Cast From The Herd: Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia
M. Bakri Musa
Excerpt # 95: So You Want To Be A Doctor!
When I returned from the break in the morning’s interview session, and following my grandfather’s advice, I sneaked a small twig into my right palm. Soon I was called in. There were four interviewers, including a stern-looking Indian lady. The chairman, I presumed, was an old Malay man with curly backswept hair and generously streaked with gray. He was still smacking his lips savoring the lingering sweet aftertaste of the teh tarik (sweetened tea with cream) he had during the break. They were all busy flipping through their files. I tried to maintain eye contact but had difficulty as they were all looking down. Soon the chairman cleared his throat and everyone stared at me. I looked at each one of them and silently recited my grandfather’s du’a. Then I unobtrusively snapped the twig in my palm, and with that I felt a sudden surge of confidence.
“Are you Mohammad Bakri Bin Musa?” intoned the chairman.
“Yes, sir!” That was it. No introduction, no good morning, no pleasantries to settle me down. Right to the point; good!
“What do you plan to take at university?”
“I want to be a doctor, sir!”
“I said, ‘What do you plan to take.’ Listen to the question.”
“Oh, medicine, sir!” was my calm reply. Even I was surprised to have such composure despite the initial goof.
“Why do you want to be a doctor?” he continued.
I related how exciting life would be as a physician. Your days would not be predictable; on certain days you would be jubilant because you made the right diagnosis and helped someone, on other days less so. You might even be disappointed with your misdiagnosis or failed treatment.
“Very interesting,” he observed. “Unlike what we do here where every day is the same,” he laughed, and his fellow panelists smiled. “Do you have a doctor in your family?”
“No sir!”
“Then how do you know these things?”
I described the annual career days at our college. I remembered hearing one Dr. Khalid Sahan, an “old boy” who was then stationed at Kuala Kangsar, describing his typical day.
“You actually paid attention?” the chairman mocked me.
I was afraid he would ask about other doctors who had influenced me. I knew of no one else, but he did not. Then he passed me over to his fellow panelists. Just before that the severe-looking Indian lady removed a letter from her file. I recognized the letterhead crest. She seemed to approve of its content. There was a moment of silence as the others digested it, giving me an opportunity to read their facial expressions.
That must be the letter from Mr. Norton that my classmates were talking about earlier. I just hoped that the prefect who sneaked a look had read it right.
As the other panelists composed themselves, each began quizzing me. They must have asked inconsequential questions as I do not remember my replies. When they dismissed me, I left feeling confident. While I did not swagger out, nonetheless I felt like a brash young commander who had prevailed with minimal difficulty over formidable enemy territory.
Later at lunch we, my fellow college mates and I, were as usual going over our earlier battles, trading wartime stories. They were surprised that I was not asked specific questions on medicine. Ramli whispered his intuition, “Bakri, you got it!”
Looking back, I wonder what would have happened had the chairman extended his hand for a handshake. How on earth would I have explained the twig in my palm?
Next: Excerpt 96: Anxiously Waiting For The Big Envelope
