On familiar terrain

The aroma of vadais and the sound of Tamil being spoken... the writer, though miles from India, feels at home in Kuala Lumpur

January 22, 2016 04:10 pm | Updated September 23, 2016 02:24 am IST

Feeling at home in KL: a shop in Little India Photo: Parshathy J.Nath

Feeling at home in KL: a shop in Little India Photo: Parshathy J.Nath

COIMBATORE: “Soodana paruppu vadai...” I am miles away from my hometown, Coimbatore, and just out from an encounter with Malaysian immigration authorities. And in a noisy lane tucked away from sight, I hear these delicious words! I am in Little India, and there are more surprises in store for me.

Tamil songs blare from shops, and a Deepavali bazaar is in full swing with diya shops, cracker stalls, and outlets selling glitzy saris. Little India is soaked in a festive spirit. A familiar face smiles at me from a poster on the door of a Tamil video CD shop. It is actor Vijay!

Little India is where ladies head to for traditional South Indian clothes. Vendors woo young women with ready-made saris. I hear giggles from a sari stall nearby. Prema Manimuthu and her colleagues, who run an education foundation, are in the midst of a festival shop-a-thon. “It is a welcome break for us from our schedule. During Deepavali, we draw kolams in front of the office. My colleagues celebrate the festival in a big way.”

Prema belongs to the large community of Tamils, who have settled in Malaysia for generations and made it their home. But, they cherish Tamil culture, send their children to Tamil schools and watch Tamil films. Venmathy, an employee at a garments shop, says her father taught her the Thirukkural at the age of three. She draws kolams, is a fan of Silappathikaram and gorges on South Indian food. Where is she from in India? “Somewhere in Vellore...” she says, unsure.

And then, there are young men from the small towns of Tamil Nadu, who pack their bags for Kuala Lumpur to make their fortune. Twenty-six-year-old Prabhu Thangavel from Salem works at a shop, selling poojaware. “I stay in a men’s hostel nearby. All of us miss home, but we are happy and live like family. Of late, many youngsters are coming to Malaysia seeking well-paying jobs.” But, he has no plans to settle down. “I want to earn enough to sustain my family. Once I do that, I want to get back to Salem,” he says.

I also bump into familiar gods. A giant golden Murugan statue looks down on me from 140 ft above the ground at Batu Caves, an eerie and dark limestone hill-turned temple at Selangor. One has to climb 272 steps to reach the Murugan kovil, perched on the hill top.

I make it all the way to the top without much effort, thanks to small landings on the way where I catch my breath and take selfies with monkeys. Once we reach the temple, there is pin-drop silence. Only the echoing sound of devotees’ feet and the murmuring of mantras fill the air. The priest is a friendly man. He applies vibhuti on my forehead, recites a few mantras and sees me off with a cheery “Have a nice day!”

V. Kalimuthu, a chatty shopkeeper, tells us the popular legend of the Batu Caves. “Many years ago, a man called K. Thamboosamy Pillai had a dream, where the goddess told him about a vel hidden inside this mountain. ‘Go find it and build a temple for Murugan!’ she commanded. Thamboosamy’s search for the vel led to this beautiful temple.”

During the famous Thaipusam festival, the entire cave is lit up. Pilgrims from all over the world throng this place. “The place becomes colourful with kavadis, just like the ones you see during the Pazhani festival,” says Kalimuthu.

Kalimuthu is from a small village in Karaikudi. “I visit my home town once a year to attend my kula deivam’s festival.” Even though he plays old MGR songs in his shop, he is man of modern taste. Harris Jayaraj and Surya are his favourites. I thank him for his stories and buy a statue of the Laughing Buddha (also endearingly known as KuberaKuberan).

On our way down, we cross monkeys, wailing toddlers and noisy vendors. Iqbal, my tourist guide, asks us to be alert. There are stories of bag snatching. We clutch our bags closer and check if we still have our passports. As much as this place reminds us of home, the last thing we want is to be stranded in a dark cave with a couple of monkeys!(The writer was at the Shell Malaysia Motorcycle Grand Prix 2015 on the invitation of Tourism Malaysia.)

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