This year we just HAD to witness something of Thaipusam, the Hindu festival honouring Lord Murugan.

In Malaysia for four Thaipusams already, and never experienced it? Just not good enough.

In our defence, it's partly because we don't do crowds well, and the major ceremonies attract thousands and thousands of people.

So this year, by way of compromise, we planned to watch the procession of the silver chariot, whose route passes really close to where we live.

And we missed it... Yep. Completely screwed up the date, and woke up to realize it had already happened.

OK, then, we said. So we'll watch it come back.

On Friday night, therefore, after our concert (the MPO -- Wagner and Berlioz -- fantastic -- as always -- I've never been to an MPO concert and not enjoyed it), we took the LRT to Pasar Seni, walked to the temple that is the destination of the chariot, and determined to trace the route back until we found it.

Initially, the streets were quiet. Had we missed it again? Surely not?

But then, tell-tale signs started to emerge that something was going to happen. Tables with drinks and food by the side of the road. Handfuls of police on hand to close roads. Little knots of people.

By the time we got to Chow Kit (it was pretty much midnight by this time), the crowds had thickened up considerably. There was a party atmosphere, full of expectation, with people dressed in their gorgeous best, food outlets doing a roaring trade, little stalls offering the marigolds and bananas that form an integral part of the offering plates, and unusually exuberant music (in what is normally a pretty exuberant road).

As we swung left into Jalan Ipoh, we saw our well-known neighbourhood transformed, buzzing with people.

We pressed on, and eventually parked ourselves with lots of others outside the police station. By now half the broad road was closed.

And up ahead, vision-like, we could see the bright lights of the chariot.





Moving VERY slowly. At this rate it certainly wouldn't get back to the temple by 2 am, the time when the rolling road closures were supposed to roll to a close.

Eventually the music wagon reached us, the players' pulsating rhythms enlivening the evening.



And eventually -- stopping, moving, stopping, moving -- the chariot approached.

As it inched its way closer (drawn by a cute little tractor, and followed discreetly by a generator), we could see more clearly the reason for the slow progress. Worshippers bring garlands and offering plates, complete with flame, which are handed up individually for the deity's blessing before being handed back down again. A band of yellow-T-shirted youngsters moved among the crowd, playing instruments and chanting. Behind the chariot, a team of sweepers dealt with the relics of all the split coconuts.









People follow for a while, then peel off, leaving the chariot in the company of a new set of offering-bringers.

The whole thing is orderly but relaxed, noisy and happy but somehow calm.

We got home at 2 am, so yes, the road-closure schedule was definitely optimistic...

If you want to know more about the Murugan story, you can read it here. (But be warned, it's complicated.)

What I take from the whole experience is a profound gratitude that I can live here for a while, and be part of all this...