Dalam Kenangan: Yusof Dohab (1953 - 2016)

I lost a friend last week.

A very good friend, and a quietly remarkable person. I thought I'd write a few words in memory of our friendship and the good times we'd had over the years.

I met him for the first time on the very first day we checked into UKM campus way back in 1975. His room was next to mine. We hit it off in no time. Not sure how, but we just bonded and blended.

We shared the same name, so our fathers had to come in. Our old IC both started with 44. Beyond that, we'd nothing much in common. He was from Kedah, and me, well, you know. I loved football and music and books, while he could never hit a decent tune. I stayed up late, he'd sack out at 9.30. But I could pass along in perfect Kedah tongue. That probably rubbed his sweet spot and sealed the deal.

But there's one more thing that we both passionately shared right to the end: Sense of humour. I'd never met a guy with a sharper sense of humour. Nothing that he couldn't joke about. He had this special talent of seeing the lighter side of anything. His friends, lecturers, brothers, food, sugar readings, and even me, and himself. Nothing escaped his perceptive mind.

When we last met, at a class reunion at Shah Alam, we were making fun of, you've to believe this, Waze. I knew he'd problem locating the venue, but he took it all in his stride "Senang cari tempat ni?" I provoked him. "Senang sangat. Aku pakai Waze". We burst out laughing. He was old-school to the bone, literally scared of  gadgetry and  anything technically complicated. His secretary turned on his desktop and did the emails for him. He'd be the last person in the world to use Waze or any GPS. 

It's hard to be serious whenever we met. There was always something to laugh about. Nothing offensive, just pure, clean fun.       

During those "dark" college days, he'd contrive to occasionally bring a group of Tabligh guys in full garb and gear from the nearby Masjid Al Rahman to my room. He'd call me out as if it was life and death or more than that. Then he'd stand well behind to watch my reaction as the men-in-white launched into a full-blown sermon. He'd nod repeatedly and smile when I said "In Sya Allah". When it was all over, he'd slip back into my room, trying his best to appear apologetic "Sorry la tadi, tapi aku suka la tengok hang serious dok dengak depa tu lecture", and we both roared with laughter. Nobody else could pull off pranks like this.
 
We stayed off campus in the second year.  Our lair was a spacious four-room real estate at Lorong Maarof, Bangsar we shared with six or maybe seven other students. He had a sexy Vespa for class commutes and occasional getaways to the old Lake Gardens. I was his PO1 (pembonceng number one).

For some strange reason, I still remember the Vespa's number to this day: KF 5278. The old workhorse is still around at his house in Kedah, tip-top, raring and ready. I'd never expected it to outlive its master.

He didn't graduate first-class or first in class. Neither did I. But he found his true calling as a "government servant", turning in first-rate performance that deserved not one but two Datukship (three if you count the grandchildren, haha). I heard his boss, the minister, just couldn't operate without him in the mix. Of course, he could operate without the minister.

I think what set him apart was his humility. You didn't have to deal with his ego because he didn't have any. The only thing he "bragged" about was his massive cocktail of medications, which, according to him, the doctors prescribed in kilograms. Even with his social standing, he'd remained faithful to his simple tastes and minimal sophistication, no airs and graces, and no fancy philosophies to flaunt. Showy stuff like culture and architecture would never motivate him. He was driven more by his rural and religious roots. With him, you only get what you see. No wonder he was so easy to like and enjoy.

Last year he did me a favour. Although retired, he still had useful connection in high places. My daughter had applied for a Mara loan to do a degree in UK. It was turned down outright. I thought she had a solid case because she was accepted straight into the second year.

So my last resort was to appeal to the minister, incidentally his former boss. He got me an appointment with the minister's personal assistant (his friend). The minister approved and signed, not one question asked. The following week the minister was sacked. No, not because of that appeal letter, but because of 1MDB.

If you want to know, my daughter is now at KDU College, in Damansara, not England. What happened to the letter? Use all your imagination.

A few weeks before the fasting month, he called me just to catch up. He was all over, up and running about his little orchard around his house in Kedah. I accepted his invitation to a fruit-picking and sleep-over at his house after Hari Raya. This time we were serious. I was all game and looking forward to this exciting event. Who knew, we might even get randy enough and hit the road again. Yes, a retro ride on that old Vespa. Man, I couldn't wait.

It was not to be.

I had very little sleep that night of 16 July. Tossing and turning, my thoughts were with his family. He was very ill and had been under intensive care since afternoon. I woke up at 3.30 am. At about 4.30 the message came in, from his phone. His wife Ani wrote.

My heart sank as I looked on, speechless, shaken and swamped by a deep sense of loss and despair.

                     

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