Back to Farquhar Street

This Thursday is a date I've been looking forward to for quite some time. After almost ten years behind hoardings and scaffolding, the Penang State Museum on Farquhar Street is finally reopening its doors. Like many Penangites, I'm curious to see how the old building has been restored. But unlike most visitors, the first thing I'll be looking for won't be the new galleries or exhibits.

I'll be making a beeline for the marble plaques mounted on the walls. Most people probably walk past them without a second glance. To me, they are among the most important artefacts in the whole building.

Many people don't realise that the building was never intended to be a museum. It was built for the Penang Free School after the school's original premises at Church Square had become hopelessly overcrowded. The first wing was completed in 1896, while the second followed in 1907.

Building a new school in those days was no small undertaking. To finance the project, the people of Penang rallied behind the cause. Individuals, families, businesses and community organisations donated generously because they believed in supporting education. To honour their generosity, marble plaques bearing the names of all the contributors were mounted on the walls of the new school building.

Many years later, while studying those names, I made an unexpected discovery. One of the donors was my own great-great-grandfather. Ever since then, whenever I visit the building, I make it a point to look for his name. It gives me a strange but satisfying feeling to know that someone from my family helped, however modestly, to build what would eventually become one of Penang's most historic buildings.

When Penang Free School moved to its Green Lane campus in 1927, the school ensured that the names of those benefactors would not be forgotten. A wooden honours board bearing the same list of donors was produced and mounted above the entrance to the Pinhorn Hall, where it still hangs today. Generations of Old Frees have probably walked beneath it without realising the story behind those names.

This Thursday, however, I'll have another reason for visiting. Some time ago, while restoration work was still in progress, the Penang State Museum contacted me with an unexpected request. The introduction came through the school's then headmaster, Syed Sultan Shaik Oothuman. Knowing of my work on the history of Penang Free School, he suggested that the museum approach me to write a concise history of the school for its new displays.

I was only too happy to help. Much of what I wrote was based on the extensive research and investigation that eventually culminated in Let the Aisles Proclaim in 2016. While researching that book, I discovered that a surprising number of accepted accounts of the school's early history were inaccurate. The same mistakes had been copied from one publication to another over the decades until they became accepted as historical fact.

Going back to original documents, newspapers and official records allowed me to verify dates, correct errors and, in some cases, completely rewrite parts of the school's early history. 

Besides writing the historical account, I also supplied some old photographs and helped identify a number of people appearing in them. They were only small contributions, but I was glad to be able to assist. Whether the museum acknowledges my contribution is entirely up to them. That isn't why I did it.

For me, the satisfaction comes from knowing that I have been able to contribute, in however small a way, to preserving the history of a building that occupies such an important place in Penang's educational and cultural heritage.

When I walk through those doors again this Thursday, I'll almost certainly pause in front of those marble plaques and look for the name of my great-great-grandfather who helped build the school more than a century ago. Beyond those plaques are galleries that now also contain a little of my own work. History has a wonderful way of coming full circle.

Dewan Sri Pinang memories

Just going to the Dewan Sri Pinang last Monday brought back memories of my long association with this grand old hall. It was not the first time I had walked into the building to receive recognition, but it was also certainly not the first time I had been here for something else that was equally memorable.

At the investiture ceremony, my wife was seated high up in the terraced chairs, giving her an excellent vantage point of the proceedings below. At some point during the ceremony, she took a photograph of the hall from where she was sitting. When she showed it to me afterwards, I found myself looking beyond just the picture itself. The sweeping view of the hall, the spaciousness of the venue and the atmosphere it captured brought back a flood of memories.

Because my first visit to Dewan Sri Pinang was not for an award ceremony. It was December 1972, the last few days of my school life. Upper Six and the Higher School Certificate examinations had just ended, and like many school leavers, I was standing at the crossroads, wondering what lay ahead. There wasn't much time for soul-searching, though, because I had been selected to represent Penang in the inaugural Majlis Sukan Sekolah-sekolah Malaysia (MSSM) team chess championship. It was the first time chess had appeared as a competitive sport in the MSSM programme.

It is tempting to attribute the inclusion of chess to the famous World Championship match between Boris Spassky and Bobby Fischer from July to September in 1972. In reality, the wheels had already been set in motion months earlier.

In April 1972, Dr Max Euwe, then President of the World Chess Federation (FIDE) and himself a former World Champion, visited Malaysia as part of a regional tour to promote chess. He stopped in Kuala Lumpur, and I was one of five players from Penang selected to take part in a simultaneous exhibition against him. If memory serves me right, he played about 24 schoolboys from around the country. We from Penang were myself, Khaw Teik Kooi and Khoo Chuan Keat from Penang Free School, and Beh Hong Pin and Lee Teik Leong from Chung Ling High School.

I actually caught him out in the opening when he played his moves in the wrong order. Unfortunately, my inexperience showed. Instead of exploiting the opportunity, I allowed him to recover, and before long he won the game. But I did earn something far more memorable. When Dr Euwe realised his mistake, he paused briefly, looked at the position and said, "You're sharp."

Just two simple words. Yet coming from a former World Champion, they meant the world to a teenage chess player. Following Dr Euwe's visit, the Ministry of Education approved chess as an MSSM sport, although initially only as a team event. The Majlis Sukan Sekolah-sekolah Pulau Pinang (MSSPP) was entrusted with organising the inaugural championship. The task fell to Fang Ewe Churh, then Headmaster of Han Chiang Primary School and President of the fledgling Penang Chess Association. Freshly returned from the Chess Olympiad in Skopje, Yugoslavia, where he had served as Malaysia's team captain and delegate, he was the obvious choice to organise the competition.

I honestly can't remember the selection process now, but by the end of the year I had been informed that I would represent Penang on first board. It proved to be a tough tournament. We defeated Johore and Kelantan to reach the semi-finals, where we overcame Negri Sembilan. In the final, however, Selangor proved too strong, and we had to settle for the runners-up spot.

The championship was held in the main hall of Dewan Sri Pinang. I still remember shivering throughout the tournament, not only because of the powerful air-conditioning, but also because of the tension of playing on first board for the state team. Over the years, I've returned to Dewan Sri Pinang many times for chess events. Games have been played in the main hall, the function rooms downstairs, and even in the foyer and first-floor corridors. But nothing can quite match the memories of that first tournament.

So now, whenever I step into Dewan Sri Pinang, it is not the investiture ceremonies or the medals that come to mind first. It is the memory of a nervous 18-year-old schoolboy, sitting at Board One in the inaugural MSSM Team Chess Championship, wondering whether he was good enough to do Penang proud.

No title attached, thank you

I'm not one to chase state honours because I've never been a businessman or corporate leader, nor have I ever felt the need for the weight of a state or federal title behind my name. But if an award comes my way in recognition of my contributions to society, I certainly wouldn't turn it down. One thing is for sure, though: I would think twice before accepting any award that comes with a title. I still prefer to stay low-key and out of the limelight.

Last Monday, I attended an investiture ceremony at Dewan Sri Pinang to receive the Darjah Johan Negeri (DJN) from the Penang Governor, Ramli Ngah Talib, on the occasion of his official 85th birthday.

It wasn't my first state award. The last time I stepped into Dewan Sri Pinang for this purpose was in 2021, when I received the Pingat Kelakuan Terpuji (PKT) for 2020, the ceremony having been postponed because of the Covid-19 pandemic. And because of the pandemic, I never got to receive the award personally from the then Penang Governor, Haji Abdul Rahman bin Haji Abbas. But still, I had to dress up to the nines just to collect the medal. Before that, I have to turn the clock back to 1995, when I was awarded the Pingat Jasa Kebaktian (PJK).

Three medals under my belt. I think that's enough, lah. I'm happy, I'm contented, and I'm certainly not looking for any more.

There was another reason why receiving the award from Ramli made the occasion a little more special. Many people probably don't realise that he was the President of the Malaysian Chess Federation from 2007 to 2016. As I stepped forward to receive the medal, there was only time for a brief congratulatory handshake. I quickly told him, "This award is for Penang chess."

Whether those few words registered with him amid the hundreds of recipients that day, I really don't know.

Later that evening, however, there was an unexpected sequel. At the state dinner, as Ramli made his way along the red carpet greeting the guests, he shook my hand once again. This time, I simply reminded him with a single word: "Chess."

Before he could respond, his wife, Raja Noora Ashikin Raja Abdullah, who was walking just behind him, immediately looked at me and said, "He was in Norway." She was referring to the 2014 Chess Olympiad in Tromsø, held during Ramli's tenure as President of the Malaysian Chess Federation.

I found it fascinating that, completely off the cuff, she could instantly make the connection and recall that particular event. It was a fleeting exchange lasting only a few seconds, but it left a lasting impression on me.

As a postscript, I want to mention some other people who received titles and medals during these four days of the investiture.

• Apart from me from the Wu Lien-Teh Society, there were also Clement Liang Chow Ming and Ong Siou Woon who received their PKT and PJK respectively. I thank the President, Anwar Fazal, for putting forth my application and the Secretary, Dr Hor Chee Peng, for the patience to prepare all the paperwork.
• Then from The Old Frees' Association, other than me, Albert Moh See Eng was conferred the DGPN, Kannan Srinivasaraghavan received the PKT and Lim Wee Seong the PJK.
• Finally from the Penang Chess Association, the recipient other than myself was Chong Kean Foong. There was also a Lee Ewe Ghee, but the one I know said that this wasn't him.

George Town's world heritage day

It is gratifying to see some of our state assemblypersons coming out on facebook to acknowledge and celebrate George Town's World Heritage Day on the seventh of July this year. Have I missed out on anyone's poster? I hope not! There were also public acknowledgements from several agencies and businesses but I shall not show the businesses here as they were too numerous.

(Buletin Mutiara)

Penang240

I saw this posting on Ng Wei Aik's facebook account. He is a Penang-based politician who served as Tanjong MP (2013–2018) and Komtar state assemblyman (2008–2013), and was formerly a political secretary before being dropped as a GE14 candidate. On his facebook, he had asked a very interesting question: is the Penang Government doing anything to commemorate the 240th anniversary -- an anniversary which I would call by the Latin name bicentiquadragenary -- of the founding of Penang by Captain Francis Light? Here's what he wrote on the sixth of July:

Captain Francis Light landed in Penang on 11 August 1786. This coming 11 August marks the 240th anniversary of his landing, as well as the 240th anniversary of the founding of modern Penang.

Yet the authorities have remained completely silent. To date, no official celebrations have been planned, no commemorative ceremonies announced, as though this chapter of history never existed.

This inevitably raises an important question: when politicians constantly proclaim that they are defending Penang’s sovereignty, are they truly defending its history, or merely exploiting it for political purposes?

In recent times, whenever Penang’s status is discussed, politicians are quick to declare that they must “defend Penang’s sovereignty.” Yet when confronted with a significant historical milestone that embodies Penang’s identity and reinforces its historical consciousness, they have all fallen conspicuously silent.

To defend a place, one must first understand it.

Penang, as the state, international port, and modern city we know today, has an
undeniable historical beginning. 

Commemorating the 240th anniversary of Francis Light’s landing is not about glorifying colonial rule, nor is it about celebrating British imperialism. It is about acknowledging the historical fact of Penang’s founding.

A mature society does not erase history simply because it is complicated, nor does it rewrite or delete history in the name of political correctness.

True sovereignty is never built on slogans. It rests upon historical identity, cultural confidence, and institutional continuity.

A society that dares not commemorate its own founding anniversary, yet loudly proclaims its determination to defend its sovereignty every day, is displaying not conviction but emptiness; not confidence but insecurity.

If we can simply ignore the 240th anniversary of Penang’s founding, then when others question Penang’s historical status, on what basis can we expect the next generation to stand up and defend it?

Defending Penang’s sovereignty should never be reduced to a slogan repeated at press conferences, nor should it become another performance staged on social media.

Real defence begins with respecting history, confronting history honestly, and passing history on to future generations.

Otherwise, the rhetoric of “defending Penang’s sovereignty” will ultimately amount to nothing more than a political slogan—one that may sound thunderous, but cannot withstand the judgment of history.

Now, this is certainly an interesting topic. After all, 240 years is no small milestone. We readily celebrate centenaries, bicentenaries and other significant anniversaries. Penang itself has never been shy about commemorating important dates in its history. The state's bicentenary in 1986 was marked by numerous events, while George Town's inscription as a UNESCO World Heritage Site continues to be celebrated every year on the seventh of July.

Yet this 240th anniversary appears to have attracted little public attention. Of course, the issue is not as straightforward as it might seem. Any commemoration of Captain Francis Light inevitably raises the larger question of what exactly is being celebrated. Is it the arrival of a British trader? The beginning of British colonial rule? Or the birth of modern Penang as we know it today?

Historians have long pointed out that Penang did not suddenly come into existence on 11 August 1786. The island had been known for centuries to traders and seafarers and formed part of the Kedah Sultanate. But it is equally true that Francis Light's arrival altered the island's destiny forever. What had been a lightly populated island soon developed into one of the busiest free ports in Southeast Asia, attracting settlers from China, India, the Malay Archipelago, Europe and elsewhere. The foundations of modern Penang were laid during those formative years.

Whether one regards Francis Light as founder, coloniser or simply an important historical figure depends largely on one's perspective. History is seldom black and white. What cannot be denied, however, is that his arrival changed the course of Penang's history.

In recent years, we have periodically heard renewed claims from Kedah over Penang. Such statements invariably generate headlines and emotional reactions before quietly fading away until the next round of rhetoric. Yet they serve as a reminder that history often becomes a subject of attention when it suits the moment. Understanding how Penang came to be what it is today is therefore not merely an academic exercise; it is part of understanding the state's identity, its historical development and its constitutional place within Malaysia.

Commemorating the landing of Francis Light need not be interpreted as glorifying colonialism. Nor should it be seen simply as a rebuttal of Kedah's periodic claims over Penang. Rather, it can be viewed as acknowledging a turning point in history: the moment that eventually gave rise to the cosmopolitan Penang we know today. Mature societies are capable of recognising significant historical events without necessarily endorsing every aspect of the individuals involved or the circumstances surrounding them.

There is another interesting perspective. This year's 240th anniversary comes at the same time as the United States celebrating the 250th anniversary, or semiquincentenary, of its own founding on the fourth of July, just a few days ago. The Americans marked that milestone with nationwide events, exhibitions and educational programmes, not because every chapter of their early history was beyond criticism, but because understanding one's origins is part of understanding one's nation.

Perhaps Penang, too, could consider whether such milestones deserve greater recognition. Not necessarily through elaborate celebrations, but through meaningful public commemorations that encourage people to reflect on the island's long and fascinating journey over the past 240 years. It has been a journey shaped by indigenous roots, colonial encounters, migration, trade and the many communities that have made Penang what it is today.

The Malaysian Chess Festival at Twenty-One

Two days ago, my story on the Malaysian Chess Festival appeared on the ChessBase India website. It was only the second time I had written for this highly respected chess news portal. Interestingly, the first was almost exactly a year ago, when I had the pleasure of writing about Yeoh Li Tian's historic achievement in becoming Malaysia's first chess grandmaster. 

This time, I decided to write about the Malaysian Chess Festival, which will be celebrating its 21st edition this year. Something of a coming of age for an event that first began in 2004. Since then, it has been held unfailingly every year except during the Covid-19 pandemic, when the 2020 and 2021 editions had to be cancelled.

I did notice that ChessBase India had edited my article somewhat, which is, of course, perfectly understandable. Editors have their own constraints and house style. Their version can be read here, and I hope it reaches far and wide, encouraging more players to enter this year's Dato' Arthur Tan Malaysia Open Chess Championship.

But for those interested, I'd also like to reproduce below my original version.

The Malaysian Chess Festival at Twenty-One 

By Quah Seng Sun (former chess columnist of The Star, 1980-2012) 

Come every August and September, the regional chess spotlight falls on Malaysia. That is when players from around the country and overseas converge on Kuala Lumpur for what has become one of the region's best-loved annual gatherings, the Malaysian Chess Festival. 

This year marks the 21st Malaysian Chess Festival, which will be held from 28th August to 6th September 2026 at KL Gateway Mall in Kuala Lumpur. Over ten days, the venue will once again be transformed into a bustle of activity as players of all ages and abilities battle over the chessboard, renewing friendships while creating new memories. 

It is remarkable how much the festival has grown. When it was first launched in 2004, it was a much smaller affair comprising just three tournaments: the Merdeka Team Chess Championship, the Malaysian Open Chess Championship and the Malaysian Chess Challenge. The latter was created with a simple but thoughtful idea in mind. Not everyone felt ready to test themselves against grandmasters and international masters in the Open. Players with more modest FIDE ratings were therefore given the option of competing in the Chess Challenge, where the opposition would be more evenly matched while still providing a serious tournament experience. 

Those were also difficult days for the festival's founder, the late Dato' Tan Chin Nam. He was still coming to terms with the tragic loss of his youngest son, Arthur Tan Boon Shih. Rather than allowing grief to overwhelm him, Dato' Tan channelled it into something positive through a game that had long been close to his heart. Arthur himself had developed a genuine love of chess from a young age. On two or three occasions in the mid to late 1970s, I happened to bump into him quietly playing chess in Kuala Lumpur. He was never one to seek attention, but it was obvious he genuinely loved the game. 

From those early planning sessions emerged the concept of the Malaysian Chess Festival. One of Dato' Tan's first decisions was to incorporate the already well-established Merdeka Team Chess Championship into the new festival. This tournament had begun in 1981 and was then entering its 25th edition. It was an inspired move. Players could begin the festival with two days of fast-paced team chess before settling into the longer and more demanding classical time controls of the Malaysian Open or the Malaysian Chess Challenge. It proved to be a winning formula. 

Since then, there has been no looking back. The programme has steadily expanded to cater for virtually every section of the chess community. Various junior age-group championships, both individual and team, were introduced to encourage young players. Senior events were added. Blitz championships became traditional curtain-raisers and finales. Over the years, the Malaysian Chess Festival has grown into a celebration of chess in almost every form. 

This year's programme is among the most comprehensive yet: 

• SMS Deen Merdeka Open Rapid Team Chess Championship (28th-29th August) — the 44th edition of Malaysia's longest-running team chess event;
• Dato' Tan Chin Nam Merdeka Under-12 Team Championship (28th-29th August);
• Merdeka Blitz Championship (29th August);
• Dato' Tan Chin Nam Age-Group Championship for Under-6, Under-8, Under-10, Under-12, Under-14 and Under-16 players (30th August);
• 21st Dato' Arthur Tan Merdeka Open Chess Championship (31st August-6th September);
• Daniel Yong Chen-I Memorial Merdeka Chess Challenge (31st August-6th September);
• Dato' Tan Chin Nam Seniors Open Championship (31st August-6th September);
• Dato' Tan Chin Nam Merdeka Day Age-Group Championship (4th September); and
• Festival Blitz Championship (6th September).

While every event has its own attraction, the undisputed centrepiece remains the Dato' Arthur Tan Merdeka Open Chess Championship (previously known as the Dato’ Arthur Tan Malaysian Open Chess Championship). Over the past two decades, it has established a reputation as one of Asia's finest proving grounds for emerging talent. Long before many players became household names in international chess, they were already testing themselves across the boards in Kuala Lumpur. 

The list is extraordinary. Future world-class stars such as Wang Hao (China), Le Quang Liem (Vietnam), Wesley So (the Philippines, later the United States), Alireza Firouzja (originally from Iran but now representing France), Dommaraju Gukesh (India) and Nodirbek Abdusattorov (Uzbekistan) all played in the Malaysian Open while they were still teenagers or pre-teens. A very young Gukesh played in three editions of the Malaysian Open from 2015 to 2017. Today, they are recognised among the world's elite, several having risen into the FIDE Top 20 and even the Top 10. Gukesh went on to become World Champion, while So and Firouzja both reached World No. 2 and Abdusattorov World No. 4. 

Many others have similarly passed through Kuala Lumpur on their journey to international prominence, including Yu Yangyi (China), Li Chao (China), Ni Hua (China), Parimarjan Negi (India) and Lu Shanglei (China). 

The women's list is equally distinguished. Current Women's World Champion Ju Wenjun (China) and former women’s champions Xu Yuhua (China) and Tan Zhongyi (China) have competed here, as has former World No. 2 Koneru Humpy (India) and current World No. 2 Lei Tingjie (China). Other recognised names include Dinara Saduakassova (Kazakhstan) and Mary Ann Gomes (India) who have appeared in the FIDE Women's Top 100. 

Perhaps that is the Malaysian Chess Festival's greatest achievement. It has never tried to be merely another tournament. Instead, it has become a meeting place where schoolchildren play alongside senior citizens, ambitious juniors test themselves against seasoned professionals, and tomorrow's stars often appear long before the rest of the world notices them. 

Although Dato' Tan Chin Nam passed away in 2018, his vision lives on. Every year his name continues to be associated with several events within the festival, a fitting tribute to Malaysian chess's greatest benefactor. The festival itself also honours the memories of Arthur Tan Boon Shih and Daniel Yong Chen-I, ensuring that their contributions to Malaysian chess are never forgotten. 

For anyone who enjoys competitive chess, whether as a serious title aspirant or simply as someone looking for a well-organised tournament in a friendly atmosphere, the Malaysian Chess Festival remains one of the highlights of the regional chess calendar. 

Entries are now open. Players wishing to participate may contact Tournament Director IA Abdul Hamid Majid at aham@pc.jaring.asia for further information, or register directly at http://register-datchesscentre.com 

If the past twenty years are any indication, this year's festival promises another memorable chapter in one of the enduring success stories of Malaysian chess.

Healthcare and batik

Have I let the cat out of the bag? Apparently, I have. In my last posting about this year's durian glut, I casually mentioned that we had been in Kuala Lumpur. Well, the secret's out now. Yes, we spent a few days there last week, mainly to chill with our daughter and enjoy a short change of scenery.

One of our first stops was GHHS Healthcare, where we had booked ourselves in for
a Tuina massage. As it turned out, they surprised me with a complimentary session on their Yunohana Hokutolite stone bed. I had tried this before. You simply lie on a stone bed while letting a gentle warmth seep into the body. Whether it works wonders or not, I'll leave to those better qualified to judge, but I certainly came away feeling relaxed. Together with the massage, we spent a very pleasant couple of hours there before heading off in search of durian at Seri Kembangan. That, of course, turned into another successful expedition.

But if I'm being honest, the healthcare visit wasn't really the main reason we went to Kuala Lumpur. The real reason was batik. 

The men in batik, from left to right: myself, R Subramaniam, Abdul
Rahman Ahmad, Chan Swee Loon, Hu Yu Kwang, Tan Bian Huat
and Christi Hon

My first brush with batik actually goes all the way back to 1978. I had been selected to represent Malaysia on an official chess delegation to China, and before we left, the Malaysian Chess Federation had batik shirts specially made for the team. It was a thoughtful gesture, and naturally we wore them throughout the tour.

One or two years later, the Penang Chess Association also thought that batik was a pretty good idea when our team travelled to Hong Kong for the Asian Cities Team Chess Championship. I was issued with a batik shirt again but after returning home from that trip, I don't think I ever wore it again. To me, the colour was simply too loud and, dare I say it, rather hideous. At that stage of my life, batik just wasn't something I could imagine myself wearing all the time. 

And also from left to right, the Penang chess team in Hongkong: 
Lam Leong Yew, Goh Yoon Wah, Jimmy Liew, myself and
Eric Cheah

Over the next few decades, I owned one batik shirt for official functions whenever the dress code called for it, but the shirt rarely saw the light of day. Batik was something I wore because circumstances required it, not because I particularly wanted to.

That attitude began to change only two or three years ago when we became involved in the activities of SAMENTA, the Small and Medium Enterprises Association. Their functions often encouraged members to wear batik for uniformity, and before long we found ourselves acquiring a few shirts that were much more tasteful than those I remembered from years gone by. The designs were subtler, the colours more restrained, and I found myself wearing them with increasing frequency.

Then came our trip to Indonesia which changed everything. Seeing batik in Jogjakarta, where it is not merely clothing but part of the country's cultural heritage, gave me an entirely new appreciation of the craft. We visited batik shops, watched artisans at work and came home with several pieces. Suddenly I found myself noticing the patterns, the colours and the remarkable variety of designs. What had once seemed little more than formal attire had become something I genuinely admired. We came home with pieces that we thought would surely satisfy us for quite some time.

Well, we were wrong. The more we looked at them, the more we wanted to see what else was available. It's rather like discovering a new genre of music or a favourite author. One purchase somehow leads to another. So while we were in Kuala Lumpur, we decided to continue the hunt. 

Our search took us first to Central Market, where batik has long been one of the attractions. We wandered in and out of the boutiques, taking our time to admire the colours, motifs and different styles. From there we strolled around the Petaling Street area, popping into shops whenever something caught our eye. We even made our way to Publika in our search.

The SAMENTA people in batik

Not every shop yielded a treasure, of course. Some designs were lovely but beyond what we were prepared to spend. More often, others simply didn't appeal to us. But that's part of the fun. Half the enjoyment lies in the browsing, comparing and occasionally stumbling upon something that seems to speak to you. In the end, our efforts weren't in vain. We found something that pleased both our eyes and our wallets, which is always a satisfying combination.

I have a feeling this won't be the end of our batik adventure. Once you've begun to appreciate the artistry behind the patterns and the craftsmanship that goes into making them, it's difficult not to look a little more closely whenever you pass a batik shop. Who knows? We may well be wandering into yet another boutique, telling ourselves we're "just looking". I've learnt by now that those are probably the two most dangerous words a batik enthusiast can utter.

P.S. I should also mention that the SAMENTA batik shirts we wear for official functions were specially tailored at the Penang Batik Factory in Teluk Bahang. It's well worth a visit. Besides the showroom, visitors can watch the craftsmen at work and even try their hand at making their own batik prints in a hands-on demonstration section. It gives visitors a much better appreciation of the skill and patience that go into every piece. I also like the fact that Penang Batik Factory continues to use traditional cotton rather than silk or synthetic fabrics. Somehow, cotton just feels more authentic in our tropical climate. Maybe my appreciation of batik didn't begin in Jogjakarta after all. Indonesia deepened it, but Penang has been keeping the tradition alive all these years, right on our own doorstep.

Durian glut

This is durian season. It has been going on for about a month now and, from what I can see, we're in the middle of a real glut. Not just in Penang, but in Kuala Lumpur and many other places as well. Prices have dropped to levels I haven't seen in quite a while. Musang King, for instance, has been selling for around RM15 a kilogram. That's really, really cheap. Even Black Thorn, nowadays the premium variety, has come down to about RM35 to RM40 a kilogram.

When the season first got underway a little over a month ago, The Old Frees' Association announced its annual durian outing to Balik Pulau. Unfortunately, I had to give it a miss as my brother-in-law and his family were returning from Singapore for a visit. Under circumstances like that, family comes first. No question about it.

Still, that didn't mean we had to forego our durian. Since they were here, I decided to take them to Junjong, a little town near the Penang-Kedah border. Balik Pulau may be the island's best-known durian destination, but Junjong is a close second. Technically it's in Kedah rather than Penang, but that's really splitting hairs. Good durian don't pay much attention to state boundaries.

We wandered from around before settling on seven durian for RM210: one Musang King, three Black Thorn, one Green Skin and two other varieties whose names have completely slipped my mind. The important thing was that they all tasted wonderful.

A few days later we found ourselves in Kuala Lumpur, where I suggested to our daughter that we should go for a durian session. This time we stopped at Seri Kembangan and came away with three durian - a Musang King, a Black Thorn and a D101 - all for RM110. Again, a bargain considering what these varieties usually fetch outside the peak season.

Since returning home, we've somehow managed to fit in a few more rounds. One day it was a plastic container of the D22 variety for RM20. On another occasion, while offering lunch dana at Nandaka Vihara, there were durian among the offerings afterwards, so naturally we weren't going to let them go to waste. 

All things considered, despite missing the OFA durian trip, I really can't complain. One way or another, there have been plenty of opportunities to indulge in the king of fruits during what must surely be one of the best seasons in recent years. And the season isn't over yet. It usually runs into August, so I suspect there are still a few more durian feasts waiting before this year's glut finally comes to an end.

Prambanan's Hindu past

The last significant heritage site our group visited in Jogjakarta was the Prambanan Temple compounds. We arrived there in the afternoon of our second and final full day, just when the Central Javanese sun seemed determined to test our endurance. After the misty disappointment of Mount Merapi earlier that morning, we found ourselves at the opposite extreme. The heat radiating from the stone pathways was intense and the occasional shadows cast by the soaring temple towers became our brief moments of relief as we wandered through the grounds. 

By then, most of us were visibly tired. Although nearby Candi Sewu is regarded as one of the finest Buddhist temple complexes in Indonesia, time and energy were no longer on our side. We reluctantly gave it a miss and concentrated our attention on the main Prambanan temple complex which is also known as the Candi Rara Jonggrang. That was perhaps the one regret of the day.

After spending so much time among the serene Buddhist monuments of Mendut, Pawon and Borobudur, arriving at Prambanan felt like stepping into a different chapter of Java's past. If Borobudur is a vast stone mandala inviting contemplation, Prambanan reaches skywards with dramatic confidence. Its tall, slender towers seem almost weightless despite being carved from thousands of blocks of volcanic stone.

Built during the ninth century under the Hindu Sanjaya dynasty, Prambanan is the largest Hindu temple complex in Indonesia and one of the grandest in South-east Asia. The central compound of the Candi Roro Jonggrang is dedicated to the Trimurti of Shiva the Destroyer, Vishnu the Preserver and Brahma the Creator. The towering Shiva temple rises nearly 50 metres above the plain.

What absorbed me most were the relief carvings. Running along the galleries are exquisitely detailed panels illustrating the ancient Indian epic known as the Ramayana. Stone dancers, warriors, princes, celestial beings and mythical creatures emerge from the walls with remarkable vitality. Even after more than a thousand years, the carvings retain an elegance and movement that make them feel almost alive.

Elsewhere, one encounters finely carved kalpavriksha or wish-fulfilling trees, lions seated within niches and graceful apsaras. The craftsmanship is extraordinary. Each panel seems to invite visitors to slow down, linger and notice the details.

Yet Prambanan's history has been far from tranquil. For reasons that remain uncertain, the temples were gradually abandoned after political power shifted from Central Java in the 10th century. Earthquakes and volcanic eruptions took their toll and over time the complex fell into ruin, its stones scattered and reclaimed by vegetation. It was only rediscovered by Dutch travellers in the 17th century and systematic restoration began from 1918.

Even in recent times, the work of preservation has continued. The devastating Jogjakarta earthquake of 2006 damaged many structures within the complex, including Candi Sewu, forcing parts of the site to close temporarily while conservation experts assessed the damage and undertook repairs.

Through the decades, Indonesia has remained determined to preserve these monuments despite the enormous challenges involved. Restoring ancient stone structures in an earthquake-prone region is neither simple nor inexpensive. It requires patience, expertise and international cooperation. In recent years, India has pledged assistance in the conservation of Prambanan, recognising the shared cultural heritage that links the two countries across centuries of maritime exchange and civilisation.

Borobudur and Prambanan are reminders that Indonesia's history is diverse. Long before Islam became the faith of the majority, the archipelago was home to powerful Hindu and Buddhist kingdoms whose influence extended across South-east Asia. Modern Indonesia does not shy away from this inheritance. Instead, it embraces it as part of the nation's story. I sensed this in the care devoted to these sites, in the pride of the local guides and in the willingness to invest in their preservation. These monuments are not treated as awkward reminders of an earlier age. They are celebrated as symbols of cultural continuity and national identity.

That, I think, is something worth reflecting upon. There are countries, including our own Malaysia, where ancient Hindu and Buddhist heritage can sometimes be overlooked or regarded as belonging to someone else's past. Yet history does not cease to be ours simply because later generations embraced different faiths or identities. We do not have to feel embarrassed about the many facets of our heritage. We can acknowledge them honestly and face them squarely, recognising that they have all contributed to shaping who we are today. Indonesia, by contrast, seems comfortable acknowledging that history is not a single thread but a tapestry woven from many traditions.

As we trod wearily through the afternoon heat, I could not help but marvel at how remarkable these towers still stand at all. They have endured earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, political change and centuries of abandonment. And perhaps that is what makes places like Prambanan and Borobudur so compelling. Despite civilisations evolving, beliefs changing and societies moving in new directions, the past need not be erased to make room for the present. It can simply be remembered, respected and carried forward.