Daddy Cool

All of you know it, right. 

Every third Sunday in the month of June is dedicated to those who are called fathers. Though in my humble opinion, every day should be father’s day. Anyway, let me write something about my dear father.

I called my father Ayah. And right, my kids called me Ayah as well. Well, except for Ayra. Somehow she called me Daddy.

My Ayah was born in 1932. Those days under the British rule, life was tough. Somehow, though he resided in a remote kampung, he managed to enter the Sultan Idris Training College (now UPSI). Ayah lost his dear mother due to some sort of epidemic (small pox?) where the grandma that I never knew had to be quarantined, until she passed away.

Ayah used to relate me stories how during the Emergency in Tanjung Malim, the bravest were the Askar Melayu. And those written in most of the history books about the heroic acts of the British Army were not entirely true.

Ayah has taught me a lot of things about life. He loves to read. His collection of books is voluminous. He loves to write. Especially letters to his children, and now grandchildren. I too had the pleasure of getting such letters, written in the neat hand-writing (have you seen my scribes … which you’ll fall in love with instantly, his' much better). 

Remember the letter about how he and my mom met my future wife. The ‘bahasa’ was as how a proper letter should be written. Full of ‘ayahanda’, ‘bonda’, ‘nenda’, ‘kekanda’ nomenclatures etc. 

The last letter addressed to me when I was in the UK, "…di sini ayahanda ingin menyampaikan jemputan ke perkahwinan bekas kekasih anakanda …"

I also used to write post cards to him wherever new foreign countries that I went to during my studies as well in my business trips. He was very proud in receiving all the 30-odd postcards from European countries and the US. He even tracked the places I went in the world geographical map.

Ayah taught me the fardu ain. Everyday, I spend like half an hour or so, receiving religious knowledge from him. He used that green book, which I forgot the name. Ayah was gentle to me. I was never being scolded by him. Maybe I was a good boy, and smart too (this I’m sure, my wife would say, it’s because you’re not so healthy then).

Ayah never commented anything about my friends, especially the female ones. But I always remember his word of wisdom with regard to them, "Son, even the tunggul (tree stumps) if you look at them everyday, they will look good." 

Yes Ayah, what’s more if they were beautiful girls. Ok, noted. I will try my best to cast down my eyes, promise you that. Or at least, I try lah ...

He is an honourable gentleman and stays steadfast in his ibadah. Looking at his photos when he was younger, I knew that he was a smart looking guy (yours truly, inherited some ...). 

Imagine this, in black and white. Four gentlemen (one whom is my dad) in their black ties and cool sun shades posing in front of the Tugu Negara. As with many other young guys those days, Ayah also had a scooter. He used to take my mother (in her tight kebaya, I supposed) scootering around the town, maybe like in the movie Roman Holiday.

Now in his 70’s he still in good health (except those little ailments). You know what, his eyes do not need any aid, no reading glasses, no nothing. God bless (unlike me, without my glasses, I’ll be either sleeping or … ).

Dearest Ayah, thank you for being a good father to me. Thank you for teaching me a lot of things about life. May the Almighty bless you and mom with his Kindness and shower you both with His infinite Mercy.

[al-Fatihah, my dear Ayah passed away peacefully on September 4th, 2014)

Breakfast with Dad
(few months before my Ayah passed away ...)