My youngest son, Alif, is a very worried almost-eight-year-old. The final term school break is a fortnight away and he realizes that his days as a little boy are numbered.


I could read the anxiety written all over his face. I could sense that he is not really looking forward to the year-end school holidays because that is when he would go through the Muslim rites of passage, a child becoming a young man, with religious and social responsibilities and obligations.


InsyaAllah, Alif is to be circumcised this coming school holidays. Berkhatan, bersunat or “potong ko**” as his uncles and elder brother Patpat would crudely put it. Some pillars of strength these men folks are to Alif. A fine band of macho men Alif could turn to for inspiration, encouragement and motivation……..


The stories they told Alif about circumcision and the manner the ritual is performed could scare the living daylights out of the bravest of men, even. Of course, they were merely teasing him, just like how their elders had teased them. I believe Alif knew they were pulling a fast one on him and how they were trying to intimidate him with all those tales. Alif would smile and laugh along with them. I, however, could sense he was putting a brave front… control macho, as the young ‘uns would say it nowadays.


I had my share of mental anguish as well during my time. I had it done with my brothers, Kamal and Udin, together with a friend when I was almost nine. It was a traditional “potong ko**” ceremony where we had entrusted our “manly future” in the trembling hands of a very old Tok Mudim with failing eyesight, who was holding a very, very sharp cut-throat razor blade!


Of course there was a banana trunk for us to sit on, a bamboo thong to clip the foreskin for that clean cut, a bowl of ashes which the mudim would sprinkle on the wound to stop the bleeding and very thin paper, the kind one uses in kite-making, for bandages. In the olden days, circumcision was a grand celebration. Relatives and friends would gather at your home, and there would certainly be a feast.


The boys would be treated like kings, almost all their wishes fulfilled… Ask for anything to eat , your wishes would be granted. Somehow, I can’t help thinking that we were no different than the maidens of the Aztec civilization, well fed and cared for , bedecked with gold and precious stones, and appeared radiant with the best of fineries, only to be thrown into a pit of melting lava at the end of it all to appease their angry Sun God!


In those days among the Malay community, the boys would be taken for a bath in a nearby river or well. The cold water would soften your muscle, particular that most-important part of the anotomy. After taking a drink of blessed water and munching on the sirih leave and betel nut to summon courage, they would be hoisted up on the shoulders of their elder brothers, uncles or fathers and paraded back to face the Tok Mudim.


As we were living in a government quarters in Jalan Pegawai then and the nearest river, the terribly polluted Sungai Kedah, was some three km away, we had our ritual bath under a shower in the courtyard for all to see. Then, one by one, we were taken to the mudim, who was seated cross-legged in our living room which by then was already filled up with older relatives and neighbours. I was fervently praying that the Tok Mudim could keep his hands steady so that he would remove only what should be removed, nothing more than that!


Except for my father, uncles and elder brothers, I can’t recall who else were there in the living room at that most important, terrifying moment of my childhood life but I could certainly remember a band of cheeky, geeky, pony-tailed young neighbourhood girls peering through the windows, gawking at us naked boys, straddled over the banana trunk. At that moment… control macho, babe….. It was too late to back out of it, to chicken out, so to speak. If I did, they would make sure my future generations would know about it. They would instantly forget about my bravery, but not the grunt or that single drop of tear or that hesitant step I took as I was making my way to the banana trunk. Fearing the embarrassment I would have to go through for the rest of my life, I did what almost-a-man would do at that critical moment of his life….control macho lah!


Oh yes, there was also a pair of lizards, somewhere on the ceiling right above me. I was already comfortably seated on the banana trunk and held down by I-don’t-know-who. I remember looking at the Tok Mudim and trying to locate the razor blade which he had hidden out of my sight. Suddenly, he said, “Eh! Tengok tu, cicak bergaduh atas tu.” I looked up, and swooshhhh… I’d stepped over. I was no longer a child. And, Praise to Allah the Most Merciful, Tok Mudim did not take out more than what was necessary…. By the way, there was never a lizard anywhere on the ceiling that afternoon!


I was then taken to a room to heal under an unsewn piece of “kain cap”, hung up by a piece of string from the ceiling. It looked like the American Red Indian teepee. All four of us were lying on our mattresses, each under our own teepee. Each of us was provided with the most important equipment, a “tempurung”, a half coconut shell. It was so very helpful during the uprising, if you could catch my drift. One would take the “tempurung”, tap on the kneecaps, and ahhhh … you should get things under control!


We would receive visitors, mostly kay-poh-chee aunties and makciks, who would lift our teepees just to look at our “you-know-what”. I did not mind because after the show, they would give us “angpows”! But, I still cannot figure out what was racing through their minds when they took a look under our teepees…hmmm.


But my son Alif, just like his brother Patpat, would not have to go through such a ritual since he would entrust his “manly future” in the hands of a doctor. Nowadays, circumcisions are done in clinics by trained medical practitioners. A jab or two to numb that part of your body, a Tara/Smart Clamp inserted, a snip here and there and… it’s over. In under a week, one could wear a pair of jeans and walk about with ease.


I discussed this circumcision plan with Alif early this year. We talked about it a few times since and last night we talked about it again. I could understand his apprehension and his fear. But, Patpat, what a rascal he was….I had to ask him to go lock himself up in my room and play with the computer while I, all over again, tried to allay Alif’s fear.


Alif had asked me why it is necessary for a Muslim to be circumcised. I explained to him the concept of hygiene and stuff. I promised I would look up in the Internet for him, the reasons and logics per below:

Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said, "Five are the acts quite akin to fitrah: circumcision, clipping or shaving the pubes, cutting the nails, plucking or shaving the hair under the armpits and clipping (or shaving) the moustache." (Reported in Bukhari & Muslim)

What say you, Tok Wan?