Bhagwan Singh: Turning 100 and going strong
Bhagwan Singh with his trusty bicycle near his cow shed in Taiping in the 1960s. (Bhagwan Singh pic)
Bhagwan Singh carefully unloaded the bag of “punnaaku” (cattle feed) from his trusty bicycle at his Kampung Benggali, Taiping, house. The teen was exhausted after cycling about 95km, but very pleased.
After all, he had saved four cents by buying the cattle feed at a shop in Kulim, Kedah.
Bhagwan, who will be 100 years old this December, tells me that in the 1930s and 1940s, every single cent mattered. For instance, he says, one kati (half a kilogramme) of sugar cost two or three cents while one gantang (about 2.5kg) of rice cost between eight and 10 cents.
He would also routinely cycle to Penang – while a student and later as a young adult – to buy clothes and other stuff because they were between one and three cents cheaper per unit.
It was not because he was stingy. No. It was because the family was mired in poverty and every cent counted. His father Munsha Singh died in 1933, when Bhagwan, the eldest of six siblings, was 12 years old.
At 12, Bhagwan had to shoulder the burden of running the family with his mother Ask Kaur, which explains why he was able to rough it out over the years, raise a family of three children who have done well for themselves, and go on well past the age of 99.
Seated at a table at his Kota West home in Taiping, Bhagwan tells me in excellent English: “Goods were cheaper in Penang, so I used to cycle to Penang very frequently to buy clothes and other stuff that my family needed. I’d park my bicycle in Prai or Butterworth, cross over by a steamboat ferry, and stay with relatives or friends.
“I’d buy clothes, sugar and other stuff because if something cost five cents in Taiping, it would be two cents cheaper in Penang.” Bhagwan reminds me that in those days, they even had quarter cent and half cent coins.
He stopped cycling to Penang and Kulim on these errands when the family finances improved.
After all, he had saved four cents by buying the cattle feed at a shop in Kulim, Kedah.
Bhagwan, who will be 100 years old this December, tells me that in the 1930s and 1940s, every single cent mattered. For instance, he says, one kati (half a kilogramme) of sugar cost two or three cents while one gantang (about 2.5kg) of rice cost between eight and 10 cents.
He would also routinely cycle to Penang – while a student and later as a young adult – to buy clothes and other stuff because they were between one and three cents cheaper per unit.
It was not because he was stingy. No. It was because the family was mired in poverty and every cent counted. His father Munsha Singh died in 1933, when Bhagwan, the eldest of six siblings, was 12 years old.
At 12, Bhagwan had to shoulder the burden of running the family with his mother Ask Kaur, which explains why he was able to rough it out over the years, raise a family of three children who have done well for themselves, and go on well past the age of 99.
Seated at a table at his Kota West home in Taiping, Bhagwan tells me in excellent English: “Goods were cheaper in Penang, so I used to cycle to Penang very frequently to buy clothes and other stuff that my family needed. I’d park my bicycle in Prai or Butterworth, cross over by a steamboat ferry, and stay with relatives or friends.
“I’d buy clothes, sugar and other stuff because if something cost five cents in Taiping, it would be two cents cheaper in Penang.” Bhagwan reminds me that in those days, they even had quarter cent and half cent coins.
He stopped cycling to Penang and Kulim on these errands when the family finances improved.
Bhagwan Singh sits proudly in front of mementoes he received from the King Edward VII School Old Boys Association. (A. Kathirasen pic)
Although his mind is still sharp, he does pause now and then to collect his thoughts before replying to some of my questions. And I have to strain my ears to hear him, as he speaks very softly and gently.
Bhagwan does not suffer from any illness, such as diabetes and hypertension which afflict many men half his age, but his knees have taken a beating from years of cycling and carrying milk and loads of cut grass.
That helps explain why he uses a walker to move around the house and needs a wheelchair when travelling outside.
“I would cycle to Kulim to buy ‘punnaaku’,” he says, using the Tamil word for what is often referred to in English as “oil cake”, the waste that remains after oil seeds such as sesame and coconuts are ground to extract the oil. “Punnaaku” was one cent cheaper per bag in Kulim.
“I would put the ‘punnaaku’ on my bicycle and pedal back. I would leave my house at 4am and arrive in Kulim by 8am, have some food at my aunty’s house along the way and then cycle back,” says Bhagwan who lived in Kampung Benggali throughout his life until about 18 years ago when the family shifted to Kota West.
Bhagwan tells me that 60 to 70 cents a day was enough to run a family then.
“I tried to save money, so I travelled by bicycle everywhere. Anyway, in the 1930s and 1940s, people mostly travelled by bicycle. There were only about 20 to 30 cars in Taiping then. The main mode of transporting goods was the bullock cart.”
His father was a bullock carter and would transport goods such as sand for a fee. When his father died, his mother sold the two bullocks and they used the money to buy milk cows.
Every morning, Ask Kaur and Bhagwan would get up before 4am. She would milk the cows while he cleaned the shed. At 5.30am, Bhagwan would go on his rounds to deliver the milk to their regular clients who included some of the top British officials and rich towkays of Taiping.
Once the deliveries were over, Bhagwan would cycle to school but would often arrive late, with the result that his name would be recorded by the prefects. One day the headmaster called him in to enquire why he was often late and upon learning about Bhagwan’s pecuniary problems, instructed the prefects to be lenient with him.
Bhagwan says he studied in Primary One at the Kamunting English School before moving to King Edward VII School where he studied until Standard 9 and sat for the Senior Cambridge Examination, which he passed with flying colours. But he continued selling milk.
Bhagwan does not suffer from any illness, such as diabetes and hypertension which afflict many men half his age, but his knees have taken a beating from years of cycling and carrying milk and loads of cut grass.
That helps explain why he uses a walker to move around the house and needs a wheelchair when travelling outside.
“I would cycle to Kulim to buy ‘punnaaku’,” he says, using the Tamil word for what is often referred to in English as “oil cake”, the waste that remains after oil seeds such as sesame and coconuts are ground to extract the oil. “Punnaaku” was one cent cheaper per bag in Kulim.
“I would put the ‘punnaaku’ on my bicycle and pedal back. I would leave my house at 4am and arrive in Kulim by 8am, have some food at my aunty’s house along the way and then cycle back,” says Bhagwan who lived in Kampung Benggali throughout his life until about 18 years ago when the family shifted to Kota West.
Bhagwan tells me that 60 to 70 cents a day was enough to run a family then.
“I tried to save money, so I travelled by bicycle everywhere. Anyway, in the 1930s and 1940s, people mostly travelled by bicycle. There were only about 20 to 30 cars in Taiping then. The main mode of transporting goods was the bullock cart.”
His father was a bullock carter and would transport goods such as sand for a fee. When his father died, his mother sold the two bullocks and they used the money to buy milk cows.
Every morning, Ask Kaur and Bhagwan would get up before 4am. She would milk the cows while he cleaned the shed. At 5.30am, Bhagwan would go on his rounds to deliver the milk to their regular clients who included some of the top British officials and rich towkays of Taiping.
Once the deliveries were over, Bhagwan would cycle to school but would often arrive late, with the result that his name would be recorded by the prefects. One day the headmaster called him in to enquire why he was often late and upon learning about Bhagwan’s pecuniary problems, instructed the prefects to be lenient with him.
Bhagwan says he studied in Primary One at the Kamunting English School before moving to King Edward VII School where he studied until Standard 9 and sat for the Senior Cambridge Examination, which he passed with flying colours. But he continued selling milk.
Bhagwan Singh attending to one of his cows in Taiping in the early 1960s. (A. Kathirasen pic)
Around 1941 or so, Bhagwan wrote a letter to a farm in Australia after an uncle told him that the Friesian breed of cow gave more milk than the local variety. After some exchanges of letters, he ordered five cows and a bull, paying a total of $350. They arrived by ship.
kt query: Weren't the Japs around then? 😨
Where did he get that much money? “I borrowed from some Tamil cattle owners. In those days, there was a lot of trust and they lent me the money. I also raised some money from others.”
Soon, his herd began to grow in number and at its peak he had 50 milking cows – Australian and mixed breeds.
Bhagwan was an astute businessman, not just a milk seller. Able to speak fluent Tamil, he convinced a number of cattle rearers to supply him the milk and leave the delivery to him.
It appears then that decades before Grab, Food Panda and other delivery services started in Malaysia, Bhagwan was sourcing milk and delivering it, along with that produced by his cows, to those who had placed orders, except that the orders were placed in person, not online.
“I used to earn two cents for every bottle (sourced from others) that I sold. A small bottle of milk would cost five cents while a big bottle would cost 10 cents. I secured a licence from the local council to sell milk.”
He cycled daily to deliver milk from the time his father died till he was 75 years old when his children forced him to quit. He gradually sold off the cows but refused to let go of his last cow, his favourite, until a relative persuaded him – about two years later – to do so.
It was with the milk money that he raised his eldest daughter Gurcharan, now a retired teacher, his son Dalgit, a successful lawyer in Ipoh, and daughter Paramjit who is still teaching. Bhagwan has seven grandchildren and one great grandchild.
In 1947 his uncle took him to India to find him a bride but nothing worked out. While there, he witnessed the murder and mayhem resulting from the partitioning of India and the birth of Pakistan. Once it was safe to do so, they returned to Malaya.
At the age of 33, Bhagwan married Mukhtiar of Permatang Pauh, Penang.
Bhagwan was in great demand in his village because of his proficiency in English. In fact, during the communist emergency between 1948 and 1962, he was the head of the Kampung Benggali Home Guard.
“I was the only one in my village of about 100 families who could speak English, so I suppose I was the natural choice for the British authorities. I had to check on trouble makers, whether anyone was sympathising with communists or not and report to my superiors. They gave me a rifle too. ”
He was given RM1,000 and a certificate by the Malaysian government about 15 years ago in recognition of his work during the emergency years.
Soon, his herd began to grow in number and at its peak he had 50 milking cows – Australian and mixed breeds.
Bhagwan was an astute businessman, not just a milk seller. Able to speak fluent Tamil, he convinced a number of cattle rearers to supply him the milk and leave the delivery to him.
It appears then that decades before Grab, Food Panda and other delivery services started in Malaysia, Bhagwan was sourcing milk and delivering it, along with that produced by his cows, to those who had placed orders, except that the orders were placed in person, not online.
“I used to earn two cents for every bottle (sourced from others) that I sold. A small bottle of milk would cost five cents while a big bottle would cost 10 cents. I secured a licence from the local council to sell milk.”
He cycled daily to deliver milk from the time his father died till he was 75 years old when his children forced him to quit. He gradually sold off the cows but refused to let go of his last cow, his favourite, until a relative persuaded him – about two years later – to do so.
It was with the milk money that he raised his eldest daughter Gurcharan, now a retired teacher, his son Dalgit, a successful lawyer in Ipoh, and daughter Paramjit who is still teaching. Bhagwan has seven grandchildren and one great grandchild.
In 1947 his uncle took him to India to find him a bride but nothing worked out. While there, he witnessed the murder and mayhem resulting from the partitioning of India and the birth of Pakistan. Once it was safe to do so, they returned to Malaya.
At the age of 33, Bhagwan married Mukhtiar of Permatang Pauh, Penang.
Bhagwan was in great demand in his village because of his proficiency in English. In fact, during the communist emergency between 1948 and 1962, he was the head of the Kampung Benggali Home Guard.
“I was the only one in my village of about 100 families who could speak English, so I suppose I was the natural choice for the British authorities. I had to check on trouble makers, whether anyone was sympathising with communists or not and report to my superiors. They gave me a rifle too. ”
He was given RM1,000 and a certificate by the Malaysian government about 15 years ago in recognition of his work during the emergency years.
The commendation letter Bhagwan received from the Malaysian government for his services during the 1948-1962 Emergency.
Are any of his siblings still alive? Yes, brother Ram is 90 and sister Jaswant is 88. Is there a special diet responsible for his longevity? He doesn’t think so, but he has been eating raw onions daily all his life, till today.
How does he spend his time? “Just like that,” he says, but I catch a tinge of sadness in his eyes.
I ask him if he sees any difference between people’s behaviour now and 50 years ago, and he says: “Young people then were tough and would get into quarrels and fights. Today, they are more quiet. Those days people were more helpful and polite. Today, they will nod if you ask something but they don’t help.”
He still has some old friends, all of whom are younger than him and with whom he talks on the telephone now and then.
“In recent years I have been attending the annual dinner organised by the King Edward VII School Old Boys’ Association as I feel happy to be able to meet some of my younger friends. It’s a good feeling as they treat me well.”
He is usually taken to the dinner by a younger friend, Satwinder Soni Singh.
I ask him about race relations and he says: “Everyone was friendly and there were no racial troubles or tensions. Life was tough but people lived happily and respected each other’s ways. Those were better days.”
His advice to people? “Keep quiet and don’t fight with others. If people are quarrelsome, let them be; you hold your peace. Whatever problems arise, don’t give up; just carry on.”
How does he spend his time? “Just like that,” he says, but I catch a tinge of sadness in his eyes.
I ask him if he sees any difference between people’s behaviour now and 50 years ago, and he says: “Young people then were tough and would get into quarrels and fights. Today, they are more quiet. Those days people were more helpful and polite. Today, they will nod if you ask something but they don’t help.”
He still has some old friends, all of whom are younger than him and with whom he talks on the telephone now and then.
“In recent years I have been attending the annual dinner organised by the King Edward VII School Old Boys’ Association as I feel happy to be able to meet some of my younger friends. It’s a good feeling as they treat me well.”
He is usually taken to the dinner by a younger friend, Satwinder Soni Singh.
I ask him about race relations and he says: “Everyone was friendly and there were no racial troubles or tensions. Life was tough but people lived happily and respected each other’s ways. Those were better days.”
His advice to people? “Keep quiet and don’t fight with others. If people are quarrelsome, let them be; you hold your peace. Whatever problems arise, don’t give up; just carry on.”
*********
kt notes:
A fantastic story of early years thrift and a known admirable trait particularly of the Punjabis.
Atuk has a few more years to play 'catch up' - maybe more onions for Atuk, wakakaka.
I wonder whether the Chinese saying of "gor lui nar kar goo-chea-lian" (5-sen coin as big as a bullock cart wheel) originated from Mr Bhagwan's efforts? 😀😁😂
And I'll have you people know kaytee used to peddle around on my bicycle (with a tradesman carriage rack which could carry 3 gunnysacks of rice or 3 sweeties, but alas, only the former which was done by my granddad, wakakaka) all over Penang Island. Guess I'll live forever 😁😁😁
Pendatang, Orang Asing ini patut dipuji and disanjungi. Tidak perlu Bantuan Kerajaan pun, boleh berjaya. No need for NEP or Bumi status. Tapi Mahiaddin derma hanya 3 juta untuk 120 Gurdwara. Kesian. Kerajaan akan Pokai kata-nya.
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