Babah

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 had 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 frill. 

Only me and my wife weren't around. Wife is Babah's eldest child. Babah fondly called her Along right from the day she was born. 

We were somewhere in England, spending the remaining days of the fasting month and Hari Raya with our eldest son. 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 very day, which was Hari Raya in England. So me, wife, my son and his family all felt sad and isolated on the Hari Raya morning.      

Already 92, Babah was all poised and prepared. Soon after he was stricken and bedridden, he started giving away some of his worldly possessions to his wife, children, grand-children and, believe it or not, to his sons-in-law,  including me. Yes, me.

Not much materially, but massively meaningful.  His explanation caught me wrong-footed: I deserved the gift for taking good care of Along. I thought taking care of your wife is pretty typical, normal and standard, not to mention tiring. 

Seriously, I'm deeply touched by the thought and gesture, and I'm now actively looking forward to my wife doing something similar. Why not. It's easier these days, I mean, I just give her my account number and she can do it online, maybe next week. Don't wait.

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 the one with the bell bottoms.

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 was, like, up in the air and I'd to tilt up slightly. He then spoke in some Negeri tone and  accent, and that kind of gave him away and brought him back down to earth.

Oh, where am I from? It was my spot question, so I unleashed with a pinch pf 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 fit-for-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 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, Perak, Johor, Melaka, but no more Kelantan. By this time Babah had acquired the technical knowhow and 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. Whatever he did his wife had to approve it, and he'd agree to just about anything she fancied. No two-way about this. In return, his wife would cook 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). 

Babah and Mak were simple and sincere folks with 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. Pakcik Nasir was always the crowd pleaser. He 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 much of 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 went to an English school He could speak, read and write in English quite well, probably better than some Members of Parliament. I always thought that English-medium students are vocal, flashy and "action". But not Babah. He's sensible and grounded. At family gatherings, Babah would 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's eternally in love with, and children and grandchildren who ecstatically adored and crowded around him. Tears and tributes flowed freely at his funeral and days after. 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 who'd left a legacy of humility, honesty and compassion that we all can only hope to emulate. 

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. 

Kami balik dulu, Babah. Maafkan saya dan Along.