NST: A friend, teacher, and gateway to stories and knowledge
KUALA LUMPUR: In the sultry heat of 1972, a curious Year Six boy's stroll down a red gravel road signified his weekly pilgrimage to his uncle's house — a gateway to a world brimming with stories, knowledge and imagination.
Every visit to the Bukit Jalil estate, about 500m from my home, meant stepping into the cool shade of towering rubber trees and the sweet aroma of jackfruit and cashew nuts that filled the air around my uncle's big bungalow.
Painted in soft yellow and blue, with creaky wooden planks and a sprawling lawn dotted with banana and other fruit trees, his home was a sanctuary for a young boy hungry for discovery.
My uncle, the late Sankaran Kutty Nair, was the senior field conductor of the estate. He was kind enough to let his chubby little nephew dive into the treasure trove of the New Straits Times (NST).
The long, red-cushioned sofa in the hall was my throne, and I would nestle into a corner, eyes wide with anticipation. The front pages were filled with dense political talk about Tun Abdul Razak Hussein, Tun Hussein Onn and other leaders — a bit beyond me.
However, my fingers always flipped to the last few pages. As someone once wisely said: "The best news is always in the back pages."
For me, that meant the sport section, where heroes like Datuk Mokhtar Dahari, Datuk Soh Chin Aun, Datuk Arumugam Rengasamy, Datuk Punch Gunalan, Datuk Marina Chin, Ahmed Ishtiaq Mubarak and Flying Doctor Tan Sri Dr Mani Jegathesan came alive in print.
The sports pages were my window to Malaysia's pride. I could almost hear the roaring crowd when a footballer scored a goal: the thud of the shuttlecock, the thwack of the hockey ball and the deafening cheers during athletic meets.
These stories weren't just news; they were sources of inspiration, painting pictures of determination and national pride that stirred my young heart.
But the NST was more than just headlines and sports. During the frightening dengue outbreak in the 1970s, our beloved English teacher and headmistress, the late Sister Mangalam, later known as Mother Mangalam, urged us to learn everything we could about the disease.
She told us to read newspapers and watch the special television broadcasts on TV2. So I did.
Armed with my uncle's copy of the NST and the flickering images on the TV screen, I absorbed every detail on the spread of dengue and precautions we had to take.
That was my first lesson on how newspapers were not just sources of stories, but lifelines for everyone.
My mother, the late Madam Devayani, was the driving force behind my habit of reading the NST. She insisted that I read an English paper daily, and would quiz me on what I had learned.
I may not have grasped the full weight of political speeches or national policies, but I knew the names of our sports legends and the pulse of the nation through the pages of the newspaper.
And then there were the comic pages — oh, the joy they brought! Every week, I eagerly awaited the adventures of Tarzan swinging through the jungle, his bravery and wild spirit igniting my imagination.
The newspaper also featured comic strips like Peanuts, with Charlie Brown's lovable misadventures; Garfield, the lasagna-loving cat; Nancy and her little adventures; and Blondie, whose humorous tales of Dagwood's antics never failed to make me smile.
These comics weren't just fun. They were teachers in storytelling, humour and the art of capturing life's quirks.
Puzzles were another highlight. "Spot the missing objects" and "Spot the differences" games challenged me, sharpening my observation skills and patience.
Each answer discovered felt like a small victory, a secret unlocked.
Jigsaw puzzles, though not part of the paper, were my pastime. Piecing together the images bit by bit taught me perseverance and problem-solving.
These playful exercises were my first steps into a creative world, stirring my imagination and planting seeds for my future love of writing.
Years later, as I prepared for my Sijil Rendah Pelajaran exams, the NST was still by my side.
After the exams, I penned my very first letter to the editor, describing the poor condition of the roads leading to our estate and the hardships we faced.
Whether my handwritten letter ever made it to print, I will never know, but the act itself was empowering. It was my voice joining the chorus of readers who trusted the NST to be their platform.
Looking back, my journey with the NST was more than just about reading a newspaper.
It was a rich tapestry of learning, inspiration, and connection. It enhanced my English language skills, expanded my world view beyond textbooks and nurtured a lifelong curiosity about the world around me.
The NST was my window to Malaysia's heart and soul, a companion in childhood and a guide through adolescence.
As the NST celebrates its remarkable 180 years next month, I find myself filled with gratitude.
For me, it was not just a newspaper; it was a friend, a teacher, and a gateway to endless stories. It shaped the way I saw the world and gave me the tools to tell my own stories.
Here's to the NST. Thank you for being part of my journey and for continuing to inspire generations of Malaysians to read, imagine and dream.
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The front pages were filled with dense political talk about Tun Abdul Razak Hussein, Tun Hussein Onn and other leaders — a bit beyond me. However, my fingers always flipped to the last few pages. As someone once wisely said: "The best news is always in the back pages." For me, that meant the sport section, where heroes like Datuk Mokhtar Dahari, Datuk Soh Chin Aun, Datuk Arumugam Rengasamy, Datuk Punch Gunalan, Datuk Marina Chin, Ahmed Ishtiaq Mubarak and Flying Doctor Tan Sri Dr Mani Jegathesan came alive in print. The sports pages were my window to Malaysia's pride. I could almost hear the roaring crowd when a footballer scored a goal: the thud of the shuttlecock, the thwack of the hockey ball and the deafening cheers during athletic meets. These stories weren't just news; they were sources of inspiration, painting pictures of determination and national pride that stirred my young heart. But the NST was more than just headlines and sports. During the frightening dengue outbreak in the 1970s, our beloved English teacher and headmistress, the late Sister Mangalam, later known as Mother Mangalam, urged us to learn everything we could about the disease. She told us to read newspapers and watch the special television broadcasts on TV2. So I did. Armed with my uncle's copy of the NST and the flickering images on the TV screen, I absorbed every detail on the spread of dengue and precautions we had to take. That was my first lesson on how newspapers were not just sources of stories, but lifelines for everyone. My mother, the late Madam Devayani, was the driving force behind my habit of reading the NST. She insisted that I read an English paper daily, and would quiz me on what I had learned. I may not have grasped the full weight of political speeches or national policies, but I knew the names of our sports legends and the pulse of the nation through the pages of the newspaper. And then there were the comic pages — oh, the joy they brought! Every week, I eagerly awaited the adventures of Tarzan swinging through the jungle, his bravery and wild spirit igniting my imagination. The newspaper also featured comic strips like Peanuts, with Charlie Brown's lovable misadventures; Garfield, the lasagna-loving cat; Nancy and her little adventures; and Blondie, whose humorous tales of Dagwood's antics never failed to make me smile. These comics weren't just fun. They were teachers in storytelling, humour and the art of capturing life's quirks. Puzzles were another highlight. "Spot the missing objects" and "Spot the differences" games challenged me, sharpening my observation skills and patience. Each answer discovered felt like a small victory, a secret unlocked. Jigsaw puzzles, though not part of the paper, were my pastime. Piecing together the images bit by bit taught me perseverance and problem-solving. 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