Singaporean takeaways
TEA IN A BAG IS JUST ONE OF THEM. SINGLISH HUMOUR IS ANOTHER.
praveena was a newbie immigrant and her eyes were in awe of the images she had captured of Orchard Road, the Fifth Avenue of Singapore that is chock-a-block with iconic shopping malls, upscale restaurants, lifestyle choices, and flagship fashion houses juxtaposed with ethnic stores.
At a stone’s throw from the tree-lined boulevard, which is the most sought-after hangout haven in South-east Asia, roads flanked by dilapidated Peranakan shophouses offer a stark contrast, a canvas of all-gray imageries intermittently bleeding red from Chinese motifs and talismans. Praveena was in love, ALREADY (stress intended).
ALREADY was the first Singapore slang she mastered, tutored by her part-time Tamil cook who religiously greeted her with the query, Makan already? (Had your food?). She brought a basket full of slangs every time she returned from the Balestier wet market. With every word she proudly picked up, mostly by trial and error, she fancied being a step closer to the PR status, the dream of every emigrant. And then this bizarre thing happened at a neigbourhood kopitiam (traditional coffee shop):
Praveena asked a portly guy at the food stall for a can of coke, which he showed to her along with a plastic bag, a carry loop tied into it. His Heaviness, with an upper arm tattoo of a dragon spitting fire to his vocal cord, asked in a high-pitched tone, “Can ah?” What he meant was, Is this fine?
“Can, can,” she emphasised, not knowing the trappings of Singapore English. In Singlish, she had just conveyed, “Fine, fine.”
The guy emptied the can of coke into the plastic bag and stuck a straw into it before delivering on Praveena’s astounded face. She refused to take it.
“I said can,” she argued, swallowing a mouth full of saliva sweetened by a whiff of heavily sauced dry chilli chicken sitting on a nearby table.
“What lah u?” Face crimson with anger, the guy continued, “I showed the plastic, no? You said, can, can.”
“Sorry, I meant tin can,” Praveena was apologetic and ended up paying for both the emptied coke and the tin one. As she walked home, sipping the manna of surprise from the ingenious takeaway container, she said to herself, “In Singapore, like that also can.” Meaning you can do it this way too. Over the years Singlish was immortalised in her lifestyle.
More than the menu of best things in the world, what makes Singapore stand apart is Singlish and the innocence and rhythm attached to the local lingo, which is a concoction of English, Mandarin, Hokkien, Teochew, Cantonese, Malay and Tamil, with funny suffixes and exclamations. Singlish is a honey trap where once you enter, you never exit. Seven long years after we left the island republic, Singlish still does a tap dance on our tongues whenever children are home. It is a way of life, a linguistic religion that unifies diverse cultures, customs and ethnics. It doesn’t differentiate between classes.
The underlying philosophy of Singaporeans is kiasu, which broadly translates to being afraid to lose, or anxious not to miss an opportunity. Praveena was on an early morning constitutional when she noticed a serpentine queue outside the Shaw Plaza in Balestier. Some locals where standing, some squatting, and some were physically missing, their kiasu represented by items like sandals, umbrellas and even a wheelchair. Dying to know the reason, she accosted one of the guys in the rear to find out what made him cool his heels. “Don’t know, leh” was his terse answer. “What! You don’t know what you are queuing for?” “Some freebies, mah.” Praveena almost fainted. Life on the island later on gave her an opportunity to dissect the philosophy. If kiasu means being self-centred, let it be. Good or bad, beneficial or detrimental, she flowed with the majority, who believed kiasu is part of being Singaporean. For them, it’s a manifestation of the value of meritocracy and achievement. It meant sending the children to the best schools. It meant pushing the children to achieve nothing less than 4As. The state didn’t fail them either. Being kiasu themselves, the leaders worked hard to catapult Singapore to one of the highest per capita economies in the world. Singaporeans were pampered with the best in the world — from quality of life to opportunities to study, work or trade, and prosper.
The trait of kiasu also made them believe they are the best in the word. Singapore is part of the Visa Waiver Programme, which enables citizens of Singapore to travel to the United States without a visa. The island is in the league of countries, which boast English as first language.
On the island, taxis are where you end up learning a few lessons of life, having the opportunity to meet drivers who were former executives but “downgraded” in an economic slowdown to survive. If you are lucky, you could even learn English in a taxi. After a maniacal shopping during the Great Singapore Sale, Praveena flagged down a Comfort taxi at Orchard. The driver, a seventy-looking lady, wished her, “Good afternoon, aunty.” Praveena, a 25-plus former Dubai expatriate, sounded her displeasure with silence.
“Angry or what?” the driver was curious. “Never mind, lah. Aunty is a sign of respect.”
Adding more intrigue to English, Praveena asked her to take a left from the Balestier signal but the woman stepped on the gas and went straight.
“I want go to Balestier Towers. That’s on the left.” Praveena’s anger revved over the noise of the Comfort engine.
“Alamak! You should’ve told me to turn left. Don’t know English or what? You blur queen, ah?”
The honorific meant Miss Absentminded. Still calm prevailed over Praveena the blur queen, for she is a life-long student of the enigma that’s Singlish.