Vigneswaran Jayakumar, a 22-year-old Tamil Malaysian, is about to have dozens of hooks pierced through his forehead, cheeks, tongue, torso, and arms. His face lacks expression as sharp hooks pierce through his chest, abdomen, and back. Though the hooks appear to dig deep, no blood is shed.
Today’s Thaipusam celebration began around 6 a.m. on the quiet streets of George Town, Malaysia’s third largest city. I’m staying in a predominantly Chinese neighborhood, decorated with hundreds of red lanterns strewn from street poles and hung around Buddhist temples in honor of Chinese New Year. Neither the bakeries nor the noodle carts are open yet so I headed out hungry, hoping to find a bite to eat in Little India.
Best known as the culinary capital of Malaysia (not the popular Thai curry), the surrounding state of Penang is a foodie’s dream, its cuisine exquisitely showcasing the influences of the country’s Malay, Chinese, and Indian populations. Malaysian food is not especially well-known so Penang is the place to indulge in the country’s unique culinary tradition. It’s also one of the best cities in the world to observe and participate in Thaipusam.
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Originating in India, Thaipusam is a Hindu festival taking place in the Tamil month of Thai during the full moon. Devotees practice fasting, sexual abstinence, and physical bondage. The celebration is observed by Tamil people in Southern India, Malaysia, Singapore, Mauritius, and as far away as Jamaica. During Thaipusam, Hindus of all castes and backgrounds show appreciation to Lord Murugan, son of Shiva. The festival was brought to Malaysia in the 1800s by Indian immigrants who sought work on Malaysian rubber estates. First celebrated at Kuala Lumpur’s famous Batu Caves in 1888, Thaipusam is now an official holiday in Malaysia and is celebrated across the country.
Before sunrise, Tamil devotees crowd the streets to prepare their offerings, receive blessings from spiritual leaders, and light fireworks. Coconuts are smashed onto the street and men dressed in bright pink sashes dance while carrying a kavadi (burden) as a means of showing penance. In this case, the kavadi is a large wooden structure propped up on their shoulders. As the sun begins to rise, devotees, many of whom have been up all night preparing, gather around a 127-year-old silver-plated chariot carrying a statue of Lord Murugan. They make their way past the costumed bulls pulling the chariot to bring plates of flowers and fruit as offerings. On several occasions, groups of tourists with fancy cameras are told to move out of the way to allow the worshipers to get by. It’s now 7 a.m. and Thaipusam is just getting started.
In preparation for the celebration, devotees have abstained from meat and sexual relations for a month and are now ready to undertake their pilgrimage. I gathered with about 100 devotees outside of a Hindu temple. A worshiper invites me to join him inside, where we’re surrounded by incense, smoke, and chanting.
Metal skewers ranging from the size of a popsicle stick to the length of a crowbar are pierced through the cheeks of devotees who are sitting, standing, and laying down. In addition to being pierced, some participants will carry various types of kavadi, such as the previously mentioned shoulder framework, piercings attached to ropes that are pulled by other devotees, or a simple pot of milk. Each kavadi carrier is surrounded or followed by a group of chanting helpers who support and encourage him/her throughout their pilgrimage.
Most Thaipusam devotees I saw were male, with young men in their twenties and thirties enduring the majority of piercings and skewers. Several families also participated, with primary and middle school-aged children carrying pots on their heads, walking barefoot alongside their pierced parents.
I spot Jayakumar standing in a corner, his torso and arms covered with hooks. Small metal pots the size of shot glasses are attached, adding additional weight to the hooks pulling at his young flesh. Larger hooks are then dug into his back and attached to ropes fastened to a festival float. The process takes several hours. Jayakumar and five other young devotees calmly walk barefoot down the street, pulling the float behind them for miles.
These young men did not take selfies during the event. They did not take videos, laugh, brag, or do any of the things I would associate with young men enduring such a challenge. A few days later, Jayakumar made a single Instagram post about Thaipusam. The caption of a group photo of the men simply read “done successfully”. He asked me to send him the photos I took of him, which I did, but they never made their way onto social media (on his feed, at least; I posted lots of them, with his permission).
Some men have so many pots hooked to their torso and arms that you cannot even see their skin. During the evening parade preceding the main celebration, several men slowly walked barefoot with hundreds of fist-size metal pots hanging from their bodies. Being my first introduction to Thaipusam, I didn’t even realize that the pots were pierced into their flesh; it looked as though they were wearing a sort of decorative bodysuit. They danced and walked, and one stopped several times, kneeling down to rest. I felt like an outsider and didn’t know if photography was appropriate but numerous participants assured me it was OK to photograph and film the pilgrims.
Though Thaipusam is predominantly observed by Malaysians of Tamil Indian origin, I was surprised to see such a large number of non-Indian participants. Groups of young Chinese Malaysians lined up to have long metal rods skewered through their cheeks and tongues. They laid on the street, without flinching or squirming, as sharp metal hooks were dug into their backs. Locals explained that Malaysian Hindus and Buddhists around here not only respect each other’s religions, but they also pray at each other’s temples and participate in each other’s festivals and celebrations.
Skewers are pierced through the tongue for several reasons, most notably because the devotee’s temporary renouncement of speech allows them to better focus on the deity. I spotted a few participants struggling with the pain of having their cheeks pierced or with the endurance needed to finish the walk, but most made it look only moderately uncomfortable.
Many pilgrims express that they feel almost no pain during the entire procedure because they’re in a sort of devotional trance. One I met at the end of the route indicated that he felt no pain at all. I struggled to keep up with him on the final hill, despite the fact that he had been walking barefoot in the sun all day, countless pots hanging from his flesh, while my 10-mile skewer-free trek was punctuated with an afternoon nap in my guesthouse.
He entered a temple and poured the milk in his pot into a large metal receptacle. I cringed as I watched the hooks being removed, one by one, from his back, chest, and arms. The kabob-sized skewer was pulled from his cheeks and tongue without a drop of blood being shed. He smiled and said he felt fantastic. According to him and several others I spoke with, the piercings leave no permanent marks. There was a spring to his step as he walked off, as though he had just finished an invigorating yoga class.
Though many pilgrims were still making their way up the final climb to the temple, festivities were in full effect along the pilgrimage route. Dozens upon dozens of tents were set up to play music, sell souvenirs, and pass out free vegetarian food. Fifty-gallon drums of rice, chickpeas, potatoes, and curry were attended to by men dressed mostly in yellow and orange, the colors of Lord Murugan. A steaming plate of biryani and spicy potatoes was handed to me by cheerful volunteers.
Men who had completed the pilgrimage walked around with their still-bare feet wrapped in gauze. Talking and laughing with family and friends, calling loved ones to let them know how the day went, they all looked refreshed. Tamil men who had not made the pilgrimage were dressed in normal street clothes and were beginning to gather at multiple dance parties along the route. Never in my life had I seen so many young men dancing with the energy of cheerleaders and, most notably, in the absence of women. Women roamed around chatting and eating, but as Indians are more likely to form close bonds with friends of the same gender, it’s not uncommon to see them dancing exclusively with members of their own sex. They were having the time of their lives and I still wish I could have joined them.
Belly full of food and both body and mind exhausted from watching other people’s endurance, I began walking back to my guesthouse in Chinatown. The festivities seemed to go forever and public transportation either didn’t exist or wasn’t obvious to me. Recalling the adventures I’d had hitchhiking in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the American South, I held out my thumb to see what would happen. Not even a minute later, Vingeswaran, a 20-year-old Tamil Hindu (no relation to the previously mentioned Vingeswaran), pulled over on a moped. He was on his way to pray but thought that I looked like I needed help. He dropped me off at my guesthouse and offered to give me a tour of Penang island.
The following morning, Vingeswaran recruited his college buddy, Leyshalan, who owned a car and could drive us around more comfortably. They took me all over the island, teaching me about Tamil culture and Thaipusam traditions. We kept in touch and they continue to write me on WhatsApp, asking when I’ll be back for the next Thaipusam. They suggested I make the trip an annual tradition. If they themselves plan to be skewered, it’s a deal.
Cassandra Brooklyn is a writer, travel expert, and group tour leader. She runs EscapingNY, an off-the-beaten-path travel company and is the author of the guidebook Cuba by Bike.
