Bazaar-goers have no shortage of alternatives these days, from Our Tampines Hub to Woodlands and Suntec City, but as Kurt Ganapathy finds out, Geylang Serai is still very much the place to be in the lead-up to Hari Raya Puasa.
Walking around the Ramadan Bazaar in Geylang Serai, you’d be forgiven for thinking you were in the midst of an advertisement for Singapore.
While at its heart, the bazaar remains a place to seek out Ramadan and Hari Raya essentials – from spiffy new songkoks to Islamic wall art and a well-deserved Ramly burger at the end of a day of fasting – it is a meeting place like few others.
As you squeeze your way through its alleys, you quickly realise that the faces you see represent a true cross-section of this country.
Diverse groups of students have the time of their lives, taking their pick from food that can be classic or created for the ’gram.
Older couples brave the crowds for an outing, joining young families as they browse the wares offered by traders from across the Islamic world.
Foreign workers and a handful of intrepid tourists take in the spectacle, soaked in a distinct deluge of light and sound.
It’s never a bad thing to have more options, but Geylang Serai truly has it all. Selamat Hari Raya!
Photography: Kurt Ganapathy
Curation: Arman Shah
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![[Content warning – this profile piece discusses the subject of suicide that may be sensitive and potentially triggering. Reader discretion is advised. Information about seeking help is available at the end of the carousel post. Stay safe]
“My brother died 8 years ago. I was at home when I found out. It was a Friday night, and I was on a long-distance call with my partner who was in Europe at the time. At 1am, I got up from bed to go to the toilet. That’s when I saw my mum crying alone in the living room.
My mum isn’t a particularly emotional person. I’ve probably seen her cry three times my whole life. I was worried and concerned, of course, and asked what’s going on. She turned to me and said, ‘I have bad news. Joel died.’
When a sibling dies unexpectedly, it takes time for you to process the news. And then you realise that your family will never be the same again. You will never be full or complete anymore. There is only brokenness. And that was the first emotion that hit me really hard.
The next morning, we got more details, and I learnt that he killed himself. When someone commits suicide, family is required to identify the body at the mortuary. My mum said, ‘Look, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.’ And I’m thinking, how can I let you do this alone?!
Even though I could sense a heaviness in the air around her, my mother looked relatively composed. But when they wheeled in the body, she simply broke. She kept saying that it’s not him. It’s not him. It doesn’t look like him. I had never seen that side of her before.
My mother was always put together, but at that moment, she sounded like a young mother who had just lost her newborn baby. It was less heartbreaking that I lost my brother, and more painful that I had to see her that way.
When my brother was 12, he moved out of the house and lived with my grandmother. I never knew why. Maybe it’s because we weren’t well-to-do. Maybe it’s because our parents didn’t have the best of relationships. I was his younger sister, but I didn’t know much about him.
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