Forbes Singapore & Dynastic Alliances (Aug26)

Day 2 and now 3 of the most sensational kidnapping case in over a decade here fails to turn up the wee little detail doing the rounds of the street this end of Geylang. OK, a heavy hitter involved of course. Forbes No. 3 locally, weighing in at a cool five-one-five mil. Climbed from pig farming and suddenly blossoming with supermarkets to enter a much, much, muchos higher tier. Nice work. Big iron frame on the entry-gate at home didn't help, cos the chaps pulled the mum off the street with a likely story. An alright sort the old dear it seems, giving everybody a Hello at the local food stalls. Pair of inept villains a gay couple, according to the reliable Straits Times. Strange the sleuths at the offices didn't twig to the little ittzy-bittzy small tiny other tid-bit. The PM's relief wasn't a put-on. Noooo. In fact family had been involved. In a little figurative, if not literal tweet, the leader of the shocked nation commended the police for a "great job". In his Fbook post: "Glad Madame Ng is safe and sound. Also glad that her son...alerted the police as soon it happened.”     

         No mention of the PM's younger brother fretting over his son's mother-in-law's ordeal. See, the PM's younger bro has a son; the tycoon, towkay in Chinese, a daughter. Neat marriage; fitting. Escaped the ken of the S.T. hounds, who got everything else into the story. Not relevant to the matter perhaps, even if true. Coincidence. Not necessarily a billionaires tight little circle. Can’t jump to conclusions.   

         Without a Parliamentary Register of Assets can the wealth of the pollies here be known? Scurrilous rumours persist in the Malay end of town that Mr. Lee pere, the great statesman and benefactor of the nation, might be the richest man on the planet, never mind the little red dot hot spot. A fellow should not repeat such gutter talk, as one was reminded trapped within the elevator at the National Library recently. A photograph would capture it nicely, were this personal phobia less virulent in the Konica/Fuji/Kodak heaven. Social Program warning against credence being given rumour; truth, verifiable truth was the golden prize; &etc. &etc. In the elevators of the Library, across the concourse by the escalators, over the walls on the 8^th storey. 

Can you tell fact from fantasy? 

Learn to decipher the true story. 

S.U.R.E. source. understand. research. evaluate…

A COOL STORY or a fool’s story?... 

(Too many others to mention.)

Sunday Corso in the Tropics

Eye-popping deep blue-indigo cowboy shirt with white piping, twin pockets, super cut sported by a flash granddad in his mid-seventies. Magnifico. Top notch. There's an outlet somewhere perhaps in the Jurong Badlands beside a traffic viaduct where these old Elvis dudes source the articles; small clientele rogue threads like that on a can-do, go-getter island like this run by ironed white shirts, ties & leathers. Nice buckle only glimpsed, such was the radiance of the chest, shining like a breast-plate on a richly caparisoned knight in the Holy lands. Thinned dye swept back, comb in the rear of the jeans must have been. Chaps at the Labu Labicorner table at —now Sri Geylang Café—caught their breath watching that number prance past borne by the lord of the jungle.

 

Hired Help (Buffalo Street Again)

Sounded like Gambir when she called, the Madame at the Blue Diamond. Early fifties, plenty loaded here. The Sir is the opulent one. Just this afternoon the observation from the side table unavoidably passed to the height the trouser were hitched on the belly. A style from back home. One remembers it from the early 60’s in the older men of the neighbourhood, usually our foreign contingent of the various sorts; from photographs from the Levant and Greece; old movies of the same region. Approximately three inches above the belly-button. Still enough room to breathe, but Golly-gee. However that be, the Madame far more restrained. Sir carries giant inch and one half heads on the rings either hand; bracelets both arms; the waiter Prakasam avers dripping gold under the shirt too. Madame has got fat with him though, that partnership firm. A half hour after her arriving for her afternoon stint at the till one of the lads called over in order to fish out her work-a-day slippers under the stand. Each day feeling around there with her toes turns up nada. One of the lads bending on all fours with an eighteen inch ruler soon fishes out the flip-flops. All set.

          Sounded like gambir. That would have been no surprise. Prakasam was Bright; or, as this author prefers, Effulgent. Nice lad. Gambir was nice too. As at Komala Vilas, most all within these establishments on Buffalo Street well above average niceness. No room for league tables here.

         Madame had assumed a masala. No Madame, ginger lassi today.

         — Gambir. Gambir. (It ought have been recorded on the whizz-bang computerized system.) Gambir.

         The spice of course. Why not? Not a reason in the world.

         In fact no.

         Tambi is Little Brother in Tamil. Chap concerned early/mid twenties. On approximately, say, $950 per calendar month, twelve hour days and half day free per month. (Prakasam again avers. Highly illegal of course. No room for social justice here.) Sir/Madame have shit-loads. Evidently not Brahmin class, but who cares. That was then. Serious dosh. Late week and weekends a seat almost impossible to obtain at the Diamond. Good tucker. Turnover might be in the order of $25k a week perhaps. The lad here certainly no blood relation. Nooooo.

         Tambi. Tambi. Not Shit-head. Not, Hey you, Fuck-face. Yeah, you. You hearing me! Get yer arse over ‘ere. No again. No. Something else in these parts. Another clue for those slow-coaches still bumbling.

Awards, Prizes, Icons in the Tropics

No single writer, regardless how talented, indomitable, how indefatigably and courageously speaking truth to power etc., could ever hope to adequately convey the mood and temperature of even a tiny little red dot of barely 650sq. km., containing a medium city size 5 mil. inhabitants (3.5 natives and the remainder foreign visitors of one sort or another), entirely unaided, without a decent office secretary and literary agent—working mind you, on a Mark 1 ipad sans plug-in keyboard and printer. How? For glory’s sake! (Not to mention the lack of financial support!) Therefore and luckily an occasional resort to citation; to wit, again today's dependable Straits Times, Home section, p. B4. Citation, some paraphrase and commentary—Hey presto! A Post well worth an astute reader’s attention.
         Trumpet fanfare. The monstrosity perpetrated upon this small, innocent population a couple of years ago of a neat orderly garden under the punishing sun has, Lo and behold! become an international award winner. First prize in the 2014 Theas for Outstanding Achievement - Botanical Garden section, "one of 13 awards handed out by the Themed Entertainment Association." Walt Disney World Resort in Orlando, Florida and Universal Studios Japan, Osaka winners in other categories in the same PR exercise.
         The Theas, "regarded as the Oscars of the Attractions Industry", were first presented in 1994. The statement issued from Californian HQ noted: "More than a mere botanical display, Garden by the Bay is a compelling and iconic experience" — rather echoing the two year old promo material released here locally.
         Five million visitors within a year official figures reveal—HaHaHa. Careful slipping from the chair.
         What need one add.

NB. See the earlier Posts on these Gardens: Supertrees Wonderland 5/2/12; Supernature in SG 4/4/12; Super Luscious Nature 7/4/12 and Due Diligence: Gardens by the Bay 7/5/12

Work-a-day

Young unslept Batam lad off to work cleaning rubble at a demolition site. Lots of cobwebs. Ten AM start seemed late.

              —   How many hours working?...

              —   ….Three o’clock finish....

        — You lost weight. Sakit?... 
        It looked tiredness. Hard body and young enough. Perhaps 7-8 kg. shed on a small frame. 
        Five hour shift seemed strange again.

         — No boss. Three o’clock morning.

         — What?!... Tiga malam?... Morning? Night?

         — Yah. Maybe permanent can…. (He had got his hopes up.)

         OhOhOh…. 
         Thumb-forefinger rub?

         — ….Eighty dollars.

         Five and three on the fingers to be sure…. Eight?...

         Nods. — Ya.

         If the crane or dozer doesn’t knock him over or he takes a dive from up top it might be alright. A fortune in Batam. Telling it in Dunlop Street later that afternoon the lads guessed straight-off. In fact the first estimate was $70; that was the rate. What was the surprise in that? They did 24/7 in the construction sites under lighting, you saw it every day/night. Third World to upper tier First in thirty years didn't happen half rat-power.

NB. A total of 66 workers died in workplace accidents last year (2015) in Singapore; increase from the 60 in 2014. More than one-third falls.

A Jewel on Bufallo - Komala Vilas

Hard to believe, but precisely on the point of seating the famous old Hindi song from the mid-seventies over the speakers. Remarkable coincidence. Did the look-out pass the wink to the lads in back for the switch to be flicked? Could it truly have been complete freak coincidence?

            Mein Shay'Ar TO Na'Hiii.... Mein Shay'Ar TO Na'Hiii.          

The catchy refrain that gives the song its title, repeated a number of times through the course, carried the chief fluttering lilt.

Da DaaR DA DaDiii.... Magic.

On Youtube there were numerous film clips from the period with smooth moustachioed leading men sending Beauties spinning over palatial ballrooms under the spell of the wolf call. Cut to green fields, sports convertible with passenger door left open after the lass has taken flight. Cavorting then and a chase that wasn't through lush, flowering garden splendour belonging to the Tata empire presumably. (Formerly the estate of one of the British nabobs).

Light skin tones, bright eyes and slender waists, the vocalist never a patch on the naiad.
            Here on Buffalo Street last week the wrong waiter had been chosen for the enquiry.     

            Closer observation would have noticed the sliver bracelet on the right hand. Fellow was too young for another thing. Plenty of the younger Sikhs working here dispensed with the turbans.
            The older Tamil enlisted for help knew the thing straight off easy as pie. Who didn't know Mein Shayar for goodness sake? A short little pantomime ensuing in the passage before the table.
           You dolt! Hand clap to the forehead. What good are you? Out. Out I say. The whole bag of potatoes right this instant…. High Nazi salute. (The swastika had originated in India after all.) Marching orders in the direction of the kitchen.
           One fears the reno job cannot be too far off at Komala Vilas, now in the third generation here. The old founder is still venerated enough to maintain his place in the frame hung above the register. A couple of times a year the elderly daughter comes out for a review from Chennai. Even in these few months new furniture has been introduced—metal-framed chairs that shrieking across the tiles. As the various heirs have gone their own way, there are now numerous Komala Vilas in Singapore. Buffalo Street opposite Tekka Market the one holding the line as much as possible.

The Dope on Singapore (Mar25)

In reporting the latest news the Straits Times U.S. correspondent made the invidious comparison herself in yesterday's newspaper: Colorado now allows a native of the State above the age of 21 to legally purchase 28g. of cannabis. Contrast the jurisdiction of Singapore, where half that amount in possession presumes trafficking and attracts a maximum jail term of twenty years, 15 strokes of the cane for good measure. As elsewhere, the minorities over-represented in the prisons here, Malays & Indians.

         On the subject of policing and security, a friend recently described accidentally coming upon the housing compounds of the Gurkha regiments not far from Paya Lebar, high-rise towers on a hill behind razor wire and armed sentry posts. Fifty years we are talking after the British officially bequeathed independence—harsh critics contend, installed a pliant group to continue business as usual post-Korean war and in the face of the menace from the Malaya Emergency, Soekarno's Konfrontasi, Mao & Vietnam.

         The role of the Gurkhas, the security they have provided over these fifty years since the British era presents a conundrum... During Will and Kate's visit they were seen patrolling the streets around Raffles Hotel; once the riot of a couple weeks ago escalated they were called out of barracks, these grandsons of the platoons who had protected the British; presumably when George Schultz—a life-long friend of Mr. LKY—and other foreign dignitaries visit they are deployed; otherwise one needs to screw on the thinking cap in order to guess the remainder...

         The largest per capita cohort of billionaires on the globe… heavy traffic in the trade delegations… a well entrenched political elite… Hmmmm. Perhaps enough to keep the Nepalese boys busy between polishing their boots & hardware.