Singapore tales : The big-city 'experience'

Ok, so all excited and pumped-up, I ventured out on my city-explorations. I armed myself with a road map, since the "heritage" spots(read: Little India and Chinatown) are comprised of several crisscrossing little lanes and I wasn't going to spend half the day acquiring lost bearings.

Also, I had chanced upon a very useful little site created by the manager of a backpackers hotel, which detailed the prospects of cheap self-guided tours around Singapore. A series of walking-tours, it advised, would give a casual tourist a better exposure to the unique sights and sounds. Fair enough. This is something I believe in, too, and besides, the pocket signalled its hearty approbation too, with the legs raring to go on a day-long ramble.

'Unique sights and sounds'..... these essentially reduced to, at the end of the day, 'skyhigh steel-and-concrete structures' and 'the Mandarin of economics'. Permit me to elaborate.

I began the walk from Little India. In fact, this may be the high point of the 'cultural odyssey' in terms of evoking any specific culture. True, rates are high anyway, and the shops lack the rustic charm of the pushcart and rushed shanties, but the odd snatch of "Uppu karavaadu", "Aathadi Aathadi" and such instant classics from the Kollywood stable kept me enlivened through the stretch. The much-hyped "Mustafa's departmental store" proved to be as much a Singapore foetus as anything else. Just a run-of-the-mill mall(excuse me, the malls here are super-glitzy and chic)

Nothing like the "elai-saappaadu", at any rate. Since the traditional "--Vilas" restaurants in this area are probably the only bankable vegetarian outlets in the city, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to operate my fingers through a hill of rice, sambar, rasam and curd, with the half-dozen or so assorted curries to taste. It was only as late as then that I realised how well even the most mundane and tasteless of vegetables complement the elai-saappaadu tradition. It is a stroke-of-genius on the part of the forefathers. That was, and will necessarily be, the tastiest meal I had in Singapore.

Something that I find astounding, or better, bewildering, out here, is the manner of promoting the primary tourist destinations. There is very little of historical moment here, and after all, the country can be said to have come into its own only at the beginning of the 19th century, but there were all those Malay rulers before then.....lazy buggers must have been devoid of all desire to leave their imprints in the sand. No monuments from that era. Must see Malacca to gauge the worthiness of the exaggerated hype.

So then, the mosques and temples. I didn't bother to suppress my amusement upon beholding them. Each is a tiny dollhouse, looking as though a not-very-discriminating kid had been allowed to go wild with a paintbrush on a day's worth of plaster. In fact, the only way I could make out "the beautifully restored Abdul Gafoor Mosque along this street, with its unique Arab and Victorian architecture. Built in 1907"(to quote the site), was by the gaudy greens splashed over the facade. To think that something as utterly insignificant could be trumpeted so was mind-boggling. I resolved to bypass all other such"heritage-spots", including the tacky temples, Indian and Chinese.

Interestingly, a certain Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus, abbreviated as Chijmes, and formerly an orphanage and convent, now houses bars, discos and restaurants! It says so very prominently at the gate. I pondered the morality of the situation awhile and decided I wasn't upto it. The place is a crowd-puller, as is everything else I mentioned above. Yes, all those stinkingly rich globetrotters are fascinated by anything Indian, even the gaudiest of carvings and pagodas. More the shame that we have done so little to market ourselves attractively to the world. Not that we ought to swamp every historical edifice with ravenous eyes and swanky hotels, but better transport services would go a very long way.

The area proclaimed to teem with acivity, "Bugis street" was around 200 m long, and failed to make an impression. Baubles when sold from a pedestal lose their perfunctory allure. Similarly, I wasn't enticed enough to try out the indigenous fruits, the durian and mangosteen when they were being sold off spick-and-span counters with that disconcerintg metallic gleam. I searched in vain for the tiny, fussy little shacks, with loquacious Chinamen with toothy grins and mysterious caverns filled with Oriental excess. I was expecting a Hong Kong or a Shanghai, perhaps. How wrong I was!

Even the eateries rob the occasional adventure with foreign cuisines of the requisite bravado. Everything is dished across counters by gloved attendants. I fairly lost my appetite, not that I had much of one to start with, given the cornucopia of seafood on display and alien miasmas insinuating themselves into my system.

The Fort Canning botanical garden was a much-needed respite. I realised that of all these manmade attractions, the parks and gardens were the best bet. I was bored of endless sights of tall, proud buildings, looming over the city squares and dwarfing everything else. The parks, obviously a desperate afterthought, even with the usual perfectionist touches of an automated culture, were a soothing diversion. They are well-maintained and clean, and walkways are plentiful. The tropical flora are a nice plus, too. Even at the fort, the short and uneventful history of the island is recounted. The bloody battles, jealous monarchies, devious uprisings, all these are a distant concept. The history of the island seems trite, and dull as ditchwater. And yet, they are proud of it. I am at a loss as to whether I ought to feel sorrow for a culturally bankrupt generation which effortlessly dazzles with its consumerist leanings, or deplore the status of a nation such as ours, for not imbibing what is rightfully ours, and is complex, ancient, glorious, influential and eminently desirable.

Maybe it needs such an experience, that of stark contrasts to awaken us to reality.

Chinatown proved to be much the same. Even the traditional Chinese shops lacked the old-world glamour. And everything was colourful and empty, like cotton candy, except for the price tag. But I was pleasantly surprised to stumble upon a video shop which stocked the best rare-film DVD collection I have EVER seen. They were obviously illegal, but they were cheap, and the films were there for the taking! I mean, which place in the world sells(on the street) Ivan the Terrible and Clair's Le Million side by side? And no, these aren't, naturally, the Criterion releases.

I got to window-shop a lot though at several of the high-profile malls, by definition unapproachable for purchases. Suntec City was vast and in essence, captured the spirit of the city perfectly. This was where the city was, not on the street, not on the harbourfront, not among the people. It was here, amidst the bright stalls and stylishly-dressed womenfolk with indistinguishable features, the million scents of branded perfume, the rustle of dollar bills, the dimly lit restaurants charging $7 for a drink and structures shooting vertically for want of space.

I headed towards the Singapore river, hoping against hope that the waterfront would house some of the commotion and noise I missed. Instead, I get restaurant after restaurant, each competitively priced (meaning highly pricey), and nothing reminiscent of the 'nightlife' I was expecting. That term is synonymous, here, with high-class pubs and diners. Again, I was to blame, entirely. How could I look for something the city could not boast, a life of its own? It was essentially an amalgamation of cultures fusing haphazardly, and all the time, suffocated by a burgeoning economy, sustained and inspired by the West. Then there was the offensive Merlion, which carries the most insipid of legends with it. It is the symbol of Singapore, and something more ludicrous never existed, believe me.

So after an hour of quayside rambling, when I recalled the markets of India fondly, the hustle and bustle, the confusion, the heat, the incessant haggling, the sheer exuberance, the singular charge such a sight imparts to the senses, I wished someone would do something crazy for a change...

Well-behaved people are no fun. I almost decided to strip and dive into the river with a reckless holler. It was disquieting. Everyone was prim and powdered, sipping wine elegantly and using forks expertly, like on a string instrument. Clearly, this was no place for the casual tourist. You needed to be loaded, and fat and dull and prepared to be enchanted by the most banal of sights. Yes, the sight of huge, imposing structures on all four sides was quite something, but I am not sure I'll carry it to my grave. It bespeaks more ill than good for us, I might venture to conclude.

So Singapore is just another city... the manmade wonders enthrall briefly and are forgotten. People awake to their negligence occasionally, and build a park, a zoo, a nature reserve, all laudable, no doubt(try comparing a well-tended golf course to a jungle), but the fact remains that this is a curiously soulless city, despite its efforts to borrow liberally from the best of all worlds, India, Malaysia, China, the West, you name it.

I look forward to the parks and zoos, though. And some long treks, 'undogged' by the big city experiences. Call me old-fashioned.