MY FATHER AS HE WAS.........Generally, my father was not well-liked by many. He was a no-nonsense man with steel-hard determination and unshakeable faith in himself. If he had decided on a thing then there is no turning back-he fights with the last straw of energy in him. This obstinacy in him had been a poignant factor in his rise from several falls and falterings in his life. Driven by the nostalgia of his homeland he had cherished to develop his roots there while still continuing making money in Malaya. That was the trend with businessmen who hailed from India then. With the exchange rates in his favour, he wanted to build his empire back home in his ancestral land. His business at his grocery shop was lucrative with the regulars from the nearby toddy-shop and police-station being his faithful customers. However, as fate dictated his visit to his homeland, Pallakad, Kerala back in 1955 to see his only sister left him penniless - his business partner falsely claimed that my father had sold him the business .
In actual fact, my father had only asked him to look after the business while he was away to Kerala with my mum, sister and myself. That incident shattered him totally. He started to be suspicious about other people's relationship with him. With almost all his savings squandered on the purchase of the land for planting teak trees and another for house construction he had no reserves to fall back upon. He always had wanted to settle down in India where his siblings were, but my mother was against that idea for she originated from Malaya and hardly knew anyone over there at Kerala. Honouring her plea to come back to Malaya and in the hope that he could continue with the business, he returned. However, destiny was against him or us. With his business now being unscrupously robbed from him my, mother became the brunt of his disappoinment and chagrin. He would blame her often for influencing his decision to stay put in Kerala and the consequential twist in fate! Of course, that was frivolous and unsubstantive. He had not discussed his plans with her before he decided to leave for India i.e the possibility of settling down there. Neither had he considered how she would be cut off from her siblings and relatives in Malaya nor had he thought of the future of the two children. Thus, my mother did not relent to his decision. Furthermore, her presence in Kerala was not well received by his relatives - their age-old traditions, and hate against ladies from Malaya whom they saw as man-snatchers from Kerala did not augur well with her. That incident is starkly indicative of how rash, impulsive and obstinate he can be. Added to that he had the money-power and my mother often recollects of how he arrogantly used to walk around with a tin of cigarettes stuffed into his trouser's pocket, of his late nights from the gambling den and his strings of women-admirers ...... friends flocked around him and that eluded him to think lesser of others. My mother used to say how he would come home late from the "show" (I still don't know what it meant but I guess she was referring to the gambling den). His friends would drop him at the doorstep for they feared my mother. In his own words, he had remarked how he had several girl-friends at one time - Chinese, Eurasian and nearly got entangled with a Malay woman.
With the business devastated so did my father's ego , rashfulness and bashfulness. From then on, he worked at various places and in different roles-as a kitchen-hand, cook, servant, dispatch-boy, a guard, a grocery shop owner, as a general labourer in the Gurkha and British camps so on and so forth. He was a hard worker and that won him several credentials.
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| He arrived in India on 2.4.1955 and reached Malaya on 23.9.1955 as indicated in his passport |
One of the reason for his visit was to settle down in Kerala. He bought a piece of land where he planted teak trees and another to build a house upon. The plan of his proposed House and the Agreement to build the same are
as indicated below.
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| Acha wanted to build this house for us but today we do not know what has happened to it |
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| The Agreement for constructing the above proposed house |
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| His younger days |
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| As he looked when he visited Kerala |
In actual fact, my father had only asked him to look after the business while he was away to Kerala with my mum, sister and myself. That incident shattered him totally. He started to be suspicious about other people's relationship with him. With almost all his savings squandered on the purchase of the land for planting teak trees and another for house construction he had no reserves to fall back upon. He always had wanted to settle down in India where his siblings were, but my mother was against that idea for she originated from Malaya and hardly knew anyone over there at Kerala. Honouring her plea to come back to Malaya and in the hope that he could continue with the business, he returned. However, destiny was against him or us. With his business now being unscrupously robbed from him my, mother became the brunt of his disappoinment and chagrin. He would blame her often for influencing his decision to stay put in Kerala and the consequential twist in fate! Of course, that was frivolous and unsubstantive. He had not discussed his plans with her before he decided to leave for India i.e the possibility of settling down there. Neither had he considered how she would be cut off from her siblings and relatives in Malaya nor had he thought of the future of the two children. Thus, my mother did not relent to his decision. Furthermore, her presence in Kerala was not well received by his relatives - their age-old traditions, and hate against ladies from Malaya whom they saw as man-snatchers from Kerala did not augur well with her. That incident is starkly indicative of how rash, impulsive and obstinate he can be. Added to that he had the money-power and my mother often recollects of how he arrogantly used to walk around with a tin of cigarettes stuffed into his trouser's pocket, of his late nights from the gambling den and his strings of women-admirers ...... friends flocked around him and that eluded him to think lesser of others. My mother used to say how he would come home late from the "show" (I still don't know what it meant but I guess she was referring to the gambling den). His friends would drop him at the doorstep for they feared my mother. In his own words, he had remarked how he had several girl-friends at one time - Chinese, Eurasian and nearly got entangled with a Malay woman.
With the business devastated so did my father's ego , rashfulness and bashfulness. From then on, he worked at various places and in different roles-as a kitchen-hand, cook, servant, dispatch-boy, a guard, a grocery shop owner, as a general labourer in the Gurkha and British camps so on and so forth. He was a hard worker and that won him several credentials.
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| As a coolie at the United Engineers Ltd |
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| As a despatch boy at Federal Dispensary |
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| As a General Labourer with The British troop in Malaysia |
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| My parents were a perfect match |
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Mum in her 50s |
Whatever his shortcomings were he dearly loved my mother.......
It was hard work for him , for my mother remained a housewife even-though she had Tamil education to the level of Standard 6 and had offers to be a teacher. He was too proud to allow my mother to go to work - he would say he would rather die than live on his wife's earnings. He adored my mother and was bewildered and enslavened by her stunning looks and sharp intellect. He was trapped as Julius Caesar was to Cleopatra and as Samson to Delilah . She had a queer way of defusing his anger and big mouth. Pleasing him was easy for he enjoyed good, clean and tasty food - my mother was a maestro at that. Added to that, she was charmingly intelligent and beautiful - plus much, much younger than he was. He jealously guarded her and didn't want her to be a world showpiece. During his opulence, he showered her with necklaces and adornments in gold. He would hail the trishaw or taxi for her to travel.- to avoid the hassle of waiting for buses. On every occasion he ensured that she was well-dressed and bedecked with the most attractive ornaments - he would bend down to make sure the saree was covering her heel. At times, he would tell her which saree to wear and the blouse to go alongside it. He would hold a mirror for her as she adjusted her pottu and applied the Cuticura powder on her face.The cupboard of hers was filled with a collection of choicest sarees, blouses and napthalene balls. He too was no push-over for he dressed smartly and had the macho-look to match the dressing. He cleaned his sandals and polished them before wearing them. His clothes must be well-starched and ironed. During his younger days, not even once, have I seen him with an unshaven face. The blade that he used was of the brand called Nacet and nothing else. His nails were clipped almost daily. Shaving was a daily must for him and he applied Vaseline to his hair and ensured that his nostril hair was well-trimmed. Sadly, he never sported a moustache at all. That would have made him look even more masculine.All in all, both were a couple well-matched despite the age-gap.
My sister Janu was sent to my aunty's place to grow up with my cousins...................while I was retained to grow up alone.
My sister, Janu was sent over to grow with my cousins at my aunty's house after few years of attending primary school in Seremban. This was, it seems, upon the suggestion of my uncle and aunty then. I always wondered why they did not consider me instead - because growing up there meant fun and play. I could have done better in my studies if that choice was made - for I flourish better in a competitive environment. As for me, I grew up with my parents - relishing the "payasam" and the plain porridge with fried salted fish alike.Life wasn't easy then, but I was too young and playful to notice all that. Prodded by my loneliness, I was attracted to the outside with my chosen friends. The area where we lived was a squatter area. The houses were wooden houses with zinc roofing. The water was from the well and the toilet was the river-side lavatory.The backyard and the side of the house was dotted with chicken pens and fenced space for ducks to breed. Therefore, the back-door and side-window were rarely opened. Our neighbours were not-so friendly Chinese and our house-owner a stingy Punjabi lady who would switch off the main supply at 10.00 pm. This meant the only "yellow bulb" in the center of the house would go dim after that. Daily after 10 pm, the oil lamps took over.The flame from the oil-lamp sent spooky moving shadows on the wall and can be frightful at times. At times, insects would put out the flame on the wick and darkness would engulf us. However my father was smart. He would keep his torchlight under his pillow and that would come in handy. Snakes, lizards, monkeys, turtles, alligators and scopions were a common-sight daily...  |
| My sister with her friend Chandralekha before our squatter home |
At one point of time, for about 8 months or so my father was helplessly unemployed and the jewellery he had bought for my mother was pawned to pay the house rent, the school fees for my sister and myself and for the daily food. It was a very trying time - the regular chaya was substituted with plain tea without milk and sugar. The regular thosai and iddli breakfast was substituted with Cream Crackers (soda) biscuits (the cheapest then). Lunch was plain porridge with a side dish of fried karuvadu sometimes. The left-over was then used for dinner. However, my mother was an excellent cook, for even the simplest frugal food she made it tasty and clean. She had the God-given hands to deliver on the table a sumptuous meal within minutes. No recipe book and cookery classes - it was all in her mind. I still remember one day, when I asked her for some extra porridge and with tears rolling down her eyes she said this "Mon orupadu kudichu .Athu mathi Achanu veindai ?". It was the first time she had stopped me from asking for more food. Saying thus, she handed me a tumbler of water and ran to the altar where there was a Murugan photograph placed - she cried in silence for a long time. My tear drops also rolled down my cheek. I was very close to her at that age - she was my everything and a source of inspiration. At that age, I did not understand the agony that she was undergoing in forbidding me to eat more porridge. From that day, I learnt an important lesson to ask others if they had eaten already and to share whatever little we had. I learnt that we do not need a lot to survive actually. My mother would kiss me and say, from that day onwards I would ask, "Yelarum unda." She would remark that at a young age I had the compassion of a sage - giving others what I had and not thinking for myself.
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| That's my mum in the squatter house we lived with the help of kerosene oil-lamp |
As it is often said, "Necessity is the Mother of all inventions." It was true in our case. Driven against the wall by the abject state-of-affairs we were confronting and an obstinate father who would not allow his wife to go to work, my mother stumbled upon an excellent idea. It was to make appam and sell to the neighbours - at least that would take care of the domestic expenses. She had done this while we were staying at the estate in Chembong. Slowly money came trickling in . It was a small breather for us. My mum was a far-sighted, well-read person and gregarious by nature. These qualities in her complemented my father's adamence, rashness and old age most times. But he was no fool either. He would glean information about what's happening around the world from her newspaper readings which she did read aloud each night before retiring to bed. She was his encyclopaedia . From the making of appam it graduated to making idiappam (string-hoppers).My father learnt the trade from a friend and soon we were making string-hoppers together with appam. My father did the delivery on his bicycle everyday - sometimes in the morning and then later in the evening. The puasa month was the best for sales. After a few years my father could not carry on with the business because his age was catching up and competitors were inundating into the business from all around.
My sister was lucky not to have endured the hardship we faced as she came back only during the holidays. When she came back home, she was on center-stage and my father poured her with all the niceties and she knew how to tackle him. She would not heed my mother's call to the kitchen to learn cooking and took refuge in the protection my father gave her. Apparently, her birth brought my father a lot of wealth. He would say how plumb she was and how he would take her around on his bicycle. Everyone who took sight of her would stop by to carry her for a while. As for me, he would say , "You didn't have that kind of chance." Whether it was chance or his choice not to cycle me around, it did affect me inside. However, there were lot of distractions for me outside - my friends loved me and protected me from bullies. I learnt an important lesson - stand up to all challenges. The other person is equally as scared as you and just as you are sizing him up so is he.
Now coming back to the appam bit... I would wake up early and savour the first appam for my father always believed that children should be fed first. He loved children a lot and was very, very fond of my sister Janu. As for me, he was closer as I grew up and later he would openly say only God made me into what I am today. He gained confidence in me as he saw me picking up in my studies and when my teachers, to whom he delivered string-hoppers and appam, advised him to educate me. At one point of time, my Mathemathics at Form One wasn't good. I got zero for a test and my father was very angry that he sent me for tuition. But my tuition teacher always neglected me. You know why, my father only paid RM10 while the other students were paying RM15. I felt ashamed and humiliated and stopped tuition altogether, no matter what my father would say. I knew my father did that because he did not have the money and I decided to study Maths on my own. God gave me one thing and that is boundless energy to sit down for hours and be focussed on whatever I was doing. However, I could not comprehend my father.. and to be frank deep inside I was angry with him... .why must he make me face the humiliation ? He could have forsaken his one packet of 222 Bidi ,from the two packets he wasted daily for my tuition fee. It still remains as an unanswered question in me even today.Sometimes, during his younger days, he was difficult to comprehend. With the yawning age-gap between my parents( my mother being very young), quarrels were plenty in the house. My mother had held me tight several times and cried that I should grow up fast so that she can "go away". My father was not tied to drinking or women but had a sarcastic tongue that can cut you down and make you feel useless. He was a Hitler in the home and a jewel outside it. He dictated everything from the type of food to be cooked, clothes to be worn, songs to be heard and with whom you are to mix with.
HE LOVED MY SISTER VERY MUCH....if there was anything important for him it was only her . As for me he didn't see much hope ...he always loved my cousins more ..buying them the choicest and me the meagerly..
One day, while I was with him together with my sister , I saw him hand feeding my sister and that too right in front of me. He talked to her most and she always stole his attention each time she came back for the holidays from my aunty's house. I really didn't like this and would often complain to my mother . She would say ,"Never mind after all I am here for you." Then ,deftly and cleverly she would stroke my curly hair and pat me to sleep beside her. Many a times, my mother had complained to my father about this.He would admonish her by saying "My daughter one day will be somebody's wife. He is here to stay with us and help us.Tell him to study hard and talk less. He talks like the goat shitting on dry leaves." In Malayalam it used to be something like this, "Addu patteyilei turunu pol mindum."I knew he was angry because I had stopped tuition for Mathematics. I have often heard him tell my mother, "Ivan yenda kasu naspikaan jenichu." Each time ,I brought the report card home, he would wear his spectacles and look only at the Mathematics mark. If it was blue then he would nod his head in approval and instruct my mum. Otherwise , he would go for the cane and I would run helter-skelter. I feared his caustic, nasty words more than the cane actually. He actually had little faith in me because I mixed with the naughty boys around the neighbourhood most times.Hardly anyone had passed the LCE exam in the squatter houses where we lived at that time. One day, it was announced over the radio that the results are to be released. The next morning, he woke me up and asked me to go to school early - even before I could take my breakfast and remarked suspiciously,"Hope you have passed. Otherwise go graze the cattle. I have spoken to the next-door Singh about it. For a start follow him on the bullock-cart. Your mother would be happy to see her fond son working early in life ." I cried all the way going to school. My mother also cried and before I left home put some pasmam on my forehead. How can he say such things to me alone when he pacified my sister when she didn't do that well in the LCE examination. That was too much for me to comprehend. I hated this man ..and very much. Somehow destiny had always favoured me. At school my friends (they meant everything to me and knew of my father's tyranny) gathered around me and told me that I got first grade. I remember asking them foolishly if I had passed my Mathematics. I rushed home through the kitchen to tell my mother the good news. She remained quiet and said, "you father told me to cook chicken for you . I don't know why ?" It seems my father , who worked as a part-time gardener in one of my teacher' s house (Mrs.Panicker) , was told by her that everyone in my class passed the LCE exam . It seems she , as the Senior Assistant, had seen the list a day earlier in the school office. When he came back for the first time I saw him smiling for me and patted me on my shoulders . He repeatedly looked at the exam slip and was happy his name appeared after mine. I believed that's why he smiled . Whatever, it may be it made me resolute. I wanted to show him that I could out-perform him in every way. My friends offered me cigarettes to smoke but I refrained because by doing so it would show I had better self-control than my father. When my neighbours sought me to write addresses on envelopes, letters and money-order forms for them I felt proud because I was not as useless as he thought. Most of these people were Pakistani bread-sellers from Lucknow and they were adept in their mother-tongue but not English. English was the official language then for writing addresses and filling up forms. They praised me sky-high because they saw me mixing with the bad-hats but remaining uninfluenced by their bad habits - smoking and drinking mainly.My mother was proud for she was succeeding in disproving my father that I was born to make him miserly. To me, I just couldn't wait to grow up...to be recognised.... to outsmart my father who thought he knew a lot...all because of his most caustic, sarcastic and cutting down remarks. He would often compare me with my cousins in Kajang and say I should be like them . Several times when he was angry with me he would bellow,"Avaruda thitam thinanam" . Translated it meant, " I should eat their shit". Has your father said such things to you ? Yet there was an occassion I wanted to buy a guitar for myself. I had saved some money by gathering fire-wood for my neighbours and from the petition-writing I did for them, but he shouted at me and said, "Ithu vaa nenaku choru idam ponnu da ?" (Is that going to feed you ?). There was hardly any entertainment for me and also for my mother. Once in a blue moon, we would together with the neighbours walk to the Rex or Sapphire cinema to watch Tamil films and that's it. I hardly can recollect of him ever following us...His passion was the news over the radio and the Grand-Prix commentary from Singapore radio - he would remain glued to the radio for hours. Occasionally, he would ask me to follow him to watch the football match at the station Padang in town. My father was good with his hands and all his tools he kept them spick and span , well-oiled and greased. Removing his tools without his permission meant hell, fire and brimstone for the rest of the day. Similarly, he expected the food to be served clean, hot and spicy. The cutlery used must be clean. At one time, I have witnessed the plate and cup flying out of the window because they were not cleaned well by my mother. Yet another time, he took the whole pot of mutton curry and poured the contents out because too much salt was in it. After that, there would be a tirade of shouting at my mother. and a few days would pass without any talking among them. For him the mutton must be well-cooked no matter what. Otherwise, he would line out each piece of mutton outside his plate on the table ,after failing to chew it, in anger and protest. Then he would take some rice, add hot water cut a few chillies , peel some onions and that would be his meal for the day.That was one part of my father that only my mother and I knew of. Each episode like that left my mother heart-broken and she even once contemplated suicide. She challenged him that if he continued with this sort of harassment she definitely would kill herself and even showed him the smashed pieces of glass she had reserved for the very purpose-i.e to consume it and drink water. All these events shook my inside. My relationship with him was a love-hate kind of one. Both my parents did not understand how such horrid incidents were affecting me...my pent-up anger I showed outside bashing-up children for the slightest thing. Somehow, the complain would come home and spanking would follow usually by my mother. My father would start the 'shit","good for nothing" and "graze the cow" rhetorics all over again.... My only solace was in school .I found happiness there with my friends and some lovely teachers. They loved me because of my obedience and curiosity with new things.Back home, I endeared to my mother most while avoiding my father - resorting to only replying to whatever he asked.
BOUNDLESS TEARS FROM HIM...........
He seldom cried and the last time was during my sister's wedding as she left the house . It was a sight difficult to forget . Almost all my family members witnessed that. After the LCE incident, our relationship stabilised ....but still deep in me I saw him as a tyrant ...he would buy me the cheapest fountain pen while my cousins were given good quality ones. I totally had no say in how my long-pants should be, how my hair-style ought to be..It was just one thing straight i.e to follow his instruction all along without question. As a gift for passing the LCE exams he bought me a second-hand bicycle for RM30. Later, without even asking me a word, he painted the bicycle green with oil-paint . He did that simply because there was some leftover of this paint in the house. So, I was the only one in my school with a weird -looking green colour bicycle. Guess how I must have felt ! He would buy you baggy pants when the trend then was drainpipe pants. What to do, I had to endure whatever he did then......
My father was a rolling-stone when it came to switching jobs. His very straight-forward nature did not augur well with most of his employers. At one point in his lifetime , he opened a grocery shop at the squatter neighbourhood where we stayed. I used to help him then in looking after the shop when he went to town on his bicycle with a big rattan basket tied to the carrier to buy supplies for the shop.Coming back from town, he would ask me to hold down the handle-bar of the bicycle to prevent it from tilting over because of the heavy load in the rattan-basket. Holding down the handle-bar in such a situation was not easy either. Imagine how tough it must have been for my father to peddle the bicycle some 7 km away from town to our shop. He was a very strong man. Once a month, a Chinese supplier would bring in supplies like flour, sugar and rice in his lorry. My father would insist that he carry the sacks into the store because the Chinese assistants used picks on the sack and it caused loss of the contents inside. My father would easily carry a sack containing rice that required two assistants. The China man, Ah Chew was his name, would ask me, "What your father eats ? He is so strong". He was a close friend of my father for a long time and would supply a free crate of F&N soft-drinks during Chinese New Year for us, especially for me. He would stroke my forehead and tell my father, "Your son can study one..sure can." He was the only friend my father would visit during the Chinese New Year and both would drink a bottle or two of Guiness Stout beer. Their past-time after that would be arm-wrestling and most times my father won. My father later told me that Ah Chew was a Kung Fu martial-artist and my father had seen him throw a person who attacked him in the market with a chopper with just one slap. My father would say, if Ah Chew wanted, he could easily break my father's hand. That poor man did not have a son but only two daughters - ahem both were older than me anyway (no bad ideas eh). Ah Chew had known my father from Pedas where he cured my father's severe backache from which he suffered for several years.
HOW TWO SARDAJIS were told not to overstay.....
It was a day or two before Deepavali. My father asked me to close the shop by sliding the numbered planks carefully into the grove. There were still two sadarjis sipping beer , enjoying Marie biscuits and at the same time talking aloud in Punjabi. My father told them politely it was time to close shop. They just nodded but continued to sit there. My father was so annoyed he just went up to them, caught one chap by the neck and the other one by his turban and dragged them out of the shop . Quickly both of us scooted away on our bicycles to our house where my mother was ready for the prayers to our ancestors which my father did on Deepavali eve and when I get to savour a bit of "tiger stout" with my father i.e the one left for my ancestors. I would then pretend to be drunk and disturb my mother in the kitchen for the Deepavali savouries like laddu, chippi etc or crawl under the bed to steal a bottle or two of the soft-drinks she would have kept there for the following day. Annoyed by my misdeeds , my mum would scream and shout away ..but I father would protect me . He would say why have the food in the kitchen only ..to get them out. He too like me loved her laddus and her mutton curry most. That lady, my mother, was an excellent cook. Today, I sure miss all the good food from her....
Slowly my mother inspired me to excel...............
The year 1970 was a bountiful year for me. Spurred on by a second-grade result by a cousin in the Senior Cambridge examination , I started slogging hard. Those days , the results were reported in the newspaper i.e The Straits Times. My mother would say it would mean much to her if mine appeared in the papers too. She would make me coffee to ensure I did not sleep while studying. She was resolute in seeing me becoming a graduate ....no matter what.
As for the exams, I knew I could make it for my friends were cooperative in the studies and our teachers at the King George V Secondary School were go-getters. Furthermore, the thought of our Principal, Mr.Anandarajah looking down at us if we didn't do well pumped adrenaline into our blood-stream . In March 1970, the results were out and my name appeared in the First-Graders column - of course with my father's name after mine. After that as I walked to the grocery-shop nearby, the Pakistani bread-makers would shake hands with me . It was nice to be recognised. I liked the whole bunch of them. They were all bread-sellers and had a bakery called the Azad bakery not far away from our house. They would sleep on their rope-beds on the verandah of the bakery with no wall barricade to block them from the strong winds and rain. All their bicycles with containers at the rear carrier would be lined up neatly. Sweet fragrance would emit from inside the bakery as you pass by. Coupled with this there would be a relentless rendition of Hindi songs. Calendars with the pictures of actresses like Vyjayanthimalla, Asha Parekh and Hema Malini often lined up their wall together with scribblings of their addresses in Pakistan.It was a sight to behold on Fridays, when all these young men adorned in their best traditional attire walked up to bus-stop to go to the mosque - they resembled Shashi Kapoor, Dev Anand, Raj Kapoor ,Sunil Dutt and other noted actors in many ways. The young womenfolk used to sit at their doorsteps with drooling tongues as they passed by....but they were not here for any hanky-panky. Most of them were married and were here to make a living - I know this for they would talk to me as I wrote down their addresses on the envelopes.
As for my Cambridge results, my mother was overwhelmed - particularly after knowing that I was the only one who got a grade one . The other 4 cousins of mine did not get a first-grade. I can't recollect how many times she kissed me and how many times she put pasmam on my forehead. Just how many times she took me to the temples nearby for rendering thanks to the dieties. Sincerely ,I have lost count . In fact, if not for her inspiration I would have not achieved the success. She knew the value of education. I thank her for that ..for her inspiration made me what I am today.
One day just after the announcement of the results, an army land-rover stopped in front of our house and my father came out of it with a burly-looking white man in Army attire and an MP strap on his cuff. His right hand was tattoed with some army insignia. My heart raced for I thought my father had gotten himself into trouble. No...the officer extended his hand and congratulated me in heavy British accent . Actually, my father was arranging the Officers' mess and when he saw the newspaper that carried my name so he kept it aside to bring it home. This act caught the officer's attention and the whole truth spilled out . I was taken to the Paroi camp where I had tea with Captain Frederick my father's boss and head of 66 Station Workshop REME from Her Majesty's Allied Forces Overseas.
From the corner of my eye, I could see my father wiping a tear or two from his eyes. He had learnt well - that I wouldn't "eat the shit of others". My father learnt that education earned respect from the others. At the other corner, I could see my mother beaming in pride as she had proven my father wrong. That night was my mother's turn to give him right and left. All the pent-up emotions in her broke loose. She recounted with precision and anger just how many times I had run to her because of that remark of his -of how I had cried and opened up to her - of how he squandered the money by sending it to his sister in Kerala and her family all because her husband had died.- of how he had wasted his money in Kerala by buying land there when in fact it could have been invested here for the children's sake. My father just hung his head down in humiliation and remained silent.....he just couldn't talk back. To add salt to injury, the neighbour's soon called her "Mathavan amma" and she was known by that name until we left the squatter-house back in 1978. No one called him, "Mathavan appa." He has mentioned this to my mother several times that ,"she had ,with some magic ,enchanted me to her. No one could replace his daughter's love for him ."
HIS FAVOURITE PAST-TIME after my mother passed away......
My daughter, Ashwini kept him on his toes. She wound him around her little fingers by wrestling with him, singing songs for him, dancing with him, and my father turned into another baby. He became spell-bound by her ability to speak so well and would wait for her to get up from her cot first thing in the morning. While she slept he would, now and then, fan her and ensure that she is well-blanketed. If it rained heavily, he would run to her cot to see if she is awakened by the sound of thunder. He was simply crazy of this little girl and she used that to her advantage well . She knew anything that she asked him, she would get somehow.
My sister was lucky not to have endured the hardship we faced as she came back only during the holidays. When she came back home, she was on center-stage and my father poured her with all the niceties and she knew how to tackle him. She would not heed my mother's call to the kitchen to learn cooking and took refuge in the protection my father gave her. Apparently, her birth brought my father a lot of wealth. He would say how plumb she was and how he would take her around on his bicycle. Everyone who took sight of her would stop by to carry her for a while. As for me, he would say , "You didn't have that kind of chance." Whether it was chance or his choice not to cycle me around, it did affect me inside. However, there were lot of distractions for me outside - my friends loved me and protected me from bullies. I learnt an important lesson - stand up to all challenges. The other person is equally as scared as you and just as you are sizing him up so is he.
Now coming back to the appam bit... I would wake up early and savour the first appam for my father always believed that children should be fed first. He loved children a lot and was very, very fond of my sister Janu. As for me, he was closer as I grew up and later he would openly say only God made me into what I am today. He gained confidence in me as he saw me picking up in my studies and when my teachers, to whom he delivered string-hoppers and appam, advised him to educate me. At one point of time, my Mathemathics at Form One wasn't good. I got zero for a test and my father was very angry that he sent me for tuition. But my tuition teacher always neglected me. You know why, my father only paid RM10 while the other students were paying RM15. I felt ashamed and humiliated and stopped tuition altogether, no matter what my father would say. I knew my father did that because he did not have the money and I decided to study Maths on my own. God gave me one thing and that is boundless energy to sit down for hours and be focussed on whatever I was doing. However, I could not comprehend my father.. and to be frank deep inside I was angry with him... .why must he make me face the humiliation ? He could have forsaken his one packet of 222 Bidi ,from the two packets he wasted daily for my tuition fee. It still remains as an unanswered question in me even today.Sometimes, during his younger days, he was difficult to comprehend. With the yawning age-gap between my parents( my mother being very young), quarrels were plenty in the house. My mother had held me tight several times and cried that I should grow up fast so that she can "go away". My father was not tied to drinking or women but had a sarcastic tongue that can cut you down and make you feel useless. He was a Hitler in the home and a jewel outside it. He dictated everything from the type of food to be cooked, clothes to be worn, songs to be heard and with whom you are to mix with.
HE LOVED MY SISTER VERY MUCH....if there was anything important for him it was only her . As for me he didn't see much hope ...he always loved my cousins more ..buying them the choicest and me the meagerly..
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| steMy sister at her young age |
BOUNDLESS TEARS FROM HIM...........
He seldom cried and the last time was during my sister's wedding as she left the house . It was a sight difficult to forget . Almost all my family members witnessed that. After the LCE incident, our relationship stabilised ....but still deep in me I saw him as a tyrant ...he would buy me the cheapest fountain pen while my cousins were given good quality ones. I totally had no say in how my long-pants should be, how my hair-style ought to be..It was just one thing straight i.e to follow his instruction all along without question. As a gift for passing the LCE exams he bought me a second-hand bicycle for RM30. Later, without even asking me a word, he painted the bicycle green with oil-paint . He did that simply because there was some leftover of this paint in the house. So, I was the only one in my school with a weird -looking green colour bicycle. Guess how I must have felt ! He would buy you baggy pants when the trend then was drainpipe pants. What to do, I had to endure whatever he did then......
HIS DAYS AS A GROCERY SHOPKEEPER.......
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HOW TWO SARDAJIS were told not to overstay.....
It was a day or two before Deepavali. My father asked me to close the shop by sliding the numbered planks carefully into the grove. There were still two sadarjis sipping beer , enjoying Marie biscuits and at the same time talking aloud in Punjabi. My father told them politely it was time to close shop. They just nodded but continued to sit there. My father was so annoyed he just went up to them, caught one chap by the neck and the other one by his turban and dragged them out of the shop . Quickly both of us scooted away on our bicycles to our house where my mother was ready for the prayers to our ancestors which my father did on Deepavali eve and when I get to savour a bit of "tiger stout" with my father i.e the one left for my ancestors. I would then pretend to be drunk and disturb my mother in the kitchen for the Deepavali savouries like laddu, chippi etc or crawl under the bed to steal a bottle or two of the soft-drinks she would have kept there for the following day. Annoyed by my misdeeds , my mum would scream and shout away ..but I father would protect me . He would say why have the food in the kitchen only ..to get them out. He too like me loved her laddus and her mutton curry most. That lady, my mother, was an excellent cook. Today, I sure miss all the good food from her....
Slowly my mother inspired me to excel...............
The year 1970 was a bountiful year for me. Spurred on by a second-grade result by a cousin in the Senior Cambridge examination , I started slogging hard. Those days , the results were reported in the newspaper i.e The Straits Times. My mother would say it would mean much to her if mine appeared in the papers too. She would make me coffee to ensure I did not sleep while studying. She was resolute in seeing me becoming a graduate ....no matter what.
As for the exams, I knew I could make it for my friends were cooperative in the studies and our teachers at the King George V Secondary School were go-getters. Furthermore, the thought of our Principal, Mr.Anandarajah looking down at us if we didn't do well pumped adrenaline into our blood-stream . In March 1970, the results were out and my name appeared in the First-Graders column - of course with my father's name after mine. After that as I walked to the grocery-shop nearby, the Pakistani bread-makers would shake hands with me . It was nice to be recognised. I liked the whole bunch of them. They were all bread-sellers and had a bakery called the Azad bakery not far away from our house. They would sleep on their rope-beds on the verandah of the bakery with no wall barricade to block them from the strong winds and rain. All their bicycles with containers at the rear carrier would be lined up neatly. Sweet fragrance would emit from inside the bakery as you pass by. Coupled with this there would be a relentless rendition of Hindi songs. Calendars with the pictures of actresses like Vyjayanthimalla, Asha Parekh and Hema Malini often lined up their wall together with scribblings of their addresses in Pakistan.It was a sight to behold on Fridays, when all these young men adorned in their best traditional attire walked up to bus-stop to go to the mosque - they resembled Shashi Kapoor, Dev Anand, Raj Kapoor ,Sunil Dutt and other noted actors in many ways. The young womenfolk used to sit at their doorsteps with drooling tongues as they passed by....but they were not here for any hanky-panky. Most of them were married and were here to make a living - I know this for they would talk to me as I wrote down their addresses on the envelopes.
As for my Cambridge results, my mother was overwhelmed - particularly after knowing that I was the only one who got a grade one . The other 4 cousins of mine did not get a first-grade. I can't recollect how many times she kissed me and how many times she put pasmam on my forehead. Just how many times she took me to the temples nearby for rendering thanks to the dieties. Sincerely ,I have lost count . In fact, if not for her inspiration I would have not achieved the success. She knew the value of education. I thank her for that ..for her inspiration made me what I am today.
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| THThat's me when I was about two years old This pathetic looking fellow has taken beatings in life not many others would have endured. Each beating made him stronger and filled him with one thing that he has plenty -LOVE LOVE TO THE DEPRIVED, LOVE TO GOD WHO SHOWED HIM THE WAY LOVE TO EVERYONE WHO SHOWED HIM LOVE AND HIS REMINDER TO PARENTS-"DON'T HAVE KIDS IF YOU CAN'T LOOK AFTER THEM AND CARE FOR THEM. INSTEAD ADOPT SOME PUPPIES INSTEAD." |
From the corner of my eye, I could see my father wiping a tear or two from his eyes. He had learnt well - that I wouldn't "eat the shit of others". My father learnt that education earned respect from the others. At the other corner, I could see my mother beaming in pride as she had proven my father wrong. That night was my mother's turn to give him right and left. All the pent-up emotions in her broke loose. She recounted with precision and anger just how many times I had run to her because of that remark of his -of how I had cried and opened up to her - of how he squandered the money by sending it to his sister in Kerala and her family all because her husband had died.- of how he had wasted his money in Kerala by buying land there when in fact it could have been invested here for the children's sake. My father just hung his head down in humiliation and remained silent.....he just couldn't talk back. To add salt to injury, the neighbour's soon called her "Mathavan amma" and she was known by that name until we left the squatter-house back in 1978. No one called him, "Mathavan appa." He has mentioned this to my mother several times that ,"she had ,with some magic ,enchanted me to her. No one could replace his daughter's love for him ."
HIS FAVOURITE PAST-TIME after my mother passed away......
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He bought her the first bicycle Both got along, not as grandpa and grand-daughter, but more as friends .With her around , my father forgot his age, his ailments and was happy most of the time. He would not smoke in her presence fearing that smoke would affect her. While eating fish for example, he would tell her to be careful of the bones and to chew the food properly. After a head-bath , he would touch her hair to see if it is wet .To her, he would pour out his stories about his younger days. In fact, Ashwini did a History project paper about the Japanese Occupation during her PMR exams by just interviewing my father. He told her how cruel the Japanese were and how he had lost all his money selling the properties he had , just before the British troops arrived; of how bombs were thrown near the railway station nearby; of how the Japanese just loved condensed milk; of how the Japanese cut down trees to get coconuts and he would teach her some old Japanese words like "Ohaiyo Gozaimasta" etc. Ashwini was a good-listener and would ask him all kinds of questions. To my father, "Children were living Gods". And to him, Ashwini was his toy and friend. I remember how there were 2 small turtle pets in the house. He would let them out of the aquarium and then both would go after them on their knees on the floor of the house hall. I also still remember how he used to take control of Ashwini's remote car controls and help himself to driving of the car. Both would go around the garden hand in hand with my father holding his towel to ensure no mosquitoes or insects sat on her skin. if any dis, then he would resort to using the Tiger Balm liberally on her wound. This is one part of my father, that I had not witnessed when I was young - so passionate, so loving and caring. With me he was loving when young but the distancing was there until I had proven myself in studies. THE END OF PART ONE Hope this article provides the inspiration for the young ones to write of their times with their parents, siblings, friends and pleasant moments. JUST DONT SIT THERE BEFORE THE COMPUTERS WITH "KNOW-ALL" aura around you, but dig deep into yourselves to find out more of your capacities ! I CHALLENGE YOU ON THIS ...... |
