Publication news: Salute! (Tekka Market), published by Modern Literature

 Hello all

Here is another old piece, dating from the third year on the Equator, recently published. The Indian Quarter of Singapore again, appropriately placed up in Chennai, Tamil Nadu, from where a large part of the diaspora hails. A few years ago an earlier, longer piece was published by the same people at Modern Literature.

This one runs a little under 1.2k words and is centered on the wonderful Tekka Market on Serangoon Road, a greater attraction than any of the promoted big-ticket places. Free to read on the site,—

https://modernliterature.org/salute-tekka-market-by-pavle-radonic/

Svako dobro, all best

Pavle

Splash (Jogja)

  

Hooded against the heat, the kampung lad brought a bucket of water over to the horse & cart. A drink first for the beast, then each of the shod hoofs was splashed, following which the tail that rested in a sling stretching from its hind quarters to the front of the carriage. Reddy-brown, thick, long & handsome tail, taking a curve in order to fit there. The coat of the horse was a couple shades lighter, with less of red. In the light of the late morning sun the colours glimmered. A little puddle remained in the sling afterward, where a portion of the tail rested. Banyak, many times this was done for the beast through the course of a day, the lad answered the question. Standing & trotting in the hot sun throughout, understandable. Early evening last night, not long after maghrib when setting out for the meet with Mahshushah, another horse on Malioboro had become unruly and climbed into the potted plants along the gutter. Couple dozen spectators with cameras had gathered to watch the men settling the animal, one in front at the horse’s head as it swung and bared its teeth; another behind was turning the sling that had been twisted round. In front the horseman in his fancy attire may have gotten a little nip on the hand in the process, as far as the bit in the mouth would allow. Unflustered, the man continued, calmly and patiently. Again, skittishness under the hot sun all day perfectly understandable. How people coped so equably themselves without ever any kind of temper or annoyance recalled in how many visits to Java was the question. Not a single eruption, nor anything like, a year and more altogether. Čeljade trpi što magare nebi, Bab used to say surveying the human scene. A person endured what was beyond a donkey.

 

 

NB. It took couple days to get to the bottom of the sling. It was not to confine the tail, stop it getting into the spokes of the wheels; the tails were not that long. A carriage delivering passengers to Ramai Mall solved the mystery. The horse’s poop was valuable; catching it also kept the streets clean.

 

 

 

 

 

Clean Sweep

 

Touch before quart past landing @ Tanamera. Slow-pacing along the left, shaded side of Mangkubumi, where some of the last little shopfronts were still standing. Within the A/C-ed walls of TM not a single soul at the tables, unsurprising during Ramadan. There had been a narrow miss on the Tugu crossing, because of a motorcyclist shooting along on the opposite side of the road, as they do here.

            A spectacular WA from Sak arrived before leaving the room. 

            The pic of some blouses for suggested gifts had looked unappealing to the gal; looked like male attire. Couple jokes then following. After which Sak requested another item; a completely left-field other. No exaggeration—it was spectacular. 

            Here is the accompanying photo she sent:

 

 

            Well, the gal may have guessed by now the odd range of gifts preferred by her new beau, only her second partner since teen years: a tongue scrapper had been presented, a blouse from the JB night market, an A5 journal & a pair of different coloured gel pens. The rest of it had been tehs & lunches at the street eateries.

            (The two month Bulgarian husband had complained about his wife’s halitosis; perhaps something to do with the changed environment in the Balkans, because back on the Equator it was all honied sweetness. Once Sak had taken a nip of the Listerine in the cupboard. The thought of the scrapper must have arisen from that, though the gal had been given a clear A-OK otherwise.)

            Now a broom would be a pleasure to add. Small, hand-sized, easily fitting in the suitcase, Sak had gone on to explain later during some to-and-fro. (Assuming a case and not knowing of the usual small shoulder bag.) The article was needed for brushing her bed mattress, she said. 

           Outright pleasure. Truly. But best left for the return to Sing, where the pieces had been noticed in the passes of the older form provision stores.

            Frankly speaking, you needed such an item for your own mattress at Carpmael, too. All kinds of matter always managed to insinuate itself among the creases and folds of the litter, after tossing and turning night after night, dreaming, composing, fantasising still.

            Over the journey it had always presented a problem the conventional gift expectation—cards, wrapping, ribbons added—though precious few of them were ever bought any of the girls, sweet and fine every single last one.

            Lottsa probs with Sak and some of the others in the Tropics, but a whole other order of consideration there.

The Intercessor - published by Action, Spectacle Winter 2026

What are you supposed to do with a man who says he wants to die and lies down on the roadway?  

Nothing. It was impossible. Shield him from the cars from the three directions.  

At first he had been standing in the middle of the intersection and taken by the arm gave signs of violence, snarling and half-raising his hand. Eyes glaring.  

Soon he was flat on the bitumen, at first hands down by his side, then back above his head in the sign of surrender.  

I want to die, again.  

A Somalia likely, sick of the life there. His clear enunciation suggested he had arrived many years back.  

It left you stunned.  

Telling the man that this would only get him locked up failed to move him. The police station was on the corner, immediately opposite. Another cyclist who stopped tried gentle mockery, without success. It was a hopeless case.  

The fellow was not one of the regulars in Nicholson Street; he had never been seen before. The police were decent enough, as they in fact had been all those many months. Three of them in their rubber gloves comfortably carted the man over to the footpath by the pub.

Many of the cars wanting to take Hyde Street took other options; others passed slowly, looking and thinking, Accident victim.

There was nothing to do but wheel off and leave him; there was nothing for it. The other cyclist had voiced the thought that had occurred to you too, offering to take the man for coffee down the street.  

There was nothing else. Just the whole thing completely woeful. Months and months afterward it nagged in the brain, both the hopelessness and the shameful helplessness and ineptitude. Someone with some deft, natural touch might have managed something; at the critical moment sometimes people were remarkable. Sometimes the right kind of intervention, even some simple response for a case such as that, could make a difference, become life-changing even and the sufferer never looking back. You heard of such stories and read about them. The sort of people who could settle a disturbed animal with some quiet words, a particular intimate balm in their manner. In dire situations people could find a means of providing comfort, relieving the position almost immediately. In childhood illness one sometimes received that kind of gentling from a mother, or some other person of the circle. Though difficult to recall specific instances, it wasn’t imagination. You had done better yourself encountering some troubled circumstances, albeit less dramatic than this.  

Knowing Nicholson Street and all the challenges made it especially hard. Fakery never worked in such cases.  

 

                 Hyde & Footscray Roads

 

 

https://www.action-spectacle.com/winter-2026-part-ii/radonic

 

 

Dress

 

Fair chance it was the trialing of the dress that gave the disturbance last night for Sak. In the earlier, conservative black baju the day before, with the accompanying scarf, there was little issue; ensconced within that simple envelope Sak had sat easy & comfortable. The bright white and printed blue batik was a very different proposition, a very different venture—doubtful, problematic and hazardous. With the flat, lank hair on display further concern again was added, even though the new colour certainly suited Sak better. (At one of the early meets Sak had confessed she wore the scarf because she could do nothing with her hair. Far from a traditional Muslim gal beneath the persiflage.) Some acne was not able to be adequately covered by the make-up too. A testing circumstance, however you looked at it. Understandable unease was the result, which was perfectly apparent from the outset, even from the approach on the steps at the Plaza. An actor on the brightly lit stage before the public feeling very little fit for that role.

 

 

 

Fire Away!

 

Concerted AI campaign in the paper on these widespread crow attacks upon the populace, which have necessitated a return to the former sharp shooting, shortly to be resumed. Trapping & poison had not been working. Some years ago the authorities had desisted with the earlier measure, after an exponent had deployed a shotgun and wayward pellets caused alarm (a possible shrapnel wounding too). Chap concerned had been a foreign national, whose accreditation, safe practices cert, &etc. had lapsed. Promptly fined, jailed & deported. In the pic in today’s S. T. a poor woman had a long, coloured strand of hair cruelly plucked and pulled upright, in an almost vertical line. Not lifted off her feet, but had the bird managed to gather a few more strands it may have proved tricky. An online video on CNA featured another innocent, hapless victim, caught kinda unawares/half-expectant from behind. Got some curry to go on with the poor sod. Various other examples had been displayed in the last few days, making for an open & shut case. Complaints of urban warfare through the housing blocks were ready to be met with strongest argument and plentiful dramatic evidence. In the current period, however, after all the terrible troubles, the restored measures might not play so well among some groups. Nerves were frayed, on edge. The horrors were unrelenting. Ill-legal feeding of pigeons had continued in the Malay quarter and no doubt elsewhere, despite the threat of harsh fines & incarceration. Armed men now on the hunt, massacring the intelligent, glossy black birdies might not pass so easily, not pass without resistance; revolts in the heartlands were not outta the question. Politically it may turn out quite dicey. But the authorities had certainly prepared themselves.

 

                                                                                                                     Singapore 2011-26

 

Publication news: Johor Bahru - The Introduction, Eksentrika Mag

 Hello everyone 

Another short flash of mine has been recently published by a Malaysian outfit called, Eksentrika, appropriately for a piece like this from the very first intro to Sing's near sister city, one kilometre over the Causeway. 

It all came as a surprise that first venture over 14yrs ago now.

Free on the site (800 words), —

https://www.eksentrika.com/pavle-radonic-johor-bahru-the-introduction/?preview_id=39790

Cheers

PR