COMMENT | Klang is a place of chaos.

I find the banana leaf rice restaurant deep inside the city, its door wedged between colourful ornaments and godly statues stacked closely next to each other. I walk into the restaurant with my father and sit at the back.

At once two leaves cover our table and food and condiments start to fall onto the leaves like waterfalls onto a river.

At every interval, servers ask if the food was good, and if there is more that is needed. Many hands touch my shoulders, many arms stretch across and around my table, many smiles and laughter are shared with me. It feels like a family.

The boss comes over to say hi, and gives us a few meat dishes on the house. In the end, the boss personally brings the bill over and tells us he has given us a great discount because we look like first-timers.

When we walk out of the restaurant, he asks us to visit them again because he likes it when Chinese come to their restaurant. We were the only ones who were not Indians in this restaurant, and we were treated like kings.

Klang is a place of common kings.

Beyond our own skin

Having people of another race appreciate your food gives you an indescribable joy. It is the mark of cultural acceptance that sees the best in another even if they are different and unfamiliar to us. I cannot explain why I get excited when I see a Malay speak Mandarin to me...