A Doctor in The House: A Memoir of Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad (23 page)

Unfortunately, the external examiner for that year was a Miss Gladys Dodds from England, who apparently did not care much for American procedures. I cannot remember the exact question she asked me during the viva, but she clearly disapproved of my answer and failed me. It shook me—I had never failed an examination before. I sent a telegram to my father, telling him that this meant I would be in college for at least another six months. I did not want him to hear it from anyone else.

College was not only about examinations and student issues. Until I got into medicine, I had only gone to boys’ schools. There was no co-education in those days. At college, though, there were girl students. Of the seven Malay students in our batch, one was a girl named Hasmah, who wore her hair in two pigtails. The boys fell over each other to carry her books. Aside from female relatives, I had never really met girls before and had no idea how to behave around them. Some boys seemed very comfortable interacting with girls. I envied them, because I was very awkward and never knew what to say. But I did not want to be left out, so I finally plucked up the courage to offer her my book-carrying services. She readily accepted my offer, but then she did this with many others. I persisted and gradually we grew closer to each other.

Eventually, she asked whether I could help her with some of her lessons. This would prove near-fatal to our friendship. I was a very impatient young man, and I simply did not understand why she was unable to follow my explanations. At first, it was easy to conceal my irritation, but in due course it became very taxing. I suppose what helped us avoid too many quarrels was our natural tolerance of other people. There were times when she and I would lose our tempers, but it was nice when we made up.

We grew very close, Hasmah and I. One day, after the usual quarrel-and-make-up episode, we took an STC bus to Marine Parade, which was a favourite spot for students. The food was cheap and it was soothing to be by the sea. We had our favourite 
tauhu bakar
 with 
kangkong
 (water spinach) and squid. We had such a grand feast that I finished all my money and had to ask Hasmah for a loan of $5 for the fare back.

Sometime during the course of the day, I plucked up the courage to tell her exactly how I felt about her. To my great relief, she said she felt the same way about me. That was 23 April 1949—it was such a happy day that we still celebrate it every year.

Because she came from Kuala Lumpur and was a city girl, I had assumed that her family was “modern.” They took me in as Hasmah’s boyfriend and even allowed me to take her to Alor Star. Looking back, I am astonished at this broad-mindedness, because they were actually a very conservative family. I’m even more shocked at how audacious I was. Hasmah and I were not even engaged. We were, to all intents and purposes, just friends. Moreover, she was a girl, a Muslim Malay girl, and in those days visiting and staying in a boyfriend’s house was unusual to say the least. It was uncharacteristically forward on my part to assume that I would be accepted without the formality of being engaged. But maybe her parents sensed that we were serious about each other, and that I would marry her. In those days married couples did not attend university, so they knew we had to wait until we graduated.

With my earnings from the articles I wrote for the 
Sunday Times
, I bought a second-hand BSA 250cc motorcycle. That eased my journeys to Holne Chase, the girls’ hostel, to see Hasmah. It also meant we had a set of wheels to go out together, sometimes even for weekends to Johor Baru.

Later I bought a second-hand 500cc Fiat Marvelette, which broke down all the time. My next purchase was not much better. I bought a dilapidated, second-hand Standard Coupe, in which Hasmah and I decided to drive to Kuala Lumpur for the holidays. The roof would collapse every now and then and Hasmah had to hold it up with both hands whenever the road was rough and bumpy—and the road was rough and bumpy most of the way. Perhaps this was why I wanted to develop high-speed expressways when I became Prime Minister.

In Kuala Lumpur, I persuaded Hasmah to get her parents’ permission to allow her to go with me to Alor Star. I had no doubt I would marry her eventually and I wanted my parents to meet her. I drove the Standard Coupe all the way to Alor Star. The previous owner was astounded when I told him that the car and I had both survived the journey.

The price of second-hand cars in those days was not high. You could get one for just a few hundred dollars, depending on its condition. Since the Standard Coupe was breaking down all the time, I wanted to borrow money from my brother-in-law Ghani Pak Chik to buy a better car. Instead of giving me money, he gave me a Triumph Mayflower, which was still in good condition. He had always looked out for me. When I eventually went into private practice he financed me and in return I gave him 10 per cent of my takings. When he gave me the Mayflower, in 1950 I think, I was not a houseman (a medical intern) yet, but I kept it when I was working as a houseman in Penang. I returned it to him when I got a government loan to buy a Morris Oxford. I was very close to Ghani Pak Chik. He had helped me attend the fateful Congress of Malay Organisations gatherings in Kuala Lumpur in 1946.
[4]
 He subsequently died of liver cancer, an illness that I had diagnosed. I felt his loss terribly.
 

Throughout my university days I tried to be with Hasmah as often as possible. We would sit in the garden at her hostel, studying together or just talking. I was sore about failing the O&G exam, but it also meant that I could be with Hasmah for another six months. She was still in her fifth year then.

We were only able to get married nine years after we met. I had to wait for her to graduate and finish her housemanship first, so we married only in 1956. The ceremony was held at Jalan Imbi in Kuala Lumpur. I stayed with an uncle in Kampung Baru, the old Malay settlement in the heart of the city.
[5]
 It was a fairly large wedding for that time and we had a few hundred guests. It was a lengthy ceremony, since tradition dictated that the bridal couple had to appear in several outfits during the course of the celebrations. One of the dresses that Hasmah wore was a traditional Chinese dress fashioned after those worn by the Chinese concubines of the Sultan of Malacca. I teased Hasmah ceaselessly after that about being my own concubine.
Nowadays Malay brides no longer wear this dress or the accompanying 
sanggul lintang
, a special hair bun.
 

During the six months I had to stay back, I made sure I studied hard, determined to pass the examination. I prayed and hoped Miss Gladys Dodds would not be the external examiner again. In the event, she was not and I got through my O&G examination with marks to spare.

When the results were put on the board in the main hall of the college building, it was with a stab of sadness that I realised my college days were over. Suddenly the whole place seemed empty. Those of us who had had to repeat examinations left very early. The only ones around were my juniors, and Hasmah was among them.

I spent two or three days there after the results were released, partly to be with Hasmah and partly to visit the familiar places I had frequented during my six years in medical school. One of the stops we made was at Ah Leng’s Canteen where we had Hasmah’s favourite 
meehoon
 (rice noodle) soup.

When it was time to leave, Hasmah saw me off at the Tanjong Pagar railway station. It was a sweet and sad train journey home. My college days were truly over, and so were six memorable years of my life.

ENDNOTES

[1]
 I was a founding member of the PMK.
 

[2]
 UMNO and MCA formed an electoral pact in the 1952 Kuala Lumpur Municipal Council elections, paving the way for political cooperation between the parties.
 

[3]
 An obstetrician at the Kandang Kerbau Hospital, Dr Shears was also the first Chancellor of the National University of Malaya and the first Chancellor of the National University of Singapore.
 

[4]
 These meetings led to the formation of UMNO on 11 May 1946.
 

[5]
 Kampung Baru (New Village) is the oldest Malay residential area in Kuala Lumpur and was founded in 1899 as a Malay agricultural and handicraft settlement. Today it is completely surrounded by modern Kuala Lumpur, but still retains a village-like air.
 

I was in my second year at medical college when the Federation of Malaya was inaugurated on 1 February 1948. It was almost two years after the Malayan Union had been established and several years before I completed my degree.

I followed the events keenly in the newspapers, for these were exciting times that would change the lives of Malayans forever. The 
rakyat
, as represented by UMNO, wanted the Malay states to come together as one nation, the Malay nation. They had opposed the complete surrender of the Malay states to form the Malayan Union that had been promoted by the British. General fatigue had set in, and Malayans had lost faith in the Colonial Government. No longer would the Malays do exactly what the British wanted. But there was still one obstacle to get around: the MacMichael Treaties.

A union implied a totally unitary state with only one government, whereas a federation would recognise the existence of component states. The degree of autonomy of the components could be determined by mutual agreement and so could the degree of federal authority over the states.

The Sultans, finally realising the depth of feeling among the 
rakyat
, tried to repudiate their agreements with the British. They were unsuccessful, but by this time they understood that their only choice was to back their people’s demand for a Federation and to do it on Malayan terms which were acceptable to the country’s now politically awakened Malays.

Sir Edward Gent was the Governor at the time and Sir Malcolm MacDonald was the Governor-General. The Colonial Office sent out MacDonald to make sure that the Malayan Union would continue. But MacDonald appeared to be of a different mind—he wanted to listen to the views of the Malays. He came to agree with Gent that the Union was not workable and that a Federation of Malaya as proposed by the Malays was needed instead. When MacDonald eventually saw that the Malayan Union plan was dead, he recommended that the Colonial Office accept the Federation proposal. This was a complete and quite unexpected reversal of British policy for post-war Malaya.

A cohesive federal government was therefore formed and the states regained nearly all the powers they had when they were protectorates. But now, after what had happened in 1946, their desire to be independent of the British as well as the new federal government was more pronounced. Their state councils were headed by Chief Ministers or 
Menteri Besar,
 nominated by the respective Rulers. Conscious of their autonomy and power, and the duty that went with them, they insisted on having a say in the decisions taken by the federal authorities.

The Federation initially recognised mainly Malays as citizens. As a result, the number of Chinese and Indians who were eligible to vote made up only 11 per cent of the total number of voters in the 1955 Federation-wide elections for self-government. This was a startling contrast to the ratio of voters in the Malayan Union, where the proportion would have been roughly 50 per cent Malays and 50 per cent non-Malays. For me this was half a victory, half a solution. While the plight of the Malays had been addressed to some extent, the Federation had obviously disenfranchised most of the non-Malays. The Chinese formed the All-Malaya Council of Joint Action (AMCJA)
[1]
 with Tun Tan Cheng Lock as leader to protest that the Federation had been formed after consultation almost exclusively with the Malays. The Indians on the other hand, were generally still focused mainly on India, which had become independent.
 

The Head of the Federal Government was still Gent, the British High Commissioner. He was to be assisted by a nominated Federal Executive Council and a Federal Legislative Council, but the High Commissioner could overrule both councils.

Soon after the Federation of Malaya was inaugurated, the Malayan Communist Party (MCP) decided to mount an armed struggle to wrest the country from the British. The majority of Chinese had always been much more interested in the political goings-on in China than the events in British Malaya. They did not regard the country as their home and pledged no allegiance to it.

On every Chinese festival day, the local Chinese would fly the Chinese flag from their shop windows. They had actively supported the setting up of the Chinese Republic by Dr Sun Yat-sen. Aware of this backing, the revolutionary leader even visited and stayed in Penang and funds were collected to finance his struggle. Only a few Baba, or Straits Chinese,
[2]
 thought of Malaya as their home.
 

But by this time, communist rumblings had begun in China and filtered to Malaya. Once again, the British underestimated the enemy. It seemed to me that the only history they remembered was their grand old Empire, and not their recent defeat at the hands of a newly developed Asian nation. They genuinely did not believe that the communist insurgents would succeed. But soon the guerrillas were mounting hundreds of attacks against civilians and military targets.

Gent was forced to declare a state of emergency in 1948. Despite this, the guerrillas were able to mount attacks throughout the country. Malay animosity towards the Chinese impeded the political progress of the Federation towards self-government. It was unclear how the three main communities could work together. People were thinking of a single party which everyone, from all communities, might join, but that was not feasible. So the Federation arrangements which preserved Malay identity and centrality, and excluded the Chinese and Indians, prevailed.