Let us pray for her

If the story here is true then let us pray that she is guided back to the right path. I have written about her before here. This appeared today.

A celebration of sorts

Birthdays tend not to become too important an event especially when the figures get too big and the candles too many on the cake, posing a fire hazard. I remember my first few birthday celebrations, and oh that was so long ago. I remember Mak and her agar-agar bunga batu which was always a hit with my friends. Then there’s the kek kukus and noodles galore. All these served in her latest collection of Pyrex and syrup in those Tupperware tumblers in various shapes and colours. My school friends would turn up in their best frocks, their mode of transport being mini bikes neatly parked outside our gates.

And how we enjoyed the games of musical chairs and passing the parcel. Such simple pleasures.

I remember too some birthday surprises, one in particular that nearly gave my husband a heart attack. It was the day we were supposed to go for an important parent teachers’ meeting and he suddenly refused to go. Clearly upset, I made a unilateral decision to go by myself when a close friend called me up for tea at Whiteleys. We had tea and a bit of a rant about the strange behaviour of my other half. My daughter then phoned to say that the meeting was cancelled. So we decided to go to this friend’s place instead and drown my sorrows in a game of scrabble. I was certainly in no mood to go home.

When the door to her apartment opened, there stood my husband slaving over several legs of lamb roasting in the oven. The children and some friends were also there for the birthday surprise which nearly turned into a disaster, and one friend even came with a birthday cake the shape of a pair of voluptuous boobs that still gives me nightmares and an inferiority complex.

One year it was a drive to the countryside for lunch at a friend’s country house hotel by the Thames. It was lunch in style with some close friends and after the afternoon walk in the vast 100 year old listed garden, we settled down for tea before the long drive back into London. It was then that the French Chef walked in with a birthday cake, my name correctly spelt on the icing. What a day it was.

Anyway, this year’s quiet celebration wasn’t too bad at all. The children decided that a tomyam steamboat at Holiday Villa would be a good idea as the day was cold and there were snow flurries too. They invited some friends and Hafiz called up Uncle Jimmy and family.

It was the night after Raihan performed at the Royal Albert Hall. I was there to see their performance for Islamic Relief and what a performance they gave. And because I couldn’t have enough of their acapella, I invited them over for a bit of Tom Yam too.

Dato J was in charge of the steamboat and that was only the starters. Then we had nasi goreng kampong and mee goreng mamak. You wouldn’t believe what was served for dessert! Raihan kindly performed Assolatuwassalam - a favourite of mine!
And the family presented me with this new laptop that I am typing on.

Thank you Raihan! And thank you my sayang mamas!

Snowflakes and P. Ramlee on Easter

It was snowing ever so slightly outside. The snowflakes drifted down gently and melted before touching the ground. Snowbell made a dash through the cat flap bringing in a gush of cold wind into the sitting room, momentarily taking our attention away from the idiot box.

This time it wasn’t American Idol or Master Chef that demanded our attention. It was just after dinner of chicken and cashew nut plus sambal tumis sea-bass and sayur su’un, that the children wanted to have dessert served by P. Ramlee.

They grew up over dosed with P Ramlee slapsticks in Aunty Samina’s front room, watching Pendekar Bujang Lapok, Doh-Ray-Me in between Sangam and Kabhi-Kabhi with Uncle. And lately, thanks to You Tube, they’ve been enjoying snippets from old P Ramlee movies and one that got them in stitches was Pendekar Bujang Lapok, the one where Aziz or was it Ajis corrected the Pak cik on his pronunciation of Bongo, “Bukan Bangau Pak Cik, Bonggo!!!” Taufiq has a knack of imitating that, sending Nona and Rehana (making the cashew nut chicken), in stitches. “Bongggo” he said drawing out the “ggo” deep from the throat and the kitchen was filled with laughter again. It had just started snowing outside.

After dinner, I found several P Ramlee classics but none with subtitles, but sharing a duvet, four of us huddled in front of the TV and watched Madu Tiga.

It has been a while since we last did this. When they were small, the king size duvet would swallow all of us, and there would be enough for everyone. There was a time when all of us were watching a film and at that time a triangle would appear warning us of an imminent ‘rude scene’ at which point my husband would say, “everyone under the duvet!!!” and we’d dive under the duvet giggling, and waited for the scene to be over. But once when all of us waited patiently under the duvet, we heard a voice saying “It’s over now!” Oh dear!

It was Hafiz. And how we miss him. He’d do a good imitation of Ajis and never failed to have us rolling on the floor with his jokes. But now he has his own pad, the other side of London. And even if he was around, there’d be no room anymore under the king size duvet. Still, I miss him. On a cold night like this, with the snow falling on the ground and the cats comfortably on the sofa, I want all my children around.

“What’s ‘Apa daaaa?’, why does he keep saying that?” would be the occasional interruption. “What’s ‘Tak sangka?’ In general they understood the language, except for the occasional P Ramlee lingo.

It is a long Easter weekend and we had spent the afternoon sorting out 20 years of old clothes to take to the recycling bin. There were many old kebayas, the ones that reminded me that I once had a waist, children’s clothes that they now cringe with realisation that they once wore those, sometimes under duress and one or two old jumpers and jeans that brought back memories of the Wan family, trooping up and down the streets of London, in what was then a big Renault estate meant for six. But they had to grow up and the MPV that we bought for seven eventually became too big and too lonely for just the two of us.

I felt quite sad leaving several big black plastic bags containing lots of memories by the bin outside Sainsbury. We have to move on. Children grew out of their clothes and inevitably grow out of the room they share with My Little Pony or Thomas the Tank Engine. They would want to move out. They want their own car and even the king size duvet is no longer big enough for all six of us.

Snowflakes and P Ramlee movies tend to make me feel like this.

Goodbye my dear Peggy

I have lost a very dear friend, Datin Peggy Taylor. During the precious few months of our friendship, she had taught me a lot. She was 83. Like a history teacher, she narrated events leading up to Merdeka and beyond; the chitchats with the late Tunku, the contents of letters and communications with prominent politicians from both sides of the political arena, the social scene of the sixties and the seventies and many, many more that are now safely recorded in my tapes and notebooks.

And as I sat there by her feet, with the fire crackling in the background, I couldn't help but felt a sense of awe and admiration for this feisty lady who had witnessed the independence of three countries, hobnobbed with prominent leaders and celebrities and even made a mark in our country's political scene. Peggy, who was at the Padang to witness the raising of the Malayan flag on Independence Day fifty years ago and who later became a member of ADMO (Alliance Direct membership Organisation) for citizens who were not from the Malay, Indian or Chinese community, would be most amused by what is happening in post election Malaysia today. I can almost here her say her famous phrase: It is so kelam kabut! Like bangsawan!!

I remember the days spent with her, typing away as she dictated her memoir on her life in Malaysia. I remember her suitcase full of letters, pictures, documents: That's my history. That's my book, she had said to me.

Peggy left for South Africa last month to concentrate on writing this memoir. She phoned to say goodbye before leaving for the airport. But on 12th March, I received the sad news of her death.

And now I remember Morrie's beautiful quote from Tuesdays with Morrie: Death ends a life, not a relationship.

Rest in peace, my dearest Peggy. Your words, your laughter will live on with me forever.

Datin Peggy Taylor
1924 - 2008

An article in the NST about Peggy.
Over the past few months, I have written a lot about Peggy and how she had touched my life:

Shamelessly Plugging Peggy
History in a suitcase
Weekend of sorts
A Painting incomplete
Magical Merdeka Moments


An Update and Message from David Kirkness in Johannesburg

Dearest Kak Teh, and to all of Peggy's many friends, I've just returned home from her funeral service, St Charles' Church, Victory Park, Johannesburg, at which I was privileged to speak in her honour. Marilyn had some beautiful words to say, and sung one of her own compositions "We Never Say Goodbye". What a true Taylor she is. A moving moment in time for me. On her behalf, thanks to all for so many wonderful wishes in this past week.

Syaer Pilihanraya

Assalamualaikum Kak Teh ucapkan,

kepada semua kawan dan rakan,

di kampong, bandar dan juga pekan,

esok undi mu penting jangan lupakan.

Mari seketika kita berseloka,

hilangkan penat, letih dan duka,

imbas kembali janji manis bercuka,

para pemimpin kita sejak merdeka.

Demam pilihanraya semakin rancak,

panas habanya semakin memuncak,

kami yang jauh pun rasanya jugak,

dari seberang laut pun kami berhak.

Esok harinya yang menentukan,

kalah dan menang akan diumumkan,

segala janji mesti ditunaikan,

bukan sekadar nak dijadikan umpan.

Seronok dengar cerita berkempen,

bertikam lidah semua pemimpin,

menunjukkan hebat zahir dan batin,

memancing undi semasa bertanding.

Kisah dakwat menjadi berita,

mahalnya harga tidak terkata,

sudah dibeli dari India sana,

sekarang katanya tak boleh diguna.

Kak Teh terfikir seorang diri,

termenung sejenak menggigit jari,

berjuta habis dalam beberapa hari,

duit yang hilang macam mana nak ganti?

Terbaca pula kisah Pn Maimun,

usianya lanjut semangatnya bertimbun,

dah masuk Facebook peminatnya berkerumun,

berbasikal berkempen serata kampung.

Pilihlah pemimpin yang dianggap wajar,

yang tidak sombong yang masih boleh diajar,

yang berpengalaman, berjwa rakyat dan sedar

tidak lupa janji kerana kemewahan dikejar.

Sekian dulu Kak Teh bermadah,

berpantun berseloka bukannya mudah,

ingat, pangkah yang salah membawa padah,

nanti bertahun menyesal tak sudah..

Kepada bakal pemimpin Kak Teh ingatkan,

negara kita yang kita sayangkan,

berbaktilah kepada negara dengan keikhlasan.

amanat rakyat jangan dialpakan.

Some change , please.

So change is not a buzzword in Alor Setar. That’s what I read in the papers today. And sitting here 8,000 miles away, I am a tad worried. And we are just five days before the big day.

In the next few days, Mak is flying back to her beloved Alor Setar, the name forever on her lips during her waking hours and in her dreams during her restless nights. I can imagine her excitement as she boards the plane in her wheelchair, pushed by the ever so friendly MAS stewards. She is going home to the house that Pak built for her.

Yes, she is not likely to see much change around the area where Pak built the house for her. May be the traffic from Kepala Batas will get a bit busy by the time the car gets to Pekan Cina. She’d cast a glance over the bridge of Seberang Perak and scan for MAHA clinic, the clinic she used to frequent where a young doctor once held court before becoming the Prime Minister.

She’d smile at the sight of Ali nasi lemak for that is where her offsprings would rush to as soon as they drop off their luggage in the front room of the house that Pak built.

As the car swings into the small lane past the kilang ais, her tired eyes would take in the clogged drains, a sight that repeats itself right up to the front gate of our house and beyond. For as far as I can remember, as a child I used to squat by the side of the drain, usually swollen after a heavy rain, to try and catch those little catfish just for fun. The water, all muddy and filthy had no where to go with over grown grass and lalang from the neighbour’s neglected piece of land spilling into the already clogged up drain upstream. Just the right breeding place for mosquitos.

The house that Pak built would be just as she had left it. Nothing would have changed except there’s no more laughter and screams of children running up and down the house. It has been left empty for so long. The old iron swing would be just where it has been left some forty years ago.

The wooden stairs leading up to the upper front door, has been the setting for so many family photographs and as I looked at it again, I notice d that so many uncles and aunts have left us.

As Mak steps into the house, she’d be reminded of the newly raised floor that she had done from the monthly pension that she receives. Once the floor was raised and leveled, she could sleep soundly at night. Before that, she’d be woken up in the middle of the night by the heavy rain and with Tok and Tok Som and with some energy left in them, they would roll up the carpets and beddings before the front room got flooded with water from the clogged up drains seeping in through the door.

Mak never slept soundly during the rainy season. She wanted to display her beautiful carpet that she bought with her kutu money, yet, she knew that if she and Tok Som couldn't move fast enough the carpet would be ruined.

With the rapid housing developments in the surrounding area, where we are became like a valley with rainwater rushing in and no where to go. Every time we went back, we see new housing developments but we don't see any improvements to the drainage system. Mak can’t afford to keep raising her floor anymore.

And I do hope that the stench coming from the fish factory is no longer there. Mak used to remind us to open the doors and windows early in the morning for rezki to come in. But of late, it was the stench that kept our windows firmly shut. And another reason why those windows and doors remained shut, with grills firmly locked is the rise of crime rate in the area. Young thugs roam the place during the nights and once during our return we saw evidence that our backyard where abang used to grill ikan kembong and cut the ulams, had become a meeting place for drug addicts.

I have read several atrocious crime committed in that area but I was quite unprepared when I read about the Indian Muslim shopkeeper who was slashed to death in his little shop up the road – the shop where we as children used to go and play tikam, buy kacang tumbuk and gula-gula Hacks, the little shop that our children started going whenever we went back on holiday. Mamak Zakaria, fell victim to the increasing criminal activities in the area. Most probably he fell victim to the very customers who frequented his shop and befriended him.

No, I do want to see some change, please Datuk Chor.

Notes from My Lounge

They say the sun is out. It is almost officially spring, they hasten to add. There’s even a cluster of daffodils outside the front door and the cherry blossoms are looking very beautiful indeed lining the street all the way down to Betsy’s. But I am in no mood to budge from the comforts of my lounge, from the warmth that my duvet can offer, and not too many miles away from the steaming tea and coffee in the kitchen. These last few days I have been nursing a very bad cold which is accompanied by fever and a monster of a headache.

It seems that almost everyone I know has had this and some got it worse. So, I am allowing myself this rest; stockinged feet, warm duvet, monopoly of the remote control and a veto power as to what’s on telly.

But most days when my fingers are not taking me a-surfing across blogosphere, or I get tired of repeats of Vicar of Dibley, I look out of the garden door and contemplate what I should do to the garden when spring comes and my energy returns. This is a perennial thing ; the planning not the gardening. There’s certainly plenty to be done, considering it is looking very much like a place David Attenburgh would discover some dying species.

It has been left neglected since Mick, our neighbour and volunteer gardener was taken ill and then was taken away from us one spring when I was in Malaysia. The garden that was once full of tomato plants, sweetcorns, daisies, daffodils and geraniums of all colours and variety is bare and neglected. Even the apple tree gave up on us. The only tree that has been standing steadily eversince Mick plonked it in the ground some 20 years ago, is the evergreen that we brought back from Rachel’s garden in Weybridge. It is now taller than the house, overwhelming the pear tree belonging to our Polish neighbour.

I myself gave up on the garden when hayfever took the better of me.

The last time we put anything in the ground was sometime last year. In February. Somewhere between the evergreen and the dying apple tree is our beloved Jasper. He left us a year ago after being with us for almost 14 years. He wanted to go quietly and spare us the pain but we brought him back.

He was a shadow of himself – once the terror of the neighbourhood, who roamed the garden and streets with his head high. I remember giving him a bath right here in this living room, because he was not smelling as he should and I wanted to hold him and make everything all right for him. He didnt resist but whimpered and later walked to the bathroom and pushed the door shut. When I called out to him, he managed a weak meow and then he was gone.

I miss my Jasper.

What a wonderful day!

The sun was out but so was the bitterly cold wind that went right through our paper thin kebayas and baju kurung as we stood outside the bride’s house waiting for the arrival of the groom and his entourage. It was a short walk but for the groom, who had just arrived from warmer climes, it must have been the longest ever, for even the best man, born and bred in London, stood shivering in his black baju Melayu.

Passengers on the red double decker peered out to look at the riot of colours outside the north London semi D and passers-by on that serene Sunday afternoon, looked on curiously as two boys carrying the bunga manggar led the entourage to the doorstep. All that was missing was the kompang beat and the berbalas pantun.

Inside, the bride sat patiently on the pelamin decorated by friends the day before. If not for the cold air that kept rushing in every time someone opened the door, one could easily think this was somewhere in Malaysia.

For the bride and groom, the event in London was a repeat performance for friends and relatives who couldn’t make it to the wedding proper in Melaka last December. Besides, a traditional Malay wedding is not something that we see everyday, so everyone got excited and wanted to be involved. I gave up the opportunity to see the famous Shahrukh Khan so that I could make myself busy the day before the kenduri. And what a wise decision that turned out to be.

With Nina the wedding planner making sure that everything runs smoothly, everyone did their bit.

Khalid, Diba and Dila ceated a simple yet beautiful pelamin, before doing the sirih junjung. Zu and Ida and Rehana, As and Mi cried their eyes oput peeling and slicing onions. Nazir and Kasubi did the tent and Tok Din did what Tok Din always does best – cook.

The bride’s mum was busy making sure that everyone else was busy.

We gave the tepak sireh and dulangs a good polish with brasso, the whiff of which transported me back to the days of kenduri galore in the kampong.

Others were busy making bunga rampai and then I decided to try a hand at henna painting. It was fun once you get the hang of it and the patterns sort of flows but the initial problem was making the henna stain brighter. Some suggested lime, while others via sms suggested minyak cap kapak. We tried all.

My creations

Nona proved to be a naturale and soon became a hit with not only the bride but the kids.

Nona's creations

Rehana did the hair, creating an Amy Winehouse bouffant before putting the tiara and the veil, while Lisa did the make up.

We ended the day with karaoke - Parents Not Allowed vs Teenagers Very Loud. You can't get more Malaysian than that, especially on a bitterly cold day!

It was a lovely day, even if it was cold. It is on days like this, when the community gets together, you do not feel so much the pangs of homesickness. And what a lovely way to welcome the groom into our close-knit community.

What day is today, again?

Well, its off to Stratford Upon Avon day for me today - to Shakespeare county - you know, the guy who wrote "Romeo, Romeo where art thou...?"

Well, my Romeo wont be there cos I am going there with someone else. Will come back and tell you all about it.

By the way, have a happy Valentine's Day to all who celebrate this day.

PS..sorry we didnt get to Stratford because there's some engineering works - so we made our way to the British Library where we could still see many things re: Shakespeare.

But please read this anyway if you have a few minutes.

Gong Xi Fa Cai!!!!

To all my Chinese friends, Gong Xi Fa Cai!!!
Have a wonderful and prosperous new year!

The homecoming 2

The events of the almost two months' so called break were beginning to fade away as the plane began its descent. Most of England were still asleep but we were sure that our children whom we had not seen for so long were there, waiting at the arrival lounge. Thank God none of the luggage were missing and the immigration waved us through without any questions.

From a distance we saw them, all excited. And how they have grown – even two months away made a difference! With them were two of our closest friends in this community that's become our family away from home. Only close friends would take the trouble to wake up at that unearthly hour and prepare us the most scrumptious nasi lemak so unlike the one served on MAS!

In the car we all wanted to talk all at the same time and nona being nona missed all the junctions and turnings and we ended up on the way to Uxbridge! That's not the most exciting part of the homecoming, the best was yet to come.

Finally on more familiar surroundings, the car which was in the middle lane of the by then very busy road of office workers going to work, stopped. Just like that! A kind soul behind us pushed the car to a safe spot and we called the RAC. Standing by the roadside, in my batik blouse bought in Pasar Payang, Kuala Terengganu and still in my heels with its bling-bling, I suddenly felt the gush of the cold winter wind that defined the distance that divides the world that still has my Mak and my loved ones and the one that has my home, children, cats and a neglected garden.

The car just gave up on us and refused to budge, giving out a strange whining sound. Nice RAC man told us to get back into the car for a slow tow home.

If the girls were chatting away, I didn't quite hear them. I was reliving the hectic schedule of the past two months as Nona slowly steered the car behind the RAC truck. Looking out of the window I was transported back to Singapore, where it all began. It was the launch of GUiT – the publisher's launch. We had hardly recovered from jetlag and there we were hobnobbing with writers young and old. AG could hardly open his eyes but he was already signing copies of GUiT. Needless to say, it was mostly GuiT related events that whizzed by – those that took us to Terengganu of old and new, to university lecture rooms and bookshops for booksigning events.

I saw my siblings; teasing, laughing and reliving our childhood from lounge to kitchen to dining room. I saw my nieces and nephews, all grown up and adorable. And I saw and heard Yaya and Hilman, belting away “Oh Dewiiiiiii, Aku cinta pada mu sampai matiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”

Then I saw visions of Mak, sometimes frail and forgetful and sometimes alert and her witty self. I heard her endless questions, repeated almost always at five minute intervals. I saw her curled up body on the sofa with the tv on, or her small figure in the white telekung perhaps doing zuhur for the second time or asar before its time. But does it matter, Mak? It doesn't for He understands.

I heard her plea to take her home to the house that Pak Built for her. I replayed the conversation at the dinner table one evening:

“Mak nak balik. Mak demam.”

“Kalau Mak demam buat apa nak balik. Sapa nak jaga?”

“Zaharah la jaga Mak.”

“Ah ada kerja sikit. Mak duduk sini lah”

“Masa Ah demam Mak jaga....” she said looking straight into my eyes, pleading. I quickly turned away to hide my shame and my guilt. I had no answer. I had no excuse. And right there on the A40, being slowly towed away by the kind RAC man, my hot tears flowed again.

The last few minutes before leaving for the airport, I crawled up to her and placed my head gently on her boney chest and closed my eyes while she patted me as if to sleep. I could have stayed there and be her baby again and listen to her syairs and hikayats that she used to tell. But she said, “Jangan lambat pi airport. Nanti kapai terbang tinggai. Anak-anak dok tunggu.”

I also saw the reunion in marriage of my childhood friends who were brought back together in the holy city during Haj, after being divorced for more than a year.

And most vivid in my mind was our time together, my AG and I; those moments of separations when we had to part at the KL Sentral, those anticipated rendevous at KLCC. Who says being warga emas doesnt have its romantic moments?

Nice RAC man deposited us safely back on our driveway. It was a far cry from the send off at KLIA when we were whisked away to the VIP room because a certain member of the Royal family had wanted a meeting with Awang Goneng. Such is life.

A review of GUiT in The Star by Dina Zaman - Local Boy Makes Good (Tales)
A review by blogger Sharon Bakar - More Awang Goneng

On the GUiT Trail on Galeri Perdana (RTM 1 TONITE!!!)

Just a quick note before we leave for London.

Our last few days were spent, yet again on the GUiT trail as RTM had requested that we do a kind of Jejak Awang Goneng for Galeri Perdana (Starting tonight 28th Jan at 8.45'sh pm) .

We were back filming for two days – two hot but very rewarding and emotional two days, as AG went back to places, which he had not seen since he let Terengganu, met up with friends and teachers and most important and interesting of all we went on the Beluda trail, followed by the crew from Astro in search of the Beluda after the Terengganu roti was given a fresh airing in GUiT.

Jejak Awang Goneng will be in several short parts - So, do stay tuned.

We went to capture beautiful and enchanting Trengganu.....

was given a treat of Siti Payung by the son of an old Guru

Witnessed the making of the beluda......

What's the story with the genta?

A meeting with a member of the Pok Loh Yunang clan to hear the background of their migration to Trengganu.

A meeting with his first teacher from Sekolah Rendah Ladang.

and much, much more.....

Thanks to Sdr Karim who recorded the first two episodes. Actually The first episode was a little longer than what was required so, it was split up into two episodes...by then I had left the big building on the hill.

Part 1

Part 2
part 3

part 4

(sigh!!!! How I wish I was there to edit them myself!)

The final part is here.

A disclaimer: Part three was not edited by me...The ending was taken from somewhere else in the script. There was supposed to be a bit on Trengganuspeak. Alas I couldnt be there to see that everything was in place.

Psssst! GUiT has climbed up to no. 1 best seller non -fiction at MPH again! And no. 1 best seller non fiction for Monsoon Books!

A letter to my sayang mamas 2

Hello all,

Awang Goneng will be at MPH Midvalley on 20th January 3-4pm for a booksigning session.

Hope to see all of you there.

************************************************************************************

We are now in Penang where AG is giving a talk on his book at USM on 17th December (ooops- its January!!) at 9am (while yours truly will be talking about what she does for a living.)

************************************************************************************

My dearest ones,

It has been a while since I last wrote as we do not have internet access all the time. Daddy and I are now familiar faces at the internet café in front of the KLCC surau after we’ve had a spot of breakfast at Delifrance. We pay RM8.00 an hour, which is a bit steep, but it is worth it because the place is clean and most important of all, we do not get people standing right behind us reading our emails!

I am now back at Pak Ajie’s after sending Daddy off at the UKM station heading for Gombak. Everyone is fast asleep. Tok must be so tired as she had had a long day today. We all trooped off for breakfast at Taman Warisan and Tok enjoyed a a bowl of mee curry which was actually someone else’s. She forgot that she had ordered nasi lemak. That is Tok. But it is amazing that there are certain things that she doesn’t forget. She was telling Hilman on his first day at school, that I actually cried and kept running out of the classroom on my first day at school! And that must have been some ^%$#@ years ago!

Tonight I am sharing Hilman’s and Iman’s room and watching them sleep so peacefully, I thank Allah that they are safe and sound surrounded by their loved ones. I hope and pray that five year old Nini who went missing a few days ago, is also sleeping safe and sound and being cared by someone who will not harm her but will return her soon to her parents. Yes, not another one, I hear you say.

It is every parents’ nightmare and this happened not long after poor Nurin Jazlin was found in such a sorry state after being abducted for nearly a month. There are some very unsavoury characters around and it is sad that we have to bring up children to be suspicious of people.

When all of you were small, I used to be so paranoid – I believe I am still so. I’d hold your hands so tight that it hurt. I used to sew our phone number inside your clothes, just in case. Let us pray that Ninie will be returned to her anxious parents, soon. Real soon.

It has been more than a month since we said goodbye at Heathrow and I remember thinking “It is going to be a long two months away from all of you!”

If truth be told, I really don’t know where time went. The Singapore book launch seems like a year ago and we’ve been whizzing up and down the country – all GUiT related trips. So far, we’ve been back to Trengganu twice and I must admit I have fallen in love with the place AND the people.

Remember I told you that after the booksigning in Kuala Terengganu, we were invited back by the Chief Minister of Terengganu. He suggested a wonderful and interesting idea – which materialised into an event called Sembang-sembang Awang Goneng. And that happened on 7^th January at 3 pm at the Kelab Warisan on Pulau Duyong.

For the event, your cousin Mi and his wife Na bought Daddy a silk batik shirt. I must say I have never seen Daddy in a batik shirt and there’s always a first. I was presented with a similar piece of material which I sent to Mak Su’s tailor who made a baju kurung for me, fit for the occasion. Daddy was expecting about 50 people to turn up – instead, when we entered the grand hall, there were about 300 people , mostly pensioners and people old enough to remember events, people mentioned in GuiT. There was a big picture of Daddy on the screen and that was enough to give him a heart attack! Daddy talked for quite a bit, remembering his growing up days in Kuala Trengganu but when he spoke about the need to keep the people, the soul of the city, in the city, to grow with the development, he got a bit emotional and couldn’t speak for a while. I have never seen him like that, but then again, he had never been invited by the state to speak about his hometown. After the talk, the MB invited people to sembang-sembang, and exchange stories on Trengganu, but quite a few people stood up to speak about their concerns. A few spoke about the need for local writers to be recognised. Yes, I do agree with that.

Before the food arrived at our table, Daddy was surrounded by people carrying GUiT, courtesy of the state government. I don’t know how he managed to stand and sign all copies – but that he did, while answering lots of questions and posing for photographs.

Read about it here.

Earlier in the morning, he gave a talk at Universiti Darul Iman and considering students had classes to attend, many turned up and the hall was ¾ full. Suffice to say, Daddy is really enjoying doing the university rounds, speaking about creative writing, blogging and journalism.

We met a lot of people this time, his ex-classmates organised a reunion and one former teacher, his English teacher, in fact, turned up. The next day, his maths teacher came all the way from Ipoh after reading his book. If my maths teacher were to turn up searching for me, I’d run miles in the opposite direction!

Anyway, the stay in Trengganu was great. We stayed an extra day at Primula because I fancied
a walk along the beach after subuh. Every night I’d look out of the balcony – the south china sea right at our doorsteps! We could hear the roar of the waves lapping the beach…its mesmerising, fascinating but scary. I was in awe of nature , this creation of God. So, one morning, we decided to take a walk along the beach, and test the water, so to speak.

But, let me tell you something. A thing of beauty can also be dangerous.

Some very interesting people came to meet Daddy and one of them was French lady who had made Pulau Duyong her home. I remember visiting her in the 70’s. I just couldn’t reconcile the fact that we have all decided to adopt a foreign land but when asked where is home?, we had the same answer: wherever we happen to be at that time. I remember pencilling in “Going home “ in my diary on 2^nd December. And I am home now. And when we meet again, that is home too for that is where you all are.

Daddy is doing more booktalks at universities in Penang and two more in Selangor. He is really enjoying it. He seems to be in his elements talking about writing. Anyway, Pak Su, Mak Su and I took him to an Indian barber yesterday. I was worried that they’d do a real goneng on him, so we briefed the barber carefully. We looked through Bollywood magazines on the rack, no, not the shahruh khan look, nor the kapoor brothers. Pak Su helpfully said: Yul Bryner!

Well, this will be all for now and I don’t know when I can get my hands on a computer with internet connections again. Will call. Missing you all lots but take this time to be together, look after each other and be friends, not just brothers and sisters. And of course don’t forget Tabby, Gizmo, Kissinger, Moaner and Snowbell. They are your siblings and friends too. Here, Daddy keeps feeding stray cats.

Oh yes, there will be a booksigning at MPH Midvalley on 20^th Jan. 3-4 pm. Come lah…..hehe!

Lots of love,

Mama

A Letter to my Sayang Mamas

To my dearest sayang mamas,

A very happy 2008 to all of you minding the fort while we are away. And let’s hope for a fruitful year, blessed with happiness and success. Insya' Allah.

It looks like I have to update you on last year’s events and this, hopefully will be more than the usual rushed phone calls and brief sms’es of things GUiT.

The latest on GUiT is that Daddy was invited to read sections of his book at Seksan’s organised by Sharon Bakar. It was held on a fine Saturday afternoon in Bangsar, quite near where we got married 28 years ago. Daddy’s hair, I must report, was getting a bit long and how I wished Taufiq was around with his electric gizmo. Daddy thought it was okay, but I persuaded him to let me have a go trimming a bit here and there with Cik Su’s scissors.

A lot of people turned up and according to Sharon, it was a record number – well, I counted at least five of Daddy’s cousins, some old friends who came with their own copy of GUiT and some people who had perhaps read about GUiT in the media. You know that gentleman with the white beard and long hair, whose talented son, As, came and strummed his guitar for the cats? Well, as you know he is a well known national laureate who married an old classmate of mine. Both of them came to give Daddy some moral support.

There were other readers, like Dina Zaman, who actually interviewed Daddy two weeks ago. Then there was Patrick Teoh, a veteran broadcaster, whose dulcet tones and perfect diction and pronunciation earned him the title “The Voice of Malaysia”. It was great listening to him ‘live’! We don’t have anyone like him anymore.

I was a little nervous for Daddy as he had misplaced his reading glasses. The first reading was okay but I thought he struggled a bit with the piece on Besut. But all in all, everything went well and copies of GUiT brought along by the Pizzaman went like hot cakes, with one lady buying about ten!

That night we went back to Bangi as Pak Ajie had a small feast before your cousin Ummar makes his way to his secondary school up north.

But I bet you’re dying to hear about the Kuala Terenganu GUiT launch and booksigning. It was, needless to say, something way beyond our expectations. It was great and Daddy was visibly touched by the response and the reception.

He had insisted that we took the bus to KT and later I understood why. He wanted to take in all the sceneries along the route. He had not been back for a while.

I know how much all of you wanted to be here and there was not one moment when I didn’t wish that you were all here witnessing Daddy’s important moment. He had repeatedly said in press interviews that the book is dedicated to his children. And he said that not without a lump in his throat.

We stayed at Daddy’s cousin’s house – and the morning before the launch at Alam Akademik bookshop, Daddy ironed and wore the blue shirt that Hafiz bought for him just for this occasion. He told several people this. Ngah and cousin Mi managed to persuade him to change his shoes but I couldn’t make him part with his old rucksack which now looks a little tattered. So, off we went, tattered rucksack and all and at 10.30 people were already milling outside the shop. So, the signing began half an hour earlier and stopped only briefly for a press conference. The signing continued until after four.

I must say, I was in the limelight too as a few bloggers and blogreaders turned up and requested my signature as well and had my pictures taken with them. What a day! My feet were aching and I ended up wearing Japanese slippers.

Daddy shook hands with so many people that day, and at one point the queue was so long that it went right outside the shop, spilling into the street. There was a bit of a carnival atmosphere with bright yellow banners and posters of Awang Goneng being displayed everywhere, even on vans and neighbouring shops. While he signed, they played ‘Baliklah Wok’ or “Come home, My Beloved Child” – a very touching and sad poetry in Trengganuspeak. I couldn’t understand most of the words but I felt tears stinging my cheeks and I knew Daddy was also trying very hard not to let the dam burst.

We didn’t have much publicity before this but people came clutching their GUiT. Daddy’s English teacher, Mr Wee and his history teacher, his schoolmates and classmates came after hearing of his return. I was so truly amazed. People who knew him when he used to come to Pok Loh Yunan’s shop to get a copy of Utusang Melayu for Tok Wan, still recognised him. “We want him to come home,” said one Chinese friend who dragged another one still in his Pagoda singlet.

There were lecturers and professors and some important looking people whose appearance caused excitement among the local media. We didn’t know who they were and they queued up quite patiently like the rest. The event was open to everyone. But the next day, pictures of Daddy appeared in the papers with them and that was how we knew who they were. I wish the media had latched on to another interesting angle, i.e. the presence of the oldest surviving member of the Pok Loh Yunan clan.

When Daddy went for his prayers, I was approached by a lady who addressed me as Kak Teh and told me that the Chief Minister was inviting us for tea. Oh dear, how does one behave in such company? But if you must know, the CM was a very simple person who does not stand on ceremony. As soon as his iron gates swung open, he appeared in his kain pelikat and we sat and enjoyed tea with his lovely wife. I was tempted to have second helpings of murtabak Kelantan which was so delicious but really, I must behave myself. There were some funny moments that afternoon that we had tea with the CM. Sitting outside the porch with the breeze from the South China Sea gently blowing in, Daddy and the CM sang the Trengganu anthem!

Anyway, it was a long day, but a wonderful one.

The next day was Boxing day, but it was also the anniversary of your grandma’s passing away. We walked to the cemetery and I sat down saying my prayers to the mother-in-law that I am only beginning to know through GUiT. Later that morning, we went to the house in Tanjung. Ngah and Cik Su had already washed the floor and swept the dust and we sat down and did the tahlil for her. The house still holds many books, but sadly, many are now hollow. The silverfish had devoured the contents but I believe Daddy beat them to it. I stood at the window looking out to the new buildings outside but I imagined the qasidah and prayers that Daddy used to hear being recited from the nearby surau.

Even at the house in Tanjung, people were coming over to have their books signed. Many came to confirm and share stories about events and characters that Daddy had written about in the book.

I wonder if you have read the chapter about the unfortunate incident experienced by cousin Dah? Well, we visited cousin Dah, who from a distance beamed and giggled, recalling the day she was knocked down by a tok peraih on a bicycle carrying fish to the market. Ngah even took pictures of the junction where the fishy incident took place. There were many, many memories being rekindled and many were amazed at Daddy’s memory. I was dumbstruck too as I recalled the countless times he came back from shopping without most things that I had written on my shopping list. But that’s by the by.

Daddy’s cousins and uncles and aunts all wanted to feed him – so we were constantly being fed with kerepok lekor, laksa Terenganu, roti paung and many more which I can’t pronounced but are mentioned in GUiT.

This trip back to Trengganu is indeed an educational one. Daddy took me to Makam Tok Pelam and the caretaker was kind enough to allow us in. And once the door to the Makam was opened, lo and behold, there were the two bird’s eggs that Daddy mentioned in GUiT in the chapter on Eggs in a Net. Even some of the locals didn’t know of the existence of the eggs.

In some of the chapters where Daddy spoke about his father, he also mentioned a colleague of Tok Wan, someone called Pok Mat. Well, we got news that Pok Mat had had a stroke and we went to visit him. The poor man was in great pain. He couldn’t recognise Daddy anymore and Daddy was moved to tears to see his father’s dear friend in such a state. It was really very sad.

This is becoming a little too long. But let me tell you how Daddy is coping with this instant fame. He is stil not used to being in the news. He is more comfortable writing the news, doing the interviews. But now he finds that people recognised him as Mr Awang who wrote GUiT. We were having breakfast at KLCC when a Uruguayan lady approached him for a signed copy of GUiT. He was all flustered and embarrassed. Oh well.

There’s a lot more to tell, but this will suffice for now and I do need my beauty sleep and lots of energy as I am now managing Daddy the Awang Goneng. He is no doubt enjoying his rest in Gombak and I am sleepless in Bangi.

Take care my sayang mamas, take care of each other and love you lots.

PS, GUiT was knocked down to number three best seller two weeks ago but has gone up to number two again this week. We will be on the move again.

Have a good and prosperous 2008!

Oh, PPS...On the way back, Daddy pointed out to me the haunted house he mentioned in Whispering Wanderers!!!