Watch the Gal Go (April24)

You have got that pretty clearly fixed now. It took long enough. Young nubile girls in particular concerned, perhaps in Central Java more than elsewhere across the archipelago. (It slipped off somehow for older gals and needed a little while to manage for the younger, mid-teens.) In essence it was simple enough: the shoulders are pulled back a smidgeon, which brought the chest out. As a consequence, this drew the head back and the movement being from the hips, the bottom does not protrude. Along they slowly paced like that under the verandas, pelvises leading. There was nothing provocative in the gait; nothing in the expression suggesting womanly confidence. In sum, the effect created was of solidity, firmness and stability. Not all the lasses attained the feature of course. This morning the girl on Malioboro up toward Beringharjo was on the stout, thick-bodied side. It was this bodily form that seemed to develop the propensity. No real sexual allure was sought or involved; or at least that was not the direct effect. Standing up before the male gaze, it would serve a young lady excellent well. 

 

Zip (Aug26)

During lunch Leo proudly displayed the big pulsing red heart that Chris had sent him earlier in the morning. There had been a series of exchanges and in the middle of the screen on Leo’s phone, a curvaceous, leaping, fit-to-burst symbol of their love — ❤️. It was 13 now, coming up 14 years that beautiful union of theirs. Chris was thirty-six years Leo’s junior, the same age as his son who had tragically lost his life. An age difference of zero consequence here. It reminded of Hasan up at the Haig couple days before, indicating his new girlfriend. Going for the bus, Has was not sighted at his usual place up front by the Paki tea stall. There he was in back in his motorised chair on the edge of the tables. When he spotted his friend Has scooped with his hand come hither. A new girl had suddenly arrived on the scene. Just a couple days before Hasan had complained about another lady playing him false, spotted by a pal in the company of some other fellow. Despite what it had seemed back then, the man had not been flattened. This one did not “play dirty”; this one was a goodie. Hasan motored up the aisle, wanting to point out the lady. He stopped at the row just behind a woman quietly sitting over her teh, late-30s, lashes, modest black attire. The scarved and bare-headed were evenly split at the tables; this one Hasan pointed out went without. Beaming like a schoolboy, the old player. It was striking. Back in the day, gawky mid-teens at school acted in that kind of manner, opening themselves up for possible ridicule. A grandfather in his late-70s, rather judgemental where women were concerned, Has was a goner for a lady who had popped up only in the last 48 hours. Next morning telling Halima of the matter after Hasan had turned up at Mr T T, Hal was more than a little stumped. Turning to look over the retreating figure in his PMD, Hal again asked for confirmation of the case. Finally, when she could reply, it was with a quizzical emoji face of the kind she often sent in her WhatsApps when words failed. It was too much for anything else, this. Shortly before that same morning, Yasuyuki the Bluesman had replied to a couple questions on how he was faring with a duck emoji, one that had not been seen previously. This was an upright, handsome, modest and nicely coloured fowl, clearly favoured in some way by the Jap muso. You had to conclude Yasu was doing not so bad; holding up OK. The bright-eyed bird suggested it. Otherwise, there was not much for the Bluesman to say, clearly. In Asia, and perhaps North Asia in particular, there was a bit of that circumspection: the indefinite, unspecified, equivocal case. It seemed some Chinese characters stood for ambiguous concepts of this nature. It was a long way from great or fantastic, or even not too bad. One needed to work it out from the indicators. The Javanese too could be people of few words. More than once Hal had described her father’s fixed quiet with the zipping of lips—finger & thumb drawn across the mouth. Sometimes even asked direct questions, Hal’s father could zip like that and sit tight, quite immovable; quite unable to be drawn to any utterance. There was something to be said for it. Not much garrulousness either gender, young & old both, the Chinese & Indo/Malay both. It was unclear how far the Indians fitted there.

 

 

 

             Geylang Serai, Singapore 2011-26

Publication re-issue: Burung - Bird // Literary Veganism

 

Hallo & zdravo all

A re-issue of a work to report this time.

Burung - Bird, a piece on the Yogyakarta Bird Market in Central Java, was published 5 years ago by a US online magazine called Entropy. Since then this mag has folded and its archive was eventually voided. Recently the Literary Veganism guys, also up in the States, have given the piece a new home.

Free access for all you animal lovers, 1,500 words. Hope you like it again, and newcomers with fresh eyes.

The editor Gregory Tague has tagged the story nicely, "From colourful songbirds to crispy fried chicken..."

https://www.litvegan.net/2023/06/creative-nonfiction-by-pavle-radonic.html

Creative Nonfiction by Pavle Radonic “Burung — Bird”              By Pavle Radonic Five elements maketh the traditional Javanese man: a job, house, respect, wife and a bird. I... www.litvegan.net

All best in these troubled times

Pavle

500gms (Aug26)

 

 

Lad in his twenties was going in later that day for 5 & 1/2 years. His father came over to indicate his presence at the far table under the veranda. The day before dad had revealed the matter during the course of detailing his own history with the justice system. In his case there had been a sentence to hang. After six months of appeals and $79k legal fees – provided by his brother – the noose was escaped. Six months on death row, how was that endured? How did he cope? Unfortunately, only blanks came back. There was little to say. Don’t think too much was one of the standbys among the Malays. Otherwise it was prayer & exercise. The man's own dad had stood by him, as had the wife and all the other siblings. The mother was dead by then. One thing was he hadn’t wanted the children brought in for visits; that was too much to bear. If he was heard right, man said he couldn’t cry. Perhaps he didn’t want the children to set him off. The partner & friend, close friend who was looked upon as an abang, elder brother, had his sentence carried out. When it came down to it, for defence the pair had blamed each other. Luck was in his favour, he said. The son was indeed a chip off the old block. Carbon copy. Coming up to the table the resemblance was clear. The lad sat busily texting on his phone, only a brief look raised. He had been in before. Dad had been in a number of times himself, apart from the last occasion. A second wife had been taken by dad over in Batam; known to the sons, but not the daughters or the first wife. The reported screaming and dragging out confirmed earlier reports. There had been pills offered for settling nerves, which he had declined. The young lad later went to his bike parked along the side fence of the market and rode off, presumably not to the prison just yet. He was married and had fathered a child. The earlier sentence had likewise been for possession & dealing. Twenty years ago when the senior had been sentenced he had been in his thirties; not much older than his boy now. Dope same. Singapore's maintained stance in the current liberalisation presented some difficulties now. The father had been told about Ronald Ryan in Melbourne back in the mid-60s. Five or six weeks ago the chap popped up out of the scrum at the market, helloes progressing to fist bumps and eventual chat. Many friends didn’t know his history, even twenty years later. Now for some unknown reason the white guy was  bought into his confidence. The quantity next time was the worry of course for the lad.   

 

 

 

             Geylang Serai, Singapore 2011-26

 

 

 

NB. 500gm of marijuana & 15gm heroin attracts the death penalty in Singapore.

 

 

 

Sparring at Shadows (Long Live the King)

There he is our man alright in London, just behind the Pres. Must inevitability grate with the Arab, perpetually that shadow falling. Current liberalisation (post-Khashoggi), trialling slowly in Saudi. Slowly. Women driving; getting about without male escort; some racey hijab fashion that showed lines & curves. Howsoever, for all that, for all the dosh, the Porsche, finest clobber, jetting about first class, G-R-A-T-ING. Nevertheless, despite that, nice to see smiles kept up, genuine warmth for orphans, for elderly & disabled. One of the kampung lads of Modh’s gen., who knew the man from early days before his marriage, while the pair prayed together at the wooden (likely atap roofed) sarau opposite the market, reported the chap was not flying back home with the President. No. Going himself, under his own steam, over to the States, in fact. A certain tone in the pal’s telling that seemed might have echoed the original. Man needed to stand on his dignity every once in a wee little while. (Difficult incidentally guessing what the Viet President was doing in that company joining Charlie’s big do. WTF?)

 

Publication news: Blind Terror - Panoply

 

Hallo all

Hope everyone is keeping very well.

A publication to announce, another flash just appeared in Panoply up in the States. This zine carried an earlier short of mine back in May 2020.

Blind Terror is centred on my adopted neighbourhood in Singapore, a stone's throw from the wonderful Malay market. Under 500w, hope you like it. No pay wall—

https://panoplyzine.com/blind-terror-by-pavle-radonic/

Blind Terror – by Pavle Radonic Geylang Serai, Singapore A screaming girl directly across the way wouldn’t let up, yesterday early afternoon in continual fits and starts rising and falling. Then in the morning renewed again…

Leading Hand (Jan26)

Yesterday was one example and this afternoon another. Surprise was always a factor. Diabetes was rife in this region, as were motorcycle accidents. Male in both cases here. In the afternoon a chap coming over from Block 11 was on the phone, clutched to his ear. On the right side the short, empty sleeve of his grey polo swung free as he walked. Not a known face; easy & loose in stride. Yesterday in the shade of the veranda at Upper Geylang returning from town, a man coming on was thanked for making way in the passage. Short wave of the hand at the midriff. Orange-saffron tee or polo; dark forearm. Not possible for this man to answer in kind as there was no hand appended . The flesh of the stump seemed properly formed; neatly rounded, as if machined smooth. A foreign worker—at that age local amputees were rare. (Even the motorcycle cases were older men, usually the first generation of riders.) Stony and unresponsive the Orange-saffron. Sometimes one could convey something even in passing; in fact there had been a tap on the shoulder of a younger man in a chair that same day, well received. This other did not allow. It was usually impossible of course. In this culture people often approached the elderly, lame or crippled to present a quick note in the hand. Both men here were the right too. As it might have been in medieval warfare, the leading right.