SWEET
IDYLL
ENJOY in large print down the China lad's tee. The fellow thought a food stain or the like was being pointed out in the congratulation on his style. In his case it seemed likely not one of the words would have been comprehensible. Through the course of his life the young man may have seen loads of Coca Cola advertisements, but perhaps in a different form from our own.
Earlier over lunch an older Chinese local, a mechanical engineer, was reading a biography of LKY by an Australian author, a priest. For insight into Singapore the engineer recommended LKY's own From Third to First World - Singapore 1970 – 2000. The enthusiasm and generosity such that the man suggested a visit to the nearby Secondhand bookshop where he thought he had seen the volume recently. Quickly found, the tome weighed in at around three or four kilogram. No danger of racing off the shelf too quickly. A condensed version might have been tempting, though little chance of that while the old man remained alive. Tampering with holy writ delivered by the father of the nation not easily countenanced. (Rumours of Lee's death spread rapidly here a month or two ago.) The engineer admitted costs to the progress. Remembering the mud of the kampungs, the overcrowding, lack of sanitation, the onerous forms of labour associated with the economy of the time, led to only one possible conclusion. While still at the lunch table the engineer suggested a trip up the peninsular through Malaysia, taking the eastern coast rather than the exposed western that had brought the various colonial powers: up over the Thai border, Bangkok, and around to Myanmar. Along there one could follow a "time tunnel", re-tracing the route travelled to present-day Singapore, the man quietly challenged.
The blissful tee was early evening back in Geylang again for supper, a vegetarian place beside Aljunied MRT. This was roast duck, that liver, that pork — all very nicely suggestive for those Buddhist carnivores struggling toward the last part of proper observance. Almost entirely Chinese there at Upper Geylang, mostly the early settlers, most with very little English. The mainland staff, cleaners, waitresses, counter-hands, had none whatever. The time capsule, the Engineers' time tunnel, was available within the confines of the island itself, in these remnant people of Geylang, both Chinese and Malay, in their manner and behavior, their relationships and the community that was daily on display on the streets after sun-down.
Right on cue the man delivering the spuds pulled up in his truck. You don't often see any more a twenty-five kilo lumpy hessian sack, a gunny (from Sanskrit, which also gives the still contemporary karung guni, who collect aluminum and cardboard from the streets here), carted in the old style, seated on one shoulder and leaning against the cheek, no hands required. Easy as pie, weight-lifter style in three separate movements to seat it. Tatters from both the shape and weight; carrots possibly. Numerous, spectacular vegetables of other kinds abound in these parts. Even after more than sixteen months a non-foodie can name only a few of them. Innumerable food writers perform that line of duty here.
The delivery man had brought down from the rear of his truck, an old Bedford lookalike with slatted wooden rails on the tray that had disgorged khaki soldiers in years gone by. Smooth and easy passage despite the slighting listing. The fella could have putt a shot outta sight had he been given an opportunity at one of the elite sports academies where he comes from. Too late now for that, and the recent London glory that might have been his. Hard yakka. Honest toil. The kind of street theatre that is common here and still makes one stop and stare. But well away from the deadly, poisonous business district that is a leader of globalized best practise. In those precincts is to be found the make-over of the human and his environment for which Mr LKY and his circle must be given the credit and held responsible. Hopefully the kids will never be ashamed of their old dad, the delivery man.
IDYLL
ENJOY in large print down the China lad's tee. The fellow thought a food stain or the like was being pointed out in the congratulation on his style. In his case it seemed likely not one of the words would have been comprehensible. Through the course of his life the young man may have seen loads of Coca Cola advertisements, but perhaps in a different form from our own.
Earlier over lunch an older Chinese local, a mechanical engineer, was reading a biography of LKY by an Australian author, a priest. For insight into Singapore the engineer recommended LKY's own From Third to First World - Singapore 1970 – 2000. The enthusiasm and generosity such that the man suggested a visit to the nearby Secondhand bookshop where he thought he had seen the volume recently. Quickly found, the tome weighed in at around three or four kilogram. No danger of racing off the shelf too quickly. A condensed version might have been tempting, though little chance of that while the old man remained alive. Tampering with holy writ delivered by the father of the nation not easily countenanced. (Rumours of Lee's death spread rapidly here a month or two ago.) The engineer admitted costs to the progress. Remembering the mud of the kampungs, the overcrowding, lack of sanitation, the onerous forms of labour associated with the economy of the time, led to only one possible conclusion. While still at the lunch table the engineer suggested a trip up the peninsular through Malaysia, taking the eastern coast rather than the exposed western that had brought the various colonial powers: up over the Thai border, Bangkok, and around to Myanmar. Along there one could follow a "time tunnel", re-tracing the route travelled to present-day Singapore, the man quietly challenged.
The blissful tee was early evening back in Geylang again for supper, a vegetarian place beside Aljunied MRT. This was roast duck, that liver, that pork — all very nicely suggestive for those Buddhist carnivores struggling toward the last part of proper observance. Almost entirely Chinese there at Upper Geylang, mostly the early settlers, most with very little English. The mainland staff, cleaners, waitresses, counter-hands, had none whatever. The time capsule, the Engineers' time tunnel, was available within the confines of the island itself, in these remnant people of Geylang, both Chinese and Malay, in their manner and behavior, their relationships and the community that was daily on display on the streets after sun-down.
Right on cue the man delivering the spuds pulled up in his truck. You don't often see any more a twenty-five kilo lumpy hessian sack, a gunny (from Sanskrit, which also gives the still contemporary karung guni, who collect aluminum and cardboard from the streets here), carted in the old style, seated on one shoulder and leaning against the cheek, no hands required. Easy as pie, weight-lifter style in three separate movements to seat it. Tatters from both the shape and weight; carrots possibly. Numerous, spectacular vegetables of other kinds abound in these parts. Even after more than sixteen months a non-foodie can name only a few of them. Innumerable food writers perform that line of duty here.
The delivery man had brought down from the rear of his truck, an old Bedford lookalike with slatted wooden rails on the tray that had disgorged khaki soldiers in years gone by. Smooth and easy passage despite the slighting listing. The fella could have putt a shot outta sight had he been given an opportunity at one of the elite sports academies where he comes from. Too late now for that, and the recent London glory that might have been his. Hard yakka. Honest toil. The kind of street theatre that is common here and still makes one stop and stare. But well away from the deadly, poisonous business district that is a leader of globalized best practise. In those precincts is to be found the make-over of the human and his environment for which Mr LKY and his circle must be given the credit and held responsible. Hopefully the kids will never be ashamed of their old dad, the delivery man.
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