Sunday, March 25, 2007

Episode 415 Trishaws and Trannies

Every evening, the street which is a stone throw's away from Wei's place comes alive with festivities. Trishaws ferrying Japanese / Korean / Taiwanese tourists, complete with an assortment of ah-beng inspired music (read: fucking loud noise), punctures the sleepy neighbourhood on an hourly basis. Each trishaw is equipped with their own set of stereos (perhaps from the Thieves Market, since everything there is a steal - no pun intended), and each trishaw driver has the right to pick the music he wants. So if you get 10 of these, it'll pretty much be the amount of decibels you'll get at a Mariah Carey concert.

Of course, these trishaws wouldn't consider dropping by a sleepy neighbourhood if there isn't anything vaguely interesting that might arouse attention. They are here for the party that the tourism board and government officials has been trying so darn hard to hide and deny (no, it's not Fridae's Nation party). This is known as the Area 51 of Singapore. Official word is that this place doesn't exist. Never happened. Nothing to see here. Go away.

And when the sun sets on the Area 51 Boulevard, they all appear from nowhere, complete with stilettos, tube tops and skirts short enough to make runway models blush. If you're lucky you might even catch a Gisele-lookalike. If you're extremely lucky -you'll hear me say, "My GOD. Is that a boob?"

"Yup, a boob it is." Wei responded.

"Can they do that?" I asked, amazed and bewildered one day when we were on our way back to Wei's place.

"Technically, they can - they used to be men, so why can't they show their nipples?"

"Yah hor." God, that was a huge boob.

Welcome to the world of Trishaws and Trannies - aka Trishaws and Transvestites/ Transsexuals. That was the 'Uniquely Singapore' thing that the government so badly wanted to shield the tourists from, and yet the Trishaw riders, a deliquent lot, were more than eager to showcase our foreign talents in a different light. We had a huge suspicion that if someone played "And I'm Telling You (I'm Not Going)" from the Dreamgirls soundtrack they'd all turn into instant-divas and belt out the number like they owned it. Who needs Chingay?

"See, see, these are all the "ah-quas"!" Quipped the trishaw rider. "Used to be man, now woman!" The old Japanese couple on the trishaw laughed nervously, waving at the trannies as they sped through Area 51. On a good day, some might wave back. On a bad day, you might get a case of a Flying Fake Ferragamo.

Deeper into the night, more trannies will emerge, some dressed to the nines. Against a backdrop of old shophouses where they conduct their business, they will draw attention mostly from grown men and occasional man-woman couples standing from a safe distance, observing and sharing their gasps and hushes. Suddenly, the trannies somewhat morphed into exhibits for the public on how circusy all these seem - or is it the other way round?

Nevertheless, their purposes are fulfilled and everyone walks away happy - the trannies get their business, the trishaw riders get a tip, the tourists have something to exclaim to their co-workers back in Japan, and the public gets a free show.

And I have an episode to write. We have Nash-equilibrium here.