Kuala Lipis...Images from the past.

This morning, Balwan, a comrade from my Kuala Lipis days, sent me images from the past with these comments "Old CPO’s house, then gold mine manager’s house (squatter living there now?🤔). Brother, your old house in Lipis".

And the memories flooded back into my consciousness. It was in the late 1960s, and I was still in my teens. My old man was CPO Pahang and he was stationed in Kuala Lipis...then still Contingent HQ for the police in Pahang...remnants of the British colonial days when Kuala Lipis was the center of the universe for many things - the largest police districts in Malaya, almost geographically dead center of the country, and it was the administrative town of Pahang and housed all the government head offices...and police headquarters.

Half a century ago, and yet my time in Kuala Lipis plays in my mind with a clarity that defies age and time.

I had, by then, finished my HSC at SABS Kuantan and started my first year at University Malaysia. I can still remember the looks that Zeti (of Bank Negara fame) was getting from many during our lectures and really that was about all that I do remember of my UM days for I was there for only one year. I did so badly in my exams that there was nothing for my parents to do but to send me to Ealing Tech in London to 'further my studies'.

During my one-year in UM, I stayed at Happy Gardens with Manap, Tik, Md Nor Bador, Fauzi, Hamidi and Hamzah...all my seniors at SABS and all from Pahang. Except for aruah Hamidi, the others are still, I think, with, the living. Fauzi was permanently in a haze caused by partaking of substances of dubious origins and after Happy Gardens, he went off my radar completely.

I was back in Kuala Lipis at every term break. Driving home with Md Nor Bador in an MG Midget that my father had gifted me with for having "got into University" (sic)!

The rest house at the bottom of the hill where my father's house stood holds one lasting memory...the fried rice cooked by a Hainanese Chinese. In those days, halal or haram was of no concern to a Malay. Least of all me. Having lunch there was always a treat!

The drive up the hill to the house is really a drive through a secondary jungle for the trees did not even allow for the skies to be seen and as we sweep into the driveway of that house....I know what awaits me. My dear mother and all the love that she and my father had for us.

I can see a swimming pool beside the house...but that must have come later because there was no swimming pool during our stay there.

Our neighbors - whom we cannot see for the trees....we can hear. They were whites or Americans. At that time, they were all the same to me. And there were many nights when we could hear their merry-making and conversation with much laughter, fueled, I am sure, by beer and whiskey. That was the limit of my knowledge of drinks that were not halal...beer and whiskey. Having a good time, for these neighbors of ours, was on every occasion when the sun sets. I did envy them!

The house we lived in seems huge even now. In those days it must have been imposing. I remember I had a Philips record player on which I endlessly played Francoise Hardy songs - and nothing else - while in my room dreaming of life as I wanted it to be....not alone as I was then, but with someone...anyone.

We had one Hari Raya in that house. I remember the hundreds of Hari Raya greetings cards that we hung all over the house. The preparation for the guest that will surely come when it was that Hari, kept not only my dear mother busy but also others who were helping my mother to prepare the makan to feed the many that will come to visit us on Hari Raya. No beer or whiskey was served. Only rose syrup and F&N drinks.

I remember the endless stream of visitors coming to the house. The police personnel coming in by truckloads! All needing to be greeted, needing to be fed and all wanting to have a word with my father, mother ...and if possible, with us, the children. Malaysians everywhere. Malaysians with love, kindness, and grace for each other and wishing each other well. Muhibbah at its best.

I remember one incident happening in the early afternoon. Someone noticed an expensive-looking briefcase unattended in one corner of the house. When nobody claimed it, my father took it aside and opened it to see if there was anything inside the briefcase that could identify the owner.

What he found inside was cash...lots o cash...neatly bundled up...and there was a note wishing my father a Selamat Hari Raya and a name to go with it.

My father remembered that the man had just left our house a few minutes ago. My father closed the briefcase and rang up the duty officer and told the Duty Officer to get hold of the owner and asked him to come back to our house and collect his briefcase that he had surely inadvertently forgotten to take with him.

They did get him to turn back and collect his briefcase, and he sheepishly apologized to my father for 'forgetting' the briefcase.

Over dinner that night, Father explained that he has helped the man over a matter that enabled one of his family to go home instead of being in remand, to prepare for a coming court appearance over some serious charges. And that briefcase of cash was to say thanks for what my father had done. My father told us that he helped the man because he knew the man to be decent...even though his family member was suspect. My old man was not one of those people who cari akan...he lived within his means.

Kuala Lipis was the last place I had lived when life was uncomplicated and life's joys were with family and friends. Maybe the afternoon was spent at the only theater in town, Paradise. Maybe over the weekend, we would follow father in his speedboat to visit police stations upriver, and maybe we would be allowed to join him on fishing trips and menjala along the river on Sundays. This was a real treat that, to these days, holds many happy memories that time has never been able to make me forget. Those were good times.

But soon, much too soon, the police headquarters was relocated to Kuantan, and we had to leave Kuala Lipis. I have not been back since. ...so you can guess the memories those images of our old house in Kuala Lipis, sent by Balwan, evoked within me. Thank you brother Balwan for such thoughtful kindness. Those are the memories that have contributed to the completeness and richness of my life. And for that I am grateful.