Morning Glory

“Sit down lah, it’s our money!”

An old uncle at the bus stop points to the empty seat next to him and tells me, when I am engrossed in my phone. I refuse-it’s for old people. He insists, and proceeds to ask the usual “where are you from, when you came to Singapore”. I am surprised. Singapore is a city of people who walk too fast and don’t talk to people they meet on the street.

But not this uncle, who moved from Malaysia 20 years ago. His face lights up when he hears I am from India, and to my shock – knows where Kerala is and that it is known for Ayurveda. He drifts off into his past, of his visits to the many big cities of India. Apparently, he and his brother were mobbed by a bunch of beggar children in Mumbai. He asks me if I know Yaadon ki Baraat or Bobby – I didn’t want to tell him I was born way after.

Apparently, he used to be sent as a chaperone to his sister’s and now brother-in-law’s dates, to watch these Bollywood movies (when they were released, I am guessing from his age). He goes on to sing the songs, leaving me to just sit there in awe. He is not done though. After asking me who I was chatting with (to his surprise as I say “hehe, no one”); saying he understands why I have the same name as Aishwarya Rai (what a smooth talker!) - he wishes me good luck for my time here, and to take care as I board my bus. A precious interaction. A surprise in this city of no eye contact, except the unsolicited one when you take the wrong turn to a shady street.

It’s not all bleak of course, this is pretty much the only complaint I could have for my new home. The weekend crowd of Little India. There are many pros to balance that out. Pocket friendly amenities at walking distance. A sense of noisy streets so that I don’t feel too homesick in these initial days. Some things change – my work is on the other side of the financial industry, and it takes me a moment to process that I am receiving mails from someone in my old company. I have to wake up and sleep on a schedule, and I pack lunches because I chose vegetarianism this summer (don’t ask me why I did that right before moving to a country that predominanty eats meat and seafood). And still, some things are the same. The beautician at my waxing appointment laughs as I wince – just like the ones in Kochi, Bangalore, and Hyderabad. The vegetable vendor gives curry leaves for free. The heavy windy rain chooses to time itself just when I have to leave for work. My new yoga mat lies unused, just like every other one I have ever owned.

It is too soon for me to fully digest that this is how my life is going to be for a while now. I have no checklist to chase – and it is a bit unnerving to be on the other side of your vision board. My parents and sister ask me to chill, for once. My GDPP prof asks me to enjoy my life, assuring me that the problems of the world will still be there when I feel like solving them. And I agree. With the paperwork and legal hassle of establishing my residence in this country now behind me, I try to find joy in little things like color coordinating my kitchen and setting up tiny plants for my balcony. My first two are Mimosa and Morning Glory. The latter being very apt for a city that has made me the morning person I always wanted to be, within a month, which my parents couldn’t do in twenty-four years.