Confessions of an aunt

My dearest A,

You missed alot of fun during the last raya gathering cos you chose to do some more important (read: boring) things at the UN. So, here’s the story in brief. But I also take this opportunity to slip in a confession or two.

I wont talk about the food. Suffice to say, there were plenty. But we catered - no one bothered to cook and many a times your uncles slipped out and came back with mee goreng Shariff.

You know we have a ritual of taking family photographs, right? This year, two of your cousins fought to sit on my lap and I suffered under a combined weight of 24 stones that very nearly not only broke the chair but also my poor bones. They were Abang Am and Kak Oli – the oldest of your cousins who I used to balance on my lap and spoil them rotten. No, that is not the full story for if they have their own blogs or a say in this entry, I will be arrested by the NSPCC.

So, I will confess and tell the truth and nothing but the truth.

You know that I have a reputation among my siblings, your mum included, one they have viciously circulated among their children in my absence, adding this and that making a mountain out of a mole hill. It also doesn’t help that their children too (you included) have memories so strong of their Mak Teh that they have now passed on to their children. And I think this is so unfair. I now wonder why your younger cousins eyed me suspiciously everytime I approached them with presents. "Beware the one bearing presents", they must have said.

I thank God that our family is such a fertile lot that during my visits home, I would always be greeted by an addition - a newborn niece or nephew and now I even have grand nephews. But the sad thing is that the parents watched me like hawks. They have even formed a protective circle around sleeping babies and this really breaks my heart. Even memories of them doing so bring tears to my eyes as I am never allowed near any of my cuddly wuddly nieces and nephews, whose chubby cheeks I love to pinch and whose tiny toes and fingers I love to bite. Oooooh, and those delicious little ears! I love talking to them and waking them from their deep, peaceful sleep, much to the annoyance of their parents.

I really don’t understand the fuss – babies do go back to sleep, when they are tired. (Or when I am tired). What is a pinch or two? Or a bite and lots of hugs and gomois that usually leave them breathless? It is all done in the name of love and affection of an aunt.

My own children to this day endure my pinch on their less chubby cheeks. They have grown into quite normal adults, none showing any signs of being mentally scarred by what I subjected them to. Don’t you think so too?

Come to think of it, my nieces and nephews have done rather well inspite of or perhaps because of the Mak Teh treatment. I treasure Eena and Wani’s company as we ventured out to KL – they are now my partners in crime. But I must say this, I still have a lot of apprehensions and fear being driven by Kak Di. I fear her little feet couldn’t reach the pedals. But hey! Zhafri – wa caya lu lah! You know, he has grown into quite a hemsem young man! But I wonder why he speaks into his pillows so much! Hish, budak2 muda ni! And I suspect Am and Oli who sat on my laps were just doing so to actually break my bones to get back at me!

But A, I have one heartbreaking story to tell you.

When it suited them, your parents, allowed you to sleep with me. I truly enjoyed changing your nappies and pinching your cheeks – well, both, in the process. But one weekend, I came back from college with mumps. And Olah (your maid), didn’t know any better and allowed you to sleep in my bed. That night, your mum, aided and abetted by your dad, sneeked in and took you away from my side. And I cried myself to sleep and promised that when I have my own children, no one will ever take them away from my side ever again.

Anyway, this trip, I was really delighted to see the youngest addition to the family, Sofea, but she has lost lots of the chubbiness but still delicious enough to be eaten alive. But I wonder what Pak Ajie and Kak Nisa have told her cos she has this defensive gestures whenever I went near her, even when she was asleep. They have even taken to sleeping with their arms protectively around her at night. In the day time, she walked around covering her cheeks when I was near.

Anyway, I was not alone in 'torturing' these little children, you know. Well, Tok doesn’t have Astro and we needed to amuse ourselves. So, we took turns. Don't be fooled by Pak Su's banker look, which hid a real sadist in him. We pretended to hit the mother and gleefully watched her cry. This we did several times. I even have them on video and you can watch on your return. Even Kak Nisa and Pak Ajie joined in with the worst mental torture a child have to endure. It went like this: "Sofea sayang sapa? Mama ke Papa?” If she said Mama, Pak Ajie pretended to cry. When she said Papa, Kak Nisa pretended to cry leaving her so traumatised and confused. And they say I am cruel! But we had such fun. We used to do that to you too.

But I have to confess to one other thing that I did and which to this day I am most shameful to talk about. I hope that when little Hilman grows up, he will find it in his generous heart to forgive me.

You know that Hilman is very much a fan of Siti Nurhaliza. Who isn’t? I happened to have a picture of Siti and me in London. I also happened to have a raya SMS from Dato Lat, which says “Selamat Hari Raya from the three of us: Siti Nurhaliza 0123456789
Mawi: 0198765432 dan yang terglamour, Lat and family (his number). So, overcome by a wicked thought, I told Hilman that I have Siti’s number (fake of course!) and he pestered me to phone Siti, for 4 year old Hilman wanted to propose to her – and warn off Dato K! So, I was in a real fix and had to rope in your dear sister in this sting. I gave her half an hour’s notice to practice being Siti . (Sorry, Siti – Kak Teh minta ampun!)

Much later and after more presterings from a love struck Hilman, I called ‘Siti’ (and this I have on video which will be shown during my confession when Hilman comes of age). Your dear sister, I must say, did pretty well and even agreed to his proposal, much to the surprise of your Bro in law sitting by her side. Hilman, to say the least was beaming! BUT trust your sister not to know any of Siti’s songs – so when he asked her to sing, Jeling Menjeling, she suggested lagu Balik Kampung instead!

Anyway, I sighed a sigh of relief when Hilman went to sleep with a smile on his face, still clutching the photo. I didnt have the heart to pinch him and disturb his dreams.

So, my dearest A, we missed you and to the rest of my nieces and nephews, I am sorry, Mak Teh

In Praise of the Kaftan

To friends and relatives who visited me during raya and found me not in any Raya clothes, please forgive me. I did buy some baju kurungs to get in the raya mood but trying them on in the air conditioned changing rooms just isn't the same as wearing them in the sweltering temperature of Mak's kitchen. So, whenever I had the chance, I’d slipped into those wonderful, cooling and comfortable batik kaftans, ignoring Mak’s repetitive (for she is so repetitive now) questions – “Laaaa, tak mandi lagi?”


What is it about kaftans that makes people think you have not had a bath or ready for bed? I sincerely believe that the Malaysian kaftans is so undervalued and under rated, but of course we are not talking about those mass produced ones. I have quite a few of those, with arm holes that allowed people to see more than the armpits...gross! For some mothers, they find it easy to breastfeed their babies thru the armholes– hahaha! (sorry)

Anyway, I am so delighted to discover some very beautiful new designs of the kaftans that really ought to be seen out in coffee bars or garden parties. So, of course, I bought a few and wore them everywhere. Such an easy concept. Just a big piece of cloth sewn on both sides and a hole for the neck. In fact, if you can get a few of your Mak’s old lacy selendangs, just sew on both sides and you get one fashionable one without having to pay hundreds of RM, for that is what they cost at the shops.

The good thing about kaftans is that they come in one size and can hide a multitude of sins. Of course the danger is that you tend to forget the bulges that you are hiding and become comfortable with that.

Anyway, back in cold gloomy London, I attended a fashion show at the Four Seasons Hotel two days ago and caught up with an old friend, a batik designer Khalid Shamsuddin. I am in awe of Khalid and his designs. Of course, Khalid’s designs and collections are not new in London. His designs made an appearance at this year’s London Fashion Week in the Eric Way Collection and also for Lewre’s shoes. He designed for Jendela Batik when they had a show at The Dorchester.

Khalid’s soft colours and unique designs were such a hit – and I set my eyes on one particular black number with a big butterfly in front. It looked so good on the model. And kidding myself that I’d look good in it too, I parted with whatever RM I had left in my purse and bought it.



Now I will have to wait for a warm summer evening and an invite!

PS I 've had loads of problem putting pictures here. Anyway, the above pictures are just some of Khalid's creations. The black and white kaftan with the big butterfly is now MINEEEEEEE!!

PPS - Thank you for all your comments - very,very interesting read. I have bought some Batik Kaftans for English friends and they were disgusted when I suggested that they wear them to sleep. Bergen, pls blog abt your aunt's business. Ummi, thanks..the softness? Must be my extra tyres. Thinktankgirl - u saw & heard?

I once threatened to wear a beautiful and colourful silk kaftan toa friend's BBQ but my children did a counter threat and refused to come along. One even said, Mama, if you stand in the middle of the road, motorists might mistake you as the traffic light!

For your info, Khalid is known as the Pareo Boy after introducing the Malaysian Pareos to Club Med. He also created the Baju Laut popular among tourists.

Raya with Mak

It was 1610 London time when MH4 landed at Heathrow yesterday. While waiting for the doors to open, memories of the last two carefree weeks came flooding back. Two weeks of being spoilt and dare I say- two weeks of being a spoilt brat – and enjoying it! So now its back to the harsh realities of being a mum, a wife and as I write this, at 0430 (jet lagged!) I have just under three hours to rest before my first assignment – a breakfast meeting with a Minister! And I can bet you, I will be dozing off by 5 pm and hopefully someone will wake me up for another assignment at 1930 at Four Seasons. No rest for the wicked.

The harsher reality is the weather PLUS the realisation that my coat is still not at the cleaners.

Will I sound irresponsible if I say I had really enjoyed my two weeks away from my husband and children? Throughout the time I was doing my studies, my Mak fell, injured her head, was ill several times. But I pushed aside all negative thoughts and soldiered on with my studies. I ignored blogs with entries on Mothers. I was in denial but I silently prayed that Allah gives me this chance to be with her during Hari Raya. When I prayed alongside with her the morning of Hari Raya, I thanked God, that I was back home on that special day with Mak. Alhamdulillah, I can say that the first part of the holiday, I was with her and my siblings all the time. When Abang came back from the Middle East, Mak couldn’t stop smiling. She was chirpy and active. All her children were with her in the house that Pak built for Mak and she watched us up to our mischiefs. We were her little children, arguing, bantering and teasing each other, and at other times, we were mothering her – telling her off for walking miles in her own home that she has left for the past six months or so, brushing this and sweeping that. We humoured her and played along when she talked about staying back in the house and not wanting to move back to KL. We conspired with other relatives against her and psyched her up for the trip back...and she played along too, knowing deep down, she has no choice anymore.

In a way, it is sad. She was THE strength for not just us her children, but also for all her siblings and other relatives. The house that Pak built used to be the centre for relatives to get together. The kitchen was always full of relatives sitting around eating and eating and talking about old times. We’d move from the kitchen to the hall and back and still had plenty to talk about. And Mak would feed all of us endlessly.

Now, she has been reduced to a nomad, moving from one child’s house to another, carrying her small bag of necessities. With all the love she has around her, she is frustrated that she is now incapable of doing things for herself, that she has to depend on other people.

Everyday while we were at the family home, she woke up with this smile on her face and padded to the front room to see her new table. Ajie had bought it for Raya. And Nisa bought a table runner that pleased her enormously. She didnt want a table cloth as she wanted to see the polished wood. The table first became her excuse to stay back. Then, one day before the trip back to KL, she feigned illness. We played along and later we overheard her chat with the neighbour – she admitted, she no longer has any say – she goes where ever we take her.

In the middle of the nights when we were there, she did her rounds in that big lounge that has become our communal bedroom. I was reduced to tears when she came over and covered me with the thin blanket that had slipped away. Once, I woke up to see her stroking Ajie’s hair forgetting that Ajie is already a father of five! Earlier, against all protestations, she slowly pulled a mattress and some blankets to one corner of the lounge. “Ni untuk Abang” she said, refering to the beddings. Yes, Abang has no one to care for him now that Kak Piah is gone and Mak knew that she needs to mother him again. In a way since Kak Piah’s passing, she has found it in her to be strong for Abang.

Last week we brought her back to KL and on day one, she was down. She didnt want to leave the house that Pak built for her and her orchids and her plants that she loves so much. So, we put plan 2 into action. Lilah brought over Ajie’s small children to be around her. Lilah did her chores walking past her every few minutes to show that there are people around her. I was, of course, out shopping and meeting friends. She’d ask after me, but she is also resigned to the fact that I need to be with a group of childhood friends whenever I am back. She knows that when I am with them, I would either come back at 3 am or not at all. She allows this irresponsible child in me and perhaps also realised it is too late to change me. Well, at my age I can’t be up to much mischief now, can I? Or, can I?

On the last night, I slept with her and watched her sleep. She is so small and frail but she still has so much love that has touched so many. She has given so much and expects so little in return.

So, last raya, the house that Pak built for Mak was full of fun and laughter again and that should keep Mak happy for a while. When I left yesterday, Mak at 88 was a picture of health. As she hugged and kissed me, she whispered “Jangan lupa Mak”.

The Captain’s announcement brought me back to reality and as I pushed my bag out, I called Taufiq’s mobile phone. My husband answered and said he was still at home. I was a little disappointed but we did agree to meet in Paddington instead of Heathrow. But once outside, I saw a familiar figure trying to hide behind a pillar! He was up to his old tricks again! And there was Taufiq trying to suppress his laughter seeing his father acting like a teenager!

Aaaah, we do need to let the child in us out once in a while and I certainly did during my 2 weeks home with Mak. Now, I am ready to be a Mak again. And hopefully a better one!

The list

If, like me, you are planning to travel, please go to Mr Hobo. The tips he gives, from things to pack to travelling companions and holiday romances are not just informative but also a wonderful read. So, these last few days I have been visiting Mr Hobo, before I do my own packing.

Well, I have sort of thrown all sorts of things into the bag and I know there will be packing and repacking to do. I have ironed most things and by most things I mean tudungs that I bought during the last few visits but never wore them because I stick to the old comfortable safe colours that I have, a few kebayas and baju johore that have never been worn, for the same reason, and I think rather than clutter my cupboard, someone out there can make good use of them.

But, seriously, there are several things that’s a must to bring home:

1. fridge magnets – these are so, so popular. There are new ones with paddington bear leaning on the london phone booth, the london eye, the front of the black cab – all quite nice and light to carry. And of course, everytime the recipients go to their fridge, they will be reminded of me, kan?
2. scarves from Tie Rack, must be careful to choose only those with flowers and simple patterns, and tak licin.
3. chocolates and more chocolates from Woolworth and some yummy ones from Marks & Sparks.
4. shortbread from the shop at Heathrow. Now this is seriously NOT a place to do last minute shopping. Things that you think you don’t need, you will always end up buying here – at double the cost! And I am always doing this.
5. And whatever I buy, I must be very,very careful that these are products with lables that says “Made in England”. Hmmmmmmmm!

There’s a big possibility that I might end up wearing my yesteryear’s baju kurung for raya as I have timed my homecoming a little bit too late, unless of course I make a beeline from KLIA to the nearest shopping centre on arrival. Otherwise, Mak’s baju Kedah will do just fine.

Sharing clothes with siblings is a culture in our household. The minute my luggage hits the floor, the rummaging starts. Everything will be booked in advance. I will have my opportunity times four as I go through their wardrobes and pick and choose what I want. It is not unusual for me to offload the contents of my handbag into a carrier bag at the airport as a barter trade for perhaps a favourite tudung, a new kebaya or anything at all.
It is almost a ritual.

Things I must NEVER forget:
1. camera, video camera – I never travel without these and the filming or the snapping of pictures will begin at Heathrow – the goodbyes, the tears, the hugs and then again on arrival. Most of my trips home can be made into a home movie – if I have the time to edit lah! and then bore my visitors to death.
2. chargers!!!! very, very important – especially for my handphone. Aaaah, this reminds me. The last trip home, we were all at my mother's house in Alor Star. Every available point was used to recharge handphones in all manner of shapes and sizes! And when the phones rang – the house was like a music box with all manner of tunes and ringtones.
3. my own recharger – gyngko, vitamin C, evening primrose oil, and many more if AG has his ways.
4. recent pictures of the children- aaaaaah! I’d show everyone and anyone their pictures and look and look at them and this time is going to be especially sad – I wont get to see them dressed in their Hari raya finest!
5. books to read during the flight. I have yet to finish Small Island but I am sure that I will not be able to resist another book or magazine at WH Smith at Heathrow.
6. A bottle of Evian – a big bottle
7. sweets to chew especially while taking off and landing. I tend to get headsplitting headaches during these times.

What I want to include in the suitcase but I cant:
My AG – I will miss him, and we’ve had only a few days together since he came back. But such is life – we cant have everything – we choose to be the way we are – my absence means he is able to cover for me and in his absence I look after the shop.
The sayang mamas – its been a long time since we had a family holiday. One day, one day my sayang mama we will go back to Malaysia together.
The other sayang mamas – Jasper, Kissinger, Moaner, Snowbell, Gizmo and Tabby. Their presence in our lives has meant that we are quite reluctant to go away and leave them. They are so much a part of our life.

And you know what? When my tears are dry, I usually look forward to the meals served on board. I know I am strange – but its...er different. And yes, those inflight entertainments too.

Well, during the last two flights home, I was given quite a pleasant surprise. I was woken up after the meal by a flight attendant who said : Puan, why didnt you tell us you are on board? The captain wants you upgraded.”

I rubbed my eyes and thought I was dreaming. What? Me, in business class? But they assured me that they have got the right name and that they’d be thrown off the plane if they couldnt get me up there. So, who was I to complain, eh?

All things nice and wonderful

Been terribly, terribly busy, which is quite unusual for this time of the year. Usually things quietened down a bit and by Christmas and over the New year – its dead!

My first raya card

Anyway, I had several wonderful surprises, not least my first hari raya card! Its addressed simply to Kak Teh and it came all the way from Australia, through my letter box and on to the doormat! Thanks, fellow blogger! Its a wonderful surprise! And thank you too for those who also sent online cards to Kak Teh. This is surely a sign that I have been over doing it with blogging! Am getting more cards from fellow bloggers than my usual friends!

Also, my AG came back with a boxful of goodies! These survived the customs, but not sure whether they will see Hari Raya!
Jam tarts in all sorts of sizes and shapes – the one that crumbles in your hands and melts in the mouth – well, that one nearly gone. Kueh sugee, kueh bakar, even lempuk! The box was, surprise, surprise, opened when he got to it! The customs have been busy – well over the raya period, they must check in case anyone tries to smuggle any rendang.

The last time I came back from Malaysia with, among other things, four beautifully packed ikan bilis. When I heard the announcement on the plane that we are not allowed to bring food in, I panicked. Then I read that its only fish, meat, honey and cheese. Lega! So, I went to the ladies, and threw away the ikan bilissssssssssss!!! Sayannnnnnggnya!

Some friends of mine had been less fortunate. One had to sign a form saying that if he is ever caught again with rendangs and ikan bilis and ikan kering, he’ll be fined.

The children got their baju rayas! And this year, they will be quite happy not having to wear my old kebayas. And they are beautiful!! Taufiq has a brand new baju melayu – black – with a very beautiful sampin. He wore it and I almost cried because I wont get to see him wear it on raya morning.

Anyway, just a brief update – am off to cari sesuap nasi!

Al Fatehah kepada Kak Endon

Datin Seri Paduka Endon Mahmood, beloved wife of our Prime Minister, or more popularly known as Kak Endon, left us this morning, at 7.55 Malaysian time in this holy month of Ramadan. Al Fatehah dan semoga Allah tempatkan rohnya di samping orang-orang yang beriman. And our thoughts are with you Pak Lah, during this very difficult time.

I have only met Kak Endon once during the launch of Jendela Batik fashion at the Dorchester in London last year. I felt very, very honoured when told that she had requested my presence there. The numerous times that I have covered our Prime Minister's visit to London, Kak Endon, for obvious reasons had not been able to be present. And for that reason, I have never had the chance to know her the way I did Tun Dr Siti Hasmah. Yet, I felt a bond with her, not only because she is our prime minister's wife, but also because of her passion for the kebaya nyonya. In my own small way, I too love the kebaya and hope that it will never be out of fashion. And when Kak Endon celebrated the kebaya, she revived a part of our cultural heritage. She will forever be remembered for this.

The Big C has taken her away. And I feel a loss. The country has lost its First Lady, our beloved Pak Lah has lost his wife.

Al Fatehah

Beautiful tributes to a beautiful lady/mother/wife/kakak can be found here:
Bergen
Anim
Lydia Teh
Nazrah
Ordinary Superhero
Maya

5xmom

Nohachomel


This is one picture I will treasure forever.

Tales from the Surau

There’s trouble brewing in Taufiq’s surau. The latest I heard is a conspiracy to topple the imam. Yes, it is that bad. ( I love this chit chat with Taufiq after sahur and while waiting for subuh. It reminds me of his constant whispers into his Dadddy’s ears, telling stories while Daddy drives. Always something interesting and always something funny.)

During Ramadan, his school has provided a room for prayers. That is all good and fine. But it transpires that a week into Ramadan, there were many different schools of thoughts with many different interpretations and beliefs that I fear will lead to a mutiny in the surau today. Taufiq, always, always in his quiet diplomatic way, is determined to nip the problem before anything happens. He found a compass and is hoping that that will solve the problem once and for all.

If not for the seriousness of the matter, I would have been rolling on the floor laughing. You see, for the past few days, two groups in the congregation of what must have been less than 10, were praying in two different directions, each claiming that theirs is the correct one facing Mecca.

While Taufiq stuck to one direction, it must have been quite disconcerting, to say the least, to see that others who came in later, started praying in another direction. And even the teachers were powerless to do anything about this dispute. Taufiq’s compass will hopefully show the right direction, Insyaallah!

Anyway, these tales from Taufiq’s surau has taken a new dimension, but by no means as political as those we read or hear about from home.

When Taufiq started fasting at the age of seven, I was approached by his headmaster who told me that he was too young to fast. I told him that he was merely practicing and it was up to him to break his fast when he felt hungry. The headmaster proceeded to tell me that some parents had told him that other Muslim children only started fasting at the age of 13. Well, I kept quiet because we were taught differently and well aware of the many different Muslim communities in the school, I thought it best to keep quiet. But I did impress upon the headmaster that hunger aside, it is a practice for self discipline, management of anger, and also appreciation of what God has given us. The following year, the same headmaster provided a classroom for Taufiq and friends who were fasting so that they could spend the break there doing school work or pray while other non Muslim school friends had their school dinners. I really appreciated that and told him so. In fact, he invited a parent a week to give a talk to the children or simply to read the Quran with them. That was wonderful.

But it was not always that a parent could find time to be with them and that was when trouble would start. Once, for instance, there was a dispute as to how many rakaats to do for zuhur. And mind you, these were children around seven and eight. But Taufiq was unhappy but he continued to do what he was taught by us at home. He merely came back and grumbled. “Aah, just because Adam (a boy of nine) is from ......., he thinks only he can be the imam!!" On another day, another younger boy wanted to be the imam and trouble would start – hmm! doesn't this sound so familiar about what is happening in the adult world!

Anyway, one day, the headmaster happened to be passing by the classroom when he saw them praying – imamless and each doing their own prayers.

With all the best intentions in the world, he cried “ Stop! Stop! Stop! You are all not doing it at the same time. Stop and pray again, together!”

He thought, like a PE drill, you can just stop in the middle of a prayer and start again, like synchronise dancing! But at least, I thank him for he tried to understand and I think by now, he is coping even better.

In my own surau at the uni, things are not much different either. Coming from Malaysia, when we are used to seeing everyone in white telekungs, doing everything exactly as we were taught since the age of six, it was quite a surprise for me to see the different kinds of practices in that one small surau. We accept the fact that there are people who pray a little bit differently from us...but not THIS different. And as I tell this story, I pray to Allah to accept my prayers. I was somewhat distracted when I saw the lady beside me praying with her long flowing hair exposed right to her hips. And like Delta Dawn, she even had flowers in her hair.

Anyway, we will hear the outcome of Taufiq’s surau dispute today. And hopefully it'll be bloodless.

Baju raya revisited

“Aiyaaaaaah! dok diam-diamlah”, said Ah Gek as I fidgeted in front of the mirror in her kitchen. I looked forlornly at the reflection in the mirror and back to the hourglass figure, Audrey Hepburn look alike in one of Ah Gek’s well thumbed fashion magazines. I had wanted THAT look but forgot that while Ah Gek could be magical with her creations, she stopped short of performing miracles. At the age of 12 or 13, my puppy fat, especially around the waist, meant that pencil lined skirts with slits at the back, and the famous Audrey Hepburn collar would not sit well on my chubby figure.

But year after year, it had been Ah Gek, our neighbour and seamstress who made our Hari Raya clothes. One year, it was a full flare skirt with those petticoats that
made you look like you had an umbrella fully opened underneath, then it was a simple cut polka – dotted number with a big ribbon either in front or at the back – anything, anything at all that was fashionable in Hollywood, and Ah Gek, in the small town of Yan, would humour us and kit us out in her creations for our Raya. If at all, she was amused by our choice of patterns, she was wise enough not to show it. She hid her smile, as she gritted the tacking pins in between her lips and adjusted pleats and darts on our choice of patterns on our ample bodies.

Yes, it must be about this time of Ramadan that the rush for making Hari Raya clothes starts. Why we do not make Hari Raya clothes before Ramadan, God knows....well, I supposed it wouldn’t be Hari raya clothes then, would it?

Sitting in my front room, watching the autumn leaves fall, leaving patterns on the pavement, memories flitted back and forth to how Ramadan used to be like for us children back in Malaysia. My own children now, don’t care much about Hari Raya clothes. Year after year, the girls wear my old kebayas. The boys will have their Baju Melayu from yesteryears if those still fit. If not, yes, we will get new ones from home. It is not such a big deal. Afterall, most of the time these clothes will be hidden under thick coats and jumpers. One wintry Raya, I saw young Malay girls, my children included, dressed in their best lacey kebayas, but all hidden underneath anoraks and woollen jackets, complete with trainers, shivering under the tents at the open house of the Malaysian High Commisisoner.

Once we took the children back for Hari Raya in Malaysia after 17 years here. And gosh, I had forgotten what it was like joining in the mad shopping rush two or three days before raya. But all they said was, “Oh, can I have those shorts and trainers?” Whaaat? whaaat? whaaat? Shorts and trainers for raya?

Anyway, when we were small, Pak would give us a treat, hire a car and take us all to Penang. Waaah, shopping in Penang for Hari Raya clothes was really something. By the time we reached Penang, we’d be half dead with exhaustion and hunger but for the promise of some new clothes, we’d soldier on going from one crowded shop to another, all with that familiar smell of moth balls. Once, and I supposed at that time Mak couldn’t fast or something, we went to Daud Restaurant. During Ramadan, these restaurants usually had curtains and sectioned off areas for Muslims who had “travelled more than 60 miles to do their shopping” in Penang.

We’d come back from Penang with bales and bales of materials, some for baju kurung that Mak would make herself and some for Ah Gek, who’d make us our western clothes, reserved for second of third hari raya. Baju kurung was for early in the morning to go to prayers and kubur. But even if Mak bought us these materials early, our baju kurung were the last to be ready because she made baju kurungs for raya for people in the neighbourhood. So, ours would be the ones without the tulang belut, or hastily hemmed up sarungs. But we stressed on mak that we did not want materials for the baju kurung from the same bale of material!!! Hmmm macam boria!

Sometimes, we’d just go to Alor Setar to get our materials, either from Pekan Rabu or Sin Sin or Lorong Sempit, thus called because it was so narrow you’d actually be doing dirty dancing to get from one place to another. This was where Mak would excercise her skills in haggling.

Mak: Berapa satu ela??? Alaaah, kedai Pak Mat tu lagi murah! (she’say as she pretended to walk away.)
Pekedai: Aaah, mak cik makcik,, tak pa.tak pa...wah rugi macam ni ..tapi tak paa...
Mak: ha..macam tu lah...tak boleh kurang lagi ka?

You see this all the time.

One year. Lipah and her sister from next door had this beautiful pleated skirt – one you didnt have to iron to keep the pleats in place. And I was so envious cos I wanted one too and then Kak came back from Johore, I think and had bought us one each. I tell you, we had a beautiful raya sashaying up and down Jalan Tunku Mahmood in the pleated skirts that didn't need ironing.

When we moved to Alor Setar, we found another seamstress that would make our catsuits, au dai (sp) (the Vietnamese outfit) and kebayas. Aaah, the day I could fit into a kebaya, I wore nothing else!

Yesterday, I had to sms my sister in law to get Taufiq and Hafiz some new baju Melayus. They grow up so fast. The girls might want some new kebayas as they have out grown mine. (I had outgrown mine a loooong time ago!) So, I will join the mad rush along Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman when I go back. Oh, how I look forward to that!

A Small Malay Kampung by the A40

Taufiq didn’t really buy my story when I told him that I didn’t eat much ketam sambal at Holiday Villa. So, yesterday, he decided to go out on a crab hunt. He enlisted the help of his friend Sufian, and targetted Oriental supermarkets nearby which might have frozen crabs. Ita, Sufian’s mum phoned to say, yes, Chris – Ipoh mali - and owner of a supermarket nearby, do sell crabs but a pound more expensive than others. She even offered to make me crab masak lemak with nenas, to which I immediately agreed.

You see, this little town of ours has a small community of Malays from Singapore and Malaysia and exchanging food and enlisting help from one another are not uncommon. It is like a little Malay community. It used to be bigger. Ita, who used to live down the road from us, just moved away last year when her husband changed jobs, but not too far away...just down the A40, cross the road and she’s tucked somewhere behind a leafy neighbourhood that reminds me of Petaling Jaya.

Ita used to be a few doors away, and just across the road from her was another Malaysian family, but they have gone back to Malaysia. A few streets away, just by the A40 is Swan – her parents came here in the 60’s and she has been here ever since. Across the road from her, is the family we have adopted – the one from Singapore, who used to look after our children – kakak and abang. They were the reason we moved here. Quite near the tube station, another family. They too sent their children there on our recommendation. There you go..a ready made Malay kampung!

It was good when Ita was around. It meant that when she made Laksa Kedah, there’d be a generous bowl for me. And of course, we deposit Taufiq at her place when we couldn’t come back in time and she’d do the same too. In fact, throughout her pregnancy, which was quite frequent, when she couldn’t cook, I’d do a take away service and leave them for her children. When we were short of belacan or asam keping, Ita’s was the place to go, cos she has loads of supply from home. She is never short of ikan kering and she’d gladly trade this for my mee goreng mamak.

Oh, just behind our place, is Man and Syikin and daughter Aliya from Singapore. They too moved here because they shared our kakak for a while and then had Ita to look after Aliya for a while too. It is really good having Man and Syikin nearby and now they are moving away because as Aliya is growing up, her educational needs become their priority. They will be moving to a place closer to a nursery which is quite cheap but good and nearer to their work place. Man helps me out with my editing once or twice.

So, yesterday, with the crabs that Taufiq and Sufian bought, I decided on a repeat performance of crab sambal and invited Man, Syikin and Aliya over. They came with some roti jala and kari ayam and we all sat on the floor Malay kampung style and ate with our fingers tanpa segan silu lagi!

It’ll be sad to see them leave the neighbourhood, but we know we’d still meet and visit each other. Their’s is one of a few houses that we visit. I will miss seeing Aliya outside my house playing with the cats. She always insisted that they stop by on their way home so that she could pat the cats. Its a nice small community - we don't live in each other's pockets - there'd be months of not seeing each other, but we know we'd be there for each other when the need arises.

The other family I used to visit is the one next to Ita’s. A loving closeknit family. I used to meet the husband on the number seven bus home late at night. He after his cake making classes and me, after my – whatever work I was doing. It was a few Ramadans ago, that I used to frequent their place – they wanted me to prepare their children for Malay language exams for when they return.

They were such a loving couple – not young, but it was always a pleasure watching them walking down the road to do their shopping, hand in hand, all the time. And just when they thought they were done with having children, the eldest being in his twenties, she got pregnant and they were so over the moon with the arrival of the little one. But, it wasn't long that she learnt she had the Big C...but still they walked hand in hand down the road to do their shopping together.

Two weeks ago, I received an SMS from a friend. She’s gone. The Big C had taken her away from her loving family and the little baby will grow up not having his loving mother by his side. I don’t know whether he will remember her. I hope he does for I can still see the glow on her face as she held her baby close to her.

Now, walking down the road, in my mind’s eyes I still see them walking hand in hand, pulling their shopping trolley up The Fairway. Al Fatihah.

The Great Crab Rush

WARNING: This entry contains materials which are detrimental to your state of mind especially when you are fasting. Read at your own risk and wipe keyboard soon after. I am not responsible for anyone breaking their fast.

They came from near and far. They braved the evening rush and heavy traffic to get to west London. SMS’es were zooming in all directions. Word travelled fast that crab sambal was on the menu at Holiday Villa.

I was doing some work when I had a call from atok and I casually mentioned that we should meet up forberbuka . He was iffy about today and I suggested we meet up on a day Holiday Villa serves ketam – sambal ketam, ketam kari masak lemak, anything as long as it has eight (or is it ten) legs. Atok has a direct line to the hotel’s kitchen and by the time he had the confirmation, I was doing some work in a studio in Soho. A very brief sms – “crab sambal today – meet at holiday villa”. Such was the urgency of the message that I had to act fast. I put on a very serious voice to phone the children to eat by themselves. I had cooked earlier and that somehow lessened the guilt. I even invited Taufiq, another ketam lover, over – but he declined. I even phoned ewok .

Urgent and important matters like this need fast and efficient execution. I too have a direct line to the manager and phoned him immediately. Apparently, more people got wind of the unfortunate delicious crabs still simmering in the sambal on the stove, but they had already made reservations...that sort of reduced my portion somewhat. So I booked a table for five...so did atok – such was the enthusiasm.

By 6.30, the restaurant of Holiday Villa was already packed and the queue to the buffet bar was already long. The rush was about to begin. Luckily I had ordered my Nescafe tarek before going to do my asar. The restaurant was unusually full – there’s a table booked by staff from the High Commission, the Tourism director and deputy and families were there, an old, old friend, Millie Danker from those good old days at the NST was also there with some friends of hers.

It was quite an occasion – and everyone had heard about the crab sambal and everyone forgot their table manners and ate crabs as they should be eaten – with fingers and mess all over the table.

Atok and family were still no where to be seen – apparently they were stuck on the A40, “terrible jam”, came the sms, “an accident at Slough!” Hmmm and the crab was fast going leaving legs and claws under the precious sambal. Chef Syawal kept some crab claws for Atok. Millie begged Syawal for some – “claws pun jadilah...anak saya nak datang!” – she pleaded. And she got her claws and one happy daughter.


When Atok and Hazel, kakak and adik arrived, all the way from Oxford, they were happy to see the claws, which kakak promptly demolished. I played nanny and extracted crab meat from every possible hidden parts of the crab for kakak.

Actually I wouldn’t do justice if I didnt mention the other dishes that Holiday Villa served last night. There was kepah goreng sambal, which was just as yummy. Nasi minyak bercolour-colour, beehoon goreng, ayam goreng berempah, kari terung dengan labu, brocolli goreng dengan bawang putih and all the kerabus and ulams. The starter was soup ekor tom yam style. All these to wash down with air serbat and then good old fashion Malay kuehs. Throughout Ramadan, Holiday Villa offers these and many more - a different menu everyday! There's mee mamak on Thursday - by the way!


Well, I did phone the children a few times to see that they were all right. Such a responsible mum, I was and I told Taufiq – "You didn’t miss much – the crab wasn’t as good", I said. "Mama pun tak makan banyak". White lies are sometimes necessary!

Definitely Done!

There’s definitely a spring in my steps now and I feel a lot lighter, with less load to carry on my back. Yes, it's over. A Definite full stop. Pressed print, rushed to binders and then off to faculty office, elbowing freshers along the way and submitted the big D that has been Dominating, Derailing, Destabilising my life for the past two years.

But I have to be honest, it has Definitely been two very valuable years. Had I not made that firm decision to sign up and go back to university, two years would have passed me by without me having anything to show for it. At least now, I can attribute the greying hair to too much thinking and studying.

It wasn’t an easy decision. I did it when my friends were becoming mothers in law, grandmothers and some have even left us because of the big C. Time is so precious. But it wasn’t midlife crisis, I must admit, cos I have more than enough on my plates to worry about that. But I supposed it has something to do with being away for too long – I wanted to go back to my roots and learn more about Malay literature and to be exact, traditional Malay literature. It has to do with envy too. There’s a handful of people I know, non Malaysians who are experts in this area and I thought, even if I can't be at par with them, having started at such a late stage in my life, I would at least benefit from learning from them. And indeed I have.

So, now that is over, I need to thank a few people.

Thank you AG for being so enthusiastic and supportive throughout. Never, never have you questioned about the food or lack of food on the table. What mother/wife spends so much time away from home then at home, eh? But look at it this way, your culinary skills have improved – love those chicken kiev and nasi ayam! And really appreciate those exchanging of ideas. I remember the nerves going for the first exam in, er.. how many years? You said your prayers, and sent me off on my way. And just minutes before entering the hall, again, some encouraging words! When I couldn't start my dissertation, your sms really helped. You said: Treat is as your blog! ' Thanks, it worked!

And to all my sayang mamas!!! ...hey, surely you’re proud of your mum going back to school, eh? Carrying rucksack and mulling over essays, just like you! I must apologise, especially these last few months, with daddy away and all that, you’ve had to survive with just take aways, greasy yet yummy spicy chicken wings from chicken cottage or pizzas. And lately it has been fajitas for lunch, fajitas for tea and fajitas for dinner! Sorry, will make up for it. But I must say, Batman’s culinary skills have improved too...he can make nasi goreng and curry kambing now! Once I came back from uni to find a note – “Mama, fajitas in oven, salad in fridge. Am at the green, playing football.”

And R – really appreciate the massage and back rub, especially after days of carrying the rucksack back and forth during the last few frenzied days.

There are many people who gave me that push into the world of academia. Thank you Dr UK for being so supportive and helpful, Dr ATG – I know you are reading this, I can never thank you enough – you have my love, my friendship forever and thank you for introducing me to Dayang Dang Sarat who filled my nights and days. And Dr VB, what can I say? I will always be in awe of the knowledge that you possess and will always treasure those moments of discussions about the concept of beauty, about the theory of classical Malay literature and many more. And Dr RH – thank you for being a friend and for that opportunity to present my paper in Paris.

Thank you Winstedt, Wilkinson, Amin Sweeny, Muhammad Hj Salleh, Skeats .. aah, so many!

There’s always someone at the end of the line when I felt I was about to give up. Although so far away in Aberdeen, and also in the final throes of her thesis, she’d always give me her time and soothe me with her words of wisdom. Thanks Maz.

During the first year, I was easily the oldest in class – I looked around me and saw young, fresh faces and felt so intimidated. They were as old or as young as my children, but how they accepted me...we enjoyed discussions and outings and until now, we are still in touch. The second year, there were two older ones – but so so so experienced and so knowledgeable.

Then there’s the surau members. During the first year, there was a group of Malaysians – Dr Jat from USM, Raihana from UM, Aida, who was doing her studies in school of tropical hygiene, and Yan from Thailand and a few others from UCL or Kings or LSE who’d come and use our surau. It was nice having their friendship and support. And being the Mak Cik , I would always bring nasi lemak or mee goreng to share! So, you can imagine how popular I was with the young ones longing for some home cooked food!

Now, to number 7! Although you are irregular, your drivers are sometimes rude and some days, you’d just ignore this mak cik standing in the cold by the roadside, I must acknowledge your contribution in my endeavour to better myself. Apart from making me a better sprinter (chasing after your bus), I really treasure those quiet moments transliterating my syair as you can see here here . Thank you.

And to all my blogger friends, thank you for humouring me and thank you for the words of support! To all my other friends out there, sorry to be such a pain and such a kill joy for not wanting to join in BBQ, makan-makan, theatres, karaoke etc. But now with big D out of the way, ...he he - you know my number! Am all yours!

PS Anyone thinking of studying at this late stage in life - go for it! It is like a new lease of life! (Better than botox or Viagra!)

What's for sahur?

Only a sip of coffee , that’s all that I had before the start of this Ramadan. There was no time to cook or heat up the chicken korma and kambing kicap that I brought home from Mawar last night. Taufiq had it cold, straight from the take away containers.

Usually every morning , without fail, Tabby would wake me up for subuh. (Tabby’s body alarm is set for 4.30 am!) but I think the sleepless nights in my attempt to complete the Big D finally took its toll last night or rather this morning and I slept right through Tabby’s gnawing and the phone alarm, waking up with a startle with only a few minutes for Isya.

My attempts to wake the others failed. Only Taufiq and the cats woke up. In the absence of hubby, I had to make the rounds – first to Nona’s room to see if there’s any sign of life under the duvet- heard a groan, and no – no sahur for her. Hafiz and Rehana never woke up for sahur.

Hubby is almost like my late father in his Ramadan routine – while Mak heated up the food for sahur, he’d make the rounds to wake us up. Pak had a simple technique. He’d call out our name non stop and even if you pulled the blankets around your ears, it still wouldn’t help, because the monotony of his voice would still get to you.

If Pak failed, then God help you if Abang came to the room cos he was from the school of Gestapo ‘Techniques of Waking People Up for Sahur' Division. He’d come to the room armed with several of his self concocted torture devices. If you’re one who slept with mouth wide open, his drip-drip-drip of belacan juice or salt water will have an instant effect – guaranteed to make you rush to the bathroom to have a gargle and return to the dinning table, wide eyed and alert. But, I was usually subjected to this slow but just as effective treatment which took quite a while to sip in. I’d be in lala land dreaming of whatever, when suddenly in my dreams, I could taste. I have observed him at work before. His victim would usually smack his/her lips at the first taste the belacan or salt water, smacked the lips a few more times, grimaced and went back to sleep. This meant, he'd have to increase the dosage, until the victim had enough salt water in him/her that he/she actually thoughthat he/she was drowing in the sea and taking gulps of salt water!

Anyway, if all the above failed, he had another harmless one...one that you would only realise on waking up the next day, greeted with roars of laughter! I had woken up to face the world with a moustache not unlike the villains of Tamil movies, complete with tendrils and twirls at both ends. How I slept right through his artistic experiment, I don’t know.

This morning, I realised how much I missed my AG who at this moment had just finished his lunch (He sms to tell me so). He was usually the first to wake up and heat up the food and then make the rounds to wake the children up, pulling the duvets off them. He’d bring Nona’s bowl of cornflakes and a glass of milk to her room for Nona had room service, you see, unlike us. She usually placed her orders the night before. But with Mama, she’s not getting that kind of special treatment!

When I was younger and lighter, he’d carry me to the bathroom, prop me up against the door and splash cold water on my face. Alas, now the weight has more than doubled and he’d need a horse to drag me up.

It’s just one hour into fasting and methinks, bubur lambuk will be just great for buka puasa!

SELAMAT BERPUASA EVERYONE!

TO all Mak Cik Bloggers

UPDATE: For a side-splitting, feet thumping review of MAK CIK BLOGGERS - THE MOVIE (WE WILL, WE WILL BLOG YOU!) REVIEW BY ADIEJIN PRODUCTIONS, PLS, I BEG YOU, GO TO AdieJin

and also dont forget to read Mak Andeh

I garantee you, lauk di dapur mesti hangit, anak akan kelaparan - and we are still auditioning for walk on parts!

....now please read on!

When I entered the world of blogging, I was apprehensive about it. In spite of the three easy steps it said on how to start a blog, I was making all sorts of silly mistakes. I was also apprehensive about the reaction....what if no one reads me, what if I syiok sendiri..hehe. Anyway, I had long been a silent reader and by then, I had acquired a list of bloggers whose nicks are so familiar – Pok Ku, Pak Adib, Mok Cik Nab, Atok – its like having a ready made family online. And once you are welcomed by Pok Ku...hey, that is like being introduced by Ed Sullivan of the Bloggers’ World lah..ya dok, Pok Ku?

Anyway, like I said, I am pleased that I can now put pictures without messing up the page, help maknenek to put up banners. Was touched that bloggers were giving me their passwords to put up banners and links for them...hahaha – (sorry, I just remembered some unmentionable usernames..hehehe, sorry, again!) And I suppose, the other biggest achievement was the Sentraal Station, thanks to another Mak Cik Blogger, AuntyN who came up with the idea!


Alhamdulillah, its been a really good and positive network and if not for the camaraderie here, I would have packed up my ladders and gone elsewhere! Its been, to say the least, the most humbling experience reading some blogs – to read that some people have gone through what you only have in your nightmares. And you give each other support – if there’s nothing nice to say – walk away.


And there are very informative ones too - ones you only get with age and experience (When you get to our age, this is how you start marketing yourself!)

Have learnt a lot from Mak Cik Sharon, laughed with Mak cik Lilian (5xMom) and really enjoy Mak Cik Lydia's friendship...Of course those I mentioned here are all sewaktu dengan Kak Teh lah! Or, I suspect, younger!

I am still in awe reading the achievements of young bloggers here. You go reading their meme'd account and your jaws dropped. But I have made friends with many young ones who have generously shared with me their knowledge. Thanks ijun, nana and many more.

Now back to Mak Cik Bloggers. Am sorry I caused a stir last Sunday morning. But its true. We Mak Cik Bloggers, blur and gomen and those who rawk and the one by the pantai, yang pencen, and those like me still carrying rucksacks back to school – we are all ageless in this cyber world and will remain so ( until we meet up and examine and compare wrinkles!)

We have learnt so much from each other, lent each other cyber shoulder pads to cry on and laughed at many a joke..that helped us make our day livelier! And we are into
PO - sitive blogging *wink*

Let me share you this story. Two weeks ago, on a Saturday morning, I was pulling my bag full of books to the library when I saw two Malaysian girls taking photographs in front of the university. I stopped to say salam and introduced myself as I am wont to do when meeting fellow Malaysians. The moment I mentioned my name, one of them screamed, “Kak Tehhhhh” and had my fifteen minutes of fame, while they took photographs of me bleary eyed and all, from all angles and in all manner of posing! Thanks, E and M, you made my day! Tersengeh sepanjang hari!

And not only that my dear Mak Ciks...they read you too and I believe I am bringing back a little something for you from your fans in Edinburgh!

Hmm, am not supposed to blog today..so I will end here and say :

MAK CIK BLOGGERS BOLEH!!!!!

Anak Melayu di Kota Inggeris

It was a funny kind of evening – not funny haha, but just funny strange. The gentleman who was my companion for the evening was polishing off his nasi lemak and downing his second glass of teh tarek, while I looked on in amazement at how Malay or much more Malay he is than me, in terms of the generous dollops of sambal that he had on his plate. He has not had nasi lemak for a long time, he said, in perfect Malay. The only Indonesian restaurant in Shizuoka, Japan, serves almost everything but nasi lemak.

We discussed my syair and I was very impressed with his input. He did Sejarah Melayu and there were some common grounds there.

In the background, Art Fazil was singing “Anak
Melayu di Kota Inggeris” and whenever he does this, I find it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Thus my plate of rice and mild korma was only half eaten. I must have listened to Art’s wonderful lyrics and composition hundreds of times but it never failed to encapsulate how I feel about being in this Kota Inggeris.

I find myself humming this chorus all the time (that is when I am not singing Alleycats, lah!)

“Pasu bunga berbaris-baris,

disusun oleh si anak manis,

Aku Melayu di Kota Inggeris,

rindukan petai dan sambal tumis!

Anyway, back to my gentleman friend from Japan, who shall remain a Dr T in this entry – is very interested in the Malay community in London – being an anthropologist and all that. And when he emailed me from Japan before his trip, I made arrangements for him to meet up with some people and finally, after his busy schedule, we met up at Mawar – a more Malay surrounding you will not find, I tell you. Its nasi goreng kampong is to die for and the teh tarek, as Dr T will testify is just out of this world and on Saturday nights when Art is singing, you will not want to be anywhere else.

Dr T wanted to know how we adapt to life in this Kota Inggeris, the kind of activities we do etc, etc. And who better than Art Fazil, who recently organised the first London Malay Festival, bringing together Malays from Cape Town, Sri Lanka, the Philipines, Singapore, Malaysia, Brunei, Indonesia, Madagascar, Thailand. Dr T should have been around then cos, it was quite an event.

In spite of the fact that they had very little time to organise the festival, Art and co (Ishak and Mimah and daughters and others) did not do too badly. I did my bit by introducing Cik Mat Belanda and his puppets, which were a hit as Cik Mat is our modern day Penglipur Lara who told stories, using his puppets. Cik Mat came all the way from Rotterdam to entertain us on that day – he even demonstrated several ways to make ketupat nasi. I have known Cik Mat for a long time. My trips to Holland will not be complete without a visit to his house for his delicious asam pedas ikan semilang. I marvel at his dedication... he is a sort of cultural ambassador there – organising cultural shows and introducing Malaysia.

Anyway, there was a fashion show with models from the Malay world, parading in Malay costumes, silat, dances and many more.

Truly enjoyed that. There was a talk on Malayness and the Malay world by Prof EU Kratz from SOAS. And food, needless to say from Mawar..the festival would not have seen light of day without the final push from Faizal Philip, Mawar's owner! Hat's off to him!

ketupat

Anyway, I digress...(but this is the beauty of blogging, I can digress whenever I like, its my blog. And i can even have typeos....see what I mean?)

Dr T’s interest made me think. People like us, who have been away for a long time, have now become objects of research. Hey, wasn’t I the one who used to do the research and now I am the subject of research? Art Fazil did mention that by 2012, he’d like to see a Malay museum set up in London. Suddenly, I see this horrible image of myself all crumpled up and wrinkled in one of the showrooms!

Reckless moments, desperate measures

I read this tragic news in the Malaysian papers and felt quite ill and sad. It is the one about the teenage boy who was said to have stabbed his pregnant teenage girlfriend. Its a nightmare for every parent. And I thought long and hard before writing this one. Afterall , I am a parent too.

For the rest of my life I will never erase this image from my mind, even if I tried.

“I had settled the week old baby in the baby seat, specially bought for the black cab, fastened the seatbelt and kissed him for one last time. Then I turned to the mum, barely a child herself. After much coaxing, I persuaded her to give her baby one last kiss, before he was taxied off with a nurse to his foster parents outside London. She did. And for the first time, I saw big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. For the first time, I saw the bonding but it was too late cos she had made the decision.

It was her decision and nothing would move her. She wanted to give the baby away. She had just emerged from the denial phase that she did not give birth and was not pregnant. She thought she was just fat and was eating so much jeruk and slimming pills to slim down. When I first saw her, her young face registered nothing. If there was such a thing as nothingness, that was it...on her face. The baby in the cot next to her could’ve been someone else’s cos when I asked her about the gender, she didn’t know.

For once, my job as a freelance whatever sucks! I hated it when I was called to interpret for this young Malay girl who had just given birth. I got too emotionally involved and knew so, as day after day, I went back to the hospital and fed and changed the nappies as his own mother wouldn’t do so.

Finally, I was asked to ask her what she wanted to do with the baby...and her reply was, to give him up for adoption. That posed the question of the rights of the father, whoever he was. After much coaxing, she gave a number and the hospital called the boy who was totally in the dark about the whole thing. Totally shocked that he was already a father. But no denial here.

Again, when I asked his views about adoption, this child said – whatever the girl wanted, he would respect her views. Would he come and see the baby? No, he was at school.

It must have been desperation that drove her to ‘hide’ away from her family and come to London as a student. It must have been desperation too that she was taking slimming pills knowing that they could induce miscarriage...which in her case, thankfully, did not work! But it is still a question mark whether she shared her secret with the boyfriend.

Whatever it was, it must have been a great shock that called for desperate measures. And if the newspapers reports about yesterday’s news are correct, the action was certainly a desperate one. And a tragic one.

At the end of this whole sorry saga, which lasted just a week, I was left an emotional wreck. I had become attached to the baby and watching it being ferried away to the home of a stranger, just broke my heart. I stood a long time by the road side, after the taxi drove away with the baby and just cried.

Then, there was tension at home. My husband thought we should have adopted and I said, there was no way we could afford to and with me being involved like this, there was no way, I’d be qualified. "

Imagine, brief moments of reckless pleasure that could end up so, so tragically!

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!!!!

Interview With The 'Pontianak'

The house in Yan was in such an idyllic setting, with the imposing Gunung Jerai in the background. In the mornings when we accompanied Mak to the mosque, the fragrance from the cempaka flowers drifted in the air, giving that added chill. I shiver just thinking about it. Especially when we hurried past that big tree – according to murmurs, it housed a certain ‘being’. You know – the one that sits high in the trees and flies in the night. Pontianak. I never failed to look up whenever we walked past.

I think that was where we learnt about Pontianak. Well, apart from the black and white movie on telly, and of course stories we heard from older cousins when they spent the nights with us and we’d huddle in a corner and listened eyes wide open.

Of course now, we are wiser and realised that those stories were meant to keep us indoors at night.

A year ago, Shuhaimi Baba revived the Pontianak on screen with her Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam. Thirty years after it was banished by the censorship board! And her Pontianak – the lovely Maya Karin is far from the Pontianak that remained in the deep recesses of my young mind. I first met her when they were doing a reshoot of some scenes and Maya was wiping off her grotesque make-up when she was introduced to me.


Not two hours before writing this, I met Maya again. Three hectic days at the Estepona Fantasy and Terror Film Festival in Spain and she still looked ravishing.

And she has every reason to look glowing and happy - once again she bagged the Best Performer award, her second for her role as Pontianak in PHSM 2. The first – you will recall – was at the 49th Asia Pacific Film Festival in Japan.

I myself became interested in horror movies last year just as Shuhaimi reinstated our own monstrous feminine back on to the screen. I just wanted to know why in South East Asia there are more female monsters – compared to the west. Take Nang Nak - love it though I cried buckets everytime I watched it. It was an interesting term I had when I just devoted part of module to a study of horror movies and ended up presenting a paper on The Monstrous Feminine in SEA Horror movies in Sorbonne last summer. It was fun.

So when Shuhaimi hinted that she was doing a sequel I was really excited and I toyed with her suggestion that I should try script writing – of course that didn’t materialise. My mum was ill and there were other pressing matters – if not I’d be there as well – getting the awards, no?

But today I was back interviewing the ‘Pontianak’. And what a lovely lass! Once in a while she’d give me that look that sent the shivers up my spine. The same feeling I got walking under that big tree near our house in Yan.

I've been MEMED!

I’ve been memed left, right and centre and thanks to you all, and you know who you are, for dragging me screaming and kicking, away from my big D! So, here I had better get it done and over with. Took out my calculator and old diaries to calculate dates and see where I was and when.

Here we go:

20 years ago (1985)
At my age, (and we shall not dwell on that) its very difficult to think that far back and I have misplaced that year’s diary.
Anyway, my short term contract at the BBC was extended and I was learning the ropes, broadcasting to the world, so to speak. I made some wonderful friends, and one remains so close to my heart to this day, an inspiration and a great motivator, indeed. She started reading my blog yesterday and if you are reading this now, please know how much yesterday’s phone conversation means to me.

Just as I was enjoying having a boy and a girl, I was back throwing up into the toilet bowl again and the test kit showed positive (again!) I remember crying my eyes out in the bathroom but hubby as usual was ecstatic. But I knew that he was always there when I throw up at the sink or needed any midnight snacks. Am pampered throughout all my pregnancies, so no problem there.

But the problem was the house. The two bedroom we bought two years before was becoming too small for a family with two boisterous children, and another one on the way. Sold that and made a tidy profit, enough for a bigger house up the road. Three bedrooms and a hugeeeeeee eighty foot garden, with an obliging neighbour who tended to it until he was too old and too frail to do it. Now, its back to nature.


Ten years ago (1995)
Funny eh? After receiving my extended contract, I was made permanent at the BBC only to be told that the Foreign and Commonwealth Office had decided to axe a few services – ours included. But by 1995, I was well into the world of freelancers – a day a week at the British Library, two days at Linguaphone, several big voice jobs AND got my first book published by none other than Routledge. Its nice seeing the books lining the shelves at Books etc, and Selfridges. I’d go and check to see whether anyone had bought. And of course they did cos I keep receiving the royalties!
Did a massive project with Linguaphone and Dorling Kindersley.
Rezki anak. Oh, by now, we’ve got 4, and I wanted ten.

Five years ago (2000)
After years of writing pieces here and there, finally got my first column – London Buzz! Enjoyed that tremendously, especially when they were really nice positive feedbacks from readers.
Sorry, I lied. I had several columns before with Her World and Jelita, but was just not ready for a commitment. So those were shortlived but columns, nevertheless.

Did more television work and more teaching work. This television work took me places and enjoyed. And started doing voice work for a wonderful American company which to this day pays a lot of my bills.

Three years ago (2002)
The world opened up. I was told about Rantauan.com and since then I was hooked. Never surfed before and didnt know the meaning of chatting or ym’ing even. Was really into Rantauan.com and all the actvities it had to offer to bring Malays around the world together. We had fun with pantun wars, cerpen bersambung and most of all the wonderful friendship that I never thought could be forged even without a meeting face to face.
This year, I became bini Pak Haji, and mother not only to four teenagers but six cats! We had seventeen, but the nasty RSPCA came and took the little ones away and we cried for days.

A year ago (2004)
Quite a traumatic year. My friends were getting daughters in laws, sons in law, grandchildren and I went back to university, sitting uncomfortably in a classroom of kids young enough to be my children. My husband was all excited. Cos he thought we could relive our youth by having dates at the canteen, he’d carry my bags for me and wait outside the uni gate when the bell rang.

Did my first exam after what...thirty years? and survived. Went to Holland for my first conference as a student and then proceeded to Paris, where I presented a paper at University of Sorbonne! Not bad and was even quoted in a Thai paper! haha!

Again, with Allah's blessings, came a contract that ensures my fees for the MA is paid for. Alhamdulllah

Launched Rantauan.tv – we were holding hands – cyberspeak – with friends around the world – was in a shabby internet cafe in Rotterdam when the button was pressed in Melbourne! And there was our Prime Minister’s welcoming speech for rantauan members. I asked Pak Lah for this favour and he obliged – filmed partly by blogger Atok.

Mak was seriously ill and before I could book my ticket, it was already delivered to my house by a very, very kind friend who knew what it felt not seeing his mother before she died. Until now he made me promise to go home to see my mum at least, twice a year. Am going home again this October, Insyaallah to spend a hari raya with Mak.

And while recovering from jet lag from that trip, I started this blog and thus this addictive habit that connects me to so many out there who have again become so precious in my life (now that I have lost all my real friends because I have been a student/recluse) and who infuriatingly made me do this memed thingy.

This year (2005)
Am no longer the oldest student in class. There are two others.
Worked on a very old syair that has consumed a large part of my life.
Attended another conference in Exeter – an eye opener.
Lost more friends because I refused to go anywhere because of my studies and dissertation.
My Batman is sounding more like his father. Yesterday he brought back good news that he scored the highest ever grade for English and Science! Helped my eldest through his heartache. And right now am missing my soulmate who just logged off after a short, too short a chat.

Next year
I do so want to do my PhD – if my eyesight permits. Its not for anything – I just want to go back to the library and spend time with the books. And, AG, will you take me to do the Haj? I so badly need your guidance.

Am signing up fo Creative Writing classes and will write THAT book. Insyaallah.

Ten years from now? – Who knows? At my age, I count a year at a time.

Now, over to you Lydia and Jane and AuntyN and Pak Ajie!

A much needed break

I really need this and please don’t even start telling me that I shouldn’t be blogging at these crucial moments. I left the house at 0730 this morning and now it is already 1803 to be exact. And Kak Teh these days is not like the normal Mak Cik Kak Teh, dragging her feet. Now, she struts around with a heavy rucksack on her back, with all manner of literature books and journals weighing almost a ton. Yet, there’s a certain spring in her steps as she jumps on the number Seven and enjoys a quiet bus ride to the uni before the crazy crowd gets in.

Yes, I was here at the uni at eight am and I had to shout out and tell someone. So I sms’ed Jane Sunshine to boast about it. She, the poor dear, was still tucked comfortably under her duvet for she replied a few hours later, after I had booked my computer in the lab and walked around Russel Square looking for a decent breakfast. I had tuna sandwich and coffee at an Italian, while listening to Radio Two in the background.

The computer lab was dark and deserted when I got here. There was evidence that someone must have slept the night there and left early. I felt like the morning shift cleaner. Anyway, I couldn’t take any chances as the adrenalin was fast flowing and so were the words, ten thousand of them all waiting to rush out through my two fingers on to the screen - in which order I don’t know yet, but they are all there, believe me!

(I simply cant work at home. Jasper likes to jump on to the computer table and totally block the screen. Tabby sits on the books and Snowbell pulls my hand away to stroke her.)

The concourse of the university is looking nice with trees in full bloom and there were two Bhuddist monks – a tad early for the conference that they are attending here. It’s a shame I couldn’t enjoy the sunshine outside but there’s a more pressing task I need to attend to. So, I switched on the computer and ignoring the stern warning from my buddy in Aberdeen, I came straight here. My blog. Its just bad habit and I am a creature of bad habit. Too old to change.

Yeah, today I managed something ( a lot really) in spite of numerous frantic sms’es from Blabs who wanted to postpone her flight back to Malaysia and phonecalls from children. Then there’s a surprise call from hubby, who was somewhere in Jalan Mesjid India in search of a barber. He called because he thought I might want to listen to a song by a group of blind singers performing there. And I obliged and listened for a while, imagining him holding up his handphone in the air for me to get a good reception. Thanks AG, that really inspired me. He duly reported on the state of his hair and badly needed a haircut. I told him I badly needed to get on with my work.

I made several trips to the library – which is only a floor away and carried more books and suitably impressed the people around me with the number of reference books on my table. They, needless to say, are no longer at that stage of referring to books. They have drafted their dissertation and are mostly on to revising and editing. Oh well! These young eager students…what do they know, eh?

Oh, what would we do without programmes that offer footnotes, grammar and spell check and word counts? I love it. After every other paragraph I’d do a word count. Very encouraging! But the damn spell check – every time I typed out a sample of my syair that contained sayang or datang, the smart aleck changed it to saying or dating. And then had the audacity to tell me that the computer is not equipped to cope with that much Finnish vocab!

Then, when I hit a certain number of words, I sms’ed hubby : “Hooray eight thousand to go!” (By the way, the phone dictionary does not do Hooray – u’ll have to type it manually)

I visited several blogs – Lydia posted a new one, about her winning tickets to a concert. And at one point I caught her testing photobucket and there was this gigantic picture of Lydia Teh staring at me from the screen. In fact she later told me there were two big ones!

Okay, everyone is leaving and the guard has come to tell us we have only 15 minutes left. I am feeling quite, quite drained. And this only means one thing. I need my supplements. The number Seven goes past Tawana and I badly need an overdose of Thai Laksa.

ps
Several *&^%$£!! hours later.....
Have you ever felt like kicking yourself? The euphoric feeling of having accomplished something yesterday was replaced by exactly that kind of feeling. Apparently, what I had been saving, was not saved on to the computer. So, when I attached the file to send to myself ( to continue the work at home) I noticed that it had only several paragraphs. Uwueeeeeek!
Luckily, luckily, I had the presense of mind to print. If not my prof will never believe that I had done something. I know, cos I have had that kind of excuses from my students before..."Sorry Miss, I did it but something wrong with the computer!"

My Thai Sing Laksa
So, came back last night and drowned my sorrows in four bowls (yes!) of Thai Sing Laksa!