K.P.HARRIS, R.I.P.

23.9.2010.

I had barely finished my last posting when Ati, my sister, called, informing me of Pak Cik Aris' passing. 

We moved to Tanjong Malim in 1950. Not all of my siblings were born yet, of course. Dad was posted to Sultan Idris Training College (now Universiti Perguruan Sultan Idris) to teach. We stayed for 6 years. 

Tg. Malim carries a lot of memories for me. I was 6, and this was my first schooling days, first at the Sekolah Latihan Tanjong Malim, the Malay school that served as the training school for the trainee teachers who were the students of S.I.T.C., and after standard 4, for two years at the Special Malay Class I & II, at the Methodist English School just across the road from the S.I.T.C. padang. 

I remember the celebrations at the town padang for the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II (we were still a British Colony).

I also remember the "Emergency", the euphimism applied for the period of the jungle (and once in a while urban) warfare waged by the British Administration against the armed communist terrorists. As it happened, Tg. Malim gained notoriety for that ambush on the D.O.'s armed party that went up to repair the sabotaged town reservoir that resulted in the 14 government dead and a public rebuke by General Templer. 

And then there was Pak Cik Aris. 

How dad got him to come I'll now never find out. But he didn't come with us from the very beginning. That was "Lebai." Lebai was one of dad's pupils at the Kuala Pilah Malay School where he taught before the Tg. Malim posting. He had finished Standard 6, the highest class for all the Malay schools at that time. After Standard 6, except for the fortunate few who were very clever, very connected or very rich (often all three), everybody went to look for work. Mostly they became government clerks, or policemen, or soldiers.

Lebai, at dad's invitation, followed us to Tg. Malim, eventually to help him set up our own private mini photo studio, my father's surprising interest, and later, side-income. 

After a short while Pak Cik Aris came.  Later, Pak Cik Chup, mom's first cousin, Yusof Awang (also called Usop Pokeh) also came.   He didn't stay long. Pak Cik Chup married  late in life to a satay seller at the Malay Bazaar, and they later moved to Kg. Datuk Harun on the old Kelang Road.  Pak Cik Chup  is buried there. But this merits another story.

When Lebai left us after less than a year to join the army (what else), Pak Cik Aris filled up the assisstant photographer's position that eventually outlasted our own Tg. Malim stay. When dad got reassigned back to Kuala Pilah in 1956, Pak Cik Aris, having found a vocation he had become fond of, chose to remain behind. And until only a few years ago, Tanjong Malim was his home. 

Right from those early days, Pak Cik Aris had chosen his trade name, "K.P. Haris" - coining his real name with the initials of his original home town - Kuala Pilah. Through the years he lived on his camera work. When dad set up his mini-studio he did the developing work himself, plus all the art work when he did the Raya cards thing. Pak Cik Aris learned the developing as well, but when we left Tg. Malim he stopped developing his photos himself and concentrated only on snapping the shots only. Apparently sufficient income was earned by him to survive almost his entire lifetime on this taking of photos of the endless batches of SITC students who got through the college gates every three years.

Pak Cik never married. Once in a few years he'd suddenly appear in Kuala Pilah and visited us. When I was at MU he sent word about the death of Pak Cik Jaya through another undergraduate, which showed that he kept track of me. When I started working , my work sometimes took me to Tg. Malim, and I used to look for him when time permitted. Mostly I failed, but a few times I met him. He was staying at the same old surau in the College grounds. He used to keep an extra "kain pelikat" under the mimbar of the town mosque. So I know he kept his daily solat. 

A few years ago he came back to KP, "for good", he said at that time. He moved to Mak Cik Putih's house, a relative of his. Mak Cik Putih's late son, a doctor, even gave him an electric-powered bicycle, which he rode around Kuala Pilah town with glee. And there I thought he'd spend the rest of his days.

I learned with sadness to-day that Pak Cik chose not to put his roots down here after all. Apparently he became difficult in his old set ways. I believe Mak Cik Putih and her family had opened their home to him like family that he was.  He had settled in at first. But he became restless and wanted to be on his own again, and back in Tanjong Malim in particular. So they obligingly sent him back to Tanjong Malim. He stayed for about a year.  Then he fell sick and was hospitalised. They fetched him, but he didn't want to come back to Mak Cik Putih's house. The old folks homes in Negeri were full, but they found one in Melaka that accepted him.

Recently, he fell sick again. And last night he was gone. He died at the hospital in Melaka. They brought back the remains to Kuala Pilah this morning. It was bathed and put in the burial shroud at the Bukit Temensu surau, which is in fact built on the land owned by Mak Cik Putih's late father, donated (wakaf) for the surau. About 30 of us stood and prayed before the body. 

It was sad for me to see the lonely Pak Cik Aris, who came to us in Tanjong Malim alone, stayed back there alone, and finally died all alone. 

He was at least 86, just slightly younger than my late mother when she died.  Mom had a soft spot for him, although I remember one time she scolded him over something quite trivial.  In the last years of her life, I knew she still used to give him some money whenever he made one of those infrequent surprise visits. She would have cried for him. Sadly, I see no tears to-day. 

Goodbye, K.P. Haris. 

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