Page 119 - Our Hawker Stories

An aroma filled with spices and oily dough entered my
nostrils as soon as I stepped into my neighbouring hawker
centre. The whole area was filled with flamboyant,
coloured clothes of people. The hawker centre was
bubbling with life and packed like sardines in a can.

I was giddy and overwhelmed and padded straight to
the shop I loved, “The Indian Cuisine” - Small Bites. The
hawker welcomed me instantly with his usual cheerful
and blissful smile. I gazed at the scrumptious delights.
From lingering roti prata to a tangy serving of naan,
biryani was at the top of my list. The biryani looked very
indulgent and beckoned to me. I told the hawker that I
wanted the usual relishing biryani I always savoured. The
golden biryani arrived at my table soon.

I glanced at the hawker while he served every customer
gleefully. The hawker’s hand was swift in flipping, frying,
and much more without missing a beat. That hawker
would always leave every other hawker in the dust in “I hope hawker culture never fades, because
the competition of getting more customers. every plate of biryani and every sweaty smile
from the hawker tells a story we must keep
”Number 14! Please collect your food!” he shouted at alive.”
the top of his lungs. He was covered in sweat already.

The gleaming specks of biryani rice made me want to dig Somasundharam Swetha Sri
into it. I had also ordered a sumptuous spread of chicken P5.2
limbs and an overwhelming side of tangy curry. I gobbled North Spring Primary School
a finger-licking morsel of biryani with a bite of chicken.

I wondered whether the next generation would be
handed the heavy burden or would select this hawker
job themselves. I hope hawker culture will not die. I
would miss these unsung heroes.

Our Hawker Stories 115