Hi friends! 

I'm always interested in how to look countries and cities in the recent and distant historical past. When you start to compare how the city and the country looks now, you get a lot of pleasure. After all, a lot of changes in everything! Today I present to your attention an article in 1978 in the Russian magazine "Around the world". Once again, I have an archive of old magazines "Around the world"at home. And I want to share this historical information with you. Pictures do keep in mind that the magazine is old and the pictures not very high quality. In this article, historical photos of Singapore. Russian-speaking readers will be able to follow the link below to the official website of the magazine "Around the world"

          SUCH A DIFFERENT SINGAPORE

In the tropical sunlit city square at the foot of the clock tower stands a black cast-iron statue of a thin man with his arms crossed over his chest. If you go to the left, where the brown water of the river quietly beats against the wall of the embankment, the eyes will appear the same statue, but in a white stone. On the pedestal — the inscription: "On this historic site January 29, 1819 landed sir Thomas Stamford Raffles and visionary changed the fate of Singapore, turning it from a tiny fishing village in a huge port...»

All right. After the deal, which resulted in the island became the property of the East India company, the village with several dozen residents turned into a port. Berths, warehouses, warehouses were built with incredible speed. The city had not yet been mapped, and crowds of people of all nationalities and professions were pouring in. The free port at the entrance to the Strait of Malacca promised thousands of opportunities for the exiles who sought shelter, and for the unemployed who were eager to find employment.

The city of Leo (1 The origin of the name of Singapore is described in detail in Yu. Savenkov's essay "On seven winds" (see "Around the world" № 11, 1974).), Singapore, has not yet been officially recognized (in London, negotiations were held between the Netherlands, which still considered the territory of the island, and England, has already understood what income can give the future colony), and its population has increased new thousands of people.

The fabulous growth of the port city can be easily explained: ships sailing from the Pacific ocean to the Indian ocean, most often go through the Strait of Malacca. That's where Singapore was waiting for them: rest, replenishment of water and food, warehouses, shops... The city, born on the island at the crossroads of sea routes, has become a conglomerate of different cultures of Asia. People who flocked here from India and China, brought in memory of their native land their books, customs, their gods - and cherished it so that traditions, sometimes dying at home, survived here. Having survived, were mixed in the most extraordinary way. And for a long time with someone's light hand the Lion City was named "Museum of Ethnography of Asia". I lived in Singapore for a year, interning at the University of the South seas. Term — and big and small, as watch. Big enough to love this city, and too small to claim the role of a Museum guide. Still in the memory of dissimilar pictures of Indian life — porters Kavadi, Malay fishermen, Chinese rickshaw. What is Singapore? Different... This is a vague word at first glance — perhaps the most accurate description of the city where I lived and studied.

Three-Faced Subramaniam

That day, Singapore suddenly became Indian. Hundreds of men in colorful patterned shirts, women in saris decorated with Jasmine garlands took to the streets. Flowers hang from the roofs of temples, strew sidewalks, swim in large buckets of drinks. The festival is called Thaipusam. It is celebrated every year on the days of the full moon of the tenth month. In the Tamil calendar this month is called "tai". And "Pusam" is the name of the star, in front of which the Moon passes on a certain day. It turns out — Thaipusam. The most interesting feature of the holiday is the ritual associated with kawadi.

Such a different Singapore

...On the street moves a dense crowd of people — over their heads flashed hands with cameras. In the center of the crowd — even higher than the cameras — floats, swaying, a large openwork structure — something like a semicircular cage of metal rods, topped with the image of the God Subramaniam. God has three green elephant heads with red eyes, and he represents virtue, youth, courage, strength... The iron cage is kawadi. It is decorated with palm leaves, flowers, peacock feathers (peacock — "personal" bird Subramaniam, it is often depicted riding her Golden spear in his hand). Spellbound I looked at the porter Kavadi: his hands were pressed to hips, and the curved arc of the iron rods that supported the structure, dug directly into the body: chest, shoulders, shoulders...

The Indian goes carefully, like a tightrope Walker, balancing under the iron structure: to drop it is a shame that can be washed away only in a year, the next Taipusam, again hoisting the kawadi. Shocked by what I saw, I do not immediately perceive that the cries of the crowd, clapping hands and ringing bells are subject to a single rhythm and the man with the cage goes, a little dancing. His cheeks are pierced through with a sharp arrow, his skin is pierced with silver hooks and needles — this proves the truth of faith.

Voluntary Martyr with 112 needles under the skin, walking the five-kilometer route from Perumal temple on Serangoon road to Shri Dhandayuthapani on Tank road — not a magician. Is inspector of the port warehouses Bhaskaran who vowed to carry the Kavadi in honor of God Subramaniam. And the other men who carried the "Sklava Kavadi", "Idumban Kavadi", also performed the vows on this day. Someone took over the cage in gratitude for the work received, someone suppressed the perfect sin, the third proved his loyalty to the subraman. "My" Indian, as I learned later, thus expressed gratitude for the recovery of his sick son. And if the Martyr feels pain, if blood flows from under the needle — it means that "his faith is not firm."

The procession crosses the channel between Stamford and moving on Fort canning road, free from traffic. The police by the sweat of their faces pushes the audience behind the ropes: the crowd what good can prevent the fulfillment of the vow.

I was lucky: I was in a bunch of people next to kawadi. Therefore, I was not driven behind the ropes, and almost all the way I follow, watching from time to time the Junior priest pulls out one or two needles from Bhaskaran, and I see with my own eyes that they are sharpened, enter the body deeply and not a single drop of blood is shown at the place of injections.

When the procession comes to the temple, from different streets show new iron bars — the second, fifth, twelfth... Cavadi porters line up in front of the temple, where a solemn service and offering gifts to the statues of the gods.

How is it that Indians go kilometers and "do not notice" stuck in the body of needles and rods? It is difficult to explain this phenomenon. It is known that two or three weeks before the holiday the Indian observes a strict fast, preparing himself for a feat in the name of faith. It is known that in the morning on the day of taipusam, the carrier kawadi performs a special ritual — perhaps a kind of auto-training session. It is known that a specially appointed person who helps the porter to put on kawadi is a master of his craft, and he tries to carry out the entire operation so as to cause as little suffering as possible. Apparently, V. the minute the metal rods penetrate into the body, the person is already as if in a half-sleep. Finally, there is the recognition of one of the heroes of the day — Bhaskarana, who did not leave the attention of local reporters: "It's like if you saw a small star in the distance, which suddenly begins to grow and becomes bigger and bigger, and now it envelops you, and then... then nothing can be remembered."

No less surprising is the appearance of the "hero of the occasion" — the God Subramaniam (it is also called Velan, Murugan, Kumaran, etc.). The fact is that, traditionally, he is depicted not with an elephant's head, with the ordinary human, as can be seen, for example, in his sculpture in the temple of Manmatha Karunasiri. Here is the elder brother of Subramaniam, the God of wisdom Ganesh, another matter. His head is really elephant, however, one, but the hands — two pairs. Ganesha festival also exists, it is held in India (and Singapore) in April — may, but the Taipusam quite different. On this day, Indians sculpt figures from raw clay, stick tiny umbrellas in them and throw them into the ocean. On the other hand, the holiday of Subramaniam in India will not meet: a special decree of the government banned carriers Kavadi disfigure themselves, driving under the skin of metal needles and rods. Perhaps this custom has survived in Singapore, and then modified: the faces of the brothers, the gods have merged into a single image, but on the order of ceremony this, however, does not affected.

Banana village

Every day at the same time — at three o'clock with minutes — in the corridor of our student hostel there was a singing cry: "Yao Mai xiangqiao?.. Yao Mai xiangqiao?.."In slow shuffling steps, and we opened the door. The threshold of dark-skinned devil with live foxy eyes. His nationality is difficult to determine: we know that he is a Malay, but with such a tan he could even pass for a black girl. Melodic same call it in Chinese means: "do you want bananas?"That's right: the University of the East, and a small trader diligently trying to use the available stock of one of the "local" languages. The boy goes around all the rooms of the hostel, with a smooth intonation repeating his cry. Of course, bananas in the city is difficult to surprise — that he and "banana" Singapore, they are full in any shop. But the boy has already thoroughly studied the secrets of Commerce and knows that if the product itself comes to the house, it is almost impossible to refrain from buying. For this reason, I every day early in the fourth tasted never a bore delicate fruit.

Soon the devil appeared with a new supply and went to the other corps. After a few hours he wearily trudges with an empty basket along the path to the grove, where the tops of the palm trees quietly shake and rustle light green two-meter leaves of banana trees...

In short, with bananas the issue was resolved in the hostel once and for all, but for other fruits I went to the market, each time experiencing the real pleasure of walking. You walk through the city market blocks, and on both sides hang the same huge amber garlands. On the fruit trays, the goods are arranged in square cells, and the sun shines on the clean, juicy colors of these multi-colored chess: red and green squares of apples, yellow — pears and lemons, orange — oranges, above hanging purple grapes and olive fruits durian, in baskets — coconuts, pineapples.

However, oranges in Singapore imported, and on large yellow lemons is stamped: "California, USA". But bananas, coconuts, and durian, papaya, a little shaggy Rabotnicki similar to chestnuts, are grown on the island. How and where? Having asked this question, I once followed in the footsteps of the "banana boy" in the grove: the palm tree grows where people live, and, therefore, in the forest — the Malay village.

Later I learned that there were very few such villages on the island. Maybe this one will not live long — the University is three hundred meters away, and its territory is expanding..

On the hills there is no stuffy damp thickets, which are now so actively exterminated in the lowlands (recently there was shot the last crocodile). I am surrounded by a dry mountain forest, and the bright orange road under my feet has cracked like a Turkmen takyr. Sprint across the road lizards, colorful Bush flies an unbelievable butterfly, violent sun in my eyes...

The village appears unexpectedly — without any order in the forest there are huts: some dilapidated, covered with reeds - it seems that the walls are about to collapse. There are new houses: lacquered wood, slate roof, glass in window bindings, low piles...

Thin walls of houses are purely symbolic: protect from the sun and rain — and on that thanks. Sometimes between the wall and the floor — a period of forty centimeters, and this crack is free to get chicken. Slowly mill around between palm trees mutts, complacently glancing at me with sleepy eyes from the heat. At the wall of the house is a dusty motorcycle. On the branches of a sprawling tree — hangers with drying shirts.

And around the houses, and between them, the things that have kept the village alive for decades are growing: light green bananas with yellow bunches of fruit, tall coconut palms. A little further I came upon a plantation of "limes" — the so-called variety of citrus — low trees with tiny fruits of green color. Here were trees of "mugua" wood pumpkin, sweet sister of zucchini, and finally the durian "king of fruits". Someone said that it can either hate or love, no middle ground. The smell, which is heard for ten meters, is really able to cause a feeling of disgust, but I know a lot of people who can not restrain the delight of the taste of durian.

The village looked prosperous, even more prosperous. Finally, I discovered the Malay side of Singapore. What was my surprise when I learned that the village with fruit plantations — a phenomenon, in fact, not typical of the local Malays. Fishing — that's their traditional occupation, and the real Malay Singapore — on the ocean. There are huts on stilts — Calonge in which long live the fishermen coming out in the Singapore Strait on light boats. However, in recent years, fishermen have a hard time: the sea built new docks, shipyards, and Kelong sometimes fall, demolished bulldozers. And those that were able to resist the onslaught of the growing port, turn into sea "cottages": come here on motor boats to fish, sunbathe.

The port plays a double role in the life of Singaporean Malays. On the one hand, it comes to the coastal pile villages, but on the other, it attracts residents who can not imagine their existence without the sea, attracts, requiring labor. It continues to be sought by the unemployed from the States of Malaysia, hoping to get a job at the docks and shipyards and thus replenishing the Malay component of multinational Singapore.

And banana village?.. Well, the village still stands in a grove near the University. Here, as in some other places on the island, cheerful Malays away from industrial areas cultivate generous land, giving tropical fruits.

«Beautiful world»

There is in one of the corners of Singapore quarter, whose name — "Mei Shijo", which in Chinese means "Beautiful world". The name should not be surprised: the Chinese like to give areas where they live, sonorous, lush names. Here you will never find a quarter, say, "the Vale of sorrow", even if it does not deserve any other name. This is sure to be a "Corner of happiness" or "Shelter of joy." Here's the "Beautiful world": wandering in .the musty twilight from hanging over his head canopies, covering the entrance to the smoked zucchini, and constantly come across clusters of shops, counters, shops, institutions that are other word than "dens" can not be called... Obviously, at the time it was quite beautiful: rectangular blocks, straight rows of white fresh two-storey houses, brand new roofs of red tiles, just poveschennye signs with hieroglyphs. But decades later, the houses were decrepit — poverty, as you know, is twice as old - straight lines were erased and elegant once the streets turned into a stone maze.

It was a complete surprise to me, turning the corner of a glass skyscraper, in a minute to find myself in old China. Narrow streets, on which driven cars with vegetables and go pedicabs in faded pajamas and cork helmets; plexus fire stairs; grass and trees on the roofs; skinny cats, making their way on the roof. Sometimes in the black hole of the window under the roof, between two darkened wooden shutters, you can see the brown wrinkled face of a gray-haired old woman — ancient, like half-erased hieroglyphs, carved once on the walls of houses.

And Lu Xun's lines come to life: "In the homes of the Chinese of average prosperity — heat. People are half-naked and barefoot. Here and rocker, with food, and the sounds huzina, and the clatter of Mahjong and the game of the phonograph, and barrels of sewage."

However, huting and gramophone of yore has given way to more modern equipment, but are quarter of All those lingering Chinese melodies.

On a Sunny day, mattresses are ventilated on the windowsills, long poles protrude from the Windows, on which clothes are dried. The sun barely makes its way to the sidewalk through the colorful rags.

I walked along the shops and only had time to turn my head, trying to keep in mind the commercial appearance of the Chinese quarter. Books, suitcases, records, chickens... Alcohol: on one shelf "Napoleon" and Chinese vodka with a snake in a bottle. Small shop — noodles, soy sauce, chewing gum, cheap bags. Suddenly, a wave of amazing smell: tea shop, where there are any varieties — from the English "Earl gray" to mixtures made according to ancient Chinese recipes. Pub tables at seven or eight. Above the tavern inscription: "restaurant of Mr. Shi".

Of course, "soup of three flavors" or "fight the tiger with the dragon" here you will not find — it's a great luxury - but you can safely sit down at the table: the Chinese chef will never feed tasteless. Even the most common noodles with shrimp and herbs or chicken with rice will be surprisingly good.

Indian women in Sari are common in the streets of Singapore. But the Chinese who play Mahjong, will see the city's uncommon: more recently, this gamble is prohibited.

The owner casts a spell from shining in the brilliance of jarovenko. On the wall — advertising a poster, offering tooth pasta or chocolate. And suddenly in the corner you notice a scroll with the face of an ancient Chinese sage, in front of which Smoking candles are burning... "Here, a few thousand kilometers from the birthplace of the philosopher, who died in the fifth century BC, burning gold hieroglyphs forming the famous phrase: "do Not worry about what people do not know you, and worry about what you do not know people."

Leaving the restaurant, I go further. New shop — new smell; Chinese pharmacy. Chinese because, in addition to vitamins, penicillin and similar scientific achievements, there are ginseng, deer antlers and even "unicorn horn". Who is this unicorn is unclear, but the horn is in a prominent place: yellow, solid, curled screw. It probably belonged to a narwhal, but who knows? Chinese traditional medicine, the secrets of which are passed down from generation to generation, does not die in Singapore. There are schools for the training of doctors of Chinese medicine, and the idea of creating the same school under the leadership of the Ministry of health is brewing.

...It was an accident: shaking in the evening on the bus, I saw the glow of lights and dark crowds. "Beautiful world", usually sleepy and dying, came to life. Under the awnings, garlands of Chinese lanterns burned, illuminating the goods. With noise, music, screams sold shirts, glasses, fabrics, tape, records. Merchants of sweets, ice cream and water rolled their carts, and the owners of zucchini kindled their fires. Surrounded by the crowd, the fortuneteller drew Kabbalistic magic squares with hieroglyphs on the asphalt. My eyes opened the traditional night market — tents and awnings, lights and smells, lingering melodies, jumping, some even "unconscious" talk and laughter.

Maybe I would have believed that this is really a "beautiful world", if I did not know other circumstances. "Chinatown" — "Chinese city" — is the patrimony of underground dealers and drug dealers.

It is in his quarters as a result of raids that hundreds of drug addicts are constantly detected. It is here that every now and then reveal the organization of the Chinese mafia — underground gangs. In 1974 the special Department of local intelligence services caught 21 gangs, in 1975 — 33, in 1976 — 34. Over the past three years, more than 100 death sentences have been carried out in Singapore for major drug operations. The number of crimes related to the sale and resale of heroin, opium, marijuana, is growing from year to year.

And what is at least one of the streets of "Chinatown" under the unambiguous nickname "Thieves market"! Here not only sells stolen goods: it made the pirate method and sell cassettes, records, sew labels of known firms in the just-stitched jeans and shirts. Shortly after that magical night, I was informed that a traditional round-up had been carried out at the Thieves ' market. Of the captured traders, lighters, watches and the like "little things", many were immediately recognized by the owners — tourists or local shopkeepers...

The photo makes a strange impression, but everything is easily explained: the brandmauer of this house is decorated with a painting, and poles with drying linen stick out of Windows of premises.

What kind of screen?

It was in medieval China belief that the house did not fly otherworldly force, it is necessary to put in the yard a stone wall-the screen in a straight line between the gate and the door to the room. It was believed that the spirit that entered the gate, would have poked his face into the barrier and turned back. Fly around the same screen he can not afford, because according to legend, the spirits fly only in a straight line.

Why are we talking about spirits? Rather, not about them, but about the screen. The one that reflects these spirits...

Singapore is heavily dependent on tourism. A tourist who came here, need not only the famous shops — he needs exotic. Therefore, carry people with cameras to painted churches, "feed" national dances... on the stage of the cabaret; put at the entrance to the hotel bearded Pakistani, dressed under the Grand vizier in full dress (35-degree heat!). There is finally a show where a 45 min demonstrate accelerated rate of Indian spell snakes, Chinese "lion dance", the Malay struggle. This three-dollar representation is referred to as the hard-to-translate term "Instant Asia" — "Instant Asia" - the same term, which is called instant coffee.

All this screen.

Like a hungry spirit, the tourist rests his nose on it and flies, reflected, back along the already explored route — Sentosa island, shops, Indian lunch, Chinese Breakfast...

Behind the screen remains exotic real, non-marketable, unexpected. Here is at least "Sarawak".

Where Bukittima road arcs up the overpass to let Adam road pass beneath it, behind a thick wall of thorny bushes is this establishment: a circle of stone slabs, in which are mounted small fungi — chairs, medium fungi on a thick leg — tables, high skinny fungi — canopies for protection from the sun. The edges of the range kitchen with Sizzling homes. The shops are very remarkable: in each you can hardly turn, but how much all good is placed literally in four cubic meters! Here is a stove with two burners, a few pots and pans. Above the stove is something like a glass Cabinet, and in it all the menu of the owner: noodles, bottles of tomato, soy and pepper sauces, cucumbers and other vegetables, bowls of herbs.

In one of the walls built a small refrigerator, and there are different soft drinks. Opposite wall — shelves with cigarettes, toothpaste, sweets, matches. That's not all: under the ceiling on the ropes hanging garland of fresh Newspapers and magazines.

Actually, these restaurants-babies in Asia a lot. But, perhaps, only in Singapore it is possible, having sat down at a stone table-a mushroom, to see directly before itself a tavern with the dried, similar to wax models, ducks and red Chinese sausages hanging near the center. On the right you can smell mutton from the shop, marked with a star and a Crescent moon, and turning his head to the left, meet the eyes of a shining Indian, conjuring over the hearth. Three different cuisines to choose from...

Tourists who have already tasted the "screen" exotic, here, as a rule, do not get. Europeans in "Sarawak" I met very rarely.

Eventually we became familiar with every face, and we — me and my fellow students — were considered our own. The seller of water, ice cream and fruit, Chinese Wang, learned that we speak Mandarin — the Beijing dialect - and from that day on we regularly exchanged greetings in the traditional spirit: "Hao mA?"— "Hao, laoban, Hao" ("Healthy?"— "Well, master, well"). Chinese simply grammatically requires special respect for elders.

We had another friend — a Malay boy named Amin. The duties of the guy was simple, but numerous: to clean floors and tables, to deliver customers with plates and bottles, to entice visitors. Amin often sat down to me, took a cigarette and began a serious male conversation. He graduated from elementary school and could very well explain in English. He talked about Singapore, Malay cuisine, his future. His father worked at the shipyard, like many Malays, but the young man did not seem to have a strong desire to follow in his father's footsteps. "Pricipal" to "Sarawak", he was going to stay here for the long haul.

— I have only three years to come of age (for clarity on the edge of the table lay three fingers), and then I get a license to trade. Imagine — I'll be the young master here at Sarawak!

— What's the cost of that?  I ask, and in reply I hear a heavy sigh:

— You have to pay three hundred dollars (three fingers again tapping on the edge of the table, emphasizing the importance of what was said). And then you have to rent a shop, buy pans and everything else... (the fourth finger is bent, then — hesitantly — the fifth). But I've already saved a hundred and fifty-five!..

Amin's hand hangs hesitantly in the air.

Holiday. The Indians of Singapore celebrate their New year — according to the Hindu calendar it falls on April. Burning colored lanterns, smoke incense sticks in front of the Buddha, Vishnu. Muslim shops is also decorated with the red cloth curled lettering of quotes from the Koran. In "Sarawak" — elegant people: Indian women in festive saris, with flowers in their hair, Malays, Chinese students, soldiers who received leave, police, free from duty. Runs our friend "laoban", carrying several bottles in each hand, worn steamed amine with portions of steaming sate — meat dishes, floating smoke from the braziers, the air is a sharp aroma of Oriental spices.

And it seemed to me: "Sarawak" is a small cast of Singapore, it is a bizarre slice of all the national strata of the City of Leo. It can not be called "fast-dissolving Asia", because, perhaps, the main feature of local life is that different cultures and traditions, intertwining, do not dissolve and disappear without a trace, as the charm of this city will never disappear.

Magazine "Around the world" / June 1978 / Such a different Singapore

 Until next time, @r3benok  

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