The annual pilgrimage

One thing about Indians in Penang, mainly of Tamil stock, is that they have a solid attachment to Thaipusam celebrations. I remember growing up in Penang around low, middle-class Tamil families; Thaipusam was an important event. For Penangites, Thaipusam meant three trips of prayers. Anything else would mean incomplete worship of Lord Thendayathapani. On the eve of Thaipusam, it was customary to follow the day-long chariot procession that traversed almost the whole town.

The main event on Thaipusam was a giant fiesta. It was the go-to place to meet up with old friends and long-lost relatives who refused to keep in touch. Climbing the Waterfall hill to pray at the small temple atop is necessary. Watching wave after wave of colourful kavadis. Kavadis came in various sizes with degrees of intricacies, architectures and varying displays of theatrics by the kavadi bearers and their entourage. Music was compulsory. Those days, there was not so much restriction to the songs played over the P.A. system of the numerous refreshment sheds (thaneer panthal). So, it was left to the creativity of shed owners to whip up catchy songs that drew a crowd. Upbeat Tamil movie songs with sultry lines ruled the day.

To accommodate the hot season that used to hit Penang in January and February (now the weather pattern has taken a toss), kavadis mainly came in two shifts - early morning and late evening. 

If one thought that was all for Thaipusam, they were wrong. After recovering from the two days' merrymaking, the chariot had to return to its original resting place. It was a night-long affair, with the chariot starting in the late evening and moving slowly through town to reach its destination the following morning, making it the fourth day of festivity. 

Now, there was a local urban legend in Penang about Thaipusam. When someone misses a year's celebration, somehow, the curse of not attending would continue for another two years.

Now that my mother, a true blue Penangite and an octogenarian, is incapacitated and essentially homebound, she became restless as Thaipusam approached. She reminisced about the good old times when she could just partake in the celebrations back in Penang at the drop of a coin, at her will. 

She smiled the moment she laid eyes on the Batu Caves temple steps, filled with saffron-attired worshippers with hypnotising drums. For her, Thaipusam was done. Of course, she viewed all these from afar in the comfort of a car perched on a flyover overlooking Batu Caves and the iconic Murugan Statue. 

P.S. At the end of the day, the question that begs to be answered is whether Thaipusam, a religious obligation, has slowly evolved into a cultural revelry and ethnic entitlement.

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