AN UNFORGETTABLE IFTAR

Before, it was simply called berbuka puasa or break of fast but now, the word Iftar (Arabic for evening meal) has found its way into the Bahasa Malaysia vocabulary this year. I’m not surprised if Dewan Bahasa adds this word, if it hadn’t already, into the Bahasa Malaysia dictionary soon.
This being the last week of Ramadhan, I find individuals and companies rushing to host Iftars; not only for orphans, single mothers and Muslim converts, but also the media.
The past three weeks, I had received Iftar invites for every day in the month of Ramadhan. On one particular day, I received four invites for Iftar, two of which were at the same hotel.
But my Iftar this year had been simple: dates or fruits, soup and/or salad/pasta and croissant/bread/biscuits and sandwiches. Also, it was either plain water or iced lemon tea.
Alhamdulillah, I fulfilled my “niat” to return to Asy-Syakirin mosque this year. There was one particular year where I spend two-thirds of Ramadhan at the mosque, which was my most humbling experience thus far.
I went there for Terawih this year, after treating a friend and her family to a Japanese buka puasa at KLCC, as it was her birthday.
But the most satisfying Iftar this year would be the one at The Residence at Jalan Waspada in Johor Bahru, where its owner TPJ hosted buka puasa. It was a simple enough affair; a buka puasa/terawih event with Muslim converts and friends.
I flew down a few hours before the event, amid torrential rain upon touched down at the Sultan Ismail International Airport. But the sky over The Residence was sunny and bright, allowing the host to organize an open air Iftar at its manicured lawn that day.
It was a special Iftar in that I met someone whom I had not seen for 32 years.
He had smiled when he first saw me but I don’t think he recognized me at all.
On the way from the airport to the Residence, TPJ told me that a few of his friends were eager to meet me, having read my comments on his FB status but had not met me in person.
You see, when I first saw this particular name on TPJ’s FB list, it rang a bell. “I know this name,” I told myself. Furthermore, his name Sallam was not at all common.
I didn’t asked TPJ about him. I wanted to be surprised myself. They’re neighbours at Jalan Waspada and I thought I was bound to meet him sometime.
We shook hands and he sat at the seat next to me.
“Did you ever stay at Taman Seri Tebrau before?” I asked him. “Yes. Jalan Serampang.”
“Your house was next to my auntie’s,” I told him. “The husband’s name is also Salleh.”
It was Jejak Kasih of sorts. Sallam remembered my Customs officer uncle and wife. He also remembered their daughter’s name. He couldn’t recall their sons’ names though.
I used hang out a lot at my auntie’s Serampang house as much as her children, especially the two boys, like to go to my house in Kempas. The year my auntie and her husband went for their pilgrimage, I stayed at the Jalan Serampang house to care for their youngest son.
I surprised myself remembering those years at the house and with the family and their neighbours.
It was my auntie who took me to have my ears pierced, not once but twice.
It was there I learnt how to ride a bicycle. It was from there that I went for my MCE as my parents were away on the pilgrimage. In fact I stayed with them in Kuala Lumpur for close to a year when I first started working in the federal capital.
And I remembered Sallam teaching us the Bugis language as I believed it was spoken in his home back then. I didn’t ask whether he speaks it now.
It is indeed a small world, having met Sallam there.
TPJ said I made him feel like a foreigner on home soil, having known so many people. I actually may know others in his FB list, if indeed they are from Johor Bahru.
The night didn’t end at Iftar. It lasted up to the wee hours of the morning.
I give thanks to Allah SWT for an unforgettable Ramadhan with dear friends and old ones, and the new acquaintances I made at The Residence that night.