Reminiscing Raya

As a child, Aidil Fitri meant a 10-hour drive back to Kelantan - a necessary evil for me who suffered from travel sickness. It was worst when travelling by day due to the heat. In those early years, the route to Kelantan was via Kuantan then up the coast of Terengganu. We would have to cut through hills and a mountain range, and the sight of the barren rock faces flanking the roads would send waves of nausea throuh me.
I tried taking pills to stop myself from throwing up on whomever was unlucky enough to sit next to me in the car, but I could never swallow them, despite their tiny size and my mother's attempts to make them more palatable by incorporating them in bread or banana. Eventually I would have to crush the pill and down it with lots of water to take away the bitterness. At times I would plead with my father to travel at night, but Mak would tell me off for selfishly making him drive when he was tired and sleepy.
As we made it a point to celebrate the eve of Aidifitri at my father's kampung, there were times when we would have to break fast on the road. One time we arrived at Tok Wan's house just in time for sahur. While everyone immediately filled up, my brother refused to eat because Tok Wan did not prepare sweet sour garoupa (we'd been having it constantly throughout that particular Ramadhan that our kitchen expenses were higher than for other months). After some cajoling, he finally agreed to have an omelette instead. The next day my grandmother scoured the markets of Pasir Putih and finally managed to find a small specimen to cook her favourite grandchild his favourite dish.
Tok Wan was famous for her ketupat daun palas and satay. On the eve of Eid, she would spend hours in the kithchen threading pieces of marinated meat on skewers or filling up glutinous rice into cones made of palas leaves. Sometimes I would help her in these tasks, but I never worked on them long enough to inherit the recipes as there was always something more exciting happening in the front lawn - Ayah's fireworks display.
Every year without fail he would stock up on a variety of colourful and splendid fireworks, and all the children of the village would gather in front of Tok Wan's house, while the ladies watched from the windows. We would clap and cheer at the multi-coloured bursts and whizzes as Ayah lit up one firework after another, and the night would end with handheld sparklers that would invariably find a victim or two.
I can't remember the last time I saw that firework show. After SPM I went directly to England for my A-Levels and first degree, so for 6 whole years I celebrated Eid away from my family. The first Raya after I finished my studies was subdued - Ayah had passed away two years previously, and Tok Wan was never the same cheerful person ever since. That year she was particularly ill, and it was a week after Raya that she was diagnosed with advanced stage intestinal cancer. She passed away on the 14th of Syawal that same year. No more ketupat daun palas, and the fireworks sparkled no more.

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