Batu Caves | Petronas Twin Towers | Kuala lamapur

I Continue From Here:  Chinatown, Kuala Lumpur

A Global City

29 August 2026

The next morning, there was another tour—to Batu Caves. Furkan was unwell, so only Gözde accompanied us. We set off in two Grab cars.

At the entrance, we saw several local Tamilians directing visitors towards some caves on the left. Gözde immediately told us to ignore them and go straight ahead. The caves on the left were paid-entry attractions, and apparently some people were misleading visitors into entering them. The main temple and the Batu Caves themselves are free to enter. I was disgusted by this behaviour - A second in a row. 

The whole area was crowded, and one could see local devotees performing kavadi and other religious rituals, making offerings to the gods for some selfish needs in return. 

We climbed the steep flight of stairs behind the enormous statue of Lord Murugan and entered the cave temple. The cave itself was beautiful, and the colourful gopuram seemed to blend remarkably well with its surroundings. Michael kept an eye on my shoes while I entered the temple. When I returned, Michael went inside while I guarded his sandals.

There were monkeys everywhere, constantly trying to snatch food from devotees and visitors. In one of the temples, a Bharatanatyam performance was in progress. All in all, it felt like being in a crowded temple somewhere in Tamil Nadu.

On one hand, Malaysia has gleaming skyscrapers, modern infrastructure and cutting-edge technology; on the other, it has Hindu and Chinese temples, mosques, churches, deeply rooted superstitions, and the regular playing of the azaan in public spaces. It is an interesting contradiction—modernity and ancient traditions existing side by side, seemingly without much visible tension.

However, I feel that religious spaces—the superstition and unquestioning obedience to age-old practices, blind faith, the omnipresence of prayers, the constant sense of being sinful, impositions on dressing and behaviour, and all the other absurdities that surround them—can make even a global, modern city seem primitive and regressive.

Among the several people who had joined us on the tour was Hamza from Karachi. Unlike the character in the film Dhurandhar, he was remarkably docile and gentle. Yet another glaring example of how skewed Bollywood’s representations can be.

After returning to the hostel, Michael and I decided to eat at Damascus, a popular restaurant serving Arabian cuisine. I ordered a generous plate of spicy hummus and falafel, served with freshly baked pita bread. It was absolutely delicious. It became my favourite place to eat in Malaysia.

It is fascinating how food, music, and people can take you back in time—vicariously transporting you to a moment that no longer exists except in your memory.

This plate of spicy hummus and falafels took me back to Jordan. For a fleeting moment, I was there again—the warmth of the people I met, the flavours I savoured, the long road winding through landscapes that seemed almost otherworldly, carrying me towards some of the most enchanting places I have ever seen. Perhaps that is why we long to return. Not merely to a place, but to a version of ourselves that existed there.

And yet, I know that the Jordan I remember is gone, just as that particular moment is gone, and so am I, in some small way. Time does not preserve places; it preserves fragments of them within us. 

Perhaps we never really return. We only revisit what remains—in a taste, a song, a photograph, or a sudden rush of memory—and for a brief moment, the past opens its doors again.

Later, Michael and I went around the Bukit Bintang area, which was crowded with people as it was a Saturday. I discovered a charming local tea shop called Hock Kee Kopitiam. They served excellent kaya toast and milk tea.

We entered one of the many malls looking for some clothes, but it was incredibly crowded. Every place—every mall, every restaurant, every crossroads—seemed to be filled with people eating and shopping. It was as though there was nothing else to do but those two things.

It reminded me of the film WALL-E, which portrayed a future in which people had become completely immersed in consumerism. That future, I thought, had arrived.

I booked our train tickets to Ipoh. I had to return to the hostel for my evening classes. With the two-and-a-half-hour time difference, the timing worked conveniently: I could return after dinner and begin my classes.

After my classes, I woke Michael, who was badly jet-lagged. We then walked to the Petronas Twin Towers. What a beautiful sight it was to see the two towers glowing like diamonds against the night sky.

Later that night, I met a young Malaysian boy in the hostel common area, around 11:30 p.m. He was eating his meal, and I struck up a conversation with him. I learned that he was from George Town but was studying in Kota Kinabalu. He was studying something related to machinery in the hospitality industry. A marathon was due to begin right in front of our hostel that night, and he was there to participate. He was eating his late dinner to load up on carbohydrates before the run. He told me that he was half Malay-Chinese and half Malay-Indian. He could understand Tamil but was not fluent in speaking it. His appearance was more Chinese, though.

The mix of races I encountered offered a glimpse into how different cultures have mingled and intermarried in this country. To me, a truly global city and a genuinely modern society should have fewer barriers and divisions, and more acceptance, openness and freedom for its people. Perhaps Malaysia is gradually finding its way towards such a space, provided it does not allow regressive mindsets to pull it back.

To Be Continued...