05-07-2025
Beneath durian thorns Fruit of life's lessons
As we head into peak durian season in Malaysia, I find myself reflecting on how this spiky fruit has shaped my life. Like many Malaysians, I have my own durian stories — from childhood joys to teenage adventures and deeper adult moments. Durians have become woven into my memories, connecting me to the land, to others and to life's turning points.
Here are my durian chronicles — a tribute to a fruit that's more than a delicacy; it's a symbol of connection, resilience and shared joy.
Thorny Crown of Malaysia
In Malaysia, durian is more than a fruit — it's a national ice-breaker, punch-line and perfume-bomb all in one. Where else can you find durian cheesecakes, cendol and (mercifully spike-free) condoms?
From crowded PLUS rest stops to sleepy cul-de-sacs , tables overflow with the spiky monarch, its unmistakable scent declaring, 'Love me or hate me, but you can't ignore me!' Cafés warn that cream-puff stocks vanish faster than you can say 'Musang King,' and there's a reason we call it 'Raja Segala Buah' — King of All Fruits.
E-commerce has remodelled the ritual: skip roadside haggling, tap WhatsApp and Musang King arrives at your door. Even artists salute the craze; Penang-based Brit Thomas Powell paints Queen Victoria clutching a durian instead of an orb — fitting royal tribute.
Credit: The King and the Queen by Thomas Powell
Botanically, durians belong to the Durio genus: ~30 species, but only nine edible (the other 21 test the adventurous). Both flesh and cooked seeds are eaten, yet Durio zibethinus — native to Malaysia and Indonesia — is the sole globe-trotting star. Malaysia alone boasts roughly 100 cultivars; Thailand counters with 300. First wild in Borneo's rainforests, the fruit conquered Southeast Asia and now even China's Hainan plantations.
Local etiquette borders on sacred: never pluck; wait for gravity's blessing. Enthusiasts inhale its 'heavenly' bouquet; detractors compare it to gym socks. Scientists have mapped the sulphur gene, but no lab note prepares you for that first whiff.
The taste is equally paradoxical — silky yet spiky, sweet yet bitter — sparking debates as fierce as politics. Just watch a first-timer Mat Salleh wrestle a bite and you'll grasp the cultural divide in a single grimace.
Childhood Durian Vigil
Growing up in Banting in the early 1970s, eating durian was more than just enjoying its creamy decadence — it was an adventure, a test of patience and sometimes, an act of courage. There were no polished durian stalls, no air-conditioned supermarkets, and certainly no online delivery. The real way to enjoy the King of Fruits was to wait under the tree — brave or blissfully unaware of the thorny missiles that might drop at any moment.
The kebun buzzed with nature's rhythm. Ears tuned for that unmistakable thud, signalling a ripe durian's fall. But it wasn't without risk — a one-kilo fruit armed with spikes was a medieval weapon disguised as a delicacy. One mis-step under the tree and you'd earn a memory — and possibly a scar — for life.
But the magic lay in the whole ritual. I'd stay at my auntie's house, surrounded by rubber, rambutan and mangosteen trees, with the towering durian reigning over them all. Afternoons were spent harvesting fruit, climbing trees, or lying under the durian canopy, a Funny Bones comic in hand, waiting for that precious moment.
When the thud came, we pounced like treasure hunters. Cracking the husk was a sacred act, revealing golden flesh gleaming like royal loot. That first bittersweet bite? Pure magic. Those childhood days taught me more than how to savour durian — they taught me patience, presence, and the quiet thrill of being in tune with nature.
To truly enjoy durian, skip the packaged variety. Take a drive to a kebun with your loved ones. Sit back, breathe in the surroundings, and let the moment unfold. It's not just about the fruit — it's about the experience, the thrill, and the memories that linger far longer than the smell on your fingers.
And for those venturing under the trees, a word of caution: safety first! A trusty helmet might make you look like a pint-sized fruit warrior gearing up for a showdown with Mother Nature, but let's be honest – better safe than sorry. After all, you can't put a price on your safety or your dignity!
A Mat Salleh and the Chow Kit Durian Drama
One balmy evening in late 1980s Kuala Lumpur, I was wandering through the chaotic charm of Chow Kit Street with friends. The air, thick with the unmistakable aroma of durian, made locals smile and visitors squirm.
Amid the hawker banter, one bold Mat Salleh caught our eye. Either driven by curiosity or peer pressure, he picked up a chunk of Musang King and popped it in with quiet confidence.
What followed was a masterclass in facial drama — curiosity, horror and pure regret. His eyes watered, lips curled and despair set in. Then came the flurry: multilingual cursing, frantic flapping, and water-chugging like he'd crossed a desert. He gargled desperately, as if trying to rinse away a memory.
The stall owner, clearly amused, handed over another bottle with the calm of someone who'd seen it all. Locals chuckled, and I thought, 'There it is — Pareto's Law in action. 80% of Mat Sallehs hate durian, and this guy just proved it.'
He survived — barely. His pride, not his palate, took the biggest hit. For us, it was dinner and free entertainment.
Lure of Penang's Balik Pulau's Durians
During my varsity years, I had the unforgettable chance to join a national camp in Penang and was billeted with a Malay fisherman's family in Balik Pulau. Tucked behind Bukit Bendera, overlooking both the Indian Ocean and the Straits of Melaka, this quiet town is famous for one thing above all — its durians. With over 30 varieties, some found nowhere else, Balik Pulau is a pilgrimage site for serious durian lovers.
I still remember cruising along its winding roads, puzzled by the nets stretched across them. Were they protecting motorists from falling durians or protecting durians from a premature end? Let's face it — the durians took priority. Today, netting is common in orchards, catching fruits at peak ripeness before they hit the ground.
Balik Pulau's reputation is well earned. Many consider its durians among Malaysia's finest. Seasoned connoisseurs know the best flavours come from older trees — especially those grown from seed. Grafted trees may bear fruit sooner, but deep, complex flavours can take decades to develop.
Here's a tip: follow the squirrels. Immune to hype and guided by instinct, they gravitate to the best trees. If they keep coming back, that tree is likely a champion.
Whether you crave hybrids, organics or classic kampung cultivars, Balik Pulau offers something for every palate. But it's more than just taste. Sitting in a rustic village, surrounded by trees and good company, every bite becomes part of Malaysia's living durian story — a tale of nature, patience and delicious discovery.
Orangutans and Their Love for Durians
I still recall my first visit to Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre in Sandakan back in 1990, not long after arriving in Sabah. Amid the rustling leaves and towering trees, I discovered an amusing surprise: the spiky, polarising 'King of Fruits' — adored by some, detested by many Mat Sallehs — is also a prized delicacy among orangutans.
Who would've thought that the same fruit infamous for its pungent aroma would be jungle gold? With diets made up of roughly 90% fruit, orangutans are seasoned foragers, familiar with over 400 plant species — but when durian season arrives, all bets are off.
Equipped with powerful jaws and opposable thumbs on both hands and feet, they make short work of the durian's brutal husk. For younger orangutans, cracking one open is a rite of passage — a wild MasterChef moment judged by their peers.
But it's not just a treat; it's top-tier fuel. Packed with sugars, fats, and vital nutrients, durian is a thorny superfood bar — perfect for their energy-hungry, tree-swinging lifestyle. Foraging fills most of their day, turning every durian discovery into a feast and a mission.
Even more fascinating is their role as 'gardeners of the forest.' After indulging, they scatter seeds — by hand or digestion — naturally prepping them for germination. Their contribution ensures durian trees and countless others continue to thrive, supporting Borneo's rich biodiversity.
So next time you brave the smell to enjoy its creamy glory, remember: durian isn't just a snack. It's a vital link in a natural cycle — connecting orangutans, rainforests, and us. Their appetite sustains more than trees; it keeps the whole jungle alive.
Covid-19 and The Great Durian Engagement
When Covid-19 hit Sabah, vaccinating migrant workers in remote plantations seemed nearly impossible. Many were undocumented or mid-way through registration, and their families lived far from town. Transporting them to urban PPVs (vaccination centres) posed serious logistical and health risks.
In June 2021, we hosted Sandakan health officials at IJM Plantation's retreat in Sugut — our Hundred Acre Wood. Beneath blooming durian trees and between bites of Musang King, a bold idea emerged: bring the vaccines to the people.
Our proposal? Set up estate-based vaccination centre (PPVs) with cold-chain storage, medical teams and logistical support. The plan was sealed not in a meeting room, but over a durian feast. Officials toured the orchard, enjoyed various varieties, and saw how our chalets could serve as rest stops for fatigued frontliners — offering nature, respite, and yes, more durian.
Soon after, IJM Plantation-then launched Sabah's first in-field PPV in Sugut. Staff, workers, families and nearby villagers were vaccinated, creating a safer estate bubble. By year's end, the programme expanded to include youths. Other plantations followed suit with mobile units, reaching communities once out of reach.
We called it 'Durian Engagement' — a light-hearted name for a serious initiative. It proved that even in a crisis, creativity, collaboration and the king of fruits can make a real difference.
Farewell, Covid-19. It was a bitter time — but durian helped us pull through, one thorny solution at a time.
A Thorny AI Hall of Fame
If Shakespeare had wandered through a durian orchard, he might've mused, 'What's in a name?' In the world of durians, names aren't just labels — they're origin stories, local legends, and cheeky winks from Mother Nature herself.
To honour these regal fruits, we turned to a modern muse: AI. Because even the King of Fruits deserves a few glamour shots — complete with personality, drama, and a touch of tech magic.
Here are some of Malaysia's most iconic durian cultivars — each with its own story and AI-generated portrait. Think of it as a durian fashion spread: no perfume, just personality.
Musang King (Mao Shan Wang / Raja Kunyit–D197, 1993): The Civet's Choice. Golden, creamy, and famous — it's the rock star of durians.
Black Thorn (Ochee–D200, 2015): The Dark Knight. Rich, intense and full of mystery.
Red Prawn (Ang Heh–D175, 2015): The Sea-Inspired Sensation. Coral-hued, buttery and unforgettable.
D24 (Sultan–circa 1937): The Old Guard. Classic and comforting — once king, always respected.
XO (the better version of D24 – circa 1937): The Tippler's Delight. Boozy, creamy, with a rebel fermented edge.
Golden Phoenix (Jin Feng / D198): Pale flesh, bold flavour. A phoenix with attitude.
Tekka (Musang Queen) (aka Bamboo Feet–D160): Quietly powerful. Rich, complex, and adored by those in the know.
Now, thanks to AI, each cultivar gets its close-up. Can you match the names to the faces? Have a go — and celebrate the fruit that wears its crown of thorns with flair.
Try matching the durian names to their AI-generated faces?
A Thorny Bond, Rich in Connection
I have come to marvel at how this spiky, divisive fruit has become such a fitting metaphor for life itself — especially mine. Much like the durian, life has its thorns: challenges that prick, moments that overwhelm, and smells (or seasons) we'd rather avoid. But when cracked open with patience and curiosity, it offers something deeply rewarding, even sweet.
Durian mirrors life's contradictions — bitter and sweet, intense yet delicate, shocking at first but unforgettable with time. It teaches us to slow down, to appreciate complexity, to embrace discomfort, and to savour the richness within.
Looking back, my journey with the durian has been more than culinary — it's been emotional, cultural, even spiritual. From dodging falling fruits in my childhood kebun, to sharing orchard-side vaccines during a pandemic, to watching orangutans feast in the rainforest — it has connected me to nature, to people, and to myself.
And perhaps that's the durian's deepest gift: it forces us to connect. To talk. To laugh. To wrinkle our noses or widen our eyes in delight. It turns a simple act of eating into a shared experience, a memory, a story worth retelling.
So here's to the divine durian — King of Fruits in Malaysia and, arguably, the world. Bold, layered, and unapologetically itself, it's more than a fruit. It's a kindred spirit. A celebration of life's richness.
And as I reflect on my thorny bond with it, I ask you: What's your durian story?
