Montages of Home

 

Change can be so imperceptible that it creeps along, becoming interwoven into the fabric of time that one sometimes has to stop and think “now what was there before”?

 

The winds of Change sometimes sweep away whole physical monuments such that memories etched upon one’s conscience are all that are left.

 

Back then , there wasn’t a Serangoon Gardens “village” ; it was just known as “gardens”, and everyone knew what or where that was. There was no need to elevate it to the “elite pretentiousness” a.k.a. “Holland V”. Because that is what Serangoon Gardens is NOT.

 

Back then, you told the taxi driver to drive you to“ Ang Sar Li” (red zinc roofs) when you have missed  bus 101, 102, 104, or 105 and drop you off at the circus, (which doubled up as the bus terminus where the said buses are all parked, shiny, in a row) so that you could buy an ice kachang to slake your parched throat. Ice Kachang from stalls that clustered together, under makeshift canvas roofs that dripped rain water ; the wonton mee, the char kuay teow, all jostling for space with the buses backing into bus bays, that became makeshift stages for wayang shows come the ghost month. All these stalls, eventually, crossing the road to become the present day Chomp Chomp. Change…change and evolution.

 

The iconic circus, probably one of the few left in Singapore, allowing traffic to flow, though not as seamlessly as before with the coming (hiccup) of traffic lights. I remember a thrill of childhood days, riding in an old jalopy convertible, going round and round the circus, with the wind in our hair and the dogs’ tongues hanging over the edge. Life was simpler then!

 

Life was simpler then, where neighbours could sit on the parapets outside each “ang moh chu” ( a throw- back to the British army who housed their men and their families in these mostly single story houses; the original Serangoon Garden houses with their quaint English street names this side of the equator) to pass the time of day. The parapets also served as a launching pad when one needed to get into the monsoon drain to catch guppies and as a foothold to haul oneself up again. Alas these handy benches have been demolished in the name of modernization to cover the drains and create footpaths. (In typical fashion, the residents have used these plots next to the paths as their extended flower beds, adding vibrancy and colour. Pedestrians still have to walk on the streets!)

 

Entertainment was simple then too: a major weekend treat was going to THE cinema, Paramount. I have vague memories of watching Bambi and perhaps Dr Zhivago in a cavernous, dark theatre; in those days where it was $1.50 for the seats downstairs and heavens! $3.00 for the circle seats limited to the rich kids and courting couples- a princely sum to pay because after all it was still the same show, wasn’t it?

 

Another weekly treat was a trip to the second hand bookshop. With sweaty palms holding on to the week’s pocket money in those days when pennies were precious, we would thumb through the war comics and the Beanos and Dandys, weekly magazines  with serialised stories which sometimes had to be read in a piecemeal fashion ( cos someone else had borrowed that copy you wanted!) But no matter, the ritual will be repeated the following week.

 

Before the proliferation of fancy eateries there were the street hawkers: the ‘kok kok’ announcing the arrival of the “noodle-man” and folks would come out with their own bowls to hold the steaming soup; or how about the cries of “wah gor kueh” (steamed rice cakes that seem to have disappeared in these modern times). I can still see the myriad colours of the cakes, the purples, beiges, gaudy pink, with steam rising from the bamboo steamers, to be dipped into coconut and brown sugar. Though be warned; we never touched the tow suan. This came out from two steaming pots , which was all well and good till one day we saw the hawker pouring in the remains from half-eaten bowls.

 

And every afternoon, the ice-cream man would come by on his bicycle with the familiar ting-a-ting. No fancy Movenpick or Ben and Jerry’s but reliable Magnolia. Vanilla tucked between biscuit wafers. Chocolate wrapped inside a thick slice of sweet bread. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I saw this familiar ice cream man, peddling his wares, looking exactly the same, not a day older?

 

And every night, the mobile mama shop on wheels would appear at the corner where we lived. We would watch the man pump and light up his kerosene lamp, recording transactions in his 555 notebook, his pencil tucked behind his ear.

 

Fast forward the years- where coming home after a hectic week staying in the university hostel, it was a comforting sight to see boys playing football in the wide open fields where the country club now sits. Coming home entailed crossing a wooden bridge and a walk through the shortcut, with grass on one side and a nursery on the other. (Where the underpass is now. Ever wondered why this “cuts” the country club into “two”? Before the club was built, there were plans to obliterate this thoroughfare. A group of plucky residents campaigned against this and actually lost. The turning point came when this case was picked up by a prominent lawyer. “The land of Serangoon Gardens had been given for the enjoyment and benefit of the children of Serangoon gardens.” The short-cut remained open; albeit in a different form.)

 

So don’t give me a “pub- hub” or karoke lounges. The old days cannot return but the gentle legacy should live on.

 

The memories of provision shops with shopkeepers who wore pyjama pants and white t shirts, who took your orders of Ma Ling luncheon meat and half pound of sugar and gave you change from a tin suspended from the ceiling with rubber bands( the red kind)

 

The familiarity of the genteel living in a kampong. Where else would you find the aunty who sells porridge, call you “ah Muay”, though one is pushing fifty, and remembers your father and how her husband used to cut your brother’s hair? Or how “ Botak” sells a good “chye Png” , value- for- money, or “Ah Tee” who always remembers your peculiar, individualised cup of coffee?

 

And the people; generations who have lived here, seemingly rooted in time, passing on a timelessness to their children’s children.

 

Shows how quickly life may change. When you have kids you'll probably well... they'll be asking, what? Chicken rice used to cost $1.50? What? What's an elephant? You used to use things call bicycles? What are fans?