857 (edited for Go-Far)

Reflection, if need standfirst then Ill think of one

On August 7, I boarded 857 and sank into a seat on the upper deck. For a while, I sat and stared out the window: at rows of brightly lit shophouses peddling everything from saris to samosas; at crowded bars, serving up craft beer and bar bites to blaring pop music; and most of all, at the upper levels of the shophouses, where heavily-laden clotheslines strung across the room were silhouetted against bare light bulbs, hanging above the heads of men calling home.

Eventually, the bus climbed the ramp onto the highway, and I looked away.

It was my usual commute to and from Little India. I’d been exploring the ethnic district’s crowded alleyways and conservation shophouses for the better part of two weeks, with one notable exception.

The previous evening, I’d taken 857 as well — to Raffles Hotel, where I spent the evening at a tasting for a luxe restaurant’s post-circuit breaker menu. I sipped on wines characterized by their provenance rather than their colour — priced appropriately to match the length of description — with a tinge of irony.

After all, it’s not often you spend two consecutive nights exploring such separate — and very distinctively so — sides to Singapore. It’s rarer still when you consider where these sides are: only five bus stops mark the distance between the immaculate, gleaming skyscrapers of the Central Business District and Little India’s maze-like alleyways and crowded streets.

While the majority of Singapore’s migrant workforce live in mega-complexes, far, far away from anyone’s backyard, many visit Little India on the weekend. The draws are obvious: there’s plenty of fellow countrymen around, a myriad of amenities like remittances and mobile top-ups, and South Asian restaurants, eateries and minimarts galore. In short, it’s just like home.

Some even stay in the area: particularly, those on a special pass (read my story). One of those was Mr Mariya Francis Arokiyasamy. He also takes 857: from Tekka Centre, about five minutes away from his accommodation above a shophouse in Dunlop Street, to the Ministry of Manpower Services Centre.

I met him on the morning of August 6 at 6.04am, and followed him for his fifth visit to the services centre. I was hoping to get some good shots of him as he made his way there; he was hoping to get some $19,000 in salary arrears (again, read my story), and a special pass so he could apply for a job transfer.

Like I said — tinge of irony.

As we took 857 back to Tekka Centre some eight hours later, he said that what he really wanted was to continue working — and that Singapore was the best thing that’s happened to him.

Among the 15 or so other migrant workers I spoke to, most of whom were on a special pass, many echoed similar sentiments. Work, in the end, equals salary. And that salary equals hope, which is exactly why migrant workers keep coming to Singapore — despite incurring heavy debt, appalling conditions and more than a bit of snobbery.

Their plight has resurfaced largely due to the Covid-19 outbreak, ultimately coming to the forefront of Singapore’s pandemic story. Go-Far 2020 was a unique opportunity to explore migrant workers’ situation through our own eyes: anecdotes on a page become stories when you speak to someone face to face. And do they have stories to tell.

It’d be nice to think that the response on social media might be indicative of an awakening among our country and its citizens. But as a realist — and ever aware of my place in a population that prides itself on being pragmatic — I think it’s far more likely that we’ll find the whole thing interesting to look at, sure. But from the safety and comfort of a seat on a double-decker 857.

And once we’re far enough down the road, we’ll look away yet again.