Chan Ah Thong, Brickfields – A State of Mind

 The places we live in bring us together regardless of race, religion or language. One such place was Chan Ah Tong in Brickfields. Chan Ah Tong was not simply the name of a road in Brickfields, but the state of mind of a people from different origins living together,

For those who grew up in the period after WW2 and Independence in 1957, it was a part of the embryo of the multiracial country being formed at that time. 

I don’t know about the adults who lived there, but the boys we met from Chan Ah Tong, regardless of race, spoke in a common idiom; they grouped together, shared a common loyalty and even formed football and cricket teams. 

"Dei", a Tamil word, was a commonly used term to call someone or as an interjection or filler to keep the speech flowing. This single, percussive syllable acted as the heartbeat of their interactions—a linguistic bridge that rendered the distinctions of their parents' origins irrelevant.

In this embryonic Malaysia, identity was forged on the sunken playing field bordered by the houses and the main road. It must have been formed after the red earth was dug out to make the bricks that rebuilt Kuala Lumpur after the great fire at the end of the 19th century. 

If the place was the embryo of a nation in making, Chan Ah Tong boys were the early births from that embryo. 

To those who today seek to divide Malaysian society along communal lines, the memory of Chan Ah Tong offers a sharp rebuke. It proves that ethnic identities are not monoliths but fabric that can be woven together. When the Vivekananda Ashram, the Sam Kow Tong Temple, the Madrasathul Gouthiyyah Surau and the local churches all stood within the same square mile, they didn't compete for dominance; they provided a collective spiritual canopy for a community that saw itself as a single unit.

Today, the field is a car park, and the quarters have been demolished to make way for new structures. But the lesson of the Chan Ah Tong culture remains: unity is not something that needs to be engineered through policy if it is first allowed to bloom through proximity. Those who preach division would do well to remember that for decades, in a small corner of Brickfields, Malaysians had already figured out how to live together—not by ignoring their differences, but by playing, eating, and dreaming right in the middle of them.

To look back at that era is to remember its lesson that the "Malaysian identity" was never a complex puzzle to be solved by politicians. It was already there, loud and unforced, in the shout of a Chinese boy calling "Dei" across a Brickfields field, standing as living proof that we were always meant to be one.

Welcome to "Learning About Today" – A New Chapter

 Welcome to "Learning About Today" – A New Chapter

For a long time, this space was known as Private Education Malaysia. It served as a record of mainly the private sector of education and my career as an educator in that sector. But as the world around us shifts—becoming louder, more complex, and increasingly fragmented—I have felt the need for this blog to shift along with it.

Today, I am officially renaming this site Learning About Today.

Why the Change?

My life’s work has been dedicated to education, but I have come to realise that "learning" does not end at the school gates. We are currently living through a period of profound digital noise. The traditional media "gatekeepers" are fading, replaced by a "many-to-many" landscape of podcasts, social media influencers, and independent blogs.

While this shift has democratized information, it has also created a crisis of truth. We are no longer just students of subjects; we are students of survival in an age of misinformation, "rage-bait" algorithms, and charismatic broadcasters who often prioritise engagement over objectivity.

What to Expect

Learning for Today will continue to feature my reflections on education, but the lens will be broader. I will be exploring the intersection of media, power, and the institutions of democracy.

We will look at:

• Media Literacy: How to deconstruct the "digital noise" and spot the tactics of modern authoritarianism.
• Democratic Advocacy: Why the plethora of new media can lead to confusion and withdrawal, and how we can stay engaged.
• The Educator’s Perspective: Why learning to navigate the news must become a fundamental part of our national curriculum.

Our First Lesson: The Drowning of Democracy

To kick off this new chapter, I am publishing an essay that touches on the very heart of why I am making this change: "Hiding in Plain Sight: How Digital Noise is Paving the Road to Autocracy."

In it, I discuss how the "colossal failure" of traditional media (most recently seen in the reporting on the genocide in Palestine) has pushed us toward a decentralized media world that—while liberating—is fraught with new dangers.

Join the Conversation

I am grateful to those who have followed my writing here and through my contributions to Aliran. I hope you will stay with me for this new journey. Democracy is not a spectator sport; it requires a public that is willing to keep learning, every single day.

Welcome to the classroom. Let’s start learning.

Thaipusam – A Personal Reflection

 

Thaipusam is an annual celebration dedicated to Lord Murugan, one of the main Hindu deities.

Thaipusam

To Hindus, Thaipusam is a day of profound spiritual cleansing and victory. It honours Lord Murugan, the deity of youth and power, receiving the Vel or the divine spear of wisdom to defeat the forces of darkness. It is a celebration of the triumph of the human spirit over its own limitations, expressed through grand processions and acts of deep penance.

Worshippers carry the kavadis, which are a symbolic burden of atonement or repentance on their shoulders as they climb the hundred of steps to the temple, as in Batu Caves in Kuala Lumpur or walk long distances to the temple. Kavadis come in many shapes and forms, often in the shape of an arched wooden or steel frame decorated with flowers, peacock feathers (the peacock is Lord Murugan's mount), and images of deities.

The procession of the chariot

In the main temples in Malaysia, where Thaipusam is celebrated, the celebration starts a day earlier when the deity's statue is carried in chariots from the temple of his abode to the one where the rituals are held.

The Rhythm of the Streets

Until a few years ago, when my left knee began to act up, I walked in the procession from the Sri Mahamariamman Temple on High Street to Baru Caves, ten miles away on the old road leading to Ipoh and the North.

To walk with the chariot is an experience one never forgets. You don’t walk alone but with a throng of people keeping pace with the chariot.

The air is filled with the smell of jasmine and incense, vibrating with the primal thrum of the urumi drums and trumpets. But look closely at the crowd, and you see the true miracle of our nation. It is a long, winding river of humanity where Indian, Chinese, and Malay faces blend into a single moving entity.

A Shared Journey

Shop owners along the route, regardless of their faith, offer fruits and flowers as the chariot passes. In those moments, the deep but obvious message of Thaipusam reveals itself: religion need not be a barrier that divides, but a bridge that connects. That is the Vel of wisdom.

The Lion and the Chariot

Nowhere is this unity more enchanting than in the greeting of the lion dancers. This tradition emerged spontaneously in our urban centres as a beautiful gesture of respect from the Chinese community toward their Hindu neighbours. To see the vibrant, coloured lions bow and dance before the silver chariot is to witness a sight that speaks to the heart. Two different sounds from two ancient civilisations meeting on a Malaysian street.

Forged by the Winds

Malaysia is one of the few places on earth where the great monsoons meet. For centuries, the winds brought travellers, traders, and seekers from every corner of the globe to these shores. In this crucible, the cultures and religions of the world were forged together, not by force, but by the necessity of coexistence.

This, I believe, is the first lesson of being Malaysian. We are remarkably different, yet we are united by the mysterious ways of history. We are a people woven together by a narrative much larger than ourselves—a tikar mengkuang (a traditional mat woven from palm leaves) created by the long, overlapping shadows of our ancestors.

I am made of these memories. Though my knee may no longer allow me to keep pace with the chariot, the spirit of that walk remains within me. It reminds me that we are a country where the sacred and the secular, the ancient and the modern, and the lion and the deity, all walk the same path. We are different. Yes. But we are bound by a shared history that has taught us how to move as one, even if it is to different rhythms.

In my younger days, as a clerk with the National Electricity Board, my union was one of the movers of the Batu Caves celebrations, together with those of the Telecoms and PWD. I remember the weight of those two nights spent as a volunteer. Chopping vegetables, boiling the dhal and cooking mountains of rice, all under a tent in the heat of a dozen wood-burning stoves.  This was followed the next day by the sheer joy of serving the food and drinks for the thousands who arrived in waves. It was service in its purest form, fuelled by the same mysterious history that brought us all to this land.

Today, 1 February 2026, marks a rare and auspicious alignment in Malaysia as we celebrate both Thaipusam and Federal Territory Day. For Hindus, this sacred day commemorates Lord Murugan receiving the Vel (divine spear) from his mother, Goddess Parvati, to vanquish the demon Soorapadman—a powerful symbol of wisdom overcoming ignorance.