Woebegone (April24)

 

Poor old wounded Shark over on the garden wall there. Ciggies his best friends. Where did all that resplendent wardrobe go, suddenly? The Widow’s kids surely could not have claimed it all. Caps, tees, shirts, trainers—none of it the cheap China product. Reduced to the uncle-wear like the local pollies when they set out for their meet ‘n greets in the heartland. (There might possibly be a few flutters at the top of the towers in this run-up to the election Friday, the festival of democracy a national holiday.) Dull, unbranded blue polyester, sandals, plastic bags tied to his bike’s handle bars, teh included. Poor devil might even be sleeping rough. Could not have swung the docs with a lawyer. Perhaps the poor dear had passed without warning; certainly there had been no sign of any kind in the last sighting at Al Azhar back in May-June. Seven or eight years biting without getting his teeth into the estate proper? Possibly the process was still entrain and the man remained some kinda chance. They had been together so long, even though word was formal union had not occurred, various theories proffered. Doesn’t have a leg to stand on otherwise, clearly. 

 

 

 

 

Packed Prayers - April24 update

 

Caught the Courts man 12 hours ago on his bike stopped on a path at the Haig. Chap had been seen there before at the same time, beneath the sheltered walkway, pausing for some reason with the wheels between his legs. Boyish in the company polo. It was heartening hearing Helen’s report of the government survey man couple months ago, commenting how nice he found the Courts man. My, my! Reassuring. There was an impulse to report the compliment. Hey, you know that survey guy few weeks back?… In the year or two prior to Covid, the man’s Viet girlfriend had not returned. Neither now these 14 months later. Visa probs possibly, or else funds dried up. Heavy smoker, coughing his guts out upstairs, trying to clear his nasal passage in the echoing bathroom. When he turns on a smile that guy, it’s a helluva thing. Musta been generously hosted the survey guy on his rounds. 10-11 hour shifts at the store in his particular department, white goods from memory. Evenings you can hear the man come back with his bicycle, bringing it in through the narrow opening. Earlier it was Wahyu’s sandal slapping that had echoed out there. Young Calvin from one of the capsule rooms upstairs had a brisk shoe-tap. The taciturn Toyota guy with the Viet karaoke girls was away somewhere again, his sedan parked up the side outside the bedroom window. Apparently, according to Auntie Helen, the Toyota actually comes alive and speaks to landlord Tan. (Respecting money, according to the Catlady.) After he was told the other day of the wearying prayers in early teens, trying to remember all the unfortunates who needed mention, dear old Zainuddin reported that he had the same problem currently, in his late-seventies.  

 

 

Gentle Chirruping April24 update

HOLD ON 

               // 

                     PAIN ENDS.  

Another lady indoors carried on her canvas the old apple pie, Have a nice day. 

The impulse to run that one down to make her state her bona fides more clearly was resisted.

Either/or was welcome relief from GENTLE WOMAN. Capik. Wearied that one. Months now it had only been bags for GW, until just recently the progression to purses & apparel. 

The faded older gal, older than the second (first was advanced years), with her usual heavy eye-liner, had tried on a shy smile last week, after sheepishly fetching up to the table. Make-up, smart office/front desk navy, tightly bound coloured hair. The echo of the Italo/Grecian tragics, those beauties who had never found love or managed children, surprised in the Chinese form. Callas, Magnani; &etc.   

The regular 4PM Indian techies knew that style you were sporting yourself. Slightly ragged & dishevelled chic updated the old saddhus back home. Didn’t get much of a run hereabout.

These particular guys were also a trifle shy in their own way; couple generations later the colour bar remained.  

But Gent W. Feminism had barely scratched the surface here. Plenty of feisty, tough old gals; the soft feminine, however, certainly did blitz the field. Some of the chipmunk voices on the street drilled deep into the brain. Astonishing. Nothing comparable.

Couple years ago one of the conservative Malaysian Ministers… But this was going to sound crazy; impossible to credit. Easy to picture the blankness on the other side, reading.  

…Women ought, suggested the Minister—for women’s affairs in all likelihood, in the recent backdoor government, lady by the name of Rina Harum. 

Women ought, counselled Minister Rina in her tight scarf and caked make-up… women ought speak to their husbands like the cartoon character Doraemon. 

(Confirmed: Women, Family & Community Development, in the Ismail Sabri government. Also rather contentious, shall we say,  the lady’s stance on underage marriage.)  

Perhaps Gentle was first adopted in the fashion houses of France or Spain, as part of the backlash. Reassure the lads; let ‘em know. We’re on your side, boys. All for it. Trad. gentling laid on, chaps, not to worry. 

Cat & poodle gals; allow women to be women; &etc. 

Pleated skirts, heels, make-up & lashes. Beauty duty was a given, matter of course. Well-nigh impossible to get a look-in otherwise.

You never saw casual attire for Gentles.  

They wouldn’t exactly gravitate to old, worn guys, though naturally the whiting retained its powerful allure. Got you a foot in the door.    

 

NB. Googling again, the Thai genesis was surprising for Gentle. A turn-up. Though the locale was right.

 

 

 

Mirror, Mirror (April24)

The Indian-Malay hard-rocking biker with the ponytail seemed to be unhappy with his partner in his side mirror. On arrival at the market he had stopped by the table and tooted when he remained unnoticed. The only word that could be understood from his speech was Mustafa. Some purchase had been obtained at the 24hr mega-mart. Two silver bangles that looked a bit like automotive or industrial product were carried loose on his right wrist. A good 45mins he sat beneath the stair smoking, regularly rising to berate the figure in the reflection opposite. Finger pointing, arms akimbo, taps on the glass. He needed to bend in order to make his sighting and come close to get his points across. Much loud ranting that had people looking round. Indeed, it was never easy to keep peace with oneself.

 

 

Charades (April24)

Oh! Too late; squeeze by. You would have liked to have avoided such dining companions. Fallen into the trap. But I’m gonna guess these gals would struggle to make the ID here, in fact. No Ranjit in attendance might help; no one to blow the cover. Sooo good! I love it!… Very inner-city Great Southern Land. Oh, FFFF! a fourth joining them. Early-mid 50s; the immediately adjacent younger. What might give the game away, possibly? Not a single, damn thing actually. Nandri… Xie xie ni. The Tamil & Mandarin to the waiters usefully muddying the water. Goatee; chin beard. (The latter tugged by Yani last night in her throes, just as anticipated from long ago. How could a Mussie gal resist?!) Nothing to hint. En route in the bus and then the queue under the veranda, a Jamaican immigrant piece in the Review on the second generation’s riding on the back of the first; or in fact riding those numbers of ancestors preceding. Bab Ruza, Rose, telling her early teen beauty, Jos ti neznas na cije zube kruh jedes! You still don’t know on whose teeth you’re eating your bread!… Baba had left some other locale in Bosnia most likely, for Southern Herzegovina, before finally marrying (twice) over the border on Uble. Right-thinking gals, polite thanks for the plates. Diet Coke fattie. Careful body language—no cringing away, lest it draw attention. Rely on table manners. (Boy! was that some kinda blind if you could pull it off.) Chook’s cackle. Oh! Guaranteed fans of the Matildas. The NSW Premier had promised a State public holiday if the team won the upcoming final. The semi-final had been a record-breaking TV audience for any sporting event in the history of the country. Oh! Oh!… A reader would never believe. Late-comer facing: Where did you watch the game?… English immigrant in her case, thinner Princess Anne, who followed the hair styling. CAN’T ANGRY TODAY journal (from Yogyakarta) was unfortunate. Contained like the practised Tamils here within these walls and roundabout was the go; always impressive models of behaviour. Drove in two of them; parking problems. Children at camp; looking forward to their return Friday. Husbands good earners. Resentment still burnt deep all these many years later; all that early effort at passing. Best line of defence and the surest, the mou, clipped super-fine, centimetre shaved on top. Nowhere to be seen in these ladies’ circles. Contrary, you betchya. (Can’t Angry & Wrath-Bearing Tree in the folder, but they’re certainly not going to get a squizz at the latter.) Clean getaway; pretty perfect. They might have caught the odd twitch & grimace.

Earth’s Make-Over (April24)

 

Planet Earth...

Craning round on Lavender – Boon Keng Corner. Nondescript light industrial either side of the river. 

Post-Covid Darwin Interiors along there somewhere on the No. 21 was no more; couldn't be sighted.

Planet Earth. The only one we had, as the enviro guys were warning and the US Republicans denying. (There was the moon and beyond for one thing.) 

A senior government Minister here had recently explained the absence of a US delegation at a forum by pointing out the Democratic Party in the States did not in fact consider Singapore a democracy. Stood to reason no-show.

This was shortly before the wheels were set in motion for the election of the new President; the incumbent would not be seeking a second term. (Management of a $500m enterprise recently stipulated as one of the chief qualifications for the role.) 

Darwin had always seemed odd. Did it reference the great thinker, or the town on the great southern land?  Effective, penetrating branding was always a challenge here.

Planet Earth... A New Era of Décor. 

Coming soon. Finishing touches were being delivered presently behind the rice paper screens.

Publication news: Murder, War & the Dead - The Wrath-BearingTree

 Hello all 

_{Here is a Vietnam War story just published by a magazine in the States called The Wrath-Bearing Tree.} 

_{The matter that turned into Murder, War & the Dead was first discovered in Singapore back 10 yrs ago. A long gestation.}

_{Since the end of that war the thoughts have regularly returned to the boys 4 - 5 yrs older who were herded over to Vietnam, not to mention all the slaughter and devastation on the Vietnamese side. Some association with the Vietnamese community in Footscray, Melbourne too also kept the war from slipping away.} 

_{In Singapore there is virtually no knowledge of the operation referenced here, either then or now.}

3.5K words, free on the site—

https://www.wrath-bearingtree.com/2023/08/new-fiction-by-pavle-radonic-murder-war-and-the-dead/

_{Best of the best to all}

_Pavle