Hari Raya—Idul Fitri—Eid—Lebaran in the Malay Quarter of Sin'pore

A cast of thousands for a modern-day historical epic of empire, travel and adventure. How many thousand could it have been from Onan Road up to the Post Office? Five or six at a pinch in the visual field. All granted a day free of labour it needed to be acknowledged, when in the case of domestic service there was no stipulation in the law. (Moreover the day before had been a Sunday when many had an ordinary free day.) These were all Indonesian young women from across the archipelago; the lads entrain and courting Bangladeshi and Indian. Hand-holding on every side, sisterly arms over shoulders, bright, colourful new bajus every so often in highest style Cleopatra from First Lady and the like. These latter girls were either well remunerated or had generous boyfriends. (In his crusade against immorality Zainuddin had long complained the Bangla lads were big spenders on the girls, at the expense of their needy families back home.) The picnics were concentrated beneath the trees before the Post Office and around Tanjong Katong Complex; others were spread among the refuse of the stalls that had been promptly evacuated overnight. Magnificent hearty embraces on the finding of friends from the annals of ages past. One lass alongside the spluttering fountain outside Coffee Bean had a dear friend who sat on the parapet clasped around the knees. In front the girl was kneeling on the paving half-burying her head in the other’s lap and holding tight. A loved mother reunited after a long absence might have been embraced in such fashion; here an older sister, precious friend or kampung neighbor. A tall Bangla lad in a resplendent lime green frock-coat from the eighteenth century stepped past erect and stately with a dowdy Indon girl like a hand-maiden bringing up the rear. Still in their teens a good number of the young women. Only a small minority risk the chairs at the Bean, where the $5.70 regular lattes are the cheapest option. Two hundred and fifty congregated in the immediate vicinity—thirty or forty empty cafe chairs. And the racial divide of course: indoors under the aircon Chinese girls of the same age sit with their lap-tops and smart phones over their drinks. The lucky ones here have been gifted the traditional New Year bonus (as have the illegal foreign worker compatriots at the stalls). Ten-twenty-fifty dollars mostly; generous employers present one or two hundred and the best bestow an entire month’s salary—$500-600. Two friends met along the way, mid-thirties and with children at home left in the care of mothers, in both cases received nada. — You give me Pavle? cheekily in either case. Selfies of course in all the hot music-video poses wherever one turned, forgivable here where they were destined for distant family. 
         Late afternoon after a bakso lunch with friends old and new at the Botanical Gardens Rina called round. At the Bukit Timah bungalow Rina and the second maid have been left alone at home while the family holidayed in the Philippines for a week, where visas for Indonesians presented a difficulty. A week of lounging and relaxing! Excellent.... Ah, in fact not quite. Ma'me has left a list of tasks to be completed in their absence, the major item being cleaning the fish pond. The water needs to be drained, weeds and litter removed, filter and stones cleaned. Last time it was a four person job that took a full six hours. Still, sleep-ins, cooking only for themselves and their own tastes, no car-washing, none of the usual Hari Raya parties. No need rush home either, the pair agreeing eight o'clock would be seemly enough for the neighbours. (Little doubt Ma'me would make her enquiries on her return.)