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MALAYSIA
FOCUS
| December 2014
ECONOMY
diplomat, used to recount to the writer. According
to the story, when Tunku visited New Delhi in the
early 1960s, Tun Sambanthan who was with him,
planned to entertain Tunku at his favourite “banana
leaf” restaurant in Madras (now
Chennai
). This
meant that Tunku’s official tour of Bangalore had to
be cancelled, much to the dismay of Banerjee, the
Indian diplomat, who had painstakingly planned
the official itinerary. Banerjee then contacted Tan Sri
Abdul Rahman Jalal and explained that Tunku’s visit
to Bangalore was important in terms of impressing
upon the Malayan Prime Minister the progress India
was making in the modern world. Tan Sri Abdul
Rahman desperately tried to contact Wisma Putra in
Kuala Lumpur to request their advice, but received
no response. Puri, who was then serving as the
Indian High Commissioner in Kuala Lumpur advised
that the official itinerary be followed, and that the
food from the same restaurant in Madras could be
brought to Bangalore. But Tunku, goaded on by Tun
Sambanthan, would have none of this.
“We’ll leave
Banerjee to lunch in Bangalore. I’m heading straight
South with Sambanthan for my banana leaf!”
Tunku used to recollect the early days when Tun
Sambanthan wore his dhoti and scarf of which he
was very proud. UMNO’s protest against a federal
Minister’s use of the traditional South Indian attire
fell on deaf ears. Even Tunku tried many times to rid
him of dhoti and scarf, but to no avail. The occasion
came, when Tun Sambanthan had to accompany
Tunku to London. Despite the extreme cold, Tun
Sambanthan insisted on wearing his usual attire.
When walking he would always trail behind as he
could not step out far enough to keep pace or catch
up with Tunku; or perhaps Tunku walked faster on
purpose. One day when they were out for a walk,
Tunku led him into Simpson’s store in Piccadilly
where Tunku asked the tailor to fit Tun Sambanthan
with good, ready-made suit. The Tun protested in
the beginning, but yielded later to the inevitable.
Finally, he came out looking a new man – a brand
new suit, West-End tailored, brand new shirt, new
tie, new shoes and socks. When he left that store he
was a changed man. On the way back to the hotel,
Tun Sambanthan walked so fast that it was now
Tunku’s turn to chase him.
The same night Tunku asked Tun Sambanthan to
follow him to Sir Gerald Templar’s home for dinner.
To Tunku’s great disappointment, Tun Sambanthan
appeared all over again in his usual dhoti and scarf.
As soon as they entered the house, Tunku removed
the scarf from Tun Sambanthan’s shoulders and
presented it as their mutual gift to Lady Templar. At
first Lady Templar refused to accept it, but later she
received it when Tun Sambanthan kept on insisting
that she accept the gift.
After that Tun Sambanthan began to wear his suit
with a fashionable London tie. Not satisfied with just
one suit, he went out alone in secret and bought a
few more for himself.
Tunku’s jokes about his colleagues were always
taken in good spirit. Very often, he pointed out his
own shortcomings, and laughed at himself before
anyone else could. He demonstrated his humanity
and openness in this way, and took away his
detractor’s ability to laugh at him.
Tunku exemplified the truth of Dwight Eisenhower’s
observation that
“a sense of humour is part of the art
of leadership, of getting along with people, of getting
things done.”
At this critical juncture of our nation’s
history, we need to bring the healing touch of
humour back into the life of the nation, a legacy
left behind by none other than the world’s happiest
Prime Minister.
Despite tense
political situations,
Tunku never failed
to find humour in
the company of his
political detractors,
Sukarno (left) and
Lee Kuan Yew
(right).