RO ON SPACE & SOUND – 6

ASIAN SOUNDSCAPES

I wake to an early morning tropical thunderstorm cleansing the sky of pent-up emotions. A roar and a rumble, a growl and a grumble, a clap and a crash, a blam-bang-boom!

Ah, rain in Singapore! It’s an event unto itself. These drops, they are large and powerful, no drippy drizzle, no fickle trickle – just an instant connection to God via the tangible forces of Nature.

The rain stops abruptly. Sounds dawn like light, with many-hued bugs and little-kingdom creatures chirping and croaking and buzzing and whizzing and whirring and fluttering and twittering ... signs of such intense life.

At the Hindu Temple, the pealing of brass bells – gleaming with tamarind rub, no doubt – wakes the gods from their slumber. A Poojari blows a conch. Gongs clang. Drums roll. Cymbals clink. As these rhythmic sounds of worship come to a hushed halt, the gods are invoked with Sanskrit mantras accompanied by tiny hand bells that tinkle thinly. The sounds are intoxicating, like incense upon the ear.

Later, a piece of driftwood cups my body like a soft wooden spoon at the open-air home of my Aussie friend “Dive”, and I'm sacrificed to Indonesian painters and photographs of vast Australian landscape. Parrots screech goodbye on trees laden heavy with mangoes like full, green breasts, and cicadas mate unceasingly in my ears.

It’s the weekend; I find myself upon a nearby island, where the meditative deep-breathing ocean inhales and exhales. It fringes the powdery white sands and kisses them with its frothy sea-saliva. The land within, braided thick and long as Rapunzel’s hair with tropical rainforest, is filled with magical, mysterious sounds.

The voodoo-chant of the Kecak dance makes my skin tremble like a cow's hide would, were it jabbed with a finger. Seventy men in black-and-white-check sarongs gather around a fire murmuring, “Chak-a-chak. A chak-a-chak-chak...” and the vocal symphony draws me into a trance.

Back in Singapore, it’s a goodbye cocktail at the Scarlet Hotel rooftop with Suzanne, who understands the crevices of my heart like none else can. We exchange confidences, her eloquence and expressiveness never failing to astonish me, and I leave with the sound of her dear voice echoing on my mind…

… until I am back again. Oh, February!