf

The other wedding was of course that of the famous daughter of an equally famous mum. It was held at The Legend and again a reunion of sorts with friends and ex colleagues from Jalan Riong.

Yes, I remember this day in December. “Twenty eight years ago, today”, I told Leya, “your mum was at my wedding, putting my veil in place. Today, I am returning the honours by attending your wedding.”Pengantin lama

When the radiant bride and groom left the stage to meet their guests, cheered on by some friends, we took over the stage, short of sitting on the dias, to take the 28 years later picture.

The GUiT Trip
One of the reasons for our home coming is of course to see how GUiT is doing in the homegrounds. On arrival at KLIA, I was disappointed to see that the bookshop there did not stock GUiT. I made my first visit to MPH Midvalley – again, this confirmed the comments and reports from people in search of GUiT. None- in this case – only one copy lodged in between other books at the Malaysiana section.

My next stop was MPH Alamanda – none at all. And by this time, I was ready to speak to someone to try to understand how the distribution of books works in the absence of the writer himself promoting it. I was lucky that I met a very helpful and kind MPH manager who explained to me how the whole system works. Of course, it is the distributor's job to push the books and to keep on asking if the stores need anymore. And if the copies run out, shops too should contact distributors to ask for more, especially when people are asking for it. In the case of GUiT, I don’t know what went wrong.

Then Kind and Helpful MPH manager took out his phone and made one phone call. The next day – most of MPH stores were stacked with GUiT. And this week – GUiT made it to NUMBER ONE best seller non fiction at MPH from a humble number ten at the beginning. Thank you all for the support. Tabby and his siblings will be mighty pleased with this news.

Indeed, there have been several GUiT meets kindly organized by blogger friends. Thank you again. We are so touched by such wonderful gestures and support from people, some we have never met before. I hope and pray that our friendship goes beyond GUiT.

We will soon be going to Kuala Trengganu for a booksigning session at what AG calls the spiritual birthplace of GUiT. So, do come, one and all. It will not be a grand one, just a modest occasion where we can meet and talk and get to know each other. Thanks to Encik Karim of Alam Akademik (Keda Pok Loh Yunan). For more information, click here.

I guess we will still be doing the rounds now that we are here. Hope to meet up with whoever wish to meet up with us, soon. Insyaallah.

Thank you for another year

The letter was dated some time between Dec. ‘78 and Jan. '79. Postmarked London. And that must be one of the hundreds of letters that I received from the same address that I must have read hundreds of times. And today I took out the old dusty bag containing the letters and read them again but that particular one is the most significant because it has in writing what transpired over the phone in December 78.

It is also significant because it ended weeks of agony and tears in the bathroom. It confirmed that the conversation across the ocean wasn’t an imagination. And more importantly, he had not changed his mind or gone cold feet. He did ask me to marry him. The reason for the delay in the arrival of THE letter was Britain was going through what has now gone down in history as The Winter of Discontent. Rubbish were left rotting and not collected, hospital services were disrupted and so was the postal services – my life line in the absence of the now can’t-live-without sms, ym and emails.

Danny Boy had walked up the creaky steps of the old office in Light Street, Penang, with that cheeky smile on his face. He had in his hands lots of letters and documents which he had collected from the post office, and I could see that one bulky one in the all too familiar light blue envelope was meant for me. But he took his time, enjoying the look of anxiety on my face and intent on prolonging my misery, went round the office distributing the letters, leaving mine to the last.

When I did get my hands on it, I left the intro of my story for the day hanging in mid sentence, in the old Remington and locked myself up in the bathroom to digest the contents of the letter. I read it again several times during lunch under the big tree in front of Ho Peng (or fashionably known as Cafe de Paris), with Olivia Newton John belting out Hopelessly Devoted To You from the old jukebox, and again during a trishaw ride to the bus stand with the sound of Junglee blaring from the old transistor of the trishaw puller. True love is never meant to be straightforward and as for me, it was one merry-go-round.

That phone call and that letter brought our relationship a step nearer, though not any steps easier. For one, Mak couldn’t pronounce his name. And two of many others, He didn’t want an elaborate hoohaa of a wedding, preferring a simple ceremony at the mosque while my side of the family was already on page four of the guest lists (negotiations with TV3 must have been in the pipeline) .

And another big issue – I love babies, he loves cats. I wanted ten children, he wanted none.

All these pre-nup negotiations were conducted via airmails which took ages to arrive but the man himself turned up unannounced at my rented accommodation in Green Garden. And the rest is history. On the 9th of December 1979, there was a compromise of sorts. No big hoohaa, just a handful from the office – even Kak Adib who suspected that there was something between us, was not invited. Fati (of the now famed Cinta and AF) was there as she was instrumental in making me go out on that first date with him. Her words which rang clear to this day were: ‘You change you mind, you jaga!’, she said threateningly as I was getting ready in our dorm waiting for him to fetch me.

We bersandinged on two cushions in Abang’s front room in Jalan Telawi, Bangsar. No big buffalos died for our kenduri. After two weeks of visiting relatives, we said goodbye at Changi airport and flew into cold, gloomy London.

Its a good way to start married life, if you ask me. No relatives to poke their noses where it is not wanted and no mother’s house to run back to when you have a tiff. Any misunderstandings or harsh words, I took myself to the bathroom and the kitchen and scrubbed them clean. And love and honeymoon in a cold climate is most recommended. Never ask for promises. I never did. And I treat every extra year that we are together as a bonus from HIM.

Living in each other’s letters is one thing, but living with each other is another, no matter how hot your words of undying love was in those blue single lined letter pads. Adjustments had to be made, compromises to be sorted out. But isn’t that what marriage is all about? We didn’t have ten children, but not for lack of trying, of course. We have four now. Alhamdulillah. But I lost three more after that. He changed his mind about children and wanted more. I couldn’t, so we have six cats instead. Four children and six cats in 27 years. Alhamdulillah.

And guess what? Mak can now pronounce his name.

PS

Last night, he wanted to take me to Iceland, but it was freezing cold. So, we took a cab to Beirut, instead. We had a lovely walk, the cold night air was quite refreshing and that was enough to whet our appetite for the mixed kebab we had bought from Beirut in Shepherd's Bush.