After ASP Nasir had written his report, he asked one of his junior officers to arrest me, and put me in the lock up. I told him I haven't written my version of the story yet. I asked to make a police report of my own. He was hesitant, but relented.

He told me, in an intimidating manner, that I have only 10 minutes to do my police report. Here was an officer of the Polis Diraja Malaysia putting restrictions on a Malaysian citizen, a lawyer and a member of the Malaysian Bar in making his police report.

I was intimidated because I was alone. There wasn't another lawyer around to protect me. Worse yet, there wasn't any witness around. I was fully aware that anything might happen to me. Inside a closed room or police cell, I might be accused of many things I did not do.

I am 5 feet and 11 inches tall, weigh 82 kg and athletically built. I'm not really what most would consider a flyweight. And in normal situations, I'm not that easily intimidated. But on that day, after much yelling, pushing, jostling, being threatened psychologically and physically, I had found myself feeling weak, disorientated, humiliated to the verge of mentally breaking down.

If this could happen to a person who was a trained lawyer, what chance would an ordinary person have when arrested? The ordinary layperson would know less about the law, less about their legal rights. They may be physically weaker, less vocal or articulate and more timid. Then what justice would these people have if they were coerced into admitting something they did not do?

I immediately started writing, knowing that I had only 10 minutes. I suppose it wasn't my lucky day when after a few written words, the pen ran out of ink.

I asked ASP Nasir for another pen but he was abusive and sarcastic again: "Well, you are a lawyer, aren't you supposed to bring your own pen?"

He walked out. This, I believe, was another breach of police code of conduct. Without a pen, the complainant cannot write; without the report, facts can't be revealed; without facts, truth and justice can't be administered.

In the end, I had to look around the room for another pen. When ASP Nasir appeared again, I asked for his name and identification. Again, he was reluctant. He refused to give me his police serial number and his full name.

I tried to confirm the name he gave me, "Inspector Nasir?"

"What inspector? I am not an inspector! I am an ASP!" he replied arrogantly.

When I was writing my police report, I was constantly under the scrutiny of a number of police officers. They would walk in and out of the room all the time. There was no peace. ASP Nasir would very often stand very near, just a couple of feet or so away behind me. His close presence was intimidating.

Suddenly, the ASP shouted at me to stand up and "give respect" (berilah kehormatan!) to some high-ranking officer who had just walked into the room.

I saw an impeccably dressed middle-age man standing near the entrance of the room watching me. I did not know who he was.

I thought to myself. "Are the police the boss of the people? Or the people the boss of police?"

I asked him for his name. The well-dressed man was surprised that I did not recognise him. He responded: "You don't recognise me? Then you don't need to know"

He walked away. One thing for sure, he did command a lot of attention from all the other officers.

When I was arrested, I was asked to make a 113 statement to an Inspector Syamsul Bahrin who turned out to be a very professional and responsible police officer. He went through the procedure properly with me and won my total respect.

Malaysia should have more police officers like him, I told myself.

Then my mugshot was taken in the police station although I was told I wasn't charged but merely there "to assist with police investigation". If so, why was I being photographed like a criminal with the police number in front of my chest?

After a lot of yelling and waiting, I was finally sent to the lock-up.

I have never seen a lock-up before. Having been into one now, I realised that everything I was told about the horror of the lock-up was true.

It was far noisier and more crowded then I expected. A few metal doors were slammed and locked behind me. It reminded me of a scene in the movie "Silence of the lambs", when Jodie Foster was walking along the aisle of the prison cells.

I was asked to stand at a corner as the handling officer spoke to the guards.

There I observed the size of the individual cells, measuring about 8 by 15 feet each. To call them individual cells was very misleading because these cells were not for one individual prisoner.

In fact, each cell contained roughly 15 or so "inmates", if I may call them that, because they were all "in" and they looked like they were all "mates".

Through the process, I also saw a guard furiously climb up and bang on the horizontal metal bars and shout at a few inmates who were having their showers. The guards were questioning what they were really doing in the shower room and ordered them to come out immediately.

A few fierce men with tattoos, who reminded me of tough Thai kickboxers, and a pale addict-looking boy stumbled out from the shower room, all totally wet. I have never seen so many naked bodies since I saw "Roots".

And I have never seen more captured, worn-out and distraught souls ever in my life. All the other men in the cells were naked on the top. They were either wearing trousers or pants.

I made eye contact with some of the inmates: some were emotionless, some distrustful, some angry, some frightened, some withdrawn, some dazed, some disorientated.

There was a dazed looking young man in cell 1, waving at me, asking me to go to him.

Quietly, I began to pray: "Please, not cell 1! Don't put me in cell 1!"

The handling officer ordered: "Put him in cell 1!"

A tiny young man appeared before me with a bright orange plastic bag. He looked liked "Oliver Twist" in those black-and-white films where he would say: "Please sir, may I have some more?"

But instead, he said: "Taruh semua barang-barang you di dalam plastic bag!" (Put all your things into this plastic bag!)

I could only assume that he was one of those "reformed and tamed" longer-term detainees who were allowed to help with small chores.

From that moment on, I was the "new fish" as they would call it in "Shawshank Redemption".

At that point, it was clear that I was to strip in public. I felt like a captured African slave in "Amistad", being paraded by his captor in a North American meat market. To complete the humiliation, I was waiting for them to peel open my mouth to check my teeth.

Hoping that I didn't have to go into cell 1, I unbuttoned my shirt slowly. Then my trousers - it was one of those jeans with buttons - then my shoes were taken off, and my socks peeled in slow motion.

I delayed going into the cell as long as I could. I began to count the money I had in my wallet, the documents I had with me, and items like keys and my mobile phone. All these were painstakingly recorded by the guards.

Then the guards' phone rang. That was, to my relief, the order to release me.

The police guards suggested that since I had RM150 in my wallet, I could bail myself out of jail. I found that amusing.

I insisted that it would be unjust to further impose this on me. Instead I suggested that it should be a police "verbal" bail which would not involve money from surety. To which they agreed.

I was then taken out of the lock-up and put under the care of one Sergeant Sharif who was a very professional and polite officer. It was Salbiah Ahmad, a senior lawyer, who came to my rescue. She was waiting in Sergeant Sharif's room.

I was detained in the Petaling Jaya police station from about 2.45pm to 6.15pm - three hours of pure humiliation in the hands of the police.