The day finally arrived. Our group consisted of Tok Abah (my dear departed, al Fatihah), mak, and her motley crew made up of my brother Man, my sister Ja, my (then) youngest sister Ida and yours truly. Ida must have been about 3 ½- 4 years old then. ( Remember this, as it is an essential part of this story) She was such a baby and was my parents’ favorite.
Maklum lah, budak tu suka menyanyi, tak lah sedap sangat, tapi teramat lah suka mendendangkan lagu bila duduk kat celah mak bapak I kat dalam kereta Datsun 1200 bearing no plate KC1789 tu. Lagipun tak silap I, kereta tu tak der radio, so bila kami naik kereta je, my father would make a gesture as if he’s turning a knob on my sister’s mouth kinda like he’s switching on the radio, and apa lagi! she unashamedly would count that as an invitation to start her dendang sessions.
I have to tell about our luggage! My parents bought it specially for the trip, I think. It was box shaped, about 2 ft by 5 ft (I swear, it was enormous!) and blue in colour with small black specks. My father had written our address very nicely on the luggage `59 Jalan Pajar, Alor Setar, Kedah’. (My father has one of the nicest handwriting I have ever come across, even to this day)(Later, the same bag carried my belongings when I enrolled in a boarding school on top of a small hill in Seremban)
All our clothes were packed tightly into that one luggage as Mak had to carry it single handed, with me, being the eldest at only 10 and not much good for anything, and Tok Abah, even then, was too old. Tok Abah was a lovable grandfather who loved to be on the go somewhere, yet the minute he reached the place, he would be missing home; and I suspect, Mak Tok, though he never said it.
The journey to KL was long. And there were no air conditioned coaches then (if I am not wrong, but even if they had, we could not have afforded it). Sitting by the window with the wind blowing in your face seemed and sounded romantic, but wait until you try it, you will know that your face will end up blackened from the soot produced by the engine.
If you want to reach KL from Alor Setar those days, you had to board the train from Alor Setar bright and early and make a quick change to another train at Bukit Mertajam. In my mind, as a kid,I pictured it as if the railway lines were built starting from both ends and somehow the engineers only found out they missed each other at Bukit Mertajam!
(View from the top of Menara Telekom, the world's 19th tallest telecom tower...hmmm not bad eh? for a sleepy not so hollow)
(The façade of the station~ how quaint it still is)
(Tracks that carry me down memory lane)
The journey went by quite uneventfully, The highlight of a train ride then was when the train made its way across Tasik Merah, Taiping, Chugging along at low speed right across the lake was really something! And the scenery, SubhanAllah, I could swear there was no other place that looked as beautiful especially if you were to make the journey at dusk.
There were no express train service then, so we passed each little train station /stops, sometimes seemingly right in the middle of nowhere.
Ipoh train station was and is a magnificent piece of architecture, It being the biggest train station north of peninsular, the train normally makes a longer stopover there. There we would have got some refreshments ; kopi O panas in small plastic bags or boiled groundnuts (from Menglembu, doubtlessly) and maybe nasi lemak bungkus. The clanging of the train master’s bells, the cries of the peddlers advertising their wares, the sights, sounds and smell of the station still lives on in my mind.
Mak woke us up when we reached Rawang, to gather all our belongings as the next stop would be our destination, the (old) KL train station. Ah! What can I say about KL train station that has not already been said or written?
At the station we were welcomed by my aunts and the children, Norli and Zamri,. Although cousins by birth, the distance apart and the infrequent meetings made for a bashful encounter at first. My aunts, Mak Kakak (Mak’s eldest sister by the same mother, dearly departed, al Fatihah) and Chu Zaiton, (Mak’s adopted sister and cousin) tried to push us kids together, but kids being kids, we got closer on our own accord, after days spent together exploring the grounds of the Army Camp at Padang Tembak, close to Gurney and Keramat. (Ami Noordin, my uncle was an army captain stationed there)
The school holidays passed by with us trudging the grounds and climbing and tumbling the undulating terrain of the camp grounds. Mak Kakak was a fantastic cook, whipping up delicious dishes and cookies. Of course she had to dispense the cookies herself and surreptitiously kept the jar out of sight for fear of everything running out faster than the holidays!
We were joined by another uncle’s children during the days. (Mamu Osman is mak’s elder brother . He was a taxi driver and lived close by in Kg Baru. Nimi, Niza,and Ta were frequent features in Mak Kakak's house.
One very distinct memory was us throwing small pebbles on top of the corrugated zinc roof of the squatter houses built down the slopes. What a pain we must have been, cos there were so many of us, and even if each were to throw one small pebble, imagine the ruckus we made! Every time the people came out scolding we would run away hiding. Then the same would be repeated over and over again, tirelessly,. We had such fun making them angry! The recklessness of youth!
ALL good things must come to an end. It was time for us to make the journey home. School was starting in a couple of days time and we had to make trip back as planned.
No more feeling bashful, tears streamed down at parting time with promises to meet again during Hari Raya. And the journey home went by much as it did when we were traveling to KL, except we were traveling in the opposite direction.
When we reached Nibong Tebal, Mak asked us to gather our things to ensure nothing was left behind. So we busily helped with whatever were stowed in the overhead racks. Just as the train jolted forward, Mak asked, `Ida pi mana?’ Frantically we looked around and she, the little songstress was nowhere on the train!
The train started pushing forward….and she was still missing!
I heard from somewhere down there on the platform, some Apek was crying, `Woi, anak sapa ni!, anak sapa ni!?’ I heard that voice over and over again, GOD bless him. Looking out the window of the now moving train, albeit slowly moving, there she was, in her very short dress, and a hat if I am not mistaken, completely innocent and waving at the train, smiling.
I rushed to the doorway of the coach we were in, and without thinking jumped off the train and in a single swift motion swept her into my arms and jumped back onto the train which was gathering speed!. Luckily I had the practise as a hurdler in school. It must have have taken only 40-50 seconds but it seemed a lifetime in slow motion in my mind.
Mak was unspeakably relieved to have the little songstress safely in her arms. Everybody was speechless at what both she and I did. And thankful, no doubt!
When we reached home, the drama on the platform was the conversation topic for many days, months and recollected faithfully over years to come. Everybody was so busy talking and narrating, but nobody thought of nominating me for the Hang Tuah award. Kalau tak glemer lah aku! Boleh masuk surat kabar.
Well my dear sister, if you are reading this, then we both know who you should idlolise as your lifetime hero(ine). You see, if not for me, you might be staying with some Apek for the rest of your life in Nibong Tebal and singing Long Fan, Long Lau.... instead of Cibidi, bidi, cibidi bang, bang, cibidi bang, bang, cibidi bong bong…nyet,nyet,nyet...
