#moulmein

[postcard-from-the-past]

Damaged Hull steam trawler St. Moulmein following the Dogger Bank Incident on October 22, 1904, when the Russian Baltic fleet mistakenly fired on it

British vintage postcard

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

PRISON CONDITIONS IN COLONIAL BURMA “On a number of occasions in the 1920s and 1930s, by which point the improvements in prison death and disease rates had taken firm hold, the senior prison administration claimed that conditions for inmates were better than conditions for the general population outside. The annual report for 1939 made the point that the death rate in Burma's prisons was less than half that for Burma's population as a whole, suggesting, perhaps, that life prospects were far more favourable inside than outside.  Then again, the annual report for 1924 claimed that 

prolonged stay in jail improves a prisoner's health ... his bodily ailments receive greater attention inside than outside the jail.While in prison, he is well fed, well clothed and better looked after than he would be as a free man. The sanitary defects to be found in his home are nowhere to be seen in any jail.

The 1921 report had made much the same point but with greater bite-perhaps bitterness.

The fortunate convict is generally overhauled; vaccinated; inoculated it may be against plague, cholera, typhoid; treated for scabies, ... syphilis, malaria; thoroughly examined for hookworm and tubercle; and he usually leaves jail a healthier man than when he came in. Little wonder that some critics hold that our jail system fails to deter. 

For a substantial proportion of the inmates of Burma's gaols - the vagrants, hunted-down dacoits, the scavenging thieves, beggars, drug addicts and alcoholics - it is indeed quite possible that their health was better, and perhaps their life expectancy greater, inside the prison. But then such is almost inevitably the case where the prison draws its inmates from a population in which poverty is widespread, social support limited and access to medical treatment non existent. In other respects too prison conditions had improved over the decades of colonial administration. In the 1930s the inmates held in Burma's gaols were subject to far less physical restraint, worked a less brutal labour regime, and faced far less violent prison discipline than had been the case in the final decades of the nineteenth century. In the mid-1860s all prisoners were held in chains at night, to keep down the number of escapes but perhaps also in order to maintain control with limited gaolers. 

Lying in double rows, each inmate was shackled to chains that ran the length of the prison ward and were securely fixed to the end walls, an arrangement closely similar to the night-time security found in Burma's pre-colonial prison. However, in 1867 use of the night-chain was discontinued in prisons with a secure outer wall, and the following year it was abandoned in every prison in British Burma. Each inmate now slept in a separate berth. 

But they were still restrained with fetters. Thus the annual report for 1882 noted that even prisoners serving short sentences, and 'irrespective of physique or of character', were generally shackled. But then, through the 1880s and 1890s the use of fetters for safe custody fell markedly, presumably as secure outer walls and main gates were completed at each prison in the province. In 1896 it was reported that no prisoner serving less than five years, except 'notoriously dangerous characters', was now being put in irons for safe custody: and then in 1902 it was noted that as a rule fetters were seldom used within Burma's prisons 'for safeguarding'. 

Fetters were then still used when inmates were sent to work outside the prison walls, and as punishment for breaches of prison discipline. Indeed the annual report for 1900 noted that the most common punishment imposed for major prison offences was to put the offender into fetters or handcuffs. As for the prison labour regime, that most brutal instrument, the treadmill, was in use at both the Moulmein and Rangoon prisons in 1900/1 but was then dismantled, possibly later in the decade. Its goal was purely punitive - an attempt to exhaust the prisoner by ceaseless, repetitive labour, using a method long abandoned in Great Britain itself.

Perhaps most dramatic here was the sharp reduction in, and eventually the near elimination of, the flogging of inmates for breaches of prison discipline. Flogging was very common in colonial Burma's prisons in the 1860s and 1870s, partly because it was seen as 'a good punishment for Burmese prisoners '- a racial categorisation that deemed the Burmese to be distinctively fearful of flogging - but also because alternative punishments, for example reduced diet or solitary confinement, were seen as either ineffective or impractical. In 1878 corporal punishment was inflicted on 2,953 occasions. 

In some gaols the flogging was wildly excessive. At Ma-ubin, on average each inmate was being flogged for an offence against prison discipline once every three-to-four months, it was reported in 1877. In 1880 it was noted that Moulmein and Akyab were flogging inmates on a far greater scale than any other gaol in British Burma. During that year a special inquiry - carried out just at the Moulmein and Akyab gaols apparently - found that prisoners caught in possession of tobacco or opium, both forbidden articles, were usually flogged.  At Moulmein it was also the practice to flog prisoners who were judged to have shown too little interest in their reading and writing lessons. The Chief Commissioner, the head of the colonial administration in Burma, openly denounced the near indiscriminate flogging of inmates.

'(It] cannot be too strongly condemned, and must once and for all be put a stop to', he insisted in 1877. Three years later the Chief Commissioner directed that inmates found in possession of forbidden articles or held to be failing the prison labour regime should no longer be flogged but must be punished in some other way. In 1882 floggings for breaches of prison discipline were down to 456. And they continued to fall through the remaining decades of British rule, despite the increases in the prison population. The rattan was used on 313 occasions in 1902, and then eighty-two in 1925. In 1931, nineteen inmates were whipped in the gaols of British Burma for breaches of discipline, and in 1940 ,just seven.

The improvement in conditions in Burma's prisons by the 1930s should not obscure the fact that even in that final decade of British colonial administration, the inmates' experience of prison was harsh, and commonly brutal, violent and degrading. Senior officials may well have held that Burma's criminals were leaving the province's gaols in better physical shape than on admission, and then questioned whether such a regime could possibly deter crime, but few of the inmates could have seen their experience of prison as other than severe and intimidating.

That perspective - the prison experience through the eyes of a prisoner - was caught in the novel The Victim by the Burmese author Ludu U Hla. Half the novel is devoted to the years spent by its central character, Tun Myint, as an inmate of the Rangoon Gaol. Those were the first years of Burma's independence - Tun Myint was transferred to the prison in Rangoon on 29 February 1948, British rule had ended on 4 January 1948 - but it is unlikely that the inmates' regime had changed greatly from the final years of colonial administration. 

Though a work of fiction, The Victim is strongly autobiographical. Ludu U Hla was himself held in the Rangoon Gaol, as a political prisoner, between 1953 and 1956: his account of Tun Myint's time inside, in the first person singular, is compellingly detailed and immediate: and on no point of detail or broad impression does the account collide with the factual sources. It is difficult to convey the timbre of Ludu U Hla's account from a brief passage but a central theme is the constant bargaining by prisoners with low-level gaol staff for less brutal treatment, in exchange for money-bribes, grovelling servility or sexual compliance. 

The Tun Myint/Ludu U Hla experience of the Rangoon Gaol was certainly severe and intimidating. 

In the rice shed the hand-mill became so heavy that even two men found it a strain to work it. No rest was permitted during working hours however great one's fatigue. They had to keep on milling so that there was a continuous sound of rice coming through. As this had to be kept up without a break from six to eleven in the morning, then again from twelve to four, altogether nine full hours, it demanded every ounce of stamina and perseverance. As for a soft fellow like me, I would have found it hard to turn the mill even ten times. Anyone unpopular with the tansee [a grade of convict officer] was forced to do it by himself, and if he should be unequal to the task, he would be beaten up in the rice shed 'for failing to do the regulation work. 

An official account of the inmates' daily routine, around 1910, was as follows:

At 5.15 a.m., the day commences, the prisoners rise from their wooden beds in the dormitories and chota hazri is served in the form of four ounces of rice porridge. In double file they are marched to the work places, where all manner of work is undertaken, including carpentry, carving, coach building (on a small scale), blacksmithy work, tailoring, weaving, wickerwork, wheat-grinding, coir [fibre from the outer husk of the coconut, used to make rope and matting] work, shell cleaning, mat making, leather work, netting money bags, net making, oil pressing, paddy grinding, rope making, skin curing, brickmaking, laterite quarrying, delon making, soorki pounding, stone-breaking, gardening, and paddy cultivation. At 9 o'clock work ceases for an hour, and the prisoners return to their dormitories and are given breakfast. This consists of lib. 12 ozs of cooked rice, six ounces of cooked beans, and six ounces of anti-scorbutic [to prevent scurvy] vegetables which are grown in the gardens attached to the gaol. This 2% lbs. of cooked food is just about as much as most prisoners can manage to demolish.When the food has been eaten, the convicts are taken to the water tanks in the yard to drink their fill. At 10 o'clock a return is made to the workshops and labour is resumed until 4 p.m. Dinner, which is similar to breakfast, is then doled out, and when it has been eaten the prisoners are marched in squads to the bathing trough. At 6.30 the wards are locked up for the night. Sunday is free from work, and the convicts are kept in the compounds of their dormitories the whole of the day, where they are made to wash their clothes and clean their fetters.

Burma's inmates, drawn from an overwhelmingly agricultural background, but with large numbers coming into prison off the streets of Rangoon, often struggled to adjust to the strict regimentation and precise time-discipline of the colonial prison. In part the difficulty was that, with few exceptions, they did not possess the relevant practical skills and experience for the prison workshop-in the words of the annual report for 1870, 'they have to be taught a trade before they can [do] anything'. But in addition they may well have been ill-equipped temperamentally or psychologically by their rural origins for the mechanically repetitive, industrial-world regime of the prison.

And of course there were the issues of race and language. The Indian warders and guards did not speak Burmese, the language of the large majority of inmates. Thus their orders were presumably often unclear to the prisoners, and the social understanding between the two was surely limited. Interestingly, from 1914 the gaolers, the rank above warder and occupied by Burmans, Indians, and Anglo-Indians, were required to pass a test in colloquial Hindi. This suggests the administration was more concerned that the senior gaol staff, including warders, were able to communicate effectively with each other in Hindi than that those ranks could communicate with the Burmese inmates. 

The divide between warder and inmate was reinforced by a province-wide Burmese hostility towards the Indian presence, a hostility that became markedly more prominent from the 1920s, and would erupt into large-scale rioting in Rangoon in 1930 and 1938. Alexander Paterson, a Commissioner of Prisons for England and Wales, on an official visit to Burma from late 1925, observed that the Burmese instinctively regarded the Indian as inferior, and reported that '[t]he youngest prisoners may be seen openly flouting the control of their Indian warders'. Effective discipline could not exist in Burma's prisons when 'those in authority are openly despised'.”

- Ian Brown, “South East Asia: Reform and the Colonial Prison,” in Cultures of Confinement: A History of the Prison in Africa, Asia and Latin America. Edited by  Frank Dikotter and Ian Brown. London: C. Hurst & Co., 2007. pp. 236-241.

[oledavyjones]

Moulmein (Mawlamyine)1889.  The riverside town that was once the capital of British Burma (1826-1852). Made famous by Rudyard Kipling in the wonderful poem  

MANDALAY

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,                            There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;                               For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:

"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!" Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay: Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay? On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay! 'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green, An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen, An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot: Bloomin' idol made o'mud -- Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd -- Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud! On the road to Mandalay... When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow, She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!" With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek We useter watch the steamers an' the "hathis" pilin' teak. Elephints a-pilin' teak In the sludgy, squdgy creek, Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak! On the road to Mandalay... But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago an' fur away, An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay; An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells: "If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else." No! you won't 'eed nothin' else But them spicy garlic smells, An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells; On the road to Mandalay... I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones, An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones; Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand? Beefy face an' grubby 'and -- Law! wot do they understand? I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land! On the road to Mandalay... Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst; For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be -- By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea; On the road to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay, With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay! On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“On 10 August 1851, in Moulmein, the capital of British Burma, a gang of one hundred Indian convicts was engaged in its routine monthly task of loading coal onto the East India Company's paddle steamer HC Tenasserim, at the docks of Mopoon. This ship was one of many that plied the Company's trading routes around the Bay of Bengal, connecting port cities in South and South East Asia. Like other Company steamers, the HC Tenasserim carried a diverse cargo. This included men, women, and children – Company officials with their families and servants, merchants and traders, military officers and troops, and labourers – and trade goods like cotton, spices, pepper, opium, and betel nut. In common with other such vessels, the Tenasserim also routinely conveyed Indian transportation convicts into sentences of penal labour. Port cities like Moulmein, one such carceral site, were key locations through and in which the Company repressed and put to work colonized populations. They were places in which convicts joined other colonial workers in the formation of a remarkably cosmopolitan labour force.

The Moulmein convicts working in the docks of Mapoon had, in the early hours of the day, marched the three miles between their jail and the coal shed wharf. The deputy jailer, Mr Edwards, with twenty-six guards, had supervised their work, with a half dozen armed reserve stationed a short distance away. As usual, the convicts were close to finishing the task by the early afternoon. But this was no ordinary day in Moulmein. Just as they were finishing loading the boat, nineteen of the convicts grabbed three of the lascars (sailors) who were holding the ropes tethering the ship to the riverbank and threw them overboard. Their guards approached, but other convicts kept them back by pelting them with lumps of coal. The rest let go of the ropes and pushed the boat off. With Moulmein sitting at the southern confluence of the point at which the Salween River splits into four, they set sail north towards Martaban and got behind their oars, with both the wind and the flood tide in their favour. If port cities were places of convict repression and coerced labour, they were also always potential spaces of collective rebellion. Immediately, deputy jailer Edwards ordered a party to set off along the river in pursuit of the convicts. It quickly caught them up, for the coal boat was heavy, and managed to board the steamer and recapture the men. Despite the convicts’ capitulation, the reaction of the guards was brutal. They killed three men, and wounded eleven, who suffered dreadful and multiple injuries, including sabre wounds, fractured skulls, and broken legs.

Most of the convicts involved in the 1851 outbreak in Moulmein... were from the Punjab, which the Company had annexed in 1849 following its victory in the first and second Anglo-Sikh Wars of 1845–1846 and 1848–1849. In the aftermath of these wars, the British convicted, jailed, and transported dozens of former soldiers to mainland prisons or penal settlements in South East Asia, many under charges of “treason”. These military men were well trained, drilled, and experienced in handling weapons. In later years, particularly after remaining loyal to the East India Company during the Indian rebellion of 1857, the British came to favour men of this region for employment in both the Bengal army and the Indian police service. They constituted one of India's “martial castes”, for their alleged physical superiority and military prowess. During the intervening decade, however, they were certainly not preferred prisoners or transports. Defeated, demoralized, and dispossessed, Punjabi soldier convicts carried anti-imperial sentiment with them into transportation, and agitated continuously against their penal confinement, sometimes in concert with ordinary convicts.

In Burma, for instance, convicts organized mass escapes after a general tightening up of discipline, including the introduction of common messing. The new rules prescribed that convicts should cook and eat their rations together, rather than in self-selecting groups, according to their own desires or cultural and religious imperatives. In November 1846, convicts attempted to break out, and when they failed instead burnt down their wards and guard rooms. A month later, a road gang of 120 mounted but did not succeed in another mass escape attempt. Clearly pre-organized, the jemadar (head overseer) heard one convict say to another shortly before giving the signal to attack the tindals (overseers), “Are you ready?” The commissioner of Arakan claimed that the outbreak was at least partly the consequence of the convicts’ knowledge that he had no power to sanction them, for they were already subject to the severe punishment of hard labour in chains for life. In 1849, there was a mutiny at the Moulmein coal depot in Mopoon. One hundred convicts employed in preparing coal for delivery to the Company steamer rose against their guards. They, too, failed in their bid to escape, with the Company guard killing three and severely wounding eight men in an effort to prevent their flight. British commissioner Bogle reported: “the Secks had […] bound themselves by an Oath never to return to the prison and to eat beef sooner than abandon their purpose […] Bold men will ever be found keen to emancipate themselves from thraldom, and when determined upon it, they are not to be restrained […]”.

The following year, 1850, a military general named Narain Singh led a violent mutiny among thirty-nine convicts on board a river steamer on the way to Alipur jail, in Calcutta, which was the holding depot for transportation to Burma. After quelling the outbreak, and securing the convicts, they continued to plot their escape, including in prison stops along the way. There were significant logistical challenges both in moving convicts securely into transportation, and in keeping them to labour in relatively open environments, which often bordered rivers or the sea. This was of course most notably the case in ports. Though convicts failed in their bid for freedom on that occasion, there and in the other cases noted above, their penal mobility – across land, along water, and in outdoor working gangs – put them into close physical contact, which was necessary for the planning of collective action. Paradoxically, whilst the Company effected transportation as a punishment, it also put into motion the spread of rebellious sentiments to the port cities of South East Asia.

The penal transportation of the soldiers of a defeated army following the Anglo-Sikh Wars was entirely consistent with Company justice, which can be dated in this regard to the turn of the nineteenth century. Following the loss of their kingdom during the wars of 1799–1801, Polygar chiefs, for instance, were shipped by the British from south India to both Fort William (Calcutta) and Penang. Repressive penal transportations also followed the final crushing of the Chuar rebellion in 1816, the second and third Maratha Wars (1803–1805, 1816–1819), the Kol revolt of 1831, the 1835 Ghumsur war against the Konds in Orissa, the 1844 anti-Company revolt in the princely state of Kolhapur, and the Santal hul (rebellion) of 1855. During this entire period, the East India Company also used transportation to expel peasant rebels, particularly low caste and tribal subjects resistant to the Company's occupation of land, extraction of natural resources (notably the timber used for railway sleepers), and taxation regime.

The political convicts of Company Asia joined forces with ordinary, “criminal” convicts to resist their situation at every turn. In 1816, for instance, a dozen convicts rose up and escaped from the Bel Ombre plantation in Mauritius. Some of these men had been sepoys (soldiers), others were low-caste Kols or Chuars who had been convicted of offences relating to peasant rebellion in the Bengal Presidency. They had been confined together to await their transportation in Calcutta's Alipur jail, where a few of the men had been involved in serious riots and were transported in groups on three separate transportation ships. These men were religious rebels of sorts, protesting against the contravention of caste norms regarding the sharing of cooking and eating pots. They stole weapons and escaped into the mountains, allegedly joining a band of maroon (runaway) slaves. In the ensuing trial at the Court of Assizes, they called each other camarade (in French or Mauritian Kreol, comrade) or bhai (Hindustani for brother). Kolhapur rebels transported to Aden in the mid-1840s likewise led repeated escape attempts, including one collective effort in which Company guards shot dead three convicts, whilst at least ten others drowned in their bid to escape.

Though it succeeded in the expulsion of undesirable imperial subjects, transportation failed as a means of containing anti-imperial sentiment and action. Rather, it facilitated its spread, with subaltern action often turning on the same socio-political grievances that had underpinned convicts’ initial transportation. As noted above, the close confinement of convicts’ river journeys enabled them to plot collective action. The same was true of sea voyages, and there were over a dozen convict mutinies in the period to 1857. Many were both effected and repressed with spectacular levels of violence. The largest of all was the seizure of the Clarissa by more than one hundred convicts in 1854. This failed when the convicts ran aground off the coast of Burma and attempted to sign a treaty with a local ruler, in the false belief that he was holding out against the East India Company. In fact, he had already signed a treaty with the British. In regard to the importance of often long journeys into transportation as spaces of rebellion, it is significant that the Company often referred to transportation convicts as transmarine, that is to say, from the other side of the sea. This connected together convicts’ place of origin to their journeys and destinations in a way that suggested, implicitly at least, a close relationship between the three.

The 1857 revolt in India proved a turning point in the history of Indian convict transportation, as the British recognized and feared the consequence of the spread of transregional solidarities of resistance in their Asian settlements. One of the Punjabi convicts sent to Singapore following the Second Anglo-Sikh War, for example, Nihal Singh, had led anti-British forces and was widely regarded as a “saint-soldier”, known by the honorific title Bhai Maharaj (“brother ruler”) Singh. The British deputy commissioner wrote at the time: “He is to the Natives what Jesus Christ is to the most zealous of Christians. His miracles were seen by tens of thousands, and are more implicitly relied on, than those worked by the ancient prophets […] This man who was a God, is in our hands”. Afraid of his influence in the cosmopolitan working environment of the port, the British did not put Nihal Singh to ordinary labour, and attempted to keep him away from both convicts and free workers. He had been transported to Singapore with Khurruck Singh, who the British described as his “disciple”. By the time of the outbreak of rebellion in 1857 Nihal Singh had died, but the British expressed grave anxieties about Khurruck Singh's influence on the convicts and Indians then in Singapore. The British had formerly allowed him to live at large, under police surveillance, and he had gone to live with a free Parsee spice merchant. After the outbreak of revolt in the mainland, however, the governor of the Straits Settlements ordered his confinement in the civil jail, and no longer allowed him freedom of movement. Meantime, fearing revolutionary contamination, they evacuated all the “Sikh” convicts then in Singapore, some to the penal settlement of Penang.

In the port city of Moulmein, too, the British feared the spread of rebellion. In July 1857, the superintendent of the jail reported that the convicts possessed “a most unsteady feeling”. A shipload of fifty convicts had arrived on the Fire Queen, bringing, he claimed, “exaggerated stories” with them. The Company had put them in heavy chains, and in distinction to routine transportation practice they were guarded by Europeans, not Indians. The officiating commissioner refused to land them, however, directing them back to Calcutta. He wrote that, like the newly arrived convicts, the jail peons and town police were nearly all “up countrymen” (i.e. from northern India). Moreover, there were 250 ticket-of-leave convicts in the port. “From conversations which have been overheard”, he reported, “it is not impossible that they and a portion of the Mahomedan population of the Town might form a collusion for a general outbreak of the Jail”. This fear was certainly not groundless, for one of the key features of the 1857 revolt was the breaking open of prisons. The consequence of this alliance between rebels and prisoners was the serious damage or destruction of over forty jails, and the escape of over 20,000 inmates.” - Clare Anderson, “Convicts, Commodities, and Connections in British Asia and the Indian Ocean, 1789–1866.” International Review of Social History, Volume 64, Special Issue S27 (Free and Unfree Labor in Atlantic and Indian Ocean Port Cities (1700–1850)).  April 2019 , pp. 205-227.

Image is: “Arracan [Arakan] 14th February [1849] Kyook Phoo [Kyaukpyu] Ghat & Prisoners Carrying Water in Buckets, Isle of Ramree.” Watercolour by Clementina Benthall. Benthall Papers, Centre of South Asian Studies, University of Cambridge.

[muhammad-ubaidullah-khan]

[myexclusivecondo]

https://www.myexclusivecondo.com/neu-at-novena/ Neu at Novena is a freehold residential development situated just opposite Novena MRT Station. #NeuAtNovena #Neu #Novena #Freehold #Moulmein #Rise #PrimeDistrict #MyExclusiveCondo #LuxuryLiving https://www.instagram.com/p/CUBV-8FBJE4/?utm_medium=tumblr

[myexclusivecondo]

https://www.myexclusivecondo.com/neu-at-novena/ Located along 27 Moulmein Rise, Neu At Novena is literally next to the Health City Novena which is poised to be one of the biggest healthcare complex in Singapore. #NeuAtNovena #Neu #Novena #Freehold #Moulmein #Rise #PrimeDistrict #MyExclusiveCondo #LuxuryLiving https://www.instagram.com/p/CRNFdW6MWvm/?utm_medium=tumblr

[myexclusivecondo]

https://www.myexclusivecondo.com/neu-at-novena/ Located along 27 Moulmein Rise, Neu At Novena is next to the Health City Novena which is poised to be one of the biggest healthcare complex in Singapore. #NeuAtNovena #Neu #Novena #Freehold #Moulmein #Rise #PrimeDistrict #MyExclusiveCondo #LuxuryLiving https://www.instagram.com/p/CNYfIqCnOn1/?igshid=1e76bds64lg3b