Afternoon Refreshment

Masala tea on the return from town this afternoon, sharing the outdoor tables with the mynahs and crows. A young school-girl in her uniform on the first bus bent double head-in-lap with the heat. Chap in the back seat, still young, open-mouthed catching some shut-eye. On the nodding off on the bus the South African Indian Aid worker always returns to mind. The man transits regularly through Sing', but stopping only a couple of days. This is the utmost he can take of the place. Why is that? Two matters he offered, both common behaviours on the buses in Singapore: if the people weren't in a sudden death pose slumped in their seats, they were hammering their screens—the chap stabbed his finger rather like the mynahs at the plates this afternoon. Harsh judge. Certainly it's hot on the equator, be warned. Yet even so, there at Gokul Vegetarian Restaurant (and Catering) in the Fortune building on Middle Road, just down from the library, the dark, cavernous, airconned interior with its small stools and tables hinged to the wall was impossible to abide. Outdoors in the flower garden on the edge of the pavement a tall SingPost box draws the occasional gal in a skirt tightened with draw-string at the waist down from the upper floors to deposit an item. The honey-combed paving needs careful footing, especially placement of pointy heels. One lucky afternoon, in place of the fire brigade the man in the panama will spring into action, lift the poor dear from where she had fallen and carry her to a chair in the shade. Even the archaism of the manual deposit of mail here in the city centre can leave an observer dazed watching. No sign on any of the visits to Gokul of the posses riding shot-gun from Crow Control. That outfit might be still dealing with the nuisance at high-end Orchard Road. Two bucks the sting for the masala at Gokul where they seem to be stretching the cinnamon. NAFTA—Nanyang Academy of Fine Art—directly opposite. A stretch to believe any art could possibly be produced, taught or appreciated in that building. Perhaps the business of art. Too hot to linger long with typing waiting. (Shoes, socks and the occasional tie sported by the try-hards if you can believe it.)