I was a relatively bright (as in ‘brain’, not in ‘skin-tone’) student at the Francis Light School, Georgetown, Penang - all the way from Standard 1 right through Standard 6, winning prizes annually for one or the other subject. When in Standard 6, I also represented the school in a Malay-language elocution contest at state level. Perhaps, it was due to these achievements that the Malay language teacher at the school nominated me, along with another chap, to sit for the special entrance examinations into the Malay College Kuala Kangsar (MCKK) for Malay students all over Penang state. My guardian (I was not raised by my biological parents) was reluctant to allow me to appear, for, having lost her mum in mid-1966, she wanted to have someone to keep company. I managed to persuade her to permit me to simply sit for the examinations, promising that, should I be successful, I would forfeit the seat.

                     However, as events turned out, I was the only ‘M-clan’ chap all over Penang Island to qualify for entry into the MCKK, my pure ‘Mamak’ background notwithstanding! The other chap was Nash. Another chap from Penang state to also gain entry in 1967 was Omar Ahmad, but, he was from Seberang Perai (which I consider not to be part of ‘Tanjung’ – the commonly used Malay word for Penang Island!) Unfortunately, when the letter of offer came, it included a long list of ‘items to bring along’, which my late father, who was only a ‘peon’ (office boy), could never have afforded to procure with his meagre wages. I was staring into the possibility of having to actually forfeit the seat to a stand-by candidate. Fortunately, dad took the initiative to pay visits to his ‘Mamak-businessmen’ friends having outlets along Penang’s Chulia Street and literally pleaded with them for monetary contributions to enable this son of his to enter the prestigious MCKK – by now the simpleton of a man had realised what stellar placement MCKK had amongst all the schools and colleges then existing in Malaysia and he was not allowing shortage of funds to prevent his son entering it. Of course, I had to tag with him on these ‘alms-seeking’ rounds to clarify queries that the donors may have. Many gave generously, but, I remembered one remarking: “If you can’t afford to send your son to the college, just forget it!” Once most of the items enumerated in the list were procured, I insisted that my cousin, an English-educated fellow, accompany dad and me on the day of enrolment, since dad could only speak and understand Malay and Tamil. Thus it was, on that fine day in early 1967, a taxi chartered by dad took the three of us to Kuala Kangsar. Amongst the most memorable items that I took with me was my ‘bantal dakap’ (bolster) – indeed, I was the only Form 1 chap who reported to the Prep School with such an appendage! I still remember vividly the funny stares that we had upon entering the Office to register myself – just imagine, a dark-complexioned Mamak-fella from Penang! Most must be thinking, “How did this Indian boy manage to enter MCKK?” Alas, it was only when I started to speak did they acknowledge the imbibed ‘Malay-ness’ in this young student from Penang!

Hence, my entry into Prep School!

                    CROSS country running was literally the making of me and it saddens me that it ’s now so overlooked. You’re using every part of your body, It’s hard and it’s tough. You have got to maintain balance and you have got to be able to navigate and think ahead. You have got to watch your feet. You may be running on a track that’s the width of a table or across terrain that is little more than a peat bog making split second decisions every step of the way. Your brain never switches off. It’s both physical and mental It’s the supreme all round conditioner and if you can deal with what’s thrown at you on a tough cross country course, you can deal with anything”. Extract from the autobiography ‘Running my Life’ by Sebastian Coe who broke 12 middle distance world records and is the only athlete to take gold in two successive Olympics in the 1500 metres when he won in Russia (1980) and LA (1984).

                     Who can forget cross country running when in Kolej? You limber up and stretch under the Big Tree (no photo!), then off you go, slowly conserving stamina as you head towards town and up the steep incline near the kopitiam. You sprint up quickly, then let your breathing become regular before picking up the pace again. You will be rewarded by greenery all the way and suddenly you burst out of the wooded sanctuary into the evening sun, and spy Kris Kangsar, the tall kris-like structure after Bukit Chandan where you had passed Istana Bukit Chandan, that intricate palatial woodwork where no nail was used in the entire building built by Malay artisan. Kris Kangsar located near the KK Rest House is used by Kolej athletes for uphill training and stamina building. When you passed the bridge over KK river, you accost the clock tower, and again you sprint up the road incline, puffing towards Masjid Riduaniah. You then see the Big Tree beckoning you, and all pain and discomfort seem to melt away as you speed up, knowing the container of iced cordial is waiting invitingly.

‘TWAS a dark and stormy night, in June of 1967. The rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when 'twas checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the corridors of Prep School. Upstairs, rattling along the rooftiles, and fiercely agitating the dim light from prefects' cubicles that struggled against the darkness.

                     "Wake up! Wake up!" Rudely, I was shocked by a stern voice. I recognised it as a voice of authority-Prefect. The harsh beam from his metal-casing ‘Made-in-China’ torchlight slapped my innocuous face. I sat up swiftly. Springed out of bed, and hurried behind him. Face unwashed, forgetting to slip on my flip-flops.

                    Soon enough I was in a cubicle. Initially, the situation was scarry. The dormitories were all dark. The corridors were unlit. Grudgingly, I was glad to be inside the cubicle, although the ambience was foreboding.

                    Two form six prefects were squarely seated, sulky. staring, sullen. I was standing straight, with both thin arms behind my back, head up, coy yet confident. All of a sudden, the two prefects started the 'interview'. Together, probing, alleging, accusing, probing again. Alleging, accusing. The issue? I was alleged to have bullied a peer, a prince, and the two prefects desired to extract a confession from me. Since 'twas news to me, I denied all their accusations. The fairer and taller of the two, left after half-an-hour. But, the shorter and darker one with curly coiffure stood his ground, and stayed, to continue his incessant interrogation. Although I was not even 12 years old yet, then, I knew that what the prefect did was wrong. Utterly wrong, inhumane, and criminalising. There I was - accused of bullying a peer. Yet, there he was - five foot plus but looking taller, bigger and powerful - bullying, intimidating a small-built four foot, eleven inches form one boy!

                    For hours the interrogation went on, and on and on, but I was feeling stronger, bolder, and firmer. As time crept up to the wee hours of early morning, fatigue could have overcome the prefect, though I was fine. Reluctantly, he released me from custody, and off I hurried back to my bed at C35, passing by two dormitories, in pitch black darkness, with a raging storm outside. Sleep.

                    Later that morning, I attended class as usual. Class was Form One A. Unsuspectingly, at about 9.30am a clerk from the administration office popped his plain face into the door, without even asking for consent from the attending teacher he blurted out, "Siapa dia Nasir Hamid? HM nak jumpa. Siapa dia YM si-Polan? HM juga nak jumpa awak. Sekarang!" There was pin drop silence in Form One A. As YM si-Polan and I trooped out of class. As I entered the headmaster's office unceremoniously, I saw En. Yusoff, seated. The HM rose to his feet and marched over to me. In a serious baritone voice he barked, "Did you hit or bully the prince?"
Obviously, I remarked an emphatic, "No, sir!"
"Prince, did he ever hit or bully you?"
"No, sir," retorted the prince.
"Very well then. I want both of you to shake hands. Now."

                    The prince and I smiled at each other and gladly shook hands. Everything was over, in mere minutes. That was when I noticed En. Yusoff red faced, squirming, dubious, jaw dropped. I knew at that time that En. Yusoff must have wished for a different outcome, alas.

                    With a smirk in my face, I glanced at En. Yusoff and left the HM's office. I trotted back to Form One A-with a new-found swagger. 'Twas a game changer moment for me, a character building one. It has stood me in good stead. till this day. Lesson(s) learned:
1. Do not buckle easily under any circumstance.
2. True grit can overcome any impediment.
3. Never fear the authorities. They exist to serve. Not to subjugate anyone.
Ever since that incident I have not spoken to that particular prefect although he was very close to our batch. My heart opened to forgive him thus putting a closure to the episode in February last year when we met in a shop in KK for breakfast on a Sunday morning.