From the vibrant chaos of Mumbai’s bustling streets to the misty serenity of Malaysia’s Cameron Highlands, my recent pilgrimage across India and Malaysia in January 2025 unfolded like a mosaic of sacred moments, each stop a new piece in a story of devotion, family, and unexpected blessings. What began as a modest plan to visit a handful of temples grew into an odyssey of 15 temples, a path that I believe was guided by Bhagavan’s divine hand, leading me through ancestral shrines, cherished childhood places, and other familiar and newer ones that deepened my journey’s meaning.
I felt the cool air of the highlands while exploring Murugan’s abodes in Malaysia, stood in awe before my kula deivam in Chidambaram after years apart, and soaked in the festive energy of a Ram temple in Mumbai. Each temple, from the iconic Madurai Meenakshi Amman Kovil to the hidden gems of Kuala Lumpur’s Brickfields, whispered its own story.
In this article, I invite you to join me on this unforgettable pilgrimage across two nations.
(Figure 1: Shree Mumba Devi Temple, Mumbai)
My journey began in Mumbai, a city that bristles with life and reverence, at the Shree Mumba Devi Temple, tucked away in the chaotic lanes of South Mumbai’s Kalbadevi area. This vibrant shrine, dedicated to Mumba Devi, a form of Goddess Durga and the guardian deity of the city’s Koli fishing community, is one of Mumbai’s revered Big 3 temples in my opinion. For Mumbai, Mumba Devi is more than a place of worship; she’s the city’s protector, her name believed to have inspired “Mumbai” itself, a nod to her enduring presence in the city’s history. The area is home to the Marathi-speaking Kolis who are the original inhabitants who revere Mumba Devi as their patron goddess alongside Gujarati and Rajasthani mercantile families who settled here in the 19th century, their influence evident in the temple’s architecture and the nearby markets like Zaveri Bazaar, a glittering hub for jewelry where Hindu and Muslim traders work side by side and the fabric markets of Kalbadevi, known for their colorful textiles. This demographic diversity reflects Mumbai’s layered history, a city where communities coexist and thrive around sacred hindu spaces like Mumba Devi. Visiting this temple has always been a cherished ritual for me and my parents, a tradition we hold dear to seek blessings. After our visit, we continued the ritual by heading to the nearby Bhagat Tarachand, an iconic eatery known for its Sindhi and Punjabi flavors, where the aroma of spices and the clatter of plates brought a comforting familiarity to our day. A perfect blend of the sacred and the everyday in Mumbai’s spirited heart.
(Figure 2: Shri Mahalakshmi Devi Temple, Mumbai)
A few days later, I made my way to the Shri Mahalakshmi Devi Temple, another of the city’s cherished Big 3, perched gracefully on the edge of the Arabian Sea at Breach Candy. This temple, dedicated to Goddess Mahalakshmi, draws countless devotees seeking her blessings for prosperity and clarity in a city that thrives on ambition. The sound of waves crashing behind has been replaced by the hum of traffic from the new Coastal Road that now runs behind the temple. For Mumbai, this temple offers a counterbalance, a place where the pursuit of material wealth meets the quest for inner wisdom, as devotees offer lotus flowers and light oil lamps in reverence to the goddess. The temple’s location in the upscale Breach Candy area reflects the seamless blending of tradition and modernity. I’ve always seen this temple as a sacred place for wealth and wisdom, a belief that felt even more profound as I stood before the goddess, her gaze a reminder of the balance she brings to life, a poignant moment for a Chennai boy like me, who’s never lived in Mumbai but knows its streets and spirit like an old friend. After my visit, I followed a personal ritual of savoring a hot cup of cutting chai in one of the nearby stalls, a moment of simple joy that grounded me in Mumbai’s vibrant street culture.
(Figure 3: Meenakshi Amman Temple, Madurai)
From Mumbai, I journeyed with my parents to Madurai, Tamil Nadu, a city steeped in history and devotion, to attend a family engagement, a joyous occasion that brought us together in this cultural heartland. After the engagement, we went to the Meenakshi Amman Temple, which stands as the crown jewel of dravidian architecture. This sprawling sanctuary is dedicated to Goddess Meenakshi, a form of Parvathi, and her consort Sundareswarar, a form of Shiva. For Madurai, this temple is the city’s beating heart, a place where ancient traditions come alive during festivals drawing thousands of devotees. It was a muhurtham day in the Tamil month of Thai, an auspicious occasion, and the temple was packed with devotees, with an estimated wait of five to seven hours to enter the sanctum. With elderly parents around and needing support navigating the sprawling temple, fortunately, I was able to pre-arrange a swift visit through a close friend of mine, and have a great darisanam of Amman and Sundareswarar. I also noticed the temple’s thoughtful upgrades – ramps alongside steps to help elderly people climb, walk, or be accessible by wheelchair, a significant upgrade for the elderly, no doubt. I was told this was the case in most of the large and popular temples in Tamil Nadu. My parents felt deeply satisfied, my dad having worked in Madurai and nearby areas in his early years, making the return – after many years, a meaningful homecoming for him. Standing in the temple’s halls, I observed a moment of reverence in a city that has long been a cradle of Tamil culture and spirituality.
(Figure 4 and 5: Gangaikonda Cholapuram temple)
Leaving Madurai, I embarked on a 5-hour ride through Tamil Nadu’s highways, with Ilaiyaraja’s soulful songs keeping me company as I journeyed towards Chidambaram. Traveling through these areas after more than 3 decades, I was struck by the impressive road network that stretched from Madurai through Natham, Trichy, and along the Dalmiapuram route to Chidambaram, a testament to the upgraded road infrastructure. After gorging on food at the recent engagement ceremony, I was keen to stick to a diet, so I stopped at a bakery enroute, enjoying a Bun Butter Jam sandwich and tea to satisfy my hunger before continuing my journey. It was during this ride that I paused briefly at the historic Gangaikonda Cholapuram temple, a hidden gem nestled in the countryside. This was my first visit since the early 80s. This ancient sanctuary, dedicated to Shiva, was built in 1035CE by Rajendra Chola I, marking it as a mini-version of the grand Brihadeeswara Temple in Thanjavur. The temple’s towering vimana and intricately carved stone walls stand as a testament to the Chola dynasty’s architectural brilliance, its sanctum housing a massive Shiva Lingam that draws devotees seeking spiritual strength. For the region, this temple is a living relic of a golden era, its serene surroundings offering a quiet respite from the road. This visit left me captivated by the weight of its past – over a thousand years of history etched by Rajendra Chola, who commissioned this kovil to rival Thanjavur’s grandeur. This also kindled fond memories of our visit to Angkor Wat in Cambodia well over a decade ago.
(Figure 6 and 7: Thillai Kali Kovil and Thillai Natarajar Kovil, Chidambaram)
Arriving in Chidambaram, I checked into a small hotel, rested for a while, and sipped a cup of coffee, before setting out in eagerness to the Thillai Kali Kovil just outside the town. This modest yet powerful shrine holds profound significance as our kula deivam, the family deity revered by generations of my lineage, housing both Thillai Kali, a fierce form of Goddess Kali, and Thillai Amman, their protective energies guiding us through time. The temple’s sthala puranam tells of a divine dance contest in the Thillai forest, where Kali challenged Shiva as Nataraja, only to be outdone by his Urdhava Tandava pose, leading her to reside here as Thillai Kali, a story that adds depth to her fierce presence.
For Chidambaram, a city renowned for its spiritual heritage, the Thillai Kali Kovil stands as a beacon of devotion. Coming here after 9 years felt like a homecoming, stirring memories of a family tradition that began in the early 70s. It started at the insistence of a family elder to embark on an annual thanksgiving and gratitude trip to our kula deivam – a way to honor Thillai Kali regularly for the family’s improved fortunes after emerging from a difficult past. This ritual became an annual highlight through the late 70s and 80s. We’d eagerly look forward to a week-long vacation in Kumbakonam, my elder generation’s native place, where cousins and relatives would assemble from different parts of the state, filling the days with lively banter, elders arguing over the politics and current affairs of the day, discussions about latest Ilaiyaraja songs and movies, and generally having a good time that strengthened our bonds. A highlight was the day trip to Chidambaram for the Abhishegam, where all family members, typically close to two dozen of us, would participate, traveling in vans and cars with a fun race between the vehicles – a friendly competition among cousins that added excitement to the journey. Those trips remain so nostalgic for all of us even today, a cherished tradition that binds us to Kumbakonam.
As I stood before Thillai Kali, offering my prayers with a heart full of gratitude, I felt a profound sense of peace and fulfillment, the kind that comes from returning to the deity that has watched us for generations, a deeply personal milestone on this pilgrimage.
After my visit to Thillai Kali kovil, I made a quick stop at the Thillai Natarajar kovil later that evening for the Sayaraksha Pujai. This majestic temple, dedicated to Shiva as Nataraja, the cosmic dancer, is a cornerstone of Shaivism. What sets this temple apart is the rare opportunity to have a darisanam of both Perumal and Natarajar standing at the same place that reflects the temple’s harmonious spiritual essence.
I left Chidambaram for Chennai the next morning. My trip to Chennai unfolded along the familiar Tindivanam route, a path that stirred memories of my undergraduate years as I observed the striking developments that have reshaped the route. Once a very small town where most express trains never stopped, Melmaruvathur now boasts a halt even for the legendary Vaigai Express, an indication of the area’s prominence. As I entered Chennai and headed past the airport, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the much-talked-about Tirunelveli Vande Bharat express speeding through Tirisulam, its sleek form indicating the evolution of Indian Railways.
(Figure 8: Siddhi Buddhi Samedha Sri Karpaga Vinayagar Kovil in Rajaannamalai Puram)
I spent the day reconnecting with a childhood buddy. The next day, my buddy and myself set out to visit two cherished temples in succession, starting with the Siddhi Buddhi Samedha Sri Karpaga Vinayagar Kovil in Rajaannamalai Puram, a place where we both grew up. Established under the guidance of Kanchi Paramacharya in 1960, here the Ganesha appears with his consorts Siddhi and Buddhi representing spirituality and intellect. This is a very popular temple in the neighborhood with shrines for Guruvayurappan, Durgai Amman and Shirdi Saibaba. What attracted us to this kovil was the Durgai Amman, manifestation of the same energy as that of Thillai Kali, our kula deivam. My mother was a regular visitor to this temple to perform Archanai.
(Figure 9: Kabaleeshwar Kovil in Mylapore)
From there, we headed to the nearby Kabaleeshwar Kovil in Mylapore, another temple I’ve been visiting since childhood. This temple, dedicated to Shiva as Kapaleeshwarar and Parvati as Karpagambal, is celebrated in the Tevaram hymns. It holds deep cultural significance with its sthala puranam tied to Parvati’s penance as a peahen, giving the area its name, Mylapore. This ancient shrine is a cornerstone of Mylapore’s spiritual heritage, its towering gopuram – a beacon for devotees in one of Chennai’s oldest neighborhoods. I had a great darisanam of Kabaleeshwar and Karpagambal, their presence a comforting reminder of the countless visits I’ve made over the years. I noticed upgrades such as ramps, making it easier for senior citizens to seek darisanam. I also recalled how the temple tank, now with water, used to be dry in the 1980s, where neighborhood folks played cricket in the dry bed, their shouts and laughter echoing through the air – a vivid memory from those days.
With Chennai still fresh in my heart, I caught a flight the next day for a planned detour to Malaysia, eager to answer Murugan’s call in the Cameron Highlands and continue my pilgrimage across borders.
After landing in Kuala Lumpur the next day, I was joined by my buddy from undergraduate days and his son, who had driven over from Singapore, to share this leg of my journey, a reunion that added a special warmth to the trip. We settled into a nice apartment in Brickfields – Kuala Lumpur’s Little India, where the streets buzzed with the familiar energy of Southern Indian culture.
After an overnight stay, we started the morning with a walking visit to two nearby temples, eager to soak in the spiritual atmosphere before heading to the Cameron Highlands.
The city and the region in general, is not new to me. I was excited to hear the local English dialect after several years. This is the same as Singlish (Singaporean English). This was followed later by Malaysian Tamil, a pure form of the language (minus the English words) that stood in contrast to the Chennai dialect, which often mixes unparliamentary words for emphasis.
(Figure 10: Sri Sakthi Karpaga Vinayagar Kovil, Singapore)
First, we stopped at the Sri Sakthi Karpaga Vinayagar Kovil, a focal point for the local Tamil community, especially during Vinayagar Chaturthi and Thaipusam. The temple was buzzing with devotees and energy. The temple’s modest entrance, adorned with a small gopuram, radiated a quiet strength, and it felt great visiting in the morning, setting a peaceful tone for the day.
(Figure 11: Om Sri Kaliamman Alayam)
Our next stop was the Om Sri Kaliamman Alayam, a small kovil on the opposite side of the street. We decided to stop by for a quick darisanam.
Kaliamman temples are abundant in Southeast Asia due to the migration of Tamil communities in the 19th and early 20th centuries, who brought their devotion to Goddess Kali as a protector against evil, especially in plantation areas. In Malaysia, these temples serve as cultural anchors for the Tamil diaspora.
(Figure 12: Batu Caves Murugan Kovil, near Kuala Lumpur)
After these quick morning visits, we grabbed breakfast at a nearby eatery, before checking out of our Hotel and driving to the popular Batu Caves Murugan Kovil about 15 kms north of Kuala Lumpur.
Batu Caves is a limestone hill with a series of caves; has long been a sacred site for the Tamil community in Malaysia. The temple, dedicated to Murugan was established in 1891 by K. Thamboosamy Pillai, a Tamil leader who saw the cave’s entrance resembling Murugan’s vel, or spear, and decided to consecrate it as a place of worship. We arrived at the striking sight of the 42-meter-tall golden statue of Murugan, standing as the tallest statue in Malaysia and the second tallest of Murugan globally, a towering symbol of devotion against the rugged limestone backdrop. Climbing the 272 concrete steps can be challenging, but the view of the cave’s interior made it worthwhile, with natural light filtering through the high ceiling, illuminating the main Temple Cave where the shrine to Murugan resides alongside statues of his consorts, Valli and Deivanai. For Kuala Lumpur’s Tamil community, this temple is a pilgrimage site, especially during Thaipusam, drawing over a million devotees who undertake acts of penance like carrying kavadis.
(Figure 13 and 14: Serenity of the Batu Caves Complex)
The visit to Batu Caves, with its blend of natural wonder and spiritual significance, set a meaningful tone for the journey ahead, as we prepared to continue to the Cameron Highlands, where the primary purpose of my Malaysian sojourn awaited. We set out on the 4-hour drive from Kuala Lumpur, and I was reminded of why Malaysian road infrastructure is second to none, a quality I’d noticed even 10+ years ago, and it was no different now, with smooth highways, driving discipline and civic sense making the journey a pleasant one.
(Figure 15: Drive to Cameron Highlands, Malaysia)
My buddy from Singapore couldn’t stop talking about how much he loves the Cameron Highlands’ cool weather, a stark contrast to Singapore’s humidity, while I, coming from Chicago, wasn’t exactly looking for more chill at that time, which sparked a nice banter between us, filled with laughter and memories as we drove into the highlands.
(Figure 16: Sri Thendayuthapani Swami Kovil in Brinchang, Malaysia)
Our destination was the Sri Thendayuthapani Swami Kovil in Brinchang, the heart of my Malaysian sojourn, a temple I’d been drawn to since my first visit in 2013. I felt a deep devotion that stayed in my heart and mind all along, a longing to return that I’d carried for years but couldn’t fulfill until now, finally making it in 2025 after a recent call from Murugan.
We arrived at the temple, nestled in the cool hills – an area known for its strawberry farms, tea plantations and touristy spots.
Figure 17, 18, 19: Priest, Thiru. Sankaralingam, Brinchang, Malaysia)
That first evening, we spent significant time for darisanam, soaking in the environment and talking to the priest, Thiru. Sankaralingam. This kovil symbolizes Murugan’s ascetic form with his vel, a reminder of renunciation and discipline much like the revered Palani Murugan Temple in Tamil Nadu. As I stood before the deity, I found myself wondering what drew me so strongly to this small temple in Brinchang, a pull that showed the power of a deity, where size and popularity don’t matter, only the profound connection that had called me back after all these years. The priest’s warm gesture and our conversation about the temple’s history and my journey deepened the fulfillment I felt, a moment that marked the culmination of a decade-long feeling. Murugan’s call had guided me here, a silent promise fulfilled, reminding me that true devotion transcends distance and time.
(Figure 20: Savouries at the Local cart vendor)
After the temple visit, we headed out for dinner at a nearby mall, and decided to try pani puri from a local cart vendor. We got the shock of our lives when the vendor asked if we wanted to include boiled eggs in it – I eat eggs, however this offer left me dumbfounded, a stark reminder of the unexpected culinary blends in this region. As vegetarians, we opted for the predictable Pizza Hut instead of other dining options. We chose Burger King for breakfast the next morning, ignoring the free breakfast provided by the hotel. I’m too familiar with this part of the world to undertake any culinary adventures.
(Figure 21: Enjoying a steaming cup of hot chai at Cameron Heights)
On Sunday morning, we set off from the Cameron Highlands, but not before a quick stop at the Bharat Group’s Tea Estate, where we savored a steaming cup of masala chai that tasted incredible a few thousand feet above sea level. Our banter about the weather picked up again as my friend from Singapore relished the cool breeze one last time.
(Figure 22: Kuli Sri Subramaniyar Kovil in Ringlet)
On the way back to KL, we stopped at the Kuli Sri Subramaniyar Kovil in Ringlet, another shrine dedicated to Murugan as Subramaniyar, but it was closed, leaving me with a quiet moment to reflect on Murugan’s presence in these misty hills, a fitting close to this leg of my pilgrimage.
Reflecting on Murugan shrines, I couldn’t help but think of the prominence of Thendayuthapani temples in this region. This was a legacy born from the Tamil diaspora’s migration during the colonial era, when workers built these temples in regions like Penang and Singapore, finding solace in Murugan’s ascetic form as a source of strength to overcome challenges far from home, a tradition that still fosters deep devotion and community bonds today.
Ilaiyaraja songs gave us company once again as we drove back to KL, experiencing Malaysia’s exceptional road infrastructure, along with the public etiquette, driving sense, and civic sense.
Here, I must add a note of appreciation for my buddy, who was pivotal in the successful completion of the Malaysian leg of the journey. He had come only because of my request.
I reached KL airport for my onward journey – this time back to Mumbai, where it all began, ready to reconnect with the city’s familiar chaos that always calls me back. After the quiet hills of the Cameron Highlands, Mumbai’s hustle brought a wave of nostalgia, drawing me to two more temples. Despite being a Chennai paiyyan, I have gotten very familiar with Mumbai over the years and am extremely comfortable navigating its streets and sounds.
(Figure 23: Siddhivinayak Temple, Prabhadevi, Mumbai)
After a few days, I visited the Siddhivinayak Temple in Prabhadevi with my parents, a powerful temple I never miss on any trip to Mumbai, having been told about its significance so strongly that I make it a point to visit each time I’m in the city. There have been times I’ve walked to this temple – a testament to the pull this temple has on me. Known for its crowds, we timed our visit carefully to beat the rush. As one of Mumbai’s Big 3 and among India’s most revered Ganesha shrines, this temple holds a special place for devotees seeking success. I noticed signs of progress nearby, with the underground station of the upcoming Mumbai Metro getting ready, a development that promises to ease travel in this busy area once it opens soon. Built in 1801, the Siddhivinayak temple has grown into a major pilgrimage site for those seeking Ganesha’s blessings to remove obstacles. I joined my parents for darisanam of the murthi of Siddhivinayak – his trunk tilted to the right, radiating a calm energy amidst the soft chants of Ganapati Bappa Morya, a moment of shared devotion that felt deeply grounding.
(Figure 24: The Asthika Samaj Kochu Guruvayoor Ram Mandir on Bhandarkar Road in Matunga)
A couple of days later, I headed to The Asthika Samaj Kochu Guruvayoor Ram Mandir on Bhandarkar Road in Matunga, a shrine dedicated to Rama that had long provided solace to locals. Matunga, a cultural hub for Mumbai’s Southern Indian community, buzzes with life – eateries, street food stalls, vegetable vendors, and flower shops cramming for attention. Right next to the temple, Amba Bhavan Coffee Club, a non-descript restaurant, stood out for its Southern Indian delicacies. I remember its medhu vadai and coconut chutney from the past, with taste and ambience from theThanjavur belt – you can’t miss the nostalgic feeling of eating there.
We arrived at the temple during a time of great festivity. It is a small temple, so the darisanam and the visit was quick. The experience, set against Matunga’s vibrant backdrop, felt like a warm embrace, connecting me to the city’s deep-rooted traditions and a fitting conclusion to my pilgrimage that spanned cities and countries.
Looking back on my journey, I’m reminded of the amazing diversity and pluralism of our tradition, something I’ve always known but still find so meaningful. From crowded urban centers to peaceful highlands, the different deities and rituals I’ve seen show how our faith brings people together in so many ways, embracing a wide range of beliefs, practices, and communities that reflect the beauty of coexistence.
This journey reaffirmed the beauty of my tradition – where pluralism shines through the acceptance of countless deities and rituals, coexistence blooms as temples become spaces for shared devotion across communities, and varied paths to the divine allow each seeker to find their own way to the sacred, whether through the fierce love of Kali, the wisdom of Mahalakshmi, or the discipline of Murugan.
These moments linger as treasures in my heart. I was particularly touched by how major temples in Tamil Nadu, like Meenakshi Amman and Kabaleeshwar, have become elderly-friendly with thoughtful additions like ramps and wheelchair support, ensuring that the temples remain accessible to all.
Yet, I also found myself wondering why many temples across India require security – crowd control I understand, but what deeper concerns necessitate security measures in temples meant for peace? Why is there a need for metal detectors in a Hindu temple?
Perhaps it’s time to rethink some of the security measures (not crowd control) in place.
In today’s world, where division and intolerance often create barriers, our pluralism offers a powerful lesson. It teaches to respect varied paths to the divine and to build bridges across cultures, just as these temples have done for centuries, reminding us that true peace comes not from security measures but from embracing the unity that devotion fosters across diverse communities. This pilgrimage highlights how these sacred temples keep teaching us about the devotion that connects us all, leaving me with fond memories I’ll carry forever.
Feature Image Credit: tripadvisor.in
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