So there we were, having just eaten dim sum at the architecturally stupendous innovation of the new Marina Bay Sands, and just as little Rafi had fallen snugly asleep, the rain came. Buckets chucked down by gleeful gods, having an early New Year's Eve party. No time for umbrellas! How to get home? Singapore Metro tube and ordinary bus: nothing seems to faze Dr Tayabali, who is leaping about the place, taking strides the way he used to when we were children and he would playfully walk at twice our length pretending to get to the end of the lane faster than us so he could get to hospital before we got to school. But he always doubled back. Dad, you really are something. Causing quite a stir in Kuala Lumpur, with that white stick, which has been named Malcolm but is also sometimes called Michael... Dad can't quite decide...
I am of course in Aunty heaven with the little munchkin-pudding-scruffles who is unhappy about teething, but happy about ousting me from his bedroom. The King must have his own way whenever possible. It makes life rather more peaceful :)
Divided between my two brothers in Singapore and Malaysia, I have never felt so snugly balanced and centred. This is exactly where I am supposed to be. Nothing matters except for the sound of the bulbul in the morning, the fall of bougainvillia, gulmohar, even poinsettias festively decorate the houses, the taste of sugarcane juice, chicken rice, and strange fish at the hawker centre...
Who are you? I ask the self in the mirror and no response is forthcoming. I just fluff up my hair, do a sunny twirl and become one with the day. Writing up a business case for the next approval for my monoclonal antibody therapy is awaiting me, but I wave to it carelessly. I'll get to you, I say. Eventually.
We Cambridge earthworms barely ever leave the quiet dark corners of birch trees and cups of Yorkshire tea. But for now, Asia, you better watch out, you better not cry, better not pout, I'm telling you why, the Tayabalis have come to town, the Ta-ya-balis have come to town!
