Filial Piety

I used to let my students read interesting poems or articles from other sources other than their textbooks. Filial Piety by Tan Jwee Song is quite an interesting poem which I hope you will find entertaining yet thought provoking.

FILIAL PIETY

The old man was dead
And they must fast array
for it's duty to display
their filial piety.
No time to waste,
children, wife, sons, all
quickly donned the ready black cloth
and were taught to cry.

The hall was dressed with condolences
the coffin was heaped with sympathy
The joss papers were burnt with gusto
accompanied by a wailing symphony.

Many gestured their last respects
Many sobbed their sad regrets
Many mourned their heartfelt loss
with cards, mahjong and dice-tossed.

Good sons did good deeds;
they performed the ceremony
according to their needs.
Their old man's death was too deep for tears
so they list ritual with minds precise and clear.

Uncles should offer roasted pigs
aunties should come with big baked cakes
sisters should wail their very best
and the husbands must buy the paper chests.

They buried him at a shaded spot
for future comort they thought.
They bore his soul back home
in a much cumbersome pot.

The episode was over,
his face hung mockingly on the altar;
only his two lonely candle flames remained
to weep his years of pain.

The above poem, though written with humour and satire, is quite painful to digest.
It reminds me of a recent wake which I witnessed in my block. I have just moved to this block since January of this year, and while taking my dog for a walk, have got to know some of the nieghbours.

There was this sweet and kind-looking elderly lady with her maid. Her maid would often accompany her for her morning and evening walks. Once I talked to her and asked if she lived alone and she told me she lived on her own after her husband's death about ten years ago. Her 5 children had all married with their own families and living in different parts of Singapore. Apparently they are doing very well, holding high posts, and have entrusted their mother to the care of a maid. Sometimes, I could not help but detect a look of sadness and an aura of loneliness in the elderly lady. Sometimes I found her chatting with the elderly ladies in the neighbourhood. Not once, had I ever seen her with any of her children or grandchildren. I work from home, and often enjoy reading or doing my work at the table in the void deck of the block.

Suddenly, one evening, as I came back from shopping in Johore Bahru, I realised there was a wake and was surprised when I met the maid. She told me the elderly lady suddenly had a heart attack and passed away that morning.

I was even more surprised when I found that the wake was lavishly decorated with lots of paraphernalia, with elaborate altars, and rows and rows of blankets decorated the walls of the block while there were tons of standing wreaths. There was much fanfare as every evening, there would be ceremonies performed by the monks. Dramatic and loud wailings could also be heard. One mourner had a particularly loud voice as she asked why the deceased chose to depart so early, leaving her and her children helpless and confused.!! Some visitors were playing mahjong while the caterers busily served food to the guests who seemed to stream in endlessly.

On the fourth day, the chanting of the monks continued till almost midnight. I wonder if the "filial" children had forgotten the rule that any form of loud music for whatever occasion, must terminate at 11.00 p.m. so that it will not cause disturbance to residents who go to bed early.

On the fifth day, many people turned up at the wake for the funeral procession. There was a group of musicians in smartly starched white uniforms who played some music with their shining brass instruments.

Suddenly I remember the above poem, and shake my head with sadness. Perhaps the children had truly loved their parents, but were too busy with their own careers and families to demonstrate that love. Perhaps the elderly lady was too independent, and preferred her independence and solitude. Perhaps.... perhaps....perhaps...
Gan Chau