GOOD ATTRACTS GOOD - now that you are not here...

Now That You Are Not Here

Dear gentle soul,

Now that you are gone,

I constantly pray for you,

As I know you are constantly praying for me,

Dear gentle soul,

You were not meant to be long here,

Beneath the eaves of this forest of trees,

And the tall roofs of the minaret spires,

Where are you walking now that you are not here?

Now that you have nothing left to fear?

Dear gentle soul,

The middle child of two beautiful souls,

Will you give my greetings to our mother,

Now that you are with her and not here?

Dear gentle soul,

You shall now never grow old,

And your love will never grow cold.

..........................

My late brother, Saiful Bahri, whom I call Abang Chik (meaning, literally older younger brother) and you call Poone would undoubtedly say to me, "Enough already laaa with the poems (us Malaysians like to say laaa at the end of everything to stress a point)". But if he took such an unexpected and discourteous exit from this world (well, God fated his passing, but I am still going to blame Poone), I think I deserve as much time as I want to write about him. Because, frankly, I won't be posting anything at all here in the Almanac if I am not writing about my dear brother.

Mak Ndak, my auntie sitting near the foot of Poone's grave.
Well, that's what I call her. My brother called her Mak, meaning mother, for
she cared for him when he was just a baby, as my parents
had to travel overseas for my father's further studies.

Last week, a very excellent friend of my brother called Boy (though he is not a boy anymore) dropped by the house to ask for directions to find Poone's grave in the cemetery. We did not talk for very long, but I was deeply touched by what he said. "You know..., if I get to heaven, I would wish my father and mother to be there, my wife, my children... and Poone."

From all these unnecessary accolades about my brother, I rather take it that my brother was a jolly good fellow. And I think in his all-too short life, Poone also collected a bunch of jolly good fellows as friends.

Good attracts Good. That's what I think. Don't you agree, sunshine?

Have a lovely Monday now.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

I AM LOOKING FOR 'I' - a sinner in a hermitage in the sky

I looking for 'I'

I am looking for 'I',

Leaving my home to look for home,

I am looking for 'I',

Leaving myself to find myself,

I am looking for 'I',

So God shan't sigh,

"My dear old chum, 

You never even tried."

I am looking for 'I'

And leaving my 'I'ness behind,

So look for me, my friend,

At the Hermitage in the Sky.

Hermitage in the Sky. Over the past couple of weeks, the sinner (that is me, a regular old sinner, nothing extraordinary) was considering taking an apartment in the area of Damansara Damai which is, I reckon about 1 hour plus drive (during rush hour) or a mere 15 minutes away (at any other time) from my lifelong neighbourhood of Bukit Damansara. So after much thought, I have decided to take the place for one month trial period. Most landlords would balk at such a proposal, but I have no landlord, for it is a she, and the landlady is my good friend, Rina.

Early this morning I went over to sweep and mop the first floor before going to the office. Let me tell you that mopping is no joke. Mop, rinse, mop, rinse, mop, rinse. And it was initially annoying because the floor was dusty and wet, so wherever I mopped I would leave a trail of mucky foot prints all over the place. So I would wipe the foot prints, again and again and again until there was no more trail of dirt on the marbled floor.

Adab of the Mop. And this mop story is important to me because it is a reflection of life. Often we look at other people and see dirt and stains on their character, and we are resolved to rehabilitate these poor sinners, without noticing the trail of debris and muck we ourselves leave behind in 'helping' them. Because we are not helping actually, but in truth, judging. When you are alone with a mop your mind wanders. He he he.

I brought Mak Ndak, my late mum's elder sister to see the place last weekend. She said it was kinda far, but she thinks it is pretty. That is good enough for me. As my mother is not around anymore, it is important that I have her blessings, albeit my stay may only be a while...

About this transition, I am both happy and sad. Which, when you think of the state of the world, ain't really too bad.

See you at the hermitage, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

THE PAST IS THE CONDITION OF THE FUTURE - so how will we chart our destiny if we do not know how we got here?

"We are not famous as soldiers or warriors. Only as journeymen on a journey.
It is not the dagger that we brandish, only our faith, our ordinary
way of life, the shovel and our sweat that made
this land of the Malays blossom."

Why a contract is thick. Without breaking a sweat, 2012 is flying speedily into the past with only three days left for us to complete whatever fate has planned for us this year. Today, I have a few contracts to review, some opinions to draft and some letters to send. I guess I will also be starting on a due diligence on a bank loan. It doesn't sound very interesting, but it is actually. For behind every contract, every loan and court case are human beings and their passions and ambitions. The Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.s) said that whatever agreement you may have, write them down. For we sometimes forget our promises, and the nuanced considerations and 'what ifs' that make up a human transaction. All that 'what ifs' and human nuances... those are the bits that make a legal contract thick. 

A family project. I met my friend Mr. Ikhlas, yesterday morning. And later we were joined by another friend, Abu Hussin. At the end of our extended conversation, Mr. Ikhlas agreed that we should head over to the Historical Society to find out whatever I can about my family's past and ancestors. A couple of my uncles started the project, but alas, they passed away before they could complete it. I think it is time the project is continued.

After all, how will we ever chart our future if we do not know how we got here in the first place?

Have a lovely Friday, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way  

Debts of Love we all owe - unwinding the past, extending the present, revealing the future

Our Elders: Oh Where Shall I Hide My Shame?

O' my Beloved God,

In the name of Your Most Beloved,

Muhammad Habibullah, Most Glorious Rose

In the Garden of Your Creation,

Most Perfect Light created before

The Pen and the Tablet,

I am asking Thee, for Thou

Have commanded that we

Ask Thee and no one else...

That if Thou have granted us

The foresight of knowledge and responsibility

Then for us, make it easy,

And extend a second beyond one second,

One hour beyond one hour, turn the day

Into a year of beautiful memories,

A year into an epoch of good deeds,

That we might give unto those whom

We owe much debt of gratitude and love

What they deserve, and that we are not

Questioned on the day when all deeds

Are accounted for - "O' Taufiq, when your

Elders become weak and enfeebled, when their

Limbs refuse to work as they used to,

When their mind is quiet and introspective,

When they are looking for your time and attention,

Did you give unto them their right?

Did you give unto them love and care?"

Oh, Lord... I fear Thy questioning of me.

Oh where shall I hide my shame...

Dear God, oh where...?

...............

My father (78) and my auntie (84) is living with me. And I have just realised that for the longest time they have nurtured secret hopes. A very human and reasonable want to go out, to have dinners at a restaurant, to go shopping, to travel and visit places they used to frequent in their younger days, to visit their friends and relatives, to have some favourite dish that they long missed. But they never tell me, you see. It is not my fault, is it?

Bapak (my dad)

This is me, bustling about like a mad man, running from work to work, writing for blogs, working hard for my customers, rushing in and out of my house, trying to earn a crust of bread and an amphora of honey, while all the while, my aunt and my father observes me with a contemplative and sad gaze. 

Mak Ndak (my aunt)

When I was growing up, they need not be told by me what I want or need. Regularly they have showered me with love, care, attention and presents, though I have done nothing to deserve their blessings, save for the simple effort of being born, and that too I really had not much work to do. I simply popped out of my mother's tummy. When I was growing up, my parents and elders have already the foresight to consider and plan for my future, years and years ahead of time. And now, here I am, not even able to consider five minutes into the future as to my father and auntie's wants and hopes.

Ah. That wise (and damning) words still rings true - A single father or mother can care and raise two, three or ten children. But sometimes, not even ten children can care for one elderly father or mother.

I often like to hide my foibles and weakness behind the station of a sinner. But truth be told, sunshine, this is worse than being a sinner.

I hope to change. I want to change. I don't want to meet God feeling all shitty this way. I want to make my elders happy. I reckon my mother, may God bless her soul, would have agreed.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Eid Celebrations, Family and a Greedy Little Pig - oink! oink!

Coming to the end of Ramadhan and the Eidul Fitri celebrations on 1st of Syawal to mark one month of fasting by the Muslims, it is common for us to receive festive greetings via snail mail, Facebook, sms-es and WhatsApp (well, for us Android users at least). I have been a bit busy yesterday as we had a drove of wonderful, bright-eyed, brilliant and good-looking relatives come visit us on the first day (well, I have to be complimentary if I want them to come again next year... Or am I spreading the butter too thick?).

So I am finally able to catch my breath today, and have been typing my late replies. If you did not receive my reply because you never sent me an Eid Mubarak greetings (And by the way, why didn't you? *sad*), well here is my best reply sent out today -

Salams sunshine,... If you but knew me a bit better perhaps you would not like me, but if I knew a bit more of you I am sure to grow fonder of you. So my Salam and prayer for us this Eid is for God and His Prophet to veil my wickedness and to unveil your goodness that I might continue to be blessed with your love and companionship... alhamdulillah, God be praised! Madad ya Saideena Muhammad, madadul Haqq!

For those who came yesterday, thank you kindly for your company and smiles... It was wonderful. A note of thanks for my brother, Zahurein, for cooking up a mouth-watering Mee Rebus (a local noodle dish in beef, oxtail, shrimp, chilli and sweet potato broth). I am ashamed to confess here that I, a greedy little pig, had 4 servings.

He was THE host, but he had 4 servings! Shameless...

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Gardener in the Garden of Stones - Eidul Fitri and my mother

The Gardener

Goodbye sweet smile,

How you broke the gloom of night

In your breaking dawn each time

You turned and smiled at me,

Goodbye gentle heart,

How you lifted me up every time I fell,

How you gathered me in your arms

And assured me that you will always be there,

Goodbye kindly soul,

How you made this house a home

And how you fed everyone who came

With food and kindness,

Goodbye beautiful spirit,

How struck I was with your passing

Never to know when we shall meet again,

Under an overcast sky, I took myself away

And in solitude, I began to cry,

Goodbye loving gardener,

Where are you now tending to the flowers and trees?

In whose garden are you pottering and weeding?

For I hope they appreciate your love and work

Among your geraniums and orchids

Far more than your son ever did.

………………………………..

Each Eidul Fitri that marks the end of Ramadhan finds me just that bit more quiet, just that bit more introspective, as sweetness and sadness mix in the vessel of emotion that we call the human spirit.

This Eidul Fitri is the 10th since my mother left the bosom of her family and friends. She was a lot of things to a lot of people. She was a dutiful and caring wife, a generous and loving mother, a smiling matriarch of the extended family, a concerned sister to all her siblings and an unforgettable personality to her many, many close friends. But to the big garden that once adorned our home for 20 years at No.2 Lorong Basong, she was The Gardener. Every morning I would see her pottering around the garden, watering and trimming the plants, fertilizing the soil and cutting away at the weeds that is her eternal enemy. Later she would scold me for kicking my football into the shrubs and knocking down some of her beloved flowers and ferns.

What I would give to have her come in right now and scold me.

Have a wonderful Eidul Fitri, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

In a small village I found Gems of the Heart and Salt of the Earth - proud in the most noble sense of the word

Back here again.

Yesterday morning we made our way back to Kak Mutiah's house, a wooden kampung (village) home, standing solitary in acres of paddy fields. She is coming back with us for my late mum's tahlil (traditional prayers for the deceased) this coming Sunday. As it always happens, a visit to the little hamlet in Tanjung Karang is always wonderful - amongst familiar and friendly friends, generous and humble, yet proud in the most noble sense of the word...

The two coconut trees are still there, standing tall in front of the house. Flowers of their garden
are in bloom and feels so familiar to me. It should, because Kak Mutiah used to bring home some
of the plants from my mother's own garden. So the DNA of the trees, leaves and flowers
surrounding her familial abode is the same as mine. This leaves me feeling somehow happy. 

Last I was here the Hibiscus was not flowering. Now its magnificent red petals are
floating in the gentle afternoon breeze. It is Malaysia's national flower. Many long
years ago her father and mother migrated from the island of Java, Indonesia to make
a honest toil as gardeners. Then an opportunity opened for them they became paddy
farmers in Tanjung Karang, as pioneers in this rural area of Selangor. They still speak
Javanese and hold to their customs, but they have become Malaysians and are salts
of the earth. It was not easy, being paddy farmers.

After lunch my auntie, Mak Ndak and Kak Mutiah's mother are resting in the
living area. After 3 visits, I have become particularly fond of her mother whom I
simply call Mak Cik (little or middle auntie). She is tough as nails and kind as a cloud
that passes over the Sun. She doesn't speak any unnecessary word, but is attentive
to her guest's comfort and food. You know... the sort that makes you feel like a Sultan.
When we said goodbye I had to kiss her hand and hug her.

The inner rooms are much more cooler during the day.  After the amazing lunch
cooked by my kindly hosts, I fell into a contented slumber. I am not the sort that can
just fall asleep anywhere. My heart is fussy where I rests my head, I guess. But after this
third visit, I have lost whatever inhibitions I had and  when Mak Cik told me to 'rest',
I did just that. "Ooh... this is too nice..." I remember
thinking, before losing consciousness.

When I woke up later, I explored the kitchen and I found an ancient-looking cabinet where the family keeps the dry goods. Kak Mutiah noticed me pondering over the beat-up old furniture and said, "This is very old. A reminder from the time when we really had nothing whatsoever. My father built it himself when I was maybe 5 years old (she's in her fifties now). You know how it is in those days, we were very poor and couldn't even afford a simple cabinet. Even for the wood my father had to scrounge about for spare or unused planks."

Later as we were leaving, my cousin, the indomitable Ramlah (I call her Kak Lah) succeeded in giving Kak Mutiah's mum a token gesture of money. I was sitting at the backyard when I saw her practically scuffling with the old lady and then chasing her into the rooms. Kak Lah later came out looking a bit breathless but victorious, "She always does that! I literally have to wrestle her down to give her a little gift! How I wish for once she would not put up such a struggle..."

Deep, abiding, sincere respect. That was how we all felt for Kak Mutiah, her father and her mother. They are Gems of the Heart and Salt of the Earth. And as I said, proud people in the most noble sense of the word. 

I feel so lucky to be able to share with you a little of their story. Thank you for coming by, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Extended Families - don't forget them...

1. Fountain of Youth

The Fountain of Youth

Is Youth itself,

And the Elixir of Long Life

Is a life well-lived.

............................................................

I visited a cousin yesterday. Kak Mah had a fall while out marketing with her husband. I am the youngest son of the second youngest in my late mother's family of 9 siblings. This means that the age gap between me and some of my cousins are pretty big, up to 20 years difference. This also means that my nieces and nephews (which to us Malays also cover our cousins' children) are not much younger than me.

I think this picture must have been taken in mid 80s perhaps, when I myself were in my teens. They are all my nieces and nephews. The grand old lady is my MakWe, the eldest of my mum's sisters. With her is my PakWe, her husband, surrounded by their grandchildren. Sadly, two brothers in the picture, Firul and Imran are not longer with us, called back to the Lord in the spring of their manhood...

Sigh. Nowadays I am going to funerals almost as often as weddings. But then again, there are also many, many births as the surviving kids start becoming mums and dads. How time flies.

I have nothing profound to share with you. Perhaps a gentle reminder (to myself really) to make time for our family. And not just our immediate family, but our extended branch of cousins, second cousins and our uncles and aunties. Sometimes we take for granted the happy memories of our childhood, and live in our past. But there is still joy to make now, and happy memories to create simply by being with our extended family. My mother, God bless her sainted soul, always made time for her very large circle of extended family and friends. And when she passed away, they all mourned her passing.

Thank you for dropping by, dear reader. You are already part of my own family. It's just that we have never been introduced yet.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Postscript. I wrote this piece about 3am this morning. An hour after I am told that someone dear to me had  passed away. He will be buried today after Friday prayers. I fear I cannot write anything more than this.

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Uncles and Aunties - we cannot replace the irreplaceable

The Passing of Rich Memories

The wealth of my past,

The riches of my history

Are all passing out of

Possession of this world

And into the custody of the next.

The smiles, the teasings,

The kindly gestures and

Assuring words from

My uncles and aunties

Are now naught but

Beautiful memories.

Last night, another uncle of mine has passed away. Alias, the brother of my father. Over this couple of years, I have lost a number of uncles and aunts. I am not sad for them for they have been tried and proven true in this life. They have lived a full life and lived long enough to play with their grandchildren. My aunts and uncles are all precocious, opinionated and cheeky. When I was younger, I was endlessly teased for being fat by the usual suspects, but now I miss them and miss their good humoured teasing.

Uncle Alias however never teased me. He was always kindly and smiling, and perhaps the friendliest man you would have the good fortune of encountering under any circumstances. He was from another generation, you see… when money was not everything.

I do not know, sunshine, how I can replace the irreplaceable. I guess we cannot, and it is only for us to bide our time here until we meet again with our relatives and friends who have already been passed the threshold of this mortal life. May it be a blessed encounter in the Divine Presence. ameen, al-fatiha.

Value life, honour death.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Rain, the Paddy Fields and the Generosity of People - Back to Tanjung Karang

How do you drive when you can barely see out of your car? But we did just that as we headed once again to the rural area of Tanjung Karang, about an hour's drive out of town (See earlier posting entitled 'A Little House Among the Paddy Fields - a hard but beautiful life.' Click Here). I was sending my Kak Mutiah back home when the heavens suddenly opened up in a biblical rain storm (well it felt biblical). I was only worried about the muddy track leading to her house and whether the car might get stuck in the morass... On the way, her mother called and informed us that (perhaps) due to the heavy rain storm, there is no water supply to the house. Water, water everywhere but where you need it most. 

Happily the rain ebbed away and the Sun peeked out of the overcast sky. The track looked muddy alright but it was not too bad. The electricity poles which dot the paddy fields however looked a little shaky as their underground foundation loosened under the torrential rains pouring on Malaysia for the past couple of weeks. The poles were all leaning sideways and hanging precariously to each other.

It was a crisp cool post-rain air that greeted us arriving at Kak Mutiah's house. The rich golden green stalks of rice are all gone now, harvested over the previous 2 weeks. Its all just muddy fields to the furthest vista. But muddy or golden, I was happy to be back again. To be able to flex your sight and soul. Sometimes I think that a far horizon is the best spot for reflection, whether it is in the deserts of Arabia, the plains of the Dakotas or the sweeping meadows of rural England. The calmness I felt earlier in my first visit returned to the senses like a familiar friend. Now I am certain I like it here. I did not immediately enter the house, but amused myself around the compound and neighbouring paddy field and canals.

Kak Mutiah and her family has been staying in the house with the blue roof for the longest time. Their family were initially from Jawa, Indonesia. There are many Javanese who have made Tanjung Karang their home, and although they speak Bahasa Melayu (the national language), the elders often revert back to their Javanese mother tongue. But the number of people fluent in Javanese is dwindling as the new generation becomes more integrated and marries into the indigenous Malay population.

Kak Mutiah's father mused that the village used to be a lot busier in the past. The houses were much closer and there were more young people about. Nowadays, duplicating the migration trend the world over, the small hamlet of Tanjung Karang sees the continuing drift of its young to the big cities. Things were certainly more lively back then. Kak Mutiah recalls how the village girls would be walking home from Quran recitation lessons when inevitably someone would scream "Ghosts!" and the girls would scamper home at top speed.

Mikhail came along this time, together with my auntie, Mak Ndak. "I cannot live here. There is no computer." lamented my son. But he was curious enough to accompany me around. He was looking at the paddy field canal and asked, "Papa, can I pee in the stream?" And later while we were exploring the compound, "Papa, can I pee under the house?" I think Mika actually needed to pee and was not asking me a purely rhetorical question. Mika's Papa can be really slow sometimes. I directed him to the toilet in the house.

From the left: My aunt (resting after climbing the steep steps into the house, Mikhail looking nervous and shy and Kak Mutiah's mother, named Saleha. Like all grandmothers, she enjoys the presence of grandchildren, even if not her own. She may appear small, but even in her 70s, she is still very strong, "Much stronger than me." admitted Kak Mutiah.

The family served up tea, consisting of fried curry puff, bananas, yam and cempedak. Kak Mutiah's mum was pleased my aunt managed to come too. They updated each other and my aunt invited her to come for my aunt's granddaughter's wedding this coming February. Mika disappeared from the table for a while before coming back and declaring, "Papa, this house has 12 doors!" I think he meant thresholds. I nodded appreciatively, "Good to know, Mika... good to know." Later the mother hugged and kissed Mikhail, and furtively slipped RM15 into his hand. Mika protested that he doesn't need the money but she would not take no for an answer and said "You can buy ice-cream..." And just before we left she presented my aunt with two pairs of batik cloth. How can you not love such people?

There are many, many flowers, ferns and other assorted faunas which somehow looked all so familiar to me. Then I suddenly remembered that Mutiah had over the years been given the saplings from my late mother's large garden. My mother used to potter around the garden for 1 to 2 hours every morning without fail. Like my mother, that garden is no more, so I am glad to find these beautiful trees and flowers alive and enriching Kak Mutiah's home. My late mother was awfully fond of (if at times annoyed by) Kak Mutiah and greatly respected her parents.

I was a little sad to leave and hope to come back soon.
Thank you for sharing a little space in your day with me.

Pax Taufiqa

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will find a way

Silence on a Sabbath - All about sarcasm, hard-boiled eggs, coconuts, kittens and moving on

Extra service. I found this uber-nifty sign during the Malaysia Day bazaar last September 16. It now hangs on the wall behind me in my office. Every time a client comes to me with some corporate work, I point to the sign and asked whether he would be interested. Funnily enough, no one has been keen to 'purchase' my sarcasm. I wonder why...

Boiled eggs. I accompanied my dad for lunch. For starters he had Malaysia's quintessential hard-boiled eggs. We normally have it with white pepper and soya ketchup. I don't advise you having too many though, it would have the side-effect of stopping you from doing your business.

We love our coconuts. Malays and Indians are very big on coconuts in our cooking. It goes into our main dishes a well as our drinks and deserts. That is why we are a little on the err... stout side, compared to the Thais and Indonesians who uses less coconut. One of the Malay's most famous dishes is the Nasi Lemak (literally fatty rice). You cook the rice in santan (coconut milk) with a couple sprigs of the pandan leaf. We have this for breakfast. Of course it isn't very healthy. No truly delicious food is!

Father of the Kitten. A friendly stray dropped by my table asking for scraps, but there aren't any. She however allowed me to stroke her head and tickle her chin. I love cats. Especially friendly ones. Cats always remind me of Abu Hurairah, a Companion of the Prophet, and the esteemed narrator of many traditions and sayings of the Prophet Muhammad. As a child, he had a cat which he dotted on, hence the name Abu Hurairah (Father of the Kitten), He was born in what is now Yemen, and his actual name was 'Abd al-Rahman ibn Sakhr Al-azdi. He died in 681 at the sprightly age of 78.

Death on a Sabbath. Early this morning my Mak Ndak called me. She is my late mum's elder living sister. She said that she cannot come to my house today because she is with my Mak Teh, who is the wife of my late Pak Teh, my mum's elder brother (Get it?). Anyway, Mak Teh was extremely unwell, she said. Not half an hour after that, Mak Ndak called me again and said "Mak Teh dah tak de" (Mak Teh is no more). The mosque was right in front of the house, so the body was washed in the religious rite of Islam, and then they waited until the afternoon Zuhur prayers, to perform the sembahyang jenazah (prayer for the deceased) together with the rest of the congregation. Mak Teh is to be buried later in the afternoon at the Bukit Kiara Muslim Cemetery, the last resting place of her late husband, as well as my mum's. Together in life, together in death. The sky was overcast and the weather cool, and tomorrow is the Muslim festival of Eidul Adha. I think she has been granted an auspicious day to be called back to her Most Compassionate and Most Merciful Creator. I was not so close to her, but I would still miss Mak Teh. She always smiled when she greeted me. The quiet kindly sort, you know... 

2. Oh Tired Vessel

Oh tired vessel,

Oh beautiful soul,

Your journey has ended,

Your travels are complete

In its wavering purpose

Across an uncertain sea,

For certainty is only with me,

Hope is only with me,

And your homecoming,

Your final harbour,

Your sweet repose,

Is my promise.

Smile, beautiful soul,

And endure but for a little while more.

For nothing will you ever want

When your homecoming is with the One,

For who else shall be waiting for you

Behind the mortal door?

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

A Sinner's Log for Eidul Fitri, Day 1.

Sinner's Log for Eidul Fitri, 30th August 2011.

1. Woke up at 2.30am. Couldn't fall back to sleep so wrote a posting. Then laid in bed and contemplated the ceiling fan, "That ceiling fan sounds ominously creaky. What if it suddenly drops?"
2. At 7am finally dragged myself half-asleep out of bed. Woke Mika up and said that he should follow me to the Mosque to pay the religious tithe (must be done before the Eidul Fitri supererogatory prayers which normally starts about 8am). Mika whines. I said why should I take him to the shopping mall if he doesn't want to follow me to the mosque? He leapt of the bed and quickly showered. Good.
3. Successfully paid the tithe at one of the four tables laid out at the mosque entrance. Took pictures of Mika at the mosque - "That way, Mika, if anyone asks, you can say that Papa brought you to the mosque on Eidul Fitri morning." Didn't plan to pray actually, and we were driving home when suddenly...
4. 7.30am - Mika asks whether we are going to the shopping mall now. I said, "Mika, I didn't say we were going to the shopping mall right after the mosque. Anyway, what shopping mall is open at 7.30am??" Mika complained, "Papa, you tricked me. This is unfair!" I shared with my son my views on fatherhood - "Mika, the father-son relationship is not based on fairness and democracy. It is feudal and autocratic. Live with it." That quietened him down. Hehehe.
5. 8am - Had breakfast with my dad and Mika. Dad didn't even try the spaghetti which I made last night. Disappointed.
6. 9am - My friend Longhair arrived from the mosque, resplendent in his flowing white robe and wizard's hat. He didn't even look at my spaghetti and had the nasi lemak dish instead (rice cooked in coconut milk, served with fried peanuts, anchovies, cucumber, boiled egg and a spicy red sauce). Double disappointed. 
7. 9.30am - When my late mother was alive, the neighbourhood garbage men would all come to our house in the early morning of Eidul Fitri, and they did not disappoint us. Today, 8 of them arrived and they received their 'ang pows' (packets of money). 
8. 10pm - My relatives started to appear, mostly my cousins and their children. Finally some of them took notice of the spaghetti and had some. One even packed my celebrated spaghetti to have more later at home. Very happy now.
9. 10.45am -  My eldest bro arrived and Mika is happy because his closest cousin, Aqheel has come. They spent most of the morning in front of the laptop, fighting Greek and Norse gods and demigods. 
10. 11pm - My friend King finally arrived with his family. My dad and his dad, Raja Zainal Abidin traded old stories about their days as students in University Malaya, Singapore. My dad (who was a medical student) said that his room was the best, because it overlooked the nursing college hostel. Hmm. He never told me that before. Later my other brother Saiful came back with Adam and Imran, my two other nephews.
11. 11pm-2pm - I was mildly but continuously interrogated about my marriage plans - or in the view of my elderly cousins, my lack of marriage plans. Some queries came by way of proxy from my aunties who were not able to visit my house today. "You promised us you will get married this year!" one particularly aggressive cousin accused me. I didn't, I remember simply telling them last year , "Maybe next year." The idea of a marriage plan beyond one year is incomprehensible to them. So I just told them what they wanted to hear. Hehehe. 
12. 2pm - Mika wants to follow his cousin, Aqheel and my brother's family to visit more houses. My brother asked if it is okay. I said "Please, be my guest!" My brother just laughed, so I warned him, "I am not kidding, Abang Ein (that is what I call my eldest brother, Zahurein), Mikhail doesn't ever stop talking!" Again, he just laughed at my warning. Oh well. C'est la vie.
13. 2.30pm - 4pm - My father's friend Lily, visited us with her family, which breathtakingly consists of 7 sisters, although only 4 managed to be here this year. 
14. 4.30pm - No one around but us mice. I saw my dad take a plate of my spaghetti and I went to sit next to him. He said, "Nice.. nice". I thought he may be just trying to spare my feelings, but as I was going to my room, I saw him visit the buffet table for another helping. Not disappointed anymore. Alhamdulillah!

 I hope you enjoyed my brief summary of the day, sunshine. I am about to fall asleep very, very soon. While I am unconscious and my soul takes leave of my body, I pray that wherever you are, and whatever you may be doing, may your Family, Love, Faith, Friends and Rock & Roll be your constant abiding company this Eidul Fitri.Oh no, wait, stop the press! Longhair just facebook-ed me. He is coming over again to try some of my spaghetti. Hehehe. My cup of joy runneth over...

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

An Intermission to the Prose of Ramadhan - Rabia, Auntie Nab, My Mother and Father

Before I left for my pilgrimage (umrah) last March I jotted down a quick postie about the famous Sufi saint, a woman by the name of Rabi'ah al-'Adawiyah - Earlier Posting entitled "Auntie Nab, Rabia & Salman in Jerusalem". In the same post, I also wrote about my Auntie Nab, a person in my life of immense importance. For when my father was doing his Senior Cambridge exams in the Malay College Kuala Kangsar, my mother was the second youngest daughter of Haji Hashim, the chief clerk of the college. My mother was a go-getter from the word go, literally. She asked Auntie Nab, for they were friends, as to which of the boys in the six form was the smartest. And Auntie Nab listed down my father as a likely suspect. My father was a nerd you see, before the word was invented. I guess in the old days you would call him a bookworm. Excellent in mathematics and english, and a diligent student.

Well, to cut the story short, Auntie Nab arranged and matched my father and mother together. From whose union was sprung three unlikely boys by the names of Zahurein, Saiful and the sinner. Auntie Nab has always been a part of my life, being such an old and dear friend of both my parents. My mum's other friends may be a little reticent of my father, being the dour and brooding presence that he is. But not Auntie Nab. In her gravely voice she would admonish my father for whatever contratemp or weakness that she felt he exhibited. Not many people can do that to my dad. She was able to do it because she knew my father better than any other of my mum's wide clique. Zainab was my father's college mate, you see. The only girl in an all-boys school, and if I am not mistaken, the first girl ever to be admitted into the famous college. I guess the authorities found this girl from the sleepy town of Taiping simply too intelligent to deny her a place, despite being of the wrong sex.

After my mother's death, I remember spending some time with her talking about things. And it was in one of those, now all too few conversations, that she spoke of Rabia and her fondness for the female saint. She asked me that if I were to find any book on Rabia to get it for her. I never did, not that I recall finding one. But I always thought that I would see her again, you see, and get her that darn book. Now this shall never come to pass.

I am just told by my father that Auntie Nab passed away yesterday in Melbourne, Australia.

I am a little sad. My father didn't talk much over dinner and he looked sad too. But I am happy that my mother shall have one of her greatest friends with her now. And really, Auntie Nab can ask Rabia directly all she ever wanted to know about the female Sufi saint. I have no doubt they shall have a lot to talk about. May God bless her beautiful soul and cherish Auntie Nab in the Light of the Prophet and all his Saints.

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

Postscript: As I write this, my dear friend Ariffin, who is presently performing his pilgrimage in Mecca is praying in front of the holy Kaaba for Auntie Nab and her safe deliverance into the loving embrace of God. I am a sinner, you see. But for some unaccountable reason, God has ensured that I would at least have some friends with better and more direct connection with Him. God is Most Curious that way. I think Auntie Nab, who was a particularly curious person too, would fall in love with God again and again. Of that I have no doubt.

My One Constant Abiding Romance

91. My Lord flirted with me

My Lord flirted with me yesterday,

In the aftermath of a storm,

In the cool and damp air of

A corner in His creation,

Green with life and love.

Green wet grass beneath my feet,

Green moss and crawlies that climb

The trees that kept me company,

And in the monsoon drain, the roaring water

Brown with silt from the

Hilltop above.

And My Lord winked at me,

Sending lonely drops of water

Plummeting from the leaves of the shading trees

Into the puddles that lie by my feet;

*wink*

*wink*

*wink*

Creating ripples of my Lord’s

Recreation with me, in an ever

Expanding arch and weakening force,

As if the Lord is Himself bashful of me.

*wink*

*wink*

Feeling a little embarrassed and shy,

I took leave of my Lord’s signs

And rejoined my family

Waiting for me, in

The warmth of my

Aunt’s house, and

In the love glimmering

In my aunts’ eyes.

And not a moment

Have I been sitting,

Until 'the Question'

Is again asked by

My aunts,

“When will thee marry?”

Sigh.

God will always be God to me. The prose was recorded sometime in end 2008, at my beloved Mak Su's (my late mother's youngest sister) home. That afternoon it rained heavily, and I wanted to take a breather and was walking her neighbourhood. Her house is at the foot of a tall hill. I do not know when God may flirt with me. But when He does, I like to jot it down. I record sweet events and memories of a Most Loving, and Most Surprising Suitor of all... aka our Lord God of all humanity and creation. It is my job, you see.

Aunties will always be Aunties to me. And as the years pass since my divorce, their plaintive cries and pleading for me to marry again becomes more and more desperate sounding. "We will not live long..." They argue, "Get married while we can still help..." They plead with great earnest and sometimes even acting the Cupid, "If you don't have anyone... you know, my friend's daughter is a teacher / doctor / lawyer and ...." As they continue to press their kind help on helpless me.

Well, I do have a little someone. Indeed, if I have not met her I probably wouldn't even be blogging. And I hope to fulfill my aunties' frantic prayers one day soon. With a little help from God, of course - My One Constant Abiding Romance...

See. I can flirt with God too. It is easy, really.

Hehehe.

Pax Taufiqa.