As I was growing up, I had the opportunity of growing up with kids from many different races. When I was seventeen, I had the time of my life when I was introduced to a Malay family of 12. Yes 12 including the mother and father. The couple, whom I referred to as Pak Cik and Mak Cik had six boys and four girls. They lived in the same neighborhood as I was, just a few walking distance from my flats. Every evening, we would meet up for a good game of football at the field infront of their house. It became a routine for three years, playing football with all 10 children (yes, even the girls were extremely good in the sport). We played regardless of rain or shine and when Maghrib prayers approached, they would then welcome me in to their house despite my T-shirt reeking and drenched with sweat. As the boys would shower and conduct the evening prayers with their religious father, Mak Cik would make sure I was comfortable by offering me drinks and food. Those were really good times. Pak Cik Jabar as he was known, was a very humble man and extremely welcoming. We had friends from different races as well, Chinese and Indians coming to play in the field. And they too, received the same treatment. Whenever I met him or Mak Cik at the shops down my place, they would greet me with the famous, Subir! Sudah makan? Belum Pak Cik. Tengah pergi nih ke kedai, Baik baik ya. Ada duit untuk bayar? Ada Pak Cik, terima kasih. They were really amazing people. Their children, though mischievous, were extremely nice too. There was once while playing football, a bunch of Indian youths with loud motorbikes approached us to play. We allowed them. Now, since we were used to playing barefoot, these guys came with their boots and were extremely rough and loud. But what irked me most was the fact that they were oblivious to us being barefoot. They were so rough that at some point in the game, I told one of them off for being rough. A fight broke out. This guy started to push and shove me, claiming I was being rude despite me telling the truth. What happened next was amazing. All six of these boys, despite just being mere teenagers, stood infront of me, facing these guys and defended me. Kalau you lelaki, mai ah. You mau lakun gangster, lakun tempat lain. Mau kurang ajar, buat tempat lain. Ini padang bola. One of them said. The Indian guys without saying a word, took off with their bikes. I respected them for that. For defending me, an Indian guy, against my own kind from harm. Subir, you macam anak Pak Cik. Kalau ada orang nak pukul, bagi tau Pak Cik. I remember Pak Cik telling me that night. Best part, as politically illiterate I was then, Pak Cik had a huge Umno flag in his room. But he made me, an Indian, like his son despite me not being Malay or Muslim. That is why, when i think about it, it is all politics and nothing more. I learnt alot from the family. They were Malacca born, and they had their Malay culture which I found very beautiful. This was where I learnt how to walk with a hunch, and right hand forward whenever I pass by any elderly man, regardless of race. This was also where I learnt to shake hands, and after shaking the palm touches the heart as a mark of respect. This was also I felt most at home and Malaysian. There are things here that I believe, we as non-Malays fail to understand. The Malays have four pillars to which they hold dear to their hearts; the Malay language, their culture (in Negri Sembilans case, the Adat Perpatih), the King and their religion. We dont understand as we have forgotten our own culture. And yet we claim to fight for our race, for our people. Getting offended over trivial matters to which even we actually dont understand. Racism, is not only skin deep. Its way beyond that. On the issue of questioning faiths and religion and way of life, it is totally fine to question. I had questioned my Malay friends on their religion and culture many times. But I only questioned out of genuine curiosity and not with the intention to mock and scorn. By the way, these four aspects that the Malays hold dear to their heart was told to me by an Indian man. And when I pieced them together based on my experience with this family, it makes total sense. I used to question Pak Cik on his religion and he calmly and very beautifully used to answer it. When Eid approached, he would make sure I come. Failing not to, he would call me on my phone, Ahh Subir, ko kat mana? Jangan hilangkan diri. Datang, Mak Cik dah buat lauk dah. They also understood that I can not eat beef and so the dish would be placed far. The girls would innocently point and tell, Abang Subir, ini lembu. Itu ayam. Makan ini ya? Mak Cik would make sure I get more than second helpings. Makan Subir, jangan tak makan. Nih kurus kering orang pompuan tak suka. Makan, makan. They made me understand their Malay culture and I made them understand my culture. They would ask me innocently, Subir, kalau dunia ini tak ada makanan, kalau ada lembu sahaja, you makankah? I would retort, Entah lah bro. Mungkin tak kot. I would explain to them why we Hindus choose not to eat beef. And they would share why the pig is considered haram. Their question was out of genuine curiosity. As were my questions to them on the Kiblat. Bro, you punya rumah atas itu ceiling ada arrow lah. Itu Kiblat bro. Mecca berada arah situ. So time kite sembahyang, kita sembahyang arah tuh. Ohhhh saya ingat you sengaja taruk itu arrow sana. Subir nihh.. You ingat saya apa, Legolas kah mau taruk arrow semua? Tolerance. Understanding. Love. I experienced these three with them. I would want the future generation to experience this. But I am also afraid that we may not, as we, although being a critically thinking society and apparently advanced, we only question the wrong things and at the wrong times. Every culture, religion and race has their reason for doing certain things. All we need to do is to start questioning with the intention of learning and not mocking.
Posted on: Sun, 20 Oct 2013 12:21:27 +0000
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