Remembering Shauqina

Chapter 6: Hari Raya Visiting

CHAPTER 6 : Hari Raya Visiting

I don't know what got into my mother's head when she allowed me to go visiting during Hari Raya when I was in Primary Six. This surely must have been a big decision for a mother who used to beat her daughter black and blue for visiting her own uncle, NEXT DOOR, during Hari Raya. I remember happily counting the takings of the day - all the five cents and ten cents coins, when my mother, upon knowing of our outings, promptly took out her long, tailor's wooden ruler and well, the rest is history. So, when she said I could go visiting, I was kind of surprised and smiled at hitting the jackpot, at twelve years old. This was also the year when she started to fuss over me and forced me to put on the 'rose coloured', affordable, Yardley lipstick ( of which I was able NOT to comply) and to clean my face with a proper face wash, which I did because it felt good and smelt good too.

There were also the hair lice. Itchy, yucky little creatures which you can literally feel crawling on the scalp of your head. Yes, my sister and I had hair lice, as did the rest of the kampong/village girls. lt was the bane of the village. My dear mother tried all sorts of 'kampung' (traditional village) cures, the most ingenious of all must surely be this one ( which is also the one we hated most) :

lnqredients

Mothballs, mothballs and more mothballs

Smelly kerosene

Method

Crush the mothballs into smithereens (trust me, this is the only time you can test your pounding power)

Mix the crushed mothballs with a liberal dose of kerosene (be careful not to set fire to that mixture)

 Splatter this irksome mix on the hair, paying careful attention to the scalp

Don't waste any of this miracle cure - hold it all up by bundling it tightly in a cloth napkin.

Let the party begins! How it itched and burnt!  It felt like our heads were going to explode - like there were trillions of tiny dynamites, all detonating al the same time. Mother would militarily ensure that we sat through the regime for at least an hour. She brought the meaning of 'You have to be cruel in order to be kind' to a whole different level of humanity.

Those torturous sittings did not cure the hair lice problem.

It was the humble shampoo that defeated these vampires - a classic instance of science triumphant over tradition.

It was thus with great expectations that I looked forward to my first outing with my friends. No more lice, face smelt nice. I had a brand new outfit – a red jacket dress with a zip that ran all the way from waist up to my collar – the fashion rage at that time. New Bata pumps in suede leather. What more would a girl wished for? Yes, tomboy that I was, Hari Raya is always a special occasion to celebrate – and new shoes and new dresses are a MUST. Absolutely.

The outing turned out to be a non-event, though. Most disappointing. It became an endless round of bus-rides, eating delicious biscuits, drinking ‘F& N’ soft drinks, Hari Raya monies, then bus-rides again and the routine again. There was much laughter though. At least to me, as I watched, in disbelief, my female friends bedecked in beautiful, flowery and gaudy coloured baju kurung (traditional Malay costume), trying very hard to balance themselves on their high-heeled shoes. The image of ducks swaddling along came right into my mind. Why would one want to torture one’s feet like that, was beyond me. Pride must surely have been the cause of this, though the fall would have been most painful, if not comical. Pride before fall – got it? Hah!

And the guys? Well, they were all fashion victims, surely, in their striped t-shirts and tight jeans. Only Zak was in a shirt and wearing trousers – surely the most conservatively dressed of all. For the first time, though, what I noticed most about him was his hair. He had wavy hair, and the curls were beginning to cling to the base of his neck and a naughty, stray curl found its way towards his eyes. I gleefully told myself that Mr Raman, our Discipline Master, was surely going to hang him for that curl!

The last house for the day was mine. Thankfully. It was close to nightfall and my mum greeted us at the door by giving smiles to my friends while at the same time glaring disapprovingly at me. I don’t know how she did that! How she could manage both expressions at the same time – you know – she should get an Oscar for such skilful facial expressions! To my horror, she took a particular liking to Zak, showering on him extra attention, offering him more of her really-to-die-for delicious, succulent pineapple tarts. And he was such a greedy pig! He stuffed himself with those tarts like there was no tomorrow. And sure enough, he was almost choking on the tarts in his mouth, for his orange crush had finished. If I had been a good host, I would have replenished that drink – but I was more than a good host. I was evil incarnate. I walked up to him, smiled beatifically at him, and with one huge swing, gave him a hard smack across his shoulders. The tarts almost splattered on the floor, but his manners were immaculate and he swallowed those tarts wholly. Seeing him red in the face, the image of a life sentence for murder suddenly flashed in front of me, so I quickly grabbed Sahlan’s drink and handed it to Zak. He was coughing now and I offered my hand to him, to help him, of which he quickly panicky declined. By the time mother came out, all was peace and quiet at the battle front.

As one by one my friends kissed my mum’s and dad’s hands after receiving their Hari Raya monies, I saw my mum rested her hand slightly longer on Zak’s head. I fumed.

Ahhh! Never mind! All is not lost. I managed to almost suffocate him tonight and I am sure this is one Hari Raya visiting he would not forget!