On that fateful night in December 2013, approximately an hour before the vehicles on the streets nearby were set on fire, Rodrigo apparently felt the itch again. Hashwini had disrobed and stepped into the shower when Rodrigo sneaked in and hopped onto the ledge above the towel rack. He eyed the line-up of fanciful toiletries thoughtfully; one of the bottles was uncapped and positioned nearer to the edge than the rest. Rodrigo reached out and gave it a little nudge with his paw. The bottle wobbled. Rodrigo glanced downwards. There was a red bucket filled with foamy liquid underneath the ledge.

Hashwini turned just in time to witness her precious bottle of kaffir lime hair conditioner make a dive for the bucket in which she was soaking her bra. Her piercing shriek startled Rodrigo and sent him dashing out of the toilet. She groaned as she scooped the bottle out of the soapy solution; what little detergent that seeped inside had rendered her conditioner unusable.

There was a brief moment when Hashwini contemplated skipping one of the ten steps in her beauty care routine. But she steeled herself against the easy temptation of being sloppy. If she were undisciplined with the necessary routine at the age of 25, she would have no one but herself to blame when crow’s feet eventually made their appearance when she reached 45. Hashwini had made it a habit to uncap her range of creams and moisturisers and spread them out on her bed when she reached home. This effectively made it impossible to skip the routine, even on days when she was exhausted from her job as a croupier at the casino and wanted badly to flop onto the bed after brushing her teeth. Similarly, she uncapped her beauty products in the toilet before taking a shower. That was how Rodrigo came to upset her bottle of conditioner.

Hashwini quickly towelled her hair dry and slipped on a simple T-shirt and a skirt. The nearest provision shop that sold this particular brand of kaffir lime hair conditioner was six streets away, at the junction of Serangoon Road and Desker Road. It was not yet 9pm. There was still time to grab a bottle before the shop closed.

Once Hashwini turned onto Desker Road, the crowd thickened. It was a Sunday night. The Little India district was packed with migrant workers of South Asian origin out on their rest day. They had come for the familiar comfort of Indian cuisine, music and groceries. Nowhere else on the island could one walk past a row of shophouses and be dazzled by the burst of colours from a sari shop, enticed by the aroma from a fish head curry restaurant or bombarded by the blast of filmi music from a CD vendor all at the same time. It was a slice of India right in the middle of Singapore.