Geylang Serai

Over-flowing abundance again this morning within the halls of Geylang Serai. For the Saturday crowd the traders stock up especially and overload the shelves, benches and hanging rails, thereby shortening even further the narrow passageways. This has the welcome effect of concentrating the powerful aromas and vivid sights. The green leafy bunches in all the various forms hung like thick, luscious curtains screening the diminutive traders within. One chap seems to specialize exclusively in garlic, with a lesser line in boxed ginger. In another row toward the front a woman usually sits on a low stool patiently peeling garlic into a tub with one arm of a pair of scissors. In the crowd this morning she was no-where to be seen. Sighting the stallholder within his little pen surrounded by all the produce, hanging above and pressing from all sides, was like making a discovery in a sudden forest glen in ages past. Almost always a welcome discovery when the individual concerned notes the keen interest. In this glorious cornucopia inevitably more than half the produce remains entirely nameless; in a great many cases even differentiating the fruit from vegetables was not possible. A woman offering something that sounded like "okra" explained with gestures that the small, ovoid potato-like fruit it must have been simply needed peeling before being consumed. (Certainly not "okra".) Confusing matters for this particular observer, a younger Chinese housewife with good English — most were older Malays — wore a classic Eastern European peasant blouse of the sort sported by the former Ukrainian folk-politician Tymoshenko, before the hard men assumed control and jailed her: white with a high necklace spray of bright leaves and flowers, and ties for the high sleeves (bought in this case in a London department store). A curling spiral of green beans hanging on an outer rail, the husk blackening along the stalk where the pods had ripened, had no counterpart in our own temperate climes — the snake and this tube of nourishment came from the same celestial workshop. The man who dozed a week ago on the short dividing wall at his stall beside the delivery bays was at it again at about the same time late in the morning. On this occasion he was found a half metre back from the wall, slumped over one of his seafood freezers. A large cardboard piece had been unfolded and spread on the frosted glass top. In the heat of the rising day a thick layer of paper was perfect for receiving some cool for a hot, weary head. Once again his boy was up in a high chair against the adjacent shelf, games screen in hand; wife attending to customers. As it happened, standing there rooted to the spot and passing into a slight, heady trance, on this occasion the observer had come under observation. Further along the passage-way a short distance off, Mr. Rahim the street busker and troubadour hailed his friend "Harry". Usually the mat salleh in this area of Geylang becomes the default "John". (A staple item on the menu of the Indian food stalls is Roti John.) For his friend Rahim chooses something a little more fitting, a touch more elevated perhaps. And somehow what was perfectly and immediately understood was now confirmed by Rahim. Unasked, as if Rahim had guessed the interest and fascination, the sleepy-head was specifically fingered by the busker and troubadour and pronounced, OK, Good, thumbs up, a definitive nod. The sleepy-head was a bona fide good guy, a fine, estimable man. Coming from the street songster, a music man with a generous spirit who performed not so much for needed coin as to spread the joy, the judgment was completely trustworthy. If any confirmation was needed, the short, slight Chinaman — if there was any of the Malay there it was by personal choice — lightly tattooed under the sleeves of his shirt, a fine head of pepper and salt, warm, accepting smile, worn out these days after a life-time of toil before noon, the man was A - OK. Clear, decisive and assured judgment in such a matter from Rahim was all one needed; more than needed. Good to receive independently nonetheless. In another corner of the world they say for such-like men, Good like bread. Here they will have something of their own.