Letter 6. 60 years later. Dear Mok, I feel like I met the millennium version of you today. Kak Nab, Kak Na, Aya, Ja, Kak Mah, Kak Ti, Nurul, Na, Farisa, Nur, Kiki; they all got into batik out of necessity. Passion is a precious commodity, still, for women in these parts. What’s more important is that they’re able to be mother, wife and worker. Making and selling batik lets them be all three without compromising one or the other. They don’t need uniforms or formal attires—their casual batik sarong and t-shirt ensemble is the ideal work wear. They can pick their kids up from school when needed and keep the younger ones around them as they work. I saw Kak Na’s hand move deftly from petal to leaf to vine before resting her brush to go change Awa’s diaper. The four-year-old came back holding a bottle looking quite pleased. If the women can’t come to the workshop, Kak Nab said, they can take the batik home and do the work there, just like you did. Mak Long told me that you got the family into batik work because you needed the money, but she loved it and never felt like it was a burden. She absolutely enjoyed being able to help the family earn a few extra ringgits. “Just like the man you marry,” Kak Nab told me, “making batik is the vocation that fate has dealt us, so we have to learn to love it and be good at it.” I look at the beads of sweat forming along Ja’s hairline and I’m reminded of the 10 cents that you, Mak Long, Mama Yah and Mama were paid for every piece of batik sarong. Today they’re paid RM6 for a piece of completed batik fabric, which then goes to a wholesaler for $100 a piece. Batik is a valuable component of Kelatan’s tourism market, but I don’t think these women are reaping much of the benefits. The gender roles are also largely unchanged; men draw and women colour. I wonder what the wisdom is behind this decades-old order. . #hersarong #sarongstories #suratsarong #chatkahaani #kotabharu #kelantan #malaysia #grandmother #batik #sarong (at Kota Bharu)
