Back to the Terrace and Little India
We splashed out a bit on plants. Just a bit. But I’ve never lived in a climate where you can throw living things, like orchids, outside and have them survive. Little water every day and we’re one big happy family. Though time will be the real gauge of our success. And, truth be told, Damon really takes care of them. My plant care method would be like taking acting lessons from Madonna: someone’s gonna get hurt and the movie will suck.
Since my life no longer involves a vehicle, every has to be delivered or carried up the 16th floor. Since the plants, like my three slabs of beer, would be impossible to carry, we were offered delivery. And this delivery included me, because I was in no state to race a delivery truck up Sarangoon Road, so I hopped in back with Tito and the plants. The shop owner gave me a little stool to sit, which made the whole adventure that much more dangerous. Tito and I had a lovely ride. Since he didn’t speak English, the ride consisted of him staring at me with a “what the fuck?” expression, while I pondered how hitting pavement at 70km would feel tittering atop my little stool. But for the most part, we got along famously.
Yesterday was the Thaipusam festival. We live 2 MRT stops from Little India, practically the backyard, so after lunch we headed down. How to describe…how to describe…it’s a piercing fanatic’s wet dream: hundreds of hooks in the chest and back and 12″ inch skewers through the cheeks and tongue. All with a metal cage-like structure, called a Kavadi, on your shoulders, attached with the hooks and skewers. Then a 4 km stroll with dancing and skipping and the more dancing and skipping the more evidence of supernatural ‘help’.
It’s a profoundly religious Hindu occasion, the birthday of Subramaniam, where devotees are praying for divine help. But I couldn’t help but feel a little scared. But I do pray our plants thrive and flourish. However, no piercing will be involved to this end.
