Spellbound

`SORRY I'm late,' says Yusof Haslam as he shakes my hand and ushers me into his office. It is a modestly-furnished but well-appointed room, dominated by a huge mahogany table. Scripts, memos and videotapes lie scattered on it, vying for his attention. A steaming mug of freshly-brewed teh tarik sits next to the reading lamp, untouched. On the other side of the room, awards and trophies line the display cabinet. Pictures of his family hang on another wall. As he settles into the plush leather seat behind his desk, there's no denying it; Yusof Haslam has finally arrived. Back in the early 70s, if you saw a gangly, fair-skinned young man with sharp features in a pale blue uniform clutching a…