Passage to (Little) India

I confessed to the Indian women in my book group how little I knew about India.

What’s embarrassing is that I spent an entire month in India during college. My memories are ochre coloured, probably influenced by the Bollywood movies I’ve been watching. I remember the spicy food, vibrant dancers with jangly gold bracelets, bumping along in cramped auto rickshaws, cows in the road, and of course the Taj Mahal. History? Not so much.

We were discussing Nimita’s Place, a novel by local author Akshita Nanda. The book parallels the lives of two women, both named Nimita. One story takes place during Partition-era India, when the subcontinent was divided into Muslim-majority Pakistan and Hindu-majority India. It is the story of a young woman’s dashed aspirations to become a doctor in order to fulfill her duties to marry, set amid horrific violence and the displacement of tens of millions of people (read this New Yorker article to learn more). The other story follows the life of her granddaughter, an Indian scientist who moves to present-day Singapore to dodge the prospect of an arranged marriage and to blaze her own path while working to secure her future. The classic bootstrapping immigrant story.

India. Second most populated country in the world. Largest diaspora population, with more than 18 million Indians living outside their homeland — a number that grows to 32 million, if you broaden it to all people of Indian heritage. Largest film industry, followed by Nollywood (Nigeria) and Hollywood. Country of origin of Algebra, Trigonometry and Calculus. Birthplace of Buddhism. One of the world’s most ancient civilisations. And much more.

Did I know any of this before writing this post? Um, no.

Living in Singapore, where Indian Singaporeans form the third largest ethnic group and Tamil is one of the four official languages (along with English, Mandarin and Malay), I have the time and inclination to course correct.

Last month my friend Rama showed me around the Indian Heritage Centre (IHC), located in the heart of Little India. I learned that the first Indians arrived in Singapore in the 19th century. Some came as low-skilled labourers, while others working in the British Civil Service arrived as doctors, teachers, and administrators. The Chettiars, a subgroup of the Tamil community, were money changers and lenders who set up shop in the financial district. The current special exhibit at IHC highlights the history and contributions of the 13,000 member Sikh community, many of whom came to join the Sikh Police Contingent or work as highly sought after security guards. In Bukit Brown Cemetery, a few kilometres from our place, there are statues of Sikh guards that some families erected to protect their ancestors’ tombs.

Hanging out in this neighbourhood, it’s easy to imagine being in India itself, minus the crowds, traffic and cows. There are elaborate Hindu temples and small altars tucked on street corners and in shops, displaying offerings to the gods. Women pushing shopping trolleys wear kurtis and sarees. Incense permeates the tidy stalls selling flower garlands, spices and vegetables. Restaurants serve curry puffs, tandoori, biryani, masala dosai, sweets, and teh tarik. Tekka Centre, the heartbeat of Little India, is a one-stop market to buy produce and dry goods, and eat on the cheap.

And then there is the multi-block shopping complex called Mustafa. Think Costco-meets-Target-meets-flea market, on curry-infused steroids. Heaping shelves of housewares, clothes, luggage, groceries, stationery, eyeglasses, cleaning products, garden tools, books, ready-to-wear sarees, and whatnot to the Nth degree. I got lost in the tea selection and spent nearly an hour browsing the snacks to find the right gifts for someone in quarantine. In one outing, I bought a luggage scale, can opener, greeting card, thermos, toothpaste, broom, three kinds of peanut brittle, and pillow insert. To someone brand new to Singapore looking for apartment necessities, I say, forget Orchard Road. Go ye straight to Mustafa.

It would be remiss not to mention the Little India Riots of 2013. A foreign worker died under the wheels of a private bus, sparking a riot that caused wide scale property damage, scores of injuries, and a crackdown in law enforcement in the area. I’ve mentioned in a previous post about the nearly one million foreign workers, many of them from India, who work as manual labourers in construction, the service sector or as domestic helpers here. COVID revealed the spartan, overcrowded living conditions of worker dormitories, prompting a review of their accommodations. And this news report highlights a terrible collision in April involving a bus and lorry that was transporting workers in its open air back bed. Two people died and fifteen were injured. This dual standard of living is also a part of the Singapore story.

On July 21, Singapore will celebrate Racial Harmony Day. I don’t know what to expect, but to mark such a day demonstrates Singapore’s desire to be a peaceful and multi-ethnic society that lifts up every culture and religion. A worthy goal every day of the year.

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