A Hari Raya Story

The day before Hari Raya dad invited his brothers for ifthar. That comes out as a shock to us; what with preparation for Hari Raya the next day and preparing a banquet for approximately 30 people (dad’s brothers and their family) to boot. But dad holds his ground saying it’s the perfect time for a little family bonding. Mom takes the news with calm resignation. “Just get this over with.” We interpreted her silence as such and nod solemnly when she told us to watch over her pot of rendang or to cook glutinous rice in bamboo.
By midday, tension was running high as we were all tired from fasting. I fought the urge to toss away the lemang bamboo in my hands and catch up on my badly needed sleep. My insomnia not withstanding the day was hot and seems to drag on forever as any hot day would. Dad divides us into two groups. My third and fourth sisters was with mom preparing the wretched rendang and other dishes for ifthar- which include roasted chicken in coconut milk cream, salad with chunk of squid and soup made of lamb and herbs I couldn’t named. Whereas the rest of us were at the front lawn, preparing our signature Hari Raya cuisine; my dad’s famous lemang, which was actually a blend of glutinous rice and coconut milk cooked in bamboo. Dad set up place to cook the lemang, cut the bamboo in the exact same size and order us to fill the bamboo with glutinous rice and coconut milk prior to cooking them by the open fire. We laid banana leaves in the bamboo‘s hallow section as a covering base before pouring in saturated glutinous rice and coconut milk. After what seem like forever all the bamboo was filled and lined before the open fire to be cooked. We breathe collective sights of relief.
Mom left her rendang shimmering on the stove and supervises house cleaning session. I already did the cleaning that morning but she rally us once more so that every nook and cranny were polish to their righteous gleam.
I was particularly uptight that morning and had to fight the urge to kick something, anything at all just to let loose of all the adrenaline rushing through my body like impending herd of buffalo. I’ve had another sleepless night and wake up feeling angry at everything at sight in general and at myself specifically. By 9 a.m ,I hoist myself up from bed and abandoned all hope of catching up on my sleep. I brush my teeth and fuming at the slowness of the tap water. Mom knocks on may door and told me that they (my mom and dad) were getting my second sister from the bus station as she was due home that morning. I nod my acknowledgement and grit my teeth as another spark of anger flare deep inside. What was wrong with me? I thought furiously, fighting another urge to kick myself.
I change into my oldest shirt and worn out khakis and begin scrubbing the house clean. By the time mom and dad got back, I already finish doing the laundry, mom’s pots and pan gleaming on their rack and the house finally looks like it was inhabited by someone. Mom shot an amused look in my direction but said nothing. But dad, as usual was oblivious to any changes around the house. My sister trotted inside with her heavy begs and wink at me.
Before the evening wore out, another disaster strike; we run out of ice cubes. Mom sent my little brother to the grocery shop together with a list of ingredient for Nasi Minyak. I groan inwardly- mom got to be kidding me. How on earth could we survive this evening? Let alone preparing another time consuming dish even if hers was the best Nasi Minyak in the whole wide world. But I wisely choose to say nothing. Mom was a little red in the face by now and nobody and I mean nobody would risk any exchange that could infuriate her further.
Songs with Hari Raya theme were gently playing on the background. We were assembled once again to our designated task; sweeping the floor, dusting the cabinet, changing old sheets to new ones and so on and on. Dad were cracking jokes and shooting furtive glance mom’s way hoping it would ebb away her anxiety over the upcoming ifthar. God bless him. I could see that mom gradually relax a little and even manage to laugh at his jokes.
Fifteen minutes before ifthar our guests arrived. The kitchen was in chaos, there was always a missing spoon or misplaced plate. And nothing seems to be where they should be. But as luck would have it, everything turns out gracefully well. Mom’s cooking was fabulous as always, and everyone was fed and happy. Dad was all smiles and seems pleased with how it all turns out. We know that he loves his brothers even if they don’t deserve it at times.
By ten o’clock, our guest left one by one leaving piles of plates and dirty dishes on the sink. My heart sunk; there goes my early night. I rolled my sleeves and began sorting the plates before washing them.
Afterwards, my grandmother who lives in a house adjacent to us came with a tray of Tapai; another traditional Hari Raya cuisine also made from glutinous rice. The Tapai was wrapped in banana leaves and conserve with yeast and sugar three days prior to Hari Raya to get that sticky sweet and acerbic flavor that usually constitute what Tapai should have taste like.
The festive atmosphere seems to sweep the house into a frenzy of activities. My sisters rolled out new carpets, switch Hari Raya cookies from the jar into container with little ribbons in assortment of rainbow colors, and laid out their Baju Raya to be pressed before hanging them, ready to be worn for Hari Raya the next day.
Outside, children were playing with firecracker and singing assortment of Hari Raya songs of their choice. Oil lanterns flick jerkily, casting golden tinge over the dark night like blanket. Occasional bang from fireworks display courtesy of grown men in the village puncture the night’s serene mood. But we all laugh it off and continue with whatever it was that we were doing; euphoric in anticipation of the upcoming Hari Raya.
That night, I went to bed and lay awake for quite sometime, tossing and turning, my head spinning but miraculously my anger subside and for the first time in many years I feel content. Maybe it’s Hari Raya or maybe it’s being with my family; laughing, fighting, screaming at each other and working together make me feel like it was where I belong. That night before Hari Raya, I healed. With a smile on my face, I relish the feeling; the realization that I had finally come home before fatigue claim me as its own and whisked me away to the world of blissful dreams.