Congratulations for not being a statistic in Ops Sikap XIII, and Selamat Hari Raya to you too.
For me, Aidilfitri has begun to lose its appeal. Perhaps I used to have lots to celebrate about, and the reasons are simply getting less nowadays. We used to have a “kampung”. Used to. Back in Ipoh. Kampung Manjoi. Jalan Menteri to be exact. Anyone from Ipoh will know where this is. It used to be a big affair. Uncles, aunties, cousins, second cousins the full monty. We were not so traditional, hence no dodol making and our last attempt at actually making lemang ourselves was probably back in 1985. After that, my uncles found it easier to just buy the lemang and spend all the extra time lazing around gossiping about each other. And for the ones that just bought a new car, they usually spend this time washing the car. Sometimes twice a day! I guess it gives them an opportunity to tell their brothers and me all about their car. Twice a day!
Then there was Maktok’s cooking, which was a whole different story. In my family only my grandma and mom could cook. The rest of the clan just kinda became kitchen helpers. Kitchen helpers and noisemakers. Gossips of the year - talks about divorces, divorces to be, and in-laws who should be outlaws are often very hot and juicy. Amidst all this hoopla, the kitchen unleashes its delightful aroma. One so recognizable I could be blind and still know exactly where I am and why I am there.
Maktok would make her rending tok, ketupat, and the usual Raya affair with an addition of her ayam masak merah, and this is made just for me. She knows I like her ayam masak merah a lot and she will make it for me, every year. In the morning, every morning we were there Maktok will make me my lempeng pisang. It’s like pancakes and I have at least five of them. This is a woman who raised me, so she knows how to get me. I looked forward to Raya. Every year.
Maktok passed away two years ago.
For me, Aidilfitri has begun to lose its appeal. Perhaps I used to have lots to celebrate about, and the reasons are simply getting less nowadays. We used to have a “kampung”. Used to. Back in Ipoh. Kampung Manjoi. Jalan Menteri to be exact. Anyone from Ipoh will know where this is. It used to be a big affair. Uncles, aunties, cousins, second cousins the full monty. We were not so traditional, hence no dodol making and our last attempt at actually making lemang ourselves was probably back in 1985. After that, my uncles found it easier to just buy the lemang and spend all the extra time lazing around gossiping about each other. And for the ones that just bought a new car, they usually spend this time washing the car. Sometimes twice a day! I guess it gives them an opportunity to tell their brothers and me all about their car. Twice a day!
Then there was Maktok’s cooking, which was a whole different story. In my family only my grandma and mom could cook. The rest of the clan just kinda became kitchen helpers. Kitchen helpers and noisemakers. Gossips of the year - talks about divorces, divorces to be, and in-laws who should be outlaws are often very hot and juicy. Amidst all this hoopla, the kitchen unleashes its delightful aroma. One so recognizable I could be blind and still know exactly where I am and why I am there.
Maktok would make her rending tok, ketupat, and the usual Raya affair with an addition of her ayam masak merah, and this is made just for me. She knows I like her ayam masak merah a lot and she will make it for me, every year. In the morning, every morning we were there Maktok will make me my lempeng pisang. It’s like pancakes and I have at least five of them. This is a woman who raised me, so she knows how to get me. I looked forward to Raya. Every year.
Maktok passed away two years ago.
