Live well, work hard, play play? 
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Gods and Children
Sex. Gods. Demons. Death. Angels. We are kids again. Ice-cream. Fantasies. Treasure islands. What dreams do we wake up from?
Sunday morning. You could hear a not-quite silence filling the air. Most folks are still sleeping, it’s the weekend after all. Some of us are stirring though. Some of us had woken for hours already. The world is constantly alive at any hour, we know this but we aren’t always aware of it. The air is quiet, yes, but not quite silent.
The scrapping song of the pigeons is a call to prayer, to rising.
I remember when I was a kid and had to wake up at 5:30am each day, to get ready for school. Extra early to wait for the ministry-approved marmalade orange schoolbus. I would make my bed before brushing my teeth so my mom wouldn’t have to (a point of consternation fro my cousins for my aunts would point to me and my always-neat, always-tidy bedroom in absence and asked, “Why can’t you be more like Kenny Gor Gor?”; it made me truly unpopular and strangely I always took pride in that more than my youthful obsessisve-compulsive house-cleaning inclinations).
I would tie my tie in the dark in front of the mirror for my eyes hadn’t opened yet, not quite, but my fingers could see the knots for me out of habit. Breakfast would be simple, nothing fancy like what my nephew and nieces gets these days — bread and butter, later with a boiled frankfurter sliced lengthwise and spread side-by-side like twins, and later still, commercial cereal from boxes with watered condensed milk (not the fresh sort). There is something humbling about being from a modest family who always strive to provide.
Yet that wasn’t what I was dreaming about on the marmalade schoolbus, my head against the windowpane and the busdriver’s audio cassette filling my dawn-dreams with The Scorpions’ Winds of Change long before I even knew what change really meant. We were little gods, us children, cared for and sheltered by our families.
One day, we wake up and we’re just us. Adults at last. (Once, usually when we were ugly, spotted teenagers, we wanted this so badly — to grow up, fast.) We are responsible for our lives. We can’t dream anymore, can we? No more time for that surely.
The pigeons fly away as the grain are scattered on the ground. A small boy pauses, squats and stares at the birds. He has time. I want so badly to tell him, Dream. Dream while you still can.
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Climbing Up The Wall
The numbers. You count them as you climb up. It’s meant to be encouraging but for some, it gets disheartening when it gets to triple digits and there’s no end to it.
Batu Caves — it isn’t very high above the ground, but the journey upwards is steep, tiring for sweet young things, unaccustomed to waking early and exercising regularly. The uncles and aunties in their sixties and seventies shame us. They barely sweat, and they are on their fourth, seventh lap already. They smile at us and we smile back, praying we won’t collapse before we reach the peak.
Well, cK and Edward any way. I’m fine. I love this. I used to climb the Batu Caves every Sunday morning back when I first came to Kuala Lumpur, with new friends that I made. I had returned not very long ago from Munich and missed how the Germans would spend most of the good hours, the ones with sunlight, outdoors enjoying the fresh air and the feisty heat. Malaysians don’t really like the sun and the humidity; there’s always an excuse to drive instead and air-conditioning seems to be the best thing since mamak-style toast bread.
Me, I miss simply walking from point A to point B. Why do we drive so much in this country? It’s a wonder our bodies remember how to move at all. The X-Men were often taunted by this other-world media tyrant named Mojo who was an upright invertebrate with cybernetic sticks for legs. A dictator as a greasy blob. There are days when I fear Malaysia might not be one of the channels on MojoTV!, a nation of folks glued to their idiot boxes, their live feed more alive than their feet.
But I’m not really thinking about this as we climb up the wall. I’m letting the golden warmth envelop me, letting my lungs fill with clean air and the scent of jasmine, and asking myself, Where are all the monkeys?
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Children and Gods
The devotees would climb the steps on their knees, bowing head down at each number. One, bow. Two, bow. And on and on till all 272 steps are breached. It’s not about speed but faith and piety. You humble yourself in front of God and amongst your fellow men. (And the monkeys and the pigeons and the limestone.)
There is usually a blessing, for fortune or dispel bad luck, but more often than not, I stumble upon a new baby whose family has brought him or her to the temple for a good start in life. The smoke fills the air. Frankincense? Jasmine. Something else. The essence of belief and the love that this infant will begin life with and hopefully, throughout.
Here, I feel more Malaysian than anywhere else, for the hill throngs with all of us. We are going about our own business — religious ceremonies, exercise, tourism, an excuse to eat the best roti pisang in the Klang Valley — and I’m reminded of what Malaysia is promised to be. What we can be. We are all children, blessed by different gods perhaps, but good children playing together all the same.
Perhaps it’s another dream, another fantasy but the year is early and you can forgive my optimism. Thousands of miles away, wars are being raged and men, women and children are dying, I know this, you might be surprised given all my usual cheer and saccharine-sweet salutes, but I do know this.
There is enough death and pain and wrath without us adding to it, surely.
I can’t do much, I think. I don’t want to, really. But I can smile like a child to everyone I meet as I climb this flight of steps, all 272 of them. And everyone whom smiles back at me, we connect for a second or two and the goodwill is shared.
I love coming to Batu Caves cos it reminds me I’m Malaysian and that means being part of something that believes in hope and harmony. And that is a very good thing to be part of.
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No Monkeys Allowed
We reached the top of the hill. The caves proper. It is dark here until you delve deeper and a natural skylight lets the sun in a little. There is stone and guano everywhere. Someone is displaying her pet snake — a python, I think — and it’s freaking the children and cK out. Some of the climbers are just resting before heading down again for another round, their multi-coloured towels hung around their shoulders and heads like praying shawls. There is something sacred in the air up here.
There are even roosters, not hens, roosters scratching the earth inside. These are the expensive sort, cK tells me. Who brought them all the way up here, I wonder. Surely it cannot be easy with all those sharp claws or whatever you call them devillish thorns and spikes on their spindly legs. Chalk is drawn in a spider-web on the ground, a bright purple orchid blossom in its centre. The profane and the pious dance together here, I suppose. And the ridiculous, as Edward imitates a monkey, one of the macaques that seem to have gone missing.
A couple of years ago, I brought my friend Manuel and Gosia who were here on their honeymoon to Batu Caves. It’s nice seeing an old memory through the eyes of strangers who are friends, it teaches you things you have forgotten. Italians love taking time to savour the good things in life, and the Polish are in awe of faith, even when it is not their own. My friends, they always teach me something new. And there were plenty of monkeys.
This morning, unfortunately, the monkeys are missing and Edward is a poor substitute although he amuses the tourists greatly.
Still, as we start our journey down the steps, I figured there’s always the roti pisang. There’s always that. They say praying is better on an empty stomach but I guess they hadn’t done the Batu Caves recently.
Plus the roti pisang? It’s very, very yummy. 
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~ * ~
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Photographs taken at Batu Caves, Kuala Lumpur by Kenny Mah. Design by Kenny Mah.
Monkey business? Lol.
The need to exercise to maintain that body reminds me that my body belongs to God. Keep in well and it will serve us well. Godly responsibility.
» Alex
Like a circus, even. Hehe.
» Chin
Exercise: Definitely a responsibility to ourselves that we don’t exercise enough. (Oops, was that a double-metaphor mixed up in itself? Eh…)
I just knew it! Always suspected you are one of those far flung cousin/neighbour/who’s who’s son that mothers keep touting as good example. Hah!
yee~~~ Im so ugly~~~
I sud charge the tourist at tat time…
» Tummythoz
Hehe. You know what was the worst part? I enjoyed it, not so much the praise but the bits where my cousins would SQUIRM under their moms’ nag-a-thon.
Evil. That’s me.
» Edward
You’re not ugly. Just not a very good simian impersonator, though I’m sure the tourists would disagree with me. LOL.
hahaha… cute monkey boy! =)
i’m proud to be a malaysian too!
You should have brought some bananas with you.
» bFGf
Yay for Monkey Boy!
» kristopher
Malaysia Boleh!
» jemima
Dun need… the roti canai man had some.
why i never felt those things one when i climbed up batu caves last time??. the only thought occupying my mind then was..aiyah, why i so stupid offer become tourist guide to my friend??..haha
but u know what..? for that brief moment, you “brought” me back to that time i climbed those steps and then suddenly i remembered things that i saw back then but which my head refused to register..
as usual…your words and pictures are like static celluloid to me…and some of them play out like a movie in my mind, bringing back my own long forgotten memories…thanks man..
p/s: edward has an uncanny resemblance to hanuman..and i mean that as a compliment…really..
Edward, I’ve never seen you can simulate monkey in such high percentage of similarity. The expression. The Face. The emotion. Have you ever think you’re one of them. You amazed me, dude. Really !! haha…May be can do part time. ops, just can’t zip my mouth for the moment. Forgive me..:p
» jeff lee
Haha, it’s surely a great role to play — being a guide to the best of Malaysia to our friends around the world. Every step we take with them together, we bring them closer to the muhibbah spirit that is truly Malaysian.
I really appreciate your taking the time to drop me this comment… I wonder if this plays out as a fond memory in your head.
P.S. Edward resembling the legendary Indian Monkey King? That’s high praise indeed!
» Steve Steve
Hoo hoo. Edward is so gonna slaughter you for this… Well, better you than ME, eh?
“I’m reminded of what Malaysia is promised to be. What we can be. We are all children, blessed by different gods perhaps, but good children playing together all the same.”
I couldn’t agree more. We can be fighting over a lot of things but we still work together despite our differences. I’m proud to be a Malaysian too!
Hey, I’m the resident monkey here! Get your own animal. Shoo!
» Jaime
Thanks for quoting that paragraph I wrote back at me. You know, I started this piece as a recollection of last Sunday’s sojourn to the Batu Caves but the moment I began writing, with the first collage of the Hindu goddess and small boy staring at the pigeons, the phrase “Gods and Children” came to mind and I didn’t really know where this was going till this bit here.
There is an ideal of who a Malaysian is and I believe we can still live up to that, or something damn close. Worth a shot, no?
» A Lil Fat Monkey
The Battle of the Monkeys!! I eagerly await the results of this match… Hehe.
hey..with the kind of pictures you put up and the words you throw in…even my worst nightmare becomes a soothing comfort..
eh..which school u go to ah? how come my teachers never taught me to write like that !!
hehe
» jeff lee
Oh you should see some of the older posts in the archives. Those might just inspire something nightmarish in your nightly trips to Dreamland…
As for schooling, I went to Malacca High School, the finest school in my hometown. Humility was not our strong suit given our school motto: “We are the Best.” (It’s a wonder we didn’t all turn out to be smug, elitist simpletons, haha.)
But to be fair and honest, while my English teachers were a hopeful sort, I doubt they had any influence on my writing as I could remember correcting their grammar on different occasions… Dash it, I guess I was a precocious adolescent after all!
Wow reminds me that I haven’t been to Batu Caves in ages.
OMG. Kenny you’re from Melaka too?!
I went to the school next door.
» Paul
Ah, a brother from our eternal rivals — the St. Francis Institution/SFI Boys!
Don’t you miss the Padang Pahlawan in front of your school that they turned into a huge, ugly shopping mall? *sighs*
oh no..u just started ringu in the background for me………..ooooooooooooooo..
p/s: will slowly savor your archives….one nightmare at a time…
1. simple breakfast. when i was a little kid, i like this combi. plain bread, butter/margarine with sugar on top. it’s easiest to eat when u got to wake up so early in the morning! or bak kwa with two slices of bread, that’s easy too. LOL
2. pple in msia rarely walk. you can tell when they visit the ‘red dot’ down under. walking 5 mins to the nearest bus stop or train station seems eternal!
» jeff lee
Hehe… Ringu Strikes Again?
P.S. Savour… or Suffer?
» keropokman
1. Hey! At least you had bak kwa (or what we Cantonese call long yuk — literally “dragon’s meat”); that would have been a luxury for me.
2. True lor. It is so embarrassing. Probably due to us having not one but TWO national automobile manufacturers. Maybe I should start a “Walk More, Malaysians!” campaign.
Malaysia Boleh… Jalan Kaki! LOL
u know whr are the monkeys? they’re all in front of the screen reading ur blog XD (or, at least, the biggest one is
)
» Jun
ROFL!!!
You certainly win major points for the funniest comment on this post… so far. Anyone wanna try and trump Dr. Jun?
We make time for dreaming, we must we must! I find it hard to swallow that just because we are expected to be just about mortgages, bills and fleeting encounters with adulterated and measured pleasures. Maybe the monkeys favour only those who dream and accept that a part of them will never grow up??
» 550ml jar of faith
“Maybe the monkeys favour only those who dream and accept that a part of them will never grow up??”
Maybe. Or maybe the monkeys represent exactly that part of us which never grows up, which doesn’t so much hold on desperately onto a lost childhood as it is the safekeeping for that innocent time.
No matter whatever happens to us, no matter how much we grow up, we will always be innocent also.
We are the children of the same GOD, we just call Him by different names. Bless you, dear.
» Elizabeth Worsley
And even those who do not believe in God or gods or anything beyond what they can see, they are children too and blessed as well by all that is good, all that is human.
Thanks.
batu caves! ah.. thx for reminding me where i should train this wkd! lol
cute monkieS!
Kenny Gor Gor, what a nice piece of reflection, especially for us kids born in the late 70s, early 80s. the yellow bus sekolah which i never took (cus i prefer walking and it’s just minutes away from my house), Winds of Change (!), field trips to Batu Caves or Zoo Negara and the joy of seeing a monkey or pigeon for the very first time.
Oh, KFC as well!
May all children of God grow up to love one another, and not just God.
cant believe that thamby hasnt been ….
» cumidanciki
You’re training there this weekend? Need some company?
» Nic (KHKL)
The school buses were yellow meh? Not orange? I guess memory is the first thing to go when one gets ancient like me.
But yeah, this post is one for us late-70’s/early-80’s kids!
P.S. “Kenny Gor Gor”? I know I’m old but surely I’m not older than you, Pak Nic? *gasps*
» fatboybakes
Me neither, but there you go… Let’s take her there, jom?
Winds of Change… wow, that brings back memories…
And I remember those yellow schoolbuses too!
PS. Some of them were kind of orange, Kenny, so you didn’t get that wrong.
» Linda Woo
Hehe, it’s interesting how a single song can be so nostalgic for so many of us. I mean, I’m barely what one would call a Scorpions fan but that song… that song was emblematic for us. An entire generation, methinks.
P.S. Thanks for validating my observation and curing me of my possible colour-blindness!
monkey boys! so cute! now they need some monkey girls to play with, hehe…
“The pigeons fly away as the grain are scattered on the ground. A small boy pauses, squats and stares at the birds. He has time. I want so badly to tell him, Dream. Dream while you still can.”
This is so beautiful, Kenny. Yes, we will always dream of a better day and future for everybody.
» ~ elfie ~
Hmm… would you like to be a Monkey Girl, then? Hehe.
» Simeon
Aye. For what are we without our dreams, mate?
hehe, i’m for monkey girls too… and monkey business too, haha…
» jack phua
Tut-tut. Naughty, naughty boy.
It was supposed to be another national treasure but our visitors’ dirty habits and lame duck politicians have generally undone the place , which the last time we visited was unholy and looked abandoned . Much like many other sad places throughout Malaysia’s once pristine landmarks
» backStreetGluttons
I think they have cleaned it up somewhat since you last visited. Do give the caves a try again, one of these weekends.
i went and visited batu caves last weekend. it was very nice. unfortunately, i didn’t see any monkeys.
» kristopher
Aliens. Trust me, it’s the aliens that got them monkeys. Aliens.
A true testament of inter-faith relationships and good humor between the races.
I like this a lot, the juxtapostion of different cultures and religions in one melting pot.
Is this a Hindu temple, by any chance?
» Isaac
We could always do with a little more faith, aye.
» Caramel
It is a Hindu temple, inside the caves at the top of the hill. A natural and man-made wonder.
Monkeyboys and monkeygirls
Eating roti pisand and stealing pearls… LOL
» Célestin
It ain’t pearls they are stealing
But the tourists’ hearts they’re appealing…