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Around the 80s to early 90s, a small cart stood across the road from the Dr Asmir Army Hospital, Salatiga.
Every night, the old cart with a charcoal brazier that always emits thick smoke, is always filled with people who are busy chatting.
The dirty water used to wash coffee and tea cups is thrown back and forth in the gutter. People added cigarette smoke among the coconut charcoal smoke from a broken brazier.
Sego Godog (Boiled Rice)
His hands covered in wrinkles, deftly pouring water, adding rice, adding spices. Poking around. Finish by taking the steamed rice which is still hot, pouring it into a plate. That's how the old, wrinkled hand repeatedly carried out the same ritual.
And there would always be another hand changing hands, taking and receiving plates of rice from his wrinkled hands.
Sometimes during breaks, when all his customers had received plates of rice from him, he would take the glass that he always placed near the brazier, then sip his cup of coffee slowly. Or else, sometimes he would take a roll of tobacco from his purse, set it on fire and take a deep drag.
I often observe him secretly.
He looks like my grandfather's age. At that time. Three times the age of my Vespa. Or even older. I parked the Vespa near the brazier.
"Nasi godog? Coffee or tea? Oh my God... how come I forgot, a cup of coffee?"
He always speaks Javanese.
"How's it going? Haven't been here for a long time. Have you forgotten about me..."
His face lit up. Friendly. Even later, when I continued my studies in Jakarta, his face became one of the faces that I missed.
"God is fair. When I'm sick, I have the flu. The medicine is cheap. Just a cup of coffee with salt. Just add salt. I'll get better straight away."
He poured a jug of water into a coffee glass.
"Now the era is over, thank God. It's better. I experienced the Dutch colonial era. Experienced the Japanese colonial era. I went along to Parakan, asked for prayers from Kiai Bambu Runcing. Kiai Subki."
"It's so bad, I also fought against the Dutch." "I fought with the Republican Army."
My plate of boiled rice finally arrived.
"When President Sukarno came to Salatiga. He came to Mrs. Hartini's house. I was very happy, I could see Mr. Karno's face. He was truly dashing. I was very proud."
He put down his coffee cup.
"Now everything is easy. My life is peaceful."
Tobacco stuck in his mouth again. White smoke emitted in circles like the smoke from a train chimney on the Tuntang-Ambarawa route.
"Since Pak Harto became president, everything has been built. A small person like me can enjoy the atmosphere of Indonesian independence. Many roads have become better, my grandchildren can go to school."
His hands were busy reaching into his shirt pockets. Looking for something.
"As Pak Harto has said, if the government has decided, small people like me can only support government decisions. Support and implement government programs."
"Now everything is available, everything is easy to find. The era of development."
The match is lit.
"What will you become? If you work diligently. Study diligently. So you can become a big person in the future."
My spoon collided with the plate. His eyes glanced at my plate.
"Do you want to add more rice?"
His wrinkled hands became dexterous again. Cak-check, byuuk..byuuk the spices are added to the pan.
People were still busy chatting on the mats. Several times I heard people laughing boisterously. The glasses are poured with coffee from the kettle.
"Mr. Supardjo Rustam used to eat here. He ate with his entourage."
Mr. Supardjo Rustam? I tried to remember the name he had just mentioned. Former governor of Central Java?
"Mr. Supardjo Rustam during the war of independence, followed Gen. Sudirman in the guerrilla war."
"He still looks dashing, I'm very happy to see him eating here."
A plate of sego godog (boiled rice) is back in front of me.
"Later, do you want to continue your studies in Jogjakarta or Bandung?"
I've known him since the 80s. After returning from looking for used comics at the Salatiga "Shopping" flea market, my father invited me to stop to eat here.
It is located on the edge of Dr. Muwardi, right at the corner of the Muwardi - Kalinyamat road junction.
My father seem to be very familiar with him.
........................
........ Years passed. Mid-2000s, when returning home to Salatiga.
I want to meet him.
The boiled rice cart and brazier are no longer there.
There are rows of new satay and soto stalls. Nobody knows him.
"Life must not be excessive. You must always have gratitude. Be willing to worship. Carry out God's commands."
I wonder. Has he died? Or move where?
"It's even better if you want to live simply and work hard."
I never heard from him again.
Balikpapan, March 2024
Note: I hope he just wants to retire. Rest. Spend your old age in peace. Hanging out with his grandchildren.
"Mangkeh manawi yoga kula sampun mentas sedanten, kula leren. Nunggoni putu-putu kula."
(Later, when all my children are married, I will stop working. I want to take care of my grandchildren)
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