Muslim Quarter

He makes his way back to the Muslim quarter. The air is cool almost to the point of being slightly cold.

The streets buzzes with activity. It's simply charming. He buys a fried pastry stuffed with vegetable and meat for dinner from a stall by the side of the street. Other vendors sell souvenirs and handicrafts. Terracotta statues are everywhere. Caged crickets sing loudly into the night. At the wet market, he buys some dried fruit.

In it's familiarity, it's hauntingly beautiful. With the kufi and tudung, it brings back fond memories:

Of weekly pasar malam in Malaysia. A time before late night movies at Midvalley. The sights, sounds and smells: a delight to the senses.

Of the call of azan. Loud and clear. Deep and resonant. And the congregation to the surau where he watches his good friends prostrate and pray with such strong faith and conviction.