6.5.2008.
Just then Mr. Balun , my late uncle Jamaluddin's youngest son, passed by, then reversed his car. His sister, Eda & daughter were inside. I asked Mr. Balun for ten bucks, but he just pulled out a tissue paper from the box in front of him. I think this threesome was the entire Jamaluddin's representative, but at least somebody came from this family.
By the way, Sarkum says Meru is also his kampong. Sarkum Rantam, as is his full name, is a full-blooded Javanese ( what else can you be with that name ! ) who is now a permanent resident of Paroi Jaya. I used to tell him his name is pre-Islamic, but he says it's originated from royalty. Of course I told him I don't believe him, because all the Javanese in Malaysia came as Jawa kontrak. I think his settling in Seremban has a lot to do with his wife, as she is from Bentong, and Seremban is about halfway between Meru and Bentong.
Now back to the wedding story, the road leading to the wedding site was chockablock. What's with Malaysian drivers, anyway. They always seem to try and drive their cars as close as possible to wherever the event is, in this case maybe right up to the "pelamin". If they shop they seem to try and drive right into the store. So while the gridlocked drivers sorted themselves out, I squeezed between bumpers into the wedding compound, and the bride's mom - now Jimikoling's ex-wife - greeted us, " ingat lagi tempat ini, ya ?". I gave her my packet with my 50 + 10,and motioned to my wife, and they embraced.
Jimikoling's sister Nosa Ngat-ngat and hubby, Gaphal, had greeted us earlier.
I went straight to the food table. There was a fair-sized crowd, some eating at the tables, some milling around, all talking and laughing, and what with the loud music blaring out of the speakers, it was a right earful din.
The two young girls manning the food table asked "nasi putih ke nasi minyak?" and I chose putih. This buffet-style feast is a fairly new thing in Malay weddings, perhaps more common in the last 6 - 7 years, I'm not sure. I think it benefits the caterer more than anything else. I personally detest it. In the first place it takes away the feeling of being attended to, as a welcomed guest who is ushered to a seat, and then has the food brought to him as in the old days. I mean, if you are taking all the trouble to have the kenduri, with all the tents and stuff, why not take one more step and have guests properly seated and served ? Buffet style means queing and jostling and grabbing food and taking enormous portions of everything and finally leaving half of everything in the plates and on the table uneaten and wasted.
I had both hands on food and drink when I met my aunt, my mother's little sister, who is grandma to the bride. We embraced and she kissed me on my cheeks but I couldn't hold her because my hands were full. My other cousins were nearby - Mat Cit and wife, Narimah Obong and husband, Odin, and the grown up children. We don't meet often nowadays, except on occasions like this wedding, and I genuinely enjoy the contact. How time passes by, we all are made aware of, when we see each other, seeing the grey hair and the kids so grown up and unrecogniseable. We call each other names since small. Not complimentary names then, but I still call them so, but in my heart with warmth now, and not without affection.
I sat under a fan, picking at the rice, with my aunt chatting away beside me. It was hot in spite of the twirling fan, because these canvas tents usually are hot to sit under. This is the reason why I rented an air-conditioned hall when my two elder boys were married. I wanted my guests to be comfortable and not have their expensive silk dresses and batik shirts stick on their sweating backs. Now under the hot tent, without much "lauk" on my plate, I pushed away the mostly uneaten rice and ate some of the cakes on the table, and drank straight from the mineral water bottle.
Meanwhile, the loud music blared on, and the mc added to the noise-making.
Except for Mashitok whom I met when I first arrived,I didn't see any of my other brothers. Later I found out that some came after I had left. But my youngest brother, Calit, had already told me that he would probably come early because he had to fetch Sabrina, his wife.
I passed another brother, Padir ,on my drive home on Jalan Kopi, but I don't think he noticed me. I almost didn't notice him until I saw his familiar number plate.
My aunt called the bride and groom as they were passing by from the "pelamin" to the house, and they came and my aunt said " ni Pa' Long " and I said "siji loro". I used to call the bride, when just a small girl at my aunt's house, siji loro, or "one, two" in Javanese. I don't think she remembered, because she just smiled, as did the groom. They looked a nice couple. They were in matching blue modern "kurung" and "baju Melayu" with keris. The bride has some of my cousin Jimikoling's features. I thought she looked slightly taller then the groom. But some Malays believe this is a good sign, "murah rezeki" - prosperous. I had half-expected the couple to don on the familiar Javanese wedding outfit. But often in these weddings, the couples would change quickly into a range of dresses, and to take plenty of photographs for posterity.
Now it was approaching half-past two, and as I had not said my zohor prayers I signalled to my wife to get up and leave. This reception would go on until about 5 p.m. , having probably started at about 11 or 12. We took our wedding party tokens, in this case a paper bag with goodies, and stood up to take our quiet leave. In the old days, of course, it would have been a hard-boiled egg, usually coloured a bright red, tied to a bamboo stick decorated with paper flowers. Today it's often sweets, or potpurri, or even some momentoes like a keychain . We said goodbye to aunt and cousins, and at the compound entrance, to Su, and made our way to the car.
On the drive back, I stopped for zohor prayers at the As Syarif mosque. It's a fairly large one and looked quite new. On closer inspection I found the usual problem with all facilities in this country. Malaysia will rank up there when it comes to the construction of anything, highways, towers, seaports and airports and all the rest. But maintaining them is a different story, no, in fact it's the indifference story. In this case, you see litter everywhere, the ablution area less than spotless, shoe cases in disarray and other small stuff, giving an impression of benign neglect.
What remained spanking new and proudly displayed were the PAS and PKR flags hung on many vantage points throughout the area we passed. Not a single BN flag of any description could be seen, except for one lone poster of the former MB.
As I sped off along the large highways, I realized how well-costructed they were, how beneficial to people these must be, all built by the BN governments at State and Federal levels. And yet BN received a proper thrashing at the last GE. I wonder why.
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