JUNE 30 — It is the time of year to be comforted by the rituals of Raya: To visit the graves of ancestors and lost loved ones, to seek forgiveness from family and friends, to takbir and pray with familiar faces at the mosque, and of course to celebrate with relatives, colleagues and friends at open houses.
Within these core activities, every family will have their own peculiarities, coloured by the state (or combination of states) they’re from, their socio-economic status and increasingly, their interpretation of the tenets of the religion (for example, some now eschew the practice of bertabur or sprinkling flower petals on graves, and some ladies my age who used to proffer their hands for a salam no longer do so).
But many of the customs are enjoyed by non-Muslims too.
The giving and receiving of duit raya still crosses religious lines: Certainly the children expecting it at the Istano Terbuko (open house at the palace) were of diverse backgrounds.
Stories and videos about fireworks are exchanged, including the various methods of bringing them in: Some more illegal than others. Unfortunately, the main display in Seri Menanti was lacklustre compared to recent years, when the reverberations across the valley led one older relative to recall the time when artillery pounded the hills daily to flush out the communists.
As for the roads, the experience can be mixed: While the urban lanes in Kuala Lumpur are clear, the highways can become a tedious standstill. The quality of driving somehow seems more erratic than usual too: I suspect it’s drowsiness from eating too much lemang or ketupat (leading to the condition of bontuih or se’e depending on where you’ve feasted).
And the technology employed in the SmartTAG lanes really needs an upgrade: Far too many barriers are faulty, and when one car has a problem, chaos ensues behind as vehicles scramble to join other lanes.
Of course, I have received countless well-intended messages wishing me Selamat Hari Raya, but I urge people to consider the capacity of recipients’ phones: Is it necessary to send an eight megabyte video (which is even more difficult to download in a temporarily overpopulated rural kampung overloading the cellular tower), or would a heartfelt WhatsApp message suffice?
But of perhaps greater concern are some of the videos and images that people put out on social media to portray their Raya experience.
I have explained before how I thought hard before starting on Instagram. It was primarily to highlight the work of the organisations I’m involved with, my articles and also historical and cultural observations of Malaysia. In the context of Hari Raya, I hope my posts have given people an insight into some of customs observed by my family, and to laugh at the antics of my cousins.
But some have apparently gone much further, posting up what would traditionally be considered the most private moment of the entire day, and even having it re-enacted for the perfect Facebook post — as was reportedly the case with one young boy who asked his family members to do the intimate family salam repeatedly to capture the right light, as if to emulate the perfect scenes depicted in Raya ads.
I caught another child fanning out his duit raya packets with the purpose of comparing his fatter haul with another, and taking a photo with the purpose of boasting about this fact on Snapchat. Of course, each of these packets also featured logos, as corporations now produce different versions of packets so that givers can differentiate between categories of recipients.
This can result in peculiar company within the pocket of a boy’s baju Melayu: A publicly-owned insurance company next to a majority taxpayer-owned bank, a supermarket alongside a fashion brand, the national oil company beside a car manufacturer. On top of this particular pile was a packet marked “FGV Holdings.” “Where did that come from?” I asked. The boy and the father gave different answers.
Of course, one wants one’s Raya experience to look good: At least as celebratory as others on their feed, or preferably superior. As ever there is a fine line between sharing authenticity and fabricating sequences to suggest a certain experience. The trouble is, some people don’t mind if it’s the latter: Vicarious imaginations seem to provide a worthwhile escape for many.
The festivals originating from Malaysia’s diverse cultures and traditions have always, to an extent, been designed for public consumption. Technology has now enabled scenes to be indelibly recorded and shared. But I hope that the next generation grows up to understand that some elements of these celebrations can never be accurately captured; and to appreciate the beauty of authenticity.
* Tunku Zain Al-’Abidin is founding president of IDEAS.
** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail Online.
