Living our lives, as Malaysians Our founding generation of fathers and mothers are the best Malaysians who ever lived. We owe them a huge debt of gratitude. When I met Toh Puan Uma Sambanthan, who recently passed on, I was reminded again how closely they came to the Malaysian ideal: tolerant, considerate and embracing of all the various communities that make up the nation. 10 April 2005 Last Saturday, Toh Puan Uma Sambanthan invited my wife and I to a traditional south Indian breakfast at her unpretentious bungalow in the older section of Petaling Jaya. Uma is the widow of Tun V. T. Sambanthan, a close friend of Malaysia’s Father of Independence, Tunku Abdul Rahman. Born in pre-Independence Malaya, Uma is a witness to our history. Our fascination with the human side of our country’s history—the parts that we do not read in books—is only a close second to our liking for home-cooked meals and hence, we both looked forward to the breakfast meeting. We were not disappointed. The tosai, idli, “vegetarian” mutton and chutney were excellent. And Uma’s stories of a Malaya long gone, of Independence and her insider recollections made that warm morning spent in her company a memorable occasion. It has been almost 15 years since the Tunku passed away and 26 years since the death of her husband but Uma speaks of them as fondly as when she was part of that inner circle a long ago time. It was a time when political leaders and their wives were a close-knit family and when their primary concern was building a nation all Malaysians could call home. Much as they are a fading part of our history, that generation of Malaysians had wisdom from whom we would do well to learn. Uma vividly recalls the pains and fears of growing up—the Confrontation with Indonesia, the separation with Singapore and the racial riots in pre-Independence Singapore and post-Independence Malaysia. No matter what Singapore’s Lee Kuan Yew says in his memoirs, Uma is staunchly defensive and protective of the Tunku and of Malaysia’s early leaders, like the late Tan Sri Syed Jaafar Albar who was labelled “an ultra” by the island republic’s leaders. Like the gentlemen and ladies of that era, she refrains from using unkind words. But it is obvious that neither Lee nor then Indonesian President Sukarno will make it to her list of favourite people. She remembers Jaafar as a pro-Malaysian leader, a very charismatic person. She remembers the times that the Tunku cried for his country and for his people. She remembers fondly the wives like Toh Puan Rahah (wife of the late Tun Abdul Razak) and wistfully recalls the woman-to-woman talks they had with the late Tunku’s wife, Toh Puan Sharifah Rodziah Syed Alwi Barakbah. She still refers to Sharifah Rodziah as “Mak Engku”, the affectionate title reserved for her, and she remembers the earthy wisdom Mak Engku imparted to the younger wives and their husbands. When looking at current issues, she displays a common wisdom that we, without the benefit of age and experience, cannot sometimes see. Many years ago, after Sambanthan passed away (“I wondered why God had not taken me—but now I know that we must be thankful for the times we had rather than regret the times we could not have together”), Uma was on her way to Rawang when she felt ill. She stopped to buy Epsom salts at a sundry shop and then strolled to a stall where an elderly Malay lady was selling drinks. She asked for warm water saying she wanted air tak panas, tak sejuk (water, not hot, not cold). The elderly woman smiled at her and gently corrected, “Air suam (warm water).” “Yes,” Uma replied, “air suam.” The woman pandered to Uma, asking after her health, and whether she needed something to eat. Uma stayed and talked with her for quite a while, not entirely surprised that a total stranger—certainly poor—seemed so genuinely concerned about her, a woman of another race and religion, and certainly not as poor. Her BMW was parked outside, her driver waiting. But when she offered to pay her bill, the Malay lady smiled and refused, saying, “It’s nothing. You are unwell and we are all one people. No need.” And the Malay lady sent her off to her car. Her experiences—whether meeting people as a minister’s wife or getting involved with rural people in education and women’s issues—since before and after Independence have shown Uma that Malaysians, of all races, are by and large colour-blind, not bigoted and genuinely concerned about each other. Uma says that these days, she gets upset when the politicians and the intelligentsia seem to make more and more public statements along racial lines. Like those who make a case for doing away with the English language in the teaching of Mathematics and Science because they argue that rural Malay pupils and teachers cannot cope. “I have seen many rural Malay children who have persevered and outdone others. They are as intelligent and hardworking as anyone else,” she says, angry that anyone might want to belittle them. And she gets upset when people try to associate laziness and lack of drive with the Malays, saying it is untrue, as she has seen how Malay parents toil for their children. And what about their natural attributes, such as politeness, gentleness and sopan santun? She laments, just like Perak’s Raja Muda, Raja Dr Nazrin Shah, that some people always accentuate the so-called or perceived weakness of the Malays rather than extol their virtues. The gentleness and kindness of the elderly Malay lady is one experience she uses to state her case. The positive values of the Malays are seldom appreciated, she feels, and she gets angry with those who try to turn innocent things, like television commercials, into race issues. Uma continues to serve, providing tuition for under-privileged children in rural areas, organising educational classes for their less-educated parents, and sees in all the races in Malaysia a common thread—a desire to live in peace and to have the best for their family and country. There are many like Uma in Malaysia. Those who adapt to each other, accept each other’s religious and cultural differences, adapt to these differences, and enjoy it. Those of the post-Independence generation will remember how they enjoyed television programmes such as the Chinese sitcom Empat Sekawan, the Tamil drama Inspector Shekhar, or the Bahasa Malaysia Sunday weekly Drama Minggu Ini. When the One Armed Swordsman series of movies, starring Wang Yu, played in the cinemas, the packed audiences were people of all races. Malay and Chinese children would hum to tunes from the Hindi movies Waqt, Bobby and Haathi Mere Saathi. These movies were screened for months at cinemas around the country. And of course, all Malaysians enjoyed the songs of P. Ramlee and in the later years, Uji Rashid, Sharifah Aini, Dahlan Zainuddin, Sudirman Haji Arshad and bands like Carefree, Black Dog Bone and the Blues Gang. Getaran Jiwa, Anakku Sazali, Kisah Seorang Biduan, Chow Kit Road, Basikal Tua—these were all-time Malaysian favourites. And we had singers like Andre Goh, Alfred Ho, V. Sarangapani, D.J. Dave who were favourites of all, not just their own racial groups. It was not uncommon to listen to a Chinese or Malay child humming tunes from the favourite 1960s Tamil movie Kalyana Parisu, and who did not know M.G. Ramachandran or Gemini Ganesan? Our group who played sepak takraw was 80 per cent Chinese, essentially seen as a Malay pastime, and many of my non-Malay friends from other parts of the country remember kicking around the rattan ball in their time. School, sport, movies, singers—these were the forces unifying us and making us feel like one people, one country, one home. But there are fewer and fewer such icons these days. The passage of time, the success of the nation and the pressures of everyday living today give our people less time to think and work towards those lofty goals. Uma expressed admiration for Datuk Seri Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, the Prime Minister, for the dreams he lived and shared with his predecessors like the Tunku, Tun Abdul Razak, Tun Hussein Onn and Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad. I could share her optimism because in a Malaysia where politicians, academics and educational movements tend to be more focused on communal issues than the past, Abdullah gives us hope. In a continuously changing world where the ideals of the past are shunted aside, if the least we could do is to share the dreams of Tunku Abdul Rahman and Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, then, we would not have done too badly. In the end, if we are remembered like Uma remembers the Tunku, then we would have lived our life well as Malaysians.
Posted on: Mon, 15 Dec 2014 07:38:44 +0000
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