In Kuala Lumpur, An Undoing: Part II
A holy site in the most religiously diverse place I've ever been
August 25, 2024
This is a two-part post. You can read Part I here.
Carved into the side of a cliff, a temple rests above the clouds, drawing worshippers from near and far. Guarding its technicolor stairway to heaven is a larger-than-life, imposing statue of Kartikeya, Hindu god of war. Bedecked in gold, he shines brighter than the sun. If you look too long and in just the wrong place, you could be very well blinded by the light as Helios, that golden, white-hot orb, casts his gaze upon the mighty warrior-god.
At his feet stand two short temples, engraved with hues of brightest fuschia, orchid, iridescent turquoise. Worshippers and admirers the world over come to behold him, craning their necks toward the heavens for one glimpse through squinted eyes. Just beyond Kartikeya are what appear to be hundreds of stairs that disappear into the mountain, shaded by rows of trees on either side. Although they are a straight ascent, blood pumping through the veins as you attempt to reach the top, it’s the only shade for seeming miles.
One day, past and present, perhaps even future, at the otherworldly Batu Caves.
That morning, we fueled with dark chocolate mochas and stopped for breakfast at the little café on the corner, a tempestuous two-minute walk that would have been peaceful if not for the motorbikes wizzing by and the taxis honking in protest. From this chaos we weaved through and sought shelter over plates full of eggs and artisan bread, finished off in true holiday style—a lemon poppyseed cake for two.
Still dreaming of lemon cake, we set out for the sole train station nearby that went all the way to the northernmost reaches of the city. On our way, tucked into a street so narrow it was practically an alley with a couple of sidewalks, cushioned by a guest house and a college, a Hindu temple stretches to the sky. The details so intricate it takes a zoom lens to see them clearly, figures danced and rode on mighty steeds as bas-reliefs from its imposing exterior. All its effervescence, this detour merely alluded to wonders to come.
Not to be outdone, for it must be the brightest, the sun was absolutely unforgiving on this Malaysian morning (and just about all the rest, I imagine). All my days, I’ll never forget nor regret the miles walked, the trains awaited, the thousands of lives experienced in the sweltering heat of places afar. This was one such day.
Twenty ringgit later,1 we were on a train due north. Still catching up to Malaysia, because truly, it’s already tomorrow in Kuala Lumpur,2 we planned to take this half-day trip easy and accept it as it came, no strong-arming, no American my-way-or-the-highway, just ease and trust and embrace.
Late at night, when I should likely be asleep, I plan itineraries, jot down a few things I’d like to see in a given country. Deep in the throes of the pandemic, Malaysia was merely a dream manifest in a dozen browser tabs, a Batu Caves travel guide chief among them. My life has taken quite the turn since I was that wanna-be travel blogger, but here I was, standing in the flesh of a place I dreamt about so long ago.
He’s on just about every Kuala Lumpur postcard, but in person this place is so much larger than I imagined. It’s impossible to capture how much in photos.
For those that dare turn their back on him, the metropolis Kuala is laid before, shrouded in fog that lends it an otherworldly dimension, a natural veil between the holy and the contemporary.
After who knows how many photos on two iPhones and a Sony mirrorless, we gulped down 7/11 water still cold enough to be refreshing, took a breath, and started to climb.
No one worth their salt quantifies a staircase as a hike, but at the risk of losing some intrigue to this post, it’s not that bad. We made it to the top with few breaks, no regrets, and even better views of the cityscape in the distance.
Murugan and his magical stairs are where I stopped reading on the Internet. I had no idea what to expect from the interior, and truthfully I didn’t care. I’d find out the old-fashioned way instead of preparing myself for every possibility through the eyes of others online3 and live it instead of envisioning it.
Every few feet were little grey monkeys, skiddish but surprisingly willing to come very close to humans—one even touched Val’s ankle! A Thai monkey would never. Admittedly, the poor thing caught her gaze, and the moment he knew she saw him, off he went in a flash.
Days like these, we make up for the vast expanse of lost time adult friendships inevitably suffer. Val and I have lived a lot of life together, from the moment I was the new girl at the Southern Baptist church across the street. I walked in, nervous and shaky as the shy only child I was, clutching my mom’s hand so hard I could feel the beginnings of sweat in my palm. It didn’t help that it was August, The Month of the Furnace in Nashville, Tennessee. Let’s just say the hellfire and brimstone sermons were born of this geography for a reason. None of us wanted August to remain.
I looked up and she was the first person I met. The rest is history.
Now, those two little girls are little women who struggle to see one another more than a few times a year, especially if I decide to take a job halfway around the world or accept a spot in grad school in New England. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, girls’ trip makes it soar. We wrap these trips with a holy shield. Only God himself can touch it.
Because we share so much history but miss so much of one another’s present-day, we use days like Batu to reconvene. How are things in your relationship? Do you actually, truly like him? What are you going to do about your job? Did you notice for years that church was sexist, or was it just me?
You know, polite dinner conversation.
We somehow manage to do these things in a place above the mundanity, a place sacred. As we slowly made our way past each offering to Hindu gods inside the cave, we had a sacred moment of our own. These are the days where our observance, though not of the same deities respected by the devout at Batu, lends a sacredness to what could be a vacation without much meaning.
An hour or two and one last glance around the caves, and we descended. Back from the clouds of this space and our figurative clouds of life reflection, we descended into the chaos of tourist throngs and train schedules. On the way to lunch, a veggie noodle dish I would eat again gladly if it were placed before me now, we passed a mosque.
Unintentionally, but not regrettably, we have managed to visit a country with a sizable Muslim population during Ramadan.
As we disembarked from the train we chose to get us right in the middle of town, close enough to walk to the restaurant, we were surrounded by worshippers onto the next part of their day and fast until sundown. In retrospect, there was an irony of sorts to my own borderline hangriness as a religious person (albeit of a different Abrahamic religion, and not a conservative religious person but a religious person nonetheless) while surrounded by piety that was, in that moment at least, manifest in hunger.
Kuala Lumpur is the most religiously diverse place I’ve ever visited. It is normal to see a white mosque full with the committed on Ramadan a few minutes from Hindu temples where attendants clean tiled verandas while their shoes are removed, even in the blazing sun that surely burns their soles, and all near a Buddhist temple of red glory overlooking the cosmopolitan expanse.
Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, Christian, Uncommitted to Any Particular Religion—all these threads weave together into a place where food is an amalgam of continents, languages erupt in a gorgeous cacophony, the bustle of cityscape meets the tranquility of forest as if nature were taking back its rightful place, and two girls from halfway around the world get one step closer to an absolutely crazy dream.
And in this, a tension. Truly, I found Kuala Lumpur beautiful, as a physical place and as an interreligious conceptual experiment. It’s hard not to. But I didn’t leave feeling I had to experience those days before I could die in peace. Is this the unraveling of this journey? Do I continue spending the money and time to do this if my heart towards it is waning?
There’s only one way to find out. And if you’ve been here long enough, you know exactly what it is.
I’ll see you in Vietnam. ;-)
-S
P.s. As I write this, I’m traveling again. More to come, friends! As long as I can ride this out, more to come. <3
About five US dollars at the time of writing
A nod to the cute indie romance film Already Tomorrow in Hong Kong.
I say this well aware of the irony that my own writing contributes to this, but I digress.