Winsome

You really do wanna know what exactly out-of-shot is making this local guy here STREEEEECH his smile that wide in those polos, dowdy uncle trousers & trainers. Inspecting prize-winning housing developments (featuring swimming pools, jogging tracks, fitness studios, gymnasiums, shops), roadway construction, visiting old people’s homes & hawker centres, vertical farms, innovative laboratories, hospitals, tuition centres, schools. Never any indication his predecessor father was anything other than a sourpuss, at least in that earlier radio & stump era. Some of the twisty politics, the family feuding, the prominent role of the wife, does make you wonder bout that persona. Difficult to think of anything approaching that branding anywhere on the globe. Back in the day Ronnie possibly.

 

 

 

 

 

Straight Road - Jalan Trus (Johor Bahru, Malaysia)

Another arm of the barber shop beside Masjid India, which also ran the naan outlet there. Even five years later the barber here who doubled as a waiter at the other place was immediately recognised. At entry a chap sat in the end chair with the short man beside him at some kind of loss, it seemed. Within a few short minutes the latter, a man from Andhra Pradesh it turned out, was crying, pleading with the abang, brother. Oiled and sleek, Abang looked just cut, perhaps seeking some kind of final adjustment. Unclear the to-and-fro and what had preceded; in the end sounded like the guy would accept some no.2 trimming on the sides and that would do.  Met with reluctance by the barber, who seemed to know better than to enter the challenge once more. An impasse. Unmoving. Only tears and tissues from the little barber, who briefly retreated at one point to a corner in the back room. Tissues were needed to wipe around the eyes too, separate sheets for each. Here was the big owner arrived from up the road, short conversation ensuing that excluded the barber. Customer arguing his case; owner countering and politely encouraging custom elsewhere out the door. In brief, the chap had been in twice before, dissatisfied both times and refusing to pay. A simple no.1 following brought some relief to the short Andhra barber, simple and no fear confusion. Three single blue ones—a little short of a Sing dollar—presented after the red ten seemed not to surprise the barber. One met the good with the bad alternately. En route along by the shuttered old stores that awaited demolition for the avant-garde Coronation Square, an elderly man, neat and clean Malay by the looks, had stretched himself out on his scavenged cardboard, possibly fetching some sleep. What was the pillowing though, rolled newspaper bundled that size? (The man’s head was lifted some way.) No. A few thin sheets covered a single, sandy coloured brick. Truth was nearer the water in the old quarter that was slowly getting the make-over with the new investment you winced more at the displays.

NB. In slightly revised form published by Frederick Barthelme at New World Writing, Oct 2023, a sequence titled “The Malay Archipelago In Short.”

 

Mellower (Review)

 

  

Shachendra popped up at Tekka after the KV lunch—rasam, mini iddly in sambal & plain vadai in yoghurt. (Light supper without fail!) Same every day $3.50 lunch for the pastor, from the Chinese lady’s stall along from Mohan. Man due to fly out tomorrow, Delhi-Kathmandu round trip $1.2K, did he say? As suspected, despite the stretched finances, the pastor forked out for whitening creams, an indispensable part of the performance, like the shirts, trousers & polished shoes. EVERYTHING THAT HAS BREATH / PRAISE THE LORD. Well, certainly fitting within those walls: temp controlled, secluded, not the merest spot of colour. All yellow. Oh! Another white, unnoticed, just got herself outta the place. Fattie with tee still clinging uncomfortably 10mins after her entrance. Deep blue polish on the left; right was hidden. Subtle grey-ash shoulder length. No! Even a single shot weak café—no. Not at half the price. ($7.) Get the holy FFF outta there, Bud. Pronto. Haven’t even mentioned the apple pie country gal dribbling her numbers and roller-coasting by turns from a hidden speaker somewhere close. Low volume; perhaps three speakers strategically placed at different heights delivered that omnipresence that made it seem like the voice issued from the floor as well as the breathing walls. Burbling blurred lyrics perfect for these kids always playing catch-up with the imposed lingua. You would not want any clarity from that crud. (Remember the disappointment back in the day learning the lyrics of fave pop songs? Like suddenly noticing the foul gunk you were treading underfoot.) Dungeon black COLD SKULL thought he was walking the wild side. Would it be clear to every single bod there in the chairs they had a renegade in the corner grousing like all fuck? These long faces emerge willy-nilly, can’t hold ‘em back, never magine you’ve sealed over that best sangfroid. Coming back from the bar IT’S A MIRACLE WE CAN BREATHE carries a dove & dawn sun on the front, by the looks. Ya, sun behind the birdie and the crinkled ground beneath, it must be. Google Lens would give the brand, designer, cost & nearest outlet in an instant. Wondrous. Eurasian girlfriend rocked up, not long outta the States. Didn’t appear to have been mauled over there, trailing placid good time vibes only. Austin had turned funky cool in recent years, a news-report had it, not what one would expect in the lone star. China girl might not get it in the neck in those parts right now; so, it needn’t be just San Fran for safety. Can assume the lord’s dove was a compatriot, hailed from those parts, pentecostal at a pinch. That would make sense. Only mid-20s; from behind fella might have guessed decades older. You know this number. Someone like you…Sometimes it hurts to say… Starbs gave that a spin pretty regular too. Imagine the dosh for the outfit if someone was tallying the numbers properly. Maybe they pay for rights and then no limit; might be the case for that lullaby; perhaps they even run it in the churches. You don’t mean to condemn of course. Only the spruikers and boosters, overflowing with the gooey matter both ends. God’s own prosperous thinkers. Them you’d round up from their ranches, condos and fairways, stick em in a gulag and press-gang for decent public works. Alamgir had also heard the whisper here of the burning of all the blue bin recyclables. Four-five years ago it hit the papers. Silencio since. When one of the lads approached leaning close the first thought was he was gonna ask whether you had made your order, sir? Boy, you don’t know how lucky you be! Mellower gets it bang in the bullseye, alright! Victoria-Middle Road corner; ignored the first ten years. Polished concrete floor, wooden features, the scores of hanging lights rationed lately with the costs. On the walls the cartoon figures ala Homer (Simp.) would no doubt be known to most of this crowd. 

.

Skipping Along

We had developed a nodding acquaintance the last few weeks, extended to greetings lately. The man was not recalled from the time prior to the pandemic; he stayed out in Choa Chu Kang in the west. Coming by around the back of the chair a light hand on the shoulder in passing, before he skipped 15m over to the couple who was just then turning from the upper path to cross Onan. Impossible to tell gender of either there beneath the umbrella, one pushing the chair and the other within. Elderly the pair seemed, decked in matching emerald green, which, remarkably, the man joining to intercept shared in almost the very same tone. Could have been family in question; friends at least. Chap had been sitting with his back to the path, his wife & daughter facing, so that one of the women must have alerted him to the passers-by. Neighbours possibly; good neighbours not sighted for some long while. Beneath the umbrella the couple could not have spied the chap; the rain had started up again. The man had been seen extending offerings before; even the rascal busker Rahim had benefited more than once. In this case from a distance the hand presenting had been hidden and all over in a flash, bounding back…This was not counted toward the formal zakat—the portion of the annual earnings set aside for charity. Sadoqah was the term; alms, the man helpfully spelt and translated. Not a large sum. That was what that was all about. The pondering continued long afterward without anything adequate.

 

Ronald Runs Rampant

 

Amazing you could get dedicated McD delivery dudes on this island with its global high outlets per capita. They had almost never appeared in G Serai, the Malay quarter remaining an unusual hold-out. In Joo Chiat proper, on Duku corner, fella in a hurry to get the burgers over to the client just now brushed against a ped crossing. From what one could see from the upper end, at least $5-6m residences either side on leafy Duku fetching north. Denizens rich & poor penetrated in all orifices here by the red button-nosed Ronald.

Labels Again

 

The Box was rather better than Starbs, even the front seating at Bras Basah Starbs, where the branding was not in evidence. Both of them were better than try-hard Mellower opposite the library. The kids crowded the latter and most days seating was difficult, certainly the select seats. Lotta foreign talent there too, both white & other; tops opened wide at 50-60% of tables. Presumably the clientele identified the cute cartoon figures on the walls. There must have been a Burberry or two around the place at Mellower, if not Starbs. You had never come within cooee of a Burberry, certainly never sat within touching distance. Beggars, tramps, gutter-sweeps were your preferred; small time crims even. Indeed it might have been ads in the newspapers in Sing where the brand was first encountered, along with Hermes, Tiffany and some others. At the Box one popped up this afternoon on the chair adjacent, young lady’s purse/make-up bag/clutch bag, whatever. The manner though made all the difference here, beautifully respectful and polite; obliging, smiling, happy to make room. Oh shite! That’s right! You were gonna have some toast weren’t you, after at least a decade. The last crust had been taken almost certainly at this very place on North Bridge, with the sugared peanut butter in the early months at the library, 2011. Indoor table in the corner back then. For firming the stool it was BRAT that was recommended: banana, rice, apple & oddly, toast. Burberry informed that they didn’t have plain here at the Box, only kaya & butter. Perhaps she didn’t know the peanut butter option. Another narrow escape the other day going back to the room after the paper. Setting off along the path from the Pasar, the options were plotted out in advance: in the case of instant emergency, the disorderly Azhar cubicles just across the way would offer sanctuary; the block at the Haig further down (never tested in all these years and possibly Russian squats); and then fifty metres further, Kinex as it indeed proved, out in the back corner where the high polish palatial had been quite forgotten. Really laid on extra at Kinex, a chap could not ask for more. No Ave Maria piping through the sound system as at Takashimaya on Orchard, but otherwise almost nothing to separate the pair. Small wonder the retirees loved this place; never get caught out once you knew the lie of the land. Clean, spacious, hanging pegs more often than not; plentiful cubicles and all the paper one could desire. The country was a gem. Safety first & foremost. Tax system. Public transport. First grade malls. Add white worship. Indians and others would complain of the armchair ride given Whites. Sometimes it happened you were bona fide loaded, but in the case of a darker shade of pale the confusion with the foreign labour could crop up. Well, one might ask the gal, carefully, respectfully, how far she had been set back for that light caramel 7 x 3 1/2 inch. Explain the line of work, the profession; perhaps she would understand. It was a big ask, but not without a chance in her particular case. Fine soul beneath the make-over, classic daddy’s girl. Black almost velvet one piece, modest cut at the neck; simple chain & pendant. Watch matching, perhaps alligator, small face hidden this side. All the tables nicely modest here, some of which no doubt seating some seriously stacked real estate and assets. Coming round from Starbs earlier for some reason on this rainy afternoon, Waterloo corner produced a little stab. Wince and look away. Ordinarily it was water off a duck’s back here now. How many times had that corner been crossed? How many times had Waterloo itself been taken down to the temples and Bugis, without a moment’s thought, at least in latter years? Clive in Lt. India. Petain & Clemenceau thereabout. Princep Street had been confused for a wee bit with our man Gavrilo from the same era, an understandable spelling error it was thought at one time. Of course the Brits here would hardly have celebrated a regicide. Hardly. Come on! Duh! The Burberry gal turned out perfectly easy as expected. Picked up the piece in Milan, discounted line. Googling for the price wouldn’t help in this case. Just a minute, just a minute, she’d check for you. Won’t take a moment. She had the receipt right there somewhere. Swiping, swiping. Did she keep a proper file? Didn’t look like it. Swiping. Ah! There it was, the pic and beside it the slip. In fact rather more than her recollection. €485. Normal price had been €750 . She had saved heaps. In the property line, but not sales or condos. In fact, sustainable construction; her brief concerning schools, primary schools. Waterloo. Signal triumph. Nelson wasn’t it, Horacio? We learned it in primary school, where the head in early years, Mr Villiers, was the younger bro it might have been of either an admiral, or sailing ship’s captain. There were pics on the wall in the office. Francis Drake having a turn at bowls when the Spanish Armada was sighted off the coast of fair England, letting the fleet that would meet them tarry a while until he had completed his throw. Possibly also in the school curriculum and certainly featuring in the swashbuckling movies. The Duke of Wellington of course at Waterloo; not Nelson. And for future reference, kaya was coconut jam, the toast traditionally served alongside coffee & soft boiled eggs, just as the nice Burberry lass had taken for a late lunch.