Rip-Roaring Tune, Doubtless (May26) pol.

The old Malay uncle clearing the plates at Al Wadi was indeed a Singaporean. Therefore he well remembered the old song, Di Tanjong Katong that featured in the gala for the local PM at the White House in the U.S. yesterday. If you asked a Malaysian they don't know, Malay Uncle declared. He knew. Down near Amber Road the Embassy Hotel…. Last time there was ..... something.... how to say?... children's many.... Immediate recognition of the tune nonetheless perfectly obvious. The picture of the red carpet reception of the PM on the steps of the grand old house took half the page of the newspaper, clearly visible. For the mention of the song itself, the uncle bent low, three inches from the sheet that had been turned around for him. Sure enough, Di Tanjong Katong, uncle read, luckily at the top of a column. On the corner up west not one hundred metres away sat Tanjong Katong Complex, on Tanjong Katong Road, the older style mall presenting to the traffic a cylindrical front inspired by a water tower, possibly. Hang a left you would get to Amber Road. The former terrace houses and bungalows there, the former children's garden (it seemed) no more ready.  Last time have. Could the uncle recognise Lee Hsien Loong in the pic? (Apparently, even the accomplished orator Obama had stumbled over the name, no discredit.) Uncle did not watch TV or read the papers. Lee Kwan Yew? he surprisingly asked…. Was he slyly joking? Habis, gone. Suda, done, Uncle. No more ready. Raised a smile over the Malay uncle’s creased face, jaws always working, blinking and tossing his head like a colt. Ya, but son now. Money many.... cannot finish one.... many. Well, it did stand to reason there would be dough and plenty of it for the best paid pollies in the world, the celebrated duo pere and fille reigning almost an entire half century between them. Uncle played 4D & Toto with some kinda arcane knowledge and insight. Like many others, the man could often be seen nights bent low over a fan of tickets. Big Beefy Mohammed consulted sometimes with the wise old mentor Uncle. One would have said older than 1950 — the former carting, present-day ciggies and hollow cheeks added another decade at least to look at him. Fine little to-do in Washington, State dinner no less, toasting & pledges. The "anchor" (Barak O.) in the SE Asian Tropics assuming greater importance as the global re-balancing continued. (Will there be war? a bookish chap was often asked. Pushy Chinese, it was often commented, by the Malays usually.)

NB. PM Lee was keen on the TPP Agreement, free trade; Don Trump giving some cause for concern clearly between the lines. The great benefits in a nutshell, as enunciated by the PM Mr. Lee: “I am spending, I am consuming, I am importXXXing and, because it’s freed up trade I am getting a wider range of products, of services, of opportunities. Consumerist heaven.  (Originally read as important.)

                                                                                                                   Straits Times, pA8 Aug. 4 2016

Dessert (Payasam) - publish Literary Yard, Sept16

Would be interesting to verify with B/P, but certainly this place produces calm, ease and releases some strong endorphins. The music needs to filter out from the kitchen unobtrusively like this, almost beneath consciousness. One little precociously rattling child fails to counteract the smoothness. Possibly the colour and patterns of the saris add to the effect, even on old and portly frames revealing rolls of fat. Not a single pretty girl more often than not; one perhaps today, wearing too much make-up. How these others would have copped it at the schools fifty years ago in Australia—poor Lorraine McLaughlin and the Mead girl straight from the dairy farm up country. Auntie was pressing a taste of the payasam, her dessert (not the assam that was “sour” in Malay); a warm yellow liquid with some kind of nuts. When the pongal arrived in fact Shanmugam had added a full container on the platter. (Jaggery, green dahl, 2 cardamom & cashews fried with ghee, Auntie later informed at the register.) We agreed Mug had lost at least 5kgs. in the month since his father’s death, the shock especially received by telephone at such a distance. There had been sun outdoors too back in Tamil Nadu, a definite darkening of skin tone in Mug when he returned. It had been a surprise on top of his colour. Work to do; grief could not stop all the chores in a busy household. The pint-sized Sri Lankan champ who had recently won the Test for his country against the Australians in Kandy was indeed a Tamil, Mug knew. There was not much the lad did not know about cricket and Tamil cricket in particular. Steady, settled and even spirits in men and women alike, both older and younger. Almost not a single phone in evidence; even the occasional Chinese here keep it in the holster. Could finger-eating be a factor? A ballast delivered by the elders somehow, a certain something in their example reigning subtly over all. Even the Tamils themselves would be stretched attempting to identify the tunes of the old songs peering from behind the curtain as it were. Temple-goers most of the clientele and confirmed vegetarians, non-drinkers and smokers. (Over-eating was their problem, the high sugar content at the sweets counter added.) The blue cloth cap gifted by Altaf, brought up from St. Kilda in fact, must be presented to Shanmug, it has been decided. Almost three years of sweets if nothing else make it well-deserved.

                                                                              Komala Vilas, Singapore

NB. https://literaryyard.com/2016/09/24/dessert-payasam/

Spot of Window-Shopping - published by Hindsight Journal (Nov25)

It’s raining! It’s pouring! Pelting down around lunchtime, just when a chap’s tummy was a-roaring. But never fear. The 250m dash to the bus-stop from Block 2 at the back of the Haig, involving one little circuit out front of Block 9, provided excellent cover. Dry as a bone almost; piece of cake. Actually rather like window-shopping on nature. A kind of nature, well-ordered and contained. Neat as a pin. Theme-park site of regularly razored hedges, fringe garden-beds, the little candy-coloured plastic playground. The Malay gardening crew behind their umbrellas under our block had grown of late, a week ago a great surprise when the figure usually snoozing hard against the wall in the corner behind her shield turned into a tall, long-haired, almost ravishing beauty. Golly! Ripe for a rescuing prince. Her mother possibly joined their detail now, and two or even three others bunched together. Further along Indian lads were spread-eagled on their cardboard, their yellow Wellies upright beside them. Then more Malays & Bangla for variation. Window-shopping the Third World, should you be interested; a zoo safari of cheap serfs. As usual, more than one group was taking their lunch on the brown grease-proof papers spread between their legs. (These people were in fact the reason for the spotless, litter-free grounds, the pasted-on perfection of gardens. Once or twice the poles and seats of the playground had been witnessed receiving determined buffing.) Not an out-and-out monsoonal drenching this, but not bad. Especially given the price of admission.

 

 

        Geylang Serai, Singapore 2011-25

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pY4_i-95ckQ

https://www.hindsightjournal.org/spot-of-window-shopping

What Is This? (Mar26)

From a distance looks like a tennis court and the snot-green some kind of scorched grass. The enclosure had been passed only once in these three and more months. Whatever kind of game they played there had never been witnessed. The first young fellow coming from the lift did not live in the block, but knew the matter. Old people play. Malay dude; not surprising he did not know what was almost certainly a Chinese game of some kind; or at least adopted by the Chinese. An old man with little English did not know the name either. To the display of imaginary vertical sticks striking balls, he gave assent. Something of that kind, like croquet, adapted for the colonies. It was however a deeper mystery that had directed attention to that corner opposite the lift at section D. The area was roughly the size of a tennis court; perhaps more square than rectangle. Dark young lad labouring within the wire. Since lunch-time the fellow had strung up three or four lines of flags and mounted more larger ones along the cyclone fencing. The red and white flags with the crescent moon & stars that five years earlier had been mistaken for some kind of Muslim insignia. The emblem of Malaysia perhaps in this quarter, it had been guessed. (An Australian football fan almost broke into song: Cheer, cheer the red and the white...) There were probably 5-6 more string lines to be erected and larger flags around on the fencing on the Haig Road side. Many hundreds & thousands more were to be hung from the balconies of the HDBs through the city-state. Some years past householders were issued the flags; after some lack of enthusiasm it seemed, in recent years the government had contracted various companies. A week out from National Day, there was still much to do. North Korea, Cuba possibly, perhaps some of the newly independent countries of the European continent, and such-like, were the only counterparts.

 

 

Soaking It Up (April26)

 

True enough, scattered showers as warned by Doreen from the kitchen table at her early supper. Better take an umbrella. A look out West through the living-room window had shown high blue cloud. By that hour the skies would have emptied themselves, surely. At ground out beyond the Void, on the vegetable garden side, the drops surprised. From the tenth floor Dore could not have seen the pitter-patter along the outer walk-way. Nevertheless, the landlady had proved perfectly correct: a bloom of umbrellas in hands on every side. Light steady sprinkling. Regardless, this population in the Tropics was justifiably wary of getting the scalp wet. One often saw all ages and genders with outspread hand atop the head, as people scurried between the buildings or stepped from buses. The matter had been proved too: even a light dousing of the scone here was enough to raise sniffles and in short order disabling head colds. No trifling. Yet over at the edge of the exercise yard now, close by the vegetable gardens, here suddenly was the Loner, stretched out using his bench as a bed. One leg was crooked and the other over the top of the armrest; at the other end the weary old head awkwardly pillowed against the iron. Shut-eye it looked, and likely not feigning sleep either. Drizzle was funnelling upon him particularly it seemed in that segment of light. In his mustard caftan late morning the man had stopped by the Wadi table, mutely pleading. Eventually, while the coin was fished out, 4 - 5 words had been exchanged. Man continued well. Baik, clearly sounded. By early evening he had tired himself.

 

 

Cool and More Cool

There can be no end to this arrangement on the equator here. Impossible. Not with the entrenched political-business class, the size of the middle-class, the peons all well-contained. Cashed-up foreigners fleeing their environmentally devastated regions not the least factor. And all snug within the broad frame-work of international treaties and alliances. Near 20% of the territorial surface is reclaimed land. Last year one of the coast roads had been raised almost a metre. Green initiatives included trailing vines from housing towers, reticulating rain and grey water, and most recently a move to curb the gross packaging waste problem. Much fanfare and self-congratulation.
         The air-conditioned nightmare line has been used previously.
         In this morning's Straits Times Home section the lead item was headlined: Fans at bus stops to cool you down? Cool!

S.T. Monday 25 July 2015

Wondrous Life

No one will believe, Australians least of all. Pretty little dark-haired girl captivated by a living creature, a darting, flying, bright-coloured and unaccountable life form in 3D plus, plus. In this republic cats of course have children completely entranced, totally and utterly enthralled, gingers in particular. One needs to know the HDB blocks, the walk-ways, playgrounds with their soft spongy surfaces, the garden beds, malls and transport capsules in order to comprehend the matter at all. Here the little sweet captured, seized by wonder at a glossy black fly doing what the animal does best touching distance right before her eyes—zig-zagging figure eights, back-flips and expert landing on the back of the green plastic chair, from where swinging up into the air again and down on the orange table-top. Wow! How—about—that!

                                             Geylang Serai, Singapore, July 2016 shortly after a rain-storm