Hungry Ghosts: Episode 2

There's nothing more cringe-making outside the U.S. than "Ugly Americans" who are loud, overbearing and act superior by denigrating or failing to respect others' cultural practices. An example: an Indonesian friend years ago told me and Tony that in some parts of the country, taking a person's picture was tantamount to stealing their souls. That made a searing impression on me. I don't take photos of private individuals without asking and since museums and places of cultural significance and worship have different perceptions about the appropriateness of photography, so I try to be respectful and determine whether it's okay there, too.

So it was interesting that Buddhism (as explained to me by a Singaporean Buddhist at the temple last week) regards photography of events and places associated with Buddhism as okay, a way to spread Buddha's message of peace and enlightenment. I wasn't sure if that applied to the paraphanelia and events associated with Hungry Ghosts (a Buddhist ritual), so I double-checked in preparation for attending the Hungry Ghost festival events near my flat last night.


But first, I went back through some of photos I took at the Temple of the Buddha Tooth Relic in Chinatown (the irony, that a city-state composed of 77 percent ethnic Chinese has a Chinatown, seems to have escaped Singaporeans).

The temple houses a tooth reputed to be one of Buddha's, displayed in a stupa decorated with 429 kilos of gold. Yikes! I've not yet seen the tooth, but the temple is quite beautiful in a very red and gold kind of way. Coming in the back door, there's an anteroom with a shrine where people can leave food and flower offerings and light joss sticks. A large Buddha dominates there, with eight smaller aspects of Buddha on the walls in that room. Each sits alone, but surrounded by a backdrop of miniature Buddhas by the hundreds.
The main temple is really opulent, with a huge altar with a really big Buddha, surrounded by a hundred kinda big Buddhas, surrounded in turn by thousands of little-ish Buddhas. People come and go, light joss sticks, give flower and food offerings, and bow to the aspects of Buddha that they seem to have the most affinity for. Tourists wander around aimlessly, snapping pictures (like me). I liked that curiosity seemed to be encouraged there, asking questions and taking pictures were tolerated very hospitably. The only thing visitors were asked to do was to leave their shoes on (unusual in the Asian context to remain shoed), take their hats off, and to cover their shoulders. Thoughtfully, there were robes provided for visitors who wore tank tops.

Anyway, that's a bit off topic.

What I planned to write about was my effort last night to capture for posterity the friendly ghost event at the HDB pavilions under the buildings (I've decided to call them pavilions, since I don't really know what to call the empty space under the building that would be full apartments at home but which is almost entirely open here).

I'd read up on the Singapore tourism website about the Festival of the Hungry Ghosts, knew why people set paper and other things ablaze, and left offerings of food. While those things were often done quietly and without fanfare, there were also communal events that could include mass burnings, street theatre and performances, and sometimes Chinese opera. That's what I was expecting last night.

I actually dozed off for a little while after I got home (moving around in the tropical heat really is exhausting). I was awakened by a REALLY loud set of gongs and cymbals and a cacophony of amplified singing.

Cool!

I was going to see a hungry ghost performance, right outside my door. I headed downstairs. The crowd was much bigger in the pavilion under the building on the left, the one with the beautiful hangings and golden tarps, standing room only. That's where most of the noise was coming from. My woman informant earlier in the afternoon (at the right hand building) informed me that noise would signal the beginning of festivities. She wasn't kidding. I opted to join the flashier event, the activities at the pavilion on the right were sparsely attended, as if the party hadn't quite gotten under way. I could always go there later, I figured.

So I joined the back of the crowd at a far corner of the left hand pavilion, behind most of the audience. Most people were paying rapt attention to the performers. There was an alter with a picture I couldn't quite make out from my angle, tons of flowers, and some of the best stuff for burning to appease the hungry ghosts that I'd seen--there was a carboard car, a really elaborate paper house, and bags upon bags upon bags of money. As for the performers...three men sang the main parts, there was a chorus of eight women, and seven musicians playing an incredible array of instruments from gongs, cymbals and drums, to horns and stringed insruments. I don't have an ear for Asian music, it sounds really dissonant to me. But for sheer volume and number of performers alone, this was impressive. I congratulated myself on saving $24 on the "spooky walk", and seeing Chinese opera (that's what I figured it was) for free, right at home. And judging by the facial expressions, this was a good troop. The audience was obviously moved to tears by whatever was being enacted. I wish I understood Chinese so I could have followed the plot.

Anyway, I zeroed in on the lead singer, hoping to get some of the beautiful backdrop for my first picture. It was after 7, nearly dark. I set my camera on auto and hoped for the best. The flash went off, I had my first shot.

But in that instant, I heard the equivalent of a collective Asian gasp and a hundred pairs of eyes on me. Clearly, I'd made a big faux pas.

But I didn't realize in the moment HOW big.