The Old Malay Gentleman and the Sikh Army Captain.

(First posted in my FB on 28 Sept. 2021)

The gentle, respectful, smiling Malay gentleman and woman is no more. Where is Tunku? Hussein Onn, The two Tun Ismail - one Rahman the DPM and the other Ali of Bank Negara, Professor Ungku Aziz, Abdul Rahman Talib, Aziz Ishak? Our first YDPA Tuanku Abdul Rahman? And the Malay ladies, Puan Sharifah Rodziah, Azah Aziz, the two sisters Rahah and Suhailah and Endon Ambak? No more.

How they all carried themselves in private and public, and the respect and reverence they deservedly earned are today, the stuff of legends, for, mark my words, we will be not have their likes walk this part of our earth again for a long time to come.

If I may be so bold, may I share with you a tale about one of these Malay gentlemen? My late father, Hamid Latiff.

In the early 1960s, my father was Chief Police Officer of Pahang. In that era, save for the Sultan and the MB, in my mind, arguably, I thought my father was then number three. Of course at that time of my life, I did not know about Datos, YBs, and all the other entitled people to whom my father had to pay homage too…but that is a story for another day.

Our house was about 50 yards from the South China Sea sited along the road to the Old VIP Rest House and located beside the Istana of one of the then Sultan Abu Bakar wives. Which wife, I cannot recall, but it was during the time when the Sultan was with Mariam Menando, the love of his life, and Sultan Abu Bakar did not have much time to visit his other wives…nudge nudge wink wink.

As usual, after my father came home from work, had his shower, put on his sarong and singlet, he and my mother would sit on the verandah having tea with goring pisang or curry puffs, enjoying the South China Sea breeze. We children left the two of them to enjoy each other’s company. It was their time together.

On this day, we saw a car being driven erratically, stop-go, stop-go, weaving on the road, heading towards our driveway. As expected, the car was driven into the only lamp post located in front of our house. Not into the drain, not into the fence, not into the gate which was all much bigger, larger, and easier to drive into, but into the lamp post which must have been, at best, only 3-inch wide in diameter!

Crashed!

By this time we, the children, were all on the verandah watching everything happening with a mixture of amazement and nervous laughter. Then this obviously drunk…maybe tipsy would be a more appropriate word…this tipsy Sikh, in army uniform, clambered out of the car and began to inspect the damage to his car and to the lamppost, oblivious to anything else.

My father got up, walked down the stairs, and went to the tipsy but happy Sikh Army officer and asked for his ID card. He turned to my father, drew himself up to his full height, and while trying to stand up straight as any Army Officer would do when asked to identify himself, looked disdainfully at my father and said "What authority do you have to ask for my ID?”

My father is a no-nonsense guy. He was not amused. He turned around and went into the house, picked up the phone and within five mins two Land Rovers with eight mata mata, arrived. My father turned to the Army Officer and said “This is my authority” and the Army Captain and his car, within minutes were gone from the driveway of our house. The car towed to God knows where and the Army Captain off to spend the night in a Cell to sober up.

The next day, at precisely the same time, that he had arrived at our house the day before, tipsy, the same Sikh Army Captain arrived at our house in a crisp clean uniform. Of course, my father and mother were on the verandah having their tea. He walked up to my father, saluted, and apologized for the ‘incident yesterday evening’.

My father saluted back, called out to me to bring out another rattan armchairs onto the verandah and another cup..…and the last I saw of them was the two of them, with my mother watching on, talking away as if they had known each other from school days.

Such was life then, in the 1960s. A Malay gentleman, his wife, and a Sikh Army Captain having tea on the verandah enjoying the sea breeze. We were all Malaysians then.

Hussein Hamid.

20th February 2022

Melbourne.