Village Memoir

Pseudo-Kelantanese. If you look under my profile description, you will see the abovementioned word which I had selected to address my father. Some might even wonder as to why I had used the word pseudo.

Well, the reason can be traced back to this snippet of history. My dad's family had settled in the topmost part of Terengganu that borders the state of Kelantan. Kuala Besut is the proud name. It is inextricably linked to another small town called Jerteh.

Growing up, I was baffled by my dad's native tongue of Kelantanese whereas he is a fellow Terengganuan by birth. I have forgotten who had narrated me the story, but the person essentially concluded that Kuala Besut was once under the rule of a Kelantanese sultanate. However, as part of a war concession, the Besut area was handed over to the Terengganu ruler at the time.

As a gullible kid, I was wholly convinced this was the gospel truth as it conveniently explained why my father's family speak Kelantanese. For all I know, it could be due solely to its close proximity to Kelantan which naturally led to intermarriages among these folks as a result of extensive trade and travel. Whatever the truth is, I have labelled my dad as such, as exemplified by their unique bilingual existence in Kuala Terengganu.

As expected in those 'prosperous' days, my father lived with nine other siblings and his parents within the confines of a small wooden house. There were each five boys and girls. Dad was number seven. The lucky seven who was the first in the family to enroll into the elite boy school at Kuala Kangsar.

In the '40s and '50s, life was hard for the Kampung folks in the backwater of Terengganu and Kelantan. My father recounted many times how they ate rice mixed with coarse salt which had been fried on the open fire. Sometimes, they even had to do without rice and survived on tapioca as a daily staple.

This agrarian, hand-to-mouth kind of living compelled my dad to strive harder for a better life for him and his family. After coming into money, he initiated a renovation plan for his childhood home and even extended the length of the house. The refurbishment included running water in the house as opposed to constantly relying on the well for cooking, washing and bathing. At one point, he even put the Astro cable channel in the house which unfortunately attracted some unwanted freeloaders into the domain.

My memory of the idyllic Kampung remains sketchy at best, in the form of grainy snapshots of my annual, if not biannual, visits to the East Coast. One visit that forever stands out in my head is the school holiday during which all of Tok's (Tok is my paternal grandmother) children (save for the youngest one studying in the UK) congregated with their families back home and we spent the next few days getting in each other's hair, so to speak. The reunion cum vacation culminated in a road trip to the nearest beach - about an hour's drive in those days - for a picnic and fun in the sun. No older than nine years old, I remember being so happy, surrounded by and played with many cousins from near and far.

Other unforgettable moments include the times when leeches clung to my legs, tiptoeing to the toilet area in the middle of the night lest I would bump into something slithery, adjusting to the cold yet refreshing water of the well, taking turns with my sisters cycling the neighbour's becha (trishaw) and the seemingly endless supply of pulut lepa, nasi dagang and laksam for breakfast.

Save for his youngest sister, my father was not particularly close to his string of siblings, due either to the age gap or diverging interests and priorities in life. By the time he went to the residential school, most of his older siblings were already married and having kids. The time spent in a boarding school and later to New Zealand for his tertiary studies only further drifted him apart from his siblings.

Except for the occasional stays by some cousins at our home during the school holidays, I am afraid I have not formed a lasting bond with any of them. The simple pleasures of our childhood were replaced with adolescent pangs and academic pursuits. Later on, some misunderstanding and mistreatment had persuaded me to evaluate the durability of some paternal relations. In a way, our weak friendships inevitably follow the same path as my dad's.

Coupled with the fact that people generally understand Bahasa Malaysia (the medium of language used in schools) and the infrequent visits up north, I am not able to converse in Kelantanese as well as one would hope for. I never have the motivation, nor the proper agenda to proceed with. My mother knows a smattering of Kelantanese after countless exposures to the family, especially during my dad's brief RTM attachment in Kota Bharu in the late '70s. I do recall the time when my elderly aunt - one of dad's sisters - and her daughter were joshing with my mother about the foreign quality of her Kelantanese. In other words, people can tell she is an outsider. Still, everyone admires her for the brave attempt and effort to learn. At least, that was the impression I had gotten.

After my grandmother's untimely demise in 1997, I had only gone back to Kampung twice - one for a Kenduri (Feast) in conjunction with Korban (the rites of slaughtering animals) during Eidul-Adha celebration and the other due to the sudden death of my aunt in Pasir Puteh. During this time, we also had to accompany our mom for a dialysis session in Besut Hospital. The absence of Tok, the pivotal figure and the 'glue' to whom everybody gravitates to, left a huge chasm in the already shaky familial bond. There were no more plans of a grand reunion now that she had passed away.

On a macabre note, eleven years after her passing, five of her children have joined her with the most recent one being her second oldest son - Ayah Ngah - during Raya this year. Now there remain only four of them, including my dad (the eldest son had passed away before Tok).

Eight years have gone since I last stepped foot on Jerteh soil. When my late uncle was around, he was the 'unofficial' caretaker of my Tok's house. I don't know what has since happened to the abode, or whether it is still standing at the same spot. Whatever fate that has befallen the place, my recollections of Kampung, however hazy, linger and would last me a lifetime.