THE HOUSE OF A FRIEND IN JANDA BAIK... and the Reality that you choose, and that has chosen you

"It is so green here, Papa."

After 2 weeks of no-holiday-holiday (according to Mikhail), we finally managed to break the grip of endless tuitions (for him) and work (for myself) to escape the city and make our way up to Janda Baik, that idyllic little village nesting in the hills outside Kuala Lumpur.

Nothing to do but lie in bed with the laptop. But to be honest we just spent a short time
in the room before heading out to explore the resort.

There is a small balcony fronting the lake which is actually pool-sized. But the fishes
make a happy company, coming under the balcony hoping to be fed whenever you
venture out. Can they see us from down there, or do they have another sense
that alerts them to the presence of an obliging human?

The flowers are in full bloom up here in Janda Baik.
This giant yellomindus blimeyidontknowthenamus
is at least 3 inches long from stem to petal.

We headed to a nearby house of a Friend. Another friend is caretaker but he was not
at home. Mikhail tried to make friends with the many(many) cats of the house. But
he observed, "These village cats are different. They are not so friendly." 

We got lost looking for the family retreat of another friend, Sheik Feisal Bajrai. With
almost zero network in some parts of the village, it was difficult going. But next morning
we woke up early and found the house. The gate was shut, but Mika opened it and we happily
trespassed in. I walked around the back and found Feisal's mum and dad and a Singaporean
relative having early coffee. Uncle Bajrai invited us in, and they fed us fried rice.
This is what you call Hadramaut hospitality. He he he.

We brought our bow and arrows, so after breakfast we set for some serious play at archery.
For almost 2 hours, I reckoned, we shot arrows, together with Feisal's relations from
Temasek. Balqies, his daughter also joined in the fray. I am happy to say that the new
45 pounder bow excelled! Feisal showed me his 60 pounder whose strings I could
barely budge. What a beautiful morning in their 1.4 acre estate... lovely.

After the easy archery exercise, we bade our gratitude and farewell to the Bajrais
before heading back to the House of a Friend. And again, we missed our custodian
friend, Tutak. But we did not mind much. We sat around under the ancient house and
Mikhail made friends successfully this time with his cats. Nothing better than a little
bribe to seal a friendship, I always believe. He he he.

It seemed a sin not to stop by the streams that run through the village.
So on the way back we took a break by a nice bend of river and Mikhail played
in the shallows. Unfortunately the shorts he wore was not meant for such
aquatic fun and kept dropping down. He was mooning everyone there. And I
was constantly shouting to him without any effect, "Pull your pants up, Mika!!"

Well, that's my short record of our road trip, sunshine. My final observation is the many, many sightings of moths, butterflies and dragonflies through out the trip. They were everywhere, hovering and buzzing about, their wings flapping energetically in the breeze. With each flap of their wing, a dzikr (remembrance) of Allah's (swt) name can be heard, but even more, can be seen. You just need a little of that God-given imagination of yours to realise the manifestation of love that is welling up in your heart. And of course, if you have asked God for your firstborn to be a tasbih (rosary) to ever remind you of Him and His Beloved Muhammad (saws), it is no mere imagination. 

It is the Reality you choose, and the Reality that has chosen you.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

-Notrumi Embun, 12th June 2014

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

The Rainstorm Tore the Veil in the Garden of Stones

I love the sunrise after an early morning's downpour. For when I am walking among the gravestones and their dwellers, I would find a carpet of beautiful flowers in and around the rectangular shaped graves. It is as if God is saying, "If there are some among you who are neglected and forgotten, with none of your living kin visiting, I shall Myself send flowers to your honoured resting place. For nothing can honour a place more than I." Such were the thoughts that percolated my mind as I walked beneath the Frangipani trees of the cemetery.

I did not tarry too long, but made my way straight to my mother's grave. In my head was ringing Avril Lavigne's chorus that was playing in my car on the drive here, "...Damn, Damn, Damn, What I would do to have you here... Here, Here... I wish you were here..." Funny how the most unlikely of music evokes the memory of my sainted mother, my uncle and my friend who now lay peacefully in this hallowed grounds. Any old (or new) tune gets me that way.

I spent a few minutes beside my mother's home. It has been her home for almost 10 years now. For the first time, I bent over the bottom tombstone, which would be at her feet, and I kissed it. Then I approached the  headstone and planted a kiss on the black marble. In my mind I was kissing my mother's forehead.

I may have shed a tear. But it was not out of sadness. For I was happy. The veil between life and the after-life can be either very thick or very, very thin. And on this morning, it appears that the rainstorm must have torn the veil a little. I peeked through the tear in the veil and sensed a warmth I have not felt for the longest time.

We cannot fulfill our obligation to our departed beloveds while forgetting the living. So on the way home I bought breakfast. As I entered the house I saw my father sitting alone at the breakfast table, occupied with the Sunday newspapers. I called to him, "Bapak, I bought breakfast!" He looked up and smiled. I felt the same warmth here too.

Have a beautiful Sunday, sunshine.

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

Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and the Jasmine Prose

Over the years, some prose have been recorded referencing to the Jasmine flower. For your information, they were inspired by a song of the late great Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. It is unfortunate that I have lost the music CD. But the memory of that beautiful song is interpolated here with references to God, the Prophet and Saints. Why? Because I can. I hope you like them as much as I enjoyed recording them down for prosperity.  

I am a nobody, with a soul parked in a vessel that is not mine. I am the meanest of the mean, so at the very least I hope that what I share here will bring you some pleasure. Often these matters are not mine to manage, and I merely hold them for someone. Perhaps that someone is you?

148. Faith is a Flower

Faith is a flower of a Jasmine Tree in the Garden of Love,

The Garden is set in the Valley of Certainty,

In which flows a river sprung from the Blessed Fountain.

The Valley is encircled by four hills named Amity, Charity, Patience and Fidelity.

And above them all, rain clouds carrying teardrops of musk drift from the Mercy Ocean.

My beloved Maulana! Your perfume lingers still, and I wonder;

What did you see when you gazed out the window that morning, and cried?

24. Faithful and True (Art thee, O’ Nusrat)

O’ heir,

Were I to die today,

I leave you in the care of our Lord and our Prophet.

Were I to die tomorrow,

I leave you in the care of our Lord and our Prophet;

The assurance of happiness,

The hollow of contentment,

The balm of satisfaction,

The honey of affection,

The snow of purity,

The rain of mercy,

The sweetness of friendship,

The altar of love,

The rock of strength,

The light of truth,

The fruit of charity,

The delight of beauty,

The honour of servanthood,

Most boon companions for you, faithful and true,

Ahad, o’ Ahad!

Planted art Thou by my Master

As a Jasmine in my heart.

29. Love, where are you waiting

My love,

Where are you waiting?

Beneath the Jasmine Tree

Planted in the heart of a Murshid?

In the unfolding of a White Tulip

Cradled in the arms of a Maiden?

In the gentle breathing

of a sleeping infant?

In the fire that is reflected

in his mother's eyes?

Comes the Moon into his room,

As a ray descends into his crib,

I am created and creating,

I am all and nothing,

I am the fall of leaves

In an afternoon storm,

I am the love you seek,

Profound and profane are you,

If what you desire is less!

Below is a beautiful documentary in memory of the great Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan... There are 4 parts.

Have a lovely day, sunshine. May God bless you and may He forgive this sinner.

Pax Taufiqa.

The Dervish on a Jasmine Flower

The Dervish on a Jasmine Flower

I dreamt you were dressed in white,

Whirling on a flower with white petals,

I dreamt of you last night,

Dancing in a robe adorned with pearls,

I dreamt you were a dervish,

Dancing on a Jasmine flower,

Gently falling to the ground

As the Universe whirled all around,

Gently perishing in a Divine embrace,

The Jasmine and you eternally entwined.

We must all have our dreams. For this world is not enough to contain our love. This world is after all only a looking glass. A divine mirror. A brief reflection upon the Beauty that is God.

We have no particular knowledge of God. What little we know are hearsay, stories passed down from the time of Adam and Eve. There is nothing wrong in this. For this world is essentially a hearsay. And wise are those who realise that even direct experience is hearsay - "That is what we hear. But who is to say what is right or wrong?"

We banish such doubts upon the Jasmine of Love. The white flower wherein perishes all doubt. And all lovers...

What a strange posting this is, sunshine!

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

The Stonehenge of Saribas - Pictures tell Stories

The Stonehenge of Saribas

Druids this way came. But they found no rocks or stones large enough. So they made do with leftover timber and a large diesel tank.

The lorries patiently await the arrival of barges loaded with granite from the quarry sites some miles downriver. They are used to pave the hundreds of miles of the giant oil palm estates here.

No, these are not neglected cloth lines. These beautiful pink flower plants are what the planters call 'beneficial' plants. They attract the sort of predatory insects which keep down the population of harmful bugs (weevils and others) that would attack the leaf and fruit. Apart from bugs, rats and mice are a major problem. For the rodent problem, the natural defenses are snakes and the biawaks (a large lizard). But the planters say that they have not sighted many biawaks. They also tried to introduce owls, which are superb rat catchers. But strangely, the newcomers keep going missing. They suspect that the natives may be shooting them down. But that is mere speculation.

Growing anything anywhere on a large scale is often challenging. And for palm oil in peat soil it is doubly difficult. Water level is required to be kept at a constant level. It is the nature of peat that if it loses too much water it loses the ability to regain the original moisture level, even if you are able to increase the water table. Small waterlocks are built on the estate watering system. The still water encourages the growth of algea on the surface, that is why it is often bright green.

Crossing the Batang Saribas (Saribas River). At this spot it's more than a kilometre wide.

Saribas will forever be ingrained in my mind as the place where I saw heaven reflected on the still water of our earth. I also witnessed the strong hearts and limbs of men and women who are trying their very best to carve a living from the yielding earth. May we respect mother nature and her giving ways, and not take too much from her, to leave her barren for our children and grandchildren...

Have a sunny Sunday, sunshine.

Pax Taufiqa