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By Mihar Dias June 2025
Before Alor Setar sprouted traffic lights at every street corner, the town’s traffic was commanded not by machines, but by a single man in khaki shorts and a white safari hat. His name, or rather his nickname, was Tompel.
To every schoolboy and town dweller in the 1960s, Tompel wasn’t just a traffic policeman — he was a local legend. Stationed at the bustling junction by the old Royale Theatre, he stood atop a white painted half cut oil drum, conducting the afternoon traffic like a drum major commanding his band.
The nickname Tompel came courtesy of his unmistakable resemblance to a popular Malay comedian of the same era, thanks to a set of prominent buck teeth and an ever-present, cheerful grin.
For seven years of my school-going days, I would slow my bicycle or stop in my tracks just to watch him perform his routine. His pointed arms would shoot left and right with military precision, feet stomping rhythmically on the steel drum-like platform under the relentless Alor Setar sun.
On some days, you could almost hear an imaginary marching band in the background as Tompel twirled his baton-like stick between directing cars and cyclists.
To the children of our generation, he was more than a policeman. He was street theatre, discipline, and comic relief rolled into one. Even in my dreams, I’d sometimes see him, forever standing tall on that box, doing his half-twirl with a cheeky smile, as the town obediently followed his every gesture.
But progress is merciless. Eventually, Tompel was replaced by cold, unblinking traffic lights. The white box disappeared. The junction became just another ordinary corner with flashing reds and greens. Alor Setar began its march into modernity, losing in the process the quirks and characters that gave it soul.
I often thought — if only Islam permitted the erecting of statues in honour of everyday heroes, Tompel deserved one. Not for his rank, nor his authority, but for being a symbol of a gentler, simpler time when towns had faces, and traffic was guided by the swing of a stick and the stomp of a foot.
Today, the Alor Setar of my childhood survives only in memory. But for those of us who lived it, the image of Tompel at the Royale Theatre junction remains a precious, sepia-toned snapshot of a town that once was.
Mihar Dias (mihardias@gmail.com) is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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