An Impression No Longer Foreign.

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I lost my handphone tonight.

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And I got it back again later.

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I must have left it on the table after we finished our dinner at Queenstown. Upon realising that it was no longer in my pants' pockets, we made our way back to scout for it.

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I was prepared to not get it back, but the real pain was losing all the contacts inside. You'd have to start all over again filling up your address book, a Herculean task I wouldn't want to be caught in for months to come.

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I was looking under one of the table when a Bangladeshi worker came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.

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"Sir, this your handphone?" he chirped in croaked Singlish.

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In his hands was the ancient Nokia I had in my possession for years.

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I quickly nodded with aplomp, but not forgetting to thank him profusely.

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"No problem, sir".

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I had every intention to stash whatever amount I had in my wallet to reward him, but the kind samaritan declined, his bodily gestures reclining away with every bit a genuine sense of modesty expecting nothing back in return.

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I asked him for his name.

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"My name Shah, sir".

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Words could not express how much I was in gratitude towards him. For Mr Shah proved to me, that once and for all, a simple act of wanton selflessness did not have to come from someone richer, more influential or more established in life.

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All the simple man did was just being honest.

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Mr Shah is a hero among men.