By Dr Rahim Said
There are visits, and then there are gestures that quietly restore one’s faith in the human spirit.
In the fading glow of this year’s Hari Raya Aidilfitri, when most of us were still debating the merits of ketupat versus lemang or calculating the social return on open houses attended, a 99-year-old lady chose instead to show up where it truly mattered — at the bedside of an injured friend.
Siti Hasmah Mohamad Ali — Tun Dr Siti Hasmah to the nation, but perhaps simply “Hasmah” to those fortunate enough to know her warmth — made a quiet, unpublicised journey to visit her favourite crooner, Zakaria Kader, affectionately known as Pak Ya. This was no ceremonial call, no ribbon-cutting, no carefully staged photo opportunity. It was, in the purest sense, an act of kindness.
Zakaria, once a lively voice accompanying her violin performances, now lies immobilised — three neck fractures and a spinal injury have reduced a life of music to the stillness of a bed, attended around the clock by a nurse. It is the kind of cruel twist that reminds us how abruptly the music can stop.And yet, for one afternoon, the music returned.
Welcomed by old friends and family members, the room transformed from a space of convalescence into something far more alive.
The 99-year-old violinist, undeterred by age or circumstance, lifted her bow once more. What followed was not merely a performance; it was a reclamation of joy. About 10 songs filled the air, including a tender rendition of “Selamat Hari Raya,” carried not just by her violin but by a chorus of familiar voices — Zakaria himself, his daughters, his grandson — all weaving together something far more powerful than melody: presence.
There is a certain irony here — the kind that doesn’t need to be announced loudly. In a world where youth is worshipped, and relevance is often measured in trending hashtags, it took a nonagenarian to remind us what relevance actually looks like. Not visibility, but compassion. Not spectacle, but sincerity.
And just when the afternoon could not have grown more poignant, Tun Siti Hasmah did what truly humane people do — she thought ahead. Before leaving, she suggested organising a show to raise funds to help Zakaria stay afloat.
Not pity. Not charity in its most performative sense. But dignity, sustained through community.
Her husband, Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad, may be remembered for his towering political legacy, for better or worse, depending on which side of history one prefers. But in that quiet room, none of that mattered. What mattered was that his wife — at 99 — still understands something profoundly simple: that power fades, titles fade, but kindness, when exercised with intent, endures.
In the end, perhaps that is the real performance worth applauding. No stage. No spotlight.
Just a violin, a wounded singer, and a woman who showed up. As a footnote, perhaps this is where charity organisations like Yayasan Salam Malaysia may want to step in to offer a helping hand to Pak Ya by holding an event to raise funds for his medical expenses.
WE