Navel Gazer

A meeting with a mysterious reader leads our columnist to conclude that true generosity is what you do when nobody’s looking.

We're about to tuck into our bento sets when, suddenly, David taps his glass. “Ladies and gentleman,” he announces. “In honour of our birthday boy, some of you have expressed your desire to give a toast to him. We’ll start with...”

One by one, the guests get up to deliver speeches. My heart turns over in a panic. There are few things I dread more than making public speeches – impromptu ones that are meant to pay tribute to someone, even more so. What on earth would I talk about?

For guidance, I listen closely to the rest. Almost all of them talk about how they got to know PY. Some of them started as business partners. Others worked for him. I probably had one of the most unusual histories with him, it struck me.

My mind goes back to the day I met him. Back in 2008, I wrote a tongue-in-cheek article about my hairstylist. A few days after the article came out, Andrew called me with an intriguing proposition: One of his customers had read it and wanted to meet me. The only detail Andrew would reveal was that he was an interesting person whom a columnist would enjoy getting to know.

Before you get the wrong idea, I’m not in the habit of meeting strange men. But this was coming from Andrew, so I was sure no harm would come of it. At our appointed time of 7pm, I pulled into a colonial building on a well-known street. A lady directed me to a waiting room where a tall, slim man in a loose shirt and trousers, was reading a book, surrounded by paintings, book shelves and elegant furniture. He told me to call him Pak Y.

He asked me what I aspired for the country, what I liked to read and do, and what kind of things I wrote about. He asked them in a casual way, but I had a distinct feeling he was assessing me. I didn’t try too hard to ask him about himself. He looked about my dad’s age, so I figured this guy had eaten more salt than I have rice. If he wanted to, he’d tell me about himself when he was ready.

He pulled a red-covered book off the shelf and handed it to me. Had I read it? I glanced at the title. “No,” I replied, glad for the darkness in hiding my slight blush. “I will when I get home,” I felt compelled to add. He nodded easily. “Let me know what you think of it.”

Andrew’s number appeared on my phone minutes after I reached home. “How did it go?”

“Fine. Seems like a nice chap.”

“Fine?” Andrew sounded like he was on the verge of bursting a vein. “Do you know who that was?”

“He told me he was in construction.”

Andrew went silent before answering in a strangled voice, “That was Datuk Y.”

Big deal, I thought. One of my occupational hazards involves meeting people from all walks of life, and I’ve met quite a few titled people whose behaviour hardly entitled them to their titles. “What exactly does he do that’s so important?” I asked impatiently. “Oh by the way, he also gave me a book titled...” I read out the title.

“Alex, he is the author of that book lah. And it was a bestseller in its day.”

Oops, did I unwittingly offend the author when I didn’t recognise him? I had been living out of Ipoh for so long, he couldn’t possibly fault me for not knowing the city's who’s who.

Following the introduction, PY asked me to do some writing work for him. My induction into the world of the rich and successful wasn't what I expected at all. Working with PY was an exercise in aggravating fun. He was extremely meticulous – some might say anal retentive. It took 10 meetings before an article amounting to 1,000 words was approved. We laboured over every word because “each word carries weight”, he pointed out.

If he was serious to the point of perfectionism about his work, PY was also an incorrigible joker in social settings, often the life of any party. He could also be incredibly astute about people. When I mentioned that one of the reasons I came back often was so I could take over as driver from my father, who was pushing 70 at the time, he advised me not to.

“You’ll make him feel old. It’d be good for him to do the driving, and if you want, just keep him company,” he said.

I knew that PY did a fair bit of philanthropy and charity work, but so do a lot of rich businessmen for the sake of adding some colour to their corporate social responsibility profile. How do you know when it comes from the heart? Most importantly, how do you differentiate the two?

I got my answer one lunch, during which I literally caught him “red handed”. After a typical brain-squeezing session, he treated me and his driver to a bowl of his favourite fishball noodle soup at a stall at Ipoh Stadium. Throughout lunch, people came up to say hello to him. I wondered what he must have thought that evening when I didn’t recognise him. He treated everyone the way he interacted with me – like an old friend.

After the meal, I noticed he had disappeared. My eyes scoured the premises and finally found him at the back of the stall. Curious, I got up to find out what he was up to. From a distance, I could see him handing out money to the children of the stall owner. He had slipped away quietly to do it without being seen – no fuss, no ceremony, no fanfare. If I hadn’t been a busybody, I wouldn’t have seen this act of kindness.

“And now we come to Alex.” David’s voice rouses me out of my reverie, bringing me back to the present where 30 of PY's friends are gathered to celebrate his 80th birthday. I rise, with sake cup in hand, and begin. “Thank you PY, for teaching me the true meaning of generosity.”

Alexandra Wong is mighty grateful for all the interesting readers-turned-friends she has met through the years thanks to this column.