THE definitive years. It best describes the Big School stretch of our college life. Major stretch. For it was here, from Form II to Lower VI, that our lives were taking shape. From the innocence of boyhood to the threshold of manliness and wisdom. Moving from the Prep School dorms where we were closet for one whole year in Form I, the Big School was like one huge ocean where we had to fend for ourselves in many areas. In Forms II and III we were allocated dorms on the overfloor, after which we would move to the East and West Wings from Form IV to Lower VI. The bell ruled our lives. It rang to wake us up, it rang to tell us breakfast was ready, it rang again and again - for snack time, lunch, tea, games, dinner and lights out. Sometimes the bell rang loud and long for no apparent reason. We were in the thick of the Wonder Years - the growing-up period, learning right from wrong, though some of us preferred to venture into the wrongs in order to appreciate what was right. After all, we were exposed to news about rebellious youths in the West, the generation gap and anti-war protests. Some started smoking, some sneaked-in nude magazines, some learnt to swear, some tried to tuang class for the sake of it while some simply loved to break school rules and be sent to detention.

                     The Big School, especially the main section, was an old building. And being so, we had to deal with things that came with an old building. The toilets were huge, divided into small cubicles for shower and for lavatory uses. During peak periods, especially before breakfast and after games, everyone would be lining up to get a shower. They would place their soap boxes on the floor-ledge of the cubicle to indicate their bookings. But most of the time, due to high demand, water pressure would be despairingly low during this period, causing some to miss their bath completely as dinner at 7.30pm was compulsory. The other aspect of the old building that we had to live with was the creepiness of the whole place. If you had to go to the toilet late in the night, you would have your hair standing on ends. There were many stories -- about faceless figures, the Green Lady, trudging footsteps and Japanese soldiers -- making their rounds but none actually could be properly verified. Every corner of the Big School held its significance, even the squash courts, the old dilapidated swimming pool, the dojo, the Eaton Fives court, the gelanggang silat and even the store rooms. It was like, they would have many stories to tell on their own if they could talk. Despite the little mischiefs that came unto some of us at times, we upheld discipline. Tidiness and orderliness were imbued in us. For instance, if we did not make up our beds properly or if one's bed area was untidy we would be sent to detention. Hanging our clothes or towels on the front balconies was a big no-no. We were not allowed to take a short cut and walk across the field in our many daily migrations to the New School and back. Yes, many stories still lie within the walls of this grand old dame as it lives on with its loyal companion, the Bg Tree.

                    I was a quiet boy at MCKK, in fact CK called me a quiet boy. To overcome my shyness, I always smiled and hence some called me Smilo.

                     It was after Form V that I started to get over my shyness through being with friends like TK, DSN, Chonet to name a few. With TK and DSN, we formed a local band in Alor Star and performed at Pesta Kedah.

                     Hitch-hiking was a common thing then and I remember doing that with TK and DSN just to watch the movie Love Story in Penang. Accommodation was at Chonet’s whose father was the State Secretary there at that time. In fact we had the privilege of staying in one of the state’s beach houses, courtesy of the SS on one occasion.

                     Chonet had always been a good host even at his house in Section 14, PJ near Trebor. We stayed there many nights and went out wearing the old British army jacket decorated with flags of different countries. Getting around was by bus and you can imagine the attention that we attracted, not to mention the heat that we endured in the attire. By the way, the small flags pasted on our jackets were purchased at Robinson’s. TK perhaps had a nicely decorated jacket and I wish I still have mine. They were purchased at Pekan Rabu Alor Star.

                     I had my first taste of hot dogs at the PJ Lake Gardens, again courtesy of our host Chonet. Section 14 became our base and from there, we moved around including being chauffeur-driven in a Merc to Bok’s house in Port Kelang to be entertained through his vast collection of movies.

                     Other forms of entertainment included the tea dance events at the basement near Cold Storage in PJ, with the familiar voice of Nik Azmi sometimes singing ‘Imagine’ there. These were friends and events that I regard as helping me overcome my inferiority complex in college. As you know, MCKK was for the haves then and the have-not’s like me from a kampung, felt very inferior indeed. All I could do was smile as I had a poor command of English and was always pokai, surviving on the Federal Minor Scholarship from Che Rubian.

                     Games and music perhaps helped me survive. And friends of course.

Mischiefs went a long way, literally, during the Big School years ... some stretching all the way to Penang. Yes, that was the stunt pulled by this small group on a few occasions. They skipped classes, sneaked to the railway station, took the morning train to Penang, shopped and came back by the evening train.

                    Whoa, that sounds like a real escapade indeed, like in the Hollywood movies. But, names withheld, it did happen.

                    "We got some money one day and wished to buy jeans and shoes, at that time only available in Penang," confessed this chap. "So we executed our plan by taking the morning railcar to Penang."

                    They came back with Clark boots, football boots, shirts and jeans, some bought on behalf of friends left behind waiting.

                    Indeed, Budak Kolet those days were quite conscious about trends and brands. They would only wear Gem shorts for games and this brand was only available at a particular sports store on Penang Road. Jeans in demand were those of Levi's and Lee while shirts were from the Norseman, Spaceman, Arrow labels. Clarks shoes were a fad and all of the above were only available in Penang. Hence the above escapade.

I arrived in college 44 years ago from a small village in Selangor. Actually, I had high hopes of being able to enter college with my good results in LCE. Receiving the offer letter from college was therefore a happy occasion. However, I was one of the late entries to Form IV in that memorable year of 1970.

                    Being amongst the last person to enter Form IV, I was the favourite target of ‘ragging’, sometimes by my classmates, the fiercest (at least to me) being Azmy Abdul Rahman. Despite his small size, I used to fear him in college. Amongst the ‘ragging’ which stood out in my memory was being forced to crawl under the beds in the dormitory. I hated the nickname they gave me (Ah Eng). Fortunately for me, I had a cousin who was in Form V then, to whom I always consoled in.

                    In college, I was not good in sports although I did join the rugby training. Running up and down the hill at Bukit Chandan was tough. Being a kaki bangku and asthmatic, naturally I stood little chance of being a college player, always envying those smart athletes who represented college. So during most of Form IV, I was amongst the spectators, cheering the college players. Naturally, I turned to studies to occupy most of my time.

                    Despite not being good in games, life in college was enjoyable to me. The swimming trips to Taiping were fun, especially with the songs sung in the bus, led by TK and others. High table, with its delicious servings was always the occasion to look forward to. Tea time was enjoyable which allowed me to eat as much as possible. Terup keling sessions after the trial exams were always fun. Being a kampong boy, the train trips to and from college were memorable occasions.

                    One of things which I remember most from college was the stiff competition to get the highest marks for every subject in my class, Science Four. We would strive to get the highest marks, perfect scores of 100 % were the targets, which Alhamdulillah I managed to get a few times. My target was to get good results for the term exam and of course the Form V trial examinations. The competition to get the highest marks enabled seven of my classmates (Myself, Amir Farid, Wangga, Wan Mahathir, Zulkifly, Rosli and Harun) out of 13 from college to be selected for Australian matriculation, Alhamdulillah.

                    One day in Form 5 1971, an incident happened that nearly caused a riot as it was a mere 2 years after May 13. Adzhair was waiting with the others outside Big School dining hall when he accidentally stepped on someone's slippers. Slipper Jepun had this habit of coming detached at the front end, leaving a round hole. The owner, 'Badak' of Form 4, was furious and demanded: 'I don't care if you are my senior in Form 5, put it back as before!' he shouted. Adzhair apologized like a gentleman that he was (and still is), but did not do as told as it would be demeaning to our batch. Before Prep started, the news of this humiliation had spread. Jimi McHong dashed over to confront Badak, and the incident sparked a free for all between silat exponents on both sides of the divide. It got so bad that Norton, the senior assistant, had to pacify the students by offering cigarettes and Milo; the situation became grim such that the next day, the non-Malay teachers did not report in for duty. Twenty of our batchmates received a last warning letter from HM, Syed Abu Bakar, stating to the parents that any further indiscipline would cause your sons to be sent home; some tried to intercept the letters by hurrying back home during the school break, only to discover the HM was smarter: he had sent them to the offices of their fathers!

                    IN College, there were those who were ardent letter-writers, sending mainly to parents whom we only saw during term breaks. But, there was also the second group who were plain lazy in this task.

                    In the first category, I can verify the likes of Baharum Amin, Bob (Dr Amin), Jo Surin and Megat Ghazali receiving mails weekly from Pasir Panjang Laut, Teratak Desa, Kajang, Kg Limau Purut, Sg Ampat, Alor Gajah and Regat Kuala Kangsar, Ipoh if I can still remember their parent’s addresses.

                     There was also another category who did not write nor receive mails, probably to avoid the hassle of crafting what to tell their parents week in week out. A third category was those trying to reach the opposite sex and start 'pen palling' with girls from previous primary schools and TKC. I recall arwah Zahadi Ghafur brokering a few names from TKC for Syed Nasir (Suriana Haril and Faridah Nasir who eventually was my classmate at A Level Oxford in 1972). Shahrom Shariff gave me his Gurney Road Primary classmate Mehlan Ghauth as pen pal and we exchanged letters till Form 5. Then when I joined Shell in 1983, I received a call from her who was in IT Dept checking if I was the Budak Kolet writing to her then. What a small world!

DOGS have long been called a man's best friend not without reasons. Dogs are loyal, non-judgemental, Fiercely protective, and would willingly give their life for you. That's a dog. ‘Anjing’ is a different animal. In our society, to call someone ‘anjing’ is to caste a derogatory remark. Normally called so for a reason, not otherwise. Circa 1970, some Fourth Formers gave the nickname ‘anjing’ to the deputy headboy. He was obese, his face puffy and wears a wide girth. In short, he was most unpopular, especially with the forth formers, perhaps because of his penchant to throw his weight (pun intended) around. Always appearing arrogant, maybe 'twas his cocky face. Or his inept personality. As far as I know, many despised him. So within our inner circles, we refered the deputy headboy as ‘anjing’. For some inexplicable reasons he got wind of it. One fateful day in the late afternoon, about a dozen Form IV boys were rounded up and brought to the Prefects Room. That included me, and most of my Mohd Shah House dorm-mates. One by one, statements were taken. Obviously, no one owned up. All my friends were released, alas, I was the last to be interviewed.

                     Initially, I was standing near the large open windows enjoying the breeze. The deputy headboy was seated on a sofa, squeezed in between a prefect to his left and right sides of him.

                     “You there, come 'ere!" he shrilled. I walked coolly toward the shriller, who was seated like the Chinese God of Wealth, while a 'bodyguard' each on his elbows. "Stop! Stand there!", he said. I complied, nonchalantly. while our toes nearly kissed each other. Then, the barrage of queries began, almost non-stop. I answered all queries in rapid fashion, with tons of wits and cynicism.

                     That was when and how our deputy headboy snapped. He kicked his heels and rose quickly from his comfort zone, to confront me directly. Before he was fully erect, I instinctive pulled my right arm behind, simultaneously swerving my torso from left to right.

                     In a split second, my right fist, fully clenched, catapulted directly towards the deputy headboy's nose bridge.

                     Good sense told me not to land it but to give the same effect by stopping a mere centimetre from deep impact, such was our posture for a 'long' five seconds. Time froze.

                     When the two 'bodyguards' realised the situation, they swiftly pulled back the deputy headboy from harm’s way. At the same time, two other prefects who pretended to read the Reader's Digest earlier, grabbed me from behind and whispered me to leave the scene.

                     I turned around, walked away, and headed back to my West Wing dormitory, with new found machismo. Lessons Learnt:
1. Never allow anyone to bully you.
2. Never fear if you feel you have done no wrong.
3. A rogue, must be taught his lesson.

BEFORE MCE 1971, 14 of our classmates in science stream received offers to study engineering in Australia. One (Zainal) declined, leaving 13. A few took a train ride with many stops to Sungai Petani to Ross' house to fill up the complicated forms. Of the 13, six (Ross, Jono, KO, Harun, Shaharuddin and Azmi Yusof) went to Perth and together with one each from RMC and STAR, there were 8 guys, no girls.

                     The remaining seven were Amir Farid and Jo Surin who went to Brisbane; they had four girls for company; Zol Mohd went to Tasmania where there were four boys and four girls, while the last four went to Melbourne: Wan Mahadzir, Wangga, Cikgu Amin and Azizan-there were seven boys and six girls. Using the best predictive tool, who got lucky? Based on ratio, the Brisbane boys had more choice, Tasmania was equal, Melbourne almost equal and Perth the most starved! In fact a few (Ross, Azmi and KO) wrote to girls in Melbourne that they met during orientation-there was no reply.

                     It got to the point that the Perth boys had to write to MARA pleading for female intake the next year-no success either. Despite the above matrix and ability to get to know one another, only one ended marrying someone from the same city. Guess who?

                    THE train fare from Kuala Kangsar to Bukit Mertajam in the early 1970s was RM6.05. For a few ringgit more, the passenger could change trains at the end of this route and proceed to Alor Star, and all the way up to Padang Besar.

                     Sometimes, there were diesel trains in service while at other times, the steam engine locomotives ruled the day. This and many old images came flashing back as I read the special report in this paper recently about the way ahead in train travel in Peninsular Malaysia with the advent of an electrified double-tracking system.

                     This much-awaited Kuala Lumpur-Padang Besar service, expected to start in two years, will cut travel time by half. But, consequently, this will also bring to an end some sentimental pieces of the past, mostly linked to the small stations along the track that will become history.

                     I was in a boarding school in Kuala Kangsar, Perak, several years ago and since the train was the main mode of transport to get back home to Alor Star, Kedah, for the term holidays, I became very familiar with all things along the Kuala Kangsar-Bukit Mertajam and Bukit Mertajam-Alor Star routes.

                     There were three term breaks each year and I was in the school for seven years, so this gives some idea as to how many times I had experienced the rides. To say that I was “familiar” with the path is actually an understatement.

                     Those were not exactly the shinkansen-type of experience because the train engines were noisy and the rides extremely bumpy. But, did you know that in some of those journeys, we had to stand in the coaches all the way?

                     Yes, along the aisles with many others when there were no seats left. The seats were not numbered and since students from most other colleges and boarding schools used the rail service as well, the trains would be filled to the brim on most occasions.

                     It took about four hours those days from Bukit Mertajam (later the line was extended to Butterworth) to Kuala Kangsar and we were normally put on the night train, which departed at 10pm. If we couldn’t get a seat, it meant joining for four hours the “standing committee”, a spoofy term we coined to refer to the passengers who had no choice, but, to stand. It was like an exodus to somewhere.

                     The travel groups were from all sorts apart from the boarding school students from all over. There were the teacher trainees, those from police and military academies and ordinary passengers, all bearing the curse of having to travel at the same time.

                     And since many had already got used to the crowded situation, they tended to inject a sense of humour to remain sane along the journey.

                     For instance, in one of the long stops at the Taiping station in the middle of the night, one of the food hawkers on the station platform would come close to the train windows, yelling sing-song: kopi o, teh susu, kopi o, teh susu… repeatedly. And one tired voice among the passengers would respond: “Tambi, kopi susu dan teh o ada?” much to the chagrin of the Indian boy peddling the ready-made drinks in plastic cups.

                     Then, there was this pedlar of curry puffs, carrying his stuff in a big tray on his head, going back and forth on the station platform, shouting in a rather funny tone “karipop pop pop. Hangat hangat” referring to the hot, fresh-from-the-pan pastries he was pushing. It was almost impossible to resist his call to buy. Talking about food on the train, the cafes on board, termed buffet cars, served excellent food prepared by old-fashioned Hainanese cooks. The mee hailam, thick black coffee and roti bakar would put the modern-day kopitiam to shame. Since the trains operated on a single-track system, the stops at some stations (that had short stretches of two or three tracks) could be very long so as to wait for an oncoming train to pass. But most missed with the advent of the electrified double-tracking system would definitely be the smaller stations and the one-booth stops called halts. I saw a lot of those in my years of taking the train up north.

                     Gone will be Pondok Tanjung and Alor Pongsu near Taiping, just before the picturesque Tasik Bukit Merah where the track practically cuts across a vast lake. Beyond Bukit Mertajam, some of the most memorable halts will disappear.

                     These are places many have not even heard of, some alien-sounding — Penanti, Jarak, Pinang Tunggal, Sungai Toh Pawang, Junun, Kobah, Tokai and Alor Belat.

                     Being a regular passenger then, I could memorise the sequence of the stops. But the nostalgia grows with memories of how these stations looked like — small wooden structures painted in light yellow with brown borders.

                     Some, like Alor Belat not far from Alor Star, were just sheds with goats taking shelter at times. But, with the track passing through a seemingly infinite spread of rice fields, the scenery, especially at sunset, was so breathtaking. Goodbye, old charms.

(This story appeared in the NST on Aug 8, 2011)