Top of the world, Ma! The site's long-tailed stewards lack manners, but their impish curiosity is irresistible.
The pooled energies of Hindu pilgrims, other visitors and our macaque cousins imbue Batu Caves with a kind of distilled primate life force. Fog swirls around a handful of cave temples, and "rain" falls from the ceilings even as the sun blasts away aboveground. I am no geologist, but it seems obvious that Batu Caves serve as a giant drainage catchment, and that explains the independent weather system. Inverted spires are illuminated by floodlights. A single pinpoint ray of light penetrates the limestone canopy. An odd little 2-foot-tall ghost approaches me. My heart thumps with concealed terror, but we share a common ancestor, she and I. Her fingers brush against mine as she snatches a peanut from my outstretched hand and shoves it past fine lips with one motion, wheeling away ― off to boast and bicker with her extended family.
The Tamil god Murugan acts as sentinel. Some 300 steps lead to the caves. It is hot as fuck out here.
Hindu temples guarded by peacock statues can be visited for a few pennies. I do not know what each signifies but after awhile begin to view them as stations in life.
The caves are about 40 minutes north of central Kuala Lumpur. You can take a Grab, but I suggest buying a train ticket from the KTM Komuter window at KL Sentral. It's about $1.50 USD and you won't have to sit in traffic.
Ten temples in the world are devoted to Lord Murugan. Four of them are in Malaysia. One is in Ipoh.
Malaysian Indians make up less than 10 percent of the country's population. Seems like more, but my perspective is skewed from spending most of my time in cities. Their merchant ancestors from south India were pushed along by tradewinds into the Strait of Malacca. The prime minister is half-Indian, which adds to his electoral appeal.
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