Just like the Forrest Gump character in the movie, I did not stay to receive the trophy on behalf of City District and ran straight to Peng Kwee’s car. I did say goodbye to Mr Pestana though. “Good luck. Hurry up now. I think you can just make it,” he called out.
I was still sweating from the run as Peng Kwee’s car surged down Thomson Road towards Bras Basah Road. I put on my socks and boots in the car. I didn’t have to change my shorts because they were the same ones used by the football team. I was filled with excitement and so was Peng Kwee. When we got to the school, I heard that the game had just started. Mr Siddhu, who was anxiously looking out for us, threw a football jersey at me and shouted, “Put it on and get in there.” I put the RI jersey on and went in to play. The adrenaline was rushing through me and I didn’t feel tired at all.
At half time, the score was 1-1. While we were taking our drinks during half time, our principal, Mr E W Jesudason, came up to me with the principal of Johor English College. Mr Jesudason was a kind man though a tough disciplinarian. He was one of the most colourful principals in Singapore and is credited with writing the Institution Anthem of RI. He was fuming mad and reprimanded me in front of everybody. “I don’t care whether you are the star of RI or not. I can’t stand people like you who have no discipline. You think you are a superstar and that you can come late for a game? What is wrong with your football master? Holding on to your jersey, giving it to you and spoiling you? Who do you think you are? I don’t care what your football master says, I’ll be dealing with you personally later. This is breach of discipline of the highest order.” Throughout his rant, I remained silent. Everyone was silent as he walked off in a huff. I think even the players from Johor English College were feeling a little embarrassed for me. I quietly finished my drink.
The game ended in a draw. Johor English College did not find us easy meat like they usually did. We played a very good game. After shaking hands with our opponents, I immediately went to Mr Siddhu and said: “I’m really very, very tired. I have to go home.”
He understood. “Yes, please do that. You don’t have to stay for the reception.” I packed my things and, as usual, he gave me money to take a taxi home.
That was a Friday evening. During the reception, Mr Jesudason apparently approached Mr Siddhu and complained: “How can you allow this to happen?” Mr Siddhu explained to him exactly what I did, rushing back after a cross-country race. Feeling rather bad, Mr Jesudason remarked, “Oh my goodness, I was scolding him and he did not tell me about this.”
On Monday, after a good rest over the weekend, I went to school as usual. One of the prefects informed me that the principal wanted to see me. I went to his office and he said, “Ah, Subhas, come in. Mr Siddhu explained to me what had happened. Why didn’t you explain to me what you had done when I was scolding you? Why were you just keeping quiet? Why didn’t you tell me something?”
I looked at him. “You really want to know the reason, sir? I didn’t want the principal and students of the other school to see that you were making an ass of yourself.”
At first he looked at me angrily, then he burst out laughing and said, “You know, Subhas, that is the Rafflesian spirit. You didn’t want to embarrass your principal.” He proudly shared this incident at the next school assembly.
On one of the occasions when I had to go for cardiac rehabilitation after my heart attack in late 1978, I saw Mr Jesudason sitting on a wheelchair, accompanied by his wife. I was shocked. “Oh my God, he was such an active person. He was a boxer and a black belt judo exponent,” I thought. I saw him sitting there looking so helpless. I went up to him and asked, “Mr Jesudason, do you remember me?”
He stared at my face for a while. “I remember you. I can’t remember your name. You were the one who played football.”
“Yes, I’m Subhas. Sir, what are you doing here?”
“Never mind about what I am doing here. At this age, what are you doing here?” he asked.
I told him that I had suffered a massive heart attack and was advised by my cardiologist to attend rehabilitation classes. He said, “You were such a fine sportsman. What have you done to yourself?”
“Well, sir, when you start working, your routine changes and inevitably there is a lifestyle change.”
“Yes, everybody wants to make money and they forget the greater issues in life. I hope you recover and will be back to your normal self again.” He took my hand and pulled it towards him. “May God bless you,” he said. I thanked him and said goodbye to him and his wife, who was standing behind him and smiling at me.
Not long after that, on a return from one of my business trips to Manila, I was told that Mr Jesudason had died of heart failure. Although I was not close to him, I was quite sad to hear the news. He was one of those who made life in RI a little bit more pleasant for me with all his amusing, sometimes even political, comments. I remember him as a tough man who didn’t treat the sons of ministers and presidents differently from other students. His stint as an RI principal lasted only from 1963 to 1966 and I feel fortunate that my time in RI coincided with his tenure as a principal.
FOUR
UNIVERSITY DAYS
After RI, I wasn’t too keen to go on to university as I felt that I had studied more than enough. With my ‘A’ level certificate, I could have joined the police force. Two of my close friends had done that. My father insisted that I get a university degree though, and he didn’t really care what I read. I still remember his words: “Son, when I die, I will be leaving you nothing except the education I give you. I am not rich, but I will make all of you university graduates.”
I noted the steely determination in his voice even as I argued with him. If my father had relented, I suppose I’d be a retired policeman by now. I told my father that it would be difficult to travel all the way to Bukit Timah Road where the university campus was located. The journey to RI had taken about 90 minutes, and I couldn’t contemplate another long period with the same travel time. I demanded a car even though I didn’t have a driving licence yet. My father just kept quiet and reminded me to send in my university application forms.
It was a choice between business administration and law. Since I had no business acumen, I picked law and was accepted by the University of Singapore. When I showed my father the acceptance letter, he just smiled. A few days later, he bought me a car—a brand new Austin 1100. The registration number was SM 8788. I learnt he had withdrawn money from his CPF to buy it.
The next day, I hung two ‘L’ plates on the bumpers of the car and drove it around with my friend Ah Teng who had a licence. We were driving along very comfortably, radio blaring, until we turned into Mandai Road. We then ran head-on into a Malaysia-registered Peugeot. It was unbelievable. We weren’t travelling that fast. But Mandai Road used to be one of those long and winding roads where you can sometimes veer onto the wrong side of the road at the bends if you’re not careful.
As a driver with zero experience, I guess an accident was on the cards. Both cars were badly damaged and we went to Mandai police station to make a report. The occupants of the other car were an old lady and a very young and attractive girl who I learnt was the lady’s granddaughter. The old lady kept abusing me and blaming me for the accident. I remained silent. What else could I do? The young woman was embarrassed and told me that her grandmother was upset as their car was less than three months’ old. I sniggered and showed her the inside of my car. The plastic covers were still on the seats. When I told her my car was less than 24 hours old, she burst out laughing.
Despite the circumstances, I was taken by her and we exchanged telephone numbers. I had to give her Ah Teng’s number as we didn’t have a telephone at home in those days. The old lady saw what we were doing and her granddaughter explained that we needed each other’s phone numbers to exchange insurance details later. Her grandmother continued to glare at me throughout the whole episode. I dated the young woman, Shanti, on a few occasions but it didn’t work out. Ah Teng always said I de
liberately caused the accident to befriend her.
After we were done at the police station, I was too scared to drive the damaged Austin home. So we went instead to Ah Teng’s house, left the car there and took his car to my place. Both of us were extremely worried about my father’s reaction. As usual, he was sitting at the corridor reading the Malayalam newspapers. When he saw me, he smiled. “Did you both enjoy driving the car?” he asked. We kept quiet. He studied my face and turned serious. “What is it, son? Why are you looking so worried?”
I told him that we had met with an accident and the car was damaged. I braced myself for a tongue lashing, but he only asked if Ah Teng and I were injured. Neither of us was. He laughed and said: “Son, it’s only a car. What is important is that the both of you are not hurt.” I will never forget that response. That’s the sort of example my father set for me, and it’s always been a hard act to follow.
The car was taken for repairs and I was told in no uncertain terms by everyone who cared for me to enrol in a driving school. But when you have had such an embarrassing accident, it tends to stick with you for years. People would jokingly refer to it all the time when the issue of driving or the topic of cars came up in our social or family gatherings. The ribbing got worse because, after taking a few lessons with Lambert Driving School, the instructor refused to give me any more lessons. He said I was a dangerous driver who drove as though there were no other cars on the road. The few lessons that I took had, however, given me confidence. Another good friend, Mark, took over the responsibility of teaching me to drive. After the accident, Ah Teng lost the nerve to teach me. I finally passed my driving test on my third attempt.
I started reading law at Singapore University in May, 1966. Before the course started, new students had to attend an interview with the sub-dean of the Law faculty, Mr Tommy Koh. At my interview, I met a former classmate from RI. She had also come for the same interview. When it was over, we foolishly decided to go to the Union House for a drink. As soon as we sat down and ordered our drinks, we knew we had made a big mistake. We were surrounded by senior students who were waiting for innocent ‘freshies’ to rag. They called it ‘orientation’ as ragging freshmen was illegal. Whatever name they put on it, it was bullying. You were asked to do very silly things to be humiliated. For instance, you had to stoop when you walked past a so-called senior gentleman who was shorter than you. Ragging officially started when the term began, but if you happened to be caught in the premises before the term started, your ‘orientation’ would begin immediately.
My friend and I didn’t know what a foolish move we had made when we sat down and ordered our drinks. The drinks came and before we could start drinking, one person in the group of seniors, Chan Kian Hin, who was obviously their leader (and later became my good friend), told us to leave the drinks on the table and to stand up. It was barked out like an order which shocked us. I refused to stand up and because of that, my friend remained seated too. The seniors became very agitated and started shouting at me. They repeatedly asked me to stand up but I continued to refuse. They left my friend alone. There were about eight of them and they all sat down at the table. Kian Hin said I was outnumbered and that none of the group wanted to get physical but if they had to, they would. I remained quiet but refused to stand up. Then one of them tried to lift me and I grabbed my bottle of 7-Up. When they saw me reach for the bottle, some of them panicked and moved away. Kian Hin then asked me why I was going for the bottle. I told him very calmly that I was going to crack his head with it and then stab at least two of them before they got me. I could sense they were scared. A few other senior students who knew me intervened. They said I had no business being in Union House as I was not even a union member and told me to get out. They told my friend she could stay if she wanted to. She rejected their offer and walked out with me. Much later, when I was courting the same girl, she told me she was very surprised by the way I acted that day. She said she was trembling inside but I looked so cool and unafraid. She then asked me whether I would have done what I had threatened to do. I told her I would. She laughed and said she thought I enjoyed the whole incident.
I was a marked man from that day onwards. When term started and ragging officially began, every senior gentleman was after my blood. I had to be tamed. As far as the seniors were concerned, it would be a disaster if I wasn’t. They waited at every corner to confront me, but I refused to buckle. None of the freshies was allowed to be with me. They were threatened and so I walked alone with no friends. I refused to be ragged and humiliated by a bunch of morons who took great pride and satisfaction in humiliating a fellow student. Most of these raggers found courage only when they were in a group. On the occasions when I met any of them alone, they scurried away like the cowards they were. That one month of orientation was hell for me. I had no friends and everywhere I went, I saw hostile faces.
We were coming to the end of the orientation period when I was told secretly by some students that I should watch out for the seniors. They were plotting something against me. I normally sat alone outside Union House near the pond. Sure enough, one day, a group of students led by Karpal Singh (who is now an opposition member of parliament with the Democratic Action Party in Malaysia) confronted me at my table. I realised all the students were from the nearby Dunearn Road Hostel.
Karpal Singh asked me, “Are you a gangster?” I just kept quiet. He told me that silence under the Evidence Act meant yes. I remained quiet wondering what the Evidence Act was about. He then asked me what number I played, meaning what gang I belonged to. I kept quiet. “I am asking very politely, so I expect an answer. Tell me what number you play?” he said.
I told him that if he wanted to speak in that type of language, this was not the right place. Karpal Singh said that as far as he was concerned, it was the right place. I looked at him for some time and said that since he had chosen the place, it was only fair that I chose the time. He nodded his head. I said that I was sick and tired of what was happening to me and that at 7.00 pm that day, I would be at the same place and he was welcome to ask me what number I played. I also told him that this was a serious business and not to take it lightly as people could get hurt. He asked me what I meant by that and I replied that he would find out at 7.00 pm. I had decided that enough was enough. I was prepared to leave the campus and forget about law but before leaving, I was going to teach these senior gentlemen a thing or two. I gathered my things and left. I had a few calls to make.
I called Ah Teng first and told him I needed help. He immediately understood what I meant as I had been complaining to my friends about the ragging. I had told them many times that I felt like leaving university. My friends, who were proud of me as I was the only one from the group who was in university, refused to accept that. I made a few more calls to rally my friends. Ah Teng and Mark knew the campus very well as they dropped me off and picked me up from university on most days. They didn’t want me to face any danger from the seniors, especially outside the campus.
At about 6.30 pm, I walked into Union House by myself. I could sense the excitement. Most students knew of the confrontation that morning and everybody was waiting to see what was going to happen. From where I was sitting, I could see Dunearn Road Hostel. At that time, Bukit Timah Road and Dunearn Road were both two-lane roads separated by the canal that still runs between them today. There were no underpasses as there are now. In fact, it was even before the time when overhead bridges crossed Adam Road. (They have since been removed.) There was a grocery shop called Palaniamma’s in the row of shophouses at the Adam Road/Bukit Timah Road junction and a few houses lined up on the Adam Road/Dunearn Road junction, in front of what later became the Adam Road hawker centre. Then, part of the hawker centre site was still a jungle. It often flooded when it rained heavily, sometimes making the roads impassable to vehicles but, that evening, the weather was fine.
I saw some students walking across the field towards Union House. I recognised some of them as the ones who had confront
ed me in the morning. Karpal Singh was not with them. It was still early. His friends came and sat a few tables away. I continued drinking my black coffee and puffed on a cigarette as though I had no problems at all. In my mind, this would be my last day in campus because I was sure there was going to be a big fight. People were going to be hurt. I was a bit sad that it had come to this, but I was also excited about what was going to happen.
At about 6.45 pm, I saw five cars moving in a convoy along Dunearn Road. My friends had arrived. Two cars parked along Dunearn Road just outside the entrance of the hostel. The other three cars proceeded towards the direction of Union House. I smiled to myself. Ah Teng and Mark had done their homework carefully. At about 6.55 pm, the three cars arrived at the entrance of Union House and my friends got out of the cars. It was obvious that they were not empty handed. They came into the building shouting my name and I walked towards them. Mark came along with many of my childhood friends like Ah Soo, Ramli, Sam (who is now the president of our temple) and others. I remember Ah Teng asking, “Where are the bastards?”
The next thing I knew people were scampering out of Union House. The students who were not involved stayed put, looking worried but not wanting to miss anything. The Dunearn Road Hostel boys were the first to bolt. They ran across the field towards their hostel. My friends who were waiting in the two cars parked outside got out and chased them. The students did not expect that to happen. Some of them ran along Dunearn Road while others just raised their hands in surrender and sat on the pavement. My friends did not harm them. They were not bullies. In the meantime, I walked around Union House asking those senior gentlemen and ladies who were still around whether they wanted to rag me. All of them said no. My friends told them to pass the word around that I was to be left alone and if they had to come around again, people would get hurt. I got into one of the cars and left. We caught up with the other two cars and headed for Sembawang. My friends told me what a let-down ityear. There had been and that I had wasted their time.
The Best I Could Page 5