I REMEMBER the first day my father drove our brand new Proton Saga into our driveway. It was 1986 (the year after the national car was unveiled), I was 15, and the gleaming red first-generation model was a symbol of middle-class success and national pride. It was also the first brand new car my father had ever bought.
It was a car with a heart — built simply yet generous enough to seat a family of six. The Proton Saga became part of folklore long before many newer and sleeker versions took its place. Our red first-generation Proton Saga inspired fondness. Unlike other cars, it wasn't known for elegance, possessed no sleek lines, and evoked no sense of the erotic.
But all my best childhood memories are tied to the car. Cramming all four rambunctious girls on the backseat, we'd go on holidays and road trips with my grumpy father behind the wheel and my mother on the passenger side nagging him to drive slower.
I'd press my nose against the window watching the landscapes fly by, occasionally cranking the window down to let the breeze enter. We'd feed cassettes into the Blaupunkt radio set (one of the car's finest features, to my teenage perspective). My sisters and I would sing along loudly to familiar tunes wafting through the car. Those were the best years of my life — and my father's red Proton featured largely in those sepia-toned memories.
The Proton Saga symbolised the Malaysia of the time — when hope, prosperity and the belief that together as a nation, we could do just about anything. The national car represented the nation's collective imagination.
It was a car that was inspiring in its ordinariness. As a child, I used to think it had human qualities. I felt it was a bit like Charlie Brown — naive, simplistic, built lean and blocky like my favourite uncle and yet game enough to go anywhere, tolerate anyone. It wasn't a product or a commodity, but a way of life, which provided livelihood to many. It represented the ideal form of a mixed economy, a locally produced car that served the public good.
I admit, today, the Proton Saga is almost part of nostalgia, running like a commemorative stamp on our roads. The car eventually gave way to technological advances and yet no other car or its subsequent variants provide the sense of the original Saga.
The news that Proton had officially opened the bookings for the latest 2020 Proton X50 on Malaysia Day recently and is planning an output of 8,000 units before the year draws to a close, triggers nostalgia rather than anticipation.
When I catch a glimpse of Hafiz Mohtar's red Proton Saga parked conspicuously by the side of café where we're sitting, memories of my father's car flood back. Hafiz's car attracts admiring glances from passers-by and the 30-year-old beams with pride as I compliment him on his car.
The KL-born is the proud owner of the 1989 red Proton Saga Magma, which he calls 'Sagapekak'. He's a Proton Saga fan who restored his second-generation Saga into the first-generation Saga — the same kind I used to take rides in as a teenager. While the car sits proudly in the parking lot, gleaming red in the bright late morning sun, I sit with the affable man for coffee and conversation.
Why do you call your car 'Sagapekak'? I ask curiously. He beams again before beginning: "It's standard lingo amongst car enthusiasts. Among us 'car guys' there's a jargon called stended pekak to portray a stock car." He laughs at my blank expression.
I'm decidedly not a 'car guy' so he goes on to explain to me patiently that a stock car — in the original sense of the term — is an automobile that hasn't been modified from its original factory configuration.
"Since my vision is to showcase the car as 'stock' as possible or close to its original settings, I called my car 'Sagapekak',' he surmises blithely. "I call my Perodua Axia, Justin — of the Timberlake stock," I say drily and we both break into laughter.
LOVE FOR CARS
Hafiz is a self-confessed 'car guy'. "I love tinkering with old cars and restoring them to their former glory," he shares, shrugging his shoulders. Just like most teenage boys who develop an affinity towards fast cars and car accessories, he developed an interest in restoring cars soon after school. "I'm not particularly good at hands-on restoration, but I manage the entire process well enough," he explains simply.
Why restore a rusty hulk instead of buying a shiny new car? Maybe to create a touchable memory, or achieve art in motion. Or maybe it's as simple as the reason given by the owner of the perfectly preserved Proton Saga. "I've never had so much fun in my life," he says, grinning.
But why does he like old cars? He shrugs, brows furrowing as he takes his time to answer. "Are you an old soul?" I press further. He breaks into laughter again. "My father asked me the same thing," he replies, adding: "He keeps reminding me that I'm driving a vehicle that's not even in my era!"
A brief pause before he finally answers my question. "I guess I like the history behind these old cars. I'm not restoring a mere car. I'm preserving history." The other car that Hafiz is also currently restoring is a Datsun 510. "It's a very popular car. The Datsun 510 is very much a tinkerer's car: easy to work on, and easy to improve," he shares, with another shrug of his shoulders.
Restoring the Saga, however, wasn't on his radar until he was forced to drive one out of necessity. "I like to call it serendipity!" he quips, grinning. The culinary graduate was running a restaurant and catering business for a while, and had bought an old Proton Saga in 2017 for his employee to run errands, and cart vegetables and other food ingredients sourced from local markets and the pasar borong (wholesale market).
"That's the beauty of the Proton Saga, isn't it?" he muses. The car can work in all the conditions that it's subjected to — happy to carry vegetables, packages, or children. The old Saga provided a sense of service; affordable, repairable, modifiable, at home to politicians, bureaucrats, VIPs and the middle class. It had that wonderful adaptability that a machine needed to survive and be respected in this nation.
His own car broke down, and Hafiz had to get behind the wheels of the old car. "As I sat in the car, the familiar smell of the interior unlocked some memories of my childhood," he recalls. His father owned two Sagas back in the 1990s. "I was too young to recall much but the scent somehow reminded me of my childhood," he says softly.
I did recall personally a distinctive sweet scent in the Saga, I confide. "Yes! Did you know that the early models used coconut husks as the seat fillers?" he asks, before adding: "That's the distinctive smell you get when you enter the car!"
Immediately Hafiz's curiosity was sparked. What would it take to restore this car? "Oh, I did a lot of research. It turns out that it wasn't really as expensive as I first thought. I could source for all the parts, and figured it'd be an interesting journey to undertake this task. This rusty Saga would become my latest project!"
BIRTH OF SAGAPEKAK
To recreate or preserve what is, after all, a historical artifact, the restorers need to know what's correct for the time period, the manufacturer and the model. So the first stage of a restoration includes research, historical sleuthing and curatorial work. That proved to be Hafiz's biggest hurdle.
Why restore a second-generation Proton to a first-generation one? "The first-generation car is much more iconic," he explains. "The exterior is also simple. The first-generation car, unlike the later variants, has chrome finishing and no bumper trims."
But there was another practical reason for his decision.
"I didn't have any other references for my car," he explains, adding: "If I want to restore a car, I want to make it as original as possible. I'm not into changing the rims or modifying the car into some souped-up race car!"
Hafiz tried to look for references from the web but could only come across one brochure featuring the first-generation model. Whipping out his phone, he shows me the brochure. "This is the first-generation model. You can tell by the grill and the bumper. Cosmetic-wise, those are the only differences between this model and the later models of Saga that came out."
He made a visit to the Proton Centre of Excellence, where a model of the first-generation Proton Saga is displayed. "The interior isn't period correct," he points out. There was little for him to go on, with the exception of the single brochure and the advice of other fellow Proton enthusiasts whom he tracked down and contacted.
Luckily, when he purchased the car — the 1989 Magma model — the interior was still intact. "I just needed to clean it up," he shares. But the exterior was a different story.
"It was a rust bucket!" he exclaims with another laugh. "The car was badly corroded." But the amazing thing about the Proton is the fact that all the car parts, including the panels, could be easily obtained. "Until today, you can get replacement parts for the Proton," he says.
Mechanically, the car is a survivor. It was at home anywhere in Malaysia. Any mechanic in the city or a village corner could repair it. It had the durability, the stamina and the humour to survive bad roads. It was the genuine middle-class car, humble in its service, dogged in its survival. It still survives, quietly matching the later versions of the original as well as other new cars.
"You can still see the car in all its versions on the road today," he says, before adding with a grin: "…especially those general contractors! They use it because it's reliable. You can see them hoist ladders on top of the cars driving through rough roads and construction sites!"
The automobile graveyards may be filled with rusty reminders of fleeting love affairs between cars and owners. But there are a few faithful devotees like Hafiz willing to spend thousands (or hundreds of thousands) to keep a beloved old motor purring.
It was a long journey — about a year and a half — to restore his car. "I did it slowly and bought parts whenever I could afford it," he says. To date, the car is about 95 per cent period-correct.
"The enjoyment of restoring the car is actually found in the entire process," he says, adding: "When you finally finish restoring, the car remains what it is — just a car. Of course, you get admiring glances and honks from other cars when you drive it, but that's just it."
The journey is rewarding, he confides. "It's the whole excitement of seeing something wonderful slowly emerge from what it originally was. And there's the people you befriend and meet along the way."
One of the most memorable moments was when he travelled all the way to Perak to source for the original Blaupunkt radio cassette player. After doing extensive research, he was told that "… there's a kedai (shop) in Gopeng called Blaupunkt!" After getting directions, he drove his partially-restored car to the shop where he met the old proprietor.
"This uncle wasn't interested in selling anything!" he recounts, chuckling. As he entered the shop, he caught sight of the exact model he was looking for. It was the only model displayed there but the old man wasn't interested in selling it to him. "It's not for sale!" the cantankerous old man told him before returning to his newspaper.
But after Hafiz explained his intentions and showed him his car, the old man changed his mind. "Just take it!" he told the young Proton enthusiast. "He realised that I was a serious enthusiast and he was generous enough to give away the only Blaupunkt radio he had to me. I was touched by Uncle Yong's kindness," shares Hafiz, smiling.
After he recounts this story, we walk over to his car parked out in the open sunshine. There are people already milling around the restored Saga wanting a second look. Strangers smile and stop to chat with Hafiz about his car.
It's obvious that the Proton Saga still manages to invoke so much memories with many Malaysians. The familiar Proton emblem, the gleaming red paint and the faint sweet smell you get as you peer inside the car beckon like an old friend.
As I think fondly of my own family car, while running my hand on the polished Saga in nostalgia, I realise it was a machine that came closest to being treated as a family friend. For me, it represented the Malaysian idea (of the glorious '80s) of modernity, subject to infinite variations and loved by all.
Against the background music from a radio station wafting from the vintage Blaupunkt player in his car, Hafiz has managed to practise a degree of craftsmanship that's seldom found anymore. Here, the past is retrieved, with all the wrinkles and defects removed.
To follow Hafiz and his car, Sagapekak, go to www.instagram.com/sagapekak or www.youtube.com/channel/UC_VhQlUNyGvBCT1uv0WXWhg.