Ramadan Passage

I'M POSSIBLE another positive reinforcement school tee sported by a young toothy innocent on the cusp of puberty. (A great deal of teacher-student sex in the newspaper recently.) Shortly after 9 the tables well-cleared of diners. Extra tables are assembled each night at Sri Geylang Cafe; off the corner along Onan Road for a hundred metres youth line the gutters with their take-out beside them awaiting the call from the radio. Gabby the other night explained he needed to shield himself from the spectacle, taking dinner a short stroll up Changi Road at Chai Chee instead. Why Gabby? Gone off your Malays?... Because there is no-one up there, quoth the former divine. Well, that may be the case Gab. Could well be. But what about the pageantry, the community spirit and unity? Quiet abiding, peaceful contemplation, solidarity. With the ultimate absence Gabby wouldn't have it. Finally empty and dispiriting. 
         MISTER HAPPY tees are not uncommon, presumably bought by mothers and girlfriends. The former in the gawky lad's case trooping past. Young adulthood without any discernible rebellion also common here. Malay lad opposite, likely Indonesian, on the sweetened, high-colour/calorie drinks counter mouthing the lyrics of the song on the sound system as he awaits the woman's slow choice at the five for eight promotion price. Next table a Chin-Malay of some kind sucking his teeth more loudly than the hubbub and the music both. OKOKOKOK on the phone shortly before in the common machine-gun refrain they have here that one slips into oneself.
         A number of GAP, Nike, bap and adidas cachet of the U. S. of A. 
         Many of the illegal foreign workers spend the night on the floors behind the counters, plastic sheeting pulled down. 12-14-16 hours on your feet, tiredness does the rest. In the Straits to the north three boats so far this Ramadan sinking under the weight of overloaded Indonesians. There was another yesterday, coming unstuck attempting to evade the patrol boat, in that case ferrying workers back to Batam, from where most of the current illegals in Singapore hail. Ramadan's festivities could not possibly operate without this cheap foreign labour, both here and in Malaysia. In Malaysia more usually Sumatrans involved directly across the peninsular.
         Woman in niqab needing to raise a corner of the cloth over her mouth in order to take a bite from her Ramly burger. At the frying stands cloths around necks for the workers. The operator bosses insist on full-throated spruiking, none more so than the Mr. T. T. SAAB former loan-shark (whisper has it) for his Tamil contingent.
         Briyani Briyani Dum Briyani. 
         The smokers run out of puff quickly; it is the clean-skin Christian Tamil pair in fine voice the live-long day and then through the night.
         NO WORRIES AUSTRALIA from a recent visit; unsighted previously in three years of closely monitoring the billboard tees. (Not strictly related: an Indian young woman yesterday on North Bridge Road outside Peninsular Plaza was warmly congratulated on the choice of book—The Brothers Karamazov no less, good quarter way through and finger holding the place as she strode to her appointment. Missed opportunity to encourage persistence through the longueurs: there was a wonderful segment upcoming of the interview with the monk at the monastery. Case of not being quick enough on the feet.) 
         Shortly after the Oz only more GAP and AIG. 
         Finally, eventually, at long last, a kind of refreshment: SO MUCH stretched across tight cerulean blue on a middle-aged woman testing her remaining allure. (A generation ago unkind lads back home would sneer, Mutton dressed as lamb.) 
         From another direction it recalled the nice line of William Bronk: “Too much / And not enough...” Restlessness and dissatisfaction all the way.
         Young man on the last corner stand on the Haig Road crossing could have been assessing a carpet hanging before him, the tassels down at the base. Was there a loose thread just then noticed? Or else scrutinising the shorter article at his feet. Arab or Persian, a familiar face there from the two years previous. Thin, closely cropped beard. Shirt, watch. (Not foreign labour.) In the newscasts a member of the younger generation seeking a better life from the regime of mullahs, as portrayed by the American agencies. 
         On the opposite side of the road at the entry to Tanjong Katong Complex the regular carpet man — SEE TO BELIEVE — uses a large silver mike to entice custom, pretending a bargain-sale to his biz-partner a few minutes before. 
         Crowd still even as ten PM approached. 
         The young man at the corner had stood head bent, eyes fixed four-five-six and seven seconds, before going down on his knees suddenly and then bringing his forehead onto the carpet. 
         The short articles a metre in length are prayer mats in fact, easily transported atop their packs by itinerants.