note:
this story was told to me verbatim by my brother, who heard it from his wife(i think). i've fiddled with it a bit.
Made it!!
That's what Amir thought as he slipped by the doors of the train just before it closed. He was rightly relieved; this was the last train that night, and it was Putra LRT. No driver to help open doors there. He boarded the train at KLCC, where he worked as a sales assistant at Isetan.
Amir took a seat as the train began to move. At this late hour, there were not many people on board. It was quiet as well. Amir glimpsed a couple, with the girl resting her head on the mans shoulder. There were a few skater kids as well, chatting (thankfully) quietly, their skateboards across their laps. There were few more less interesting people.
Amir exhaled. He was tired. It had been a busy day for Malaysian shoppers.. and consequently for him as well. He had had to run from here and there, getting stuff, helping customers et al. Sometimes he thought it would never end. His heels were blistered, partly to the running around, mostly to his God awful shoes.
Still, it was a job at least. In these hard times, he was thankful for that. Besides, this was just part time. He was planning on going back to college to further his studies, maybe sometime next year.
He leaned back in his seat, trying to catch a few Z's. He got off at Terminal Putra, in Gombak, and it was still quite some time off. He hated taking the late trains. Somehow he was not entirely comfortable at the thought of being underground, in the dark tunnels beneath Kuala Lumpur. Dark tunnels that reputedly passed below graveyards. Often he heard of stories and whispers about the underground train tunnels; of workers killed during construction, of grotesque finds, of ghosts.
But the thing that perhaps bothered Amir the most about the underground trains and Putra LRT was the fact that it was machinized. Not that he didn't think that there were procedures established in case of emergencies; rather, he would have felt more trusting of the trains if there was a driver ahead.
But beggars can't be choosers, he finally thought. He lived in Gombak, on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur. His parents died when he was young, and in Gombak he lived with his uncle and aunt, who had been taking care of him since he was small.
The train pulled into Ampang Park station when he finally fell asleep. Before that, he managed to look around to see people getting on. Sometimes there were really cute girls who took the late train. None today though, Amir thought, a little disappointed. Instead only one old man got on at Ampang Park. Just before his eyes shut, he thought the old man looked sort of familiar.
And so he napped, waking up occasionally when the train stopped. He did not worry about missing his station, as Terminal Putra was at the end of the line. Someone would surely wake him up there anyway.
Everytime he woke up he saw the old man that had gotten on at Ampang Park. The man was quiet, ignoring the few people around him, not even looking around. Judging by his dress, he seemed to be stuck in the seventies. People did not seem to take notice of him either. Just an old man to them, probably.
Amir noticed the old man sat quite upright, with his face down. In his hands he held a small piece of paper. Amir shrugged it off, and went back to his nap.
The train stopped by more stations en route to Terminal Putra, and more people got off. In the end not more than a handful remained. Amir continued his nap, not bothering with the going ons.
He was jolted awake by a Chinese lady who said they've arrived at Terminal Putra. Amir squeezed his eyes and said a brief thank you to the lady as she walked out the train. Cool midnight air blew in from outside. He stretched as he got up, ironing out the kinks in his joints. His neck ached due to the posture in which he napped.
He noticed then that the old man in the old fashioned dress was still in the train. Odd, Amir thought. But then he thought maybe the Chinese lady had woken the old man up first and then him and then just walked outside. The old man was still sitting quietly, his head bowed down as if in prayer.
Amir walked by to him.
"Pakcik", he said. The old man barely stirred.
"Pakcik.. Pakcik, we've arrived at the last station", Amir said to the old man. He gently shook the old mans shoulder. Had this old fella missed a train?, Amir thought. He gently shook the old mans shoulder again.
The old man slowly looked up at Amir, and Amir saw that despite his aged features, his eyes were bright and seemed to be full of humor and joy, but beneath that, his eyes showed the rivers of time. He must have seen a lot, Amir thought to himself. The old man smiled, a smile that was sad. Again Amir was struck at how familiar this elderly gentleman looked. He must have seen him somewhere.
Suddenly he felt creeped out.
"Pakcik, if there's nothing else, I'm going first. Assalamualaikum", Amir said and walked out of the train. Then he felt the old man grab his arm, but not roughly. Rather, it was like a grandfather holding on to his grandchild for support. Amir paused; maybe the old man needed help to walk.
"Pakcik, do you need any help?", Amir asked. The old man did not say a word. Instead, now he took Amirs hand and placed the piece of paper inside it. Then the old man spoke.
"I'm alright", the old man said. His voice was smooth, deep and melodious... and familiar. Amir looked at him, feeling an odd nag at the back of his mind. I've seen this person. Where?
"I'm alright. Go home young man. I can look after myself from here", the old man said. Still, he did not get up. Amir just nodded awkwardly, said 'Assalamualaikum', and walked away.
As he stepped out of the train and took a few steps, he held out the piece of paper the old man had handed him on the train. It was yellowed by time, and the ink on it seemed faded and blotted. Amir tried to ascertain what was written, then saw it was in Arabic script; in Jawi, written intricately and in flowing cursive. He wasn't that good at Jawi.
Amir turned to see if the old man was behind him, intent on asking him why the piece of paper with Jawi on it. Instead there was no one. He craned his neck to catch a glimpse, to see if the old man was still in the train.
But no. No one there. Not a soul. And he was sure as hell that the old man did not just pass him by either. Feeling a bit disturbed, Amir rushed off home, and went straight to bed.
The next morning as he had finished showering and had breakfast, he suddenly remembered about the piece of paper the old man on the train had given him last night. Amir told the story to his uncle, and asked his uncle, who was there at the breakfast table with him, if he could read Jawi fluently. His uncle said yes, so Amir got out the note from his backpack and handed it over to him.
His uncle, a gentle man of 59, put on a pair of thin glasses and looked at the note. He noted how intricate the Jawi was, and proceeded to read the note out loud:
this story was told to me verbatim by my brother, who heard it from his wife(i think). i've fiddled with it a bit.
Made it!!
That's what Amir thought as he slipped by the doors of the train just before it closed. He was rightly relieved; this was the last train that night, and it was Putra LRT. No driver to help open doors there. He boarded the train at KLCC, where he worked as a sales assistant at Isetan.
Amir took a seat as the train began to move. At this late hour, there were not many people on board. It was quiet as well. Amir glimpsed a couple, with the girl resting her head on the mans shoulder. There were a few skater kids as well, chatting (thankfully) quietly, their skateboards across their laps. There were few more less interesting people.
Amir exhaled. He was tired. It had been a busy day for Malaysian shoppers.. and consequently for him as well. He had had to run from here and there, getting stuff, helping customers et al. Sometimes he thought it would never end. His heels were blistered, partly to the running around, mostly to his God awful shoes.
Still, it was a job at least. In these hard times, he was thankful for that. Besides, this was just part time. He was planning on going back to college to further his studies, maybe sometime next year.
He leaned back in his seat, trying to catch a few Z's. He got off at Terminal Putra, in Gombak, and it was still quite some time off. He hated taking the late trains. Somehow he was not entirely comfortable at the thought of being underground, in the dark tunnels beneath Kuala Lumpur. Dark tunnels that reputedly passed below graveyards. Often he heard of stories and whispers about the underground train tunnels; of workers killed during construction, of grotesque finds, of ghosts.
But the thing that perhaps bothered Amir the most about the underground trains and Putra LRT was the fact that it was machinized. Not that he didn't think that there were procedures established in case of emergencies; rather, he would have felt more trusting of the trains if there was a driver ahead.
But beggars can't be choosers, he finally thought. He lived in Gombak, on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur. His parents died when he was young, and in Gombak he lived with his uncle and aunt, who had been taking care of him since he was small.
The train pulled into Ampang Park station when he finally fell asleep. Before that, he managed to look around to see people getting on. Sometimes there were really cute girls who took the late train. None today though, Amir thought, a little disappointed. Instead only one old man got on at Ampang Park. Just before his eyes shut, he thought the old man looked sort of familiar.
And so he napped, waking up occasionally when the train stopped. He did not worry about missing his station, as Terminal Putra was at the end of the line. Someone would surely wake him up there anyway.
Everytime he woke up he saw the old man that had gotten on at Ampang Park. The man was quiet, ignoring the few people around him, not even looking around. Judging by his dress, he seemed to be stuck in the seventies. People did not seem to take notice of him either. Just an old man to them, probably.
Amir noticed the old man sat quite upright, with his face down. In his hands he held a small piece of paper. Amir shrugged it off, and went back to his nap.
The train stopped by more stations en route to Terminal Putra, and more people got off. In the end not more than a handful remained. Amir continued his nap, not bothering with the going ons.
He was jolted awake by a Chinese lady who said they've arrived at Terminal Putra. Amir squeezed his eyes and said a brief thank you to the lady as she walked out the train. Cool midnight air blew in from outside. He stretched as he got up, ironing out the kinks in his joints. His neck ached due to the posture in which he napped.
He noticed then that the old man in the old fashioned dress was still in the train. Odd, Amir thought. But then he thought maybe the Chinese lady had woken the old man up first and then him and then just walked outside. The old man was still sitting quietly, his head bowed down as if in prayer.
Amir walked by to him.
"Pakcik", he said. The old man barely stirred.
"Pakcik.. Pakcik, we've arrived at the last station", Amir said to the old man. He gently shook the old mans shoulder. Had this old fella missed a train?, Amir thought. He gently shook the old mans shoulder again.
The old man slowly looked up at Amir, and Amir saw that despite his aged features, his eyes were bright and seemed to be full of humor and joy, but beneath that, his eyes showed the rivers of time. He must have seen a lot, Amir thought to himself. The old man smiled, a smile that was sad. Again Amir was struck at how familiar this elderly gentleman looked. He must have seen him somewhere.
Suddenly he felt creeped out.
"Pakcik, if there's nothing else, I'm going first. Assalamualaikum", Amir said and walked out of the train. Then he felt the old man grab his arm, but not roughly. Rather, it was like a grandfather holding on to his grandchild for support. Amir paused; maybe the old man needed help to walk.
"Pakcik, do you need any help?", Amir asked. The old man did not say a word. Instead, now he took Amirs hand and placed the piece of paper inside it. Then the old man spoke.
"I'm alright", the old man said. His voice was smooth, deep and melodious... and familiar. Amir looked at him, feeling an odd nag at the back of his mind. I've seen this person. Where?
"I'm alright. Go home young man. I can look after myself from here", the old man said. Still, he did not get up. Amir just nodded awkwardly, said 'Assalamualaikum', and walked away.
As he stepped out of the train and took a few steps, he held out the piece of paper the old man had handed him on the train. It was yellowed by time, and the ink on it seemed faded and blotted. Amir tried to ascertain what was written, then saw it was in Arabic script; in Jawi, written intricately and in flowing cursive. He wasn't that good at Jawi.
Amir turned to see if the old man was behind him, intent on asking him why the piece of paper with Jawi on it. Instead there was no one. He craned his neck to catch a glimpse, to see if the old man was still in the train.
But no. No one there. Not a soul. And he was sure as hell that the old man did not just pass him by either. Feeling a bit disturbed, Amir rushed off home, and went straight to bed.
The next morning as he had finished showering and had breakfast, he suddenly remembered about the piece of paper the old man on the train had given him last night. Amir told the story to his uncle, and asked his uncle, who was there at the breakfast table with him, if he could read Jawi fluently. His uncle said yes, so Amir got out the note from his backpack and handed it over to him.
His uncle, a gentle man of 59, put on a pair of thin glasses and looked at the note. He noted how intricate the Jawi was, and proceeded to read the note out loud:
Maafkan aku kerana meninggalkan kamu semua. Maafkan dosa-dosa aku kepada kamu semua. Tetapi dengan pemergian ku ini, aku hanya berharap dapat bertenang untuk selama-lamanya. Aku pinta hanya satu.. tolong jangan siarkan filem-filem dan lagu-lagu ku lagi. Aku mahukan ketenangan.
Remuk redam hatiku hancur
Airmata di Kuala Lumpur
Yang benar,
Teuku Zakaria bin Teuku Puteh
His uncle finished reading the note and slowly took off his glasses. They stared hard at each other. His uncle mentioned the name that had signed the letter, speaking slowly and almost in disbelief; yet when he looked into his nephews eyes, he knew that Amir was not lying, not one bit.
Amir felt a chill down his spine.. then at the same time he felt a palpable sadness in his heart. Now he knew why the old man on the train had looked so familiar.
"Teuku Zakaria bin Teuku Putih was..", his uncle said. But Amir did not need his uncle to tell him. He knew all too well.
"P. Ramlee.."
-------
Remuk redam hatiku hancur
Airmata di Kuala Lumpur
Yang benar,
Teuku Zakaria bin Teuku Puteh
His uncle finished reading the note and slowly took off his glasses. They stared hard at each other. His uncle mentioned the name that had signed the letter, speaking slowly and almost in disbelief; yet when he looked into his nephews eyes, he knew that Amir was not lying, not one bit.
Amir felt a chill down his spine.. then at the same time he felt a palpable sadness in his heart. Now he knew why the old man on the train had looked so familiar.
"Teuku Zakaria bin Teuku Putih was..", his uncle said. But Amir did not need his uncle to tell him. He knew all too well.
"P. Ramlee.."
-------
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