©The Sunday Star
(Used by permission)
by Suhaini Aznam
In this last part of the series on Merdeka families, close relatives of Bapa Malaysia Tunku Abdul Rahman share their memories of their patriarch whom they loved but never really had to themselves because he was always busy with matters of the state.
BEING the son of the late Sultan Abdul Hamid of Kedah, Tunku Abdul Rahman could have led the life of a well–heeled aristocrat. Indeed, it had initially seemed to be drifting that way, as his immediate family remembers vague tales of him being carried in a sedan chair as a schoolboy in Thailand.
Later, his elder brother by nine years, Tunku Mohd Jewa Sultan Abdul Hamid, sent his somewhat playful younger brother to read law in England.
Tunku was gregarious and loved company. So the children grew up seeing streams of friends of all races and nationalities calling upon him at all hours – except his afternoon siesta. And he would entertain them, no matter how important the VIP or humble their stature. He was completely innocent of judgement and prejudice.
The family cuisine was a fusion of East and West. Tunku favoured fruit for breakfast, enjoyed gulai ikan kering and daging bakar air asam for lunch and Western dinners, says his daughter, Tunku Datin Paduka Khadijah.
Tunku enjoyed cooking, and his roast beef and Yorkshire pudding drew the admiration of even his British guests. He had learnt to cook the dishes under the tutelage of his second wife, an English woman.
As he hated to eat alone and was a genial host, his house was always full of convivial discussion and laughter.
But there was a downside. His granddaughter, Sharifah Intan, resents the fact that “the family never really had him to ourselves”.
“His home was always full of people. Everyone wanted a piece of him and he gave of himself freely to the chagrin of the family,” she writes in Prince Among Men – Recollections and Reflections on Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra.
“It's always been said among the family that he may be Bapa Malaysia (Father of Malaysia) but he was never a Bapa to his family.
“For him his country came first, his family second and we all had to accept that. He sacrificed a lot for his country at the cost of a personal life.
“Even at the end of his life, we had to share him with others. My family had to literally jostle their way to his bedside.”
Growing up with such a public figure meant catching only glimpses of their father, although Tunku Khadijah remembers happy picnics and fishing near the reservoir in Klang before he became Prime Minister.
After their mother, Cik Mariam Abdullah, died, Tunku married Sharifah Rodziah Syed Alwi Barakbah, who “loved my father dearly to a fault. She did not want to share him with anyone else,” notes Tunku Khadijah.
She recalls that whenever he came home late, the children would climb a stool to unlatch the door so that he could come upstairs and sleep with them.
“As soon as he entered the room, he would pat us on the head and say what good children we were,” she says.
Tunku adored children. In addition to his son Tunku Ahmad Nerang and Tunku Khadijah from his first wife, Mariam, he adopted another son and daughter and later brought up his second granddaughter, Sharifah Hanizah, when her parents were in London.
Tunku Khadijah laughingly remembers her father as being “notoriously generous, so much so that none of us would trust him with money.”
Her father always brought home gifts, personally chosen, from wherever he travelled. She particularly treasures a huge porcelain vase and a ring, which she unfortunately lost when moving house.
That same generosity – acquired from his Thai mother, the late Che Manjalara – had prompted him to feed and shelter the returning victims of the Death Railway for a year.
Of his many English pastimes, Tunku passed on his love for horses to his granddaughter, Sharifah Menjelara, named after his late mother. She owns three horses, has won several blue ribbons and regularly goes riding with her own daughters now.
As the undisputed grand patriarch, the family was always careful to defer to him on all the important decisions.
England remained the country of choice for several of his children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews when their turn came for a university education.
And while Tunku Khadijah did not have that chance, Tunku ensured that she went for a hairdressing course at John Little Department Store in Singapore, so that she could support herself should he be arrested during those turbulent pre–Merdeka days.
As for marriage, “he didn’t mind whom we married, as long as he was a Muslim,” says Sharifah Intan.
His family became his only comfort after he retired in 1971, using his nephew, Sultan Abdul Halim Mu’adzam Shah of Kedah's ascension to the Federal throne, as a graceful exit. History was rewritten, and his contributions to the nation almost purposely obliterated.
It is only now, almost two decades after his passing, that his name has been restored.
Niece the only one to enter politics
UNLIKE the sons of subsequent prime ministers, no one in Tunku Abdul Rahman’s
immediate family ventured into politics. The closest, if any, were his nephew,
the late Syed Nahar Tun Syed Sheh Shahabuddin, the one–time Mentri Besar of
Kedah, and Tunku’s niece, Tunku Datuk Dr Sofiah Jewa.
Her political awareness came only late in life, when she and her lawyer husband,
Datuk Dr Yaacob Merican, had served for 12 years in Sabah under the Berjaya
government.
Tunku was then advisor to Semangat 46, which wanted to field her against Tan Sri
Sanusi Junid for the Langkawi parliamentary seat in the 1990 election.
“Sofiah, please accept. In the absence of male lineage, what choice do we have?”
Tunku had said persuasively.
But Dr Sofiah and her husband were both working in a huge law firm with
establishment clients who might have taken a dim view of her running on an
opposition ticket.
Semangat ’46, now defunct, was led by Gua Musang MP Tengku Razaleigh Hamzah, a
Kelantan political veteran who had challenged then Prime Minister Tun Dr
Mahathir Mohamad for the presidency of Umno.
For fear of losing clients and retribution on her junior staff, she had to
regrettably decline.
But by 1995, the couple had left the firm.
“I was free as a bird to do what I wished,” said Dr Sofiah, who stood in Alor
Star for Semangat 46. She lost but she has no regrets as, she says, she had kept
her promise to her uncle.