Kudos to our friends

The warmth of the evening sun shone lightly on my face. How I love the sun. It recharges me every time when I feel tired and listless. Though I had to make do with the evening rays, it was still better than nothing. Once again, I missed my Sunday morning ride with my friends. But seven seems an obscene hour to wake up on a weekend when I have to leave the house before daybreak every day. But I enjoy the ride up Upper Thomson Road to Sembawang Road. It is hilly enough to pose as a challenge and provide a good workout.

The evening wind felt crisp and cold after the afternoon shower. Fortunately, it was just a passing cloud. I decided to take a right turn into Seletar Reservoir instead of heading straight. I was captivated by the view before me. The water was calm and tranquil. The park was fairly peaceful. There was a father with his two kids cycling in the park, on a bench was a young man lying with his head on his girlfriend’s lap, by the water were a few Malay boys trying their luck with their fishing rods. The water sparkled in the evening rays. All was calm and quiet. What sweet respite from the bustle of the crowd.

“Clang! Clang! Clang Clang Clang!” The sound of the drums from the lion dance troupe pierced the tranquility of the park. It came from the block of flats opposite the reservoir. One of the anglers turned his head to frown at the noise, obviously irritated by the din. I myself cringed to hear the sound. It is indeed not easy to live in a city like Singapore. A small country with 4.5 million people. We are tripping over each other’s feet most of the time.

I really sympathised with our Malay and Indian counterparts. What they had had to put up with for the last fifteen days of the Chinese New Year, the drums, the burning of the incense and other rituals. I am glad we have such understanding neighbours.

Time to head home for dinner.

The Cradle of Burden

I woke up with the beating of drums and chanting of the Hindu hyms still ringing in my head. It felt good to sleep in after waking up at 6 am yesterday morning. Well, I was not entirely the only one, and definitely not the earliest compared to my dear pupils who reported at Little India station, even before the arranged time at 630 am.

If Lavin had not told me that Tank Road is in Yishun, I would have believed him when he told me that we should be meeting at Farrer Park Mrt station rather than Little India. All was not lost though, as we still managed to wriggle our way into the temple to catch the sight of the devotees who braved the pain of the sharp spooks to cleanse their wrongdoings and to have their prayers answered.

It did not take us very long to walk that 3 km. It was nearer than I expected. But it must have felt like eons when one is carrying that Kevadi or walking with shoes of torns. As though the pain is not enough to tear your hair out, there is the waiting. Waiting for each devotee to pray and do their rituals before your turn. Every second probably feels like a year. It was a touching sight indeed to see the family and friends, young and old, gathering around them and cheering them on.

It had been many years since I witnessed the Thaipusam. That must be when I was ten years old. I enjoyed the dancing, the kevadi and the drums. But yesterday was my first time watching the piercing, the prayers and other rituals. What does it take for a person make that decision to endure all that pain and suffering and to carry that cradle of burden?