Untukmu Ibu

Warning: Long and winding entry. Avoid if you don't want to get bored.

This Ramadhan is just going to be like the previous ones. Life has become quiet and less lively. Last puasa, I spent time in London and went walking down River Thames on first day of raya. I didn’t know anybody here and I wasn’t ready to get to know anybody.

When Mak was around, bulan puasa was the most anticipated time of the year. I enjoyed going home although I was only away from home 3 Ramadhans before she passed away.

Usually, one month before puasa, she would always go to a place called Tandop or Seberang Perak, looking for chicks. She would buy 30 ekor anak ayam for Ateh to bela and jaga in time for Ramadhan. As we start puasa, Bapak and Ateh would sembelih the ayams every other day. Sometimes, Ateh and I went running around the backyard chasing and trying to catch the chickens. Everyday was a feast. I remember everytime we were having ayam percik, I was entrusted as the tukang panggang. Oh how I loved it especially when I cannot puasa. Mak has a special recipe for marinating them, which I am now trying to master the way she did it with the right amount of the ingredients.

In our house, we never buy any food from the bazaar. Mak always cooked. She has a passion for food. Mak liked to get everything ready quite early. By 3 p.m., she would start mixing ingredients, be it cucurq udang, karipap, sfera, cucurq keria etc etc. If I feel like eating something, I need only to say it and she would make them for me. She knew I loved mee rebus, (not to be confused with mee bandung or mee kari, mee rebus is different and normally known to DKK) and when I come home from college, she would make sure I had my favorites on the table the first day I was home.

Throughout Ramadhan, I became her ever faithful assistant. I remember sometimes there were days when I sulked because the day was hot and all I wanted to do was lying around and doing nothing. Now, I realized that that were the quality times I spent with her. Nothing could ever take the memories away from me as they are so precious and close to my heart. I spent so much times with her at home that there were so much of her knowledge passed down to me, of which I need to carefully recall as I had subconsciously buried them.

She used to make cendul from scratch. I don’t know what she put in the mixture but I remember she mixed flour with air daun pandan to get the color green. She had this periuk that had lots of lubang. I think it was Bapak who punched the lubang with his nails and hammer. Once the thick mixture was ready, she would pour into the periuk. Underneath the periuk was a bucket of cold water. She would use batang anak pokok pisang to stir and press in the periuk. The mixture that plopped down through the lubang was hardened by the cold water to become isi cendul that was far better than the ones sold at the bazaar.

We are lucky because I think we were spoilt food-wise. Mak always preferred to prepare homemade food rather than buying. We had the best, all natural and free of any artificials. Gone were those days.

In the late afternoon, after all the food was ready, Mak would fill several plates to give away to the neighbors. She always made extra. I liked it when I bring them over to each house. The anticipation to find out what the neighbors would give back. It wasn’t that we expect them to return our gestures but it was just a matter of courtesy. The waiting and game guessing of who made what was fun for me and Ateh. I hardly came home empty handed.

When we break fast, we never ever eat rice first. In fact we hardly had rice. Normally, it would be meehoon, mee etc. Nasi was only for soq (sahur) only. We would only have drink, a few bites of the cucurq and dates and off we go for a prayer. After prayer, we would then resume dinner. The first Ramadhan I was away from home, I cried buckets on the phone to Mak. I missed home terribly, yet I was only in Shah Alam and already 18!

I loved the time when it was getting close to raya. She always had people ordering baulu from her. She made the best baulu in the kampung, only RM10 for 100 pieces. When I was very little, I liked eating the burned baulu so she kept them for me. At least, they were not wasted. As I grew up, I became quite picky and I didn’t want them anymore. I went for the golden fluffy, which are supposed to be sold to the customers. So, she told me off and made me make my own baulu. At 6 a.m., she would prepare ingredients ie eggs and sugar using her Moulinex. This would go on forever until she finished all 30 or 50 eggs for the day.

In the meantime, as the first batch of eggs and sugar was well beaten, she would add the flour and mix them slowly. I had to learn how much to put in the acuan, too much it would balloon up, too little it would look like my hidung penyek. The baulu was baked not in an oven but in a primitive way with dapur minyak tanah, claypot and bara sabut. I learnt that in the claypot, sands and wet papers were used as a shield or barrier to prevent the api from baking the bottom part of baulu faster that the upper part. Oh, I am confusing myself, but as long as I can visualize this, I think I am still ok.

2 weeks before raya, we would start our cookies sessions. Mak and I loved baking cakes and cookies and we liked to try many new recipes. This reminds me that I will have to do a thorough search for her thick recipe books. We never buy biskut raya when Mak was still alive. No way Jose! The must have biskut raya were samperit, biskut makmur, cornflakes (our own style – I’ve never seen it at any other house except at Wa’s) and baulu. The rest of the biskut raya were trial and error. At one raya, between the two of us, we made about 20 odd types of biskut and 6 different cakes. Excuse me, but we all had different tastes and not willing to sacrifice our cakes. Moist choc cake for me, fruit cake for Bapak, marble cake for Mak, kek lapis for Aci, orange for Na and kek batik for Ateh. Phewww!

As we get closer to raya, there were the ketupat to do. Mak made the ketupat palas as well as ketupat nasi because Javaman is orang Johor. I was forced to learn menganyam daun kelapa, but I do enjoy making ketupat palas. It’s one of the skills I haven’t forgotten.

In a way, I guess I am anak Mak. I will always try to cook or imitate her style. Nothing else is better than Mak’s.Sometimes, the child in me felt like protesting. I wanted to play mercun with Ateh. One night, many Ramadhan ago, I defied arahan Mak and went out to play. As I was coming home, I tripped over a big batu on the road and injured my leg. Until today, I still bear the huge scar on my right knee. It is ugly and there’s nothing I can do about it but it is also served as a reminder to me.

Gosh! There’s so much to recall and write about home. Words don’t come as easily to me. And some things made me really sad and I weep as I remember them.

Oh ibu,
Kau disiram bayu pagi
Kehilangan terasa kini
Dan kesepian
Dan aku bagai purnama gerhana
Di ibarat lautan kering
Tiada tempat kulayarkan
Hasratku ini
Masih belum sempat
Ku buktikannya kepadamu
Ibu tersayang
Ku curahkan rahsia hati
Ku tatapi potret mu berulang kali
Ku renungkan kalimah yg diberi
Tuhan yang Esa
Ampuni dosa ibu
Tempatkan mereka
Di antara kekasih-kekasih mu
Oh ibu
Kau kasih sejati
Ku taburkan doa
Untukmu ibu
Ampunilah dosa ku
Sejak ku dilahirkan
Hingga akhir hayatmu
Di saat ini ku teruskan hidup
Tanpa bersama mu ibu
Kini aku
Hilang tempat mengadu
Oh ibu
Damailah engkau di sana
Kutaburi doa mewangi
Hanya dari anakmu
Ibu