This is the sort of thing that so often happens during a performance of wayang, Chinese street opera in Singapore.
It is night in Singapore. The tropical darkness has fallen with its usual swiftness. In a narrow, normally quiet street in the eastern suburb of Geylang the sultry air is rich with the aroma of frying kway teow and popiah, of pickled mango and salty-sweet preserved fruits; the ice-cream man and the vendor of steamed peanuts are doing a roaring trade; over all hangs the pervasive tang of burning joss-sticks.
But the night is also filled with strange sights and stranger sounds. A swift view of the surroundings hawkers' stalls reveals a motley crowd: wizened grannies in shiny black satin trousers and blue "Mao jackets", elderly men in singlets and striped pajamas bottoms, mums in floral-patterned samfoo, students in jeans, five-year-olds in colourful T-shirts. They stand, or crouch, or squat, or sit on a weird assortment of steel and plastic chairs, wooden benches, and upturned beer cases.
This is the sort of thing that so often happens during a performance of wayang, Chinese street opera in Singapore.
The word wayang is Malay, and means "shadow". Over the centuries it has also come to mean any form of theatrical representation, no doubt as a result of the popularity of the traditional wayang kulit or "shadow play" among the Malayo-Indonesian peoples. Today, among Singaporeans of Chinese descent, it is synonymous with Chinese street opera.
It is performed at most birthdays of Gods, and most importantly, its significance is mostly felt in the seventh month of the Chinese Lunar calendar. The seventh month is the Zhong Yuan festival (Hungry Ghost Festival) where the Chinese believe the gates of Hell are opened and all the ghosts are let out into our world before going back one month later.
Therefore, the opera is not only performing for us to see, but somewhere in the crowd of spectator, another group may be watching without the knowledge of anyone. Beware!!