Tun Ghafar Baba's ill health in the past few weeks has left his family coping with rumours about his condition. But the public concern over the former deputy premier's hospitalisation also brought back memories for his children about their father and his political life. JOCELINE TAN has the report.
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Asri: Is a spitting image of hisfather when the latter was young |
ASRI Ghafar is a spitting image of his father Tun Ghafar Baba when the latter was a young politician in Malacca.
Since the former deputy prime minister's hospitalisation a fortnight ago, Asri who is as fluently comfortable with English as Malay, has become the family spokesman of sorts on the health status of his father.
On Thursday, he appeared on primetime TV, talking about his father's condition and dashing rumours of Ghafar's demise.
Political old-timers, catching Asri on TV and in the newspapers, found him nostalgically reminiscent of a younger Ghafar – the stout build, the somewhat stoic expression and the trademark roundish face with the pronounced jowls.
It rekindled many memories of this incomparable politician who has remained true to his roots through the ups and downs of his personal and political life.
Ghafar turned 80 in February and celebrated it in festive style at his Pantai Hills home.
When The Star met him a few days after his birthday, he said in his unpretentious way: “I just feel lucky to have lived this long.”
His health has not been very good over the past few years and he has been in and out of hospital for ailments centring largely on his life-long struggle with asthma.
But even his children were alarmed by their father’s latest health crisis particularly when doctors called them to his bedside at 1.30am about a week ago.
“A few of us were in tears and we had to make the decision whether to let him go or to put him on a respirator. He could not breathe on his own. We were prepared for the worst, seeing him in that condition, so helpless and struggling for breath,” said Tamrin, the eldest surviving son.
It was not that difficult a decision for the family to make and, for several days, Ghafar was kept on a life support system.
He has since been unhooked from the machine. He is breathing on his own, alert at certain times, able to recognise his family and is even lifting his hand to acknowledge them.
“My father is a real fighter,” said Tamrin.
Ghafar has outlived his wife Toh Puan Asma Alang and three of his 11 children.
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Ghafar: Did not care for expensive things and was quite happy to wear cheap sandals and shirts |
His struggle against the odds has also evoked nostalgia among some of his children, particularly Sally.
“So many people have come to see him – friends, relatives, the Prime Minister, and even politicians from the opposition. And the things they told us about our father, we feel so nice that people have such fond things to say about him. I feel privileged to be his daughter,” she said.
Sally, 54, is No 3 in the sibling hierarchy but she is the eldest daughter and she lives up to her “big sister” status.
She is confident, articulate and speaks her mind. Her outspokenness often exasperated her father in the past but it also won her his respect.
She is also the one that many top leaders call if they want to get a message across to Ghafar because they know she has his ear.
She studied and then lived in London for many years so much so that Ghafar had complained to friends in front of Sally: “Look at this daughter of mine, she doesn’t want to come home.”
Sally, who used to resent the way her father spent his waking hours on political and government duties, had retorted: “I don’t see my father when I live in London, I don’t see him when I am here. I might as well live in London.”
Ghafar just gave his independent-minded daughter a long look.
When Ghafar’s marriage to his second wife went seriously wrong, it was Sally who told him: “If you want to be sad, remain as you are. But if you want to be happy, then do something about it.”
But it has been some of the simple, everyday habits of her father that have come flooding back to Sally’s mind of late, including the way he had no qualms about putting his stuff into a simple plastic bag to go to the airport even when he was a minister.
He did not care for expensive things and was quite happy to wear cheap sandals and shirts. Most of the expensive shirts he had were gifts from friends.
He would not allow police outriders near the house when he was the deputy prime minister because he did not want the neighbours disturbed.
Ghafar remained his pragmatic and thrifty self even when he was the Malacca chief minister in the 1960s. He would use strings to measure the feet of his growing brood during preparations for Raya. It was easier than bringing the entire gang to the shop for new shoes.
He also used to share clothes with his buddy Datuk Tan Cheng Swee, who has been his best friend from their early years in Malacca. They are sort of soul mates: they know what’s going on in the other’s mind without having to say a word.
But they don’t share clothes any more – not just because they can now afford their own wardrobe but also because they are now vastly different body sizes.
For years, Ghafar would leave the doors and windows of his house in Malacca and Kuala Lumpur open day and night.
“Why should I be afraid? I have done nothing wrong. Why should I have enemies?” he used to tell his family and friends who did not share his open-door practice.
Those who have been to his house know that he sleeps on a narrow single bed in a corner of the living room with just a carved meranti screen providing some privacy.
His toiletries, scattered over a broad desk next to the bed, are just as basic – an oval mirror, talcum powder, a small bottle of cologne and a comb.
And, of course, there is his notorious refusal to accept any titles, despite his long service in the government, preferring to remain plain Encik Ghafar.
He only accepted the Tunship in 1995 after two “house calls” by then Premier Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad asking him to accept the title.
But as the children would testify, the memory that their father has cherished the most emanates from a black-and-white photograph of Ghafar, then Malacca Chief Minister, at a state banquet for the King who was also the late Raja of Perlis.
As an impoverished orphan, Ghafar had once caddied for the same royal figure.
He took delight in the fact that he had gone from caddy to playing golf with royal figures, not out of personal pride but because he saw it as a measure of how poor Malays like him could come up in life.
“We’re proud of how far he has come through his own effort and that he did not change. He remained humble and simple,” said Asri.
Ghafar, as his children would agree, is an everyday sort of man who has led an unusual life.
His golfing days came to end in 1999 after a stroke that left him with his left side weakened.
Hamidah, 47, the third youngest, lives with her father and youngest sister Kartika.
“People think he is stern and serious. Actually he can be quite witty,” said Hamidah.
Hari Raya usually means a family pot-luck gathering at their father’s house.
How about this year?
“What do you think Hamidah? Pot-luck at the hospital?” Sally asked Hamidah with a laugh.
Then she added: “I have a feeling we will still be celebrating Raya with our father.”
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