the doorman came forward as i got down from the taxi and stepped on the gravel covered posh driveway. he looked splendid and familiar. seemed he had always been there. he was there when somerset maugham came visiting. he came forward to open the door for the japanese who changed the name of his hotel to shonan ryokan. he was most certainly there when the armenian siblings, martin and tigran sarkies, came from isfahan in persia to singapore to negotiate…
sir stamford raffles had built a house on the hill even though they called it bukit larangan, the forbidden hill. the kings of ancient times had their palaces and burial grounds here it was believed. sir stamford also initiated a botanic garden on the slopes of the sixty odd metre high mound which is the highest point in the heart of the city and there was a christian cemetery by the side too. later the british built a fort here…
when i first came to singapore i remember getting a strange response almost every time i said i am bengali. “bengali?” would come the reply quickly and with a nod that said the person had placed me in a slot in his or her mind. then a hand would go up and make a little circular motion around the head. the first time this happened, i frowned and looked lost. “babu, right? singh?? turban?” i gawked. had a bengali just…