The School Reunion

Backdrop : To Sir With Love - Jasa Mu Tetap Di Kenang

for comparison's sake; gadis kampung age 17 (1971)

37 years on, with one-time maths teacher Mr Magan Lal

Class of 1972; wow, everybody montel-montel!


Class of 72 - On extreme right (in batik) is the teacher who taught us French (can't remember his name)



Jaafar, my senior who was also a neighbour. We used to lepak at his house.

The Grey-Haired Brigade

I am not out of place in this wargamas crowd...

Pretty ladies in a row (ahakk..!) like those perempuan joget in BB Plaza of old!

He must have been in his mid-twenties in the early 1970s, probably a fresh graduate too, when he landed himself in provincial Dungun, in DESS (Dungun English Secondary School) to teach Mathematics to the likes of statistical morons like me.

At well over six feet, Mr Magan Lal was literally head and shoulders above everyone else in the entire school, especially us, a motley bunch of acne-ridden, gangly and giggly teenagers whose main preoccupation was lording it over apprehensive juniors while at the same time kowtowing to the bullying seniors.

That I disliked Maths with every fibre of my being was no big surprise to my largely Chinese classmates, to whom Maths was kacang putih (peanuts). I still remember one of the boys shaking his head at the thickness of my skull, saying: "What is there not to understand? Numbers only maaa..!"

Given half the chance, I would rather be lost among alphabets, not numbers. Eighteenth-century English countryside would be as good a place to start, dancing amongst Wordsworth's daffodils or enjoying the warblings of Keats' nightingale.

But the LCE (Lower Certificate of Education) exam was fast approaching and Maths was a necessary evil. It was a 'must-take' subject, no two ways about it. Unfortunately enough, my mathematical genius did not go beyond arithmatic's standard multiplication table (it ended at 12 x 12 = 144).

Although I was clueless, Mr Magan Lal never flinched. My Credit 6 in LCE's Mathematics was as lame as could be, compared to the string of As that eventually booked me a place in a boarding school down south in JB, but I was on cloud nine just to get that miserable C. It was testament to Mr Magan Lal's patience and perseverance.

I remember those bony fingers well; ceaselessly drumming on my desk, occasionally folding his arms across his chest as he stood there, patiently watching me sweat trying to figure out the geometrical puzzles and trigonometrical maze (and mess) staring back at me.

Thirty-seven years down the road, and the good old 'Sir' and I met again. After all these years, he was still slim and trim. And he still had his own hair. Comparatively, yours truly had piled on the pounds and looked like a barrel. If at all there were similarities, we both had lots of grey hair.

I couldn't hide my excitement, exclaiming "Mr Magan Lal, SIR!", silly giggles and all, very much like a bashful 15 year-old all over again. He remembered me too; the best thing was he even recalled that I was the class monitor, when I myself had forgotten I ever was!

Some 300 former students and teachers from classes in the early '60s to the '80s packed the school hall of DESS in Sura Gate, Dungun, last Saturday (06/06/09) in celebration of the school's 50th anniversary.

The organisers had earlier indicated that the event would be an informal affair; no long-winded speeches and no performances of any kind, just a get-together of long-lost school friends, presentation of tokens of appreciation to teachers and lots and lots of photo-taking.

The spread was simply marvelous; nasi dagang and nasi minyak with all their respective accompaniments, satay, kropok lekor, ketupat, lemang and rendang, roti canai, rojak mamak and rojak buah, numerous types of kuih and sweetmeats including local delicacies like akok and the like.

I wandered around looking for those from my batch of Form Five 1972. There weren't many this time around, perhaps because we have had our own three times in the past four years (twice in Kuala Lumpur and once in Dungun). The last was two years ago, culminating in a round of golf, followed by lunch, at the Dungun Golf Club.

Still, it was a memorable outing for me, for I met many seniors who were classmates and buddies of my elder brother Yusof (who was unable to make it since he was tied up with the preparations for his son's forthcoming nuptials). One of them got me momentarily flustered by saying "We were interested in you la then, but nobody wanted to admit openly!" Walauwehhh....!

I also met the headboy whom I used to date until he went to Sixth Form. He came with his wife; we exchanged pleasantries. It was good to see him, in his late '50s now, doing well. In fact, we had a chance meeting in London in 1975; he was then a student there while I was working in a publishing house somewhere in Hatton Garden.

After stopping by the cemetery to say some prayers for my mother who died last year, Pak Abu and I left Dungun for a leisurely drive back to Kuala Lumpur.... but not before doing a bit of shopping (for textiles) in Dungun town. They were beautiful and darn cheap! Along the way, we also 'singgah' Cherating to buy satar (grilled fish cake, an East Coast delicacy). We got home safe and sound, just before Maghrib...