From Malaysia Hall to Albert Hall?

When I read that Adik, Mak Andeh’s youngest wanted a piano, I immediately thought of my youngest. My Taufiq must have been about Adik’s age when he was introduced to the keyboard. He never showed any interest in music, only books, books and books. But at that time, we were always at Malaysia Hall – his siblings were either clearing tables or serving at the counter while he joined some students in the room at the back of the canteen of the old Malaysia Hall where they had an old keyboard.

I didn’t know that he had it in him – this interest in music. But Reza certainly knew how to teach him and within a few months, my little boy could produce this piece of beautiful music.

He made his debut in the hall when we had a jumble sale. In those days, there were a lot of activities going on. We persuaded Taufiq to play. He was quite nervous but as I watched his chubby little fingers dancing effortlessly across the keyboard, producing those lovely sounds, I must admit I cried a bit.

So, I got him a second hand keyboard. He never played it again seriously. And the keyboard is now somewhere behind the bed. But if I never get to see him play again, I am very thankful for this beautiful piece of music. Even if it is not perfect it is beautiful to the ears of his mama. Even if he didn’t make it to Albert Hall, he did it beautifully in Malaysia Hall.

So, MA, think about it.

A reason to celebrate

He was too casual about it. Too casual and too calm for my tattered nerves. He pulled the hood over his head, gave me a peck on the cheek and promised to be back within an hour. The tight knot deep in my stomach grew tighter by the minute and when the promised hour came and went and still no sight of him, I decided to do some retail therapy. I went to the mall to do some shopping.

Mak would have handled it differently. She’d sit patiently on the old trusty iron swing, handbag on her lap. Only the intensity of the swings hinted on what she must be feeling inside, waiting for my return.

The mall wasn’t quite the place to be in. Not on a day like this. Everywhere I looked, there were teenagers screaming and laughing and clutching THAT white envelope that holds their future. They had just received their results and were celebrating in the mall, planning the next course of action. My calls to the house went unanswered. There was no point calling him as he said he wouldn’t bring his phone to the school. By then, my shopping trolley was almost full with things I didn’t need; condensed milk, ready cut pineapple, loads of detergents and chocolate biscuits for comfort eating. And still no news from him.

I had just finished a big baked potato with melted cheese and butter when the call came. His voice told it all. He made it and he made it with flying colours! And there and then at the shopping mall, I wanted to shout out to the world that my sayang mama had made this mama very happy and weepy and the tight knot in the stomach had miraculously disappeared. I wanted to tell the old lady pushing her shopping bag that my son had done me proud, I wanted to hug the old tramp feeding the pigeons with stale bread, I wanted to share the joy with the group of giggly girls celebrating at the next table. I wanted to phone up his father to share the good news but couldn’t locate him. I left a message at his workplace and sms’ed the good news to my siblings across the oceans. And I wanted to rush home and give him the biggest hug ever.

Alhamdulillah.

My concern, which has been proven unfounded, was that he had had too busy a year. During such an important year when he should be concentrating on his studies he was appointed imam of his small congregation at school; preparing the khutbah during Friday prayers, solving disputes amongst the congregation, he was then made deputy head boy and went off on a youth exchange programme. He embarked on silat so seriously that it started to worry me. He was attending silat classes twice a week right up to the time of his exams until the silat teacher told him not to return until his exams was over.

Last night, he was back at his silat class, but not before attending our weekly prayer session where we joined other happy parents for a special doa selamat and doa kesyukuran.

Alhamdulillah.

Whaaaaaaaat??? Only 100 camels?

That was my response to R’s story about her trip to Cairo recently. Apparently, she was visiting the pyramids when someone offered the people she was with, 100 camels fo her!

Hisssh, 100 camels! What were they thinking! 200 and no less!

The father’s reactions: Huh! 100 camels? Where do we put them? Our garden is too small!

Typical!

I’ve been itching to write about this since reading anedra's entry about price of dowry in Malaysia these days and the comments are so interesting.

In those day, (and here we go again), when an anak dara could command, RM1000, its the talk of the kampung! I remember the negotiations that went on behind closed doors when Kak was getting married. She had had a long queue of very interested mums and even more interested suiters, but Pak was not willing to let go of his first child that easily. There were royalties, politicians and they pursued her relentlessly even after she was married and with child. Well, you could class her as a beauty, tall and willowy, fair and Miss Kebaya to boot! (And then of course Mak and Pak broke the mould and had us!)

But Pak was possessive not to mention protective. After rumours had it that she was being followed to work, he hired her a trishaw, with an uncle as an escort!

And finally, when a young dashing police officer in uniform came to nip the first bud in our garden, it seemed the right choice and we thank God for that because Abang is like no other and we love him tremendously . He still spoils us rotten.
Anyway, not before he had to cough up RM1000 for the dowry – a lot, mind you in those days!

There must have been a lot of talk...Waaah, Anak Pak Awang belanja seribu!!!

And behind our backs it must have been..."Ish, nak juai anak kaaaaaaa!"

I cant remember what happened to Kak Cik, but when it came to my turn, I recall having this reluctant feeling to go home during the term breaks. The minute the Mak Ciks know that you’re back, there would be strangers at the door. And you’d think they can be more subtle than that as they had been doing it as a profession – these mak cik merisik!

Mak would call out to me to make tea and I was supposed to make tea and walk all lemah gemalai and act all coy and sweet, which I was not at all. Then they’d look you up and down, not unlike the way they would do to a chicken or a goat before the big kill.

“Yang ni dah ada kawan dah kaaaaa?”

From a very young age I used to shiver when people talked about matchmaking. I think it started with a neighbour who used to put a dash of kapur on my forehead everytime we visited her! That was supposed to be a tag – a reserve tag for her son!

Anyway, nothing could beat this one – I was at my sister’s house when the phone was passed on to me – very businesslike this woman at the other end of the line. She proceeded to tell me that her son was very qualified and earning so much which left me quite speechless, not knowing head or tail as to how you respond to things like that.

Anyway, why did I digress so?

Oh yes...when the right wan, oh, sorry, the right one came, nothing mattered. Even if he had placed an IOU letter on the talam hantaran, it would be fine. I remember the rombongan that came to Abang’s house in Bangsar. I was not to be seen or heard, but I was told about the pantun memantun that went on downstairs! The next day, when I was driving around with my intended, he casually asked me the asking price. I mentioned the number and I swear to you...the car skidded to the middle of the road! He was perspiring! But then, that has always been his style of reacting to anything and I got the asking price in a small album - that took care of the bonus that he received from the NST at that time.

Nowadays, I read the figures can go to six digits, especially when the bride concerned is a celebrity!

Aaaah, I will have to seriously think about this again.. our children are at that age. Am not going into the business of haggling for dowries. The eldest will certainly have to work more before settling down – not for anything but for their future security. I am not materialistic, but I will not settle for camels for my girls.

"Siapa itu Kassim Selamat? Majistret? Loyar???" hands on hips, sumore!

As for my Batman, can I have more time with him, pleaseeeeeee!!!!

To my dearest Nona

Just when did you get to be nineteen? Have you been doing things behind my back again? You know, mothers are a funny lot. I am, anyway. They can't wait for their children to grow up, and when they do, they want them to stop growing, freezeframe them at whatever age or phase of life that suits them. Like a bonsai plant.

When you were born, I was deliriously happy to have another girl so that I could dress you up in those cute frilly frocks. But like your sister, you were born, bald. So, no pretty ribbons, no colourful hairbands. And it seems that skirts and gowns and frilly things are not something you’d have in your wardrobe of tattered, faded jeans and cropped tops.

I remember Tok sending a bagful of floral skirts with frills that she made for her granddaughters. Ah, that look on your face! You could at least wore it once for me to take a photogragh to send home. Oh well, I don’t know what to buy you anymore. Two days ago, I was walking up and down Oxford Street, venturing into stores, displaying what they term clothes, but nothing that would wrap you up sufficiently against the cold. It was easier when I could get all that you need from Mothercare.

When I was your age (here we go again, I hear you groan), flares were in fashion. Yes, I heard your brother’s remarks about how that would help break my fall should I jump off a tall building! Ha! Ha! Very funny. But at least, I was all covered up. Nice floral materials much in trend for those flower power days. And hey, those bandanas that you wear? Been there and done that lah, sayang!

I must admit you are very creative. Last week, my prayers accompanied you to that interview when you carried your huge portfolio of excellent stuff. You have always been creative – those self taught animations, radio and tv interviews that you bullied your younger brother into doing. You play the drums and guitar. And remember how you pulled quite a crowd in Hyde Park when you did about 100 kick-ups with the ball, without once dropping it.

But you surprised me. I have always thought you’d be a scientist – perhaps a microbiologist. I’d be so proud of you. What gave me this idea? Well, on my weekly rounds searching for missing mugs, I’d always find some under your bed. And I looked at the curious blend of fungi like things at different stages of fermentation in those mugs and I thought: Aaaah, my daughter, the microbiologist!

I wasn’t very much into science in my school days, the only excitement I remember being the arrival of the first male teacher - our science master who taught us the subject of reproduction. Can you imagine, a bunch of giggly Convent girls?

And that of course brings us to the subject of the other, er opposite sex.. err, I mean gender.

Of late I see some strange nicks popping up on your Hotmail account. Does this explain your sudden interest in make-up? I supposed its good that you are taking an interest in your looks ... at least there’s some colour in your face. When I see some models on the catwalk nowadays, I can’t help thinking you’d do well marching straight from the bed onto the catwalk. You’re tall, skinny and all bones and that hairstyle is so the in thing on catwalks…no brush, no comb!

At your age, I too experimented with my hair. No more ponytails and plaits. I used to have the fringe too that covered my eyes cos I was so shy. But yours is more like a curtain that makes our communication even more difficult. However, I never touched colour (at your age). I remember your experiment with that. It was at night and you went against my advise. Suddenly there was a scream from the bathroom. What I saw made me laugh and cry at the same time. I do apologise. It was a horrible colour!! Even daddy chuckled.

Now I see that you are into Bo Derek plaits. What can I say?

And another thing, purple lenses do not suit you.

In those days, of course, we wore goggles. And it went well with those Dusty Springfield or Lulu look. The bigger the better. The same goes for earrings. Big round ones. But my dear, we wore both….not just a single dangling earring. Tok would have fainted seeing you with one earring, and one on your nose. I am glad you saw some sense and grew out of that one.

Well, penning all these down makes me feel quite old. It was a mixture of pride and sadness too when I saw you wearing one of my kebayas last Raya. People commented that you look just like me when I was your age. I am proud to have my two girls wearing the kebayas. People in Malaysia think the kebaya is making a comeback. For me it never went away. I was the kebaya girl in campus. I kept all those kebayas so that my girls can wear them. Sad? well, its just me lamenting my lost waisline.

You are one adventurous lass. I know that I am a pain to be with especially on trips to funfairs. I remember you commenting that a funfair would be a bore fair if I am around. No slides, no watershutes, no ferries wheels. Yes, a ride in the whirling tea-cup can also give as much excitement and what's wrong with that? My heart dropped when I saw you hanging upside down on that Aladin's carpet. Do you do these things to annoy me?

I cried buckets when you were away in Spain and now I see that you are researching materials on studies in Japan. When you received an offer from Nottingham university, I sobbed into the pillow. I imagined you surviving on maggie mee. Yes, granted, at your age I too couldn't cook. The kitchen was a no go area cos Tok Wan would rather see us studying than help in the kitchen. But your diet of nasi goreng and mayonaise and strange combinations like that worries me.

And if you are away, who'd be around to scratch your back? And Daddy won't be there to bring your bowl of cornflakes and milk to your room.

By the way, I just got you a birthday card and I hope you find those pieces with the picture of the Queen useful.

With lots of love,
Mama, xxx

STOP PRESS! STOP PRESS! STOP PRESS! STOP PRESS! STOP PRESS!
NONA got the bestest birthday present of all - she got accepted by the Chelsea College of Arts! All that heavy portfolio and the taxi fare that I paid is worth it!One happy MAMA!!