The abridged version
Tin sardin. 3 hours 45 minutes. Tidur lambak. Arab Street. Siren buka puasa. Masukkan duit dalam peket. Party loot. Selamat Hari Raya pennant. Announcement raya. Baju sedondon. Mohon maaf. Photo-taking session. Budak assalamualaikum. Lauk jiran. Funeral. Tahlil. Laksa Johor. Susah nak parking. Ikan bakar Tip Top. Air bay. Nerf war. Dodgeball. King Cat sparklers. 8th birthday. Mercun bateri. Suji. Singaporean accent. Mahmoodiah. MRT. Mustang GT. Okid Ria. Tin sardin. 3 hours 15 minutes.
The full version
A couple of days before we set off for Johor Bahru, I took my family to my mother's house as a kind of pre-raya visit as this year she had decided to celebrate raya in KL. My father who'd always be in JB had also chosen KL as the place he wants to be on the first day of raya. This sudden turn of events upsetted my brother and sister's plan such that they announced they would stay back as well. The absence of my side of the family in JB would definitely spin the festive mood a little differently. Meanwhile, she served us tea and something light to eat. We chatted about the usual stuff and even caught some TV. Before calling it a day, everyone greeted her and asked for forgiveness.
The Plantation House household never fails to travel heavy. And when the much-coveted event of the year arrives, we packed our poor car to the brim, leaving a rear view only slightly bigger than a peephole. Heck, even I had to sit on a toolbox all the way. From flip-flops to trainer toilet seat to smelly pillows (bantal busuk), we are not leaving anything to chance. As if spending more than a week's time away in the kampung justified our packing frenzy. We've had trips that are shorter than a week before and we still bring stuff and clothes that could last for months. I just can't understand.
As we left town much earlier than most people, we were blessed with a smooth journey. There was traffic but there were no unruly behaviours on the road because each driver had his or her own comfortable space on the highway. Leaving on off-peak days has always been my strategy to avoid the massive congestion and the ensuing headache that it causes. Whenever people 'brag' about getting stuck in traffic and how long it took them to get from point A to point B, I really don't have anything to contribute and would usually withdraw myself quietly from the 'I had it worse' conversation. This year, I did not belabour the car and pretty much kept to a very reasonable speed. Flooring the pedal at stretches I did try whenever safe but the car just wouldn't move. The extra cargo really slowed the vehicle down.
My mother-in-law's three-bedroom converted bungalow in Larkin is more than spacious for her and her daughter's family but come festive seasons when all her other children are back, it's a different scenario altogether. Picture this: 13 kids (some of them are teenagers) and 10 adults moving about in the house. Not bad you say? Now picture this: 23 people turning in for the night. There are hardly tiles for you to step on! When we get up in the wee hours to pee, we better switch on the lights lest someone's face is going to get stomped on. Although the kids grow bigger and bigger in size (and the house remaining the same), we get by with systematic mattress formation and as far as I know, no one has ever sustained any injury. And for me personally, for the occasional time that I have to get up late at night, I always manage to navigate in the dark without hurting anyone. That's a mean feat in itself.
Being in Johor Bahru is also an excuse to cross over to that tiny island in the south. For us, going into the fine city for a spot of shopping is needless to say compulsory, as we've been doing it since young. As usual, my other half would always have her last minute shopping to do and this time around, it's the boys' baju raya. But one thing about us though, we never go there to window shop. We know what to get and where so trips are always swift and almost mechanical. They are made more efficient with the help of my brother-in-law who knows the highways and byways in Singapore like the back of his hand. I can take on the wheel anytime but my knowledge of the roads is limited to and fro Orchard Road and maybe with a lot of luck to Rochor Road. One wrong turn could end us all up in Tuas. By then, I will already be a very agitated driver so it's best that I stay on the passenger seat. Besides, I don't get to be driven that often. After Takashimaya, he drove us to Arab Street but much to my other half's chagrin, the store she wanted to go to was already closed so we said we would return another time in the week.
We managed three days of fasting with the folks in JB. Where we are in Larkin, the tradition of sounding the siren to signal break fast time is still upheld. The siren emits a distinct wailing cry but quite distant so one has to stop talking in order to catch it. The azan will follow suit some seconds after. I noted that the food served had been simple affairs and they were all from the bazaar ramadans. I don't know if they had been doing it this way throughout this year's ramadan or was it because of the raya preparation around the corner but either way, I enjoyed the company and the no-frills offerings.
Kuih-muih at home is rarely bought, believe it or not. On top of the fact that our womenfolk is choosy over which kuih (and by this, I mean taste) can make it to the table, the Larkin household is also blessed with raya hampers from kind relatives and loved ones. Along with my sister-in-law's world famous (not yet) home-baked suji and bangkit kelapa cakes, there is enough quantity to last us until next year's raya!
One of the traditions that we kept was the 'malam tujuh likur' where pelita (a tiny metal pot filled with oil, complete with wick) would be lit. In the whole residential area (I'm quite reluctant to call it kampung because there are no paddy fields to traverse and scenic mountain in the background) where we live, I think only few houses still light the pelita. My brother-in-law normally carried out the task of filling up the pots and lighting the wicks but whenever he's not home, some of our nephews would have to stand in for him. So, how many men does it take to refill them pots? As many as it takes. One would pour the kerosene in the pots, another would work the lighter and the third guy just standing there, supervising the act I guess. It's always a challenge to get someone to do the work. No one's up for it. And my brother-in-law usually go about it alone!
Have you entertained the 'assalamualaikum' kids knocking at the door? Every year we would greet these visitors who are not at all expecting a sip of water or ketupat but would really like it if you can quickly part with some money so they can get a move-on to the next house. Sometimes, as soon as sembahyang raya is over they will already be at the doorstep. As the collection per house is I suspect will not be more than RM1, it makes much business sense to cover as many houses as possible in a day. My other half, the ever thoughtful person that she is would lovingly and carefully prepare party loots containing a token sum and a random selection of sweets, candies, lollies and sometimes air kotak. This year, the air kotak was subsituted with colourful conoid jellies. Her great care and attention to detail were evident in the giveaways that they fit to be on a supermarket aisle. Sadly though, I notice the number of kids dwindling year after year. I just hope this innocent tradition will stand the test of time.
What else do we normally do leading up to hari raya? Inserting notes inside the green packet is one. Pasang langsir (curtains) is another. Basuh parit, kemas rumah, in other words general cleaning is a must. What about decoratives? Do you hang paper ketupats or green packets over the windowsill? In our case, my other half risked an exquisite but sweet looking Selamat Hari Raya pennant, which to our pleasant surprise drew some enquiries from our guests. I did not know that she's produced it with her nephew until the time they asked to help put it up. Well done guys for that special touch!
So much to do, so little time. Why do we always push the chores to the eve of hari raya? Maybe it's just a way to psyche ourselves up. And when the Pemegang Mohor Diraja makes his declaration of hari raya, we can all pat ourselves on the back that we've completed all of the major tasks. But is it over? Far from it, based on experience. There's still vacuuming to do, rearrangement of furnitures, gosok baju melayu, taking out the tray tree (for kuih raya), et cetera. Did I forget to mention basuh bilik air?
The mosque is literally a stone's throw away from home and in the morning our bathrooms will surely be overworked. Everyone wants to be in the praying hall by 8.30 am so you can imagine the chaos. This is the time when kancing baju or its lengkang will be misplaced. The songkok that you've brushed the night before and placed nicely on top of the dresser will also go astray. The scenario is no different in Larkin. Putting on the kain sanpin is an art that I've not mastered even after all these years. I always think I've got it until my other half utters the much dreaded 'kain you beranak' phrase, which can be loosely explained as the joining edges in the centre are askew. "Look in the mirror, one is lower than the other!" In the last few years, I have noticed a change in the way I wear my sanpin. Nowadays, I am keener on 'dagang luar', meaning the baju melayu is worn over the sanpin. Why? That's for me to know and for you to find out. Write me with your guesses.
It's straight to the mosque when we were ready to do so. No breakfast. But for the smokers in the house I knew they had stolen some drags. We ate upon our return. True to tradition, we don't cook anything on the first day. I begin to understand this stance only few rayas after marrying my other half. The reason is because we receive so much food from the neighbours. I particularly love this type of sambal goreng Jawa, courtesy of No 1 Jalan Merbah, which is best had with ketupat, sprinkle with some kuah kacang and a bit of rendang kering. Sounds heavy yet light. Simply out of this world! We'd reciprocate on the second day. Our household trademark menu is laksa Johor, soto or lontong, replete with kuah kacang daging but it's just a dish every raya (never more than) but made to quantity: enough for the neighbours around, guests calling and takeouts for the lucky ones. Just imagine the hubbub in the kitchen on the night of first syawal!
Some time in the mid morning, or soon after everyone had a bit to eat, we proceeded to the photograph session. Each family put on matching baju melayu and baju kurung. We wore pink this year. Last year it was turqoise. In between the poses and coordination, everyone would greet each other, salam-bersalaman dan bermaaf-maafan. (offering hands, seeking forgiveness) Occasionally, I heard kosong-kosong being uttered. For me, my wife would first come get me and then only we would go to her mother. But before I could hug my boys, someone would stop me in my path and extend his hand. Given the number of people in the room, you can imagine hands criss-crossing. This significant act of seeking forgiveness was not done to elaborate ceremony in Larkin but it's emotional all the same. When I was a school-going kid, the first few days of raya would be spent in Seremban, on my father's side of the family. Very early in the morning, before leaving for the mosque, no, actually, when it's still dark, those who were home would line up (there was a real queue) to meet my grandmother, get down on our knees, extend our hands and ask for absolution. And then more people would show at the door and get in the line. Some would shed tears and few cried incessantly. I thought that's usual practice so I remember trying very hard to belong but I could not even muster a drop!
Apart from the intermittent salaams at the door from the kids, our first day had been relatively quiet, in comparison to the years before. We did not see real crowd until the next day.
Just moments after Isya on 1st Syawal, I received news that my uncle who was married to my mother's sister had passed on some time before Maghrib. I rang KL and learned that my mother, brother, sister and their families planned to drive down south after Subuh the next day to make it to the funeral. Secretly, I relished at the thought of the chanced reunion. Since we had some guests at the time we received the sad news, we decided to pay our respects in the morning. When we got to my cousin's house the next day, a few men were setting up the makeshift corner where immediate male family members would wash the body. Shortly after, my mother and siblings arrived. My uncle was interred at Mahmoodiah, not very far from the royal mauseleum. During the talqin, I remember the sky glistened but somehow downcast, the whole mood on the ground sombre. As it was only the second day of raya, the generally desolate place was hived with activities. Stalls peddling fresh cut flowers mushroomed out of nowhere, drivers squeezing into very tiny spaces and people of all ages gathering around the graveyard of their lost ones, reciting surah Yasin were common sights but they on the whole just minded their own business. The cleansing of the body (mandi jenazah), shrouding, sembahyang right through to the burial for my beloved uncle went smoothly. I found out that all his children and grandchildren were with him when he drew his last breath. He lived to be 91.
Upon our return from the cemetery, a steady stream of visitors at home inundated us. At its peak, four or five cousins along with their families had shown up at the same time (it's like that every year with this particular group). I recall likening it to cinemagoers suddenly bursting out of the fire exit door as they emerge from the theatre.
"Macam clubhouse, susah nak parking," muttered a wisecracking cousin. It's true.
You see, my mother-in-law can be considered one of the matriachs on both sides of her and his late husband's family so you can understand why a lot of relatives call on our home. And you must know that it was not an open house where your guests would come at designated hours. We don't do that. In Larkin, we accept visitors at all hours. An auntie on my other half's side came by with her family at precisely 10.42 pm when I was just starting to unwind.
Ikan Bakar Tip Top is a corner food stall that is a part of a row of stalls situated not far from English College. Since most of my siblings were in town, my cousin's daughter suggested catching up on time at the aforementioned stall. My order would have been ikan pari bakar (grilled stingray), char kuey (a sort of eclair but minus the sweetness and the dough a little tough) topped with peanut sauce and air batu kacang (dessert made of shaved ice and many delectable condiments, one of them melted cocoa) but it was not meant to be as there were still guests at home. There was no shadow of a doubt that they were quite crossed I pulled out at the last minute.
My besan (he married my sister-in-law) has been experimenting with air bay, a tea-coloured sort of herbal drink that is peculiar to Johor. The concentrated syrup is a concoction of several herbs, leaves and roots that go by funny and archaic names. Apparently you can't find most of them in your backyard anymore: he has to literally go into the woods and look for them. Real work there. Not only that, following the search mission are hours of boiling to extract the syrup. Understandably, the production will occur only on special ocassions given the difficult process involved. But hey, we are all lucky because the hard-to-get ingredients grow like wild plants in their backyard or at least not far from where they live so we get the supply quite frequently. A big thanks to him though for the hard work and dedication.
What do we do in the afternoons? Well, we played dodgeball and Nerf war! There were enough quorums in the house to assemble four teams for both of these! The garden on the right side of the house provided the ground for our daily outdoor recreational need. I always enjoy playing with the kids because we get to bond with each other, across all age groups. Besides, I have to burn those calories off.
At night, there would be friendly fireworks competition with the neighbours. Don't ask me how and where we got the colourful firecrackers in quantity but the kids only knew how to play and not cleaning up afterwards. An ear-piercing nag will typically supersede this activity. For the young ones, there were King Cat sparklers (blue-coloured label with a black cat looking right at you) and pop-pop; for the teenagers, the mercun das and cool roket; and for the family, there was the mercun bateri. My little son enjoyed his sparklers, burning holes on the leaves which thankfully I quickly managed to intervene.
My brother's son had his 8th birthday (he's a merdeka boy) celebrated at my mother-in-law's since there was much more people. Initially, he asked if it was okay to bring over a cake for a simple, unfussed do. We of course said yes and cooked up a much better plan. So what we did was we coordinated with some of the more mature (those who understand enough the danger of fireworks and the need to keep to timing) nephews for the mercun bateri to go off right after the final verse of the birthday song was sang. It was about tennish in the evening and our guests (why, no surprise that some were still around) were pleasantly surprised by the showmanship. And so did my 8-year old nephew and his parents.
Being Johoreans, you are bound to have relatives in Singapore. And my other half's cousin who now lives in Johor but still works in Singapore would come over with his family of four on one of the days. Every time, without fail and I really delight in this moment, I would reciprocate with my poor version of the Singaporean accent. Singaporean Malays speak with a pronounced 'r' (but not quite in the same rigour as the Javanese though) and their querkly vocabs and expressions are fascinating. I wish I can demonstrate them to you but trust me it's very distinct. And I think I'm rather good at it.
Merely a short break... (Canon 550D, shot by nephew)
Our stay in Johor would normally last between seven to 10 days and we would do the necessary like paying respect at my father-in-law's grave (in Mahmoodiah) and visiting the next-door neighbours, even if it was for a 5-minute visit. As promised, we returned to Arab Street in Singapore to go back to the shop that was closed the other day. It was opened this time all right and that meant I had to endure a few hours of waiting but not before a plateful of beriyani at Victory Restaurant, adjacent to Masjid Sultan. There are two restaurants with identical signages, the other being Zam Zam but both of them are an institution in their own right. Try this for size; Zam Zam was opened in 1908 with Victory just few years after. Malaysians who go into Singapore must make that obligatory call on either, whether it's for their rice or murtabak. I have no preference between the two because they don't really make mean beriyani or murtabak anymore but the allure of dining in a spartan, pre-war shophouse, amidst the tourists, old timers and tattooed Malay young men is hard to resist. We, my other half and her nephew actually stepped into Zam Zam first but moved next door when the waiters couldn't properly get us to sit down.
A view from Masjid Sultan... (Apple iPhone 3GS)
After Arab Street, it's the MRT to Orchard Road. The last time I rode on the train was six or maybe seven years ago. Boy, how much the network has changed. I noticed that there were more stations on the map. We bought our one-way fares and redeemed the ticket to get our money back. When you buy the tickets whether at the machine or counter, you'll get a card that looks just like our LRT tickets. But the difference is that you can top-up the value in the card so that you can use it over and over again. It's a little bit like the Oyster card in London and Touch 'N' Go on our own shores but you cannot redeem these cards to get your money back. Or maybe you can but I'd suspect the procedure would be arduous. That's the difference that the SMRT card has: the machine will give you your money back. No forms to fill and no waiting time. I was completely blown away by that simple customer-centric service. We went to Takashimaya again, bought few things, among others were a limited edition Nerf Longstrike CS-6 for the son but this is another posting. From Takashimaya, we crossed Orchard road and got into Centrepoint. Had a quick bite at McDonalds in the basement, this another must-do for us. My brother-in-law fetched us at the mall and ferried us back into Johor through the second link. Very smooth traffic.
On the way back, somewhere along Jalan Sungai Chat we were forced to pull over to make way for a white-plated Ford Mustang (I think it's the 2010 model) to pass. It was the TMJ. There was no loud siren, just the beacon in operation, from the police escort car, a baby Lexus I think it was.
By the fifth day of Syawal, my father was already back in town so we paid him and my stepmother a visit. As they were in the midst of moving, their house was in a state of mess so there were only kuihs on the table. This was perfectly okay by us but my stepmother felt bad and invited us for dinner at a restaurant called Restoran Steamboat Okid Ria. We had an array of fresh seafood and marinated meats to simmer and grill, depending on our taste buds. Think Seoul Garden in One Utama, quite similar. The crowd at the eatery was not that big, I guess a lot of people were still visiting houses. We ate to our hearts' content as it was a refreshing change from the excess of lemang and rendang.
The day that we all dreaded to think about had finally come. It was time to go back to KL. The PH household was the last to leave town and that was on the following Monday, the sixth day of Syawal. Going back to KL saw us carrying as much stuff as we had coming down, if not more. Amazing right? It was another tin sardin. I was baffled myself. Employing the same strategy of travelling on a day when the revellers would have returned to work, thankfully, the journey back was smooth and without trouble, clocking only 3 hours 15 minutes to reach Kota Damansara. And no, I drove like a responsible father.
That was raya in 2011.
P/S: That sitting on a toolbox is just to illustrate the point. I was never made to sit on anything since it would have not been safe for me as the driver but everyone else had to sit cross-legged because curious objects of various shapes and sizes had taken over the vehicle floor and some valuable space in the back seat.
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