31/01/2026

SATURDAY | JAN 31, 2026 18 B EFORE sunrise, Batu Caves is already awake. Bare feet move slowly over cool stone, hands steadying milk pots as volunteers call out directions over the hum of traffic and prayer. The air carries incense, flowers and the low, familiar rhythm of devotional songs from loudspeakers. Monkeys dart across the steps, snatching marigold petals or abandoned offerings – a mischievous reminder that the caves belong to both humans and nature. Somewhere, a baby cries; somewhere else, a devotee sways gently in quiet focus, eyes half-closed, as if listening to something only he can hear. I have attended Thaipusam in different versions of myself: as a barefoot girl clutching my mother’s hand; as a youngster pretending not to be impressed by the kavadi bearers; as a journalist assigned to write about faith with professional distance; and now, as a mother who packs wet wipes, snacks and emergency patience along with offerings to Lord Murugan. I once thought I would come to Thaipusam only to light a lamp and whisper a short prayer. Instead, each year, my husband and I carry a milk pot – warm, heavy and careful in our hands – to fulfil a vow we made to Lord Murugan for our daughter, who is autistic. We do not pray for miracles, only for gentler days, steadier nights and a world that would learn to be kind to her. Every year, the crowd grows thicker, yet there is a peculiar calm. Devotees move with purpose, children cling to parents and strangers exchange small nods of patience. Men and women carry their vows on their backs – elaborate steel arches heavy with peacock feathers, milk pots balanced carefully on shaved heads, small barefoot children walking solemnly beside parents who have made promises in hospital corridors, kitchens and quiet corners of their lives. Faith is often practised amid everyday chaos here. Devotion squeezes itself between Grab riders, police barricades and volunteers handing out mineral water from ice boxes. We pray while worrying about parking. We fulfil our vows while navigating the bustling crowd. We apologise to strangers when we accidentally step on their toes during sacred moments. It is messy and ordinary but deeply ours. There is a particular humility in walking barefoot on hot asphalt, past stalls selling sugarcane juice and phone accessories while trying to keep your mind focused on God. The body complains, the back aches, the feet burn P O T T U B Y H A S H I You expect to rest in the sanctuary you built. Yet, for many Malaysian seniors, the home has become a financial trap. This is the silent crisis brewing behind the high rise walls of our strata developments. While we often discuss the “sandwich generation” or the depletion of EPF savings, we rarely discuss the brutal reality of what it actually costs to stay in your own home when you are old, frail and earning zero income. By 2030, according to many estimates, we will be an aged nation. Culturally, the solution has always been simple. Parents live with children or stay in the family home. The concept of “ageing in place” is a deep-seated desire for nearly every Malaysian parent. Nobody wants to be uprooted to an institution. However, the housing landscape has shifted. A significant portion of our elderly population now lives in strata schemes such as apartments, condominiums and flats. Unlike the landed “ kampung ” houses of the past, these vertical villages come with a monthly price tag: maintenance fee and a

Bare feet, heavy vows: a Malaysian Thaipusam

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Thaipusam does not belong only to the dramatic images of hooks and spears that dominate headlines; it belongs to the aunties who wake up at 3am to cook pongal for volunteers, the uncles who spend the night directing traffic for free, teenagers carrying bottled water in cardboard boxes bigger than their torsos and non Hindus who stand patiently in nearby shops, watching human faith unfold

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like a slow procession. – BERNAMAPIC

being just another landmark and Malaysia will rush back to its usual arguments about prices, politics and parking. But for one long day, we will remember how to kneel – not just for God but for endurance, for the community, for the stubborn decision to believe that pain can be meaningful and that ordinary lives are worthy of divine intervention. That, to me, is Thaipusam – not perfect, not polished but painfully and beautifully Malaysian.

night; to the father pretending not to cry when his son completes his first kavadi ; to the young woman praying not for wealth or fame but for the courage to survive another year. It belongs to all of us who live between hope and fatigue. When the day finally ends, the flowers are trampled into brown paste, the milk pots are empty and the devotees are exhausted into gentleness. The kavadi bearers look smaller without their burdens, volunteers collapse onto plastic chairs and children fall asleep mid-sentence. Faith, too, becomes quiet. Tomorrow, Batu Caves will heave with bodies and prayers and the roads will turn briefly sacred with bare feet and trampled flowers. A few days later, the hill will return to

and the queue does not move. And still, people wait – not because it is easy but because life here has never been. Thaipusam does not belong only to the dramatic images of hooks and spears that dominate headlines; it belongs to the aunties who wake up at 3am to cook pongal (a rice porridge) for volunteers, the uncles who spend the night directing traffic for free, teenagers carrying bottled water in cardboard boxes bigger than their torsos and non-Hindus who stand patiently in nearby shops, watching human faith unfold like a slow procession. It belongs to the mother pressing her forehead to the temple floor, whispering the name of a child who does not sleep through the

Hashini Kavishtri Kannan is the assistant news editor at theSun. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com

COMMENT by Adriel Bradley Jaring

Golden years or golden cage? Hidden costs of ageing at home AFTER 30 years of paying off a housing loan, retirement should feel like the finish line. wide doors for wheelchairs, anti-skid flooring to prevent fatal falls and panic buttons in master bedrooms.

sinking fund. This creates a cruel paradox. We have a generation of retirees who are “asset rich” because they own a property worth RM400,000 or more but “cash poor” because they survive on a dwindling EPF payout. They own the roof over their heads, yet they live in fear of the management committee. If the lift breaks down, the cost to fix it comes from the sinking fund. If that fund is insufficient, fees rise. If the elderly cannot pay, they face penalties or utilities are cut. The home that was supposed to be their sanctuary becomes a source of chronic anxiety. This specific challenge is why the research by Dr Amalina Azmi, a senior lecturer at the Department of Real Estate, Faculty of Built Environment, Universiti Malaya, is important. Her work, entitled “The Strata Housing Attributes for the Elderly to Age in Place”, provides the essential roadmap for this issue. She has extensively mapped out the “hardware” or the physical attributes required for safe ageing. Through her findings, we know exactly what an elderly-friendly home looks like. It requires specific features, such as 1.2m

safe home remain a luxury for the rich rather than a standard for the many. If an elderly person cannot afford to fix a broken lift, they become prisoners in their own high-rise units. If they cannot afford anti-slip tiles, a bathroom visit can become a life-threatening hazard. This financial insecurity degrades their quality of life and leads to isolation. Whether you are a policymaker, a child of ageing parents or a future retiree, this should serve as a wake-up call. We need to advocate for solutions that go beyond the EPF. We need mechanisms that recognise housing costs as a core component of healthcare. If we want our parents to age with dignity, we must ensure their homes are not just buildings of brick and mortar but fortresses of financial security. We must ensure that “ageing in place” does not become “trapped in place”.

“A significant portion of our

However, her findings also open the door to a critical follow-up question. If we know what the attributes are, how do we ensure the elderly can afford them? This is where the new research under the Bantuan Kecil Penyelidik grant steps in. It aims to bridge the gap between Amalina’s physical checklist and the financial reality of the average Malaysian retiree. The study asks the uncomfortable questions. Who pays for the retrofitting of a 20-year-old apartment to make it align with Amalina’s safety standards? How do we support a retiree whose pension covers food but not the rising service charges required to maintain safe lifts and security? The previous research gave us the design for a safe home. This new research aims to find the wallet to pay for it. The project highlights that financial security for the elderly is no longer just about having enough money for groceries. It is about “tenure security”. It identifies that without specific financial interventions, the physical attributes of a

elderly population now lives in strata schemes such as apartments, condominiums and flats. Unlike the landed ‘kampung’ houses of the past, these vertical villages come with a monthly price tag: maintenance fee and a sinking fund.

Adriel Bradley Jaring is an undergraduate student of

Universiti Malaya, taking an elective university course entitled “Introduction to Journalism and Storytelling in Digital Age”. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com