July 2007
Close your eyes and conjure up a city that is extremely efficient, impeccably clean, and perfectly safe.  Imagine a society that knows no sickness, no homelessness, no lawlessness.  Envision a place where neither corruption, nor crime, nor even mosquitoes dare to rear their ugly heads.  Now open those peepers, spit out your gum (it’s illegal here), and switch off your cell phone (the government may be listening in.).  This isn’t the last Shangri-La… it’s a likeably unlikely little place called Singapore. 

My escape to this island/city/state/country of 4.5 million came recently, thanks to a day of especially catastrophic Delhi traffic, compounded by an impromptu deluge. 

I was an hour late for my visa appointment at the Ministry of Bribes and Bulls$%+, and conveniently enough, cellular service was on the fritz.  As my rickshaw driver screamed at an obese five-legged cow lollygagging along Janpath, a particularly persistent beggar yanked out a clump of my hair that was still green from Holi. 

Suddenly, I remembered my friend Justin’s email invitation. 
 “Life in Singapore is pleasant,” he wrote. “Predictable. Easy.”
Indian Residency be damned.  I booked my ticket that very day.

The moment I stepped off the plane, it became clear to me that Jet Airways is secretly dabbling in time travel.  Instead of the outdated, un-alluring (albeit inexpensive) liquor shops and strangely comforting squalor that greets arrivals in IGI, Singapore’s Changi is a glittering shopping and dining mecca showcasing temptations from designer sunglasses to sushi, in an eerily immaculate atmosphere.  Even the ordered ranks of salesmen seem straight off the production line, with matching ties, identical smiles, and an unfailingly cordial manner. 

An exceedingly organized line of sterile new taxis waited outside.  After four months in Delhi, I had forgotten about the very existence of meters - but ours was on and running as we glided along a highway miraculously free of potholes, pedestrians, and hawkers.  Instead, the roads were lined with identical blocks of well-cared-for, institutional-looking apartments and the occasional neighborhood of “black and whites” (the colonial-style architectural delights that once housed British officers).

Our driver stooped to an unthinkable level of conformity - staying in his own lane, using signals meticulously, and even showing an alarming tendency to stop at red lights . I felt paradoxically cheated when, after dismissing my attempt to bargain with polite disdain, he handed me the exact change in waterproof bills, without a single hole or daal stain.

I soon discovered that this unfathomable (to a Delhiite) obedience to the law was not only ingrained in Singaporeans, but required of them.  Cars, as well as drivers, are subject to a plethora of specifications.  Heavily taxed, each vehicle requires a special license that becomes more expensive the older the car.  Anything over 10 years old is considered a piece of riffraff unfit for Singapore’s pristine motorways.

In addition, each owner must install a high-tech sensor, which deducts money from a pre-paid account when the car enters designated traffic-heavy zones.  “Have a pleasant day on the highway!” insisted a flashing electronic billboard, as our driver consulted his GPS system.  We had definitely left the subcontinent. 

Singapore only has 2 seasons: hot, and hot and rainy.  Unlike Indians, though, the largely Chinese population does not suffer from temporary insanity at the sight of bare ankles.  So, women are able to wear skirts without creating an international incident.

However, hem lengths are the only thing that isn’t regulated.  Singapore may be a “parliamentary republic,” but there are plainclothes police galore, and residents say the media has little autonomy.  Postal censors meticulously studied my friend Jessica’s birthday present from cover to cover for subversive messages before releasing it months later. (It was a cookbook.)

Meanwhile, inspectors came to make sure that she was using the government-sanctioned “potting rocks” in her houseplants instead of - God forbid - regular soil.

Disease and deformity do not plague Singapore as they do India because anyone unhealthy is simply not allowed in the country.  Those unfortunate souls who do develop any kind of serious illness are quarantined in special “Containment Wards.” 

Of course, for the occasional illegal sniffle, a quick medicinal shopping spree in bustling Chinatown should do the trick.  In addition to the soothing fresh juices, which come in scrumptiously odd flavors from lychee to cactus, there’s always the tried and true remedy of a lizard-on-a-stick or the comforting crunch of a chicken claw.  Mmmm.

While natural remedies are encouraged, possession of drugs is punishable by the death penalty - which is supported by 95% of the population.  As proven in the infamous Michael Fay caning case, ignorance, or a flashy foreign passport, are not get-out-of-jail-free cards in Singapore. 

Thanks to this unforgiving system, life is good.  Most of the population lives in clean, well-appointed government housing, which (as long as your neighborhood votes for the right guy) gets renovated often.  Low taxes have lured multinational companies to the business-savvy island, creating an oversized expat community that includes Aussies, Kiwis, Americans, Indians, and even a posse of those Euro-types. 

Perhaps due to this infusion of foreign carousers, nightlife in Singapore is on the upswing.  The new-age chic Clarke Quay boasts a smorgasbord of restaurants and bars, from a dockside seafood grill serving up a savory “Dirty Crab” to a charming French delicatessen.  The uber-trendy and slightly morbid crowd flocks to “The Clinic” (shots served from IV bags) and its sister disco, the “Morgue.” Do or die. 

Although smoking, spitting, chewing gum and littering are illegal, prostitution isn’t.  So leave your paan, your Marlboros, and your Dentyne at home... but bring your libidos!  Unfortunately we didn’t make it to the legendary “Four Floors of Whores,” but we did drink the obligatory (if overrated) Singapore Sling at the historic Raffles Hotel.  However, I left feeling a bit confused as to whether or not I had committed a crime by throwing my peanut shells on the ground.  Everyone else was doing it, but as my father always told me: “Honey,that excuse doesn’t hold up in court.”

All in all, the benefits of Singapore’s rather benevolent Big Brother of a government are obvious.  However, I couldn’t help wondering if residents feel secretly oppressed by the myriad rules and regulations that apply to every facet of their charmed lives.

“What matters is that we feel safe here - anytime, anyplace.” explained two smartly-dressed twenty-somethings.  “Everything works -  well, quickly, dependably. We wake up every day knowing that life holds no unpleasant surprises for us.”

Are Singaporeans living in 2050 or 1984?  It’s definitely worth going to see for yourself.  As for me, I couldn’t wait to get back to the raucous reality of incredible India.

First published in the Hindustan Times Bombay

To contact the author:  virginia@transindiaholidays.com Although she has now relocated to Delhi, Virginia Brumby refuses to give up the “unabashedly epicurean” lifestyle she picked up while living in Argentina, France, and Spain. In addition to exploring uncharted culinary territory, she enjoys country-hopping (by helicopter or by third-class “chicken” bus), wine-tasting (Hey, I think this one’s a red!), sports, and anything that involves a costume. She is taking advantage of her unemployment to pursue her passions: writing, reading, traveling, and making people laugh... usually at one of her many faux pas.