Chinatown, Kuala Lampur

The Missing Shoes

27 and 28 August 2026

When I boarded my flight to Kuala Lumpur on the afternoon of 27 August 2026, I felt as though I was in Chennai. Most of the passengers spoke Tamil. I settled into my seat with Crime and Punishment, a book I had been finding impossible to put down because of its gripping story and profound philosophical ideas.

I reached Kuala Lumpur at around 9 p.m. The immigration process was quick and straightforward. Outside the airport, I bought a CelcomDigi SIM card and withdrew some cash from an ATM. I then walked to the bus station and bought a ticket to KL Sentral. The ticket cost only RM15—RM40 less than the airport express train that also goes to Sentral.

The bus ride seemed to last forever, as though the airport were in an entirely different city. After about an hour and a half, we finally reached KL Sentral. I had some difficulty locating the monorail station, and since it was getting late, I decided to take a Grab taxi to my hostel instead. I arrived a little after midnight.

I had booked a dorm bed at Travelogue Backpackers Guesthouse in the Bukit Bintang area. I was surprised to find the streets still buzzing with activity at 1 a.m. There were huge crowds, noisy streets, and food stalls packed with people. I settled into my bunk and fell asleep almost immediately. Even the noise from the street below did not bother me much. The earplugs provided by the hostel reception helped block out most of it.

The next morning, I woke up leisurely and checked the hostel's WhatsApp group. I discovered that they were organising a walking tour of Chinatown for guests. The tour itself was free; we only had to pay for our transport. It suited me perfectly, as I had no particular plans for the day.

In the common area, I met Furkan and Gözde, a cheerful Turkish couple. They were travelling the world for over a year, and after visiting India and Nepal, they had arrived in Malaysia. They volunteered at the hostel for a few hours each day by leading walking tours in exchange for free accommodation and, I believe, a small payment.

Furkan spoke fondly of his time in Bangalore and India in general. He had loved the food and the people he had met there. Joining us were a girl from Austria and another friendly Turkish woman. This was my first time interacting closely with Turkish travellers, and I found them warm, open, and genuinely kind. They were friendly, easy to talk to, and quite modern in their outlook.

We took the metro to Chinatown. Our first stop was the Sri Maha Mariamman Temple. I was not particularly interested in going inside, but I accompanied one of the Turkish travellers who wanted to visit.

The temple was conducting its daily pooja. Devotees poured tumblers full of milk and water over the deity as part of the ritual. Watching so much milk being wasted in this manner saddened me. Disgusted by the sight, I quietly walked away.

Outside the temple, I discovered that my shoes had disappeared. I checked with the flower vendor beside the temple, who told me in Tamil that someone had probably exchanged them. Even in India, I had never experienced anything like this. The shoes were not new, but their bright blue colour made them attractive. Ironically, I had already been considering replacing them, and now I had no choice. So that became my first memorable experience in Malaysia: having my shoes stolen outside a Hindu temple.

Furkan and I walked to a nearby market, where I found a Bangladeshi shopkeeper selling shoes. He quoted me what seemed like a fair price and mentioned that he was giving me a discount because I was Indian. Since we could converse comfortably in Hindi, the interaction felt easy and friendly.

I walked away with my new pair of shoes. They looked good, although they were not particularly comfortable, as the soles did not sit flat inside the shoe. Only I could feel the discomfort, so I decided not to worry about it.

We then visited an interesting bookstore called REXKL. Its bookshelves are arranged as an enormous architectural installation, making it one of the city's most photographed spots. Many people visit simply to take pictures. Travelling with hostel companions had its advantages—I finally had people to take photographs of me.

After that, we visited Kwai Chai Hong, a restored heritage alley decorated with murals, lanterns, and old-style architecture intended to recreate the atmosphere of old Kuala Lumpur with Chinese influences. It was pleasant enough, though I did not find it particularly spectacular.

I enjoyed another nearby alley much more, one that was filled with colourful murals and mirrored artwork.

The group planned to return to the hostel for lunch, but I decided to stay back and explore Chinatown on my own.

I wandered into a café frequented by locals and ordered fermented fried rice, pumpkin soup—which tasted more like pumpkin juice—and a serving of konjac cubes, which I did not particularly enjoy. It was my first time trying konjac. Made from the root of the konjac plant, these chewy, gelatinous cubes are popular in several East Asian cuisines, particularly in Japan and China.

After lunch, I walked to the Central Market and spent some time browsing the many souvenir and handicraft shops. At the far end, several local artists were displaying and selling their work. On my way back, I stopped briefly at the Guan Di Temple. 

From there, I continued to the River of Life, Bangunan Sultan Abdul Samad, and Merdeka Square.

I decided to walk back to the hostel. Kuala Lumpur is remarkably walkable. The pavements are wide and well maintained, making it easy to explore the city on foot despite the steady stream of fast-moving traffic gliding endlessly along its roads.

At the hostel, I had to take a few online classes. In the common area, I met Ahmed from Yemen. He is a young man who works as a photographer and video editor for influential people in his country. He shoots and edits videos for them to be posted on Instagram and other social media platforms. He showed me some of his work. His English wasn't the best but he managed to hold a conversation. 

Later that evening, my friend Michael arrived from the US. We had planned this meet up and overlap in our travel plans before we headed our separate ways. Michael, Ahmed, and I went out for dinner. Ahmed introduced me to makan—local Malaysian food joints that serve traditional Malaysian food. Apparently, Malaysian cuisine has many South Indian influences too, with dishes like paratha, which they call roti canai (pronounced "Chennai"), and thosai of all kinds.

Ahmed is slightly hyperactive. He speaks a lot and is constantly distracted by his cellphone. He told us that his father had two wives, adding that it was very common where he came from. In fact their religion, he said, allowed men to have four wives. He is a religious man and spoke about many of the dos and don'ts he follows. Before we started eating, he waited for the eldest among us to begin the meal first, saying that it was the custom in his religion. He also spoke about how he would not casually interact with women because it was considered haram. He does not drink alcohol either and does not eat non-halal meat, as it goes against his religious beliefs. He agreed that some muslims break these rules and though he is not judgmental, he does not approve of it. 

I find many such customs, often presented as tradition or culture, to be unnecessary and practically useless. I no longer feel the need to use euphemisms to sound polite about rules that, in my opinion, human beings have created to control one another. Slightly annoyed by his sermon on the rules of his religion, I asked, "Do women get to have multiple husbands too?"

He became busy with his phone and avoided answering the question directly. Instead, he pretended to misunderstand me—confusing "women" with "Yemen" and responding with unrelated remarks. His evasive response made it clear to me that he had no answer. But the good thing was he stopped lecturing about religion. 

I believe humanity will never truly progress until it begins to move beyond religion. Too many minds are shaped from childhood by unquestioned beliefs and superstition, limiting our ability to think freely and explore the full potential of our being.

Ahmed is a good young man. He is respectful, polite, and kind. But, like most people, his mind has been shaped by ideas that he inherited rather than chose. The moment a child is born, society begins filling that child's mind with religious beliefs. Every religion is guilty of this conditioning. It becomes so deeply rooted that many people struggle to see beyond it or question it. 

In my view, this conditioning often leads to contradictions and hypocrisies—whether it is stealing shoes outside a temple, pouring milk over a stone idol while people go hungry, or regulating one's entire life according to regressive remarks mentioned in scriptures written thousands of years ago and oppression of other genders and castes base don them. 

To Be Continued...