Fussing over fasting

“It’s only a few more hours. Be patient,” I said, hearing Mak’s exact voice and words cajoling me to carry on fasting. Our third had been whining about her sore throat and Daddy has given up with sweet talk and handed over the job of dealing with the half alive creature on the sofa, for me to handle.

“Okay, let’s go shopping, and you can get anything you want”, said I trying the retail therapy approach that I heard so much about. I saw a flicker of interest and some signs of life. An hour later we were making our way to China Town following our hearts’ desire to buy everything and anything edible in China Town, from Coconut juice to fresh yellow noodles and belacan and all kinds of Oriental products. With whatever energy left in us, we dragged the over loaded shopping trolley to Soho in search of fresh fruits and vegetables as they are known to go quite cheap at that time of the day. Soho, during the day is quite respectable. The fruit and vegetable market cammouflages the more seedy business that comes to life as darkness falls. The surau that sits snugly between shops of dubious nature advertising anything from Oriental massage to promises of full fledge whipping, was full of activities as people went in for asar prayers. Its a strange little place, this Soho.

I got my fruits for the day and was about to make our way to Selfridges for fish, when I saw a fish stall selling mackerals at a quarter of what Selfridges would have charged us. The reason I had always bought fish from Selfridges was because of the guaranteed freshness. I am not a great fish eater but a fussy one. But while there I planned to buy some krispy krim doughnuts and child number three can also do her retail therapy there. But as it happens, we were too tired to carry on. So it was five whole mackerals from the cute little stall at the top of Berwick Street and Nona had to make do with two novels, one by Maya Angelou and the other by Zadie Smith. That should keep her quiet for a few more days.

I had plans for those unsuspecting mackerals. Since the start of Ramadan it had been lamb curry, lamb kicap, chicken sambal but no fish. So I had plans for those mackerals and disturbing visions of Ubi setela's creation for her berbuka loomed large before my eyes. Yes, it has got to be Ikan belah belakang sumbat sambal – and I am sure it has a more glamorous name than that. Sambal belacan features prominently of course as I have at last stock up on belacan. And the sotong will do just fine, swimming merrily in the sambal tumis amongst bits and pieces of petai that used to be contraband goods in our household. Now, we are told it has medicinal qualities, so stinking breath not withstanding, the sotong sambal will be with petai.

Among the crowded shelves in one of the shops in China Town, I found a gem of an item and even as I slipped it into my shopping basket, I drooled shamelessly into my sleeves. It was one of those soft (smelly) ikan kering and properly fried with slices of onions and chillies, it can certainly stand on its own with steaming hot rice. That should complete the menu and all I needed now is the look of approval around the table.

Actually, cooking for my lot is not difficult. Take hubby for instance. Nak makan apa? Apa-apalah ( as in nak pi mana? mana-manalah!). And even if you slaved over the stove for two hours or two minutes, the reaction would be the same. Hmmm sedap! Anyway, all the above didn’t materialise until last night because I was too tired after lugging all those foodstuff halfway across London. So we made do with mee hailam (hmmm sedap!) and Nona tried her culinary skills at toasted bagels with soft cream cheese and smoked salmon. What a weird combination. But there you are. I never promised that we are a normal family.

Tonight will be my first berbuka night out as I dine with fellow bloggers Pu1pu3 and ewok at Holiday Villa. The buffet menu is just fantastic and at £16.00 per person – it should be. But I will just have to nibble because at 8.30 there’s a proper dinner invitation at the same venue. Kak Teh will have to try her level best and behave as the guest of honour is a former Agong. Watch this space!

UPDATE: Well, I was such a glutton tahap maksima. For berbuka I had two helpings of crab sambal and was well into the next course of nasi ayam when I was reminded thatI had another dinner at 8.30.
At the proper dinner - true enough I couldnt let anything in anymore - not the scallops, not the satay nor the nasi goreng kampung. BUT I couldnt resist the lobsters. Sorry tak boleh ambik gambar - sebab nanti nampak tak senonoh sangat, kan?

Cerita ceriti bulan puasa

Jam pada handphone menunjukkan pukul lapan apabila Kak Teh terima sms daripada anak bongsu ‘Ramadan starts 2moro”. Alahai, Kak Teh masih dalam studio dan akan sampai rumah paling awal jam sepuluh malam. Manalah sempat nak beli itu ini nak isikan freezer. Nasib baik bawang, cili kering semuanya Kak Teh dah blend simpan siap dalam peti sejuk sebab senang kalau nak masak nanti.

Sampai rumah, anak-anak semua dah berjemaah di belakang bapa mereka, berbilalkan yang bongsu, bersolat Terawih. Kak Teh terus buatkan bubur lambuk atau kanji, yang sememangnya wajib untuk keluarga ini dalam bulan puasa. Bubur tu jugalah yang kami makan untuk sahur. Alhamdulillah tak ada yang cerewet.

Dua tiga bulan dulu, sedang lepak-lepak depan TV tak ada kerja, Kak Teh mula bercerita kosonglah dengan budak-budak. Teringat masa kecik-kecik dulu berpuasa. Orang tua-tua puasa kita pun nak puasa. Sahur, kita yang dulu-dulu bangun menyibuk di dapur. Makan sampai dua tiga kali tambah – Masyaallah! Tapi tak sempat tengah hari perut dah buat hal, tekak dah kering. Sekejap-sekejap pergi kumur mulut nak basahkan tekak. Kononnya kumur mulut, tapi dua tiga tegak minum air. Balik ke dapur buat muka letih lagi!

“Mama! How could you!”

“That’s terrible!”

Itulah yang dilemparkan pada Kak Teh semasa anak-anak dengar cerita Kak Teh masa kecik-kecik dulu. Ya lah, kita kecik kan. Kata seorang anak Kak Teh, “We never did that Mama, even when we were small! You’re terrible!” Kena lagi!

Lepas tu pulak, orang tua-tua nak solat terawih, kita pun nak ikut sama. Bukannya untuk apa tapi sebab ada janji bubur lambuk atau kanji yang memang menjadi kesukaan Kak Teh dari kecik lagi. Masa kecik tu, masa ikut solat orang tua-tua dari belakang, kita cuma mampu kumat kumit mulut. Yang lebih kecik dari kita, cuba tiru kita jugak..kumat kumit mulut. Yang budak-budak lelaki lagi teruk. Depa cerita, kalau depa tau ada orang dok ikut depa solat –sengaja pula depa buat sudden movement . Nakal betul!

Tapi anak-anak sekarang memang mula belajar awal, ada minat lebih awal. Baguslah.

Semasa Kak teh berpindah ke rumah sekarang ini ada juga sebuah keluarga Melayu yang tinggal tak berapa jauh dari sini. Kami mula berkenalan dan anak gadisnya lebih tua sikit daripada anak-anak Kak Teh. Datang bulan Ramadan, lebih kerap dia di rumah Kak Teh. Rupa-rupanya nak kongsi puasa bulan puasa sebab tak ada siapapun di rumahnya yang puasa. Dia terpaksalah bangun sahur dan siap makanan sendiri sebab tak ada yang mau melayan. Entah ke mana dia sekarang ni, Kak Teh pun tak tau dan harap-harap, dia masih berpuasa. Kesian juga teringatkan anak gadis yang berpuasa dan berbuka sendiri.

Di satu tempat kerja kak teh pulak, ada seorang kawan dari Syria. Dia mula-mula kagum kerana kita boleh bertahan puasa di sini. Katanya banyak cabaran – kena datang kerja, kena jawab telefon, melayan orang. Aiikkkk? Orang di negara kita pergi ke ladang, sawah, ke laut tangkap ikan – tapi bulan puasa, kita puasa jugak, kan? Tapi tak apalah, lama-kelamaan, dalam masa dua tiga tahun Kak Teh kenal dia, dia dah mula puasa. Alhamdulillah.

Dua tiga hari ni fikiran melayang pulak kepada Mak di Malaysia. Masa bulan puasalah dia melayan sungguh kerenah anak-anak. Nak makan apa semuanya dia buat. Sekarang ni Mak cuma dok merajuk di rumah adik, sebab tak ada orang yang nak bawa dia balik ke rumah dia sendiri. Bulan puasa dia nak puasa di rumah sendiri. Tapi dia tak boleh dok sendiri lagi. Jatuh tengah malam sapa nak tau? Jadi adik, kakak yang dengar rungutan dia nak balik tu buat diam saja. Tunggu raya – semua akan balik ke rumah Mak yang Pak buat untuk dia dulu tu. Yang dia kata Pak tak bagi dia tinggal kosong saja.

Alahai Mak, kalau Kak Teh tak perlu kerja dah banyak duit dalam bank, dah tak payah terkejar sana sini, Kak Teh balik jaga Mak di rumah Pak buat untuk Mak tu. Tahun ni pulak T nak periksa penting. Jadi hati tu terbelah bagi.

Cakap pasal Taufiq, dia balik dari sekolah bawa berita gembira. Dua orang kawan dia yang ikut dia ke mesjid untuk solat zuhur selepas sekolah, mengucap syahadah dengan dia sebagai saksi. Mereka sudah lama tertarik dengan agama kita dan mereka mau menyambut Ramadan sebagai saudara baru. Alhamdulillah.

Pada hari pertama bulan yang mulia ini, Kak Teh teringat pula seorang lelaki tua yang baru ditinggalkan isterinya. Tahun ini dia bersahurdan berbuka sendiri..tiada isterinya yang selalu melayan apa yang dia nak makan. Kesian.

Kak Teh nak ke dapur untuk masak. Lagi dua jam, kami akan berbuka..entah berapa ramai yang sempat pulang berbuka bersama..

Selamat menyambut Ramadan kepada semua yang sudi datang bekunjung ke blog Kak Teh!

Unknotting knots, Nang Nak and a week of literature and high fashion

It was just as well that I had prepared myself physically and mentally for the past few gruelling days or else I’d be a total wreck by now. A long overdue promise to pamper myself saw me suitable berkembaned in a batik sarung in a sauna for half an hour. That was followed by some initially gentle kneading on my much abused back and shoulders that I nearly fell asleep. The Thai masseuse sure knew how to use every part of her limbs to untangle my ‘knots’. It was all thumbs, fingers, knuckles and even elbows and knees.

My first Thai massage experience was last year in Bangsar and unlike the one I had last week in London, the masseuse in Bangsar was all action and no talk, while this one talked to me about all sorts of things from techniques of unknotting knots to Nang Nak – the origin of. I had seen Nang Nak several times and had even presented a paper in Paris two years ago about it, but too much talk of Nang Nak in a dimly lit room and glimpses of the masseuse’s long tumbling hair covering her face as she bent down to knead me, was a bit unsettling. Anyway, I left the spa feeling like a new woman, hoping that my other half felt as much too.

Like I said, this was a fortnight that saw me running around like a headless chicken. You’d think that as a veteran headless chicken, I’d know the ropes by now, but NO!

‘tis the week that a lot of people turned up to do events. It was a happening week, so to speak: two kenduri tahlils in between fashion shows and a weekend conference in Oxford. ‘tis the week when the euphoria of material pleasures were put in check by reminders that this world is just a temporary stopover.

Anyway, this being the London Fashion Week, I was pleasantly surprised to get a call from Malaysian designer Tom Abang Saufi about her debut in London. She was invited by Asia House to showcase her collection to the British public.



And I trotted off to that hoping to get a few more of Tom’s fabulous Pua sarongs to add to my collection of no less than 10 in the cupboard. In the end I didn’t buy any because I have most of the designs and as for her batik ‘buttonless and zipless’ collection, that can wait after winter. Afterall, Tom is opening her very own shop opposite Jimmy Choo Couture in Connaught Street.

It was also at Tom’s do at Asia House that I met the most incredible woman – Tunku Azizah, the Tuanku Ampuan Pahang and patron the Fertility Foundation, who tirelessly works for the benefit of childless couples. Her own struggle to have children after six miscarriages in nine years, is enough to make you thankful for the lot that you have at home.





Then, I had a weekend conference in Oxford and what a wonderful weekend it turned out to be, listening to experts discussing seventeenth and eigteenth century manuscripts during the day and enjoying a bit of Balinese dance and haunting tunes of Sundanese music in the evening in the auspicious surroundings that is Oxford University. We listened in awe to descriptions of some lewd syairs in what must have been the only known porn literature in old Malay manuscript, and we were transfixed by jottings of the only known Malay POW who worked on the Death Railway in Burma. This guy, whom I will write about in a proper entry, was a real survivor. His jottings, which he later compiled in neat Jawi, tell of how he survived being tied up a tree for a week, eating frogs and other insects in the jungle, burying his buku 555 in the ground away from the searching eyes of the Japanese soldiers, falling in and out of love with local damselles who helped him along his escape routes and many, many more. Watch this space.

Then all too soon, it was back to the big white tent at the Natural History Museum, that showcases the top names in British designs. This year, I had recruited Sayang Mama number three to be my official photographer as Her Blurness couldn’t take good pictures anymore. Studying my understudy is not the easiest thing to do. I get anxious too easily as soon as she puts away her camera or misses an opportunity to photograph a celebrity.

Day one, Ben De Lisi’s show was fashionably late by 45 minutes. In the meantime, D list celebs and model wannabees sashayed arround the waiting area, trying to catch the eyes of photographers. This event turned out to be an assembly of famous children of celebrities; daughter of Bob Geldolf tirelessly giving interviews and posing, daughter of Dato JC smiling shyly into the camera and children of the Rolling Stones. Daughter of Kak Teh did her bit and took pictures of these famous children.

Day two – a quite relaxed event at Bernard Chandran’s. A bevy of Malaysian socialites turned up filling the front row. Bernard’s Spring and Summer Collection is certainly something of a jaw dropping event – beautiful and only for the daring with the right curves at the right places.

Tomorrow, it is Singapore’s talent abroad – Ashley Isham whose celebration of punk and romance for his autumn winter collection, was a great hit. I am pretty sure, it will be a repeat performance or even a better one this time.

And yes, after that, I’ll be off to the Dorchester as someone will be arriving from New York. I can already feel the knots forming on my back and methinks its time for another backrub.

So, you're sixteen, eh?

The day he started his weeklong work experience, wearing his new Zara pants, he looked so smart I nearly cried. He was so excited that he couldn’t wait to rush out of the door, giving me only two quick kisses. Only two, when it used to be four or five. I shouldn’t really be complaining, as he is after all almost an adult – he will be sixteen on the sixteenth. So, two kisses cannot be that bad. It is better than none.

He left me alone with my thoughts and memories of the day he came into my life. I remember the day the labour pains came just as H and I were enjoying a bar of Galaxy in the birthing room. When the pain came, I just wanted H to go and tell the midwife that I had changed my mind, that I didn’t need another baby. After all, we already had three. But the waves of pain were persistent and the bar of Galaxy lost its appeal. The next thing I knew H was nursing an aching and bruised arm as a result of being tugged and pulled and scratched in my attempts to make him share the pain. But the pain went with the realisation that I had been blessed with another boy to complete our set!

And all too soon, the toddler who used to cling to the back of my chair and cover my mouth with his chubby little hands whenever I tried to speak on the phone, grew up to be my closest ally, confidante and friend. The little boy whose hand I held throughout our car rides because he was scared of the dark, became my reliable bodyguard on our shopping trips together, my constant companion to just about anywhere, an easy prey to my endless emotional blackmails. A harsh critic of my satorial non-sense, he tolerates my idiosyncrasies which seem to embarass his siblings.

I remember the look on his face the day I started wearing the hijab. He was beaming from ear to ear. He must have been only twelve when I reasoned with him that I was not goingt o wear the tudung just because he wanted me to. I had to make him understand that when I wore it, it was because I was ready and that it must come from the heart. He understood. But it never stopped him from whispering “You look nice, Mama” everytime I donned a scarf to go to the surau. Now that I have a collection of Sri Munawarah’s wonderful creations, his smiles of approval never left his face ‘cos he loves how neatly the tudungs framed my face as he no longer had to sweep in the strands of hair that strayed out of my otherwise clumsily tied tudungs.

Yes, he tolerates me and humours me and for that I am glad I didnt cancel the order that day sixteen years ago. The little baby we brought back from the Hammersmith Hospital has given me so much joy and happiness and I hope and pray that he will continue to be the loving, dependable and reliable son that he is. To my sayang mama, have a wonderful birthday and although I will not be with you to celebrate this day, I will be thinking of you. Love you heaps, my little Batman!

A Nation of Alphabets

A Nation of Alphabets. That came to mind when I read our newspapers online recently. I am afraid we are fast running out of alphabets. How many alphabets do we have compared to the number of datuks/dato’s? And the number keeps increasing every Sultan’s birthday. Oh help! Soon we will have to resort to the use of Arabic letters. Datok Ba, Ta, Tha etcetrea, etcetera.

I thought we only have Alphabet Soup.

First we have Dr M...there’s a good ring to it. And it was a natural progression that he is now Tun M. Then came Datuk K and you get visions of bushy moustache, millions in the bank and our CT. Though not necessarily in that order.

And now there’s a Datuk R!!! More millions and more maskawin! More oh dear.

Datuk X are those who cannot be identified in court.

Those were the days when initials were used by our singers or artistes of yore. P Ramlee, L Ramlee, R Ramlee. AR Tompel, S Ahmad and many more. Now our singers prefer to use their own name or nickname - Mawi is good, so is farah, Dayang, Ziana Zain.

In blogosphere we have our own, starting with President BTB, OSH, CK, CL, MA , Kak N, AG, KD, AM, Lady K, MM, QOTH and yes, many more.

Oh, if I am not wrong, Datok Samad Said's son, the talented and wonderful Az is actually a very clever attempt by the writer and his wife to name their son using just first and the last letter of the alphabet.

Here’s KT signing off on a lazy Sunday, in an attempt to update her blog. Btw, sometimes, I am also known as Kak Z.

Ps Someone just told me of Datuk Q!!
Lots of Datuks in a queue!!!!

An evening with Art Fazil

After last night, I am convinced that in my other life, I must have been a back up singer of sorts. Or even a member of a groupie. An aborted plan to go to the movies saw us back at Mawar, listening and singing along with Art Fazil. Art Fazil on a Saturday night at Mawar is worth missing the X Factor for. He was in his elements, playing to a packed audience enjoying their fried koayteow, and some appreciative ladies dancing to his rendition of ‘My Girl’.

But for me, his version of ‘Engkau Laksana Bulan’ and ‘Fatwa Pujangga’ was enough to get me singing all the way down Edgware Road competing with the Saturday night revellers making their way home. My husband has perfected the art of listeningbut not hearing, if you know what I mean, while my children pretended they are not with me.

The week before Art surprised us with an old song the title of which escapes me right now – but something about an adik manis walking in the rain without an umbrella, being chatted up by an abang who offered to walk her back. Alas, she had to let him down gently as she has ‘Anak lima’....This is what I like about Malay songs. Some are so downright flirtatious.

But an old time favourite of mine that Art knows he has to sing whenever I am around, is “Anak Melayu di Kota Inggeris "– a song that he wrote himself, and dare I say about himself! In his voice that has a kind of rough edge that would send Sharon Osbourne swooning, he lamented about life in this Kota Inggeris and missing petai and sambal tumis. And, he says, "Aku masih suka gadis Melayu!" Can’t wait for him to release this song, and it is about time too Art, after your album Nur.

Art has a knack of writing songs that touch you where it is supposed to touch you.
Take his Merindu Kepastian, for example :

Andai kau menjadi merpati,
biar ku jadi sang bayu
agar kita sering bertemu

or this one

Andai esok aku menjadi tanah,
sudikah engkau menjadi bunga,
hiasi dadaku.....

All together now............Ahhhhh!

Art should actually try for X factor and I will round up a group of supporters to hound Simon before he could even form a smirk on his face. I know I have Ewok's support.

I think, having failed to realise my ambition to be a forensic scientist, I would have loved to be a back up singer, swaying in the background, snapping my fingers in rythm. Did I not write about my debut with Raihan a few months ago? And what about the time when I sat on the steps with David Arumugam, holding the mike while he sang Hingga Akhir Nanti? I couldn’t manage the high note, though, but suffice to say, he gave me the honours to say, “Ma kaseeehhhhhhhh!”

High notes are a no no to me. Alas, my voice is one that you hear in the lift saying, “ Tingkat Satu, Tingkat Satu” or on the plane “Kita akan mendarat sebentar lagi, sila pasangkan tali...” or recorded messages that go, “Nombor yang anda dial tidak ada dalam perkhidmatan. Sila cuba sebentar lagi”. messages thatdrive you crazy!

Art Fazil can be found here and he sings at Mawar Restaurant on Saturday nights, accompanied by the wonderful and talented Mofa on drums.
(and Kak Teh in the background!)

This entry is dedicated to fans of Art Fazil who keep writing to me asking about him.