The Veterans

This is going to be a brief recollection of the older folks I knew during the early part of my life. I was born late into the family and by the time of my birth, only one grandparent was still alive. My Mother’s father, Allahyarham Mohd. Yusoff, or fondly known as Pak Tua by the village folks, was one of the earliest settlers in the village. He hailed from Kota Bharu and moved to Rantau Panjang with his bride, Allahyarhamah Siti Esah. He was later appointed as penghulu (head) of the village. Pak Tua is of Javanese ancestry and his forefather who sailed to and finally settled in Kelantan was known as Tok Jawa. I was told Tok Jawa came from Kediri in Indonesia. Pak Tua died when I was about 4 years-old. The only memory I have of him was of attending his funeral. I remember sitting in my BIL’s car with my Mother, sisters and cousins. Pak Tua’s second wife, Mok We, was our neighbour for many years. Her relationship with my Mother was civil though they were not that close. Mok We used to sell food at my school canteen and sometimes she would give me free food. She was nice to me but I never thought of her as my grandmother. My Mother was brought up by Pak Tua’s younger brother and his wife, Wa Bidah in Kota Bharu. The brother, a military officer, died a very long time ago, long before I was born. He and Wa Bidah didn’t have any children of their own. They had lots of money so they put it to good use by taking care of other people’s children, be it relatives or strangers. And so my Mother grew up with quite a few foster sisters and brothers. During the Japanese War, Wa Bidah took my Mother to her hometown in Tumpat and set up a shop there. She hung a pair of her husband’s military uniform in the shop. The Japanese never bothered her. I used to visit Wa Bidah’s house in Kota Bharu and I remember feeling scared whenever I met her. She was a strict disciplinarian and I remember my Mother sitting demurely by her side to hear her lecture. Wa Bidah died in Mekah when I was 10 years-old. She was the closest thing to a grandparent to me. Then there’s Allahyarhamah Mok Teh Siah, my Mother’s eldest sister. During her heyday, many men in the village swooned over her and she ended up marrying many times. Her first marriage was when she was 10 years-old. Apparently her husband got angry when he went home after work and found his wife playing congkak under the house instead of cooking his dinner. The marriage didn’t last long. Mok Teh went on to marry a few more times. She told me that at one of her bersanding ceremonies, a boy in the audience yelled that he wanted to marry her. True enough, a few years later, they became husband and wife, though not for long. As a single mother, Mok Teh Siah made use of her entrepreneurship skill to earn a living. When she was younger, she used to buy goods from Thailand and sold them to the locals. My Mother became Mok Teh Siah’s assistant before starting her own business. Later on Mok Teh Siah became a confinement lady. Her clientele were mainly the rich folks in KL. She made numerous trips to KL and became acquainted with many Datuks and Datins. Once, my cousin gave her buah pinang to take back to Kelantan. At the airport, the security personnel asked her what she had in the plastic bag. Mok Teh said she had ‘pine kote’. The man blushed. Mok Teh was not aware that the word ‘kote’ had a totally different meaning outside of Kelantan. Mok Teh loved telling us stories about her colourful life. She died in 1997. Allahyarham Pok Cik Ya was my Mother’s elder brother. He, Mok Teh Siah and my parents spent a lot of time together either at the veranda of Mok Teh Siah’s house or at my parents’ house. Pak Cik Ya was a very close friend of my Father and at one time was married to my Father’s sister, Mok Nik Sabi. When my Father died in 1996, Pok Cik Ya was so affected by it that he could not even walk the short distance to my house. Pok Cik Ya looked a lot like my Mother and even the way they walk was similar. Pak Cik Ya didn’t have a good health for a long time. He was in and out of hospital a few times. Once, everyone thought that he was not going to make it through the night. Mok Teh Siah kept looking at the clock in case she had to take note of the time of Pok Cik Ya’s last breath. He survived the night and went on to live for at least another 10 years until 1997, shortly after Mok Teh Siah’s death. My Father had two elder sisters, Allahyarhamah Mok Nik Sabi and Allahyarhamah Mek Limah. Mok Nik Sabi’s first husband hailed from Pakistan. They had two children together. After a few years of marriage, he took one vacation trip to Karachi with two children from a previous marriage and never returned to Malaysia. One of the children, Kak Nab, used to visit us in Kelantan with her beautiful children. Amazingly, she can still speak in Kelantanese although she had left the country at a very young age. She tried to persuade her half-siblings, my cousins, to follow her back to Karachi, but they refused. I loved visiting Mok Nik Sabi. She was a gentle woman and liked to pamper me. Her house faced the padi field. Her children were like brothers and sisters to me. Mok Nik Sabi died in 1986 when I was in boarding school. When I returned home during the holiday, I was told that Mok Nik Sabi was gone. My relationship with Mek Limoh was not as close. Her husband, Allahyarham Aboh Daud hailed from Bombay. He migrated to Malaya in the early part of the 20th century with my grandfather. Then there’s Pak Da Ali, who was my Father’s cousin and close friend. He often visited my parents and had long chats with my Father on subjects such as religion and politics. Pak Da Ali’s children are Johar, Bahar, Bidasari and Ratna Dewi. Dewi was my classmate during primary school. Another one of my Father’s cousin and good friend was Pak Cu Kassim. He was the gardener at my primary school. Whenever he saw me at school, he would beckon me to him for brief chats. Now all these people are gone. The only veterans left are my Mother, Mok Cik Umi (Pok Cik Ya’s wife), and Pak Su Tar and his wife. Pak Su Tar is my Mother’s half brother. Perhaps one of these days I should sit down with them and ask more about the family history. May be I should start documenting their stories and construct the family tree.