01-06-2025
From labourer to timekeeper: the unsung hero behind Teluk Intan's ancient clock
THERE are moments in life when you question your choices. Today is one of them, as I find myself clinging to a narrow staircase inside the Leaning Tower of Teluk Intan, or Menara Condong, as it's fondly known.
" Jangan takut (Don't be afraid)!" a cheerful voice floats from above.
Clambering up creaky ladders and ducking under low wooden beams wasn't part of the plan. Yet here I am — gripping the railing for dear life, doing my best not to look down.
Moments ago, my colleague and I had been searching for the caretaker of this tilting tower in Teluk Intan — the man responsible for winding its vintage clock once a week. Installed in 1895, the clock was imported from London and crafted by J.W. Benson, a royal clockmaker whose timepieces once graced the courts of Queen Victoria.
It still runs without electricity, powered by a manual system of pulleys, weights and gears.
The man behind it all is Hisham Sahak, better known as Abi, the tower's guardian who has kept the clock ticking for over 20 years. The youthful-looking 46-year-old grinned from behind the counter and without much fanfare, eagerly offered to take us to the famed clock.
With a nod, he led us past the "No Entry" sign to a narrow staircase on the third floor — an area usually off-limits to the public — and urged us up the steep ladder leading to the tower's inner sanctum.
It's no easy climb. We ducked beneath criss-crossing wooden beams, part of the skeletal framework of the 140-year-old tower, made of timber and brick. Every step felt like a perilous ascent through history.
Following Abi feels like getting a private tour of the tower through the eyes of someone who knows every creak and corner. After more than two decades caring for this iconic landmark, his enthusiasm remains undimmed.
Before leading us to the clock, he pointed to the weighted pulleys hanging from above — a vital part of the mechanism. The stainless-steel cables run from the clock on the top floor all the way to the base of the tower, descending gradually with each chime until they must be rewound.
"This needs to be wound every Wednesday," he told us, gesturing to the cable linked to the weight. "If not, it drops to the bottom and the clock stops."
The clock chimes every 15 minutes, each strike lowering the cable slightly. The mechanism, which has operated since 1895, runs entirely on gravity — no electricity, no automation.
Winding it isn't just routine. It keeps one of Malaysia's oldest mechanical public clocks ticking with the same precision it has for over a century.
SON OF TELUK INTAN
For Abi, caring for the clock tower is more than just a job. As a native of Teluk Intan, he grew up with this landmark in sight — a constant part of the town's landscape and his own.
"My father was a penarik beca (trishaw rider)," he recalls. His mother ran a drinks stall at a local shop, serving kopi tarik and teh tarik — staples in any Malaysian kopitiam.
He recalls how, as a child, his father would often bring him to the leaning tower, where he'd wait and play beneath its shadow. It became part of his daily routine — his father would usually ferry people to the pasar besar (central market) while he lingered around the tower, a familiar playground in the heart of town.
"It's hard to imagine that one day I'd be the one taking care of it!" he says, laughing heartily. Adding, he shares: "I've been seeing this tower since I was a child, and now... I'm still here. Only this time, I'm the one looking after it!"
When he learns that my late father also came from Teluk Intan and studied at St Anthony's school, his face lights up. "I went there too!" he exclaims, clearly pleased by the shared connection.
Abi wasn't particularly ambitious — except when it came to football. It was his passion for the sport that landed him a spot at the Teluk Intan Municipal Council (MPTI) in 2000.
He'd joined as a general worker, but over the next two decades, his role expanded to include a wide range of duties within the council.
" Saya kerja korek longkang setahun (I cleaned drains for a year). Saya buruh (I am a labourer)!" he says, adding: " Lepas tu saya ikut lori sampah, kutip sampah dua tahun (Then I rode the garbage truck and collected rubbish for two years), buat landscaping (did landscaping); saya juga mop lantai dekat medan selera bertentangan dengan Menara Condong (I mopped floors at the hawker centre opposite the Leaning Tower). Dan akhirnya, jadi penjaga menara (and eventually became the tower's caretaker)." He lists each job without a hint of embarrassment.
There's something quietly admirable about his attitude. He doesn't shy away from the menial nature of the work — it's all part of the job, and he takes it in stride. "It's a job and I was happy to do it," he says, before adding drolly: "I tried my hand at everything!"
But being a caretaker to an iconic building wasn't a role he ever imagined for himself.
The Leaning Tower reopened to the public on April 4, 2004, following restoration works initiated by the Hilir Perak District Council to preserve its structural integrity and heritage value.
That very day, as curious visitors trickled in to admire the freshly restored landmark, the responsibility of caring for the tower was quietly passed to Abi, a humble municipal worker. There was no ceremony, no speech — just a simple handover that would quietly shape the course of his working life.
From that moment on, the tower became not just his duty, but a place he'd come to know like the back of his hand.
CARETAKER AND GUARDIAN
The then 25-year-old Abi's role had nothing to do with the tower's clock mechanism. His main responsibility was to keep the place clean, welcome visitors and ensure each person signed the guest book upon entry.
"Back then it was free," he shares, adding: "You just had to write your name, and you could go in and look around."
He recalls how interesting it was to meet so many different people. Visitors came from all over — some were locals from nearby towns, others were tourists from faraway places, each drawn by the mystery and charm of the iconic building.
Though Abi grew up with the tower in his backyard and now works within its walls, his enthusiasm hasn't faded. "It means a lot to be a Teluk Intan native and still be working with this iconic building," he says with quiet pride.
He didn't just accept the role; he embraced it fully. Keen to do more than just maintain the space, Abi took the time to learn about the tower's history and unique architecture. "It's one thing to grow up around it," he says, "but it's another to truly understand its story and what makes it special."
About two months into the job, Abi started getting curious about the clock. He recalls: "Back then, we had Uncle Maniam, the caretaker in charge of it. He was close to retiring. But he didn't show me anything. He just told me, 'You learn it yourself.'"
Looking back, Abi speaks without a trace of bitterness. He understands now that Maniam, already nearing the end of his career, likely believed that the best way to understand the clock was through experience.
It wasn't something that could be taught in a day. You had to observe, tinker, make mistakes and slowly earn its rhythm. That kind of knowledge, the old man must have thought, could only come with patience and persistence.
At the time, Maniam was merely the clock winder. Any minor repairs were handled by a local watch repair shop. "I can only teach you how to wind the clock," Maniam told him. "The rest, you'll have to figure out on your own."
Then, one day, the clock stopped.
Abi climbed the narrow ladder and studied the mechanism, determined to find the fault. "At first, I was reluctant to do anything because I didn't know much yet," he admits. But as he observed the gears and pulleys at work — or rather, at rest — something clicked.
He spent four hours inside the cramped space, patiently inspecting every part, until he finally figured it out. That was the beginning of his journey — not just in fixing the clock, but in understanding it.
By learning its inner workings, Abi discovered how to bring the clock back to life. He found that the mechanism revolved around three key components: the jantung (the heart), the kunci (the key) and the batu ladung (the weight).
Each part had its role to play and together, they kept time ticking. Slowly but surely, Abi began to decode the rhythm of the old clock — one pulse, one gear, one turn at a time.
" Itulah yang saya belajar! (That's what I learnt)," he says, smiling. "It took me a few months sebab saya memang berminat (because I was really interested). I wanted to understand how everything worked."
He grew fascinated with the old mechanism — how each part moved in harmony, how time itself could be measured through balance and tension.
Says Abi: "It's an old clock, but I learnt how to improvise and make it better. I replaced the pulleys with stainless steel ones. The old ones needed greasing all the time, like what the uncle did before. Now, with stainless steel, it runs smoother and cleaner."
Abi never formally studied horology. "It'd be nice to go to London to learn from the masters," he says wistfully. " Mesti syok! (That would be awesome.)"
Still, it's something he takes pride in. "This is supposed to be a technician's job, but I'm just a labourer. So yes, I'm proud that the responsibility of caring for both the tower and the clock has been entrusted to me," confides Abi.
The love Abi has for Teluk Intan's most treasured landmark is clear. He shares that his wall at home is covered with photographs and etchings of the leaning tower. "I've kept old photos of the tower. Black and white ones. They're special."
He pauses for a moment before continuing: "It reminds me how long the tower's been here. And why it matters that we take care of it."
Abi has made sure his love for the tower is passed on to his family. He has brought his children to visit, and just like in his own childhood, the leaning tower has become a familiar part of theirs too.
But when he speaks of his youngest, a shadow crosses his face. Shares Abi: "He has a lung condition. He needs the use of oxygen, sometimes all the time." It's not something he talks about lightly. "It's a challenge," he admits, adding: "The oxygen tanks, the medication, the medical bills — it's hard, especially on my salary."
Then, his face brightens. "I've carried my youngest boy into the tower," he shares with a small smile. "I wanted him to see it, to be part of it."
It's easy to see how much the tower means to him. As he leads us up to the clock mechanism, gently whirring behind the clock face, he gleefully shows us how to wind it. The task isn't easy. Each turn of the key takes effort and concentration.
At his enthusiastic urging, we take turns winding the heavy keys. He watches with a satisfied smile. "Now that the clock's wound," he quips, adding: "I don't have to do it on Wednesday!"
The descent is just as memorable. We climb carefully down the steep ladder, ducking under beams before finally stepping onto solid ground with a sigh of relief.
Just before we leave, Abi pauses and looks up at the tower he's come to know so intimately.
" Sejarah itu penting (history is important)," he says at last. "If we don't take care of it, it'll disappear. Without the tower, Teluk Intan wouldn't be the same. People wouldn't come. It's what makes this town special."
The Menara Condong rises quietly behind us, a familiar silhouette against the sky. Next to it, the slight figure of the timekeeper stands by the entrance, waving goodbye.
And just like that, you understand. Abi isn't just winding a clock. He's keeping time for a whole town, preserving its heartbeat — one tick at a time.
