Cool Night

Two young handsome Indian lads on an outdoor table under one of the verandahs on Geylang. In their saris relaxed and easy, washed and refreshed after the working day. Nine PM cool, with a breath of air. The sky almost black here every night. It's possible the air comes from the ubiquitous fans at the eatery tables; together there are more than enough along the street to generate a proper breeze. The two lads sit on the table. There is no lighting there; the shopfront behind has pulled down its shutters. The table has been left out; no chairs. The pair sit on the table-top, not much more than a metre square. They sit comfortably, in close conversation. Legs bent on either side, a couple of hands on the table-top, one in the air with the movement of the talk. A wrist carries a bracelet of tightly-strung round polished wooden beads. Light is cast by the eyes of each on the other. One can't under-estimate the ease and openness of the young pair; an inch leg from leg. Some kind of dark material covered the table-top: they hovered there.

Luke (Feb25)

This morning at an isolated outdoor table at The Coffee Bean three young schoolgirls books spread. The table was positioned around the side nearer the Post Office, beside the MRT. 

         First passing it seemed some kind of school revision, studious types working even over the June holidays. One of them was leading, carrying the discussion.
         Coming out from the P.O. it seemed even possible it was Cus. Serv. gee-up underway, one of the girls sporting a shop tee with the advertising on the rear. Assistant Manager rallying the troops before lunch-hour. (It happens here.)
         But the small fat books on the table. Dense text. Was that the telltale wafer thin paper?…
         All open at the same page....
         Indeed. Extra-curricular. A weekly get together, whether school was in or out.

         Oh my!
         Smiles all round. Good serviceable English.
         The same question as for the other girl at the library table last week consulting a volume of critical essays on Hamlet, all by Western authors.
         Forceful imposition. Social discipline administered.
         On the streets & plazas chilling listening to parents with their children in creaking, awkward English that is the lingua franca.

Mr. Teh Tarik - opposite Malay Village

Malay mother, Indian father—almost certainly. The young girl, thirteen at most, mouthing a little prayer before bending to her plate; both hands spread and brought to either cheek at the end in a kind of bathing motion. Across the aisle three young grandkids greeting the old man one after the other, taking his hand and bringing it to their foreheads. A young girl following afterward, perhaps seven, shows no immediate sign of any problem. Brought to the old man, however, it is apparent she cannot complete the required greeting, whether it is the same as for the boys or no. Something she babbles with some energy to her mother. Quietly the woman responds. The old man has turned aside now, distracted by someone else. When the son-in-law comes up - he could be none other - it is the touch to the heart he makes after taking the old man's hand; not bringing the hand to his forehead. The woman who takes up the seat beside the old man shows herself daughter. These old familial categories like sci-fi to behold; counterparts of the games in the Net places.
         ....That was yesterday. Today is the prophet Muhammed's birthday. The reason for a larger turn-out in this Muslim quarter. Families again; a tour bus perhaps from Malaysia, many young girls of eleven or twelve among the group in the scarves and flowing wraps (make-up and lipstick more often than not even at that young age). Around beside the market a particularly large gathering, with guests and a feast. The speakers in fact almost all women: Professor so-and-so and Government functionary such-and-such. Numerous invitations from people to join them at table.
         Earlier over a late breakfast at Mr. Teh Tarik again, the extended Malay family displaying something new in the greetings. More than half a dozen times the elder woman—filling the middle position in her early/mid thirties of aunt and sister-in-law—pulls her hand away abruptly once the hand clasp has been effected, just as the tug is given from the younger female toward her forehead. For the grandparents, the elders, this does not happen; only for these middle-ranking, letting off the marginal juniors lightly. They have not had their hands successfully brought up to the other's forehead once; not even close. Their jerks more forceful than the other's tugs. All nicely arranged.

Tipping Point Aug25

EXPECTATION
         blazing high on the shoulders of the Indian lad sauntering past with long, slow strides.
         That gets it about right. Not that he'd strictly know.
         And hot on the heels almost (5 mins later), boy fully fifteen years old, with that forgotten image of the young girl lifted off her feet after reaching a group of balloons overhead.
         The old classic shot. From around the time of the Skipping Girl in Melbourne, perhaps.
         Cloth faded; old tee. But the lad every bit of fully-fledged fifteen years. Shaving in the near future.
         ...What arrangements made for these assignations between the foreign Chinese workers and the girls from those same parts when they congregate? Like the pair crossing here just now. Do the lads clear outta the dorm for a half hour? Do they turn to the wall perhaps, like in the old Russian films?
         By chance forty minutes later, the clasped hands of the happy couple descend the stairs opposite the Net place. An hourly 81 love hotel.

Another Place and Time

Who Moved My Cheese, the quiet, studious type from yesterday set before her this afternoon at the same cafe table at the library—halfway along the row, right of the aisle.
         Hair-band, flounces over the blouse and somewhat lighter lippy than many her age favour. (The lasses here adopt more often than not.)
         Good, obedient daughter, if in the next year or two she doesn't jump a fast moving train.      
         Mouthing the new words like yesterday—that as much as the seating position and features gave the identification.
         On her side the panama making things easy.
         Various crowd. Old fellas from the neighbouring HDBs who lived through the Japanese occupation, office gals, after-school kids. Not all patrons of the library.
         Rather better than Starbucks and The Coffee Connoisseur.
         Westerners and foreign students. French in strength because of the corporate cluster.
         $4.50 latte—eschewed by the old timers who drink the local, dark kopi.
         ....Yes, the gal keen to improve her English. But this was not the main reason for that particular book. Fun the larger factor. A funny book.
         No disturbance, let alone nuisance.
         — It's really nice to chat to you.
         Unlikely the sweet will be clambering that runaway train, the bet at this stage.
         Where does a lass even in Malvern or Doncaster down there read the Cheese book at 15-16, I ask you?

Valued Customer

Finally caught the polite, thankful gesture for the return of change here at TASVEE Restaurant (24 Hours). The second hand falls high on the inside of the leading forearm which carries the notes and coins, quickly following up. Two fingers in this instance as if taking the pulse, almost in the crook of the elbow. A lingering touch and display, often with a bowing of head, as Mabel does at Joo Chait reception. In her action Mabel's hair falls forward, emphasizing the bow. The Chinese don't seem to have it as part of their exchange; Indians and Malays more so. Mabel is ethnically Chinese, but from Malaysia. Back in Footscray Faisal might have performed the same action.

Knickers Aug25

Lion City Hotel on Kallang Road, was it? $120. Two years ago it was $89. They did half-days there too, unlike Joo Chait, which specifically disclaims the practice, warning against transients, illegal sex and sex gadgets; minors and couple of other things on their plastered notices. Some of the girls waiting for their partners to sign-in might raise an eyebrow if one were picky.

         Beside Lion City stands Slimming Sanctuary, the pic of the girl on the billboard clasping her nakedness making it look easy. Not a bathing cap that; she was wreathed in flowers like a garlanded Consort. The treadmill and exercise bike in that sanctuary made burning the fat a walk in the park.

         The covered Muslim ladies got by with less grief, their curves and fatty bottoms packaged in colourful printed wraps. Frisson & one half following them on the path. And then the hidden reds, crimsons and violets under. Trays of them sat out front on the narrow walkway beside the food court, where the articles were turned over one by one for the best buy, for strength, elasticity, cut and design. 

         Nothing untoward; shopping like any other. Certainly nothing in the Qur'an forbids the husband's pleasure. Hubbies were rarely in tow along there. Effect entirely robbed sighting the articles prematurely, esp in those hashed piles.

         Lion City businesses of other kinds further along. A couple concrete lions guarding narrow entryways. International totem, old Leo.

         Food was the counter against accommodation. A filling vegetarian meal usually $3 a throw—outside the posh inner zone of course. (Seven dollar latte at TCC—The Coffee Connoisseur—yesterday by Bugis MRT & the Sing National Library. Average to boot.)