A Frying Pan

By kualihitam July 2, 20131 Comment

A FRYING PAN

A frying pan
in the kitchen
of the house
where I was born
Was my
mother’s best friend
All day long

The frying pan
And something
being fried
For the
children with appetite
Was my
mother’s delight

The frying pan
Days and
nights
On the fire
We did not
count the years.

The mother who
cared for the frying pan
Hugged us
lovingly
did we look
and realize
there was soot
in her eyes
feel her skin
scraped by the hot fries
her hand
darken by smoke
her forehead
touched by the heat
we were too
sleepy after heavy meals
to hear her
coughing, her rough breathing
her painful
chest being scratched
by smoke and
ashes

we were not
aware
and mother did
not care
she only knew
the joy
of making us
happy
eating with
appetite
and nothing
pleased her more
than to see us
satisfied

That’s what
happened year after year
the frying pan
fulfilled its duty
until we were
grown up and lived in the city.

(2)

And now in my
modern kitchen
There is no
ugly black frying pan
Whenever I
have time to spare
And that is
very rare
I cook for my
children
In my
non-stick stainless steel frying pan
Shining and
expensive
And after meal
I wash it carefully
almost like
bathing a baby
With special
soft detergent
Following
every instruction

One day my
mother came to stay
As usual make herself useful
Cooked and
serve my family
Her
grandchildren enjoyed her cooking
And mother was
very happy

After the meal
She helped me tidy my kitchen
And as she
used to do
To her frying
pan
Scrubbed my
expensive utensil
With a bristle
brush
At once I
cried
“you have ruined my frying pan
Do you know
how much it cost?”

My mum looked
very hurt
There were a
few tears
I must have
looked very fierce.

(3)
And now my mum
has returned to her Lord
Leaving me in
deep remorse
Regretting the
way I valued a cooking utensil
Much more than
a mother’s love

My mother is
no longer here
Hanging lonely
on the wall of our old kitchen
Is the frying
pan of her life
Can we give it
a price

KUALI HITAM

Sebiji kuali hitam
di
dapur rumah kelahiran
adalah
teman ibuku
siang dan malam

Sebiji kuali hitam
terjerang
di atas tungku
adalah
penghibur ibu
ketika
kami menunggu

Sebiji kuali hitam
di
atas api siang dan malam
tahun
demi tahun
kami tidak pernah menghitung

Seorang
ibu yang menyayangi sebiji kuali
sering
memeluk kami
pernahkah kami perhatikan
matanya
yang ditikam serbuk arang
kulitnya
yang dikoyak percikan minyak
lengannya
yang diserap abu hitam
dahinya yang disengat pucuk api
kami
hanya tahu lena kekenyangan
ketika
tidur ibu diketuk-ketuk
oleh lelah dan batuk
setelah
asap dan abu menggaru-garu
di
paru-paru

Kami tidak pernah menyedari
dan ibu pun tidak peduli
dia hanya tahu merasa bahagia
melihat kami keriangan
menunggu sesuatu akan terhidang
dan tidak ada yang lebih membahagiakan
dari melihat kami kekenyangan

Begitulah tahun demi tahun
kuali
yang setia menjalankan tugasnya
hingga
kami dewasa dan hidup di kota

(2)

Kini
di dapur rumahku yang bersih
tak
ada kuali hitam yang hodoh
cuma
pada kesempatan
yang tidak selalu sempat
aku
memasak untuk anak-anak
dengan
kuali non-stick
yang tebal dan mahal
dan sesudah itu membasuhnya
dengan sabun yang lembut
berhati-hati
seperti memandikan bayi
mengikut
arahan pada buku panduan

Suatu hari ibu ke rumahku
dengan
kerajinannya yang biasa
memasak
untuk kami sekeluarga
cucu-cucunya
ternyata amat berselera
dan
ibu merasa terlalu bahagia

Dan sesudah itu
dengan cara yang dia tahu
mengemas
dan merapikan dapurku
dan
seperti yang biasa dibuat
pada
kualinya di kampung
dia
menyental kualiku yang mahal
dengan
berus yang kesat
dan spontan aku menjerit
“Ibu merosakkan kuali saga
tahukah ibu berapa harganya?”
Ibu terdiam
barangkali hatinya terguris
barangkali
dia hampir menangis
melihat
wajahku yang bengis