Scandal at Labu Labi

The small serve of nasi always produces a smile in the old Punjabi serving. Almost every lunchtime the measure needs to be revised with a return to the tub to scrape some back. Invariably the plate and smile, a kind of Donald Duck grin from a wide mouth: turns to the older, heavier man seated against the wall beside the stand to show the size of the order. A kind of reflex that never fails. It is possible the man loads intentionally in order to play out the routine, all deadpan and the surprise renewed on each occasion. On his side however the older, seated man shows no reaction whatever. Beneath his cap, glasses and bushy white beard it is a little difficult to tell. Certainly it looks a totally expressionless visage. Long, long ago the man has seen all there was to see. Yet the younger, late-sixties or early-seventies, cannot help himself. No doubt the understanding between the pair needs no outward sign.
         Bai Mansor—the Brothers Mansor in Urdu, or Hindi possibly. Northerners. Not Tamils,
         No!... another possible brother who has absented himself the last few weeks declared boldly at the enquiry.
         Pride in cultural group and region one meets commonly here.
         Somewhat carelessly, the younger man hennas his beard and hair. Dress in his case is conventional Western—black short-sleeved shirt, slacks and loose sandals today. The older man always wears the long shift or blouse, with trousers beneath. More than likely the elder has no English. Once or twice he made a wordless gesture toward the younger when an attempt was made to draw him a little with the payment.
         The usual 10 30 am light Hindi love songs one of the features of the morning at Labu Labi, where overnight notices in Malay have been placed on the tables requesting customers vacate after their meals and drinks. One of the waitresses who translated explained that the place had been turned into a home by some; and further, on the Internet, Labu Labi has been identified as a pick-up joint.
         Lass concerned Temasek-born, as she said—pre-Raffles name for the island—yet hit upon by men who assume she is one of the available Indonesian ladies.
         Five or six months ago a TV film crew was out shooting an episode focused on Bai Mansor, which had earlier had a presence at the former Tanjong Pagar railway station.
         Minor celebrities the brothers. Chapatti, three oily veg. and a one-third cup of rice $4, depending on who is charging. The female chapatti-maker makes her own calculation, and the son his own.
         Otherwise, two deaths in the news today: another industrial accident, this time at the oil refinery on Jurong Island; and an attempted bag-snatch that resulted in a fall of a local women up in Medan, Sumatra.
         Jets like most mornings making conversation difficult. Minor drizzle—the tail-end of the monsoon seemingly. And mountains of mandarins the length and breadth of Geylang; one can see the poor fruit-vendors doing themselves injury. There was a time not long past when the gleaming end-of-winter fruit must have appeared as a celestial disk that offered hopeful promise to man, the taste on the tongue rich manna.