The slow drive up the hill suddenly opened up to wide terraces with rows after rows of monotonous lumps. All we had was some incoherent numbers, and now we'd to find the marker. After some frantic search, we finally found the one matching I 1360.
It's here. Babah's final resting place.
Babah passed away on Friday, 19 March, the last day of Ramadan 1447. He died in his sleep. So nobody could tell exactly when he left us. Maybe that's the way he'd have wanted it. Quiet, peaceful and painless, no fuss and frills. Just like that.
Only me and my wife weren't around. Wife is the eldest of Babah's nine children. He fondly called her Along right from the day she was born.
We were somewhere in England, finishing off the last days of the fasting month and Hari Raya with our eldest son, Asrif. The idea was for us to be close to him so that he and his family wouldn't feel sad and isolated listening to Alamak Raya Lagi on Hari Raya morning.
Babah had been unwell for some time, but there was no way to know that he'd pass away on that Friday, which was already Hari Raya in England. We were all dressed to the nines, ready to celebrate with good food and all, when the news of the tragic loss crashed in. The morning turned sad and somber as we were left reeling with grief.
Already 92, Babah was all poised and prepared for the eventuality. Soon after he was stricken and bed ridden, he started giving away some of his worldly possessions. He became more talkative and forthcoming than before. Apparently he was also happy that I took good care of Along. I hope he wasn't hallucinating because I was deeply touched. I really thought taking care of your wife is something normal, typical and expected, not to mention tiring.
During these difficult times, I could see all the upside of having many children and many girls, and raising them well. Daughters are more emotionally attached and expressive. There was always one or two by the bedside to clean and feed Babah, hold his hands, and talk to him just to boost his spirits. The boys, well, they were always available and ready, if you know what I mean.
I can still roughly recall the first time I met Babah. It was early 80's and everybody had long hair and flared pants. Looking back now, I thought it was hilarious. It was one late afternoon after office. My (now) wife sheepishly introduced me to him, or was it him to me? More like me to him because I was technically the interested party.
I was taken aback. Babah looked younger than his age, structurally taller than average, with hair far fuller and thicker than mine. A casual onlooker could quickly conclude that he looked sharper and cleaner than me, by a wide margin. He then spoke in some Negeri tone and accent, which kind of gave him away.
Oh, where am I from? It was my spot question, so my response was fast, with a pinch of pride. Of all the many states and settlements, it had to be Kelantan, I could read his mind. Non-Luak was complicated enough, but Kelantan was truly another level.
Father-in-law is historically a tricky job. There's no playbook or user manual to fall on. Only jokes. Lots of jokes. There's no one-size-fits-all prescription, because a son-in-law comes with their own set of quirks and malignancies. Babah had not one, but nine sons/daughters-in-law. You can imagine all the complexity and urgency of his job.
I had the monopoly for all of two years before another-son-in law walked in to provide some competition. More came in later in quick succession, from Selangor, Johor, Melaka Bandaraya Bersejarah, Taiping. But no more from Kelantan for me to gang up with. By this time Babah had acquired the technical skillset to smoothly navigate his way around. I'm sure he was quite relieved, or maybe proud, that all his nine children had finally settled down, leaving him free to circle back to his core business: pampering his wife.
Babah loved his wife to his last breath. They'd been together for 68 years, which is a long, long time. How did I get this number? No, I've not sighted their marriage certificate. No need. What I did was adding one year to my wife's age. Yes, my wife is old, I know that.
Back to the love story. Whatever Babah did, his wife had to approve it, and he'd agree to just about anything she fancied. His every sentence had to start with "your mother...". No two-way about this. In return, his wife would prepare masa lemak cili api every other day. At times his nine children would be all up in arms against this minor conspiracy, but his wife held sway. (I'm exaggerating a bit, for effect).
But, seriously, Babah and Mak were simple and sincere folks with an endless streak of charm and charity. You can tell it by the way they received and hosted their guests. To them guests are gifts, and no guests should go back home hungry ever. There's always something in the pantry to share. Their Kg Pandan residence is open all day all year round. Friends and relatives and the Kuala Pilah clan and connection would drop by in numbers, rarely with sufficient notice.
I know some of their close friends, all wonderful and warm-hearted people, like Pakcik Nasir, Abang Rashid, Kak Ram, Pak Harun, and Kak Maria. I met them so often that we ourselves would soon become friends. A crowd pleaser, Pakcik Nasir attempted a pantun at my sister-in-law's wedding. I can't recall the exact lines, but if I'm honest, it wasn't even close to a pantun. But we all cheered him on and everybody was happy with it. Small memories like this make my day every time.
Babah remained largely in the shadow of his elder brothers and sisters. His nephew, a Tan Sri, loudly complained that "my uncle is too humble". Babah's father was a teacher who'd the foresight to send him to an English school. So Babah could speak, read and write in English quite well, probably better than some Members of Parliament. I always had this little theory that English-medium students are vocal, flashy and "action". But not Babah. He remained modest and measured. At family gatherings, he'd quietly sit in the back row and spoke only sparingly.
But when he spoke, you could sense the flair and finesse of a fine speaker. My elder brother fell for Babah's easy demeanor and uncanny resemblance to Ratno Timoer, my brother's favourite Indonesian actor. He managed to get Babah to lead his son's meminang delegation. And this time, Babah took the front seat and ran the show.
Babah passed away leaving a wife he was eternally in love with, and children and grandchildren who ecstatically adored and crowded around him. Some of them will tenderly carry the nick-names for many more years. Tears and tributes flowed freely, seakan sungai yang tak henti mengalir.
He might not be a celebrated statesman or a decorated soldier, but they all knew he was much more. He was a father, a friend and a leading light, in good times and bad times.
Babah has left us all, but his legacy of humility, honesty and compassion will live on.
It was almost noon now. The sun was burning bad and bright. Good thing we'd the presence of mind to bring along an umbrella each. We finally rose, stepped back and had one long look before turning around to leave.
Rest well, Babah. Maafkan saya dan Along.
