Changes On the Ground

It was time to get to the bottom of the matter at the newly established Al-Azhar. Al Wadi had closed four months ago, before the departure. The new eatery had been announced well in advance: another Indian Muslim operation that had outlets at upscale Bukit Timah (Tin Hill) and Tampines. The food would be better under the new operators, old Hussein the Wadi boss had frankly admitted. What Hussein had failed to mention, what the man might not have known, was the accompanying decline of the teas that was coming. After almost four months away one was hesitant to pass judgment prematurely. Was the halia indeed nothing like the former? Could these dubious taste buds be trusted? Well, time to ask Mu. Who better than the grand tea-master himself. Muttalib the Tamil was one of the handful of former Wadi crew who had been retained by the new outfit. Likely the Al-Azhar chiefs had observed the man operating. Not only quick and efficient at his own task, fluent in Malay and with adequate English, but Mu also knew how to supervise his off-siders preparing the ices and sweets and collecting the cash. Eric the ad man had made the same observation during his patronage. Excellent competence and efficiency. Well then, what say you, Mu? This halia ain’t the same, is it? We are a way from that former rich brew, right? The suspicion was the new guys had descended to packeted ginger most likely. The dry, desiccated product was not a patch on the fresh article. Owning up immediately the little honest Tamil, Mu. Right you were; it was not the same. But, no, not packets. It was a different company now providing; different product involved. Unlike former days, none of the tea-houses in Sing diced their own ginger any longer. For that delectation one needed to cross the Causeway and trip up a couple of kilometres into Johor proper. Almost a drug the tangy syrup blending condensed milk, tea and fresh ginger, bubbly with a head on it like beer when stretched from a height—tarik. Across the way beneath the market the re-positioned Mr Teh Tarik was not a whole lot better. ABC on Changi Road likewise conformed to type. As a last resort perhaps the new Al Falah Baraka—mystifyingly translated by Google as “It has a living”—ought be sampled as a last resort. (The former Har Yasin run by the old ogre Hanifa had donned new livery for some reason best known to themselves.)

Another absence too now of a different kind. A more plangent note of change here. The Parrot Man, the noseless old curmudgeon who had presumably slipped down the remission rungs during these months of absence, was gone from the neighbourhood. No more in life. The bird had outlived the man. There had been a item in the newspaper, Ahmad reported that same morning Mu was quizzed about the tea. The run-ins with officialdom had earned the Parrot Man a certain profile in the Republic, a certain level of notoriety. Of course the man cut a memorable figure. Ahmad had not been a fan of the Parrot. Once again mention was made by Ahmad of the chap’s abrupt, challenging manner in the course of his tissue-selling. Cruising the tables at the eateries—the upper level at Geylang Serai Pasar in particular—the chap was wont to slap packs on the tables and then presumptuously circle back for his collection of the money. This was in addition to going about with the hole in his face uncovered, the red raw wound naked and gaping at you. A more self-possessed and dignified beggar/tissue-seller would never have stooped to such pitiful pleading, Ahmad thought. So far as the man’s religion went too, he had been all over the shop. Dressed pretentiously in the Muslim attire while doing his rounds at Geylang Serai, Parrot was nonetheless known to attend Buddhist Temples, churches and Hindu places of worship. Unlike the other jumpers from the towers, it seems Parrot Man had resolved to do the deed at his own block at Geylang Bahru, over behind Kallang. Mid-year the jumper at the Haig here had traveled from his own neighbourhood to the hawker centre in front of Block 11, where he had bought a little plastic stool in order to enable him to get over the balustrade. At his own block by the Kallang River, the Parrot Man must have used his own from home.