Keyhole on Singaporean Schooling

Letters page in the paper here this morning includes concern from a Mr. Tan Teck Huat, an experienced speech and voice trainer, who has found many students unaware of the need and importance of good diction and correct pronunciation. Failures and stumblings were common even for words like bread, head and heavy, Tan reports from the field, and for guidance suggests BBC News and a particular radio station, as well as appointing students in the classroom who articulate well as role models.
         The language laboratory here on the equator.

In the Flesh (Mar25)

Heavy, almost fair-haired figure, in almost a Montenegrin cap, sizing up the relief on offer from the fans mounted on the pillar. 

         Call out back first. 

         Here he comes returned, the wonky hand-rail giving some concern. 

         The wife had seen his survey and parked herself beneath. (Five metres behind, no word had been exchanged, the old man not deigning to turn.) 

         It appeared the man wanted another place, indoors perhaps where it might be cooler. 

         No, the food order. One of them had mouthed something and immediate agreement. 

         Out and back once more, this time the other side of the rail, granddad not trusting himself descending with the two plates of tahu goring. (Advertised on the placard by their table within a jagged capsule—POWER in bright red. Almost inedible sweetening.) 

         Third time too retracing his steps for the teh O, down from the platform this time and seat assumed opposite the Missus. 

         One of the stern, dark looks in their exchange had told the story of their marriage in an instant.

         From the beginning the form, the jaw-line and bearing had suggested Granddad Rade, of whom there was never a hint how he had raised such a depth of love in his eldest girl, when like all Montenegrins, it was the son George who was all his hope and joy. From the 2-3 photographs that had come down, a good number of sightings here on the equator over these years.

         ...Ni with some time on her hands now in the new placement remarked yesterday that she would be reading the Qur’an and not thinking too much. Not the first time that impressive settling of mind has been advocated here.

Pharma For Real Bedroom Drama (Feb25)

Osman’s five minutes yesterday centered on his Superman pills that had been trialed twice now by himself. A Malaysian registered pharmaceutical product, suggested Osman initially. After he had showed the 250gm tablet inscribed POWER both sides, and the female counterpart in an individual foil pack, where a hot bikini gal was primed for pleasure, the raised eyebrows opposite brought a retraction. Perhaps not formally approved medication. But then what did formal approval mean in that market? In any event the two episodes had now passed with pleasing results and no ill effects. Why had Osman not taken the advice to begin with a half measure first off? Well, the friend advocating and reassuring had been perfectly confident. Good performance, good strength & energy. Osman reported the only thing was a sharp, penetrating vision that persisted more than an hour after an hour afterward. Not in itself concerning, but noticeable and worth mention. Satisfactory trial; at $2 a pop affordable good gear. Recommended optimum was for the female partner to likewise take her own capsule. Of course the problem there was how to broach. Surreptitious mickey was out of the question; any miscarry an examination would immediately reveal. Not easy. And giving to the wife too a can of worms. As for the Hammer of Thor, only Jamel the masseur had thus far trialed. All good and well on that front too, Jamel reported; discernible thickening in the shaft and all without mishap. Before Osman had begun he had been shown the item in the Insight section of the newspaper telling of the current Thai craze for whitening of the male member, the purpose of which had not immediately occurred to Osman.

Faithful Retainer

Our little Dato here received sizable boost since his old pal has entered the Istana on the coat tails of the reigning President of the Republic. Jolly good show indeed. Just now at the Haig the information passed of his purchase that afternoon in fact of a jacket for.... Well, it had been a wet and cold first half of January, the coldest of the last ten years the newspaper reported that morning. A jacket purchase for the wardrobe on the equator not entirely remarkable just now. Past days quite the deceptive Euro spring evoked at the Al Wadi tables—all manner of windbreakers, scarves atop scarves, jackets and wraps to the fore. But no, in this instance ‘twas “an occasion” upcoming in March that needed attendance….in company of….the dignitary….The President’s husband. Ahha! Oh. I see. Good oh. Three or four weeks previously the same had drawn attention to a fan mounted on a Wadi pillar. The end pillar near where the Dato liked to sit evenings with his “Foreign Minister” good wife. Ahha. Yes. I see... Well, you know. The President (‘s husband) join us evening.... The owner at Al Wadi had been appealed: President gracing the Onan corner never know when he may show. Aduh! Nothing too much trouble, installed in a jiffy. It wasn’t there before if you didn’t know. (Hot days were coming too, and nights.) Once more late morning one Friday not a total out-and-out surprise the man appeared hard against the table in a resplendent dream of white — long jubah stretched over the tummy, haji cap, recent dye, shoes as always, and Ray B’s. Wah! An expensive detergent and bleach. There had never been a maid in Dato’s company—the wife, the “foreign minister,” more than proving her goodness. Because why though? Well, the President (‘s husband) was attending the sermon that day. Dat. swinging by early to tell them at Masjid Khalid to leave a space in front for the limo.

NB. The honourific delivered by a pal one evening must needs be a joke, you thought initially. Dato had run a couple of food stalls at the Haig over the years and 1,2,3 others elsewhere somewhere. A property in a gated community in Johor purchased for cash some years before the ringgit crash; then something—roundabout the tune of RM1.5mil—sunk into 1MDB. But don’t worry, be happy, the mantra Dato continued to maintain. Roy to his mat salleh friends.

Teeming (Feb25)

Teeming. First drops were just on leaving the room. Without any real sign from indoors, it was the old Indian-Malay sapu sapu cleaner from earlier in the afternoon with his forecast that prompted the umbrella. Gone quart past 6, two chapatti, dahl and small serve lady finger. Did young Mimi make a mistake with $6 or return six? Pelting, and unfortunate seating again opposite a Chin chap. How few of the younger generation manage the simple courtesies. As always keen to dispatch the submission, registered and into the barrel. Bozo at the other end of the table voted for the retention of the pillar fan, the dunderhead. Perhaps he can’t afford it at home and not about to deny himself dining out. The Amartya Sen excellent as fully expected; precisely the kind of development and extension needed for this India focus. In the current era the man might be placing a wee bit much hope and trust in reasoned discourse, but never mind. Onward. A venture precisely in that direction might indeed be the best course, even a month holed up in a hotel in old Madras/Chennai and venturing the usual 5-6sqkms offering some initial something. A smashing watching it against the trees out front of the Converts! Against the not-so-dark grey western sky it was quite invisible. Barefoot older cyclist stopping with his pedaling and raising his feet at the sight of the puddle ahead; cardboard squares were doing good service as shields. The old uncle who said some days ago in a similar pour that rain never bothered him stood true to his word: he had indicated to a reluctant companion the route out across Onan, up a way and either into the Converts or else the Haig shelters. Under his flat-cap without flinching, through the heart of the deluge come hell or high water. Some cyclists were armed with brollies; the thin plastic ponchos providing jack shit of cover (to quote an old plumber from Downunder.) Motor-cyclists seem to have taken caution, hardly a one. The singleted Malay on the end of the table who had declined the offer of an inner place later attempted to shield his legs with an angled chair. Coffee coloured, steady and firm, an atap roof possibly even in his recent history. Half an hour later the easing brought the Ciggie lady over from the Haig to this half of her clientele.

The Royals

Still surprising to have these large bovine heads and heavy jowls, these figures in their songkoks from the newsreels, the old papers and postage stamps, showing such bright smiles and lifting the hand for greeting. No memory at all of the old chap by the pillar here this morning where the old dapper nose-picking uncle sits weekends. (After she spotted his habit at encounters Beechoo always attempted to avoid this man’s handshakes.) Forbidding old Yugoslavs in childhood were the same, their frightful, daunting horse heads breaking unexpectedly radiant after sly witticisms and mystifying—nay, highly alarming—playfulness. In his house around the corner in the Avenue Chika Dakic with his German wife from his time in the camps and four or five children suggesting your willy needed trimming, he would get the scissors, just a tick. Chika Zero in Kernot Street, the Dalmatian Catholic royalist from the time of the first Yugoslavia, kept colourful caged canaries and parrots in the garage that he favoured you with display. A former lad it would later emerge, trapped in the union with Teta Andrica after she gave birth to son Jovan; close friend of father Lazar. There had never been any sign of affection between father and son, yet for his former friend’s orphan boy always a ray of sunshine from Chika Z. (Years later Zero Mostel demonstrated there was no liability whatever with such a moniker.) This old kampung paterfamilias fitted within the same continuum, no doubt a firm supporter himself of the Sultan in his parts.

Fred & Don (Royalty) - Feb25 updated

A famous car enthusiast who has everything can be gifted what exactly to add to his collection? Not easy. The man in question has garages crammed with the best money can buy, all the mouth-watering jewels—an Alfa Romeo 8C, Aston Martin Vanquish, BMW i8, Bugatti Veyron, Cadillac Escalade; &etc. &etc. A surprise yesterday presented to the Sultan of Johor by his confrère the Pahang Regent was a replica from the former’s fave cartoon series, Freddie Flint’s dinosaur era jalopy. The “wood-like body and wheel coverings that look like stones” was shown in the morning’s newspaper photograph, including the shade cloth over the driver's head. Yabba Dabba Doo!… Within the spectrum of the recently sighted photograph displaying the bling of the (now former/and current again) US President up in his gold-plated penthouse beside his Slovene queen and their boy on a rocking lion. (Google “trump family photo gold”.)  It seems one of the Sultan of Johor’s residences at Mersing features colourful rooms inspired by the old classic Hanna-Barbera series.

 

 

Playing Beckett (Feb25)

Always happy to see a friend Mr. Ah. Early lunch at the Haig in the second row, with the loud call an arm raised. Hail fellow well met. Little guy, mid-seventies. Zero half-hearted about the man—the arm raised high & smiling neon bright. AH-HA-HA... (More than one of the lads at the Haig took him off at any appearance and pleased Mr. A so doing.) At table one of the Batam lasses, a regular to these shores must have some kinda special pass, local grand-dad hubbie. This is your kawan?... Pleased to meet you madam. Mr. Ah kawan baik. Any friend of his... Readily agreed the woman; she could vouch for Ah-ha-ha too, indisputably good friend. On the return after the mall Mr. A. was out on the thoroughfare leaning an arm on the wall taking his ciggie. Hellos again mighty fine and fair, hardly any diminution, a people person to the max. Still nothing giving, hey Mr A? Nothing sure, he owned, with what might have been genuine low spirits. Well, by jingoes, when could we expect a little something then? Any chance? Like a shot the little man looking away, smooth level tone: End of the year. Inaudible gasp gathering the thoughts at that juncture: December. Christmas. We had crossed into twenty-eighteen now. But…We… Only... Flabbergasted. I can give you big surprise, — continuing completely deadpan and straight, like at a wake. A Chinaman Mr. Ah-ha Chan. Which was not to say the man meant CNY mid-Feb next month. You could do Beckett forever and a day any tick of the clock with Mr. A, no problem at all. Unscripted, completely impromptu. Only the props from the street and away before you knew it.

The Exemplars

In Melbourne we had used a range of saws to cut down two stands of Canadian sycamores that were creating havoc with the sewers at Bab’s house. In the last two years plumbers and drainers had needed to be called out three times to bore through roots in the lines with their augers. Serious expense. In the six years of absence the trees had shot up eight or ten metres, the boles unable to be handled by either Arthur’s little Woodpecker or Robbie’s range of saws. Finally a Viet with a powerful blade of 600mm needed to be engaged to cut down the base of the trunks. Now on Orthodox Christmas news that cousin Ljube—sestra od Strica, sister from (paternal) Uncle—has had a leg amputated. For many years Ljube had suffered from diabetes, but the latter worsening of her condition had not been reported. Her sons did not convey the latest news; it was conveyed by another relative from further around the coast. Like the best Montenegrin exemplars, Ljube had almost never mentioned her illness. Such mentions never helped in Ljube’s book and consequently her hardship was easy to forget. (In her years of battling her husband’s problem with alcohol Ljube had never admitted her troubles to anyone, not even her sister—indeed denied to all and sundry that her husband was an alcoholic. Ne pije on; he does not drink, she would defiantly retort at any suggestion to the contrary.) Eldest son Velo has inherited his mother’s illness and her doughty spirit too; struggled like his mother to reduce his weight and like his father eliminate his alcohol. (Cigarettes he was able to eliminate after reading Carr’s book.) In the former military hospital at Meljine there would have been heavy sedation and the surgeons wielding a saw with fine-toothed blades; a preliminary shearing of flesh before the bone could be severed. At almost eighty the operation had been risky, the elder daughter-in-law subsequently reported, and it was the femur that had been cut at the mid-point. In military field hospitals they cut limbs with more rustic saws and routinely without anaesthetic. (Ljube had early childhood memories of the last phases of WWII in our hills.) The eldest now of our branch of the family Ljube Vidova, the one in closest touch with the ancestors. During the last visit to Montenegro at a wake Ljube’s grand-daughter had her Baba’s particular gait and posture pointed out for her. At any kind of sharp, earnest talk, any kind of somber occasion, Ljube would raise her head and peer down at her interlocutor from beneath her broad, angled forehead. A tall woman who made herself taller and more formidable at any challenge or hardship. The young lady, the only grand-daughter who was given her Baba’s name, would benefit from the example.

Up for the Challenge

Oh dear! That’s one sad sorry sod dragging his feet like that here under the trees. Flattened by the events of the day, set back on his heels more than a smidgeon by something the boss had said, a sales target missed just when he was within striking distance. DARE TO DREAM BIG had jinxed the young man this third day of the New Year. Somehow the lad would need to gird his loins and make a better fist of it for the year of the hound around the corner, a larger signpost for his kind in any case. Hopefully he did not have a wife at home to whom he needed to explain himself; didn’t look likely. They pay for such tees here by the way; they’re not giveaways at the office or community sports. Much rallying, stirring of spirits and steeling of intent, onward and upward and never retreat. Breathtaking. On a bad day taking the wind from the sails of the most settled and balanced among us. Today Mr. Ee waiting on the G. Garum to arrive suggested nothing served the human animal so well as the old reliable standby acknowledged by all the cultures across the ages— patientia and nought else. Courage, hope, loving, kindness and the rest useless without it; getting one nowhere fast. The old hardy sailor had the grace to hear out and appreciate the line that was delivered him from the I Ching, the text from whence stemmed all the man’s precious Buddhism, the Mahayana kind and all the other bundled together. (Hearing the critique without objection on this day the sailor man well-versed in the school of hard knocks.) For the challenge in the task of life what was needed from man, said the old ancients on the banks of the Yangtze back in the day, was the patience of the bird on its nest.... (The precise wording unable to be offered off the top of the head as the author’s copy of the wonderful recent translation by David Hinton had been lent to a young aspiring artist much in need.) 

Crash 'n Bash Heavens

Roughie here the only one who can get the TeeV going with the remote when the Deaf was in such need. The uncle when he was approached excused himself apologetically: “sadly” man was without the knowledge. Such a smart cookie ordinarily, even a good teh maker (though the genuine long-stretch tarik was beyond the fellow). As if on cue, immediately after the exchange the main man himself arrived, surprised at the welcome and all modest and bashful. Gee. Oh. I dunno how none of the others get it.... Bowing his head like a schoolboy reluctant to claim any kind of precedence, especially over his elders…. And boy oh boy! was there ever a wait for the satellite to kick in while Rafi (more properly) fiddled. The forefinger whirling at the wrist appreciated by Deaf. Noodle-cooking or salad-tossing sign—unorthodox as it may have been—equally appreciated. A whale of a wait. Luckily it was all replays and no keenly awaited championship-deciding kick-off. Good goals for all that once we had picture, maybe the Deaf had not seen them all. Chap seemed to suggest he had indeed caught one at least of the monster thunder-claps through the afternoon. 15:45 he drew on the table-top and showed how the rain had angled in under the awning from all directions—the market behind us, the works across the road and the Haig on high. No surprise; Jupiter, Mars and all their lieutenants marching on to war; seems it had actually shorted all the lights here too, TeeV included. (The reason for the long re-booting.) From where the matter of all the lighting that would be inflicted upon us once the Mall/Cultural Centre across the road was done and dusted. The Deaf pointed at all the green tinted windows that recalled the forest of yore presumably. Startled rabbits; frying basically we would be beneath that glare. Though to be honest, with the delivery it was unclear whether the man was actually putting a negative spin on the matter. On the contrary, it was possible a defeat of night for the Deaf might in fact constitute a significant plus. Certainly the way the lads were going at it over there 24/7 the fit-out could be all complete within a couple months. There would be ceremonies scheduled long ago, ribbon-cutting, prizes for the architecture, give-aways to early bird shoppers, Indonesian and Malaysian dignitaries who kept their ill-gotten gains in the local banks attending with their wives. The day after the blackout, the Eve itself, it must have been the best part of twenty hours without pause pouring and then cascading from the awnings in the brief intervals between full-throttle. The real NY here is ahead of course—the Bow-Wow hard upon us middle of next month. At the entries to the new malls in China they have already erected giant canine cuties. After the Xmas snow-draped fir fantasia on Orchard Road one could not guess what was in the works currently.