It was not long after my Uwan (grandma on mom’s side) passed away. Today, at about 10.00am, I received a call from dad telling that his mother had followed suit. I called this grandma of mine, Tok.
I remember, when I was a kid, Tok used to sew me dresses which I always refused on wearing them. But she never stopped sewing. The true fact was, I really liked all those dresses she made for me. Despite being made of cheap cloths, they were amazingly soft and comfortable. What made me turn my head away from those handmade dresses was that they were so old-fashionedly designed. I so wanted to be classy and updated with the latest fashion designs that I forgot the word ‘appreciation’ could bring so much joy to someone’s life.
One day, Tok came into my bedroom while I was sleeping and softly put a very fine dress next to my pillow. It was green in colour. When I woke up, I touched the soft fabric and suddenly I felt I had touched her heart instead. She saw me doing that and I felt a little bit embarrassed. She stood at the foot of my bed watching me for a few seconds more and when I turned my head away, she left the room and closed the door behind her. Closing my eyes I remembered Tok had pricked her fingers many times while sewing those bloody old fashioned dresses. Last night she pricked her finger again and spilled blood on her batik sarong. But she just kept that smile pinned on her face and said that she was alright. When I asked why did she want to do all this to me, she simply said “What else can I do? I’m old. I can only sew to show how much I love you. If I’m young and strong, I would have carried you all the way to school everyday so that your feet wouldn’t get dirty“. Tok added, “When we were babies, we all wore white plain rectangular cloths as diapers (the Malays call it lampin). There was not so much of fashion about it. But the things that counted so much were how your mother wrapped you up so that you would feel comfortable and how your mother tried to find the best soft cloths as possible so that the material would not chafe your delicate skin”. I carried her words to bed.
That morning when I woke up with a green dress next to my cheek, I pondered on one thing. Why do I care so much about fashion? Am I too influenced by those fashion victims out there? Have I forgotten how to appreciate? It came to me then that it mattered nothing that the dresses she made were not fashionable or not up-to-date. What mattered the most was the affection she had for me which she showed by sewing all those clothes and having her fingers pricked for dozens of times. It was a matter of how a simple thank could make a lot of difference. Tok taught me how to appreciate.
Slowly, I pushed the door of my bedroom open. There, I saw her busy sewing another dress. I walked out of the room in that green dress and stopped infront of her bent body. She looked up and I could see hidden tears at the back of her eyes threatening to spill out. I hugged her and said thank you. She hugged back and said ‘That green dress looks perfect on you. I’m making you another one’.
Now Tok has gone. So has her sewing machine. But the memories of her will forever live.
Tok, May Allah bless you. I’ll recite Surah Yassin for you often, insyaAllah. Al-Fatihah.
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