Melaka
Little India, the Goddess of Mercy, and the Muslim Graveyard

This day was as good as it gets. A nice Brittish woman from Cornwall, and I, had toured china town late yesterday via rickshaw. We had such a nice time, that we decided to tour Little India together today.


We meandered through the cluttered shops and craggy sidewalks. Since we are both artists, we were thrilled by the same quirky things such as crumbling peeling walls, rusty patinas and striking color combinations such as the fleeting juxtaposition of someone's umbrella against a complimentary wall color. It's an advantage if one's walking partner's kodak moments are in sync with your own!



We wove our way to areas of interest, via direction from helpful locals. We sniffed spices and were shown medicinal herbs in the back. It was fun just trying to decifer the different products in this dry goods store. I bought fabulous incense, including one "not guaranteed" batch wrapped in unmarked pink plastic that smelled of deep rich florals.


On the way to the local graveyard (one of our destinations), we stumbled upon a gorgeous sidewalk shrine table of fruit, candles, and folded paper decorations. The smell of incense and good food wafted and beckoned.


This symbol is NOT the same as the Natzi symbol. People inside were noisely celebrating some religious occaision. A few that had spotted us taking photos, invited us to join in on their Buddhist celebration of the Goddess of Mercy. Free lunch, and friendly people, convinced us to enter the brightly lit small rooms. Clare & I delighted in the unusual and delicious vegetarian food, and learning about the local rituals. Many people spoke some English, and a couple spoke it fluently.




We were delighted to meet one friendly chap, who's mother was the Goddess of Mercy that year. Apparently, she'd felt the spirit of the Goddess, and so was appointed to represent her. Dressed in a white outfit, she serenely walked through the rooms, blessing various alter fruits and offerings by marking them with a dot of red paint.

At one point, the Goddess of Mercy released a bird from it's paper encloser. This reminded me of a similar ritual in Thailand.

It was all quite lovely. With encouragement from one particularly helpful man, Clare and I took turns being bold, and photographed the scene. We decided to take them up on their friendly offer to come back later that evening for a candlight procession. We embarked with friendly waves.



We eventually found a Muslim graveyard. We were hesitant to enter, worried that we might be breaking some religious code unknowingly. There was no one around, and the place was shabby enough we decided to enter anyway. We each had a field day photographing intimate vignettes of gravestones.




Though we couldn't read the foreign writing on the gravestones, the tiny groupings told stories of families and love and respect.



Some of the stones were precious and lovely, some stately, some very humble and simple. Others had plants growing near them.




Usually, there were a set of gravestones about 2 ft apart, one being more ornate. Just on an aesthetic note, they were usually beautiful, what with the patiina of age on the moss covered granit and occasional turqouise and yellow paint. Some gravestones had glass inserts protecting precious writings.




I was particularly touched by one gravesite who's nearby ledge had a page (from a holy text or poetry perhaps?) placed on it. Satiated, we left.




We were horrified to see yet another dead or dying cat, on our way out. Stray cats in urban environments do not fare well, and there seems to be less concern here than at home.

Thirsty, we searched for a cafe or coffee house. Crossing the street is a major undertaking in Malaysia's cities. Crossing in the middle of the block has the advantage of spotting traffic gaps, and avoiding surprise attack from trucks and motorbikes rounding a corner when you least expect them.


We found a tranquil, clean, and airy restaurant. The new management was an Indian Muslim. I asked after the music playing, for future purchase, and so began our cryptic conversation. We exchanged the usual information about where we all hailed and my ethnicity, and in the end, the charming gentleman generously treated us to fried plantains as a welcome. I wish we hadn't been full from a previous meal... his food and good vibes of the place appealed.

We continued on and eventually made it back to our guesthouse. It had been a full day, and my feet ached. As usual, I soaked them in cold water, and propped them up for a rest.

Later that night, Clare and I made our way back to Little India. I was uncomfortably stiff and sore, but was determined not to miss the candlight vigil. I hobbled slowly, and limped quickly across traffic. We feasted at the Indian restaurant a local friend had recommended. Since he was of Indian decent, and from KL, we were confident it was good. Rice and curried vegies were piled on huge bannana leaves. We were also presented with a small bowl of curried mutton, a beer and my "mango" lassi. I'm not sure if the meat was truly mutton (it looked like chicken breast to me), or my lassi orange or mango (there was some confusion over what was available and our server was rather forgetful). It was all delicious. A nearby spice shop worker that we'd met earlier that day, waved hello as he exited the restaurant.

It took some doing finding the candlelight procession. Things looked different at night, and it was a much smaller to do than we thought. In fact, the procession was a small loop just outside the humble temple hall, with one volunteer slowing and redirecting traffic with plastic chairs (in place of traffic cones) and waves. Miraculously, no one was hit. We each bought a stalk of crysanthemums and were given incense and a red candle in a paper cone. Although my eyes burned when downwind from the incense, I enjoyed the meditative walking and bowing to the goddess of Mercy alters. I even enjoyed relighting candles of people who's flames had been blown out from the wind. People were quite sweet. We munched, yet again, on desserts and an interesting warm plum drink. In the end, in burningman fashion, they dramatically burned all the meticulously folded paper offerings out in the street. At the end, we each conferred with the Goddess of Mercy regarding a personal question. I asked her how I could use my creativity to good in the world, and also take good care of myself. She responded that I was surrounded by some bad spirits and that I need to be careful in my choices. Also, I should be especially careful in June, July and August about people with bad motivations. She gave me a blessed red card in a pink envelope for good luck, and later (upon asking) picked out a colorful braided bracelet with a single pearl. Not only were the locals not offended by out picture taking during religeous rites... they wanted copies! One man joked with what seemed to be a religious leader of sorts that he'd told me that he was admiring my figure...obviously it wasn't true, and the poor guy rather blushed... I got the impression that this good natured single guy was the butt of a lot of jokes. We were given a ride home from the nice man we'd met earlier that day. He'd presented us with his business card earlier, and was obviously well known by the locals there, so we quite safe in accepting. I was thrilled not to have to walk home... my feet were killing me!

I'll post the pictures of the night procession when Clare sends them. I'd forgotten to download my camera before leaving, so there was no room for more photos.