We landed on the morning of Hari Raya in Kota Bharu. My sister and her kids were already there waiting for us. The street was almost empty.
As we drove away from the airport, the sound of takbir from the nearby mosque filled the air. Funny how you associated a sound with a certain feeling or a face or a place. For me, the takbir brought back the memories of my maternal grandparents, and the place is Pasir Puteh.
As a child I used to celebrate every first morning of Hari Raya with them. We would get dressed up to the ninth and walked to the mosque and every year, people would comment on how I had grown, since most of them would only see me once a year on this auspicious day.
After the prayers, the adults would stop by at my grandparents for breakfast and the children, hundreds of them would line up to get their RM1 duit raya and Teh Bunga (Chrysanthemum Tea). Nothing gave us more pleasure than seeing a smile on their faces! I remembered how sneaky some of the children were. They would get in the queue over and over again. Not to be beaten by those cunning boys and girls, we implemented the stamp system the very next year!
For 17 years, that was the routine on the morning of the Hari Raya. It was like the groundhog day, with me being a year older each year.
I wonder what Hari Raya means to Tasha? Is it as meaningful as it was for me?
2 comments:
we are the same now, "abandoned" child by the same business mum...juz looking at your raya photos at the airport, where are we????? long lost cute brother. guess who am i? i know you have two!!!
Hello Mr. Anonymous,
We are indeed the "abandoned child" by the same business mom and the "abandoned siblings" by the eldest in the family.
That's why we were not in the photo. Abandoned again....
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