A few days ago, I mentioned a gender activism video from Kuala Lumpur. jhybeturtle kindly consented to my hosting it, so here it is now. Watch the video (37.3 MB) »

Some of the participants you see here got arrested for their efforts. For more information, see the katagender blog or send them email.

Note: For unknown reasons, the katagender blog displays an unrelated page on “Amazing Bible Studies” to some browsers and the original site to others. It doesn’t appear to be ISP-level filtering since I get both versions. We suspect the site may have been hijacked and programmed to appear right to web spiders and certain audiences, while showing the hijacker’s site to others. Please leave me a comment indicating what you see: it’ll help figure out what’s going on.

Singapore is one big gated community.

Colin and I were at Titiwangsa in KL, looking for the Centre for Independent Journalism. We were lost and, after some circumambulating the block where we expected CIJ to be, we gave up and asked someone for directions.

The fellow responded in Hindi, which Colin didn’t understand. He saw the blank look on Colin’s face and asked if he spoke Hindi; once again in Hindi. At this point I was too amused to butt in, but Colin gleaned that one critical word and turned around to me, and I reluctantly carried forward the conversation.

Colin’s Malaysian, but could easily pass for an Indian. The fellow we spoke to looked Indian and must have taken us to be recent immigrants. To visit a foreign country and be spoken to in your own language, unasked for, is surreal. This was hardly an isolated event. Waiters at restaurants have attempted to chat me up in Tamil, to which I’ve mournfully responded “Tamil teriyaadu. Kannada, Telugu.”

Of all the places on this trip, KL’s easily the place I felt most at home in.

Another of jhybeturtle’s friends, whose name I can’t recall, said he had spent three months earlier this year backpacking around the region. Laos was the highlight. “It’s beautiful, man.” He spent several weeks there, exploring the far corners of the country.

That’s three people who’ve gushed about how incredible Laos is. Now I really want to go see the place.

What is it with toilets in tropical countries using tissue paper instead of water? Tissue paper is disgusting. It scrapes bottom and doesn’t clean thoroughly. It makes sense in a cold country where water at room temperature will freeze your arse and warm water may be unavailable or uneconomical.

But in a tropical country? It seems the swankier the place I’m in, the more likely the place abhors water in favour of tissue. A case of culture creep? Why not design toilets to handle both?

My bottom’s hurting from the abuse.

In KL, Zee put me in touch with her acquaintance Julie Tan, who works with the NGO Action for Life. Julie took me out to lunch, where I learnt that “Chinese” and “vegetarian” put together do not make a paradox. That ended my run of Indian meals.

Julie noticed I was sniffling and asked about my health. I said I had picked up a cold in Cambodia that refused to let up, and had two mouth ulcers that made eating and talking painful. She said it must be heat. Not heat as in temperature, but body heat caused by poor diet and exertion from my travels. She said it was a concept from Chinese medicine. I told her it was the same in India. (People not familiar with this may find it hard to understand.)

Julie insisted on feeding me fruit and said I should get some medicine to relieve the heat. We went to the neighbourhood Chinese medical store where she explained it to the store manager. The item she wanted wasn’t on the shelves. The manager asked if I had a fever. I said it was only a cold. He disappeared into the back room and returned shortly with three warm bottles of coloured liquid that he explained as being made of herbs that would flush out my heat. One bottle for the afternoon, one for the night, and one for the next morning. I had to take them with warm water. Nine ringgit per bottle of 100 mL each.

I didn’t know what to make of this. The bottles were unlabelled. Their contents had been concocted in the back room. Anything could be in there. And twenty seven ringgit (Rs 325) isn’t exactly spare change. I looked at Julie apprehensively. She said it was Chinese medicine, very reliable. There was a doctor in the back room who could tell what my ailments were by looking at my hands and face. He didn’t charge for consultation, but I’d have to pay for whatever he prescribed. The manager handed me a card for a Goh Boon Cheow (Ivan), Acupuncturist & Physician. Apparently he’s Vice President of Acupuncture Society of Malaysia. Would I want to meet him?

I declined and asked about the concoction again. What did it taste like? Sweet? The manager shook his head vigourously and handed me some Chinese plums. They were wrapped like toffees. The print said they had been packaged in China. So it was going to be bitter.

There I was, about to pay a good deal of money for a bitter concoction of unknown composition that would supposedly cure me of ambiguous ailments. Did I really want to do this? What the heck, it was a new experience. I could write about it!

It was only mildly bitter. Whether it was the medicine or the genial atmosphere of Kuala Lumpur, I cannot tell, but by the time I left I was feeling much better. The nose block’s nearly abated. The ulcers are still there, but they don’t burn anymore. I feel good.

Popagandhi has nifty pictures from the streets of Kuala Lumpur. Check them out, yo.

Today I took to wandering the streets of Kuala Lumpur. This place could easily pass for some forgotten corner of Madras.

I wandered into a random restaurant near KLCC and asked if they had vegetarian food. The woman gestures at the items in front of her and says “all these items are vegetarian” in a clear Tamil accent. “Except that is fish over there. And that there is rasam.” While I’m standing there wondering what to do next, she thrusts a plate of rice at me and points at the rasam again. I help myself.

Happiest meal yet.

Sham’s wife has been making rasam daily, but it’s an entirely different experience getting to eat it at a restaurant. If this continues, it won’t be long before I fully recover from the poor diet in Bangkok.