Dreaming of the Batu Caves

I stare up at the large gold statue, guarding the entrance to the Batu Caves, and marvel at the significance of this moment in my life. A big, indescribable flurry of feeling funnels itself out of my gut and whips kinetic energy into my limbs, every molecule of my body vibrating with anticipation.

I am going to see a monkey today.

And a 400 million year old limestone hill, sprinkled with stalactites and stalagmites, home to some of the most sacred Hindu temples in all of Malaysia.

But mostly a monkey.

Or maybe several monkeys...

My mind wanders, as I imagine our first encounter, on the thronging steps that stretch out before me. A long tail twists around my legs, as a set of human-like teeth smiles up at me, waiting for sumptuous handouts of fresh coconut and banana, small brown hands tugging playfully at my thin yellow scarf, pulled round my shoulders and saturated with the soggy breath of May.

"We are such fucking tourists," says Danae, laughing in her thick Greek accent, and I drop from my reverie like an egg, cast out from the unfortunate nest of a prematurely hatched cuckoo bird (yes, that reference is for you, Bianca). With that, she pulls out her very conspicuous Nikon D-90, raises the view finder to her eye, and attempts to encapsulate the frame of this indomitable figure, Lord Murugan, the Hindu god of war, knowing full well that his magnificence exists in direct relation to scale, which is impossible to capture in the dimensions of a standard photograph, 4 inches long by 6 inches wide.

Lord Murugan

My own camera, a Nikon D3200, sits heavy in my bag, itching to be taken out, and I submit to its inanimate longing. Removing the lens cap, I feel my eyebrows stitch together, as I begin to think about all the people who have come before us, brandishing this same token of their visit to Batu, without understanding the full magnitude of meaning that this statue, and this place, holds for the Hindu people.

But as we begin our ascent to the main cave, amidst the clamor of tourists and devotees, sweating and bumping and waiting and watching, I am once again caught up in the excitement of this new and fantastic place.

And then, in amongst a sea of colorful fabric, I see him.

Tail twitching. Stern, contemplative face examining the inside of a coconut, hands shredding the pulp with a lustful desire. I jostle my way up the stairs to get a better look.

He does not look as friendly as I had hoped... 

Despite his relatively unpleasant disposition, the monkey intrigues me greatly, and after this first sighting, I develop an unexpected and largely frantic need to see MORE monkeys.

 National Geographic, here I come!

After some time, my index finger begins to tire, and I promise myself that I will put my camera away for a while, to enjoy the present moment.

UNTIL I SEE THIS! 

WHAT?!

OMG

You're lucky I've restrained myself (but you may find more monkey pictures attached to the end of this post...) 

Attempting to distract me from my monkey mania, Danae suggests that we continue up into the caves. As we climb the steps, sopping with sweat, I begin to look at the people around me. They are incredibly diverse, and many look somber, devoted and hopeful. It is an interesting thing, to pull your attention away from yourself and to place it on to other people. 

My friend Jake once asked me if I knew the meaning of the word sonder, and I didn't, so we looked it up in the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. 

sonder

n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

I liked this definition so much that I think of it often, when I am surrounded by people, and have the clarity to know when I have become too self-involved.

A Hindu women, clad in the warm colors of a life, long-lived

Some of the people around me, I realized, were ascending the stairs on their knees, eyes raised to the heavens, an unwavering endurance planted firmly beneath their eyelids. 

When we enter the caves, the shrines, which house Hindu deities Vishnu, Shiva and Shakti, come into view. People congregate beneath the colourful structures, their bare feet supported by a slab of cold limestone.

I begin to understand that for these people, this is not a vacation, it is a pilgrimage.

A young Hindu man removes his hat, and swiftly passes his hand through a hot flame, touching his head and his face before his skin cools. An act of purification.

An older man prays by the same flame, standing up, falling to his knees, and jumping into a push up, then back, before raising his hands, once again, in prayer. In every action, he is flanked by his young son, who attempts to mimic his father's devotion. 

Some children, their heads covered in Vibhuti, or sacred ash, tip toe into the temples, dressed in beautiful garments made of fabrics that shine in the natural light that filters in through the caves. 

I am humbled by the knowledge that some devotees have traveled days to arrive at the temples to pay homage to this Holy place. 

As we are leaving, Danae picks up a coconut husk to give to a monkey.

"Is it too big do you think?" she asks, "I'm going to try to break it". 

She places it on the ground and proceeds to stomp on it. 

A young Hindu man, his face twisted in fear and discomfort, rushes towards us with arms outstretched, waving back and forth in a universal symbol which I interpret to mean "NO!"

He points at the coconut, and says, in broken English: "This... a symbol of God... Not good for breaking". 

Danae, mortified, because she goes out of her way in every situation to be culturally appropriate, apologizes profusely. 

After more tutting and frowning, the man finally cracks a smile and shoos us away.

"You can give to monkey now. Just goh, goh,"

As we leave the cave, I try to be mindful of my own position in the world. Of my own privilege. That I am here, in this space, this place of worship, without even knowing what my presence might mean for those who spend their lives dreaming of the Batu Caves. 

Inside the caves

 More monkeys! 

Not crying over spilled milk

Hindu altar

Vibhuti (or sacred ash)

 Henna

Fresh Coconut Water