Word: jongg
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...boldly do the Singapore kidnapers strike that the millionaires have given up favorite haunts: no more nights at the Tanjong Rhu club over cool drinks and mah-jongg, no more rides home on a quiet road where moonlight filters through acacia and tulip trees. To protect themselves, some millionaires, like the movie-mogul Shaw brothers, reportedly pay regular tribute to the underworld. Others have bought barbed wire and snarling watchdogs. A few take the precaution of calling ahead to their destination whenever they go out, and if they fail to arrive on time, an alarm is sounded...
This month Photographer Tsuchiya published his pictures. Samples: loinclothed priests playing mah-jongg instead of sitting in immobile meditation, a priest drinking with a bar hostess, two novices staggering along a Kobe street late at night with a barmaid between them. Tsuchiya quoted one priest as saying: "By listening to good music and gazing on ikibosatu [the living Buddha], I feel I can understand the teachings." This wisdom was Tsuchiya's caption for a photograph of the same priest happily gaping at pictures of virtually naked women...
...alleyway off Sago Lane in Singapore's Chinatown, beneath banners and scrolls and paper models of ships and planes, dozens of Chinese last week played mah-jongg by the light that gleamed from two adjoining houses. From inside the houses came a deafening cacophony of clanging cymbals, shrieking flutes and thumping drums. In the ancient Taoist tradition, the mah-jongg players had come to pay their last respects to friends and relatives who lay dying inside...
...generally evenings are quiet and bedtime is 11. Alec works on his sides for the next day, reads a little Dickens, has a go at mah-jongg with Merula-he is "mad for the game." Weekends he stuffs his pockets with patented French fuzees and stalks about the Guinness acres (there are ten of them) waging chemical warfare on the moles. Last week, as he jabbed a poison capsule into the ground with the point of a stout stick, he cocked a fiendish eyebrow and remarked: "I feel beastly, but one of us has to go." And then back...
...numbers, Hong Kong's 2,400,000 Chinese, speaking every dialect of the mainland, dominate the colony, but a few thousand English-speaking whites run it. The mellow beat of wooden clogs on pavement, the clatter of mah-jongg pieces, the wail of radios tuned to Chinese opera, the brays of hawkers and cries of countless babies, all insist on its Chineseness-but the eye is reminded, by the flap of the Union Jack and the crisp gesture of a traffic cop, that here, as nowhere else in Asia, British "law and order" yet prevail...