It is a ridiculously early Friday morning and instead of sleeping in, I have to make a trip to the other side of the small island-state of Singapore to pick up an important student card from the immigration office. Since I have an entire day to kill while I wait for the immigration office to process my request, I decide to spend time in Bughis, which is very close by.
Bughis prides itself as being one of the largest shopping hubs in Singapore, and it isn't hard to believe such a claim. In addition to high-end stores in sleek, air-conditioned spaces, there are tightly packed mazes of outdoor stalls that sell cute and trashy clothes, hokey souvenirs, poseur purses and a million other things. It strikes me as the Singaporean version of L.A.'s downtown fashion district, only bigger and with more fish balls.
It is crowded today, or maybe it always is on Fridays, or maybe it is the fact that the mid-autumn Moon festival is going on and people are simultaneously feeling more superstitious and materialistic than usual. A big golden statue of a laughing Buddha sits in front of one of the antique stores; people clamor up to it to rub his fat belly and stroke his beaming cheeks before dropping coins into a slot above his belly button for charity and good karma. Right in the midst of the mass-shopping blitz there is a Buddhist temple and a Hindu temple open to the general public.
The Buddhist temple is packed since Bughis, like the rest of Singapore, is predominantly Chinese. I decide to walk over to the Hindu temple first, which is far less crowded. I take a long time looking at all the deities enshrined in flowers and candles, and I imagine the caretakers who lovingly decorate and cleanse these idols every day for the countless strangers who come in to pray. One of the men looking over the temple invites me over to stand in front of the main idol; he cups a metal bowl over my head for a moment, hands me some herbal leaves to chew on and gives me red powder to mark my forehead.
I head a few steps down to the Buddhist temple, which is packed with people burning incense sticks, kneeling on the ground and reading chants from dog-eared prayer books.
Somehow, I fight against the current of people to get my own three incense sticks so that I can offer my own prayers as well. Three is a standard lucky number for incense-stick burning, but there are people who grab them in fistfuls and have a huge cloud of smoke smoldering over their heads.
When you are burning incense sticks, the very tips begin smoldering into ashes and sometimes they fall against your hands, leaving behind brief, fleeting impressions of pain.
I bow my head and start praying. I don't really make a regular habit out of praying, so maybe that's why I stand there for a long time. My prayers aren't all that original; it's the standard wish for good fortune and good health for the important people in my life. I wonder what everyone else is praying for.
It doesn't matter whether you are rich or poor, or young or old; everyone is praying for something, and some people have tears in their eyes as they bow their heads in supplication. Maybe it does make sense that there should be two religious temples right in the midst of a shopping district. It's more convenient that way.
Eventually, I head back to the immigration office to pick up my student card and bureaucratic red tape aside, everything goes by far more smoothly than I expected.
I'm finally taking the train ride back home and at some point I catch a glimpse of my own reflection in the subway window. It isn't until then that I remember that this whole time I've been carrying the red mark on my forehead from the Hindu temple. It shines against my forehead like a small wound.
Published October 6, 2006
Print This Article-
Email This Article