Cricket

On my way to work this morning, I passed the large open field that momentarily exists at the fringes of my typical Singaporean town. On the field were a group of foreign workers playing a full scale game of cricket, a sport vary rarely seen outside of the Padang, much less in the neighbourhood towns like where I live.

I thought a while about these guys. Some of them looked like they were South Indian, some Bangladeshi, and they were having a blast, putting aside their language barriers and any problems they may have with social, racial or national issues.

I thought about how far these men were from home, working hard doing manual labour that noone born in this country wants to or needs to do. Clearing trash, laying roads, dugging tunnels, maintaining sewers. The joy they experienced playing a game that brought them the comfort of familiarity was unmatched by us and our affluence.

I am glad they are here. Sure, I am one of those who holds my breath when they sit next to me on the bus after a hard day of sweaty toil. Or disdain their longing stares as I walk down Little India. Or complain a little when they crowd up my air-conditioned shopping malls and cinemas. But I am glad they are here. If not for them, we would live in a cesspit of filth. And miss out on the joys of watching cricket in the morning.