This is going to sound
a little bit like falsely dramatized writerly rage, much ado about nothing,
storm in a teacup.
Site the gathering around the
screens last night at Tasvee for the football. Lots of
regulars assembled, the keenest staking out their prime places early for 8pm
kick-off.
Indians, Banglas, Chinese, some few younger Euros preferring the cooler tables indoors where a third screen was mounted. Neat casual in the main; a few Chinese biz types in shirts and shoes had sat before the second screen just inside the entry.
The screen drawing the largest, keenest crowd was the one facing the street, in-between the hot-plate and the cashier where 6 - 8 tables seated two or three dozen. Like archers behind this row, the Bangla lads who avoided the cost of the dollar teas bunched close for a look at the action. In-between the outer pillars there were two dozen of them, all of an age, size, stature and colour.
It had been a surprise to hear of the keen interest the Bangladeshis took in football, all of the different leagues indeed across the globe. A poor country like Bangladesh seduced by the lures of global sport. Raj at the central gaming HQ at Bugis reported their heavy gambling on games.
The Sri Lankan National Youth Rep. had been absent a couple of nights now. The man was Singapore-born with hardly a word of Tamil; he had not missed a World Cup series since the mid-Sixties Bobby Charlton English triumph.
In his corner to the left the Sri Lankan’s compatriot crane driver in his usual chair. This man had chased the bigger earnings in Papua at an Exon-Mobil site that was soon abandoned because of the danger.
Local Chin contractor hosting a couple of his crew at the prime table front and centre. What was interesting here was seeing the warmth and hospitality across the racial lines, Chinese man making sure all the chaps were comfortable and had been served their beverages.
One new man offered a seat beside him for a second round there after an hour had been taken on the PC at Feidu across the road.
No, you would not be in the way of the chaps behind. Someone had been seated there a moment ago.
Fellow was keen for companionship. During the conversation he did not give the screen a single look.
And the man was not new at all. The night before he had been in attendance, just there at the next table seated with his pal So-and-So.
Man had taken note of the crowd that night without having been sighted himself.
Early seventies he revealed through the course. Tall, corpulent, drab dress. Two walking-sticks lent against either knee-cap. The man sat with feet spread directly facing the chair beside him.
Both knees had undergone surgery at the same time and the recuperation was coming on well. Carrying weight as he was it would be an uphill battle, but this reflection had been withheld.
The chap did much of the talking. He had little interest to hear anything himself.
A handsome kind of filmic face, good looker in his time. A camera would like those Eurasian features.
No, fellow answered, indicating his Chinese ancestry with the slit-eyed gesture both eyes, when in fact there was no natural slitting.
Ah, OK. But that was not the half of it, right?
No again. Father in fact was Sri Lankan.
Well, you could’ve fooled me.
Excellent English, schooled better than average. There had been a good stretch in Australia, Perth where a brother remained.
And the merry-go-round underway after the short preamble.
Beachside Perth. Big house right on the water, if not in it with a boat moored and a boardwalk to his front door like in the advertisements. Sunsets. Sand. Place had been bought for so much and sold at the peak for $2m plus. (Two mil. six or eight-hundred thousand. The precise figure had been given.)
Man drove a particular Serial No. Merc now; it was parked just around the corner there. Back in Oz it had been a head-turning particular Serial No. Porsche. A racist town as it may have been the WA capital, for a slitty-eyed Chinaman driving such a motor there had been no obstacles.
The fairground music coming over the top of the merry-go-round.
A friend here who inherited big, big bucks from a father-in-law happy with his daughter’s choice of husband drove an orange Bentley. Unmistakable. If you saw one around it could only be him.
Something or other had been worked to good profit in Perth and Fremantle had provided more opportunities. A Darwin way-station and Bangkok too, though no bars and girls in the latter. There was a hint of truth here; this man had not needed to resort to the dark and deadly arts in Thailand for his treasure trove. Very likely entirely clean dosh.
Assets here in property $20 - 30m was it? That was nothing compared to the orange Bentley friend with a row of shophouses—of the better kind—out in Mountbatten Road, not far from where we sat. Or might it have been the other way around in actual fact, subtly implied for you to draw the inference?
Other details of the same kind had slipped overnight: dollars, property, motors of particular model and Serial No. Batam now was the retreat of choice, a particular corner there where food was good, wandering minstrels talented (there was no more of suchlike in Singapore), the owner a notable of some notable kind.
How in the heck had one earned the avalanche of favour, all this glorious gold raining down like a monsoon? Success, profit, Monopoly rows, investment, low tax rates, absence of capital gains and no end in sight. Models of autos were always difficult to receive with the requisite glee and enthusiasm.
All this to an ordinary ruffian in worn sandals, watchless and without pendant gold. (Fair enough, the man had said he believed in modest deportment himself, no matter what riches and attainment.)
In the last few nights possibly the man had seen some scribbling at table; there was none other working pen & paper at Tasvee, that was for sure.
Truly a sense of violation. What in the blazes had one done to deserve the privilege?
Colour may have had something to do with it. At the best of times a white guy was a lure anywhere in these parts. Was there a lingering whitey on the territory here in Singapore uninterested in upper end motors, property, tales of success & riches? Mite hard to find. The chap’s assumptions had been fair. As far as attractive tax rates and fin. services went, this haven perhaps outdid any other spot on earth, hazard the guess.
The big-noting he seemed to have thought subtle. Modest appearance after all, showiness eschewed. As for BS, that could be discounted too: at the end the man made a point of giving his unusual surname. All that had been divulged might be easily verified.
Indians, Banglas, Chinese, some few younger Euros preferring the cooler tables indoors where a third screen was mounted. Neat casual in the main; a few Chinese biz types in shirts and shoes had sat before the second screen just inside the entry.
The screen drawing the largest, keenest crowd was the one facing the street, in-between the hot-plate and the cashier where 6 - 8 tables seated two or three dozen. Like archers behind this row, the Bangla lads who avoided the cost of the dollar teas bunched close for a look at the action. In-between the outer pillars there were two dozen of them, all of an age, size, stature and colour.
It had been a surprise to hear of the keen interest the Bangladeshis took in football, all of the different leagues indeed across the globe. A poor country like Bangladesh seduced by the lures of global sport. Raj at the central gaming HQ at Bugis reported their heavy gambling on games.
The Sri Lankan National Youth Rep. had been absent a couple of nights now. The man was Singapore-born with hardly a word of Tamil; he had not missed a World Cup series since the mid-Sixties Bobby Charlton English triumph.
In his corner to the left the Sri Lankan’s compatriot crane driver in his usual chair. This man had chased the bigger earnings in Papua at an Exon-Mobil site that was soon abandoned because of the danger.
Local Chin contractor hosting a couple of his crew at the prime table front and centre. What was interesting here was seeing the warmth and hospitality across the racial lines, Chinese man making sure all the chaps were comfortable and had been served their beverages.
One new man offered a seat beside him for a second round there after an hour had been taken on the PC at Feidu across the road.
No, you would not be in the way of the chaps behind. Someone had been seated there a moment ago.
Fellow was keen for companionship. During the conversation he did not give the screen a single look.
And the man was not new at all. The night before he had been in attendance, just there at the next table seated with his pal So-and-So.
Man had taken note of the crowd that night without having been sighted himself.
Early seventies he revealed through the course. Tall, corpulent, drab dress. Two walking-sticks lent against either knee-cap. The man sat with feet spread directly facing the chair beside him.
Both knees had undergone surgery at the same time and the recuperation was coming on well. Carrying weight as he was it would be an uphill battle, but this reflection had been withheld.
The chap did much of the talking. He had little interest to hear anything himself.
A handsome kind of filmic face, good looker in his time. A camera would like those Eurasian features.
No, fellow answered, indicating his Chinese ancestry with the slit-eyed gesture both eyes, when in fact there was no natural slitting.
Ah, OK. But that was not the half of it, right?
No again. Father in fact was Sri Lankan.
Well, you could’ve fooled me.
Excellent English, schooled better than average. There had been a good stretch in Australia, Perth where a brother remained.
And the merry-go-round underway after the short preamble.
Beachside Perth. Big house right on the water, if not in it with a boat moored and a boardwalk to his front door like in the advertisements. Sunsets. Sand. Place had been bought for so much and sold at the peak for $2m plus. (Two mil. six or eight-hundred thousand. The precise figure had been given.)
Man drove a particular Serial No. Merc now; it was parked just around the corner there. Back in Oz it had been a head-turning particular Serial No. Porsche. A racist town as it may have been the WA capital, for a slitty-eyed Chinaman driving such a motor there had been no obstacles.
The fairground music coming over the top of the merry-go-round.
A friend here who inherited big, big bucks from a father-in-law happy with his daughter’s choice of husband drove an orange Bentley. Unmistakable. If you saw one around it could only be him.
Something or other had been worked to good profit in Perth and Fremantle had provided more opportunities. A Darwin way-station and Bangkok too, though no bars and girls in the latter. There was a hint of truth here; this man had not needed to resort to the dark and deadly arts in Thailand for his treasure trove. Very likely entirely clean dosh.
Assets here in property $20 - 30m was it? That was nothing compared to the orange Bentley friend with a row of shophouses—of the better kind—out in Mountbatten Road, not far from where we sat. Or might it have been the other way around in actual fact, subtly implied for you to draw the inference?
Other details of the same kind had slipped overnight: dollars, property, motors of particular model and Serial No. Batam now was the retreat of choice, a particular corner there where food was good, wandering minstrels talented (there was no more of suchlike in Singapore), the owner a notable of some notable kind.
How in the heck had one earned the avalanche of favour, all this glorious gold raining down like a monsoon? Success, profit, Monopoly rows, investment, low tax rates, absence of capital gains and no end in sight. Models of autos were always difficult to receive with the requisite glee and enthusiasm.
All this to an ordinary ruffian in worn sandals, watchless and without pendant gold. (Fair enough, the man had said he believed in modest deportment himself, no matter what riches and attainment.)
In the last few nights possibly the man had seen some scribbling at table; there was none other working pen & paper at Tasvee, that was for sure.
Truly a sense of violation. What in the blazes had one done to deserve the privilege?
Colour may have had something to do with it. At the best of times a white guy was a lure anywhere in these parts. Was there a lingering whitey on the territory here in Singapore uninterested in upper end motors, property, tales of success & riches? Mite hard to find. The chap’s assumptions had been fair. As far as attractive tax rates and fin. services went, this haven perhaps outdid any other spot on earth, hazard the guess.
The big-noting he seemed to have thought subtle. Modest appearance after all, showiness eschewed. As for BS, that could be discounted too: at the end the man made a point of giving his unusual surname. All that had been divulged might be easily verified.
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