Spiced Words and Sizzling Karma

𝐙𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐁

Staying afloat? I'm barely managing a doggy paddle. The cost of living climbs the clouds while my income lays low. Take chicken - now a luxury at RM10 per kilogram. Makes a dent in my wallet since my Ayam Golek's a sensation at the Ramadan Bazaar. Around 30 chickens a day, all over 2 kilograms - RM750 out of my pocket. Charcoal, herbs, spices, sugar, salt - extra dents in the bank account. It's less a business, more a charity. But, when my customers' eyes light up after the first bite? Priceless.

Aisyah, my shadow, my girl, breaks into my world of barbeque smoke and savoury spices. "Mama, Teacher Chong gave me tough homework today," a shaky voice emerges. Between tending the grill and being her guide, I choose the grill, for now. "I'll help you later, alright?" I try to comfort her. She nods, acceptance mirroring in her eyes.

Guilt strangles me. Aisyah needs my focus, my guidance. But the business demands all of me. And then I see her, intent on her work, bent over a little desk as humble as our stall. Her space, her world, shadowed by the crackling fire and the aroma of our Ayam Golek.

Our world may be modest, but it's ours, bound by love beyond spoken words. The thought of not being there for her pierces my heart. Yet, knowing our bond will weather any storm brings solace. No matter what, our love endures.

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐀

Puan Nora's words, "Thanks, Nina. Best decision hiring you!" put me on cloud nine. Think I've bagged the Emmy of emceeing. This freelance gig can be tough, but seeing couples' bliss? Worth it. And now, I have a big event on the horizon.

But first, a call to my sunshine, Hani. She's been hitting the books hard, time for a catch-up. "How was tuition?" I ask.

"Amazing, Mom! Miss Munirah rocks!" her reply is the sweetest music. I'm shelling out for this tutor, but Hani's growth more than justifies the expense.

Shifting gears, I ask, "Anything you want from the Ramadan Bazaar?"

"Ayam Golek, please!" she quips. Always authentic, that's my girl.

These moments fuel my ambition to ace my emcee gigs. I want those lucrative contracts, not for me, but for Hani. Raising a child isn't a cheap affair, but her happiness? That's the real paycheck.

𝐙𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐁

My lips curl into a grateful smile, thanking Pak Ali. "Come back tomorrow for Iftar, huh?" His face has become familiar over the past year at my Ayam Golek stand.

Tallying up my small earnings, I push away the creeping negativity. It's just 3 pm; Iftar is hours away. My Ayam Golek's tantalizing smell will attract more customers soon enough.

A demanding voice breaks my concentration. I've been nursing the spit-roast, aiming for that juicy perfection my customers crave. "How much?" she barks.

"RM28.90," I reply, flashing a friendly smile.

She balks, "Too much!" and whirls away without another word. Chuckling, I return to my chickens. Dealing with haggling customers - just part of Ramadan bazaar life.

But my mind can't help but drift to Aisyah's maths homework. I glance at her workbook, empathy stirring within me. "Need some help?" I ask, lips curving into a gentle smile.

As I reach to assist her, a chic woman approaches my cart, a warm smile on her face. "Assalamualaikum. How much?" she asks, entranced by a rotating chicken.

"RM28.90," I respond, my smile mirroring hers.

She grins impishly. "A little steep, don't you think? Any discount?"

I ponder her question, countering with a proposal, "Can't discount, but I can throw in some free drinks?"

Her face hardens, considering my offer, but she stays silent. Finally, she shakes her head and walks away, fingers dancing on her phone. The intoxicating smell of my grill lingers in her wake.

𝐏𝐀𝐊 𝐀𝐋𝐈

MasyaAllah, what a nightmare of a day to have a busted freezer. I screw up my face in disgust as I open the freezer to find all the meat I've stocked up on has gone rancid. I had no clue the bloody thing had been on the fritz since yesterday. Now I can't cook up a storm for my customers. It's already 4pm and I've got to get my act together pronto. Iftar's just two hours away. What the heck am I supposed to do now?

I let out a deep, frustrated sigh as I plop down onto one of the chairs in my dinky restaurant. My eyes wander around, landing on the Ayam Golek I'd just picked up. Suddenly, an idea strikes me like a bolt of lightning. It may not be much, but it's better than nothing. At least I can bring in a bit of dough for my family's sake.

No time to waste. I've got to spring into action.

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐀

Staring at the ludicrous price tag on the Ayam Golek, I had to roll my eyes. Lady, we're talking chicken here, not gold nuggets. Yeah, I could shell out, but this is principle we're talking about.

Letting out a sigh that'd give an opera singer a run for her money, I fished out my phone to deliver the no-chicken news to Hani.

"Hey, Ma," she answered, all warmth and sunshine.

I did my best to explain the saga of the overly expensive chicken - and how this wasn't about being able to afford it, but rather the boring fact of needing to pay bills, including her college tuition.

Hani was a champ about it, though. "No sweat, Ma. We'll cook something else up." Her words were like a cosy blanket around my stress. God, I love that kid.

She's always had an old soul, understanding the uphill battle I fight as a single mom, trying to provide for us both. My life as a freelance emcee is one big gamble, only pulling in money when a gig comes my way. I also moonlight as a Grab driver - because nothing says 'I'm dedicated to paying the bills' like driving strangers around town.

Driving home, I felt a pang of guilt. Poor Hani had been drooling over Ayam Golek for days. But hey, I'll brainstorm something special when I get home. She's been hitting the books like a champ and showing the patience of a saint. She deserves a treat.

But first, I need a minute with Facebook. I'm a shameless gossip-hound - it's my brand. Venting my frustrations and realizing I'm not the only one dealing with such nonsense? Yeah, that feels pretty good.

𝐙𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐁

A whining voice interrupts my thoughts. "Zainab, you're the talk of the town!" Mak Ijah announces, thrusting her phone towards me.

My heart drops. On the Putatan Updates Facebook page, a post by Hasnina Kamarul shames my Ayam Golek for being too pricey. "This AYAM GOLEK ZAINAB stall is ridiculously pricey, like ‘bye-bye rent money’ expensive. Keep wasting your cash there and you'll be bankrupt before you know it. Trust me, hunt down a cheaper place. Your wallet will be forever grateful." she warns, her words a cruel blow.

I'm numb, tears slipping down my face as I absorb the laughter and anger emojis. 235 reactions, each a dagger in my heart. My passion, my Ayam Golek, under attack. How will I pick up the pieces?

"What's wrong, Mama?" Aisyah asks, worry clouding her eyes.

"Just finish your homework," I reply, masking my pain with a smile. I'm her rock, after all.

As I glance around, I feel the prickle of judgmental stares. People avoid my Ayam Golek like the plague, their faces a blend of scorn and contempt. The loneliness stings, almost as much as the dwindling business.

In the heart of this storm, Aisyah embraces me. "Mama," she murmurs, a quiver in her voice.

One look at her phone, and I know she's seen the post. I draw her closer, smoothing her hair, stifling my own tears. But then, Aisyah looks up at me, her eyes filled with determination.

"Mama, let's pray. Didn’t you teach me that Allah helps the oppressed?" she says, radiating an innocent faith.

"Yes," I answer, choked. "Let's pray." We do, hands raised in dua. Our hearts are heavy, but not alone. With faith, we can endure.

𝐏𝐀𝐊 𝐀𝐋𝐈

The sun beats down relentlessly on my skin as I hurry towards my destination. I've always been a fast walker, and today's scorching heat is making me sweat buckets. But I'm on a mission - a mission to get my hands on some of the best Ayam Golek in town.

As I arrive at the vendor's stall, I'm taken aback by the sight of the woman and her daughter bowing their heads in prayer. I know better than to interrupt such a sacred moment, so I hang back and wait until they've finished.

"Assalamualaikum, Zainab," I say, once they've finished their dua.

"Waalaikumsalam," she replies, looking puzzled to see me again. "Can I help you, Pak Ali?"

"I need to buy more Ayam Golek," I say, my tone resolute.

"Okay," she says, her body language indicating that she's eager to get back to work. "How much do you want?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to say. "I want them all." My eyes meet hers, and I can tell she's taken aback by my boldness. But I'm not one to back down from a challenge, and I know that this is a chance I can't afford to miss.

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐀

As soon as I step inside the door, the scent of freshly baked kuih wafts towards me. I follow my nose to the kitchen, where I find Hani covered in a fine layer of flour, a grin plastered on her face.

"What are you doing?" I ask, trying to hide my amusement at her flour-covered cheeks.

"I'm trying to bake some kuih," she says, looking more than a little proud of herself.

But I have other plans for our Iftar this evening. "Forget about that," I say, my excitement evident. "We're going out to eat."

"Where?"

"Just get ready," I reply, eager to surprise her. "We'll figure out where to go later."

Hani wastes no time in dashing up the stairs to change her clothes, leaving behind a kitchen that looks like a flour bomb went off. I can't help but chuckle at the sight - my Hani may be all grown up, but she's still as adorable as ever.

𝐏𝐀𝐊 𝐀𝐋𝐈

I'm heaving and sweating as I make trip after trip from my car to my restaurant kitchen, lugging 29 containers of Ayam Golek behind me. My muscles ache, but I know I can't slow down. I need to reheat all of these chickens before the Iftar rush starts.

I'm proud of myself for thinking on my feet - I'll just resell these Ayam Golek to my hungry customers today. It's not ideal, but it'll have to do. As I carefully transfer each chicken to a plate, the tantalising aroma fills my nose, making my mouth water. These are good enough for now.

I'm crossing my fingers that my freezer gets fixed soon. If not, I'll just have to bite the bullet and buy a new one. It drives me nuts to look at all this spoiled and rotten meat. What a waste of resources!

My patrons may be a tad thrown off when they arrive at my joint and discover that I've got a completely new bill of fare for the day. So I need to do something to soften the blow a bit. I rummage through a pile of old boxes until I find one with a suitable flap. Grabbing a marker pen, I scrawl out a message in bold letters: SPECIAL MENU TODAY - AYAM GOLEK. Hopefully, that'll do the trick. Insyaallah.

𝐙𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐁

Bewilderment, joy, and gratitude all rush in as I wipe away tears. It's true - sometimes, Allah answers prayers at lightning speed. I can't make sense of Pak Ali's sudden purchase of my entire Ayam Golek inventory. He'd been in a rush, no explanations given. Yet the why matters less now. All I feel is thankfulness. My year-long labour of love in business flourishes today. Those belittling voices and the spiteful Facebook post dissolve into the background, God's kindness enveloping me.

The best part? I can now devote myself fully to Aisyah. She's been asking for help with her maths, and I sit next to her, engrossed in her focused attempts at the equations. It's hard seeing her grapple with division, especially those with remainders. And it strikes me how kids today are seldom encouraged to memorise their times tables.

And there's yet another blessing. Mak Ijah, upon hearing my Ayam Golek sold out, offers to let me sell her drinks and keep all the profits. I vividly remember her insistence - "Please, take it," she'd said, pushing past my protests. "I know this journey's been tough. And it's not for you, it's for Aisyah," she'd added with a playful nudge and a big laugh.

I watch Aisyah amidst the cacophony and the rich, smoky scents of the bazaar, Eid music from nearby stalls adding to the rhythm. I take a deep breath. A soft breeze strokes my face as if it's God Himself telling me things are going to be okay.

I can't be sure I'll fully recover from the blow of that hurtful Facebook post, but I trust in divine guidance to see me through this trying time. I can only stay strong and determined, doing everything for my precious Aisyah.

After all, Allah Al-Qayoom is the one who sustains all.

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐀

Well, this is no surprise - cars are crammed nose-to-tail on the road. I bet everyone's in the same boat as me: hungry Muslims chasing down a good meal to break their fast. I had grand plans for a fancy Iftar at Imago, but Hani insisted on a more humble, street-side setup. Anything for my girl.

Navigating the residential area, a homemade sign jumps out at me: SPECIAL MENU TODAY - AYAM GOLEK. I poke Hani, who's nose-deep in her phone, and point at the sign. Her joy practically bursts out when she sees it. She gives a little shriek of delight and beams at me. Check, mission accomplished. The next battle? Parking.

Eventually, a parking spot opens up. It's a bit of a march to Pak Ali's stall, but we can manage. Hani is hopping along, saying, "This is so cool! It's like a big adventure!" She holds my hand tight, a sweet reminder that she still needs a little coddling now and then. We reach the stall and find a spot to sit, the owner - a silver-bearded gentleman with a clean white kufi on his head - welcomes us with a smile.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," he says, "We only have Ayam Golek today. Is that okay?"

Hani and I share a laugh. Ayam Golek is exactly what she's been dreaming about for two days straight. "It's more than okay," I tell him, grinning wide.

𝐏𝐀𝐊 𝐀𝐋𝐈

SubhanAllah! The Ayam Golek is gone faster than a Rolling Stones’ ticket concert. A stellar Facebook review caused a crowd to descend on my place. I feel awful to break the news to those who arrive late that the chicken is all gone, but they're open to alternative meals like fried rice or noodles. I've learned you've got to be flexible in this business. Particularly today.

As the adhan rings out at 6.27 pm, my customers pause for a moment before digging into their meals. I have to admit, the Ayam Golek I got from Zainab is incredible. Customers, including a mom and her daughter, can't get enough of it, and I'm amazed by Zainab's culinary talent.

While scrolling through the viral Facebook praise for my 'Ayam Golek skills', guilt nags at me. I can't keep this up. So, I come clean in a comment, confessing that I bought the chicken from a local Ramadan bazaar, 'Ayam Golek Zainab', and will return to my regular menu due to an unfortunate freezer incident. I want my kids to understand honesty and hold themselves to it. I believe my confession won't harm my business. After all, my faith in Allah reassures me - He takes care of our needs.

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐀

"Ma, this Ayam Golek should be illegal!" Hani beams as we clear our plates. I agree, it's scrumptious. The chef's a wizard, turning even the driest white meat into juicy bites. With satiated bellies, we idle, watching the sunset, swapping stories, enjoying each other's company. As the stall's lights dim for Taraweeh prayers, my phone buzzes. A bolt from the blue - I've been replaced as an emcee for an event in two days. The text claims my Facebook post is to blame. The company rejects rumour-mongering hosts to uphold their image. My heart drops.

I dash to my Facebook and - 1k reactions, 125 shares! Swiftly, I hit delete, praying no screenshots lurk.

"Ma, let's go!" Hani prods, pulling me back to reality. Time to pay and leave.

"How much?" I ask the owner.

"No drinks, one chicken. RM33.90," he replies.

With an e-wallet transaction, we're off. I slide into the driver's seat, reflecting on the evening - a perfect dinner with Hani, marred by a last-minute career blow. Perhaps I'll stick with being a Grab driver and make ends meet with that income for now.

While I navigate the traffic, my mind keeps circling back to the stall I defamed. The chicken there is a steal at only RM28.90, yet I stupidly chose to pay Pak Ali RM5 more.

Well, what else can I say? It's karma, plain and simple.

Let’s just hope the stall lady's Ayam Golek tastes like garbage so I don't feel guilty about passing on hers.