Not bad so far as these things went. If you wanted to choose a list of confreres for sharing a Contributors Page, you'd opt for royalty every day. Andy Motion was fair company. Andy had just got back from the Royal Box at Wimbledon; couldn't make Lords for the cricket as the chap was burning the midnight oil like the rest of us, revising & polishing in order to make the cut at Ambit... Soho launch day before, spitting distance from the British Museum, Carnaby Street, &etc. And had taken tea at Windsor. (Stray corgi crotch hair difficult to launder.) His successor as the Laureate turned out a Scot gay gal, doubling as poetry editor at… Ambit Mag. (No accusation of nepotism inferred.)
Good going. One always wondered what kind of company one was entering with these ventures.
Congratulations were offered by the tired, thin old waiter at Tasvee. The Indian-Malays like himself, the old Chins in the quarter, all the other ragtag ratbags had provided much inspiration.
Party in London was the night previous; Californian publication upcoming. Couldn't possibly have done it without you people.
Blinking. Knotting the fine, smooth brow. Might have got the gist, the chap.
Man well knows, as they do all, how they are appreciated. Never less than a double nandri, terima kasih naturally welling up. Tears almost at the undeserved, lordly attendance.
The earlier episode at the Malay provisions store at the base of J. C. Complex was initially going to be let slide, despite its nagging. Nag, nag...
Difficult to shake. It continued to make you laugh. Ah!
Toiletries, soaps, beauty products, natural remedies. The place was worth a peek every couple months. Lazy evening cruising with Andy in the pocket.
From the doorway there was nothing evident. But one never could tell. An Arabian princess, a footloose dowager behind a curtain, perchance. Hope eternal.
Beginning in the usual corner. These places were always interesting; nothing like a supermarket. You could not find 2% of that product at NTUC or Fairprice.
Some of the goods were familiar from down in Jogja, items from Indonesia & the Peninsular. Magnifying glass in the front pocket of the shoulder-bag for small print. Some of the bahasa was not beyond the seasoned traveler now, this Malay specialist manqué.
Weighting toward the Arab sphere: olive oil soaps, shampoos, kurma / dates, skin-care. Arabian perfumes & whitening creams must have been popular in the Prophet's own day. Metres of shelves.
Unguents. Elixirs, pills, potions. Zam-zam from the spring in the Holy Land. (Fakery was not unknown.)
Little of interest. Until at the end, when the opposite corner at the back was reached. It had taken 15min.
Long white paper box, toothpaste sized. Without branding.
MADURA ASLI
Oh, yeah. Madura. Madura Island; the people thereof. Here in a little pack for home.
There was no need to Google Madura asli. Twenty white boxes. Blue caps.
Memories from boyhood of the Kellogg’s pack for the toys within. Half dozen plastic Madura natives in traditional dress, for child's play, perchance?…
Inside it was not toothpaste either, but not far off. One long, irregular, bulbous cylinder, sheathed in clear plastic.
Blank kinda article; something of the pre-consumerist era from other climes. In the Eastern Bloc, even in the ‘80’s, there was this kinda packaging.
Natural colour it seemed; natural form. Perhaps smoothed by hand beneath atap roofed cottages.
Edible? Soft tube... If there was a screw or other kind of top it was not apparent.
One of the sale staff in the corporate polo was sitting behind a shelf having his dinner. Styrofoam take-out, deploying plastic glove. (Wince.) Not for disturbing.
Scarfed attendant in the next aisle was an older woman.
An innocent question, lady could see readily enough. Briefly blanching.
For ladies. Ask uncle.
At first, her inadequate English suggested.
Usual chap at the counter was smooth, before shifts took his teh under the verandah at Mr. T. T. Not in, however, after the Eid break. Old uncle replacing couldn't say Aah, as the Montenegrins had it.
Oh well. It was only a half-hearted enquiry.
There was a little commotion outdoors, firemen in their kit running along the path. Coming up earlier a couple Indian chaps had been training a garden hose at the first storey of the corner shophouse, where a little crowd of onlookers had gathered. Not much; toaster fire, perhaps. Now though, the brigade was looking lively, dozen young lads in bright red uniforms & boots.
The customer absentmindedly went out for a peek, with the non-alcoholic mouthwash & mystery package in hand.
After five months in Yogyakarta over three trips, a good number of Madurese had been encountered, come down from their isle above Bali. There were a number of becak drivers, some traders. Shops along the rail-line carried specialties, foods & the like. Mahshushah the guide & interpreter had been born on the island; known for its cow racing and some particular kind of weaving, or dyeing.
Madura was a harsh, tough land, a kind of local Wild West. There were still many in the Indo archipelago. Tourist interest had been drawn lately; a visit intended while now. There would be few backpackers on Madura; mainly internal visitors. A couple impressive orang in Geylang Serai hailed from Madura. Asli; natives.
The diner had now finished his meal; old auntie reported her difficulty with the foreigner. Over the man strode.
A wood was it, the lad meant, of some kind native to Madura? Crystal? Petrified rock?
The thought of a dildo had naturally occurred. (Playfully. There were a range of condoms on open display on couple shelves, in colourful boxes, ribbed & flavoured, by the looks.)
Chap matter-of-fact & humourless. After a long shift. The plastic mitt from supper retained.
Natural cleanser now suggested, in best doctor-at-bedside manner… For women.
Below, the glove indicated.
Authoritatively, as if the fellow knew precisely what he was talking about. (Helped the wife when she had a crick in the neck?)
… Aduh!… What more to say? That this was a shopping expedition for one's own wife?
OK. Gotcha, Bud. Yeah.
It would not have made much of a dildo. Hard, in an unappealing way; yet at the same time light and without mass. Geologists would have a precise name for the material.
Singapore 2011-26
No comments:
Post a Comment