<TABLE id=msgUN cellSpacing=3 cellPadding=0 width="100%" border=0><TBODY><TR><TD id=msgUNsubj vAlign=top>
Coffeeshop Chit Chat - FTs like it here in Singapore!</TD><TD id=msgunetc noWrap align=right>
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</NOBR> </TD><TD class=msgDate noWrap align=right width="30%">Nov-29 11:24 pm </TD></TR><TR class=msghead><TD class=msgT noWrap align=right width="1%" height=20>To: </TD><TD class=msgTname noWrap width="68%">ALL <NOBR></NOBR></TD><TD class=msgNum noWrap align=right> (1 of 3) </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE></TD></TR><TR><TD class=msgleft width="1%" rowSpan=4> </TD><TD class=wintiny noWrap align=right>3179.1 </TD></TR><TR><TD height=8></TD></TR><TR><TD class=msgtxt><TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width="100%" border=0><TBODY><TR><TD>Nov 30, 2008
THE EX-PAT FILES
</TD></TR><TR><TD><!-- headline one : start --></TD></TR><TR><TD>Vannakam, where to Miss?
</TD></TR><TR><TD><!-- headline one : end --></TD></TR><TR><TD><!-- Author --></TD></TR><TR><TD class="padlrt8 georgia11 darkgrey bold" colSpan=2>By Nilanjana Sengupta </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>
'So should I say vannakam or namaste?' the Chinese cab driver asked me with a smile.
The former is Tamil for hello, and the latter is Hindi.
His question made me stop fiddling with my mobile phone and stare at the back of his head. He had caught my attention.
As it is, whenever I pass anyone on the road speaking in one of the 18 officially recognised Indian languages, my ears perk up at the familiar sounding words.
But to hear a Chinese man speak some of them, albeit haltingly and with the pronunciations a little off the mark, was surprising indeed. And I was impressed.
It was not the first time that a non-Indian cab driver in Singapore was attempting to talk to me in Hindi or Tamil. But even as I came across more such drivers over the last 11/2 years I have been here, they have never ceased to make an impression on me.
For one thing, I realise that they do not have to go out of their way to painstakingly memorise unfamiliar words. After all, a cab is not like a hotel where customers are wooed so that they come back to the same hotel on their next visit. The chances of a cab driver picking up the same passenger are slim.
Also, it may be easier to learn Tamil words in Singapore because it is an official language of the country. The ethnic-Indian population is mostly Tamil-speaking, there is a dedicated Tamil TV channel, and the announcements in Tamil on the MRT can be quite easy to grasp after listening to them every day. But the same cannot be said for the other Indian languages.
So, to try and establish a rapport with the passenger with some choice words from his or her native language is, I think, commendable. This is especially since, based on a couple of experiences, I had branded Singaporean cab drivers as either too curt and uncommunicative, or too inquisitive and talkative, like asking whether the passenger is married and offering to take her clubbing on Saturday nights.
But my discovery of the passenger-friendly cab drivers changed all that. I have also come to appreciate the important role they play as ambassadors of a country.
For an outsider, the cab driver is often the third Singaporean one meets after landing in the island city, after the ever-smiling air hostess and the non-smiling immigration officer at the airport.
We meet him much before we visit the plethora of tourist attractions and the malls that Singapore is famous for. And his attitude towards his passenger could make or break the relationship between the visitor and the city.
For me it is not just the cab drivers who greet me with a vannakam or namaste or the ones who ask which state I am from, whether that state is located in northern or southern India, and whether that means people from my state eat roti, prata or rice, whom I respect and value.
They include the concerned driver who asked me if I had remembered to take my passport and ticket on the way to the airport, and the driver who opens the automated door and waits patiently till I, juggling my bag, phone, house key and jacket, disembark.
Then there was the Indian cab driver who became a Singapore citizen earlier this year. 'You must take citizenship madam, life is very good here,' he enthused. 'Even if I am offered double my salary or more in any other city, I will never leave this place,' he told me.
But I shall never forget the cab driver whom I hailed outside Mustafa shopping centre in Little India earlier this month. Laden with shopping bags, I asked him if he could stop at an ATM on the way home. 'Why? No money, ah?' he asked.
I showed him the collection of small change I had in my wallet. 'You girls, all day shopping and then sitting in a cab with no money, 'aiyah',' he said, shaking his head. He made me count all the change I had and said it was just enough to see me home, so there was no need to stop at an ATM.
I felt like a schoolgirl who had been admonished by a teacher, but the scolding also pleased me in an odd way.
There is an Indian saying which roughly means that we get angry only with those who mean something to us.
The concern, scolding and ramblings in Hindi and Tamil by cab drivers bring alive that saying for me.
The writer is an Assistant to Editor on the Straits Times Foreign Desk. She has been in Singapore for 11/2 years. [email protected]
</TD></TR><TR><TD> </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE></TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>
THE EX-PAT FILES
</TD></TR><TR><TD><!-- headline one : start --></TD></TR><TR><TD>Vannakam, where to Miss?
</TD></TR><TR><TD><!-- headline one : end --></TD></TR><TR><TD><!-- Author --></TD></TR><TR><TD class="padlrt8 georgia11 darkgrey bold" colSpan=2>By Nilanjana Sengupta </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>
'So should I say vannakam or namaste?' the Chinese cab driver asked me with a smile.
The former is Tamil for hello, and the latter is Hindi.
His question made me stop fiddling with my mobile phone and stare at the back of his head. He had caught my attention.
As it is, whenever I pass anyone on the road speaking in one of the 18 officially recognised Indian languages, my ears perk up at the familiar sounding words.
But to hear a Chinese man speak some of them, albeit haltingly and with the pronunciations a little off the mark, was surprising indeed. And I was impressed.
It was not the first time that a non-Indian cab driver in Singapore was attempting to talk to me in Hindi or Tamil. But even as I came across more such drivers over the last 11/2 years I have been here, they have never ceased to make an impression on me.
For one thing, I realise that they do not have to go out of their way to painstakingly memorise unfamiliar words. After all, a cab is not like a hotel where customers are wooed so that they come back to the same hotel on their next visit. The chances of a cab driver picking up the same passenger are slim.
Also, it may be easier to learn Tamil words in Singapore because it is an official language of the country. The ethnic-Indian population is mostly Tamil-speaking, there is a dedicated Tamil TV channel, and the announcements in Tamil on the MRT can be quite easy to grasp after listening to them every day. But the same cannot be said for the other Indian languages.
So, to try and establish a rapport with the passenger with some choice words from his or her native language is, I think, commendable. This is especially since, based on a couple of experiences, I had branded Singaporean cab drivers as either too curt and uncommunicative, or too inquisitive and talkative, like asking whether the passenger is married and offering to take her clubbing on Saturday nights.
But my discovery of the passenger-friendly cab drivers changed all that. I have also come to appreciate the important role they play as ambassadors of a country.
For an outsider, the cab driver is often the third Singaporean one meets after landing in the island city, after the ever-smiling air hostess and the non-smiling immigration officer at the airport.
We meet him much before we visit the plethora of tourist attractions and the malls that Singapore is famous for. And his attitude towards his passenger could make or break the relationship between the visitor and the city.
For me it is not just the cab drivers who greet me with a vannakam or namaste or the ones who ask which state I am from, whether that state is located in northern or southern India, and whether that means people from my state eat roti, prata or rice, whom I respect and value.
They include the concerned driver who asked me if I had remembered to take my passport and ticket on the way to the airport, and the driver who opens the automated door and waits patiently till I, juggling my bag, phone, house key and jacket, disembark.
Then there was the Indian cab driver who became a Singapore citizen earlier this year. 'You must take citizenship madam, life is very good here,' he enthused. 'Even if I am offered double my salary or more in any other city, I will never leave this place,' he told me.
But I shall never forget the cab driver whom I hailed outside Mustafa shopping centre in Little India earlier this month. Laden with shopping bags, I asked him if he could stop at an ATM on the way home. 'Why? No money, ah?' he asked.
I showed him the collection of small change I had in my wallet. 'You girls, all day shopping and then sitting in a cab with no money, 'aiyah',' he said, shaking his head. He made me count all the change I had and said it was just enough to see me home, so there was no need to stop at an ATM.
I felt like a schoolgirl who had been admonished by a teacher, but the scolding also pleased me in an odd way.
There is an Indian saying which roughly means that we get angry only with those who mean something to us.
The concern, scolding and ramblings in Hindi and Tamil by cab drivers bring alive that saying for me.
The writer is an Assistant to Editor on the Straits Times Foreign Desk. She has been in Singapore for 11/2 years. [email protected]
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