Uri Geller in the Tropics

First time at the Hindu Tamil place around from the temple, large echoing hall tiled walls and ceiling, numerous fans low mounted. Instantly comfortable and easy throughout. No tension here of any kind whatsoever in the midst of these broken, dirty pavements, beggars, street hawkers, fortune-tellers, trannies and all the rest. The struggle and hardship is everywhere; not the underlying Western anxiety and guardedness. Not the guardedness.
         A dozen young and so-so young Tamil lads forming an avenue along the passage leaning on the tables. The place emptied out a little within a few minutes, lads left idle. Plentiful hands on deck here as most other places in JB; at the labour rates for the foreign workers no need skimp. That they are Tamil was proven when one was randomly greeted in his own language. An ear bent for the second hearing.
         — Oh, fine. Fine. Tamil language…. Smiling at it and walking off. No big deal in this instance.
         The same complete ease and camaraderie to which one has become accustomed at these cheap places either side of the border. There is no fire-breathing dragon in such Eateries. The old Tamil at Har Yasin on Changi road was probably the worst of his kind, making the lads hop occasionally. Nothing fierce. An avuncular position invariably, as if the businessmen had taken the lads from families in the village like in the old days. A good, general ease and order. Interchanges between the staff like that of the customers, all of a piece.
         One young chap here with the red dot was flummoxed momentarily.
         With the papers one wanted a clean and dry surface. Nice veneer at a good height for the chair; backed chair what was more here. The teh had made a ring, but at a distance. When it was first delivered the young chap, this same, had guessed the working arc and placed the glass at arm’s length before the chair on the other side pretty much.
         At the register the elder thought better. For him the arc was apparent too, but over on the left there within better reaching distance. For you sir. Two rings therefore, fairly quick drying. 
         The spoon created a problem. Drinking from the glass one needed to avoid poking out the eye. Half through time to dispense with the nuisance. Knock, knock, knock releasing the drips into the glass. More or less dry instantly with all the fans aiding. However. Holding it upright some more, awaiting an opportunity to off-load. Some few moments elapsed. Chap at the register sees the problem first. Calls the lad, collecting the offending item himself. From hand, to hand, to hand.
         Lad unshaven, moustache, plain black baseball cap without motif. Rake thin in company-issue apron; not graduated yet to the one bearing the Eatery logo—plain drab inky blue.
         As far as he can make out it looks like a perfectly fine implement. Not five minutes he himself had picked it from the rack and delivered it to the table with the tea. A fall on the tiles would have been heard. Didn’t happen. Was it bent? He holds it out before him in order to look more closely. Beats him. What was going on here with this foreigner?
         Not understanding the reassurances, hand patting of the air. Puzzled. Forced to walk away, something from the elder might not have provided complete satisfaction.
         Colleague when he comes to clear the adjoining table taking especial care. Otherwise the chairs returned to their places would screech on the tiles, even wooden, plates, platters and cutlery likewise. Respects pen and paper like the others.
         Muthu Restoran on Jalan Trus. RAANI clothing emporium down the road.

NB. From memory the spoon wizard-magician had been due to perform in Sing’ not long back.