Digital Joy

You couldn't mistake his glee that day; he was grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat. Never mind that his car had to be towed to the workshop, having stalled in a traffic jam in mid-afternoon, in KL's golden triangle! You would think that his patience is limitless. No, not quite. It's the iPhone.

Yes, THAT very phone that created mile-long queues in the US and overnight camps on the streets of Ginza. He had his eye on it from the beginning (and has never taken his eyes off it since) - what with all the media hype. And a tech-savvy son who praised it to the skies as though he was working for Apple! After months of deliberation, he finally got it.

Yes, I admit its got looks. Are looks deceiving? Not this one - its as good as it looks. Some brilliant features including the touch-screen technology. So, he's been fiddling with it all the time, trying out its features, and breaking out in smiles every now and again. A very satisfied customer, I tell you. Everything else has become second fiddle, including the Golf Channel (though not quite golf itself). Now I even wonder if its going to make any difference if Tiger Woods were to suddenly appear on screen after that hiatus of his. Would he put the iPhone away?

But its fine with me really. You know, nothing could be more pleasing than to see someone - especially your nearest and dearest - get what he wants. Though far from selfish and miserly, my husband isn't really one to splurge, and certainly not on himself. So the iPhone - which isn't cheap - is a rare indulgence on his part.

But, my worry is this - my husband has a knack of 'losing' his handphones. I've lost track of the actual number; including one that fell into the sea off Langkawi, the one that got left behind in a restaurant when it was only 3 days old, the one that was forgotten in the locker room of the golf club, the one that got stolen when someone broke into the house, and a handful of others. Call it misfortune or bad luck. Or whatever. But I suspect carelessness has something to do with it also. So now I pray that the attention to the iPhone is not going to be short-lived - when the novelty wears out!

Nothing compares to it, he said. Really? Let's see - there is that Blackberry coming in December, isn't? Should I get it - just for a bit of competition, maybe?

But for now, what is the measure of a man's happiness? Its the iPhone!

My Aunt and Alzheimer's

Clutching the pink plastic mobile-phone in the palm of her right hand, giving it the occasional shake in an attempt to elicit some kind of sound, she was oblivious to anything and everything around her. "Hullo! hullo!" she kept saying into the phone, plainly irritated when receiving no response. Her daughter, NA, who had been looking on, stepped forward to relieve her of the 'phone', telling her that the battery had run out. She then took hold of a hair-roller and tried several times to place it on her head - in vain - only to draw out another series of disgruntled moans. She then took a face towel and draped it round the roller, much like how you would hang an item on a clothes-line. Then, she took a comb and gently ran it through her grey-peppered hair. I hugged her; she sat still - without the slightest hint of response, much less a recognition.

The last time I visited, some months ago, she was gripping a rubber duckie and squeezing it hard incessantly, somewhat enthralled by the sound that resulted. When that had exhausted its fascination, she put it aside and rummaged through the bag of toys for something else. First, a plastic mobile phone, then a rubber tennis ball. Silently, intently, she examined the object in her hand - like someone trying to figure out a piece of the puzzle. Most times, she would just stare into space, or at the TV - her face devoid of any emotion, her hand stroking her thighs.

At other times, NA said, she would look out the window pointing her finger at something, and insist that someone was trying to get into the house. Or that there was something going on across the road when it was in fact deserted and as quiet as can be. Out of the blue, she would call out the name of her sisters or brothers and asked that they be served something or other. As if they were visiting her at home. Why doesn't so-and-so call - she would ask in dismay. Only, how do you make her understand that they are all deceased?

Which is worse? That she has no inkling of the world she is in - much less of who she is - or that she is unreachable to us? We have all become strangers to her; even her two daughters who tend to her 24/7. She is in a world of her own, unfathomable to us, as ours is to her, I think. Though in her 80s, she exists in a time somewhere between adolescence and her early years of marriage, and keeps recalling those times, giving you snippets of her younger days.

It is impossible to hold a conversation with her; instead, you let her talk and then humour her, and indulge her every whim. Even if it is way past midnight, or in the wee hours of dawn when she cannot sleep. The funny thing is, she gets angry when you don't. When she doesn't get what she wants (because most times you can't make out what it is), she becomes irritated, and throws a tantrum - like a child. In a lot of ways, she has become a child, dependent on outside help for all her physical needs.

From her bed, she does things that bear a semblance, though remotely, of the things she used to do - like teaching adults in a KEMAS class in the late 60s. She refuses to leave her bed, and has to be cajoled and carried to the bathroom. She is overweight, and her daughters need an extra hand to get her to the bathroom, or anywhere. At times when she becomes unmanageable, they resort to medication to calm her down. On her good days - few and far between - she seems to be in the present, if only for a split second.

Such is the toll of Alzheimer's disease on my aunt who was once active, independent and dependable. Her husband died when her second daughter was still an infant. I'm sure raising her two daughters on her own was no walk in the park for her. Nor can it be for them, now that the role is reversed. It is preordained, isn't it - that they have remained single, and are able to devote their life now to whatever remains of their mother's. It can't be easy for either of them - trying to make sense of an incomprehensible existence, knowing that no amount of tender loving care can ever bring her back.

As I took my leave, I hugged her again and clasped her hand in mine. Still, all I got back was a cold, empty look. Which would be the same - when I visit again.

Post-hari raya thoughts

Last week, my heart went out to the relative (my mother's cousin) whose children took their time coming home that at one point she, teary-eyed, thought that they weren't coming back at all. And, she worried that the food that she had cooked in anticipation of the anak cucu's homecoming would go to waste. Then there was the physically and mentally-challenged cousin of my mother who waited by the door on his wheelchair wondering if anyone would visit at all since his mother had passed away just before Ramadhan. There was also a friend and her husband who spent hari raya in Switzerland, not with their aging parents and family because, according to her, "my parents understand". I wonder.

I was mindful of my mother's reminder - that we should make it a point to visit older siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, and the like during hari raya. We might be too busy at other times, she said, but there was no excuse during hari raya. In my younger days, I never gave it much thought; but now that I am in the ranks of the senior citizens, this ziarah-menziarah tradition has assumed a greater significance and a meaning well beyond a mere show of respect for the elders and the older.

So, I was more than elated when during hari raya, I had my fair share of visitors. My cousins and second cousins came, with their husbands and children in tow. I had not seen some of them in years and was grateful for the chance to re-connect. My husband's family - his siblings and their children and children-in law - also spent a day with us, as they do every year on third hari raya day. I, in turn, did my share of courtesy calls - from my eldest brother, to my eldest sister-in-law, my husband's uncle, my aunt and other older relatives around Ipoh. This is one tradition that I am keen to uphold, because, as warranted in Islam, it emphasises the familial bonds, and provides an opportunity to bury the hatchet (if any). It underlines the importance of the salam. During hari raya the gesture extends beyond a mere handshake to incorporate 'forgive and forget', and usher in a new chapter in the relationship.

What then is to be said of siblings who did not visit their older ones? Of children who prefer an overseas holiday instead of balik kampung? Some list friends on their 'must visit' agenda, and relegate family to the 'kalau sempat', or not at all. What of relationships taken for granted, and feelings ignored? Would I, should I, be like some parents who tolerated the conduct of sons who never spend hari raya day with them but chose instead to return to their in-laws or elsewhere year after year so as not to offend their wives? Because the parents never complained, the sons and daughters-in-law never knew the meaning of compromise. So, they hurt in silence. What of daughters/sons-in-law who feel that fidelity and allegiance is only due to their side of the family and not their husbands'/wives'?

How much does it matter that hari raya is a time to seek and give forgiveness, to cast aside past grievances so as to resume relationships on a clean slate? Isn't it a time to be charitable - not just with money, but more so with feelings?

I pray that I would not lose sight of traditions such as this; and that my children would uphold it as best they can - not for the food and the fanfare, but for the true spirit of Eid-ul-fitri.

To those who visited me - I thank you again for coming and for showing me you care.