By G VENKATESH

My friend Raju suggested that we drink coconut water during one of those evening outings in hot and humid Singapore.

Raju was from Kerala, and his penchant for this victual was understandable. Andrie and I were indifferent, but we sensed that he’d volunteer to pay for us as well.

There was a Filipino lady vending coconut water just outside a grocery store along an arcade in the Little India region — the heart of the country. If I recall, the price was S$1.50 apiece.

It struck Raju, while we were nourishing ourselves with coconut water, that, he had to get sugar, cooking oil and salt from the grocery. He was not a foodie, or a gourmet; but, when one is a vegetarian, one needs to make sure that s/he gets all the essential nutrients from the herbivorous meals one eats. In comparison, I never really cared.

Well, back to the grocery and the purchases which he wished to make… After he had placed the packets of salt and sugar and the bottle of cooking oil at the payment counter, he pulled out his wallet and started fishing around for money. He clearly remembered that he had got with him S$50.00. After having spent on the coconut water, he would have in excess of S$45.00 with him.


Heightened Anxiety

He fished out a few coins totalling around S$5, and that was all. We could see his face muscles twitch in some kind of inexplicable anxiety. Andrie asked him what the matter was. “Andrie, my money is missing,” he said. He quickly rushed down the steps of the grocery towards the Filipino lady vending coconuts. “Excuse me, I’d given you one S$50.00 note and purchased three coconuts. I guess you have not returned the balance.” The lady looked stunned. Small businesses like hers would possibly have a modest daily turnover. And, S$50.00 was not really a small sum. “I am sure I returned the balance.”

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Raju was visibly agitated. He opened his purse and showed her the compartments. “If you think I am lying, see this…” The lady returned his impulsiveness with equal gusto. She started yelling, “I swear by Jesus Christ that I have returned your money.”

Andrie and I tried to mediate. We convinced Raju that it would be better to forget; God makes things happen for a purpose. His final words to the woman were more hurtful than ten lashes from a whip, “Okay, I will think I have given the money to a beggar. You can keep it, but you will not be able to enjoy the money.”

Mellowed Silence

We came away. Andrie and I decided to remain silent, with the hope that things would mellow down as they always do — a day ends and another one begins, and things fade into the past. Not the oblivious past always, but most certainly the less painful past. The intensity of pain associated with events dwindles as time advances, too — events recede deeper and deeper into history.

We boarded the bus. If I recall, it was #78. I used to pride myself on the fact that this was a multiple of 13, my birth date. If there were options, and if there was a number which was a multiple of 13, I would always go for that — even if it meant waiting for a while. Well, I am digressing, but when one recounts events from the past, it is almost always difficult to stay on a single track — the train of thoughts tends to get derailed. We got onto the bus and Raju searched for the Ez-link card — the electronic ticket which is used in buses and trains in Singapore — in his back pocket.

He found it and along with it four S$10 notes and one S$5 note. Andrie looked at him and then at me. He smiled to himself. All of us were entertaining the same thought. Raju looked at me first, and then Andrie. He could read our thoughts. We were looking at him sympathetically. We knew that he was a very sensitive individual, never prone to hurt people’s feelings. We could read his mind just as he was reading ours.

“Venky, I never keep my money in my back pocket. I do not know how it got there…” Andrie looked him in the eye, and said, “Do you want to go back and apologise for what you said?” Raju was silent. I seconded Andrie. “Raju, I think we should. It will lift a big load off your mind.” He looked at us and agreed.

Where Did She Go?

We alighted at the next stop and decided to walk back… fast. It was already 8.45pm and late in the evening. We reached the grocery and looked around. The Filipino lady was not to be seen. The little stall under which she was selling her wares was dismantled. Raju enquired at the grocery. The man looked up and recognised Raju and possibly knew why we were there. “She has packed up for the day.” Raju was shamefaced. His shoulders drooped. We comforted him and headed back to the bus-stop and, thence, back to our hostel.

Raju came the next day, but the woman was not to be seen. He enquired again and was told that, perhaps, she would have gone back to the Philippines. People from the ASEAN, when they are hard-pressed come over to Singapore, earn and save money and head back to their home countries — sometimes never to return.

I have since moved away from Singapore. I’m now based in Norway at the time of telling this story. Andrie has returned to his home-country, Indonesia.

Raju continues to work in Singapore. I do not know if he ever met the coconut vendor. Perhaps, not. But, pains from the past fade away, with the anodyne of passing time. One learns lessons though — useful lessons which come handy in later life. As George Santayana said, “People who do not learn from their mistakes [or, other's mistakes] are condemned to repeat them.” Raju learnt from his mistake, Andrie and I learned something from it as well.

We now look before we leap. Or, at least try hard to do so — thanks to coconut water, the Filipino, Raju’s faux pas, and that evening in Singapore.