Every year, about a month after the chaos of Lebaran has passed, the Timekeeper commemorates the passing of loved ones in a ceremony called "Haul" - cryptic Arabic for Annuum.
For the occasion, he clears his stock of cookies, piled throughout the year and sorts them in small goodie-bags, later to be given out to those who attend the ceremony.
Tonight, as we sat sorting through a bottomless pile of Danish cookies, he told us of a year when he was short on supplies, and he went to his father's resting place to consult.
"I'm out of cookies, sir," said the Timekeeper.
His father raised an eyebrow, waved a dismissive arm, and said the typical thing: "Are you making excuses, son?"
"That year," the Timekeeper said, "was the year when everyone received a goodie-bag."
I sniggered under my breath at the end of the story. How convenient would it be if the dead could be consulted, seen and be sending cookies?
Also, how comforting it must be if true and that death is merely a rite.
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