The house that built us

 

by: Fa Abdul

“Most human beings have an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted.” - Aldous Huxley (poet, novelist, philosopher)

In our modern lives, we often find ourselves swept away from one moment to the next, consumed by the power of the present. Amid this frenzied life we live, the memories of our past and the aspirations for our future often fade into the background.

We’re all such busy people, racing through our routines without pause. Rarely do we find the space to reflect on our actions, let alone those of others. No wonder we sometimes fall into the habit of taking things for granted.

Some among us overlook the precious gift of good health. Others turn a blind eye to the fragile beauty of our natural world. And then there are those who fail to appreciate the peace and cohesion of our harmonious nation.

Recent controversies in Malaysia serve as reminders of our vulnerability. Petty disputes over religious matters have erupted into contentious debates, exposing the fragility of our unity as a diverse and multi-faith society.

Today, there are people in war-torn regions who defy the odds, courageously standing up for their country despite the constant threat to their lives. They endure hardship, loss, and suffering, yet they persist in their fight for freedom and justice.

Unfortunately, in our own country, the tranquility we enjoy has made us complacent and oblivious to the privilege we possess. We have taken our peaceful existence for granted.

I must admit, I too am guilty of taking things for granted. This realisation came about when I discovered recently that my grandpa’s house, which used to be the hub of all our family memories, got bulldozed to erect a multi-storey car park.

I mean, that place was more than just brick and mortar. It was where we’d all gather for big family dinners, kenduri and festivals - including Hari Raya. It was where we’d spend most of our weekends, listening to stories from our elders and planning outings with our cousins. So many memories, all bulldozed away.

It hit me hard, to see something so significant from my past just wiped out like that. It made me realise how fleeting things can be, how easily we can lose touch with our roots. Just wish I could've said goodbye properly, you know?

Grandpa Ahmed’s house

Grandpa Ahmed was the son of an immigrant. His family came from a rural village called Kadaya Nallur in Tamil Nadu, South India. Like the rest of the villagers, his family too were cotton weavers. After years of struggling with poverty, in the early 1900s, they opted for migration.

Growing up in George Town, Penang, he learned the art of hustling. He believed if you put in the hard work, you would never go hungry.

As a young man, Grandpa Ahmed worked as a peon for a successful Penang-based entrepreneur, Mr Oh Hock Teik, who had businesses all over the northern region. Working under Mr Oh, Grandpa Ahmed aspired to become an entrepreneur too.

In the early 1940s, he set up a small stationery business called Amat & Sons. He also managed rental rooms at Hutton Lane. He kept himself busy and saved as much as he could.

My Grandma Hawa did the same from inside their quarters at Hutton Lane. Every morning, she made and sold apam (pancakes), moru (curd) and tairu (yogurt). At night, she tirelessly stitched garments for the ladies in the community.

As parents of five, Grandpa Ahmed and Grandma Hawa dreamt of a better future for their children.

In the early 1950s, Grandpa Ahmed decided it was time to purchase a house of his own. His children were growing and they needed more space than the quarters could offer.

He found a big kampung house at Lot 9, Caunter Hall (now known as Jalan P Ramlee). Having fallen in love with the place, Grandpa Ahmed and his brother bought the place together.

Grandpa Ahmed with four of his children

But it was not easy for 15 people to live under the same roof, even though they were all related. Ultimately, after sharing the house for several years, Grandpa Ahmed made the bold move to build a new home for his family next to the existing one.

With whatever remained in his savings, Grandpa Ahmed funded the construction of the new house. In 1960, the new house was finally completed and Grandpa Ahmed proudly declared “9A” as its new address. He wanted it to be seen as a house of its own and not merely an extension of the old house.

From the moment the house was built, Grandpa Ahmed was devoted to it. He was always tinkering and improving every corner of the house, a testament to his love and pride in every brick and beam.

A family house

9A Jalan P Ramlee became a special place to everyone in the family. It witnessed Grandpa Ahmed’s children growing into adulthood and hosted their marriage receptions. It also sheltered 10 of his grandchildren from birth to their working age.

Grandpa Ahmed in his old age

Growing up, I had a great sense of respect for Grandpa Ahmed. Though he was a man of few words, I knew he loved his family. After all, he took good care of the house which brought everyone in the family together. The house was his way of showing us his love.

Grandpa Ahmed passed away aged 93, in the early 1990s. We said our final goodbyes to him in the house he built for us. But our attachment to the house continued for many more years to come.

It became a place where the whole family would gather every Hari Raya as well as every other special occasion. On those happy days, we’d sit down together and dine on nasi talam, where rice is served to a group of people on a single tray. It may sound unhygienic in these modern post-pandemic times, but back then it was a testimony of a close-knit family.

Unfortunately, as time passed, I became busy with my own children and family. My visits to Grandpa Ahmed’s house became less and less often until one day, due to a dispute within the family, I ultimately stopped visiting.

A few years later, the house was sold. But even then, I loved driving around the neighbourhood just to take a glance at Grandpa Ahmed’s house. That alone was sufficient to rekindle my memory of Grandpa Ahmed, my childhood and my roots.  

Unfortunately, on my last drive along Jalan P Ramlee some two months ago, instead of stealing a few glances at Grandpa Ahmed’s house, I ended up gazing upon flattened land, covered in a layer of gravel. My heart sank.

Fight for our family and home

I took Grandpa Ahmed’s house for granted. I took my extended family for granted too. Today, I’ve lost the house that built me and my family. And my relationship with my extended family is severely bruised.

What remains of 9A Jalan P Ramlee

When we do not fight for our family, our home, and our nation, we risk losing what matters most to us.

This Hari Raya will surely remind me of the many Hari Raya I have celebrated in Grandpa Ahmed’s house with all my relatives who I used to love so much. I do miss them dearly.

May this Hari Raya bring a renewed focus on what truly matters in our lives. May we find the courage to fight for our family, our home, and our nation.

May we find the strength to forgive and embrace each other wholeheartedly in the spirit of togetherness.

Selamat Hari Raya. Maaf zahir dan batin. - Mkini