Look Away

Three chaps need avoiding along the stretch behind the market up to Dor’s place in Block 2. When any of them are caught ambulant all pass muster A-OK, hail-fellow-well-met per the text book. Motionless on their perch however, altogether a different matter—sitting ducks unexpectedly make you start and quickly whiplash look the other way. Short tubby old Chinaman possibly another Eurasian; mid-seventies slowing-down and widowed likely, late night parking himself on a bench in the breezy passage opposite the lifts at Block 9. Nine iron benches in three irregular rows some planner’s idea of community meeting-place for maintaining the gotong royong spirit. Usually head flung back, mouth-agape, transistor on the seat beside him with new batteries sending the old Chiang Kai Shek lounge numbers blaring from the echoing bunker. Back to the passage not difficult slipping by, tip-toe reflex unnecessary…Likewise Bicycle Loner can be avoided on his bench that fronts the exercise yard by the path to Katong, good sight-lines either side provide ample warning. Unlocked bike on the path awaits like a grazing horse for re-supply of the Anchors that start mid-morning and halve the dark of night. Easily passed. Another Indian-Malay like Biker—the pair not surprisingly taking care to put distance between themselves. This chap taller, not entirely friendless in his case and occasionally finding place at the Haig or Al Waditables. Talk is under sufferance a sister with family provides shelter and possibly food; never begging (drink undoes the other); likely slipped something along the paths in the usual way here. Once or twice the chap has accepted a tea. You want to spend me?... A wit and quick on the up-take, heavy copper mask alight with boyish grin. In various corners around the blocks this chap can be found late afternoons and into the night sitting and smoking—on the stairs of the electricity exchange by Block 6; down on one of the decks; and late night at the playground on one of the low coloured seats swinging slowly round in circles.

Zeus the Deliverer (SG) Dec24

Thunder & lightning shortly before 6 set the block aflame & rocking. With the curtain unable to stretch to the last pane the light streaked along the opposite wall like some kinda visitation. Still somehow it was comforting. Even had the tower suffered a spectacular strike and we were all buried in the rubble there would have been little cause for lament. The Urbanist Paul Virilio tells the story of a space crew in orbit which fell into danger and needed to choose between a burn-out crash-landing on earth, or else unguided flight into the furthermost beyond, until reserves were exhausted. In that case the decision was made for a fiery internment on the home planet. In Singapore in the midst of the towers with their garden-beds, void decks, sheltered walkways, the plastic fluro playgrounds, swept paths—another foreign worker yesterday was blowing leaves entangled in the bushes of a garden strip—the threatening hot spear of Zeus seemed less than troubling.

 

Big Cheese

Two tees at the library today: Adopt Success white on baby blue long one-piece athletic fleecy sleeveless gym gear good against the aircon and manageable flitting between buses, malls and apartment; then at the electronic exit I’m Very Very Happy — violet on white/soft pink, possibly single intensifier and Heart added. (Rapid pass with toddler in tow deciding against pursuit.) Both women Mainlanders at a guess still negotiating transition. At the bus-stop the surprise was the brand of the glass jar chicken essence used by successful students—New Moon. Seen and read one hundred and fifty times at the illuminated boards without properly registering. In this region a big signifier still, symbolically at least, and continuing to cause the Muslims in particular serious difficulties. Otherwise in its fuller phases on the equator a negligible presence rarely worthy of note: small, usually dull orb if visible at all. In China and the Arabian peninsular some impressive sights must still be available in places.

Blind-Sided

Older duck-billed chap who sold fruit and drinks from the stand mounted on the handle-bars of his bicycle up through the low lorongs where the girls worked only finally seen clearly tonight here at the Al Wadi tables. Once or twice the man had sailed past on the path along this end of Geylang without ever having taken his supper there. Scroungers like him did not patronize eateries of any kind, even for $1 pratas and not often teas. Dark female companion surprised too, middle-aged Thai or Filipina who likely made the drinks, cut the fruit and packaged for each night's trade. In fact it was only beside this woman that the man could finally be sighted properly. Clearly tonight, no two ways about it, distinctly Eurasian. There was hardly any mark whatever of the Han. Nothing. Parachute the fellow into the middle of any Western city you had a ready-made baker, plumber or janitor skipping to his van and flitting through the neighboring streets. How in the heck was that missed on the innumerable sightings in the first year when that night quarter up there fascinated so completely? Man’s manner, occupation, freedom with the girls, his earnest work ethic pedaling tirelessly round and round—for a time one had confused him with the look-outs—had taken every last bit of the attention. The woman had been rescued from the streets, got her residency, sent money back home to elderly parents and schooled younger siblings on the back of that night trade. It was not difficult to put the story together. A help-mate sharing the load and staving off all the loneliness targeting misfits like him.

Uncanny Shakes in Sin’pore (May23 updated)

Oh my! Hottest day in Sin'pore history Tuesday gone just delivered a knock-on effect later in the week.

Today, Thursday, on the Opinion page of the Straits Times, a continuation of the warm-up/run-down to the anniversary of the great bard's passing—400 years Saturday, seems like yesterday.
Marking out the event and teasing out the relevance in this lit. loving country of Singlish, how might it be best done for any left wondering about all the hullabaloo?
Well, reminding of the iconic totemic poet's business-friendly credentials of course.
In the highlighted capsule: "A major reason for reading Shakespeare's plays is their uncanny relevance to modern management issues and corporate executive lessons. He provides though-provoking insights into issues which are ubiquitous in the contemporary and management scene..."
Readers interested can google for the remainder.
Authored here by the founding Dean of the School of Arts and Social Sciences at SIM (Sin'pore Institute of Management); a writer of poems and stories for children working currently on her first novel.
Ala’mak! as the Malays would exclaim. (Always attempting to deny any possibility of blasphemy inherent.)

                                                                                                        S. T. 21 April 2016, page A31

Flora & Fauna (Equatorial)

Earlier in the morning coming out the scent of cut grass along the central walkway of the Haig blocks something like a micro-forest unexpectedly. Fifty metres on the three young Indian or Bangla lads on the western side, chaps shearing the in-fills between the paving where the islands held minute portions of green. Up on the little mounts swinging their clippers, fuel tanks strapped to their backs and cloth improvised for head-cover. A few square metres of fresh cuttings enough to fill the air and remind of the recent and more remote past—suburban lawn-mowing, a paddock in the country, school athletic events that marked the end of winter. 
            Three hours later coming down for lunch it was a girl heading across on the first branch of the path that caught the attention, her shapely legs initially. Back-pack, shorts and hair tied back in some kind of way that restrained her whipping pony-tail. (For that particular frisson there had been the athletic lass the evening prior on her usual run along the side-path down to Katong, black tail lashing across her muscular shoulders accentuated by her sporting white top with arm-holes that met in a thin band of stretched fabric in the middle of her back.) This afternoon’s girl less shapely and what allure was achieved countermanded by her Chinese Grannie gait. Who had taught the poor love to swing her arms like that not by her side forward march, but rather across her pelvis in front like an old maiden aunt? Was it truly possible within her own culture the lads would find that captivating, prompt them to set off in chase in order to get a word in and make a date? (No Western woman walks like that wager any of you a dollar.)

Publication: Favourite Indian

A short sequence of my writings centred on a Tamil eatery here in Singapore has just been published on a site based in New Delhi. After almost five years acquaintance with the Indian community in these parts it is good to pay a little homage in the heartland.
See The Literary Yard link -

https://literaryyard.com/2016/04/17/favourite-indian/

Forest City

 

Hint of irony. Mordant humour. Bare-faced gumption... Not on your nelly; no-where whatever in evidence.

            "Tengah to be developed into a "Forest Town"', chief story page 1 of today's Straits Times, relegating the public spat between PM Lee, his wife and sister over the glorification of the former PM/late father to the inner pages.

            More local green credentials soon to add to the Republic's list: the recently awarded World Heritage Botanical Gardens (where the English first trialed rubber for the SE Asian tropics); proliferation of roof-top gardens; water reticulation; vines, plantings and motifs covering facades and balconies of towers island-wide. Currently opposite Al Wadi at the bottom of Geylang Road we have piling one side, while adjacent the odd soil-testing and load-bearing exploration that involves mounting concrete blocks skyward in order to ascertain required foundations and reinforcing steel. In 18 months the Malays were due to receive a cultural/heritage centre to match the recently opened Indian in Campbell Lane—shops, apartments, foodcourts and recreation areas included. Possibly some forest.

 

 

 

NB. Within the Life! pages further good news: travellers transiting in SG will soon be afforded the same opportunity as at other global airports viewing art during stop-overs. “Art on the fly.” (Changi of course already features dancing brass tears that have been synchronized to classical music scores.)

New Digs

Distinguishing features at the new digs ten days in—with the Love hotel little over a kilometer away and the former Carpmael house 100 metres hardly a new neighbourhood, but nevertheless. For one thing the Chinese character appears much more prominent. Shy mums and dads with almost no English caught in the lift somewhat unsettled and odd bashfulness resulting. No other ang moh thus far anywhere to be seen.
            In the exercise-yard and playground the colour contrast was immediately striking. On all sides and everywhere yellow and brown, brown and yellow dotted. In the new locale, in these designated areas, what was common out on the street unexpectedly stabbed the eyes. Sometimes two maids would sit together while their respective charges played or exercised unassisted. More usually the girls are pushing a child on a swing, guarding the trampoline and rowing opposite the old amah at her morning work-out. Often the girls crouch to take pictures which are sent to the office or saved for the evening return from work. Rarely has there been a single case of mother or dutiful child matched with their nearest and dearest. On the most recent Saturday there was one found and more Sunday.
            Within the first few days three funerals and one other gathering which may have been connected to the qingming grave-cleaning the weekend prior. A couple of choirs in something like black academic gowns, drumming, cymbals and gongs before 8 one morning. The large colourful cardboard convertible must have been for a young tearaway taken prematurely. An old half-burnt-out 44 gallon drum had been brought over to the side of the Block.
            Ten flights up Doreen lives alone in her brother’s three-bedder. (Chap currently camped out in St. Albans, Melbourne the last couple of years after a university degree down in the South, Dor having visited and noted the Vietnamese population in an area once prominently Slav.) Raised in a Daoist family, Doreen converted to Christianity under the influence of a classmate at her English tuition school.  At present she worships out at an as-yet unregistered church in Bras Basah Complex and works as a Carer visiting the elderly in their homes. (Numbering only twenty the small congregation does not yet meet requirements.)
            Typical spinster flat of the earlier generation crowded with hoards of various kinds: boxes of instant oats, pasta sauces and knickknacks. Another of Doreen’s brothers here was due to visit in order to check on his coin collection in the third room. Mild-mannered good folk of regular habits. Dor has taken the hint to kill the TV; morning newspapers are brought for her and the high security lock-up is being progressively loosened. Weekly $250 savings on rent could no longer be ignored.
            Lunchtimes the Void Deck at the base of Tower 2 gathers the litter and gardening crew for their lunches and short rests. Nothing surprising now in the mortuary pictures of sprawled men collapsed beside their yellow Wellies and two litre water-bottle pillows. One chap seeks a modicum of privacy for his repose behind an umbrella in his corner. The garbage collectors appear South Indian (chute under the kitchen sink); garden and litter detail Malay.
            The cat sentinels are a feature between times at the foot of the towers, good representation of ladies in attendance. Crane and Ceylon corner is visible from the kitchen window; out toward East Coast newer landed properties, bars, boutiques and the first mall established in Singapore that currently holds a couple of dozen Maid Agencies one next to another on two floors. (Any subsequent visitor to Singapore will be taken for a brief pass. Small wonder President Jokowi feels shame at his compatriots forced to such recourse in a foreign land.)
            Cut-throughs west across Haig and Tanjong Katong Roads are either Ipoh Lane or Thiam Siew Avenue. Condo-land either way passing iron gates and pill-boxes housing dark-skinned men in shirts with epaulettes and various monitoring gadgetry surrounding. One evening footing along the pavement dodging the reminder of dog poo responsibility the lighted windows stretching up toward the clouds brought sudden heart-ache at the thought of all the furniture from the real estate advertising delivered to each domicile—truckloads of stuffed couches and beds, cabinets, dining tables, lamps and artwork for the walls.
            On busy Tanjong Katong Road there were glimpses of the modest past in amongst taller modern towers. The stretch before Geylang Road was dominated by two large houses of worship illuminated nights like rich Spanish galleons on a dreary expanse of sea: Our Lady Queen of Peace and spitting distance off the Charis Tabernacle that was in fact the mother ship of Doris's church. In both cases larger, additional wings had been added as the need for succour here grew. The high polish and gleam quite dazzled in the tightly crammed suburban setting. The poorer the village the more grand the church they said—inapplicable here. Like the malls and condos rising up in the steam of the tropics, the gleaming surfaces of these churches, with their long swept driveways and grounds confounded an outsider even five years (almost) later. From the beginning, one had often reflected, the newly independent regime in Singapore had been seeking to prove something to their former masters.
            In the case of Thiam Siew Avenue one particular facet above all others struck a newcomer to the neighbourhood. In fact the case here involved one particular facet that was repeated almost two dozen times in Thiam Siew. It required a number of passes before the incidence was properly taken.
            Like Ipoh Lane, Thiam Siew Avenue covered a short hundred metres. Unlike the former however, which was wall to wall condos—Emery Point, Imperial Heights, Bela Casitra, Versilia (Versailles had gone up on Guillemard Road close-by about fifteen years prior, judging from street level)—in the case of Thiam Siew a couple of dozen bungalows had been retained either side of the street, each on fine spreads perhaps only a little short of the Australian quarter acre block. (Numbers of millions each in the hot-house real estate market here.) Fine, roomy single storey dwellings in a range of architectural styles including Tudor England and Swiss Chalet. In the midst of all the tall condos this was surprise enough and initially took all the attention.
            Gardens allowed some over-growth on Thiam Siew; nothing like the usual severity. Porous front fences in-filled with vines and shrubs. The throatier barks of large dogs, uneven ground and almost no concreting or hard surface visible. Tasteful. Lucky souls. There would be musical instruments behind these walls and little television. For a week one noticed isolated front pools.
            In fact in the one hundred metres between the Haig and Tanjong Katong roadways on Thiam Siew Avenue one could find perhaps two dozen identical elongated kidney-shaped swimming pools surrounded by dark wooden decking running long-ways.
            No confusion; there was no two ways about it. Even the colour tone of the water was precisely the same Club Med brochure—the same tint of fibreglass.
            Two dozen individual homes none of which were duplicates, both sides of Thiam Siew. Fine, enviously fine abodes. Couples from the condos would walk their dogs along this strip in order to admire the living. A range of architects had been employed; some of the early modernist houses had been added fifteen or twenty years after the war. All with the very same elongated-kidney shape stamped in front. Splash pools really these were for children; an adult would have been reluctant to plunge in close against the front fences and swimming properly was not possible.
            On the Southern side there were three or four gaps in the series and the house on Tanjong Katong corner had opted for fountain. One could not peer too closely through the shrubbery: on the Southern side five houses had possibly declined the pool.
            How to explain the uncanny duplication in a setting such as this? Singaporeans like most other shoppers did love a bargain. But a promotion of some brief, irresistible kind of which almost the entire street had taken advantage was far-fetched; one honey-tongued salesman storming through on a single afternoon getting by the ladies likewise improbable.
            It did present a puzzle. Odd to say the least. Nothing larger could be squeezed on these allotments and backyards must have been tight. (Condos looming behind in both cases.) The decision taken here was for artistic line and the decking fitted the prevailing heritage values. Like the initial purchases, the maintenance here was coordinated the length and breadth of the street—the single and consistent tone of the decking timber could not in the tropics be explained otherwise.
            A mystery that gripped and tantalized for a short few hours. Not long after the return to the room after the night of the fuller discovery, after mulling over the matter in the shower and at the desk, Doreen’s mention returned of the local towkay whose children or grandchildren still lived near-by. Had Doreen said the street was named after the pioneer? Many of the old tycoons of whatever stripe here commonly had a dozen and more children to one or more wives and often mistresses added; as in most places over the globe, with serious money involved conventional morality slipped off. A water-tight trust was possibly what had applied here, fixed assets unable to be touched by the heirs and regular equal disbursements. A Melbourne friend on a visit a couple of years ago had spoken of discretionary testamentary arrangements it may have been termed.
            Quite a scene. Most eye-catching evenings when the lighting produced the sequence of phosphorescent glow.

NB. Briefest further research: Once upon a time Mr. Wee Thiam Siew had owned a good part of the neighbourhood south of the Geylang River, including the site of the new ONE KM Mall on Geylang and Tanjong Katong corners.

Warfare

UnderArmour. UA.COM UnderArmour SEA and UnderArmour SG. Not many first rank corps Sing has missed out on over the journey over the last 35 - 40 odd years. Placement here must be worth say $1800 five day and +65% weekends. Great deal of leather and plastic passing through the chief entrance beside the spurt fountain in the corner opposite McDonalds one side and Starbs the other. Only Orchard could top that—Orchard number one retail strip on the globe—and a different class of consumer there unreceptive to StreetArmour. (Beauty, stamina & health in that order was the Fitness market at Orchard.) UA.COM NOW OPEN BUGIS JUNCTION #01-77, thirties White lifted from a trampoline possibly, barbells raised either ear in a FIGHT tee and camouflage leggings. Clientele are gamers here, TV news-grabs received the same, yet to feel any blowback. (SecuritySecuritySecurity primed and ready warnings could not hurt such new business ventures.)

In the Dark

Auntie at the KomalaV register cleaning her nails it appeared. No, a pair of orange-handled secateurs on a long plastic tangled cord. For her garden at home? The odd common initial agreement from her, before in fact the negative followed. And as soon as it was out of course immediate self-correction: Who in the heck had a garden in Singapore! Not a woman parked behind a cash register six days a week. For the pots most likely, balcony and indoors. Again, not the case. No. Only.....(inaudible) minutes sun per day.... What, only forty minutes sunlight in her flat? (Possibly, most likely, she did not have a balcony in an older style HDB.) Twenty, the nice old aunt corrected. Twenty, what? How? Was it possible?... Was there not a fundamental human right enshrined in an internationally agreed charter for light even for incarcerated prisoners, much less citizens of a first world country? It seemed highly unlikely Mr. Lee and his son Lee fille following in dad’s large footsteps would allow the construction industry to get away with anything of the sort, with blue murder. What, in the tropics twenty minutes only could be granted of sun-light and you needed to shut the FFFF up about it and be grateful you weren't living in a water-logged swamp like in the old days with uncovered sewer, mud and filth and picking through refuse like others in the region? Really?

Ill-at-ease

How usual is it for a drug-dealer to worry about the drought?  The weather here, lack of rainfall.  Small-time street dealer whose value to the man is his aptitude at ground level handling the Joes, avoiding any trouble with the law, carrying it off dependably smooth and regular. Guy sleeping rough and hanging tough not a problem, worried about the rain? Unsettled by the dry? Why for heaven's sake? For the cool it would bring? This guy never carries any brolley; the pour only a source of nuisance to him really. Yet here he is ill-at-ease, troubled, furrowed dark brow. It’s not as if his fields are parched, plantation thirsting, well run dry in the kampung. The kampung where this fella was born was cleared out decades ago. Why give a rat's, a right royal FFF and carry-on, dropping those big heavy jowls? He tells you how you as the outsider here oughta be the one to say a prayer, did he mean? put in an appeal, perform a rain-dance perchance. Sumthin he seemed to anticipate you knew how and what was stoppin ya. No kiddin, he was unhappy. Two years ago it was precisely the same, no good without the rain. Front page story on the driest March in a hundred years was about what he felt somewhere inside himself. Probably he didna hear of the farmers protesting in the Philippines shot by the cops.