Memories of Melaka - Mama & Papa

Melaka, my mum's hometown. A place that holds an ocean of memories. Joy and laughter, sadness and tears. The happiest years of my life were days spent with my grandparents, particularly my grandmother.

My grandmother, affectionately known as Mama, was strict but she also spoiled us. Due to the fact that my parents lived the farthest away from Melaka, we were always missing from family gatherings. When we did make a trip there, Mama always went out of her way to make our stay enjoyable. She cooked up a storm in the kitchen everyday - devil curry, beef smore, vindaloo, curry kapitan, sambal fish dishes. Every tea time, we had an array cakes - all the different 'pulut-pulut' - ordered from an effeminate man in the Portuguese Settlement .

My grandfather, we called him Papa, was a quiet man. He always rewarded us with chocolates. However, chocolates were not given at any time of the day. It was only after meals. My cousins and I knew where he kept his stash but we did not dare touch it. Chocolates were always stored on the top shelf of his glass cabinet. I think he refused to oil that glass door so that the creaking sound will give away the culprit who was trying to get his chocolates.

Papa was a fly-killer. He did not use aerosol sprays. Papa did it with his lidi broom. After his meals, Papa would always make his way to the porch to sit on his favourite easy-chair. Sitting there, he watched the world go by. That lidi broom was his constant companion. A deadly weapon, I'll tell you - to the flies and me. He scared the living daylights out of me whenever it came down hard on the ground. Once, I sat by the garden drain, near him, working into an ice ball dripping with syrup. Papa waited for the fly to settle near him. Then .... "whack!". It was so loud that my heart skipped a beat.

Mama had her routine everyday as long as Papa was alive. He always kept to a strict schedule - not a minute earlier, not a minute later. After Papa passed away in 1981, Mama relaxed considerably.

Mama always made sure we prayed. Praying the rosary (repetitive prayers on beads) was essential. During school holidays, Mama took joy in making all her grandchildren sit around in the living room and join her in prayer. Now, praying with her took a lot of effort. Half the time we would end up laughing. I remember one particular day when we simply could not concentrate on praying because the interruptions came from Mama. We were halfway through our fourth decade of the rosary....

Mama: Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee... eh Victor, turn off the stove. I can hear the whistle going.... blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Cousins: Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Mama: Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou..... Treasa, that water to make tea. Can pour? ... Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Cousins: Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour...... (voices fading off)
While we were praying, Mama was talking to Auntie Treasa about putting out the cakes for tea time.

Mama: Hey! why you stop? Want to listen to grown up talking? Kay poh! Continue!

Cousins: Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the our of our death. Amen

Just then, cousin Stephen made a comical face.

Mama: Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..... stop it boy! .... blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

We burst out laughing. We struggled to suppress our laughter. Seeing how stern Mama was beginning to look, we managed to tone it down to giggles. Mama had to finish the rest of the fourth and fifth decade. We were glad when it was over. Tea time!

There were times when prayers were discontinued. Rain would always disrupt our "holy quarter hour". Maybe one of my cousins secretly prayed for rain. Mama would frantically run out to get the clothes off the line and we would follow suit - running behind her. No matter how careful I was, underclothings always find their way to the ground. With an armful of clothes, I could never use my hands to prevent them from falling down. I had no choice but to use my chin. After which, I would fuss about other people's "under things" being near my face.

Folding the laundry was also a fun activity. Figuring out what garment belonged to whom was challenging, especially when Mama had another relative staying over. One particular scene comes to mind...

"Mama, whose this?" asked Joanne, laughing while holding up a pair of granny panties.

"Ah, that one Auntie Tissy's. What? You think mine?"

"My! So big like flag!"

"Eh, don't be rude. Your bum like kuchi rat. Clever to make fun."

Another thing that reminds me about Mama and Papa is the way they safeguarded Papa's crate of Coke. That was his daily fix after his shower. No one else could touch it. He would pour himself a small glass of Coke and save the other half bottle for the next day. Then he goes to his chair on the porch or walks around the garden. That is the time when neighbours would come home from work. Everyone in that neighbourhood who drove or walked past the house, waved at him. He always acknowledged them - waving back with one hand and holding the almighty lidi broom in the other.

When we there on holidays, we always craved for a little Coke. We did not have the luxury of drinking it at home. We would beg Mama for a little, even a sip. One evening, my siblings and I got our way. Papa said we could have some. Mama brought out shot glasses. Every sip of that small shot of Coke was heavenly. My three seconds of heaven!

Mama had a strange habit of pouring hot beverages into our cups long before we were ready to drink it, be it coffee or tea. Everyone would have the standard concoction - coffee with condensed milk; or tea with condensed milk. When I got to mine, it was always cold. Just horrible. In fact, it was a little traumatic for my taste buds. Today, I drink plain tea - hot or icy, it doesn't matter. Just no milk in that, thank you. My coffee - sugar and creamer served piping hot - always, no exceptions. Thanks Mama!