Bapak...(1)

September is the month of bapak's birthday. If he had lived he would have been 100 years old being born in 1911. He passed away in 1982 at the age of 71. I was 21 years old that year. Second year in college. Losing him changed my whole life terribly. Not only for Mak but me, too.

I was "anak Bapak". He would take me with him to the market that I knew all his regular vendors from the butcher to the vegetable seller. He would take me with him for his visits to Dr. Bala. He wanted me to go to the shops for his supplies of cigarettes. He wanted me to massage his legs every night. He wanted me to run his errands for him like sent money to Hamid, posted his letters to Kak Ti and Kak Haj. When he was afflicted with the first stroke, I slept with him albeit on the floor in case he wanted anything. I cleaned his spittoon jar. I cut his finger nails. I trimmed his moustache. I was his secretary and continued to write for him his autobiography on all his children. He has 17 of them! He jotted down every detail from their birth dates, graduation, marriage, first baby...and so forth. I was privy to that book. Nobody knew about it until his death. Abang took that book with him. I don't know what he does with it. Yes, after my MCE while waiting for Form Six, I was his nurse while Mak was busy with the house and other children. I learned responsibility with love and commitment. There were no regrets of not going out with friends or finding part-time jobs. I was content to do anything for him.

I was as stubborn and rebellious as he was. Yet, I was never rude or obnoxious. He disciplined us very well. Being in a Convent school added to that morality standard. I wanted to go to Form Six which he refused to sign my permission form. That was the time I showed my rebellious streak. I got my best friend's, Fauziah, father to sign that form. When I wanted to register, he was much better from the effects of the first stroke. He retaliated and refused to give me the money to go to school. I had to ask from my sisters who were already working. After a few months, when I got my scholarship, I gave him part of the money. He knew then that I was financially sufficient to see myself through Form Six. Thus, he relented and reinstated my pocket money, bus fare and exam fees. Alhamdulillah. I went on "silent strike" for three days. If he was downstairs, then I remained upstairs. If he entered his prayers room, I'd sneak to the kitchen for food. Mak did not get involve with our silent war. She was "United Nations". We refused to talk to each other. He started the first step to forgiveness. After that, we were back to normal.

We had a love-hate relationship normal of that between teenagers and authority. Bapak was a typical aristocratic, authoritative, conservative Malay man. The only difference was he was English educated. He loved reading. He instilled our love for reading since we were young. He would subscribe 3 newspapers daily. That would be considered a luxury back then. The New Straits Times for English, Berita Harian for Malay since Mak read Malay and Utusan Jawi for learning to read Jawi. Thus, all of us could read jawi well. He treated us to Beano comics. Enid Blyton's books. He did not mind spending money on books.