A unique moment in Singapore

I find myself outside Singapore at one of the most significant moments in its post-Independence history. The current PM made a very dignified announcement with the news of LKY's death. By all accounts the crowds queuing to pay their respects at the lying-in-state are enormous; the personal impact on individuals considerable. That said, I'm told that the taxi-driver views of LKY and his contributions are polarised, as ever.

I can't help feeling that it's good for Singapore that this should be taking place now, some months ahead of the National Day marking 50 years of independence, so that the celebrations, in due course, can be forward-looking.

The international coverage of LKY's death and his coverage seems pretty balanced to me - a general acknowledgement of what he created, and a recognition of the trade-offs involved.

Painful devotion: Thaipusam

Last Tuesday, 3 February, if you were in Serangoon Road, you would have seen the Thaipusam procession.  This can seem shocking when you encounter it for the first time. It’s an annual Hindu tradition. After lengthy spiritual preparation, devotees take part in a ceremonial procession. Many carry kavadis, elaborate cage-like structures made of wood or steel, many of them spiked or held in place by hooks pushed through the skin. 

This mortification of the flesh honours the deity Subramaniam, or Murugan. The kavadi is said to represents a mountain with Lord Subramaniam at the summit. The procession takes place usually in January or February (in the Tamil month of Thai). Women also take part, often carrying an offering, in the form of a pot of milk.

 The tradition comes from South India, where many of the people who make up Singapore’s Indian community have their roots. But there’s an irony. In India itself, during the 1940s and 1950s, many temples banned the traditional kavadis. Apparently, it’s only in Singapore and Malaysia that you can still see them – the celebration of Thaipusam at the Batu Caves in Malaysia is even more elaborate than what happens here in Singapore.

Over a century ago Thaipusam was declared a public holiday in Singapore, but lost that status to Deepavali in the 1960s. The issue of which festival should be officially recognized was hotly debated for many years by the Indian community, with Thaipusam backed mostly by Indians from the South.

The devotees prepare themselves at the Sri Srinivasa Perumal Temple in Serangoon Road. They then slowly make their way along a 4-kilometre route to the Sri Thendayuthapani Temple at Tank Road, in the process crossing some major thoroughfares with predictable effects on traffic congestion in the city centre.

Many of the people in the procession have elaborately ornamented metal skewers pushed horizontally through both cheeks and/or vertically through their tongues. You might find this extreme self-mortification difficult to understand, bizarre even. But wait a moment. Is it any more so than the self-flagellation practised for centuries by some Roman Catholics?

I was one of maybe hundreds of people pointing my camera at the devotees. Are they a legitimate subject for photography by anthropologists (at the top end of the market) or gawping amateur snappers and tourists (my end of the market)? Were the crowds lining the routes indulging in slightly voyeuristic behaviour, intruding on what some might see as a private devotional experience? As a public procession, I suppose it’s fair game.

Classic rumblings

Singapore is one of the most expensive places in the world to run a car. I wouldn't dream of owning one. It's probably cheaper to get taxis hourly, day and night, seven days a week. This is not an obvious setting for the start of a long-distance endurance rally for classic vehicles. But given the cost of participation in all such events, maybe Raffles Hotel, Singapore, was an appropriate choice after all. Some 70 starters were listed for departure on the morning of Sunday 1 February. The event was the 'Road to Mandalay' rally, which would take them from Singapore up through Malaysia and Thailand to Mandalay, in the middle of Burma. OK, Myanmar (I see that even the BBC has given in on that one).

This was the first rally event of any kind I've witnessed at first hand. The cars ranged in date from a vast 1907 Itala and a 1924 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost to a 1974 Leyland P76.

The Leyland P76 rumbles out of Raffles Hotel into Beach Road

It was interesting to see the P76. This was a valiant but commercially unsuccessful effort by Leyland in Australia to develop a car suited to the local market, with a boot allegedly big enough to accommodate a fully grown sheep, and a variant of the Buick-derived V8 engine used in Britain by Rover. There were several Bentleys from the 1920s, four Chevrolets from the 1930s, and some sporting elegance in the form of an Alvis or two, an AC, and four Jaguars – a 1938 SS100, a 1956  XK140 (driven by the Sultan of Selangor), a 1958 XK150, and a 1959 Mk 1.

Bruising Bentleys, 1929 and 1925 respectively

When it comes to cars, we all have personal favourites. Parked out in front of the hotel the day before the start was a 1934 Packard convertible. That awoke memories of the 1937 Packard 120 station wagon my father bought for £200 as family transport in the very early 1950s – a lot of money in those days, when cars were in short supply and our 1949 L-type Vauxhall Velox wasn't big enough to carry a family of six in comfort on long journeys.  The 1954 Sunbeam Alpine reminded me of the 1956 Sunbeam Mark III (the last last incarnation of the Sunbeam-Talbot 90) that I drove during my last year at university. There was a fine 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air Convertible, very much the kind of American car one lusted after as a 10-year-old, with the sort of styling that the original Vauxhall Victor sought to emulate, unsuccessfully. A 1960 Chevrolet Impala was pretty impressive, although a product of the time when Detroit started to lose its grip on reality, not to regain it for many years.

Behind the stone guard is the classic radiator grille of a 1934 Packard

Sunbeam Alpine, derived from the Sunbeam-Talbot 90, arguably the best-looking car in the rally

There were some other cars from the 1960s and 1970s, but it's hard to get enthusiastic about a Mercedes-Benz 220SE, or a Ford Mustang, or a Datsun 240Z. But that's a personal thing. Your mileage, as they say, may vary.

I'm not sure why I still find classic cars exciting. I loved owning my first few cars, from a 1932 Austin Seven (£10) onwards, but didn't particularly enjoy wielding a spanner. I certainly couldn't afford today's cost of ownership, and wouldn't have anywhere to garage a classic car if someone offered me one as a gift. Even driving one, in today's overcrowded traffic conditions, would be less enjoyable than it was exactly 50 years ago in July, when I started driving lessons. But they are appealing to look at, and many of them – at least those with six cylinders or more – make a wonderful sound.

Classic Detroit iron, the 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air. Most American cars still had separate chassis in the 1950s, which made building convertibles easier

Talking to a few people at the start, I was trying to find out how much mechanical expertise the competitors had. The rally organisers were providing quite a bit of technical support, but even a vast bank balance wouldn't do you much good if your radiator sprang a massive leak deep in rural Thailand.  I must check on progress in subsequent days. Meanwhile I can fantasise.