Little India and Farrer Park

1

I look at that black-and-white photograph — the grand archway of The New World Amusement Park, its curved façade glowing under the afternoon sun, the bold letters spelling out THE NEW WORLD like a promise. Somewhere beyond the gate, you can almost hear the brassy echo of a band warming up, the murmurs of a crowd waiting for night to fall.

It was Singapore in the fifties and sixties — a city that never truly slept, only paused between shifts. The lights outshone the stars. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, fried banana fritters, and the metallic tang of sweat. Street hawkers shouted for attention, men in short-sleeved shirts leaned against railings with a bottle by their feet, and someone in the crowd laughed a little too loudly.

The New World wasn’t virtual, and it wasn’t polished. It was life in full motion. Laughter, bargaining, the ringing of a boxing bell — all of it blending into one big working-class symphony. Inside the Bunga Tanjong Dance Hall, women in sequined dresses swayed to the music, their hair pinned high, their movements half-defiant, half-graceful. They smiled not for the audience, but for themselves. The entire hall bloomed like a nocturnal flower that needed only a breath of wind to come alive.

This was no playground for the elite. The place belonged to dockworkers, mechanics, and pay-day dreamers looking for something human in a hard week. Who decided joy had to be respectable? Back then, the “Three Worlds” — Great World, Gay World, and New World — were like three brothers: one sentimental, one wild, one romantic. Then television arrived, and the glow of the screen slowly replaced the glow of neon.

A few streets away stood another world entirely — the Tan Teng Niah House on Kerbau Road. Built in 1900 by a Chinese businessman for his wife, the house today stands like a burst of colour in the middle of Little India: crimson walls, mint-green shutters, sky-blue doors. Some call it a candy house; I think it’s Singapore in miniature — layered, contradictory, yet somehow harmonious.

Above the doorway still hangs a wooden plaque with the characters “修松” — a quiet wish for self-cultivation and longevity, the kind of sentiment you only find in an era when love was measured in timber and patience.

Years later, the New World grounds were redeveloped into City Square Mall, not far from Tan Teng Niah’s house. The old and the new now coexist — one celebrates love, the other pleasure. Between them lies the story of a city that reinvented itself without ever quite erasing its soul.

At night, if you step out of Little India MRT, look up at that rainbow-coloured façade and let the warm air brush your face. You might almost hear it — the distant brass band, the echo of laughter drifting across decades.

That’s the ghost of the New World, taking one more encore.

It doesn’t shout; it simply laughs in the wind —

at a generation that traded neon nights for glass screens,

and at a city that never really aged,

only changed its costume.

看著一張黑白照——那是 The New World（新世界遊樂園） 的大門。厚重的弧牆像舞台的幕布，頂上的英文字母在陽光下泛著金屬光。鏡頭外，大概還有汽笛聲、電車鈴聲、街頭的喧鬧。攝影師按下快門的那一瞬，其實也捕捉了新加坡（Singapore）的一顆心跳。

那是五、六十年代的夜。燈光比星光還亮，空氣裡混著汗味、煙味，還有炸香蕉餅的香氣。街口的小販叫賣著「冷飲、冷飲！」，男人們穿短袖襯衫，嘴叼香煙，腳邊是啤酒瓶。這些尋常人構成了城市的樂章——粗糙、熱烈、真實。

那時的「新世界」，不是虛擬的幻象，而是一場真實的熱鬧。笑聲、叫賣聲、拳擊裁判的鈴聲，交織成平民的交響曲。舞廳裡的 Bunga Tanjong Dance Hall，女郎們穿著亮片禮服，腰肢搖曳，髮髻高盤。她們的笑容不為誰，只為生活。整個場子像一朵夜裡盛放的花，風一吹，就開得燦爛。

新世界不是給貴族的。它屬於碼頭的工人、修車的機工，也屬於那些剛領薪水、想找點人味的男人。誰說快樂要高尚？那時的「三個世界」——Great World（大世界）、Gay World（歡樂世界）、New World（新世界），就像三個性格各異的兄弟：一個多情，一個放蕩，一個浪漫。直到電視機進了家門，螢幕的藍光才慢慢熄滅了霓虹的熱度。

過幾條街，就是 Kerbau Road 上那棟五彩小洋樓——Tan Teng Niah House（陳東齡故居）。這是另一個世界的故事。

那位華商在1900年為妻子建的屋子，靜靜地矗立在小印度（Little India），牆壁鮮紅、天窗翠綠、門框粉藍。有人說像糖果屋，其實更像新加坡這座城市的縮影——多彩、衝突，卻奇異地和諧。

門楣上的「修松」二字，如今還在。那是老一輩華人對家的信念——修身養性、松柏長青。那個時代的人，不談浪漫，但愛都藏在磚瓦裡。

有趣的是，新世界的地盤後來改建成 City Square Mall（城市廣場商場），離陳東齡故居不遠。老屋與新商場，一靜一動；一個紀念愛情，一個紀念歡愉。這片土地的故事，從香煙霧裡的拳擊場，到冷氣機底下的精品店，只換了場景，沒換靈魂。

夜裡，若你在 Little India MRT（小印度地鐵站） 走出來，抬頭望見那座色彩斑斕的小洋樓，不妨閉上眼，讓風輕輕掠過臉。彷彿能聽見遠方銅管樂隊的聲音，還有一陣陣歡呼。

那是「新世界」幽靈的返場。

它不鬧，只在風中輕笑——

笑你們這一代人，用玻璃螢幕換掉霓虹夜色；

笑這城市，永遠不老，只是換了妝。

2

To live in Singapore is to know a little of India. And to know India, you have to stay in Little India. Maybe not for a year—but at least for a night. The best time is during Deepavali, when the whole district burns with light.

That night feels as if someone has repainted the underside of your soul. Street lamps give way to arches of gold and lotus designs, the whole stretch of Serangoon Road shimmering like a slow-moving river of light. You wake to the scent of spices—cumin, turmeric, cardamom—rising through the air, and somewhere down the street a Bollywood rhythm flirts with the morning breeze.

Little India isn’t a single street—it’s a performance. The walls look as though someone spilled a bucket of paint over them on purpose. Men in shirts and sandals, women draped in saris, each one a living blossom in motion. Incense, curry, and jasmine garlands share the same air, and even the traffic lights seem unnecessary.

Night brings the real charm. Step out from Farrer Park MRT and the air is warm, the lights a nostalgic yellow, like a film from another time. In a corner coffee shop, someone pulls Teh Tarik, the milky stream arcing high before landing in silver foam. At MTR, a man tears into a cone dosa with his hands, the sheen of oil catching the light like a quiet declaration: this is what life tastes like.

Singapore’s neatness takes a step back here. Little India doesn’t aim for perfection—it celebrates existence. It runs on heat, scent, and the hum of humanity. Even one night is enough to teach you that life isn’t just about air-conditioning, white walls, and trains arriving on time. Life can also be messy, fragrant, noisy, and yet completely alive.

Some people say Little India is too loud. I think it’s the sound of a city’s heartbeat.

住在新加坡，要懂一點印度文化；要懂印度文化，就得住在小印度（Little India）。沒辦法住上一年，住一晚也好。最好趁著屠妖節（Deepavali），那是小印度最亮的一夜。

那一晚，彷彿有人替你換了靈魂的底色。街燈被彩燈取代，拱門上閃著金粉與蓮花的圖案，整條實龍崗路（Serangoon Road）成了一條流動的金河。早晨被香料的氣味喚醒，空氣裡混著孜然、薑黃、豆蔻的溫度，街角傳來輕快的寶萊塢（Bollywood）節拍，連風都帶著甜味。

小印度不是一條街，而是一場劇。牆壁的顏色永遠像剛打翻的顏料桶。走在實龍崗路，看見男人穿著襯衫配涼鞋，女人披著沙麗（Sari），每一個人都像一朵動態的花。香火、咖哩、茉莉花環在同一條街上共存，連交通燈都顯得多餘。

夜裡更精彩。從法拉公園地鐵站（Farrer Park MRT）出來，天氣微熱，街燈偏黃，像老電影的濾鏡。有人在咖啡店喝拉茶（Teh Tarik），拉出一道銀白色的泡沫；有人在MTR餐廳點了一盤Cone Dosa，用手撕著吃，指尖的油光在燈下閃爍，像在說：「這才是真正的生活。」

新加坡的整潔與秩序，在這裡暫時退居二線。小印度不講究完美，它講究存在。講究那股熱氣與人味。哪怕只住一晚，也能學到：生活不是只有冷氣、白牆和地鐵準時到站的準確；生活，也可以是香料亂飛、喇叭聲此起彼落、語言交錯卻彼此理解。

有人說，小印度太吵。我卻覺得，那才是城市真正的心跳。

3

Walk through the streets of Singapore, and if you happen to drift into Little India, the air hits you with a pulse — heat mixed with the scent of jasmine garlands, charcoal smoke, and a whiff of Bollywood songs from a corner speaker sticky with sunshine. This neighborhood wasn’t always like this. In the nineteenth century, Serangoon Road was the edge of colonial Singapore, where Europeans raced horses and traded cattle. When the animals and their owners left, South Asian workers and traders stayed. They built houses, opened shops, and turned the area into a living, breathing mosaic. Street names still hum with rhythm — Buffalo Road, Dunlop Street — like spices stirred in a pan. In 1989, the government named Little India a conservation area, protecting its shophouses along Desker Road, Syed Alwi Road, and Jalan Besar. The buildings remained, but more importantly, so did the soul of the place.

Food keeps that soul alive. Tekka Centre sizzles with the sound of frying oil and shouted orders. A cook flips a roti prata into the air, letting it land with a satisfying slap and puff of steam. The thosai is paper-thin, dipped in coconut chutney that hits with a sour-spicy spark. Banana leaf rice comes piled high with curries — chicken, mutton, vegetables — laid out like a tropical palette. A short walk away, Mustafa Centre glows through the night, open 24 hours, selling everything from gold bangles to pressure cookers, from turmeric to phone cards. It’s a marketplace and a dream, built for a city that never truly sleeps. Tekka Mall and Serangoon Plaza, though, live only in memory — gone, redeveloped, their names lingering like the aftertaste of spice.

Little India’s heartbeat is its temples and mosques. The Sri Veeramakaliamman Temple rises like a mountain of colors, its incense drifting into the afternoon air. On Dunlop Street, Masjid Abdul Gafoor stands with its crescent moon carved into the dome. Around the corner, the Sakya Muni Buddha Gaya Temple and Leong San See Temple sit quietly along Race Course Road — Buddhist calm amid the chaos. A little farther out, the Central Sikh Temple on Towner Road hums with its own rhythm of devotion. Faith here is like a box of spices: open the lid, and every handful releases a different fragrance.

Festivals are the breath of this neighborhood. In 2025, Deepavali — the Festival of Lights — runs officially from October 18 to 23, with the main day on October 20. The Indian Heritage Centre begins its celebrations weeks earlier, with open houses, workshops, and performances filling four weekends with color and sound. By night, Serangoon Road glitters under a canopy of lights. Street vendors ladle syrup over gulab jamun, those sweet fried milk balls that seem almost sinful, and serve them with a cold, tangy mango lassi. Even Singapore’s humid air feels forgiving for a moment.

But Little India is more than its festivals and food. Many of the hands that built Singapore’s skyline belong to men from Tamil Nadu or Bangladesh, holding work permits that tie them to two-year contracts and long hours. There’s no national minimum wage, only the grind of overtime. The median pay for work-permit holders hovers around eight hundred dollars a month, but it’s enough to send a little home, to dream a little bigger. Their English carries the salt of sweat and sea. On Sundays, they gather here — to wire money, to shop, or simply to sit with a cup of teh tarik, that sweet pulled tea arcing high between tin cups like life itself, stretched but unbroken.

The district has seen darker moments. On December 8, 2013, a fatal bus accident sparked a riot — about three hundred men in the streets, forty arrests, more than fifty deportations. After that, Singapore introduced the Liquor Control Act in 2015, tightening the city’s already firm grip on order. But life, like tea, needs room to move; the tension between control and vitality still hums in Little India.

Come February 2025, the Thaipusam procession will again march from the Sri Srinivasa Perumal Temple along Serangoon Road to the Sri Thendayuthapani Temple near River Valley — drums pounding like heartbeats, incense thick in the heat, bodies pierced with devotion and resolve.

The beauty of Little India isn’t in skyscrapers or spotless malls. It lives in a cup of hot tea, a banana leaf spread with curry, the ring of a temple bell. One sip, one leaf, one note — enough to give this city a pulse, and to remind you that warmth, like spice, lingers.

走在新加坡的小印度（Little India），熱氣裡摻著花環與炭火的體溫，街邊小喇叭正放著寶萊塢（Bollywood）舊歌，節奏比陽光還黏。這一帶本來是歐洲人的活動場，賽馬、放牛，賽蘭崗路（Serangoon Road）從十九世紀就像一條把城市劃開的舌頭，舔過河道與沼澤。牛群散去後，留下來的是做工與做生意的南亞手藝人，街名一個比一個帶勁：水牛路（Buffalo Road）、登祿普街（Dunlop Street），讀起來有香料的節奏。1989年，政府把它正式捧入保育區，範圍連著迪斯卡路（Desker Road）、賽義德阿爾威路（Syed Alwi Road）、惹蘭勿剎（Jalan Besar），不只留屋，也把一段城市的鼻息留住了。歐洲人的馬跑遠了，留下牛棚、河泥與新移民的夢。

吃的，才是這裡的正經事。德卡中心（Tekka Centre）熱氣四起，人聲像鐵鍋的嗤啦聲。鐵鏟一拍，印度煎餅（Roti Prata）翻上半空，落地時帶著香氣的微震。薄餅（Thosai）金邊如紙，沾椰漿酸辣像午後雷陣雨；香蕉葉飯（Banana Leaf Rice）一甩，綠葉上鋪出一個熱帶調色盤。轉進巷裡，穆斯塔法中心（Mustafa Centre）24小時不打烊，金飾、香料、藥油、手機，一家店把印度洋搬進室內，最合這座城市「夜未眠、胃未滿」的脾性。別再找Tekka Mall或Serangoon Plaza了：前者變身The Verge又在2017年告別，後者拆了起樓，名字留在記憶裡就好。

小印度的靈魂，是那串密集的寺廟鐘聲。斯里維拉馬卡里曼廟（Sri Veeramakaliamman Temple）香火騰起像彩色山丘；再往旁邊走，登祿普街的阿都加富清真寺（Masjid Abdul Gafoor）把星月刻在穹頂；不遠處，釋迦牟尼菩提迦耶寺（Sakya Muni Buddha Gaya Temple）與龍山寺（Leong San See Temple）守在賽馬場路（Race Course Road）一帶。若往外一步，中央錫克廟（Central Sikh Temple）在道南路（Towner Road）邊，離小印度不遠。

城市的信仰像咖哩的香料盒，掀開就是一把一把的顏色，也是一座城市混合後的味道。

節慶是這一區的呼吸。2025年的排燈節（Deepavali），城市官方把慶典期標在10月18日至23日，而宗教曆法算出的主日落在10月20日；印度遺產中心（Indian Heritage Centre）的Open House從9月27日就暖場到10月19日，四個週末把燈飾、彩繪、表演、手作，像香料一樣一味一味地加。等到夜裡賽蘭崗路一亮，小販把甜球古拉瑪（Gulab Jamun）泡在糖漿裡，甜得理直氣壯，配一口冰涼的拉西（Lassi），新加坡的濕熱竟也變得和氣。

說到人，就更不能含糊。做工的手，大多握著工作准證（Work Permit）：一般兩年一簽，看護照與保證金期限，沒有全國性最低工資的枷鎖或保護。各行各業出入極大，但近年統計看，工作准證薪資中位數約S$800一月，靠加班與津貼拼出生活。他們講的英語帶著鹽味，像汗，也像海。星期天，他們像潮水回來小印度：有人匯錢、有人買香料與衣料，也有人只是坐在路邊喝一杯拉茶（Teh Tarik），看茶水被師傅在空中來回「拉」成一道拋物線，像人生起伏。

這個地方也有陰影。2013年12月8日的暴動，起於一場車禍，約三百人捲入，四十人被捕，之後超過五十人被遣返；不久，《酒類管制法》（Liquor Control Act, 2015）上路，公共場所深夜賣酒與飲酒都被緊起來。城市講秩序，人生要活路；兩邊拉扯，拉出今天你所看見的小印度。

到了2025年2月的大寶森節（Thaipusam），隊伍從斯里室利尼瓦薩伯魯瑪廟（Sri Srinivasa Perumal Temple）起走，沿賽蘭崗路一步一步，直到河谷邊的斯里天帝玉大伯尼廟（Sri Thendayuthapani Temple）——鼓聲像心跳，針鈎穿過信徒的信念，汗水與花香同時濃烈。

小印度的好，從來不靠摩天樓立面，而是靠一口熱茶、一張香蕉葉、一聲鐘。那一口茶，一張葉，一聲鐘，足以讓新加坡這座城市，有了溫度。