From Bhavani Krishna Iyer

It’s that time of the year again. The air grows thick with the scent of incense, flowers, and frying savouries. A mix of vibrant colours, from brilliant silk sarees to glittering decor, dazzles the eye.

The pulsing beats of filmi songs (songs from Indian movies) and the excited chatter of shoppers fill the air. At times, it feels as though business owners are competing to see who has the loudest speakers.

Deepavali is upon us, and with it comes the beautiful, chaotic, and quintessentially Malaysian tradition of the festive bazaar.

In my home ground of Kuala Lumpur, Brickfields stands out, as do the Little Indias across the nation. This transformation is a sight to behold. For weeks ahead of the festival, temporary shops and stalls spring up like mushrooms after rain, creating a bustling, open-air market.

This is, in many ways, a wonderful thing. It concentrates festive energy, provides a one-stop hub for last-minute shoppers, and offers small-time entrepreneurs a valuable platform to earn a living. The atmosphere is electric – a tangible expression of community and joy.

However, this annual transformation comes with a significant, and often overlooked, cost: the complete annexation of public pavements. As these stalls emerge, they do not merely line the sides of roads; they sprawl onto pathways meant for pedestrians.

The pedestrian’s right of way is unceremoniously withdrawn. What was once a safe passage for parents with strollers, the elderly, and daily commuters becomes an obstacle course, replaced by canopies, goods, generators, and eager shoppers.

We, the people, are forced to step off the curb and compete for space with motorcycles, cars, buses, and lorries. We are left to fight for our right of way – a right that should be fundamental and non-negotiable.

This poses a critical question: what gives the local authority the right to issue permits that effectively strip pedestrians of their safe space? More pressingly, should a mishap occur – a child darting into traffic, or an elderly person stumbling into the path of a car – who bears responsibility?

Is it the shop owner who maximised their display, or the government agency that sanctioned this hazardous set-up in the first place? The lines of accountability are as blurred as the faded zebra crossings beneath the crowds.

The problem is not unique to Brickfields. On weekdays, I am in Penang, and the story repeats itself with even graver consequences. The roads in Little India, George Town, are historically narrow, and proper pavements are often a luxury that doesn’t exist. Here, the stall extensions don’t just occupy walkways; they encroach directly onto the road.

The result is sheer bedlam. On some stretches, a single lane is forced to accommodate two-way traffic, while also serving as the primary thoroughfare for hundreds of pedestrians weaving precariously between vehicles. It’s a recipe for disaster, where the festive spirit is constantly punctuated by the blare of frustrated horns and near-misses.

And let’s be clear: this is not an issue isolated to one community or festival. We witness similar scenes during Hari Raya, Chinese New Year, and Christmas.

The locations may change, but the underlying problems remain the same: a chronic lack of foresight in planning, a dire lack of active monitoring, and a palpable lack of consistent enforcement. This trio of failures leads to the utter chaos we resign ourselves to every festive season.

A politician who recently walked through Brickfields remarked that this year the disorder would be worse due to poor planning. His words ring true, but also hollow. When will we learn? The question hangs in the air, more persistent than the smell of jasmine garlands.

So, how do we move forward? How can we preserve the pulsating economic and cultural benefits of these festive bazaars without sacrificing public safety and order?

The solution does not lie in cancelling festivities, but in managing them intelligently.

First, local authorities must redesign the permit system. Instead of a free-for-all, designated stall areas should be clearly mapped out, with mandatory, unobstructed pedestrian corridors. If a pavement is to be used, it cannot be fully blocked.

Second, for areas like Penang’s Little India, a temporary traffic management plan is non-negotiable. Streets could be made pedestrian-only during peak festive hours, or one-way traffic systems could be implemented to ease congestion.

Third, enforcement cannot be a seasonal afterthought. Officers must be present not just to collect permit fees, but to ensure that stallholders adhere to boundaries. A token warning on the first day is not enough – consistent enforcement is key.

Finally, there must be dialogue between traders’ associations, resident groups, and local councils. A collaborative approach could yield creative solutions such as staggered operating hours or shared off-site storage to reduce clutter.

Our festivals enrich Malaysian life and add cultural symbolism. They should be a time of joy, not anxiety. The lights of Deepavali symbolise the victory of light over darkness. Let us ensure that this light also illuminates the path toward safer, more respectful, and better planned celebrations for everyone.

We can have both vibrant commerce and safe pavements. It’s time our planning reflected that wisdom.

Bhavani Krishna Iyer is an FMT reader.

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.