True Love and the Definition of a Village House

This is not a 'kampung' (village) house. To be a kampung house,
it needs to actually be in a kampung. Oh, I see...

When I wrote about Kak Mutiah's home in Tanjung Karang recently, I made a mistake. I called it a kampung (village) house. Because to her, a village house has to be in a village, consisting of small houses (mostly on stilts) not too far apart and generally surrounded with trees, orchards and gardens. I know this because when I drove her back last Tuesday morning, she said, "I don't like living in the kampung houses. I love the open spaces of the paddy fields. To be able to see the Sun rising in the far horizon and later setting in the westerly direction. I like to feel the breeze and the open air." Before affirmatively declaring, "I really love my home!"

As I spent time talking with her mum and dad, I got to know that the present house is not where Kak Mutiah was born. Her father recalled that they were in fact staying in another house, but not far from their present abode. Later, as I was lazing on the front steps, I watched Kak Mutiah's father get on his small motorcycle to ride to the mosque nearby. I was quite clearly visible, but he appears not to notice until just in front of me, he suddenly glanced in my direction and waved. I was a little apprehensive because he was in fact riding rather fast and heading straight for the ditch. Happily he got control of the motorcycle alright and safely rode away.

It was only sometime later did I find out that he has problems seeing because of his cataract. "That is why whenever he wants to ride to town, my mother will ride along in the back to make sure nothing goes wrong." Explained Kak Mutiah, chuckling, "She's like his navigator!"

True Love.

I think that is the sweetest thing ever...

Have a safe ride today, sunshine, wherever you may be going!

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

Back to Janda Baik with Dad - pictures tell stories

Yesterday late morning, me and my dad made a short lunch trip to Janda Baik. Remember the place? I went there earlier this year with my pal, Moses (See below for earlier postings). It was a gentle drive on a hot day, so no hurry to get anywhere on time. The road was not too heavy with traffic because it was not a long weekend, and in less than forty minutes we were disembarking at the small town of Bukit Tinggi, Pahang, which sat at the foothill of Janda Baik.

Bukit Tinggi used to be a 'very black area' my father noted. This was during the
Communist insurgence era in the 60s-70s. There is still a sizable police contingent
based in town, although the days of the Malayan Communist Party is long gone. The town
is predominantly chinese and on weekends there is normally a large crowd of visitors, coming
here to buy fresh fruits and veggies (especially ginger). A couple of seafood restaurants here
do brisk business serving the day-trippers. From Bukit Tinggi you can see the hills of
Janda Baik up there.

We made a pit stop for water and fags. I have learnt to time what I do with my father
according to his speed now. He is still a very proud man and fiercely independent and
will only accept a helping hand if absolutely necessary. So this is what I normally do,
keeping a close but not too close orbit near him. We bought our needs and were soon
on our way up hill.

This is in fact our main but modest objective for our drive. To have beef and bones soup
in a very small stall along the main Janda Baik road. We arrived nicely for lunch and the
soup was piping hot. We also had some freshwater fish cooked in tumeric herb and the
infamous Durian fruit. The dish is called masak tempoyak. It is very savoury.

The stall partly stood on stilts over a small pond which is full of talapia freshwater
fish. You cannot actually see them very clearly in this picture, but there are so many
of them in the murky water. As you eat you can hear the talapia jumping in and out
of the water, happy and contented. I love the fishy rural leafy ambience of the stall. 

Cat: Hey cityboy.
Me: Hullo there.
Cat: I see you have some boney scraps of meat leftover on your plate.
Me: Indeed I do. How observant of you.
Cat: Gimme some, will you?
Me: Sure, why not.

This tree fell over after a heavy downpour the night I was last in Janda Baik.
I wish the authorities would do something about it. Or are they waiting for
the telephone lines to actually break or the telephone poles topple over?

By one of the minor roads, We passed by this abandoned construction site. Someone
wanted to build a small house by this beautiful part of the stream that runs through
Janda Baik. How sad they never got to finish their house.

I actually stopped at the site and asked my dad to wait a while. Because I saw
something which disturbed my picturesque view. Someone or something had
broken a framed verse of the holy scriptures that was originally there. I tidied it up and place
the famous  Ayatul Kursi back properly against the wooden shed wall.
I like things to be 'just so' you know?

Our last stop was to look for the house of our former help, Kak Dah. After much
slow-driving and looking at the houses, my father suggested we try this house. I made
my way through the compound and found myself watched cautiously by a watch-geese.
These big (and strong) fowls are well known for being ill-tempered and have a reputation of
chasing strangers away. But this geese was contented just to observe me and make sure I
was not up to some thievery. 

As it turned out, it was not Kak Dah's house. But the kindly gentlemen who lived there with his wife (who coincidentally was also named Zaidah) tried to help us. Haji Aziz (for that is his name) made a few phone calls and found out that Kak Dah is not staying here, but her brother is. Alas, both her mother and father, who were my parents' good friends, have both passed away. Haji Aziz gave us directions to Kak Dah's house but we couldn't find it. Why didn't I take his number? But never mind, because we made a new friend in Janda Baik. Which is always a happy ending for a day's outing however way you look at it.

Thank you for keeping me company, sunshine.

Janda Baik Earlier Posting:
* A Village of Good Widows - Pictures tell stories
* Tao of Banana - a berryful contemplation of gratitude

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

A Village of Good Widows - Pictures tell Stories

If you are going to be drenched in a torrential downpour the night before, and later get caught in a morning drizzle as you wade through an icy cold river (icy by tropical standards, that is), well, be prepared to pay the consequences, sunshine. I am back home from the hillside village of Janda Baik nursing a temperature and a nasty cough. I am not much for talkin' or writin' just now. But perhaps you are quite tired of my endless jabber, so would appreciate quiet time with some shots I took while I was there...

If you have a 4X4 vehicle, you can go further up river,
where the water is clear like crystal. There are few houses here,
mostly farms and a couple of aboriginal huts.

The small village of Janda Baik is located just one hour from Kuala Lumpur. When I was
young in the early 80s, I used to visit this place. Back then they planted rice here
but not anymore. I guess the size of the paddy fields are just not economical enough,
squeezed as they are between mountain ranges and hilly jungles.

After our brief escapade upriver, we came down along the main road to find
this dilapidated little cafe beside the river. As you can see, the breakfast view
is refreshing, with greens, a cascading river, bright flowers and even an orange
tabby cat sitting quietly by the river bank. Do you see it?

At the highest peak in Janda Baik is a bungalow owned by Mr. Saufi. He rents it out
to guests who would have this amazing view of the infinity pool overlooking
the valley of Janda Baik down below.

Everything is brighter, greener and more colourful here. I am coming back
as soon as I can...

Have a restful day, sunshine. I certainly will.

Pax Taufiqa

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Door of My Soul - Hu is behind it?

The Door of My Soul

We do not question God,

We question ourselves,

Raising awkward inquiries

And intimate questions

Bound to raise the blushes

Of the most hardened rake

Amongst us.

We do not question God,

But put ourselves through

The grinding windmill

Of our own complexity

And confusion.

We do this,

Time and again,

Until finally, tired and worn,

We reply,

"Enough! I cannot answer thy questions anymore,

Cast thy impertinent interrogation on the Door of my Soul,

And see now Hu will answer thee!"

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

I am away from the city, in the hill-side of Janda Baik (literally, The Good Widow), a rural hill village in the state of Pahang, about one hour from my home. I am here with my friend, Moses, taking a break from the city-scape for some green jungle and cool evening breeze. It is in fact very cold here now, because as the sun came down, a torrential downpour also arrive to soak this quiet little retreat.

Moses agreed to follow, which is fortunate, because we are the only paying customers in this little guest house. Apart from us there are only two or three resident staff staying here. I also brought along Imam Ghazali for company, in his slim volume entitled The Alchemy of Happiness. Am I searching for happiness? I am, just like everyone else. And I have a sneaky feeling that my happiness is in finding out who is behind the Door of my Soul.

Oh dear, the rain is starting again. I better go dry up. God bless you and have a wonderful day.  

Take care, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way