Parents’ Day may have come and gone. Nevertheless, it is not too late to pen thoughts about my parents, as a tribute for all their sacrifices.
My father goes by the name of Mathiaparanam. In the 1930s, he uprooted himself from Jaffna, Sri Lanka to the then Malaya, in search of greener pastures.
He landed the job of a temporary clerk in the government service.
My mother’s name was initially Suriaghanthi, meaning Sunflower, but because she was teased for reasons best known to herself, she got it changed to Thanarany, meaning “Queen of the Land”, and felt no more at sea after that.
She was a bright student at school, and completed Form 4.
But, alas, World War II broke out soon after, with the Japanese invading Malaya, and it was sayonara to her studies.
Coming from a family of seven girls and two boys, she was married off soon after, at a tender young age.
My father being a temporary clerk, did quite a bit of housework to make ends meet, as his salary was nominal.
He would be the one making the morning coffee, washing the utensils and clothes, and scraping the coconut.
I still remember, during the evenings my father would prepare the dough using hot water, and pressing the wooden mould to form stringhoppers, to be steamed by my mother.
As possessing a refrigerator was beyond their reach, marketing was done on a daily basis. Dad would take a rattan basket on his bicycle to buy the vegetables for the day.
Fish was cheaper those days. Chicken was a luxury, and was cooked once a week or fortnightly.
Thankfully, dad had green fingers. Vegetables of different kinds, long beans, ladies’ fingers, brinjal and cucumber were grown as a supplement. Fowls were reared for their eggs.
My mother was a multitalented housewife. She was great at tailoring and sewed dresses for her daughters, including those with the smocking style.
Many years later, she even sewed dresses for her granddaughters.
Besides tailoring, mum was good at crochet and knitting. She could knit jackets, baby caps and table covers.
Mum was also good at bead work, threading chariots and horses with them; an art unheard of nowadays.
Her state-of-the- art product is the vase, made up of buttons sewn intricately to the shape of a vase. A real masterpiece, which is in my safekeepings.
She could also do punch needle embroidery, creating a beautiful peacock.
She used to give harmonium classes to get some petty cash for the family.
I must have inherited some musical genes from her, as I am able to play the harmonium by ear to a decent level.
My father was also multitalented. He was good at making kites of different shapes and sizes, to be flown majestically.
Dad was also a sportsman during his younger days. He would, without fail, take part in the Jabatan Kerja Raya (JKR) annual sports event for the veterans.
He would be the first seen at the starting blocks for the 75m sprint. He will finish the race in first or second place.
Too bad I didn’t live up to his expectations in athletics. One fine day, my father came to watch me take part in my primary school sports. I didn’t get a podium finish.
When I came home, I saw a gleaming silver cup in the house. It was the work of my father.
He must have been really heartbroken when I didn’t receive a prize; to the extent that he went to a sports shop to get me a replica cup!
My mother was a great cook, making all the typical Ceylonese cuisines using traditional spices and curry powders. Her dhall curry and boiled eggs in gravy were finger licking good.
Even my uncle has told his wife at times to go and get some cooking lessons from her, when it was not up to par.
Those days, during weekends my parents would meet up with friends and relatives for a session of carnatic music.
My father was an accomplished classical lead singer. My uncle played the mrindagam, a double- headed barrel drum, while my aunties and mum will play the harmonium and violin, or sing along.
That was the Saturday Night Fever of yesteryear.
Dad had a flamboyant personality, and was a much sought after person at cultural functions, such as the Tamil New Year and Deepavali celebrations.
Both my parents were ardent badminton fans, and so the whole family ended up being badminton followers.
We would be glued to our AEG valve radio set, listening to the Thomas Cup competition. The commentators were none other than R Jeyanathan and Rahim Razali.
They were highly respected for their ability to paint a vivid, dramatic, and poetic picture of the game for radio listeners across the nation.
On the domestic front, my father was a softhearted person, who hardly raised his voice towards us at all.
My mother had to take over the disciplinary role. Having married at the tender age of 16, she certainly did a commendable job of raising eight of us.
On a poignant note, dad left us in 1972, when I was in Lower Six, while mum departed in 2001, when I was a teacher in Kapar, Klang. Their thoughts are firmly etched in my memory.
