Mamaks - how the humble open-air food stalls act as a microcosm of Malaysia’s multiculturalism

“Jom, let’s go to the mamak!”

Mamaks, named after the Tamil word for a maternal uncle or male head of household, are casual, open-air food stalls serving Malaysian food, largely influenced by Indian Muslim culture. Most mamaks are open 24/7, and are a ubiquitous presence in the urban landscape of my hometown Kuala Lumpur, the capital city of Malaysia. As such, mamaks act as a congregation spot during ungodly times of the day, a spot to catch the latest football match, or even just as a place for a quick, cheap, no-frills dining experience.

  Many iconic Malaysian dishes began in mamaks, or were popularised in Malaysia by them. This includes a flaky, buttery flatbread known as roti canai, initially introduced by South Indians migrating to colonial Malaya. There are countless variations of roti canai, such as adding an egg to make roti telur, or bananas and condensed milk known as roti pisang. Nasi kandar, consisting of steamed rice with a variety of curries, gravies and side dishes for the customer to choose from, was first introduced by Tamil Muslims migrating to the Malaysian state of Penang, and is a staple of mamaks across the country today.

  Some of my dearest memories involve mamaks. They are my first port of call when I want to lepak (the Malay term for aimlessly loitering) with my friends, and where I go to show off my pitiable Malay skills to my unassuming tourist friends. I will never forget my first time being served a towering pyramid of crunchy roti tisu (literal translation: tissue bread) with my parents, so tall it almost reached halfway up the ceiling, and admiring its glossy lashings of condensed milk and sugar. The heft of thick laminated menus bound by a single metal ring, the hum of excited conversation interjected with the occasional Manglish slang word, the smell of spices and butter in the air. These transient senses remind me that I am home, constituting memories that have shaped the way I perceive the world today.

  Now that I am older, I can also appreciate how mamaks act as a representation of Malaysia’s rich multiculturalism. Malaysia comprises three main ethnic populations; as of July 2024, 70.4% of Malaysians are Malays and indigenous people, 22.4% are Chinese, and 6.5% are Indian. No one culture defines Malaysia; it has instead been influenced by the interactions of these groups across time. The adaptation of Sri Lankan and Indian original recipes to the tastes of Malaysians have led to traditionally Indian dishes that have a unique Malaysian touch: the aforementioned roti canai, Indian murtabak served with pickled vegetables, and Indian curries adapted in Malaysia by thickening with coconut milk or steeping with leaves from the Malaysian pandan plant. Today, it is not an uncommon sight to see dishes that first arose from a single cultural group being prepared at mamaks with a permutation of Malay, Chinese and Indian influence. Mee goreng, a Malay fried noodle dish, is commonly prepared in mamaks using Indian spices like turmeric and popular Chinese vegetables like bok choy.

  However, the existence of mamaks also draws attention to the less positive elements of Malaysia’s multiculturalism. The word mamak, for example, is used as a derogatory insult towards South Asian Muslims living in Malaysia, while a BBC report from 2001 found that many mamak restaurants in Malaysia employed foreign workers which were – in a twist of irony – mainly first-generation immigrants from India, often having to work long hours with no off-days granted to them for below minimum wage.

  Although mamaks act as an important social space for communities of all ethnicities to gather, there is a tendency of Malaysians to be selectively appreciative of Indian culture – to ignore the struggles of Indian or other ethnic minority communities while still eating their food, or celebrating their festivals. Indian Malaysians are also victims of institutionalized racism within Malaysian politics. The New Economic Policy is a mechanism of positive discrimination, benefitting the Malay majority, regarding access to education, work and upward social mobility. One caveat of the policy is that government universities can only allocate 10% of admission spots to Indian or Chinese ethnic minorities, with 90% of admission spots being exclusively for those of the majority Bumiputera race. In addition, the National Culture Policy of Malaysia acts as an implementation of only indigenous Malay and Islamic culture, with other ethnic minorities encouraged to adopt and assimilate to Malay culture. Although initially formed to alleviate poverty and to protect the cultural identity of Malays of a lower socioeconomic standing than those of other Malaysian ethnic minorities, there is little evidence to suggest they have effectively eradicated rural Malay poverty. One can wonder if it is a worthy policy, while fostering discontent and alienation among the different ethnic groups of Malaysia.

 As a result of the political indifference that these systemic issues are faced with, discrimination against Malaysian Indians has crept into the most mundane, unassuming parts of everyday life. There are no anti-discrimination laws for renters, which means that landlords will often put signs on their properties that state that they refuse to rent to Malaysian Indians. Indian children are culturally policed for wearing their cultural attire to school yet Malay or Chinese traditional attire get a pass, while those who had waved the bloodied head of a cow at a protest against the building of a new Hindu temple were let off with only a slap on the wrist.

  This is an institutional disgrace; an ill upon Malaysia’s unique cultural pluralism. I still remember the racist playground taunts of my childhood: The Malays are lazy, the Chinese are greedy, and the Indians are liars. The Ah Pu Neh Neh, a fictionalised bogeyman meant to scare misbehaving Malaysian children, is described as a child-snatching, menacing Indian man. Tribalism and racial discrimination still prevail 56 years after the May 13th racial riots; a deeply entrenched issue that will only fester if left unaddressed by educational, political and social institutions alike.

 Yet I cannot deny that these issues seem to shirk under the fluorescence of the mamak lights, bonding with both old and new friends about our shared heritage, the hidden gems of Kuala Lumpur’s sprawling cityscape, our primary school memories of Independence Day,balik kampung, open houses for Deepavali and Hari Raya, Astro TV, games ofTiangunder the sun. Malaysia has its issues, but it is home, and with that comes a responsibility for myself and others to not perpetuate the same, tired narratives of those who have lent themselves to our country’s diverse mosaic of history. It is these collective experiences that give me a deeper appreciation of Malaysia and its people – and sometimes leave me waking up in my dorm in the middle of the night with the same, unfulfilled craving for mee goreng and a large helping of roti canai with dal curry.