Culture, Colour and Chaos

Today's Sunday Times carries an article about Geylang, regarded by Spore police as potentially more dangerous than Little India, a hotspot for hooligans, hookers, gangsters and crooks. On the other end of the spectrum an expat couple living in a lorong 24A shop house, a lane next to the epicentre of prostitution, describes the area as one of culture, colour and chaos. I know where they are coming from because I have been attending Buddhist classes in this area for the last 2 years. Ironically Geylang is also a place with many temples, Buddhist institutions, clan associations, a mosque and lots of good eateries as well, and yes the Buddhist Library is at lorong 24A where the expat couple stays.

So if I take a bus from my home that deposits me at Lorong 18, I walk upwards towards lorong 24A where the library is located. At early evening around 7 pm the place is beginning to get crowded with Chinese and Indian workers going home to their crowded rooms or flats in old dilapidated shophouses and apartments. I have to avoid body contact jostling amongst the workers in the narrow corridors of the shop houses selling food, groceries, clothing, footwear, necessities and provisions that cater to their needs, I would imagine it a bit risky for a younger female to walk this stretch not to be "accidentally" taken advantage off. Some brave pedlars have started laying out smuggled cigarettes; and probably drugs will come into the scene later. I can also imagine some workers who are gobbling down a quick dinner hastening to some illegal gambling joints when night falls.

As I approach Lorong 24, even when the sky has not sufficiently darkened, females mostly in high heels and revealing or suggestive outfits have lined the road intermittently. However what startles me is when I notice some older women who are brightly though not indecently dressed and who look every inch like an ordinary Singapore aunty offering their services to male passers by as well. I was really shocked when I heard one neat and homely looking middle aged woman doing that. Often times I walk pass them quickly trying not to look into their eyes, lest their eyes dare me to disdain or sympathise with them or lest their eyes smirk at my 'better' life.

Admist the loud China-slanged hubbub and clueless Indian din, I descend on the Library, a beautifully restored shop house. Once inside the quietness becomes more pronounced. I take off my shoes and keep them amongst others neatly arranged in the hidden cabinet. Through the glass door to the partially lighted prayer room one can see the metre tall Buddha seated in the centre and a nearby oil lamp giving out an orange glow, a place of refuge. Another glass door leads to the actual library which shelved rows and rows of books. One can sit quietly in the rather deserted library to quiet down, reflect and contemplate. Occasionally, conversations of passers by outside can still be heard even in the air cond room; but they seem distant though not unloud whilst I find myself drifting into a silent prayer, " May their sufferings be lessened".

To the culture, colour and chaos I think Geylang also awakens our Compassion.