Douche (May26)

 

Not bad so far as these things went. If you wanna choose a list of confreres for sharing a Contributors Page, you'd opt for royalty first up. Andy Motion was fair company. Andy had just got back from the Royal Box at Wimbledon; couldn't make Lords for the cricket as the chap was burning the midnight oil like the rest of us, revising & polishing lines in order to ensure he made the cut at Ambit... Soho launch day before, spitting distance from the British Museum, Carnaby Street, &etc. A. had taken tea at Windsor. (Stray corgi crotch hair difficult to launder.) His successor as the Laureate turned out a Scot gay gal, doubling as poetry editor at… Ambit Magazine. (No accusation of nepotism inferred.)

Good going. One always wonders what kind of company one is entering with these ventures.

Congratulations were offered by the tired, thin waiter at Tasvee. The Indian-Malays like himself, the old Chins in the quarter, all the other ragtag ratbags had provided much inspiration to this scribe.

Party in London night previous. Californian publication upcoming... Couldn't possibly have done it without you people.

Blinking. Knotting the fine, smooth brow. Might have got the essence of it, the man.

Chap well knows, as they do all, how they are appreciated. Never less than a double nandri, terima kasih, comes naturally, welling up. Tears almost at the undeserved, lordly attendance.

The earlier episode at the Malay provisions store at the base of J. C. Complex was initially going to be let slide, despite its nagging. Nag, nag... Difficult to shake. It continued to make you laugh.

Ah!…

Toiletries, soaps, beauty products, natural remedies. The place was worth a peek every couple months… A lazy evening cruising with Andy in the pocket.

From the doorway there was nothing of any draw. But one never could tell. An Arabian princess, a footloose dowager of some kind behind a curtain perchance, might accept an offer of ginger tea beneath the rain trees.

The start was in the usual corner. These places were always interesting; nothing like the supermarkets. You could not find 2% of this product at NTUC or Fairprice.

Some of the goods were familiar from down in Jogja, items from Indonesia & the Peninsular. Magnifying glass in the front pocket of the shoulderbag for small print. Some of the bahasa was not beyond this seasoned traveler now, this Malay specialist / interpreter of Tropical Islam.

Weighting was toward the Arabic sphere: olive oil soaps, shampoos, kurma / dates, skin-care. Arabian perfumes & whitening creams must have been popular in the Prophet's own day. Metres of shelves.

Unguents. The zam-zam from the spring in the Holy Land. (There was fakery on the market, to be sure.) Elixirs, pills, potions. Little of interest; little worth remarking.

Until at the end, when the opposite corner at the back was reached. It had taken 15min browsing. 

Long white paper box, toothpaste sized. Without branding.

MADURA ASLI

Oh yeah. Madura. Madura Island; the people thereof. Here in a little pack to take home.

There was no need to Google Madura asli. Twenty white boxes stacked. Blue caps.

Memories from boyhood of quickly opening the Kellogg’s pack for the toys within. Half dozen plastic Madura natives in traditional dress for child's play?…

Inside it was not toothpaste either, but not far off. One long, irregular, bulbous cylinder, sheathed in clear plastic.

Blank kinda article; something of the pre-consumerist era from other climes. In the Eastern Bloc even in the ‘80’s there was this kinda simple, utilitarian packaging.

Natural colour it seemed; natural form. Perhaps smoothed by hand beneath atap roof cottages.

Edible? Soft tube?... If there was a screw or other kind of top it was not apparent. 

One of the sale staff in the corporate polo was sitting behind a shelf having his dinner. Styrofoam take-out; plastic glove. (Wince.) Not for disturbing.

Scarfed attendant in the next aisle was an older woman.

An innocent question, lady could see readily enough. Brief blanching.

For ladies. Ask uncle.

At first her inadequate English was suggested.

Usual chap at the counter was smooth, took his teh under the verandah at Mr. T. T. before shifts. Not in however, after the Hari Raya break. Old uncle replacing couldn't say Aah, as the Montenegrins put it.

Oh well. It was only a half-hearted enquiry after all.

There was a little commotion outdoors, firemen in their kit running along the path. Coming up earlier a couple of Indian chaps had been training a garden hose at the first storey of the corner shophouse, where a crowd of onlookers had gathered. Not much; toaster caught fire, perhaps. Now though the brigade was looking lively, dozen young lads in bright red uniforms & boots.

This customer absentmindedly went out for a peek, with the non-alcoholic mouthwash & mystery package in hand.

After five months in Yogyakarta over three trips, a good number of Madurese had been encountered, come down from their isle above Bali. There were a number of becak drivers, some of the traders; shops along the rail-line carried specialties, foods & the like, advertised on the windows. Mahshushah the guide & interpreter had been born on the island; known for its cow racing and some particular kind of weaving, or dyeing.

Madura was a harsh, tough land, a kind of local Wild West. There were still many in the archipelago. Tourist interest had been drawn lately; a visit had been intended while now. There would be few backpackers still on Madura; mainly internal visitors. A couple of impressive orang in Geylang Serai hailed from Madura. Asli; natives.

The diner had finished his meal. Old auntie had reported her difficulty with the foreigner. Over the man strode.

A wood was it the lad said, of some kind native to Madura? Crystal? Petrified rock? 

The thought of a dildo had naturally occurred; playfully. There were a range of condoms on open display on a couple shelves, in colourful boxes, ribbed & flavoured, by the looks. 

Chap matter-of-fact and humourless. Late after a long shift. The plastic mitt still.

Natural cleanser was conveyed, in best doctor-at-bedside manner… For women.

Below, the glove indicated.

Authoritatively, as if the fellow knew precisely what he was talking about. (Helped the wife when she had a crick in the neck?)

… Aduh! What more to say? That this was a shopping expedition for one's own wife? Or? Oh. Amh.

OK. Gotcha, Bud. Yeah.

It would not have made much of a dildo. Hard, in an unappealing way; yet at the same time light, without mass. Geologists would have a precise name for it.

 

 

              Singapore 2011-26