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The Concert That Never Happened for Tun Dr. Hasmah
By Mihar Dias October 2026
There are some concerts that are remembered because they were spectacular.
And then there are concerts that are remembered because they never happened.
This may be one of them.
Last April, the late Tun Dr Siti Hasmah Mohamad Ali visited my old classmate, Pak Ya, an 80-year-old crooner who, despite his age, apparently still believes that retirement is something that happens to other people.
They sang together.
She played the violin.
And, she sang with him to her heart's content. But most of all she enjoyed playing her violin while Pak Ya sang like they used to in earlier concerts.
It was not a state occasion. There were no grand speeches, no rows of dignitaries, no photographers strategically positioned to capture history in the making.
Just two old friends, music, memories and the uncomplicated pleasure of making music together. In Pak Ya's living room.
Before she left, they agreed to meet again in October.
There was a purpose.
They would plan a charity concert to raise funds to help Pak Ya with his medical expenses.
Pak Ya had apparently taken the assignment seriously.
He prepared a song list. He worked on a programme. He thought about possible venues.
October was going to be the month when the two old friends would get together again and turn a friendship into music — and music into charity.
Then October arrived without her.
Pak Ya told me about their planned meeting almost half in tears.
He had prepared everything.
Except for the one thing nobody can prepare for.
An empty chair.
There is something particularly cruel about unfinished plans. We can accept the end of a life. What is harder to accept are the little appointments left behind — the dinner that was never eaten, the telephone call that was never made, the holiday that was never taken, the song that was never sung.
This was supposed to be a concert.
Perhaps it still can be.
So here is a slightly audacious suggestion.
Why not hold the concert anyway?
Not as an attempt to replace Tun Hasmah. Nobody could.
And certainly not as one of those solemn memorial events where everybody dresses appropriately, says appropriately sad things and goes home feeling that a committee has successfully commemorated someone.
Let us do something much more appropriate.
Let us make music.
Find another aspiring violinist — someone young enough to remind us that music, like life, is supposed to continue.
Invite a few singers.
Perhaps some of Pak Ya's old friends.
Perhaps some young musicians who were not even born when these two musicians were making their own memories.
And let Pak Ya sing the songs he had already chosen.
Call it a charity concert in "Memory of Tun Hasmah."
But don't make the memory mournful.
Make it joyful.
Because if the last thing she did with Pak Ya was pick up a violin and sing to her heart's content, perhaps the best tribute to her is not another speech about what a wonderful person she was.
It is to pick up the violin again.
There is also something rather fitting about the proceeds going to a charity of her choice — particularly a cause associated with the kind of compassion and service with which she was publicly associated.
The details can be worked out.
The venue can be found.
Musicians can be recruited.
Sponsors can be approached.
And I suspect that if the story gets around, there will be people who would gladly contribute their talent, their time or their money.
Perhaps even some who cannot sing.
They can always buy a ticket.
Indeed, that may be the safest contribution.
The beauty of charity concerts is that nobody has to be a professional philanthropist.
You pay for a ticket, listen to music, perhaps shed a tear or two, and leave knowing that your evening has helped somebody else.
And perhaps somewhere in the programme there could be a chair left empty.
Not as a symbol of sadness.
As a reminder.
A reminder that Tun Hasmah was supposed to be there.
A reminder of the promise she made to an old friend.
A reminder that some appointments cannot be kept — but the spirit behind them can.
Pak Ya had prepared his songs for October.
Perhaps we should let him sing them.
And perhaps, somewhere between the first violin note and the final applause, we might imagine that an old fruend has kept her appointment after all.
Only this time, she is listening.
Mihar Dias (mihardias@gmail.com) is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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