Kuala Lumpur that I knew 50 years ago

IN October this year, I was in Kuala Lumpur (KL) for two days to meet with some relatives and while there, managed to get return calls from a couple of old buddies.

One, T. Goh, was a colleague at the Prime Minister’s Department, then sited at Jalan Dato Onn, before it moved to the ‘jungle area’, now a sprawling complex called Putrajaya, the seat of the Malaysian government.

The other, Atan, a former clerk in the Malayan Chinese Association (MCA) headquarters. Not getting any younger, he is, but relatively sprightly active for his age.

We talked about the good old days – mostly confined to discussing life and leisure in the nation’s capital during the times of Tunku Abdul Rahman and his deputy Tun Abdul Razak as Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister, respectively.

Atan was literally taking me for a ride around the city while I was enjoying the sight and sound of the city and looking out for buildings that were not there anymore.

Now, it’s the Petronas Twin Towers, and the shopping complexes, wondering ‘where did these people get the money to build these expensive structures’.

Were there any of the old buildings still standing at all? They are being dwarfed by the new, may be not easily spotted.

Oh, yes, there was in that complex with the Moorish architecture, the Station Hotel. This was the second home for my minister, Tun Temenggong Jugah, then-minister for Sarawak Affairs.

I never forget about that hotel: the mosquito nets and the noise made by the incoming trains in the ungodly hours of the morning.

I was looking out for Hawai Hotel, Town House, Hotel Santosa – these were the favourite hotels of the members of Parliament from Sabah and Sarawak. Whenever I wanted to see Datuk Dagok Randan, MP from Serian, I would go to Town House Hotel; to visit the Pengarah Banyang of Julau, off I would go to Hawai Hotel.

KL is a big city now, full of visitors of all descriptions. I could not tell the difference between the locals and the foreigners other than the Caucasians.

Food

Believe it or not, RM50 would be enough for four people at the Chinese restaurant such as Kum Leng.

Bak Kut Teh (pork bone soup plus a bowl of white rice) at one of the back lane stalls along Jalan Imbi in the Bukit Bintang area would cost RM3.50 only.

Those days…

“Not now… it’s 10 ringgit plus,” said Atan.

The ‘Colliseum’ was the place for breakfast and lunch. It was always full of yuppies – ambitious businessmen. Juicy steak of prime beef was a signature cuisine at the Colliseum. I could not remember where the restaurant was.

The Revolving Restaurant on top of the Federal Hotel was the latest attraction of KL in 1970s.

Weekends

Several MPs from Sarawak and Sabah would go home to their ‘kawasan’ (constituencies) when Parliament had a recess over the weekend. Those remaining in the capital would go to Morib for crabs; to Kuala Selangor for fresh fish; to Ipoh for good food or for haircuts; or to Penang for leather goods. Among the MPs from Borneo, these gifts for their respective wives were referred to as the ‘Peace Offerings’.

The traffic jams

Take it from me, in one word, material development in the city of KL is simply tremendous – its buildings (skyscrapers) and the transportation system (LRT) a great improvement. And the traffic jams… that is part of physical development too.

‘Grabs, Grabs’

Where were the taxis? They are called Grabs now. A better system, I think, for those who are digitally literate in communication via the handheld gadget, the mobile phone, but a bane for people of my age with failing eyesight and hard of hearing.

We did not possess such gadgets those days. On arrival at the old Subang Airport or at Sungai Besi airstrip (if you had flown in from Kuching to KL by the RMAF’s plane), you joined the queue of people to wait for their turns to hop onto a taxi. You bargained with Sammy or Tan or Mat.

Ten dollars, no five; no, six or seven dollars. Settled.

Until the 1980s after the taxis had to be fixed with mileage meters, there was no more bargaining. Some drivers were foreigners! My driver was from the Philippines.

With the Grab, however, one has no choice of the car or the driver. With the driver of a taxicab, one could converse about issues of the day (politics: who among those mortals up had taken bribes, who would be the next YB (elected representative) for Bukit Bintang other than Lee Lam Thye.

Now you cannot do that because the Grab driver is not supposed to talk to his/her passengers.

I like talking to the driver of a taxi. So instead, I talked to my handphone, the in-thing, while I was in a Grab.

Whenever old friends meet, they have plenty to talk about – jobs (not bad, health-wise so-so ‘lah’, company went bust because of the Covid-19, now recovering slowly); family matters (who is married to whom; who has gone to be with the Maker).

And inevitably the conversation went on to politics (MCA, MIC, Gerakan, PAS, and the current outfits – in power and those out of power).

“Banyak kacau” blasted Atan, as he was looking around anxiously if anyone else was listening.

He added: “No more MCA, no more MIC-‘lah’, not thriving during our time, you know, Sir.”

I was listening to him attentively and noticed his facial expression and hand gestures. The language of the deaf.

Turning to me, he asked what I had done to myself. My answer was to the effect: “My life has been like flying in an aircraft: during fine weather, all friends ask ‘what can we do for you?’; during a turbulence, or a drop of height during an air pocket, they disappear into thin air.”

We had a good laugh! We agreed to say ‘au revoir’ instead of ‘see you again’.