So I'm sitting there drinking my drink and this Indian guy approaches me. He sits next to me on a bench on the river side of the Asian Civilisations Museum. He says he's a holy man and he shows me a picture of his guru in India. He was trim & wiry. He wore slacks and a long sleeve collar shirt and his hair was loose, falling nearly to his waist. I bet he usually kept his hair wound in a turban. But when the task at hand calls for mesmerizing American tourists so they fork over $20 Singapore dollars after he tells their fortune, he knows to use every weapon at his disposal.
Gifted with more than his fair share of charisma & physical beauty, and embarassingly sexy bedroom eyes, I thought how the hell can anybody believe anything that comes out of this guys mouth? Those eyes have the power to make people long for an encounter, just not a spiritual one.
He spent nearly 10 minutes with me and I can't remember a thing he said, promised or predicted. I can't even remember if the smell of his sweat offended me. That's how I knew he was full of it. I'm a pretty mystical gal... yet he didn't hit on a single thing worth committing to long term memory. Maybe he was a newbie who hadn't acquired mastery in the ancient arts of spell casting & snake charming. Maybe he was thrown off his game because he hadn't managed to "score" with the older White guy he approached before he got to me. In the end, I thanked him for his time but didn't give him any money. Looking back, I kinda wish I did... at least he gave me something to write about. And he left a legacy he'll never know.From that day forward, I will always remember Singapore as the place where I constantly felt I was being ripped off.
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