Penang Road.

I don't feel guilty anymore. Why should I? I've never seen pakcik Syed putting on kain pelikat or songkok to pray. I've never seen aunt Su's telekong. I don't see no prayer mat in the house. I don't see a single copy of Qur'an and I don't hear the Azan anymore to make me feel scared for walking up and down Penang Road at 7.30 in the evening the way I would feel if I were in Dungun this time of the day, listening to the sweet call of the Azan from Bilal Rashid's voice. The only time I was out of the house around this time in Dungun was when Aunt and I had to look for Tapong, our goat that hadn't come in with the rest of her charge. I asked Aunt whether Grandma would be mad that we were out of the house during Maghrib but Aunt says that's okay because she can't pray and we have got to find Tapong who could be in trouble like getting its head locked inside a Dumex tin can.

I'm walking up and down Penang Street not thinking of the Azan that is playing inside my head. I can't hear it anymore. All I hear is music blasting from the speakers placed outside a music shop. I go in to feel the cool air-cond that goes right into your nose. We don't have air-cond in Dungun. But this is Penang, kiddo. A city where you can't hear the Azan anytime of the day because heaven knows where a Masjid is. All I see is neon light that goes round and round which they've got at Pasar Chowrasta, and the sweet smell of apples, oranges and nutmeg. You don't pray in a place like this. You don't have to because you won't know when to pray since you won't hear no Azan coming in and I know for sure Bilal Rashid's voice won't reach you here in Penang when you are so far away from Tanah Lot, Dungun, Terengganu.

And I don't have to recite one Surah a day either because Grandma isn't here to check on my Tajwid. She won't rap my finger if I don't complete a full Harakat of Mat Asli, or my Kholkolah, or Tashdid. I don't have to pray. I don't have to recite the Qur'an. In fact I can forget about praying and the Qur'an all together because no one prays or recites the Qur'an on Penang Road. No one seems to mind that this is Maghrib and that the devils are out to get you if you are not in the house praying or reciting your Surah.

I'm beginning to like Penang very much. I don't hear Grandma's reciting the Qur'an, or Aunt reading a Surah in her angelic voice in between Maghrib and Isya' prayer. I miss putting on my head on Aunt's lap while she reads the Qur'an in her heavenly voice that can lull me to sleep. Sometimes I hear Grandma correcting Aunt on an Ayat that Aunt doesn't read good. I'd ask Grandma, why is it wrong to read it that way. And Grandma would say, Haven't you learnt anything? I've taught you everything but you still forget. And then I'd laugh and say, I'm just joking, Grandma. And Aunt would laugh and rub my hair hard and say, Clever boy but very naughty. And I'll sleep with the sound of the Qur'an in my ear until the next day.

Penang Road is a busy street that I can't hear the Qur'an in my ears. I'm lonely and sad but I'm a tough kid. Tough kid don't cry even though he misses Grandma and Aunt. Tough kids don't cry. They just take it in like real men.