Skip to main content

Pak Mat Beca

I started school in 1971. I went to Sekolah Ismail (Dua), as far as I am concerned the only primary school in the whole universe and every kid must go there or the government will put their parents away forever.

The "Dua" or Two (2), does not mean there were two Sekolah Ismails. There was only one, except that there were two sessions, morning and afternoon. When I started in standard one, I was in the morning session. Apparently, somehow, the two Ismails alternate, and I really can't recall ever having to go to school in the afternoon.

Every morning, my cousin, the late Hashimah Hashim (Allah bless her soul), and I would wait for Pak Mat to pick us up in his beca, his trishaw. And, until I changed school in 1976 (that's another story to tell), Pak Mat and his beca would take me to school every school day. I know of no other way to go to school and I did not really appreciate the distance that Pak Mat had to cycle to pick us up and send us to our respective schools, which was practically on the opposite sides of Muar town (Shimah went to Sultan Abu Bakar or popularly know to Muarians as SAB, an all girls school; while Ismail school was an all boys school).

Nor did I ever knew how much he earned ferrying us, and (I assumed) other children to and from school. I never knew of his life besides toiling morning, noon and until late afternoon, bent over his trusty trishaw, fighting headwinds caught by the green canvass collapsible roofs over our heads, braving torrential rain and searing afternoon heat, to ensure we arrive safely at school and back home again. 

I never ever found out whether he was married, how many children he had, how old are they, which school did they go to.... And, how do they go to school?

Even well after I graduated from college, I am sure I saw Pak Mat and his beca along the route between Ismail School and SAB.

And the saddest thing of all, I don't even know his real name.

It is one of life's ironies I guess, that a person whom has such a contribution in shaping our futures, remains in total anonymity. 

I am sure he probably has left this earth by now.... I think will dedicate a prayer for him today.

Alfatehah.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A letter from my mother

Today, on the first day of Ramadhan in the 52nd year of my life, while I was rummaging through some old stuff, I came across a letter written to me by my mother, folded and enveloped into a prescription drug package. My mother taught herself to write in Rumi, so some words are quite difficult to figure out. She was probably more comfortable writing in Jawi, but she knew her son is useless at reading it. The letter was not dated, but I would say it was written circa 1985, the year that I dropped out of UTM. The letter was an angry letter, as angry as my dearest mother would be. I cannot remember the occasion that warranted such letter, but I think I must have said something that hurt her. She wrote that I should have told her or father (unlikely) or my brothers and sisters that I am having difficulties in my studies. She wrote that I have ostracized myself from my family, and she understood that I did this because I do not want to be any more a burden to my parents and my sibli

Humanity: from the lucid mind of a Covid19 infested person.

 Hello... It's me, again. I don't know how anybody is going to read this, because I have deactivated my Facebook account... my Instagram too. It's interesting to see people's reactions when I told them this. Mostly, it's a sharp intake of breath and a sympathetic "why".  I guess they assumed I was cyberbullied into deactivation. No... It was a mistake. I should never have even registered for any socmed (social media for those uninitiated). I hate it, people sharing their lives, what they eat and drink and where they were eating and drinking, how far they have walked or run or cycled, with whom they are doing things, who they met today or yesterday, where they are now in the world, what their cute babies or cats are doing, what plants they are planting, what fruits they have harvested... I don't really want to know about what you guys are doing with your lives unless I am responsible (partly) for bringing you into this horrible place. For that, my child

I love/hate MCO

The vaccines are here... spelling the beginning of the end of Covid19... or at least we hope so. But, it is really just hope upon hope. Because, as vaccines are being spread (by health workers) in most parts of the world, we still hear of lockdowns happening here and there. And the virus is mutating. New strains are being discovered, having higher infectivity. I guess Covid wants to live just like any other living creature. My employer has announced that beginning this month (April 2021) everybody must come to work in the office. No more working from home. Which is OK. I mean (in case my boss reads this blog) I love my job but dread going through the traffic jams in the morning and then again in the evening. I miss the easy smooth drive to and from work during the MCO when I had to come to the office to sign some physical documents, but even during the CMCO and RMCO, when we are allowed to move around a bit more, the traffic build-up at roadblocks gave me a glimpse of things to come wh