Ms Karma and I

When I first started schooling at the Pasar Road English School (2) (it's somewhere near Pudu - pic "borrowed" from Fusion View), there was a steep slope rising beside the entrance gate that caught my imagination.

In those days Hollywood stars were real men (at least on screen) and would always emerge from spectacular crashes and explosions unscathed - except for a slightly disturbed coiffure.

And that steep slope looked exactly like the one where the hero and villain would tumble down, head over heels, in the climactic fight scene of, oh, practically every action movie that we saw.

And of course, it looked deliciously perfect for a young boy to relive those fight sequences that had pretty much stuck in his head.

Now, our Headmistress then was Miss Cheah, a statuesque Chinese lady in her 40s - you know the type* - a pretty face but with a strict demeanour.

With a modest yet elegantly dressed slim body.

All that she lacked was a scooped neckline, a whip and a pair of high boots for men to throw themselves and grovel at her feet.

Or so I felt at that time.

* A cipanesque detour : I met a lot of these Chinese spinsters in my life, most of them quite pretty which mystified me to no end ... that is until I discovered Lilytheliverbird's answer to the mystery.

The answer? Men are idiots (present company included).


Now Miss Cheah, being someone truly dedicated to her job, truly understood how young boys think. **


** Another detour : It wouldn't really surprise me if an ancient gentleman was to come up and tell me that she moonlighted in a bordello and was very popular with men who required intimate correctional services.


So she would unfailingly station herself at the porch near the slope when we were coming in; during recess when we would be at play; and when we were going home - when we would be at our worst.

So diligent was she in doing this that one day, after a couple of months, a like-minded friend and I couldn't believe our eyes when she wasn't there at the tail-end of recess.

So up we scrambled to perch at the very top and stood there daring the other to make that death-defying tumble down.

You see, it was really bloody steep and to top it off, at the bottom of the slope was a small concrete drain.

In order to not end up splattering your brains all over it, you'd have to retain enough presence of mind in the midst of a dizzying tumble to spring upright at just the right moment.

Spring up too early and you do a face-plant into the tarmac.

A fraction too late and you might just get away with a broken leg.

Being the stupider one (I was in Std 1E while the other fella was in Std 1A), I actually went for it.

And the angels were watching over me - I aced the timing and sprang triumphantly to my feet, incredibly unscathed with merely a slightly disturbed coiffure.

I whirled around in joy - only to see an ashen-faced Miss Cheah standing stock-still under the porch.

She gestured at my friend - who inched his way down ignominously on his arse - and then waited for us with folded arms.

"I don't want to scold you boys. But I don't want you to get hurt either," she said softly.

Aiyoh, die lah - I sure kena wallop by my mum when she hears of this - were the thoughts running through my head.

"So I want you boys to promise me - that you will never do this again," she finished firmly.

Our mumbled replies never sounded convincing, especially to our own ears.

"All right, go back to your classes," she said and we scrambled away.

I was her lapdog from that moment on.

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But then Ms Karma has her ways of making me pay for that act of audacity ...



... in Std 5 ...
I missed a step at the ablution area in a mosque during Friday prayers and bashed my head into a four-pointed tap.

I bled like a stuck pig and was rushed to the hospital - but by the time the doctor saw me, the bleeding had stopped and he had a very hard time locating the tiny wound.


To be on the safe side, he swaddled a huge bandage around my head - the sight of which almost made my mother swoon when I got home.



... in Form One ...
at the Aryan Borstal for Wayward Boys, a stupid athlete friend accidentally stuck his spike shoe onto my bare foot and punctured an artery.

For the second time in my life I bled like a stuck pig, squirting blood everywhere until they got me to the hospital.

I left so many blood spatters that the sick bay's Matron's first words when she got there (well after we left) was, "Who just died here???"

At the District Hospital I consoled myself that there were distinct advantages in dying so young - but when the doctor took off the T-shirt they wrapped around my foot, the doc (again!) had a hard time locating the tiny puncture wound.

This time, since I was living in a dormitory, my mum was spared a second near-swoon, but I had to withstand the incredulous looks from my friends when I came back to the hostel.

After that dramatic (and bloody) scene, I came back with only a tiny band-aid over the now closed puncture.


... in Lower Six ...
at the Borstal still, while we were waiting for our educational fates to be determined by various parties, I broke my right wrist after a so-called friend sent me flying during a football game.

It could have been both collarbone and wrist (I landed on my right shoulder first) but it seemed Ms Karma had grown fond of me after all those years.

There was an eventful bone "realignment" session in the OR where I came out of full sedation to kick and hurl four-letter abuse at the doctor and assistants before passing out again from the pain.

Understandably I have only a hazy recollection of it.

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That was the last time she got physical with me, but Ms Karma merely became subtler in getting even with me.


From there on, the one thing of mine that she still kept on breaking regularly, was my heart.





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