Sleepless Nights 93 - Income tax and Nujabes is Dead

Eau de Cologne and Tiger Balm - Remembering Dadhi.

"You bastard! Bastard!"

I went on repeating the word as I chased my elder brother through the house. Mom wasn't in so it was a free for all, royal rumble sort of a day. He must have done something which annoyed me but my memory fails me. What I remember though, was what came next.

"Awat dok keriau pagi-pagi ni?" I stopped in my tracks and watched as my brother's shadow escape behind the corner. Turning around, I saw Dadhi standing by the dining table. She pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit down.

I started to vomit out words on how my brother was the devil incarnate but she just smiled and nodded. Not in agreement obviously but to signal subtly that I should keep quiet and listen to what she had to say.

"Where did you learn that word? Do you know what it means?" She switched to English, in hopes of driving home her message better.

"Tak tau, Dadhi."

"You shouldn't use it," she said; her voice having no trace of anger. "Especially not at your brother."

"But why?" Curiosity replaced guilt and fear of reproach.

"Why? Hm, because it's a bad word."

"Why is it a bad word?"

"Because people use it only when they're upset," she said.

"... What does it mean?" Dadhi laughed; the wrinkles around her eyes deepening.

"Kalu hang tak tau maksud dia awat hang pi guna? You know what bastard means? It means a child born from parents who aren't married. Now do you think your brother is a bastard?"

"No," I said, on the verge of tears for some reason.

"Good, that's okay. You always have to know the meaning of what you say. You understand?"

*

I'm one of the few who can say that my grandmother taught me my very first curse word at the tender age of 4 years old. That memory stuck with me up until now, 22 years later.

For all that I say, I don't think I can claim I know my grandmother well. I came to the world a little too late - Missed the entire train my grandfather took, that'll always be a shame - but I am thankful. Thankful for the little time that was granted to me to spend with her.

The most vivid of memories of her are always in the kitchen. I remember being in the Penang house and watching her making cekodoks. By everything that's holy, that shit transcends the definition of food, a mouthful of one was nothing short of a spiritual event. Dadhi in the kitchen is by far, my favourite motherfucking thing in the world. Bengkang, pengat, all the curries, jeez. I can weep for the food alone but let's be honest, there's much more to it.

I see her in the garden often, tending to the flowers and orchids. And that jasmine tree, how she'd pick the blooms and put it in a small plate on her dressing table. In a sense the whole house became an extension of herself. Clean, warm and smelling of jasmines.

If we were ever sick, then there were only three antidotes that will be served. Headache? That calls for an eau de cologne head massage. Fell? If there's a wound then Zam-Buk, or else it's tiger balm. I'm pretty sure if I'm not a doctor, I'd have ended up a tiger balm ambassador or some shit. If you've got sinus issues then say hello to this miraculous shit:

A mixture of black cumin and aniseed toasted over low heat then transferred into a muslin cloth and tied into a pouch of sorts. Roll the pouch in your hands to ?release the magic then take a deep breath.

It feels like spears being stabbed into your ethmoids but man, that shit works.

It's inevitable to say that I drifted away from her. I have no excuses. As she deteriorated from old age and dementia, I saw less and less of her.

To be honest, I think that's why this draft has been locked up here for a good year plus. It's the guilt of knowing that I could have been more proactive and been there physically instead of just being a voice on the phone. The question arises to whether I have any right in writing any of this when I wasn't a particularly good child to her in her later years. The years where she needed me the most.

But I write it still because tonight, of all nights, I feel her warmth.

She taught me more than I could ever realise. As her lucidity faded away and her sight reduced to shadows, she was still giving me a lesson. What do you do when your loved ones look at you and think you're someone else? What do you do when they repeatedly ask you who you are? What do you do when they take your hands in theirs and kiss them thinking that you are the elder one?

Really, what do you do? I winged it. Honestly, I'm still a little unsure whether it was the right thing to do or not. Each time I go to see her I was a different person in her eyes. Rather than tell her over and over that I'm not that guy, I became that guy. One day I was telling her how the new shop I opened is doing just okay. The other I'm telling her how my trip to wherever it was went.

At the end of the day, she remains the greatest teacher I've had.

She taught me the value of words. She taught me that simplicity is best, regardless of who you are and what your stature is. She taught me about the importance of family; everything must revolve around them. If you make a decision, your family must be in the equation else everything is for naught. She taught me the dinner table can be filled with dirt but as long as your family is around, that's fine. She taught me about God and the meaning of devotion but I haven't come to the point where I can honestly get into that yet.

Above all, she taught me to love the earth. To touch the soil and feel the life flooding from it. To grow things and care for them so that they may flourish and in turn reward me with beauty.
Thank you Dadhi for everything that you've taught me. May your legacy pass on to my children and I hope that they'll be a much better offspring than I did.

The later years. My one wish is to have been able to photograph her better.