The last episode gave you an idea how things were in the mid-sixties. Nowadays, getting circumcised is so easy and without much fuss and ado. That was also the era when television was launched. Bah bought a nice set, which was in black & white. There were no colour TV yet those days. Although the introduction of TV was something everyone was waiting for, particularly the novelty of TV itself. For us, it was not a big fuss because we were used to TV when we were in the UK.
In the evening, some of our neighbours from the village would drop by to watch. Bah was always very accommodating. He would always leave the doors open and they would come in and sit on the floor to watch the programmes. At anytime, there would be about eight to twelve of them, mostly kids. If any elderly neighbour came, Bah would invite them to sit with him. Although they came to watch TV with us, they were considerate enough to give us some privacy. They would not come too early nor leave too late. They normally come over to watch a drama or a movie when they are on.
The casualty due to the emergence of TV was our grand radio. This was not in total mind you because those early days, TV programmes started only in the evening. So our grand old radio still enjoyed our patronage during the day time. It still had a long life ahead because it followed us to our next move away from Telok Anson.
Life became a routine. I had to cycle about five miles each day during the week from our house to Bah’s college to practice my piano on the days that I had no lessons. It was quite tiring and I was getting to not like taking the lessons anymore. Furthermore, on certain evening, my brother and I had our violin lessons. Nonetheless, I still enjoyed my music.
When I completed my primary school and started secondary school, we had to choose a uniform body to join as an extra curricular activity. My brother, who entered secondary school earlier, was a Scout. This was in line with family tradition where Bah was already a King’s Scout. At times when he had invitations to a Scout’s activity, he would wear his uniform. He looked very nice in it except for his shorts. They were the fifties type, complete with pleats, large enough for two legs to get into on side of the pants, and the length ended just above the knee. It was starched so much that I think if you put on the floor, it would stand up! I think some of you would have seen him wearing the same shorts when he did his gardening many years later, but with the top button undone because he had gained weight.
The politically correct choice was for me to join the Scouts, but I felt more comfortable joining the St. John’s Ambulance Brigade. On the day of registration, I lined up together with the new recruits. I was standing near the end of the line with my classmate who was my best mate. He too had the same dilemma as me. When Brother Patrick (teacher in charge) was noting down the names towards the middle of the line, suddenly I had second thoughts and I ran out of the line towards the bicycle parking shed. I thought I was the only one who did that, but apparently my friend did the same too. When I asked him why he ran, he said that he was just following me. I told him I was not sure whether I should join SJAB because it might upset my dad. Funnily enough, he had the same thoughts too.
For several weeks I didn’t enrol in any uniform activity, until one day Brother Patrick summoned me to his quarters. I went to see him that same afternoon after school not certain what to expect. Brother Patrick was Irish was a top of red hair, and had a reputation of one blowing his top often. You wouldn’t want to be the brunt of his anger as whatever he was holding might fly to you. Our meeting was in fact very pleasant. He said that he wanted to start a band with SJAB. He had heard that I was keen in music and asked whether I would be interested to join the band as its Drum Major. I told him that I would be honoured to do so, but preferred to play an instrument rather than be a Drum Major. He agreed on condition that I would assist the person he selected as Drum Major.
I did join the St. John’s Ambulance Brigade, but not before I told Bah of my meeting with Brother Patrick, crossing my fingers hoping that he would not be upset by breaking the family’s tradition. I was quite taken aback because he said he knew about it already. The principal of the school, Brother Damien, had asked him earlier. Actually, Bah told him it was up to me to decide, but he would not have a problem with it if I wished to. And so, I had a couple of years in the band, starting from scratch together with Brother Patrick. Our band had basic instruments, mainly clarinets, piccolos, trumpets and bugles. Of course the mandatory drums and cymbals was a must. The only drawback of being in the band was the time it took off you for practices. It was putting a lot of strain between the band, my gymnastic practices and not to forget my piano and violin.
Bah had a history of gastritis, which would graduate to an ulcer. It was during our time in Telok Anson that he had an ulcer. It was serious enough for him to be hospitalised, not in Telok Anson itself, but in Batu Gajah, which was about two hours journey by car from where we were. Mum would visit Bah daily, going in the morning and coming back in the evening. On alternate days, she would make my brother and I come along. These were in the afternoon after our school. I had visited Bah about three times already when mum insisted I had to go with heron the next trip. Alas, it was the same day where I had my band practice too. I told mum I couldn’t go because of it. Mum blew her top. There I was, getting the full force of mum’s fury and dreading the next day of Brother Patrick’s wrath. Throughout the journey and at the hospital I was quiet and Bah noticed it. When he asked whether anything was the matter with me, mum went into her tirade of how selfish I was in wanting to go for my band practice rather then visiting Bah. I was expecting Bah’s to concur with mum, but was taken aback when he told mum that I should have gone for my practice because the band depended on me. Mum pulled a long face at that but kept her peace. Because of what Bah said, I was really glad I came to visit him instead, that he understood the dilemma I was in. I was doubly glad that Brother Patrick wasn’t angry with me when I told him I visited my father and couldn’t come for the practice. He said it was alright and even asked how Bah was getting on. In the end, I had to give credit to mum (although reluctantly) for making me visit Bah instead, because of the important lessons learnt that day. One was that your family must always come first, especially in times of need. The second was that your parents do know what was best for you, and therefore we should listen to them more. The third was that if you practise the first and second lessons, others would respect you more for it.
Eventually Bah recovered and came back home. Life got back to its normalcy again. I learnt later from Bah’s colleague, that his illness was serious enough to be life-threatening. You may say that it was only an ulcer of the stomach, but with the medical facilities and skills we had in those days, it might as well be.
What about my brother during all these events you might ask? Well, being the first borne, he was always my mum’s favourite. He was a Scout which made Bah proud and also they had many things to talk about and for Bah to show him scouting skills. Not that I was envious of him, but I can say that during that time, he had his priorities right, and recalling them today, I can say that I was proud of him. He understood my dilemma but didn’t say anything, which I appreciated. He could have made it worse though, but he didn’t.
Those were times too when Bah and mum had serious quarrels, or rather it was mum’s quarrel with Bah. Bah was a gentle soul and I had all my life not seen him having a quarrel with anyone (except with some politicians that he was not fond off). It lasted almost a week where we heard mum shouting and crying in the middle of the night. My brother and I couldn’t sleep as it was something new for us that had us worried. My brother would stand at their bedroom door, come back to the room and told me to do the same. I didn’t want to actually, but he forced me to. I didn’t realise the wisdom of this until one night, amidst the sounds of mum crying and moaning, we heard Bah calling us loudly to come to him. As we were already at their door, we ran in quickly. What we saw was shocking to us both. Bah was holding mum’s hands. In her right hand was a kitchen knife! Bah told us to take it away from her, which we managed to do. I knew Bah could have easily dislodged or taken the knife away from mum, but I knew he didn’t want to hurt her in any way. After we took the knife away, mum started crying more and started hugging my brother. It was sad to see her that way but Bah told us to quietly go back to our room and to take the knife back to the kitchen. My brother and I discussed the incident and we concluded that mum wanted to use the knife on her rather than on Bah. The quarrels ended after that eventful night. For me, it remained in my sketched in memory forever, because it was the first and only quarrels that mum had with Bah.
It wasn’t due to anything much really, except that mum felt jealous unnecessarily. At that time, an American peace corp lecturer was attached to Bah’s college for a couple of weeks. She was a nice lady, neither really pretty nor attractive as most American Peace Corps were, but soft spoken and kind. The issue was that Bah had to take her to visit schools where his students were attached. These were only day trips. Because of this, Bah couldn’t come home in the afternoon for his usual power naps. This lead to mum having wild imaginations and hence her quarrelled with Bah. Her jealousy took the better of her good judgement, and accused Bah of wanting to leave her for the American lady. Of course Bah kept on stating that they were not true, but mum refused to believe him. Bah being an educationist, was also a master in psychology. He was very patient with mum despite mum’s vehement accusations. In the end, every thing turned out for the better.
The quarrels lasted a week as I said earlier. It ended as quickly as it started. Bah came home in the afternoons because later I found out that he had requested one of the other lecturers to accompany the American on her visits. That was the father I knew and loved. He loved his family very much, and they very important to him. All his life, without us realising it, he made sacrifices for us all, his wife, his children, his in-laws, parents and his siblings and their children. He did all those things without any expectation of return or of anyone knowing he doing it. If there were a better example of the left hand not knowing what the right hand did, I would Bah’s the best example of one of such magnanimity.
I had to think twice about writing this sad episode in growing up, but I had promised to let you know how it was with Bah and mum. The good, the bad and sometimes the ugly are parts of our lives. We can’t run away from it. What is important is that we learn from them and try to make our lives and those around us, a better place and time to live in…….
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Growing Up Part XV
Telok Anson was a turning point in the lives of my brother and me. It was a time when boys became men and with it came a different perspective of how we looked at our lives. It was the time when we were circumcised, an essential phase in the live of Muslim boys when they attained the age of 10 to 12 years old.
My grandma, Tok Bi, my aunts, Siti and Mak Chik, came to Telok Anson from JB for the occasion. Farid came too, but she was too small to remember any of these. It was wonderful with the house full of our family members, reunited once again after a long time. Sleeping arrangements were “as is where is”, but only the eldest and youngest got the beds.
Days before the event, I was getting more nervous and fretful. It was not something that I relished, having a part of my body cut-off…… doesn’t really matter which part really. Our friend Shamsul, had his done a year before and tried to tell us there was nothing to it. Although I had no reason to disbelieve him, still a concern lingered in my mind. The only guy who was smiling all the time was Swee Leong who of course didn’t have to do it! Teasing him to wipe the smile off his face, I told him that Bah had arranged the same for him too since he was more or else our adopted brother. That was the last we saw of him, on his bike cycling away as fast as he could. We only saw him the evening after our circumcision. He must have thought we were serious or if not, he didn’t want to chance it.
My unease didn’t get any lesser as the day approached nearer. The anxiety reached to a point where I risked speaking to Bah. I told him that as I was a year younger than my brother was, he should do it first and I could have mine done the next year (at least I got a year’s reprieve). If Bah had agreed to this, I would be in ectasy. Imagine that for one, my brother suffers. Two, I could taunt him and he couldn’t get back at me in his condition. I guess you all know Bah by now, nothing stops his plans……
The day finally came too soon for my liking. The house was full of guests, mostly neighbours and Bah’s colleagues. The hour came for my brother to be a man. I had to wait outside, although I would have loved to watch and see how they did it. At least it might lessen my concern (or heightened it maybe?). Less than 15 minutes he was out, smiling, wearing his sarong. He didn’t tie or folded the sarong at the waist as normally one would. He held top of it by one hand stretching as far out as possible. This was to ensure that the sarong would not touch the manhood, which must be sensitive then.
Thinking that as he went through the procedure without a hitch, I assumed that I would not have a problem too. However, as fate may have it, mine did not go smoothly as expected. Firstly, my brother whispered in my ear that it would hurt. That rattled my nerve futher, which was already like a highly-strung piano wire. Upon entering Bah’s room, they guided me to lie down on the bed. The Tok Kadim (profession of a person who specialises in circumcision) started checking me out. He started to shake his head, got up and spoke to Bah in a low voice. I cound'nt hear what they were discussing about. While he was discussing with Bah, those around them stole glances at me, trying to see what exactly Tok Kadim meant about predicament that I was supposed to have. In the meanwhile, I was freaking out of my mind. I tried to get up but someone held me gently down. Eventually with the nod from Bah, Tok Kadim proceeded with the task at hand. The procedure done to me took much longer time then it did my brother. Finally, Tok Kadim smiled and said I was done. The look on his face showed that he was more relieved that I was. Forgetting what the fuss was all about in the first place, I too sauntered out of the room with my new sarong fully extended out.
It was later that evening when I understood what the problem was. I overheard Bah talking to his guests about it. Not that I liked it much him discussing with strangers about my you know what… Anyway I don't have to tell more about it, right?
When all the guests had left that evening, my brother slept on a bed beside mine. In between the beds, was just enough room for a chair, where my grandma stationed herself like a sentinel. Bah had made a rig for us earlier that day. He screwed in hooks onto the ceiling above our beds. He then secured a small rope to the hook allowing the other end of the rope to dangle just above the bed. The purpose of this rig was when we lie down on our beds, we could to tie our sarongs to the small rope so that they would be hanging above our waist. The sarong would provide enough space by not touching our recovering yet sensitive body parts, but more importantly, it allowed us to retain our modesty, or what was left of it, after that day. The result looked liked two Red Indian tepees side by side, with torso and feet jutting out of them.
The one person I appreciated most during the first few nights was my grandma. She kept vigilant eye on both of us throughout the night. I must say that I was apprehensive about her being too close to me because she held on to a half coconut shell (tempurung) with her any time she was near us. I didn’t know what it was for and I eyed it with a slight trepidation as she kept beating her palm with it. Perhaps she was going through some old custom, which I wasn’t aware. My curiosity got the better of me and I asked her about it. With a twinkle in her eyes and a sweet smile, she said that it would be put to good use when the time came. Duh????
The time for the magical “tempurung” to be used eventually came early the next morning. Allow me to explain first a fact in a male’s biological make-up. It is normal that male manly part gets rigid in the wee hours of the morning. Don’t ask me why, it just does! Even I didn’t realise that fact until then. Whenever it happens during recovery from circumcision, the pain can be very excruciating and agonising because of the tenderness and the tight stitches. Hence Tok Bi’s “tempurung”. As soon as she sensed what was happening to me (didn’t take much for her to notice with my groaning loudly), she started to hit my knees continuously with it. Not gently mind you, but hard enough to hurt my knee cap. Miraculously, I felt comfortable once more. Such wisdom of the old.
It was rather funny when both my brother and I had the rising problem at the same time. Tok Bi handled the situation pretty well because sitting on her chair between our beds, she would knock my knee once and then moved her arms across her body and knocked on my brother’s knee. What it looked like to me then was like her playing the drums! Maybe she was, as it did sound like one too. She would alternate with a double knock on my knees instead of once. Tat-tat-tattat-tattat-tat-tat! Man I tell you she got rhythm! It was a wonder our kneecaps didn’t turn blue-black.
After several nights, we decided to use the “tempurung” ourselves. It was much easier that way. I imagined Tok Bi could had a mischievous streak in her bones because even after my loud groaning, I knew she pretended not to hear me, letting me bear the pain a little while before she started her “drumming” on my kneecap. Doing it ourselves was less traumatic. As usual with my brother and me, when there was only one item to share, we would fight over it (although not literally as our condition would not allow it). Eventually I found out by accident that it worked well with other than the magical “tempurung”. Seeing as my brother was already using the “tempurung” and I needed to use one too, I grabbed hold of an empty bowl lying near the bed and out of desperation and started knocking my kneecap with it. It worked! Then I wondered why the need to stick with a “tempurung”.
It was a week of walking about like zombies, taking each step slowly with our sarong fully extended, daily changes of bandages and setting up tepees at night. Bah helped to clean our wounds and changed the bandages. One day, he was busy at work and couldn’t help us. Mum volunteered but my brother and I refused saying we could do it ourselves. The reason actually was we were too shy to bare ourselves to the opposite sex, even though she was our mother. I believed mum felt slighted and upset because of that. I could still remember her saying that she had brought us up since we were babies and nothing that she had not seen that we should be shy of. Nonetheless, both of us were unwavering and insisted in doing it ourselves.
As the days passed, with some hiccups here and there we eventually recovered fully. During those times, Swee Leong was ever so helpful. He would bring us drinks or do whatever for us so that we didn’t have to move as much. I presumed he felt either guilty for running out on us or just that he was a very helpful and concerned friend. I never doubted it was the latter.
Now that we had fully recovered, something new in our lives happened. Mum gave us underwear for the first time. OK, now you know that before this, we were always in a “free & easy” mode. Well, what we got wasn’t exactly a Calvin Klein for sure, not even close to it. Mum sewed them. Not sure whether she was economising then. Our new underwear were of thin, white material with elastic band at the waist. When I held it up, I noticed that the length of one side was not the same as the other, although barely noticeable. It was more evident when you fold them. As mum sewed it, we assumed it done with love and we appreciated it…..then.
I couldn’t remember now how many pairs mum made us each, must have been not too many because if I recalled correctly, we could change only on alternate days. Because the size and colour were the same for all pairs, they became a source of contention between my brother and me. He was never particular of whose belonged to whom (remember that episode of my swimming trucks on the ocean liner – see Growing Up Part X). I, on the other hand, instinctively knew which were mine. However, it was a no win situation for me because if I saw him putting on “my” underwear and if I were to make an issue out of it, he would take it off and threw it to me and quick as lightning, put on a new pair, even before I could retrieve the one he threw. So he ended up using a clean pair while I ended up with the one that he had used. Problem was there weren’t anymore clean ones. Go figure what I did! It was either steeled myself and wore that or go free & easy for the day. The choice was simple actually…..
After time, the waistband lost it’s elasticity. There were two ways to overcome the problem. One was to tie a simple knot, as the underwear without the elastic band was broad enough to do that effectively. The other way was the fold it liked when you use a sarong normally. My brother preferred latter method. I tried it and found that it could come loose if you jump about rigorously. It can be very difficult to re-do it inconspicuously if other had not already noticed that your underwear was slipping down the sides of your trousers. I wonder how I survived so many embarrassing moments while growing up?
That was what happened to my brother :). I remembered our team were playing badminton with another team, and my brother played the first singles match. After about ten minutes into the match, I could see his underwear started to slip and hanging down the sides of his shorts. He would tug them up every opportunity he had, but I could see it was a losing battle, and especially on long rallies, he simply couldn’t cope at all :). I could hear the sniggers from the spectators.
My feelings were confused. I felt that he deserved to be embarassed after the hard times he gave me all this while, but at the same time, I felt choking on my throat feeling his embarrassment. I glared menacely at anyone that sniggered. No one should ever make fun of my brother! That’s siblings for you. We fight each other all the time, but we would fight together side by side against anyone who threatened the other’s safety, dignity or integrity. Funnily enough, throughout the match, his slipping underwear didn’t seem to bother him at all. Although I could say, he lost his battle against his underwear, but he won the hard fought match against a better player. Perhaps his opponent was too distracted. It seemed the most likely conclusion.
It was distressing that we had to wear that hand-made underwear when we knew there were proper ones sold. Noticing our underwear slipping down our legs one day, she asked why and we informed her about the non-functioning waistband. She told us not to use them anymore. We thought mum would at last buy us proper ones. It was not to be. After a couple of days of being “free & easy”, she returned us the old underwear with the elastic waistband duly replaced with new ones. So we ended up wearing them still :(…. In Malay, we have a term for this type of underwear, it’s called “seluar katok”……..
My grandma, Tok Bi, my aunts, Siti and Mak Chik, came to Telok Anson from JB for the occasion. Farid came too, but she was too small to remember any of these. It was wonderful with the house full of our family members, reunited once again after a long time. Sleeping arrangements were “as is where is”, but only the eldest and youngest got the beds.
Days before the event, I was getting more nervous and fretful. It was not something that I relished, having a part of my body cut-off…… doesn’t really matter which part really. Our friend Shamsul, had his done a year before and tried to tell us there was nothing to it. Although I had no reason to disbelieve him, still a concern lingered in my mind. The only guy who was smiling all the time was Swee Leong who of course didn’t have to do it! Teasing him to wipe the smile off his face, I told him that Bah had arranged the same for him too since he was more or else our adopted brother. That was the last we saw of him, on his bike cycling away as fast as he could. We only saw him the evening after our circumcision. He must have thought we were serious or if not, he didn’t want to chance it.
My unease didn’t get any lesser as the day approached nearer. The anxiety reached to a point where I risked speaking to Bah. I told him that as I was a year younger than my brother was, he should do it first and I could have mine done the next year (at least I got a year’s reprieve). If Bah had agreed to this, I would be in ectasy. Imagine that for one, my brother suffers. Two, I could taunt him and he couldn’t get back at me in his condition. I guess you all know Bah by now, nothing stops his plans……
The day finally came too soon for my liking. The house was full of guests, mostly neighbours and Bah’s colleagues. The hour came for my brother to be a man. I had to wait outside, although I would have loved to watch and see how they did it. At least it might lessen my concern (or heightened it maybe?). Less than 15 minutes he was out, smiling, wearing his sarong. He didn’t tie or folded the sarong at the waist as normally one would. He held top of it by one hand stretching as far out as possible. This was to ensure that the sarong would not touch the manhood, which must be sensitive then.
Thinking that as he went through the procedure without a hitch, I assumed that I would not have a problem too. However, as fate may have it, mine did not go smoothly as expected. Firstly, my brother whispered in my ear that it would hurt. That rattled my nerve futher, which was already like a highly-strung piano wire. Upon entering Bah’s room, they guided me to lie down on the bed. The Tok Kadim (profession of a person who specialises in circumcision) started checking me out. He started to shake his head, got up and spoke to Bah in a low voice. I cound'nt hear what they were discussing about. While he was discussing with Bah, those around them stole glances at me, trying to see what exactly Tok Kadim meant about predicament that I was supposed to have. In the meanwhile, I was freaking out of my mind. I tried to get up but someone held me gently down. Eventually with the nod from Bah, Tok Kadim proceeded with the task at hand. The procedure done to me took much longer time then it did my brother. Finally, Tok Kadim smiled and said I was done. The look on his face showed that he was more relieved that I was. Forgetting what the fuss was all about in the first place, I too sauntered out of the room with my new sarong fully extended out.
It was later that evening when I understood what the problem was. I overheard Bah talking to his guests about it. Not that I liked it much him discussing with strangers about my you know what… Anyway I don't have to tell more about it, right?
When all the guests had left that evening, my brother slept on a bed beside mine. In between the beds, was just enough room for a chair, where my grandma stationed herself like a sentinel. Bah had made a rig for us earlier that day. He screwed in hooks onto the ceiling above our beds. He then secured a small rope to the hook allowing the other end of the rope to dangle just above the bed. The purpose of this rig was when we lie down on our beds, we could to tie our sarongs to the small rope so that they would be hanging above our waist. The sarong would provide enough space by not touching our recovering yet sensitive body parts, but more importantly, it allowed us to retain our modesty, or what was left of it, after that day. The result looked liked two Red Indian tepees side by side, with torso and feet jutting out of them.
The one person I appreciated most during the first few nights was my grandma. She kept vigilant eye on both of us throughout the night. I must say that I was apprehensive about her being too close to me because she held on to a half coconut shell (tempurung) with her any time she was near us. I didn’t know what it was for and I eyed it with a slight trepidation as she kept beating her palm with it. Perhaps she was going through some old custom, which I wasn’t aware. My curiosity got the better of me and I asked her about it. With a twinkle in her eyes and a sweet smile, she said that it would be put to good use when the time came. Duh????
The time for the magical “tempurung” to be used eventually came early the next morning. Allow me to explain first a fact in a male’s biological make-up. It is normal that male manly part gets rigid in the wee hours of the morning. Don’t ask me why, it just does! Even I didn’t realise that fact until then. Whenever it happens during recovery from circumcision, the pain can be very excruciating and agonising because of the tenderness and the tight stitches. Hence Tok Bi’s “tempurung”. As soon as she sensed what was happening to me (didn’t take much for her to notice with my groaning loudly), she started to hit my knees continuously with it. Not gently mind you, but hard enough to hurt my knee cap. Miraculously, I felt comfortable once more. Such wisdom of the old.
It was rather funny when both my brother and I had the rising problem at the same time. Tok Bi handled the situation pretty well because sitting on her chair between our beds, she would knock my knee once and then moved her arms across her body and knocked on my brother’s knee. What it looked like to me then was like her playing the drums! Maybe she was, as it did sound like one too. She would alternate with a double knock on my knees instead of once. Tat-tat-tattat-tattat-tat-tat! Man I tell you she got rhythm! It was a wonder our kneecaps didn’t turn blue-black.
After several nights, we decided to use the “tempurung” ourselves. It was much easier that way. I imagined Tok Bi could had a mischievous streak in her bones because even after my loud groaning, I knew she pretended not to hear me, letting me bear the pain a little while before she started her “drumming” on my kneecap. Doing it ourselves was less traumatic. As usual with my brother and me, when there was only one item to share, we would fight over it (although not literally as our condition would not allow it). Eventually I found out by accident that it worked well with other than the magical “tempurung”. Seeing as my brother was already using the “tempurung” and I needed to use one too, I grabbed hold of an empty bowl lying near the bed and out of desperation and started knocking my kneecap with it. It worked! Then I wondered why the need to stick with a “tempurung”.
It was a week of walking about like zombies, taking each step slowly with our sarong fully extended, daily changes of bandages and setting up tepees at night. Bah helped to clean our wounds and changed the bandages. One day, he was busy at work and couldn’t help us. Mum volunteered but my brother and I refused saying we could do it ourselves. The reason actually was we were too shy to bare ourselves to the opposite sex, even though she was our mother. I believed mum felt slighted and upset because of that. I could still remember her saying that she had brought us up since we were babies and nothing that she had not seen that we should be shy of. Nonetheless, both of us were unwavering and insisted in doing it ourselves.
As the days passed, with some hiccups here and there we eventually recovered fully. During those times, Swee Leong was ever so helpful. He would bring us drinks or do whatever for us so that we didn’t have to move as much. I presumed he felt either guilty for running out on us or just that he was a very helpful and concerned friend. I never doubted it was the latter.
Now that we had fully recovered, something new in our lives happened. Mum gave us underwear for the first time. OK, now you know that before this, we were always in a “free & easy” mode. Well, what we got wasn’t exactly a Calvin Klein for sure, not even close to it. Mum sewed them. Not sure whether she was economising then. Our new underwear were of thin, white material with elastic band at the waist. When I held it up, I noticed that the length of one side was not the same as the other, although barely noticeable. It was more evident when you fold them. As mum sewed it, we assumed it done with love and we appreciated it…..then.
I couldn’t remember now how many pairs mum made us each, must have been not too many because if I recalled correctly, we could change only on alternate days. Because the size and colour were the same for all pairs, they became a source of contention between my brother and me. He was never particular of whose belonged to whom (remember that episode of my swimming trucks on the ocean liner – see Growing Up Part X). I, on the other hand, instinctively knew which were mine. However, it was a no win situation for me because if I saw him putting on “my” underwear and if I were to make an issue out of it, he would take it off and threw it to me and quick as lightning, put on a new pair, even before I could retrieve the one he threw. So he ended up using a clean pair while I ended up with the one that he had used. Problem was there weren’t anymore clean ones. Go figure what I did! It was either steeled myself and wore that or go free & easy for the day. The choice was simple actually…..
After time, the waistband lost it’s elasticity. There were two ways to overcome the problem. One was to tie a simple knot, as the underwear without the elastic band was broad enough to do that effectively. The other way was the fold it liked when you use a sarong normally. My brother preferred latter method. I tried it and found that it could come loose if you jump about rigorously. It can be very difficult to re-do it inconspicuously if other had not already noticed that your underwear was slipping down the sides of your trousers. I wonder how I survived so many embarrassing moments while growing up?
That was what happened to my brother :). I remembered our team were playing badminton with another team, and my brother played the first singles match. After about ten minutes into the match, I could see his underwear started to slip and hanging down the sides of his shorts. He would tug them up every opportunity he had, but I could see it was a losing battle, and especially on long rallies, he simply couldn’t cope at all :). I could hear the sniggers from the spectators.
My feelings were confused. I felt that he deserved to be embarassed after the hard times he gave me all this while, but at the same time, I felt choking on my throat feeling his embarrassment. I glared menacely at anyone that sniggered. No one should ever make fun of my brother! That’s siblings for you. We fight each other all the time, but we would fight together side by side against anyone who threatened the other’s safety, dignity or integrity. Funnily enough, throughout the match, his slipping underwear didn’t seem to bother him at all. Although I could say, he lost his battle against his underwear, but he won the hard fought match against a better player. Perhaps his opponent was too distracted. It seemed the most likely conclusion.
It was distressing that we had to wear that hand-made underwear when we knew there were proper ones sold. Noticing our underwear slipping down our legs one day, she asked why and we informed her about the non-functioning waistband. She told us not to use them anymore. We thought mum would at last buy us proper ones. It was not to be. After a couple of days of being “free & easy”, she returned us the old underwear with the elastic waistband duly replaced with new ones. So we ended up wearing them still :(…. In Malay, we have a term for this type of underwear, it’s called “seluar katok”……..
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Growing Up Part IVX
I have an hour window while waiting for my flight back to Singapore at Chennai airport. I thought maybe I can write a bit more of our family in Telok Anson when I was growing up.
During end of year school holidays, our family normally went back to JB to stay with Tok Bi and my aunts. Also there, we were reunited with our youngest sister, Farid. There was not much that I recall of Farid during those years as we were normally apart most of the time. By then, Farid was already walking and running about.
The house in Ngee Heng where Tok Bi lived was small. When all of us were there it was really crowded. Some slept in that one bedroom, and the rest will have to roll out mattresses and slept on the floor. Our Aunt Siti was a stickler for cleanliness and neatness. She’ll normally get quite riled up when we overslept or woke up late as it would disrupt her routine to sweep the whole house in the morning.
Facilities in that house left much to be desired. Only one small bathroom to share by all or us. Toilet was outdoors somewhere away from the houses, as it was still using the bucket system. This had to be shared with the rest of the neighbours. Although I was quite familiar with this from the younger days at Kampung Kubor, I wasn’t really comfortable with it. Unlike in Kampung Kubor, the outdoor toilet was ours alone. Here, we had to share with the neighbours. The peak period was normally in the morning. There would always be a queue. Funnily enough, those waiting their turn were patient. So far I had never seen anyone that was desperate. Small children like Farid for instance, need not do their business there. All they had to do was simply do it at the drain outside the house, and flush it with water after that. Most of the people there reared chickens. Therefore, hens and roosters run about the area looking for food. Their favourite was always when some kid did their business and would start pecking at “it” as soon as…..
When we were there in JB, sometimes I attended to Farid when she had to do her business at the drain. My job was simply to keep the chickens away from her. Farid is a smart girl. I noticed that she could fend for herself without my help. What I remember most about her those days was that she used to run around with only her panties on. Normal actually!!!
Sometimes late at night, my aunt would want to visit the out-house. She would then make either me or my brother to accompany her. It wasn’t that I didn’t like to accompany her, except that it was really boring waiting for her. While waiting in the dark, I would be eaten alive by mosquitoes. The smell I could live with. Furthermore, it was really dark and quite far away from the house. The trees would throw creepy shadows from the moonlight. Sometimes it would creep me out that I ran back home. My aunt would get angry when she found me missing from my post. I argued that if she could come back on her own, then why would she need me to accompany her? She didn’t answer me on this, but it was Bah who explained that it was not that she was frightened of ghosts, but rather being a young lady, she could be disturbed by rowdy boys. I understood the reason and from then onwards, I was never derelict my duty.
Besides the school holidays, we always came back to JB for Aidil Fitri. As far as I can remember, Bah never failed to come back to JB for the festivities. It was always a joyous occasion for us but can be very, very tiring too. The visits we made from house to house were never ending. But again, that was the way Bah was, he never failed to visit a family member as long as he was near them.
Those journeys back and forth JB and Telok Anson usually last the whole day and sometimes an extra day. The reason for this was that Bah would stop and visit our relatives almost every town that we came across. If we couldn’t do it on the way down, we would certainly did it on our way back. From Telok Anson our first stop would normally be Kuala Lumpur. Then it would be in Melaka where mum’s relatives were or we would visit our great and grand father’s grave at Trengkara. Next up would be Muar where his sister was there. Batu Pahat would be next where mum’s brother resided. Pontian where mum’s sister family could be found.
Those long trips although tiring for us, would have been very tiring for Bah too because he was the only one who drove. The only thing that he needed was a damped cloth to wipe his face from time to time. I think that kept him awake and fresh. If you knew Bah, you would know that he was fond of passing wind. We knew when it was coming when he shifted his backside. Each time he did that mum would always scold him, but Bah would always laugh it off. We kids knew that mum didn’t really mean it, as we guess that was one of the ways they teased each other. Fizah would always laugh loudly each time Bah let go. My brother and I tried to keep her quite because her laughing only encouraged Bah more as he could keep it coming. After a while all of us would go into a fit of laughter when mum couldn’t keep up with her pretence any longer. Although the journey was tiring it was nevertheless enjoyable, except the part when I had to ask Bah to stop from time to time for me to be sick!!
My flight is boarding now, so I'll post this as soon as I get back. Hope I can find more time to tell you from my perspective of growing up with my family.
During end of year school holidays, our family normally went back to JB to stay with Tok Bi and my aunts. Also there, we were reunited with our youngest sister, Farid. There was not much that I recall of Farid during those years as we were normally apart most of the time. By then, Farid was already walking and running about.
The house in Ngee Heng where Tok Bi lived was small. When all of us were there it was really crowded. Some slept in that one bedroom, and the rest will have to roll out mattresses and slept on the floor. Our Aunt Siti was a stickler for cleanliness and neatness. She’ll normally get quite riled up when we overslept or woke up late as it would disrupt her routine to sweep the whole house in the morning.
Facilities in that house left much to be desired. Only one small bathroom to share by all or us. Toilet was outdoors somewhere away from the houses, as it was still using the bucket system. This had to be shared with the rest of the neighbours. Although I was quite familiar with this from the younger days at Kampung Kubor, I wasn’t really comfortable with it. Unlike in Kampung Kubor, the outdoor toilet was ours alone. Here, we had to share with the neighbours. The peak period was normally in the morning. There would always be a queue. Funnily enough, those waiting their turn were patient. So far I had never seen anyone that was desperate. Small children like Farid for instance, need not do their business there. All they had to do was simply do it at the drain outside the house, and flush it with water after that. Most of the people there reared chickens. Therefore, hens and roosters run about the area looking for food. Their favourite was always when some kid did their business and would start pecking at “it” as soon as…..
When we were there in JB, sometimes I attended to Farid when she had to do her business at the drain. My job was simply to keep the chickens away from her. Farid is a smart girl. I noticed that she could fend for herself without my help. What I remember most about her those days was that she used to run around with only her panties on. Normal actually!!!
Sometimes late at night, my aunt would want to visit the out-house. She would then make either me or my brother to accompany her. It wasn’t that I didn’t like to accompany her, except that it was really boring waiting for her. While waiting in the dark, I would be eaten alive by mosquitoes. The smell I could live with. Furthermore, it was really dark and quite far away from the house. The trees would throw creepy shadows from the moonlight. Sometimes it would creep me out that I ran back home. My aunt would get angry when she found me missing from my post. I argued that if she could come back on her own, then why would she need me to accompany her? She didn’t answer me on this, but it was Bah who explained that it was not that she was frightened of ghosts, but rather being a young lady, she could be disturbed by rowdy boys. I understood the reason and from then onwards, I was never derelict my duty.
Besides the school holidays, we always came back to JB for Aidil Fitri. As far as I can remember, Bah never failed to come back to JB for the festivities. It was always a joyous occasion for us but can be very, very tiring too. The visits we made from house to house were never ending. But again, that was the way Bah was, he never failed to visit a family member as long as he was near them.
Those journeys back and forth JB and Telok Anson usually last the whole day and sometimes an extra day. The reason for this was that Bah would stop and visit our relatives almost every town that we came across. If we couldn’t do it on the way down, we would certainly did it on our way back. From Telok Anson our first stop would normally be Kuala Lumpur. Then it would be in Melaka where mum’s relatives were or we would visit our great and grand father’s grave at Trengkara. Next up would be Muar where his sister was there. Batu Pahat would be next where mum’s brother resided. Pontian where mum’s sister family could be found.
Those long trips although tiring for us, would have been very tiring for Bah too because he was the only one who drove. The only thing that he needed was a damped cloth to wipe his face from time to time. I think that kept him awake and fresh. If you knew Bah, you would know that he was fond of passing wind. We knew when it was coming when he shifted his backside. Each time he did that mum would always scold him, but Bah would always laugh it off. We kids knew that mum didn’t really mean it, as we guess that was one of the ways they teased each other. Fizah would always laugh loudly each time Bah let go. My brother and I tried to keep her quite because her laughing only encouraged Bah more as he could keep it coming. After a while all of us would go into a fit of laughter when mum couldn’t keep up with her pretence any longer. Although the journey was tiring it was nevertheless enjoyable, except the part when I had to ask Bah to stop from time to time for me to be sick!!
My flight is boarding now, so I'll post this as soon as I get back. Hope I can find more time to tell you from my perspective of growing up with my family.
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