Sepiring Nasi untuk Berdua: Ajip Rosidi dan Soekanto SA
Oleh: Santi Soekanto
Salam buat semua,
Beberapa waktu lalu saya diminta seorang pengurus Asosiasi Indonesia-
Prancis "Pasar Malam" untuk menulis sebuah double portraits tentang
Soekanto SA dan Ajip Rosidi - yang memang bersahabat sejak masih
sangat muda - untuk newsletter mereka, Le Banian.
Ayah saya, Soekanto SA, menulis tentang persahabatannya dengan Ajip
dalam bahasa Indonesia (yang kemudian saya Inggriskan), sementara
saya menulis tentang Soekanto SA dalam bahasa Inggris. Johanna
Lederer dari "Pasar Malam" di Paris lalu mengalih-bahasakan
seluruhnya ke dalam bahasa Prancis.
Saya post di sini, kisah persahabatan Soekanto SA dan Ajip Rosidi,
dalam bahasa Inggris, barangkali teman-teman berminat membacanya.
Salam hangat
---------
Ajip Rosidi and Soekanto SA, Together and Alone
Introduction:
Ajip Rosidi and Soekanto SA are authors with a long record
of impressive achievements. Both are recipients of many literary
awards. Soekanto (now 75), for instance, received in January 20,
2006, the Hadiah Kebudayaan from the Education Ministry for his
lifetime dedication for children literature. Ajip has never ceased
to be a wunderkind and has too many awards to be counted.
One of the most interesting facts about them is that they
met each other decades ago, when Ajip was 15 and Soekanto 21, and
became friends when everybody was poor and they had to share a dish
of rice. Over the years their friendship grew into one that is not
exactly comfortable, but nevertheless has withstood the test of time
and distance. Soekanto is often irritated by Ajip whose manner of
speaking is curt and testy; the last time they during the funeral of
Ajip's younger brother Ajat Rochaedy in February 2006, Ajip appeared
to be offhand and short with Soekanto. Yet, they continue their
correspondence and Soekanto often misses Ajip.
Ajip is a wunderkind who works in both Indonesian language
and his mother tounge of Sundanese dialect - his genius sets him
apart from many people. Soekanto has always stood apart from the
other literary figures, even fellow writers of children books,
because he was never able to share their lifestyle. His deep bond
with his writer wife, the late Surtiningsih WT, and his many
children as well as the shackle of poverty that befriended him for
as long as he could remember, represents his exile.
The two thus share something more than mere friendship - they both have
survived their own exile.
The following are two portraits of the senior authors. The
first is a profile of Ajip, written by Soekanto, while the second is
a portrait of Soekanto written by his journalist daughter, Santi
Soekanto.
....
Ajip Rosidi, the Wunderkind
By Soekanto SA
This is what any old writing about Ajip Rosidi would say:
that he's a great literary figure. Born in Jatiwangi, Majalengka,
West Java on 31 January 1938, he has penned more than 100 books of
poetry, drama, short stories, biographies, essays, and memoirs. He
works in both Sundanese and Indonesian language. Between 1981 and
2003, he taught the Indonesian language and culture in Osaka and
Kyoto. He now lives in Pabelan, Magelang, Central Java, in an
Islamic boarding school run by his children.
I remember him when he was 15, still wearing his shorts. He
was on the third year of the SMP 8 (Junior High School) on Jalan
Pegangsaan Barat No. 14, whose headmistress was Ibu Sugiharti. Ibu
Sugi's husband, Pak Darmawan, died when he fell off a kecapi tree.
It was Ibu Sugi who decreed that Ajip be appointed the
editor of Suluh Pelajar magazine then being printed by the
prestigious Balai Pustaka publishing house. This was how Ajip then
got to know the contemporary leading literary figures such as
Achdiat Kartamihardja, Saleh Sastrawinata and Idrus. Ajip's poetry
and short stories were already published in Kisah, Siasat, Mimbar
Indonesia, Pantja Raya (Balai Pustaka).
Ajip was one cocky youngster, then, who addressed the much
older friends without so much as a nicety of "Pak" or "Mas." He
called HB Jassin, the Pope of Indonesian Literature, simply "Sin!"
and he called the others simply "Drus" or "Leh" or "Achdiat." So of
course he did not have the patience for any niceties for people who
were closer to him in age, including myself (Soekanto, who was 21 at
the time and had had my work published by Kisah), Riyono Pratikto
(also 21), WS Rendra and Moeljanto DS.
With the younger friends, however, Ajip shared more fun
time. Together they would come to my workplace at the post office at
around 2 PM, waiting for me to finish work and accompany them for a
stroll. Because of my work, I knew which of the budding writers had
just sent their work to HB Jassin's Mimbar Indonesia or Sudjati SA's
Kisah.
A bunch of us - Kanto, Ajip, (SM) Ardans, Ryono - once went
to Jatiwangi, Ajip's birthplace. Sobron Aidit came too. We had a
skinny dip in the river and Ryono took our pictures. But the Haj-
Tjoen photo studio on Tanahnyonya, Senen, refused to print pictures
of us in the nude.
Other times, Ajip would jump on his Hercules bike - which
featured on one of his short stories - and visit me at my house in
Bendungan Jago area where my mother ran a small convenience shop.
Time was hard then, my mother divided the rice that she cooked into
five plates for her four children and herself. Ajip would then share
my plate.
I remember once I stayed the night at Ajip's place, which was a shed
behind the bicycle shed of a school. Ajip suddenly became
excited because he had just gotten an inspiration for a short story
after the telephone rang.
"I have just struck a deal with the devil," he gushed. The
outcome of this was a short story published by Kisah that was good
enough to be featured in HB Jassin's Sorotan feature. The story soon
became a source of contention among many, as some accused Ajip of
plagiarism. I defended him because I knew first hand the creative
process that gave birth to it.
In 1955, Ajip dropped a bombshell announcing that he was
getting married. He was only 17. His bride to be was Fatimah (known
fondly as Empat), the daughter of his landlady on Jalan Rasamulya. I
remember the wedding, and Empat's mother who pinned a small pouch on
her left waist for the "buwuh" or money gifts from guests. When Ajip
and his bride went to Jatiwangi for the ceremony of "ngunduh" by
which his parents welcome Empat into their family, he asked me to
house-sit. I got to sleep in the matrimonial bed - which also
featured on his short story "Bernaung di Atap Biru" that was
published in Siasat/Gelanggang.
On 26 August 2005, Ajip and Empat celebrated their golden
anniversary at the Yayasan Pusat Kebudayaan building in Naripan,
Bandung, which Ajip often visits whenever he is in town. I was there
too.
....
Soekanto SA Poor and Proud
By Santi Soekanto
Dozens of people, some famous faces, were already mingling
in a hall of the Taman Ismail Marzuki when my dad and I arrived that
evening a long time ago. I kept my head down and deliberately walked
behind him as he tried to find seats for us. Seconds later, a long-
haired artsy guy intercepted my dad and greeted him thus, "Hi Kanto,
is this new wife?"
I wished the earth would open up and swallow me when I heard
bursts of laughter from some people nearest to where we were
standing. My dad's brief smile bore the same mark of feelings of
unease that I had been fighting since I agreed to my mom's request
that I take her place to accompany Dad to that reception for the
literary circle. I was only 15 and a first year student at a local
Senior High School.
Dad turned to me and said. "This is my daughter. She is
already writing short stories. Santi, this is Oom Rendra."
Of course I knew he was Rendra even without being told. Just
as I knew there were Taufik Ismail, Wing Kardjo, Ajip Rosidi,
Sutardjo Calzum Bachri and many other big names in the literary
circle of Jakarta in that particular gathering. I had read their
work since I was very young, but much as I admired them, I was never
in awe of them.
May be it was because some of those names were often guests
at my parents' house. May be it was because I took my cue from my
own parents who were friendly with the artsy folk but were never
comfortable being around them.
For as long as I can remember, my dad and mom (the late
Surtiningsih WT who produced dozens of children books and a number
of novels) did not exactly fit in. I used to wonder why. Much, much
later I began to know my parents well and understand what set them
apart from their literary friends. Chief among the causes was
lifestyle.
My father has always been poor and hard working - he remembers the
hours of menial job he had to do such as cleaning up
rich relatives' home in order to survive and remain in school. He
remembers having to share more than just meals with his siblings and
even friends such as Ajip Rosidi. He knew he would not be rich when
he decided to become a writer.
When in the 1970s the government created programs to
encourage literary developments and purchase books from writers to
be distributed to schools, he and mom made a lot of money that all
of the sudden they could afford to buy a house. But still my dad
appeared like a poor man, his discomfort when mingling with the
famous and wealthy literary figures remained obvious.
When at last a series of family troubles, such as my
brother's mental sickness, drained whatever savings they had
accumulated, I suspected Dad felt as if he was finally coming home.
I remember countless nights when the house was asleep and my dad
sitting up until the early hours to work on story after story on his
typewriter. I would get up and approach him startled, he would
stop working and give me a quick hug before telling me to return to
bed.
Years later, when I had earnestly followed on his and my
mom's footsteps and become a fiction writer, Dad and I would both
stay up working on a typewriter each. Somehow, even after pooling
our entire honorarium, there was never enough money for my parents,
my maternal granny and the seven children. My parents had to borrow
money from friends so often and "sell stories" in order for us to
remain in school. The interesting thing is this: we might have been
unable to purchase the latest fashion, we did not have money to go
to the zoo or other fun places, but we had the best books which were
often expensive.
"I am probably destined to be poor," he mused one day.
"It's probably for the best," my mom would add. "If we had
been rich, you kids would all have been spoiled rotten dabbling in
drugs and getting expelled. But because our family is poor, you have
learned to value hard work and really excel in any field that you
chose, you become close to one another too."
"Ah, go on, you're just miskin tapi sombong, poor but
proud!" we kids would tease them then. I understand now that my poor
father simply could not share the same lifestyle that some of the
famous literary names enjoyed, because he was poor but also because
of his dedication to my mom and us. He preferred to spend time with
us than with his friends. In this sense, my parents were exiles.
His deepening interest in religion in both his personal and
professional lives was another factor that may have contributed to
his feelings of unease when in gatherings of friends. Spirituality
ran through most of his 500 short stories and 30 books. Sometimes he
was preachy, but more often he was reflective and lured his young
readers into deep thinking. My dad abhors frivolity life is too
short, he would say because my mom was clear on that ("No member
of this family would waste time, not even you!" she would point a
finger at my dad).
In 1980, then chairman of the Association of Indonesian
Journalists (PWI) Harmoko (who later became minister of information)
picked my dad to be a recipient of the hajj fund for journalists.
The journey strengthened his resolve to write a biography of Prophet
Muhammad for children.
It took him close to 20 years of heavy reading and countless
hours of reflection before he could finally sit at his typewriter
and work on the biography. Ajip Rosidi gave him a monthly stipend of
Rp 750,000 for the six months it took him to complete the manuscript
of Wahai Kekasih Allah (O Beloved of Allah). A warm gathering of
friends on 18 December 2000 marked his 70th birthday and the
launching of that book at the HB Jassin Center of Literature
Documentation.
The Prophet's biography was the only one of his books that
took that long to complete, but I remember that hard work and
serious research was the hallmark of his work. When in the 1970s he
wrote Si Pitung-We Die but Once we had countless visitors from among
the Betawi people whom my dad interviewed to give him a feel of the
old days of Batavia when the Dutch colonial troops were hunting down
the local legendary hero with gold bullets. It was with the same
intensity that he worked on his books about another Jakartan hero,
MH Thamrin (Matahari Jakarta), and the "father of the army,"
Jenderal Sudirman (Perjalanan Bersahaja). An Islamic outlook became
the vein that ran through those books.
Soeharto's New Order was oppressive toward Muslim and there
were times when people were ashamed to be Muslim. My father became
religious when it was not hip to be so. I suspect this contributed
further to his feeling of alienation from his contemporary.
On December 18, 2005, my dad celebrated his 75th birthday
without my mom. Her death on 3 May 2005 dealt him the most severe
blow of his life ("I can't get used to living without Ibu, not after
49 years together!")
For the first time in many years, he was lonely and tried to
track down old friends such as Riyono Pratikto (he was broken
hearted when he recently found out that Riyono had passed away last
October).
Sometimes he came back from those reunions light hearted,
more often he was disappointed. One of the major disappointments for
him was his last meeting recently with one of his oldest friends,
Ajip Rosidi, because he suddenly discovered that they no longer had
anything in common. They no longer see eye to eye. "What's
important for me is no longer important for him too," he told
me. "We have diverged and become very different."
Now my dad spends the greatest chunk of his time playing
with his grandchildren, visiting my mom's grave, and writing his
diary. He is planning yet another book, another hajj, for when he is
80. "I only wish to do as much good as possible so Allah will find
me good enough to go to jannah (paradise) and be reunited with my
beloved," he said.
Sumber: milis SI KUNCUNG
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