The Muppet Show: A portrait of a marriage
She is reticient. Her scarf is tied loosely around her head, for she is at home and not expecting any visitors. She is wearing a loose kaftan. He is smartly dressed in a shirt and trousers, and is raring to check his durians at his dusun. She looks away a lot, and seems to search for something at a distance. He is almost hyperkinetic; his thoughts run from his speech. She says she is happy. He is happy. View this union as a metaphor of the Malaysian landscape.
They were once idealistic. When they met in the 1980s, they had been working in Kuala Lumpur: she was in advertising and worked side by side with a few illustrous names that headline theatre performances today, while he was a professional with dreams. Together, they decided to go back to their homeland, bring up a family and turn Terengganu into their paradise.
Today, she seeks peace in prayers and the many religious classes held in town, and tells her family and relatives that she has found contentment. She is so adamant that she has found it that it makes others wonder, whether she truly has. He is still a working professional, with a dusun and a few small enterprises, because these days in Malaysia, everyone’s a businessman. They have four children, and they have to make ends meet.
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A lapsed writer
“I used to write too, you know” she tells me. “I won awards for my short stories. I wrote in Bahasa. They were published in Mingguan Malaysia.”
So why did you stop?
She stares at me, in wonder. She can’t believe that I don’t know.
“I cannot write fiction anymore. It does not memanfaatkan masyarakat. Everything you do must benefit the ummah. You cannot think of the world. I must have that balance between the duniawi and spiritual, so that I can find more peace. Then I can write.”
But what happens if you find that balance, and you feel it’s not enough? How much higher do you have to go? God does not stop you from having a life. Ilham comes from God, and by writing or painting, you are creating God’s messages. This is a gift.
“No.”
I offer to lend her books, to stave off her boredom, but she tells me that some of my books are not Islamic, and too sensual.
Sensual, I ask. I could have sworn I lent her a PG-rated book the last time.
“That book I borrowed from you… it evokes too much of the senses. Not that it had… sex… but it’s too passionate and vivid. Didn’t you know that you cannot allow yourself to be absorbed in the world? This is too mengasyikkan, mengkhayalkan (engrossing, a fantasy)…”. She gets up, to rest in her room.
Meet my other half
In contrast, her husband has very strong views on Malays and Islam.
“The trouble with us Malays… we have too many traditions and adab. We can’t do this, we’re Malays, we must do that, we’re Malays. Oh we pray better than everyone else. We’re better than the Arabs, the Chinese Muslims, we’re Malaysia Boleh! Islam is not a difficult religion to practice. But our imams! They make it harder for us to go on with our lives.”
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“I’ll tell you this: not all our imams are qualified and come with certificates. Not all of them went to Al-Azhar University, and most of them do not have the intellect to cope with the changing world. We focus on tiny things: if this woman does not wear the tudung, ah, there’s a fatwa on her ‘type’ - she is loose, she is bad. What I don’t understand is those singers, they’re covered but spend half the time wiggling on stage. I mean, you’ve taken that oath to cover yourself, and you’re dancing up there, for the world to see.”
He pats the sofa he’s sitting on as he pontificates more.
“And this Islam Hadhari. No offence to Pak Lah, but as an Islamic scholar he should know that there is no such thing as Islam Hadhari. Islam is for all times. What did he mean that Islam Hadhari is ‘…an approach towards a progressive Islamic civilisation…’? Is he saying that we Muslims are not progressive? That we are uncivilised? There is nothing wrong with the religion, it’s us that make the religion crazy.”
Is the reason why you’re saying all this because you’re not pure Malay? Because your family came from Saudi many generations ago, to spread the teachings of Islam and you see the inconsistencies?
“I consider myself a Muslim first. Look, why are we so concerned about our nationalities and culture? We should consider ourselves as ambassadors of the faith first. Let me tell you this: let’s say your neighbours are Jews, Chinese, and when they are in need of help, you do not go to them, because they are kafirs. What kind of Muslim are you? Where are the jihad and zuhud in this? Melayu ni, bodoh!”
“Kita ni… membebankan diri kita… basic pun tak PhD lagi, dah nak jadi ulama. (We burden ourselves. We haven’t even perfected the basics of Islam and we want to be holier than everyone.) Just now, I had a visitor. You saw him kan? Used to play football with him in Losong. Then he went crazy with all these tabligh classes. Now - mereng,” he taps his head and circles the side of his head with his finger.
“Islam is simple. Pray five times a day, fast, abstain from the forbidden and no pork. Follow the rukuns and you’ve got a place in heaven. Once you perfect that, only then can you go to the next level. Got that?”
Yes.
“All right, my dear, you have a good night.”
The old Terengganu
Not that the state has ever been the hub of entertainment and starry nights; it has always been conservative, but I remember it as lively in its own way. It had humour, and its people had this zest for life. To say that PAS had changed the scenery of Terengganu would be wrong, for it had been changing even before that.
Regressing would be a pejorative term but that’s the best adjective to describe Terengganu now. Even when Barisan Nasional ruled the oil-rich state, its people were becoming more insular. Religion has always been the linchpin of Terengganu life, but the over last two decades, her people were becoming more narrow-minded, and less open to the rest of the world.
Has it changed since BN reclaimed the state?
No. It’s still the same.
If before, my mother and her siblings made friends with anyone from various backgrounds and races, my younger cousins now complain of ostracisation from peers. They speak too much English, they are too modern, their parents are blasphemous, they are all doomed to hell. This despite them being covered up, attending religious classes diligently, speaking Arabic fluently and do not consort with boys freely.
In comparison, Kelantan is lively. But that’s another story altogether.
Never accept lifts from fighting couples
On the way back to the big bad city of Kuala Lumpur, they argue. I am hitching a ride from them, as they too are heading there for the weekend.
She scolds him.
“Why are you telling her all this? She is not equipped to handle it.”
“Yes, she can. You underestimate her. Dina! You write for malaysiakini, ya? You must write about this! This is a big mission. It is very important…” he waves his hands as he drives. Amazingly, we do not hit a passing cow.
“What does she know?” she asks again.
“She is already on a hijrah. This is good, we must support her.”
“She is not ready.”
She turns to me and asks, “Can you forsake your life, for Islam?”
“Can you?” I shoot back, offended.
She looks hard at me, and I see the saddest face I have ever seen in my life.
Jihad: Simply put, jihad means doing one’s utmost to realise a goal. It is not the equivalent of war, for which Arabic and the Qur’an use qital. Jihad has a wider connotation and embraces every kind of striving in God’s cause. A mujahid is devoted to his or her cause; uses all physical, intellectual, and spiritual capacities to serve it; employs whatever force he or she can when confronting that which blocks his or her way; and, when necessary, dies for it. All of this is jihad, for it involves striving with the goals of obtaining God’s good pleasure and making His Word supreme.
Zuhud: To denounce all material things and turn to God.
