Indian lad this afternoon by the table on his free day with a white/green striped labelled high on the chest, ADMIRABLE. In the chap’s mind he was likely thinking of the highest nautical rank. (A couple of generations ago affluent families dressed pretty boys in peaked, laurel-leafed ship captain’s hats.) Clueless gaucherie from the Third World sweatshops only a few years ago; more recently the catwalks were seizing upon precisely such kind of affectlessness for their designs. (To wit Melania’s jacket visiting the children’s camp on the Mexican border.) On the Saturday an instant reflex at the Serangoon bus-stop sighting the approaching Russians were they? Even before the blue baseball cap worn by Dad could be deciphered. A spectator at the US Open had lost an eye recently because of an errant drive on the fairway. It might have been even worse, the woman was reported to have said: she might have died from the blow. This Ruski badged with the sporting marquee event had come through unscathed, arrived in Singapore, passed through Little India’s temples and eateries and now was catching a bus someplace else. Wife, son and daughter-in-law in tow. You could tell the filial relation by a sign from the younger man to Dad within the shelter where he had taken a seat—resting against a lamppost—head-turn and nod indicated the coming bus was for them. In the States following the players around the course would not have been as taxing as the exploration of Little India in Singapore’s heat and humidity. Was it worth the candle for the Ruski? For the photos at the temples, the food at the restaurants, the cultural centre and Campbell Lane market? A new cap of brightest blue; son was bareheaded same as the rest of the party. A few years ago average stays in Singapore were 2-3 days, before connecting flights were caught. Construction sector work contracts were five or seven years up to the age of thirty-five, usually. Neither Admirable nor genuine US Open apparel had been seen here before; both were bought off-shore. Five or six years ago a Chinese girl in G. Serai who had been complimented on her tee said she never bought her clothes in Singapore. Last week a yoga teacher was met at the KV lunch table, chap who worked only mornings in order to give himself time for his own practise and his two young children. For some strange reason, in this instance the unkempt beard and unlabelled, single-coloured drab tee had not given signal of the man’s uniqueness here. With the absences in Malaysia and Indo, months past and perhaps even over a year, the Luck Meets Opportunity / Preparation Seneca tee had not been sighted on the streets. Then like a thunderstorm from a summer sky, an unexpected jungle ambush, suddenly within the same day two or even three men had barrelled into the field of vision with the same. Had it been produced locally, specifically for this market? Difficult to imagine it might be found elsewhere. Israel or Dubai perchance? Delhi during this Modi reign?... It was little wonder the original straw panama had drawn so much notice, coming up seven years. How often had one been told how much more striking a figure was created with it? how many compliments, smiles and salutes? There had been two muddled conversations in recent days with professional young expats casually encountered. The first, a young Viet “global citizen,” as she described herself, had been told her country had not been visited essentially because of guilt over the war. For a first meeting with a youngster like that, this had been way too much information of course. Way, way too much. Nicely enough taken in stride in this instance. A young Indian banker who had lived in Sing two years and had a recent three month assignment in Melbourne sitting over a quick prataat Wadi had been engaged entirely and exclusively on matters concerning India: her Bangalore home town, Indian food, the changed demographic in Melbourne in recent years; &etc; &etc. All inevitably, unavoidably, carrying the unstated, deeply troubling subtexts, colour, the rape controversies, communal strife, caste; &etc; &etc. Last thing a young lady needed reminding on a fine evening.
NB. “Luck is what happens when opportunity meets preparation,” Seneca
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