Hulwana's Nephew (April26)

Astonishment pure & simple. Mumbling to oneself, lips aflutter, pretty well unhinged. Strange, uncanny to be living others’ lives from the past and other cultures…

Hulwana coming by with a young chap in stride, nephew of that size and aspect was difficult to credit right off. Thin, darkly pretty, upright, always in her marvellous Arab gear—even when like this morning, Hul declared she was not in her “fancy clothes.”

Catchup. Hul had been unsighted the last number of weeks. The sweetheart was OK; brothers fine; dad not so well, losing his appetite.

When from the side the young, fresh-faced, body-building nephew in plain red tee that set-off his colouration, shoots out a low hand at table-top level.

Unexpected interruption; hardly recognisable in the first instance.

An offering. Indeed.

Extended low and flat like a chapatti on a plate. For a reason.

When the lad bent almost double to reach the hand he had been given with his forehead, astonishment, fright & delight all bundled in utter confusion.

A definite touch was achieved, with slight nod at the end of the bow.

Gee. Ah, me... Ya.

Unmet previously, Hul confirmed, as the lad hailed from Malacca, 3-4 hours out, even by car.

Her nephew. Smiling apologetically for limited English.

One would need to travel back at least sixty years for something roughly comparable in old Montenegro. (The lad here, Hulwana's nephew, early-20s.)

Online Piero di Cosimo pictures last night, showing grassy knolls with livestock & birds of the air, carried some hint of the same range of human feeling and respect.

Omnipresence of birds & animals in the old artwork across the globe—Mughal India & Egypt before the most recent study—set one thinking on the temper of the mind over the ages, in the earlier living.

 

Pique

Old Sikh wonky on his feet after a loud fall on the steel drain-cover here on Onan corner opposite the Fries. Recovered sufficiently to get himself going again, no harm done.

         Waited out his slow amble and not disappointed.

—    Very lucky man.

—    Thank you uncle, without raising the eyes and light wave of hand.

         Not breaking stride.

         — Ok, good luck to you.

         (But didn’t you say I was very lucky ready uncle, you old fraud?...)

         Venerable to the max. Late-seventies. Regular beard-trims (eschewing dye).

         Faberge blue turban was it? that the wife or daughter washed every couple days. White cotton dhoti and red long-sleeved for cool mornings.

         In this quarter fellow was a bit outta his range, probably shopping at the market.

         Readers whose curiosity has been piqued can refer to a posting from the second half of 2011, when the author was still a pup in the new tropical environment. Unused to shysters of this form. (July, titled “Holy Man,” —newly revised just now and telling a useful traveler’s tale.)

The World's Most Successful Society‏

One is inevitably reminded of Plato's prohibition on music in his ideal republic. Wayward rhythms too dangerous for a community.
         After a forty-two year ban music will be allowed once more at Thaipusam in Singapore this year, restricted to three specific stages well away from residential areas. Rationale for the historic ban alleged outbreaks of fighting among competing musicians forty-two years ago. Wild street musos.
         Certainly a famously tight-lid kept on the community here, described by one of the city-state's chief propagandists as the "world's most successful society" in the same edition of the Straits Times today carrying the Thaipusam item. Mr. Kishore Mahbubani touted by fans as one of the top fifty intellectuals on the planet; or else of the last century it may have been.
         The long opinion piece of Mr. Mahbubani's returned to the question raised in recent days of the selection of the President. When the Republic of Singapore was still a pup presidents were appointed by parliament. Subsequently a rush of democratic spirit saw the last number delivered to that office by election. Mr. Mahbubani, like some other commentators recently, had become concerned that a democratic vote might not be the best option. Firstly the problem of a populist president capturing the position (Thaksin in Thailand); then the matter of an independent president at odds with the ruling party—ill-boding for the most successful society in the world. On a positive note, appointed presidents might open the door to representation from the minorities. (Canada & New Zealand.)
         Context. In the last parliamentary election the long-ruling PAP in Singapore managed to win back a large part of the vote lost in the previous election, which had produced six opposition candidates. A Jubilee 50th year of celebration, the death of the former PM (father of the nation and also of the current incumbent) and some generous social programs aiding the cause. In the Presidential election in-between these two parliamentary, four years ago, the government preferred candidate, a former PAP Minister himself, surprised by scraping home by 0.35% margin. Dangerous prospect ahead identified by the celebrated scholar.
                                                                                                                        Straits Times, 18 Jan 2016

RE: Rupe Murd and Jerry Hall announce engagement‏

Title sent it to my Junk Filter. Don't worry, pulled you out and dusted you off.

Saw a pic little while back of Rupe and Jerry, some smoke they said. Poor fella must be getting nervous about the dark. After all the bright lights on planet earth, the dust of course a bit of a pisser. Any word you heard of cryonics, with his pal Ronnie and the others? (Latter of course banking on pristine restoration, pink of health and youth—you can forget the veg. days.) Whispers here that the cremation story of the great Helmsman Lee was just a blind, he went into deep freeze down in a vault in the Rockies somewhere, all hush-hush, organized by Henry Kiss. H. more than happy to help a good friend of America, and of course they had a great personal relationship too, Kiss. a regular visitor to these shores, the pair on the chesterfields under the aircon sharing the realpolitik. HK told the old Harvard story at a televised wake segment: Harry Lee's early visit to the States, Vietnam War, VCs copping a pounding, bombs galore. Young Harry wants to hear ed opinion on the matter at cedar-panelled Harvard, cigars, whisky, trees blossoming through the windows. After listening quietly to the various profs and specialists, straight-shooting Harry L finally erupts, the great SE Asian Tiger-Helmsman: You all make me sick! Jaw-socking punch putting their lights out, hero H Lee. All the second thoughts about imperialism, the napalm, agent orange malarkey put to bed in a flash. Realpolitik. Kiss loved him from that day forward, special, unbreakable bond forged. Was still a bit worried about being kicked up the kyber by the local Commies here, dominoes; &etc. Anyway, Rupe Murd. Bowie goin wouldn't have helped any. Didn't find any mention where he had the Spanish dancer. Eighteen months courageous battle sounds like brain or liver maybe, with Class A docs, last album the lucid snatches. Wonder whether Jerry's got anything to worry about fr Wendy's corner. If I was her adviser I'd suggest puttin a lid on the crowing. Could the old buzzard throw another spanner in the dynastic works with an addition to the roll-call deep in his dotage? Tipped over eighty, isn't he? Did he freeze some o' the juice? Where's the knot gunna be tied? I told you where he christened his girl to Wendy, didn't I? Huge to-do with Anglican-turned-Mick Tone standing as godfather. And...Who do you reckon was godmother? Clues: Oz blonde, actress, historical dramas, mostly, I think, and doesn't take her clothes off. Read the finale to my BERKELEY IN THE SIXTIES, that'll fill ya in. (Still hopin some brave editor will bite that bullet.) He'll be backing Trump, who else? And doubt he'd like Mal down in the land of Oz, that wetness not to his taste at all. Security would have to be supreme for the event of course, Murd wouldn't have too many friends among the beards. Not wishing evil on anyone. Leave that to god, like the Musies in these parts say.
Cheers
P

Awake! (Sept25)

Oyster-perpetual Day-Date 40 on display at The Hour Glass Ion Orchard #01- 02, January 11 - 24.

Worn By More Presidents, Leaders and Visionaries Than Any Other Watch.
Rolex, with the kingly crown that many of the global casinos have adopted in their branding.
No other place on the globe could carry such a full page advertisement in a national newspaper (p. 5).
No other place on the globe could compare for the corporate cachet capture on the scale of Sin'pore.
Outcomes on the streets, the buses & trains, in the malls, the traffic jams and around the condos something to behold.
Oh traduced humanity! 

Brothers and sisters! 

AWAKE!

NB. Ten years later in Belgrade, Serbia, the same clarion call - in the pic.

Eternally Hopeful

Out early with the wifi down at Four Chain. (One Star hotel one discovered online yesterday should not have surprised.) Single hour at Feidu last night where the owner has his dad and uncle visiting from Jilin Province, both picked in a trice and younger distinguished by this eagle-eye observer. (Older bro something significant here of course.) Interesting genetic components that transmitted in fair form to the little granddaughter. How did the boys in the mid Sixties at Spotty State School do it? Right fist loosely clenched and rubbing left breast. I’m too good…. Ah yes. And first a hot breath over the inside of the fist for polishing the imaginary badge. I’m so good, it may have been. Footing up the road an arrow immediately piercing the equilibrium: PAZZION on a passing van in the stream. Dirty old tall-sided van, run-of-the-mill innocuous everyday nothing suddenly turned vile. Shitheads. Garbage. Fitting punishment needed to be devised for the responsible parties. Rapidly following on the heels too COMFORT taxi and worse still, upping the ante, SMRT bus in rapid succession…. Yikes! Brrrh…. Unsettled. Cloud, breeze (heaven’s, not from the mounted fans), so-so pretty girl running for the lights. Syrian reports every morning, the latest the city starving under siege. Perhaps there had been running water through the walls overnight and the Faker moaning again. Way back when one had become acclimatized to SMRT—Sing Mass Rapid Transport; “death” in the Slavic languages. There was nothing in it now, nothing. Hair-trigger foul mood. At Guillemard corner a little boy’s hand held by the Filipina maid as she was trained, the free banging, hammering on the button. ClackClackClackClack impatiently. You wait for the little green man Sonny, I’m going to cheat. Big-frame candy-coloured glasses in four or five hues chosen by the mite from a rack with mummy and daddy in one of the malls. Averted eyes. Warned of strangers is one thing, but Chappie unused to any parley of any sort on the streets. Maid giggling; difficult task trying to explain that. Only to be steamrolled by the van first and others immediately thereafter. There was in fact a logic in the sequence too, twisting the knife. Mr. Ee at the first Haig table surrounded by the uncles and aunties over their late brekkie, his own head bent low to his Buddhist tome in Malay. To look at Mr. E is more Chin than Malay, colour tone aside (heavily, darkly freckled). The other however his stronger, literate language. Goes up to one of the temples two-three times a week, not one of the chanting ones. Retired seaman, bachelor living with a brother who has never been sighted up in one of the towers behind. Blew all his hard-earned from the better paying Norwegian ships on women and whisky. (Opium was never his thing.) Hong Kong brothels, Macao brothels, Dallas, Jakarta, too many to mention and little to differentiate. In Dallas a lady drove him to her place, stayed the night in her own bed and breakfasting in the morning for only $100 unexpected for a Yellow man possibly. (In the Orchard area recently complaints from the exclusive condos of pop-up brothels, all online difficult for law enforcement.) Presumably Mr. Ee had Houston on the Gulf confused with the other. At Al Wadi Beefy his eternally hopeful self as always—the knack of a long-stretch jailbird. Today Friday, he reminds himself, we got four leg…. Up at Bedok on the screens in some kind of den. African races, Australian, Singaporean, HK, some days there were four meets. Close-up of Obamas’ tears in the newspaper; then confirmed:  mangroves played a significant role in carbon capture, Sing’s own scientists report. The late-lamented mangrove swamps.

Greek on the Equator (S-E Asia) Mar26

 

 

 

Names are hard in this republic. After independence the understandable decision to leave untouched the former colonial imprint. (Can of worms.) Therefore, Somerset, Grange, Ascot, Victoria, Belgravia, Admiralty, Lavender, Regent, Rochester, Saint Andrews, Versailles, Petain & Clemenceau roads. MRT stations, condos, malls & schools. The Western inheritance and aspiration remains, nowhere more evident than in the remarkable project to institute and uphold English as the national language. Again, perhaps understandable in the nation-building project, where various languages and cultures were forced to share a small island. Occasional faux pas (one example must suffice): a few years ago local entrepreneurs opening a bar thought the most fetching ring was provided by AUSHWITZ (sic.). Enterprising investor had heard something, somewhere. Schooldays maybe… Recent times some little controversy over the naming of a new Junior College. After exhaustive consultations with all stakeholders, the unanimous decision fell on EUNOIA... Greek root denoting "beautiful thinking" and "goodwill toward others". Certainly difficult to surpass for an educational institute for serious-minded students with anxious, ambitious parents. Some of the Windsor accents one heard here was completely bewitching: the MRT announcer possibly narrowly outdoes the Minister of Finance, Mr Tharman Shanmugaratnam. This pair clearly superior to the Minister of Justice, Mr K. Shanmugam, with the (now former) PM Lee in the same leading pack possessing impeccable enunciation, phrasing and even some measure of creativity. The prospective students at Eunoia just entering the race would need a great deal of support and encouragement to carry through. At present some struggled with the colliding vowels and uncertain syllables of the newly named JC. From the relevant department has issued stout defence against accusations of pretentiousness, top-down dictate and disregard for local character & culture. Linguists meanwhile, stood at odds over pronunciation. In the case of the college itself, it had settled for "yoo-noh-iea"