TALE OF MANZUR CAPATI
One of Alor Star’s most popular haunts is one man’s enduring legacy, writes Alan Teh Leam Seng
“MANZUR, you forgot to charge those customers. Do you want me to go after them?” a burly Malay man, obviously a regular, exclaims loudly after noticing a couple leaving without making payment.
His rather loud remark catches everyone’s attention, including that of the sole proprietor of Manzur Capati, Manzur Zainul Abidin. The smartly dressed man, who wouldn’t look out of place in an office, looks up and smiles calmly.
His voice low, he replies: “I gave the food for free because I found out that they don’t have money even for a decent meal.”
Silence greets his reply but there’s a look of utmost admiration on the faces of the diners there for his kind gesture.
The shop, aptly named Manzur Capati, is located directly behind Alor Star’s old General Post Office. It’s exactly 4pm and the place is just a shadow of itself compared to the bustle of lunch time.
With just an hour to go before closing time, I take my place in the queue. Thanks to the rather sizeable work force, service is quick and efficient.
With just two more people in front, I mentally prepare my order. The chickenbased dishes here are the most popular and with six different versions available, Manzur’s customers are certainly spoilt for choice.
My favourite is the ayam kampung (free range chicken), which is slow-cooked in a delightful mix of aromatic spices and curry powder.
“Kari ayam kampung, acar campur (mixed pickled vegetables), daging hitam (beef cooked in dark sauce) dan teh o ais limau (ice lemon tea),” repeats Manzur when I eventually give him my order.
Noticing that I’m the last in the queue, he slows down his otherwise hectic pace at the capati counter and takes some time off to chat.
LIFE PRINCIPLES
Our conversation inevitably returns to his earlier act of generosity. The 58-yearold’s eyes light up as he confides: “Money isn’t everything in this world. We come with nothing and will one day leave that same way too. So the quest for financial gain will never usurp the warm and personal relationship I enjoy with all my customers.”
The sudden arrival of a group of people prompts me to make way for Manzur to resume his work. There’s ample seating available and I find myself at a choice spot under a fast whirring fan.
As always, the quality of the food served here has remained consistent over the years. This comes as no surprise as I’ve noticed Manzur taking regular trips to the kitchen at the back to ensure that his chefs remain true to his time-tested cooking techniques.
“Why are you so late today? You usually come very early to beat the lunch time crowd,” he quips, appearing in front of me half an hour later. Setting aside his apron, he sits down at the stainless steel table directly across me.
He lets out a little chuckle when I reply: “My assignment in Sungai Petani ended later than expected. The option of having a late lunch there didn’t seem as attractive as the prospect of enjoying your food here.”
My suspicion that Manzur is done for the day is proven correct when his cleaning staff start hauling the empty aluminium basins and other serving utensils to the washing area at the back. I’ve always wanted to know more about this man whom many in Alor Star turn to for lunch and this seems as good a time as any.
Manzur turns his gaze to the fruit stalls in the distance the moment I pose him the question. He pauses to recollect his thoughts and draws a deep breath before taking me back to the time when the shop’s founder, Abdul Muthalif Mastan Rawther, first arrived after an arduous ocean voyage from South India in the early 1940s.
An Indian Muslim, Abdul Muthalif made a living in Alor Star selling capati, a type of unleavened flatbread that is a staple back in his home country. He plied the streets around Pekan Melayu, Pekan Cina and even ventured into Jalan Langgar to sell his speciality, which was served with a choice of mutton kurma or tripe curry.
News of the impending arrival of the Japanese Imperial Army in December 1941 greatly unsettled Abdul Muthalif. He packed his bags and secured a passage back to India, where he waited until the British returned four years later.
Abdul Muthalif came back to Kedah at the end of 1945 and settled first at Kepala Batas, where he operated a sundry shop, before moving a little further up north to Napoh several years later to venture into the coffee shop business.
In the evenings, he gathered village
youths in the compound of the village mosque and taught them the ancient Indian weapon-based martial art called Silambam.
Despite leading a contented and fulfilling life in Napoh, Abdul Muthalif always harboured the hope of returning to Alor Star. A little more than a decade later, Malaya was at the cusp of independence and Abdul Muthalif felt that he’d be better off at the Kedah capital once nationhood became a reality.
Manzur suddenly stops talking when the muezzin at the mosque next door, Masjid Nagore, starts reciting the Asar prayers. Obviously a very pious man, he closes his eyes and starts reciting inaudible words by heart. I take advantage of the time to quietly finish the remainder of my meal that still tastes good even though it has gone a bit cold.
MORE NEW DISHES
“Do you want more food?” Manzur suddenly asks. “We still have some ayam piru
(turkey) set aside to take home and you’re welcome to try some if you like,” he offers before explaining that turkey and goose curry dishes are only served on Thursdays. I stare at Manzur with disbelief. After frequenting his establishment for more than a decade, I never knew that such dishes existed. I nod excitedly, thanking him for his suggestion.
After placing the order, Manzur resumes his tale. “His exploits in Kepala Batas and Napoh taught Abdul Muthalif the virtues of selecting a permanent location to run his business. His days of peddling food from place to place was over. He scoured the length of Alor Star when he came back in 1957 and finally decided on this very place where we’re sitting today.”
A PERMANENT HOME
When asked for the reasons behind the choice, Manzur merely gestures towards the two imposing buildings across the street and says: “Back then, this place was considered the town centre. It was bustling with people who frequented the General Post Office and Telekom’s main building. Abdul Muthalif was assured of a constant stream of customers.”
Furthermore, Abdul Muthalif could just walk over to Masjid Nagore for his daily prayers and resume his Silambam classes there in the evenings. Over time, his fame grew in tandem with his burgeoning number of disciples. Since then, everyone in Alor Star started calling him (great teacher).
Operating his stall from 10am until late into the night, the enterprising man continued to sell his popular capati while offering a more varied list of dishes which included dhal gravy, mixed vegetables, mutton, beef and chicken curry.
Within a matter of weeks, Abdul Muthalif’s former customers got wind of his return and turned up at his shop in droves.
“I was born in 1960. My parents, Zainul Abidin Kader Rawther and Aisyah Beevi, lived in Sungai Petani at that time and I spent most of my early childhood there. Life was tough for our family and by the time I was 9, my father brought me to Alor Star to live with Abdul Muthalif who was actually my god father,” continues Manzur.
I listen in rapt attention when Manzur confides how he walked for more than two kilometres from his school, Sekolah Kebangsaan Tunku Abdul Halim in mahaguru Kampung Perak, to the shop each afternoon to help out with chores. Apart from serving customers, Manzur also helped in the kitchen. Within two short years, he became the most competent among all the helping staff and won Abdul Muthalif’s favour.
Manzur’s life-changing moment came in 1971 when Abdul Muthalif passed over the reins of the shop to him before moving to Caracas, Vanezuela, to introduce Silambam to the South Americans.
Despite having added responsibilities, Manzur successfully juggled his time between studies and work. In 1978, he completed his Malaysian Certificate of Education (MCE) and decided to fully concentrate on the shop instead of furthering his studies.
TIME OF UNCERTAINTY
Three years later, Manzur Capati was forced to move as the Town Council wanted to develop the ramshackle row of fruits stalls nearby into a modern multi-storey complex. Manzur left with a heavy heart, thinking that he’d failed Abdul Muthalif for abandoning their choice location.
In 1981, Manzur took up temporary residence at a narrow side street in Jalan Sultan Badlishah. He considered the location ideal as it was sandwiched between the OCBC Bank building and Tai Sin Pawn Shop, two important financial and money lending institutions at that time. Furthermore, the famous Pekan Rabu was just across the road.
A few years later, however, Manzur was once again forced to pack up. That time, he approached a coffee shop owner at 27, Jalan Langgar and rented part of the premises for his stall. That location was equally strategic as it shared the same row as Sin Kwong General Merchants and Cloth Retailers (15, Jalan Langgar) as well as Kiet Loong Goldsmith (1, Jalan Langgar). Furthermore, UOB and the Chartered Bank were just across the road.
RETURN HOME
Life came a full circle for Manzur in 1991 when he received news that the shop’s original location was once again vacant. He dropped everything and rushed to the Town Council (by then known as Majlis Perbandaran Alor Star) and successfully secured the tenancy. Within a month, Manzur Capati was home once again.
“And that’s my life story,” says Manzur with finality as I look at him in awe. Here, in front of me, is a man who has gone through so much hardship and suffered the trials and tribulations of life but still manages to remain generous and caring to his fellow man.
Manzur waves to two handsome young men standing within earshot when I ask him about the future. “These are my sons, Muhd Aqram Zaki Manzur and Mohammad Ershad Syafiq Manzur. They are the future. As for me, I’m contented to remain here and continue to give the best to my customers,” confides Manzur proudly.
Before leaving, I spend some time chatting with the lads. Muhd Aqram Zaki, who holds a chemical engineering degree, helps out temporarily while waiting to further his studies in business administration. Meanwhile, his younger brother is at the shop on a full-time basis.
On their ambitions, both of them harbour the hope of introducing Manzur Capati to other parts of Malaysia. Showing signs of prudence, the lads express their willingness to learn as much as possible from their father first.
“If we do eventually venture out on our own, we have to ensure that the food quality and consistency are the same as the ones here,” adds Mohammad Ershad Syafiq.
Their comments augur well for the future of Manzur’s establishment. In time to come, Malaysians throughout the country will surely get the opportunity to taste Manzur Capati’s amazing culinary tradition.