WHEN I was small, my mum occasionally sent me next door to borrow cooking ingredients. As my mum didn’t drive and dad were away quite often, we relied a lot on our neighbours’ goodwill when we ran out of something in our kitchen. We had borrowed a cup of sugar, eggs, flour and cooking oil. What we borrowed we would always return later. Our neighbours would do the same when they ran out of things too. It’s an understanding we had as neighbours.
Whether it’s cooking ingredients or baby sitting, we neighbours were always there for each other. When we went away on holiday or balik kampung during the festive season, we knew we could rely on our neighbours to water the plants, house sit and even feed our cats. We’d even trust them with our house keys so they could come in, switch on the porch lights in the evening and then switch it off the next morning. Our neighbours were like our own family. They were always the first we'd deliver ketupat and kuih to, on the first day of Hari Raya, before we went out visiting.
I was born and raised in Johor Bahru. When I was growing up JB was just a town, not the city it is today. In the 1970s there were very few tall buildings, no shopping mall or fast food outlets. The lifestyle was very different. People hardly eat out, possibly because they had less disposable income. Pasar Ramadhan didn’t exist and we regularly exchanged food with our Muslim neighbors before buka puasa time. Back then break fasting was referred to as buka puasa. Today most people call it iftar.
As a child my job was to deliver the food mum had packed in tupperware containers, to our neighbours. I used to get excited thinking about what our neighbours might fill up our container with. Sometimes our neighbours didn’t have anything to give back and would return our container another day. But mum, much to my disappointment then, often insisted that I tell our neighbours not to worry about reciprocating.
My parents hardly buy kuih from the hawker stalls as there weren’t many around and the choices (of kuih) were limited. In any case they preferred home-cooked food.
Buka puasa was never a dull affair after my paternal grandma Mas Binti Mentol moved in with us. Tok Mas, as she was fondly known to us, insisted on a feast, failing which she would pull a sour face at buka puasa time. It was not buka puasa to her, unless the food and kuih filled up our dining table.
Grandma liked to break fast with a sweet drink, followed by the main course, usually rice and dishes and sweet local dessert.
Tok Mas who had sweet tooth love Hari Raya celebration as it’s the time she got to savour her favourite kuih like pineapple jam tart, bangkit and makmur. Her raya would not be complete without them.
My domestic goddess mum usually started baking kuih raya the second week into the fasting month. She would usually begin baking after we were done with sahur (pre-dawn meal). Frankly I have no idea where mom got all the energy from, as after she was done with baking she’d get ready and leave for work.
Mum used to bake all kinds of cookies and when my grandma was living with us, she always made sure grandma got her favourite ones.
My grandma had a peculiar behaviour. She would hide and locked away her favourite kuih for fear that her grandchildren (one of them would be me) would finish them before Hari Raya celebration. According to my dad, grandma had been doing that for as long as he could remember. As grandma had many kids, she would lock up her kuih raya in a cupboard and hide away the key. Interestingly, she would help herself to them when her kids were asleep.
In some ways, my dad is like my grandma. Though he never locked up the kuih raya, he appreciates the same kuih his mother liked and has a habit of snacking on some, in the evening while watching TV and drinking tea.
The way my immediate family celebrate Hari Raya is different from my parents. My mum didn’t only bake cookies, she hand-stitched our baju kurung! Come Raya, she’d do some major cookup. We normally have ketupat and rendang on the first day and laksa Johor on the second day of the festival.
As I do not enjoy cooking or sewing I usually buy kuih and rendang from a friend’s mum who runs a catering business. I prefer spending my Raya catching up with family instead of cooking up a storm. My kids celebrate it differently too. Unlike me when I was their age, they are not excited about buying new clothes or eating ketupat and laksa Johor. To them this is something they can do anytime of the year, now that clothes are cheaper (than before) and the dishes are available all year round (at the restaurants).
What they look forward to more, is catching up with their grandparents and cousins whom they don’t get to see as often as they’d like to. I guess the way we celebrate festivals will keep changing but one thing that remains is Hari Raya is an occasion for loved ones to get together. Most importantly it’s a time for forgiveness.
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