Sri Lankans are a proud people. Their sense of dignity manifests itself in several ways. Most SL will sport the Sri Lankan flag – unlike India, it is not a crime to hang the flag at your home or location of business. In fact, it seems to be encouraged. But, my personal experiences have shown me just how much these people value their esteem.
We had taken B’s cousins along with us to visit Galle. B’s aunt had instructed her boys that each was supposed to buy the entire group something during the trip – it was their way of saying thanks or returning the favour. At least, that’s what I was able to glean from it. The elder one did his job fairly well, buying us popsicles at Galle. I for one was at my multitasking best as I sucked an orange popsicle, trying to hold down my skirt that threatened to do a Marilyn Monroe in the sea breeze, avoiding afore-mentioned popsicle from spilling on my white skirt, clutching onto my itty-bitty purse and holding down a cap of my head. Thankfully there is no record of this most harrowing and embarrassing experience.
Anyways, back to the dignity thing. The little one had been trying hard for an opportunity to buy us something, anything. But, when you are small, it’s not that easy to get elders to listen to you. So, he tried buying us coffee and was shooed away from the counter by B, who paid. Then, he attempted to buy a Milo and water and his attempts were completely washed out by me. We returned to Colombo and he had still not bought us anything. Not that he hadn’t tried or that we complained. So what does the little fella do? He comes over to B’s house the next morning with Milo milkshakes for us. That’s when I realized that their sense of self-respect is very important to them. They do not like being burdened under someone else’s favours.
The second incident happened when me and B went shopping. We stopped for lunch at a restaurant. I ordered food that was way too much for me. So, after eating my fill, I thought I’d get it packed and we could have it later. I said so to this effect to B who just shrugged and said, “Leave it.”
Well, I wasn’t about to and said I’d request the waiter to pack it. B urged again to leave it, that it didn’t matter, let’s go. I couldn’t figure out what had gotten into her. This place had takeaway boxes so it’s not like I was asking for something unfeasible. She whispered to get to takeaway box from the counter and leave, not wait for the waiter. I countered that there was a long line at the counter. Besides, the waiter would do it much more neatly than I could.
Finally, a distraught looking B hissed, “Just leave it, will you? It’s just not done. You don’t ask for takeaways after you ordered.” I was shocked and asked her mockingly, “What? Is it like below your dignity to ask for one.” To which I got a taciturn reply of, “Yes, it is beneath our dignity. It’s not done. Now, leave this plate and let’s go.”
My practical sense fought against this waste of food. But when in Rome, do as the Romans. I think for B, it was more important to preserve her respect than save a few morsels of food. And, perhaps when I finally agreed to her, she was relieved and hopefully forgave me for my slight oversight in Sri Lankan customs.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Day 6
We went to Galle today. Nothing spectacular to look at barring the Galle fort built by the Dutch. Hence very colonial and charming in every way that a colonial Dutch building is. There was even a totally rad coat of arms at the entrance.
But the most interesting part was the ride there and back.
Colombo to Galle was the worst hit area during the tsunami of 2004. While most the area has recovered from the setback, the scars can still be seen. Several houses had been rebuilt and stood with fresh costs of paint next to some not so fortunate ones. Water had seeped into every pore of these homes. Walls lay broken like bits of a cookie, crumbling into the foundation. Walls were covered in festering moss. Homes lay raped open and hollow, stark naked on either side with only few concrete bits, shreds of clothing holding their integrity together. Their gaping windows screaming a sad song, remembering a forgotten time. In some other places, the only trace of a house ever having been there was the rubble, as if it wasn’t a house that existed 4 years ago but had been dead for centuries. In others, Mother Nature in her all-embracing way had enveloped the standing structures with grass and new life in form of small trees and shrubs had begun to spring forth from it.
As I looked at the remains of the destruction on one side and the gurgling sea on the other, I could only feel the heavy weight of the sadness twisting my heart. It was an experience that I could only feel myself alone, not to be shared with anyone. Feel this pain and remember it always, carry us with you always, try and stop this from happening again, whispered the homes to me.
I will. Always.
But the most interesting part was the ride there and back.
Colombo to Galle was the worst hit area during the tsunami of 2004. While most the area has recovered from the setback, the scars can still be seen. Several houses had been rebuilt and stood with fresh costs of paint next to some not so fortunate ones. Water had seeped into every pore of these homes. Walls lay broken like bits of a cookie, crumbling into the foundation. Walls were covered in festering moss. Homes lay raped open and hollow, stark naked on either side with only few concrete bits, shreds of clothing holding their integrity together. Their gaping windows screaming a sad song, remembering a forgotten time. In some other places, the only trace of a house ever having been there was the rubble, as if it wasn’t a house that existed 4 years ago but had been dead for centuries. In others, Mother Nature in her all-embracing way had enveloped the standing structures with grass and new life in form of small trees and shrubs had begun to spring forth from it.
As I looked at the remains of the destruction on one side and the gurgling sea on the other, I could only feel the heavy weight of the sadness twisting my heart. It was an experience that I could only feel myself alone, not to be shared with anyone. Feel this pain and remember it always, carry us with you always, try and stop this from happening again, whispered the homes to me.
I will. Always.
Day 5 - longest day ever!
Today, we travelled to Polonorruwa - the capital of Sri Lanka at one point of time. If you ever want a preview of what Hell feels like, go there. The weather is unbearably hot and dripping humid – temperatures hovered around an unbearable 38 degrees( CELSIUS) throughout. The afternoon sun didn’t help much either. There was not one pore of my body that wasn’t sweating during the entire time. God’s sense of humour must have been working overtime during era Polonnrauwa was built because this city is also home to perhaps the largest man-made lake in SL. Built decades of centuries ago for to provide water for the dry farmlands, this lake now stands a serene blue expanse, brimming with shimmering liquid. It took all my willpower not to toss my clothes and jump into the invitingly cool waters. That and the fact that I would break my bones jumping out of a speeding car.
Like Sigriya, Polonorruwa has an acient history. King Parakramabanu created the lake and built the giant citadel as well. Unfortunately, later conquests and Mother Nature have destroyed most of the palace and the ancient city. What are left are a few viharas , a giant statue of an erudite sage and 3 large statues of Buddha. All carbed into the fucking rock!
Walking among the ruins of the city, we realized how much effort must have been put in these cities. The ruins have stood the test of time which is further proof of the craftsmanship devoted to them. I was awestruck walking through them, almost transported to a different time. Looking at the statues, noticed the intricate details carved into the rock – the painstaking detail in minarets, Buddha’s curly coif, his serene expression must have taken several hours of manpower to chisel. Even then, the mind could not fathom the beauty of this long-forgotten city. It’s at times like these that I wish our brilliant scientists would hurry up and create a time machine so that I go back in time and see the grandeur of the cities in their hey-day.
AS if the heat wasn’t enough, the artisans in these cities have taken a special pleasure to build staircases EVERYWHERE. It seems like we have just been climbing up and down, up and down stairs for the last two days. Of course, not to be outdone, the Archeological Society of Sri Lanka has happily placed more marble stairs, in every place the ancient artisans have overlooked.
As with all great travels, we lost our way on the journey back. Don’t ask me how, I was asleep. That’s another thing, I seem have developed an infinite capacity to sleep on this trip. Put me in a whirring car or plane and I am promptly comatose.
But wherever it was that we took a wrong turn, it took us straight into the heart of spice gardens of Nalanda – don’t get too excited like I did. The gardens are hardly anything like lavish tea plantations that we have seen Aamir prancing about in. I expected aromas of cinnamon, basil, mint and more to fill the air but sadly, that was not so. Just spice shrubs growing in pots or rising from the earth all over the place. Moreover, I was informed that if I tried to buy some “authentic” spices from these gardens, I was twice as likely to be thugged and sold spices at “paryatak”(tourist) rates.
The only good thing about being a “paryatak” in SL, was that our car was not stopped at any of the checkpoints all the way to Colombo. It seems that the strife with the LTTE has cost SL dearly, with tourism taking a nose-dive. So, the army has been recruiting public speaking classes for its jawans so that they may learn to speak in a polite and friendly way. There is also the uncommunicated understanding that tourists are to be minimally harassed. So, with a quick check of our IDs, we were sent off at the first checkpoint.
Only to be stopped again 15 minutes later. Memories of my Texan/Mexican adventure flashed in my mind. That time I didn’t even have a passport on me. I clung to it dearly as a silent prayer escaped my lips – let this trip not turn ugly, please. The dude in fatigues looked at my passport, asked me India? As I weakly nodded, my eyes as wide as a deer dazed by headlights, he smiled at me. A thousand watt, flashing smile that reassured me all was well.
We came home all exhausted and had a hearty dinner where a second helping zinged its way onto my plate, catching me unawares. Aunty B! My bloated stomach pleaded mercy but Mothers, you can’t win against them, na? My eyes are drooping shut and I shall now happily collapse into bed. Sweet dreams!
Like Sigriya, Polonorruwa has an acient history. King Parakramabanu created the lake and built the giant citadel as well. Unfortunately, later conquests and Mother Nature have destroyed most of the palace and the ancient city. What are left are a few viharas , a giant statue of an erudite sage and 3 large statues of Buddha. All carbed into the fucking rock!
Walking among the ruins of the city, we realized how much effort must have been put in these cities. The ruins have stood the test of time which is further proof of the craftsmanship devoted to them. I was awestruck walking through them, almost transported to a different time. Looking at the statues, noticed the intricate details carved into the rock – the painstaking detail in minarets, Buddha’s curly coif, his serene expression must have taken several hours of manpower to chisel. Even then, the mind could not fathom the beauty of this long-forgotten city. It’s at times like these that I wish our brilliant scientists would hurry up and create a time machine so that I go back in time and see the grandeur of the cities in their hey-day.
AS if the heat wasn’t enough, the artisans in these cities have taken a special pleasure to build staircases EVERYWHERE. It seems like we have just been climbing up and down, up and down stairs for the last two days. Of course, not to be outdone, the Archeological Society of Sri Lanka has happily placed more marble stairs, in every place the ancient artisans have overlooked.
As with all great travels, we lost our way on the journey back. Don’t ask me how, I was asleep. That’s another thing, I seem have developed an infinite capacity to sleep on this trip. Put me in a whirring car or plane and I am promptly comatose.
But wherever it was that we took a wrong turn, it took us straight into the heart of spice gardens of Nalanda – don’t get too excited like I did. The gardens are hardly anything like lavish tea plantations that we have seen Aamir prancing about in. I expected aromas of cinnamon, basil, mint and more to fill the air but sadly, that was not so. Just spice shrubs growing in pots or rising from the earth all over the place. Moreover, I was informed that if I tried to buy some “authentic” spices from these gardens, I was twice as likely to be thugged and sold spices at “paryatak”(tourist) rates.
The only good thing about being a “paryatak” in SL, was that our car was not stopped at any of the checkpoints all the way to Colombo. It seems that the strife with the LTTE has cost SL dearly, with tourism taking a nose-dive. So, the army has been recruiting public speaking classes for its jawans so that they may learn to speak in a polite and friendly way. There is also the uncommunicated understanding that tourists are to be minimally harassed. So, with a quick check of our IDs, we were sent off at the first checkpoint.
Only to be stopped again 15 minutes later. Memories of my Texan/Mexican adventure flashed in my mind. That time I didn’t even have a passport on me. I clung to it dearly as a silent prayer escaped my lips – let this trip not turn ugly, please. The dude in fatigues looked at my passport, asked me India? As I weakly nodded, my eyes as wide as a deer dazed by headlights, he smiled at me. A thousand watt, flashing smile that reassured me all was well.
We came home all exhausted and had a hearty dinner where a second helping zinged its way onto my plate, catching me unawares. Aunty B! My bloated stomach pleaded mercy but Mothers, you can’t win against them, na? My eyes are drooping shut and I shall now happily collapse into bed. Sweet dreams!
Day 4
Sri Lanka is a beautiful country. I have never seen so many shades of green bursting forth all around me. The splendor of nature here shames the word “life” with its vivacity. Everywhere I look, there’s lush and thriving greenery. And, everywhere I look mangoes and jackfruits hang low on their trees, some as low as my hip. One could just reach out and pluck them. It’s as if the entire country does not realize what treasure troves of delicious sweetness lies within its grasp. I am tempted to be a mischievous imp and pelt down the mangoes with stones or climb the trees and collect some in my skirt and run. Only repeating “foreign national, foreign national” like a mantra has kept me from breaking into a mad frenzy and grabbing the delicious mangoes.
Conversation as B and I are examining crystals and gemstones at a souvenir vendor at Sigriya
Aunty B: Aaah stones. B, didn’t you want a stone for your skin, baby?
B: Umm, err, you mean a pumice stone?
Aunty B: Hmm, that’s not there. Oh okay.
Aunty B is so darn cute! She is also phobic, maniacally phobic about public restrooms. You should have seen her rushing out of one that we had stopped at on the way – it was like the restroom had caught fire!
A step-by-step guide to creating your own Vanar Sena(Monkey Army)
Preparation time: 5-10 minutes.
Step 1. Buy a bunch of sweet Rabutan(a fleshy fruit like the litchi, with red skin and green spikes on the outside).
Step 2. Ignore all warning signs.
Step 3. Feed one Rabutan to one monkey.
Step 4. Stand back and watch. Pretty soon, monekys will materialize from bushes, tops of trees, nooks and crannies of the pathway, eagerly anticipating more Rabutan.
Step 5. Start walking away with the Rabutan. Watch with glee as malicious monkeys snarl and follow you in an attempt to snatch away the fruit.
Step 6. Maintain leadership by holding fast to the Rabutan – even if monkeys threaten to perch on your head. Show them who’s the boss!
Step 7. Enjoy the satisfaction of having led a Vanar Sena, for 5 or 15 minutes or whatever length of time you survived.
Note: Injuries including but not limited to scratches and bites may be experienced. Attempt at your own risk.
Conversation as B and I are examining crystals and gemstones at a souvenir vendor at Sigriya
Aunty B: Aaah stones. B, didn’t you want a stone for your skin, baby?
B: Umm, err, you mean a pumice stone?
Aunty B: Hmm, that’s not there. Oh okay.
Aunty B is so darn cute! She is also phobic, maniacally phobic about public restrooms. You should have seen her rushing out of one that we had stopped at on the way – it was like the restroom had caught fire!
A step-by-step guide to creating your own Vanar Sena(Monkey Army)
Preparation time: 5-10 minutes.
Step 1. Buy a bunch of sweet Rabutan(a fleshy fruit like the litchi, with red skin and green spikes on the outside).
Step 2. Ignore all warning signs.
Step 3. Feed one Rabutan to one monkey.
Step 4. Stand back and watch. Pretty soon, monekys will materialize from bushes, tops of trees, nooks and crannies of the pathway, eagerly anticipating more Rabutan.
Step 5. Start walking away with the Rabutan. Watch with glee as malicious monkeys snarl and follow you in an attempt to snatch away the fruit.
Step 6. Maintain leadership by holding fast to the Rabutan – even if monkeys threaten to perch on your head. Show them who’s the boss!
Step 7. Enjoy the satisfaction of having led a Vanar Sena, for 5 or 15 minutes or whatever length of time you survived.
Note: Injuries including but not limited to scratches and bites may be experienced. Attempt at your own risk.
Day 3
I woke up at 6.30 am today. Not bad for being on vacation. In fact, we all went for a walk around beautiful Independent Square in the morning. Built to commemorate SL’s independence, the square is an intricately carved structure with lions ornamenting the length and breadth of the square. Around it is a beautifully maintained, vibrant green garden that had been freshly watered (or it had rained last night). It smelled heavenly and made for a lovely experience in the morning. When we returned home, Uncle B treated me to some fresh coconut water. He shaved off the “Tammili” as he called it right in front of me and drained out the sweet, cooling liquid for me. A walk in the cradle of history and Mother Nature and coconut water every morning. I might not tire of this vacation at all.
We went to shop at the International Convention Center here. Being the Tamil New Year, there are discount sales and fairs happening in every nook and cranny and the ICC(International City Center, not the cricket board) supposedly has some VERY good deals. And they did. I bought some delicious SL pickles – something native to take home with me. B’s parents used the fair as an excuse to get away and buy a gift for B whose birthday was on the next day. I too had forgotten this itsy-bitsy fact (as many who know me are aware, I am besieged by amnesia since birth, which also I have no recollection of) but since I had travelled so many miles to see her, I was somewhat forgiven.
After shopping, we were to head to B’s aunt’s house for lunch. I had developed a migraine and wanted to rest my thumping head in the car. As the car pulled out of the ICC, I thought the mind was playing games with me because I distinctly heard Aunty B say, “Look! An alligator.” When I heard it again a second time, followed by B’s “Yeah, right out here on the road too.” the eyes snapped open. An alligator on the road? I had to see this. Sure enough, it was this critter cooling strolling on the road.
If you can’t make out, let me help you.
A ginormous monster lizard was walking on a public street of the capital city!
It was like being on an urban safari. The chilled out G that he was, the lizard shuffled his way along and smoothly made his way onto the grassy pavement when he saw our car blocking his way. As if, he was doing a favour by making way for us on his lane.
Pumped with adrenaline and a throbbing head, I arrived at B’s aunt’s place. I eagerly lunged for the pain killers to get the thumping out of my head and popped 2 in my enthusiasm. And then I fell asleep for 2 hours. When I woke, I couldn’t have been more mortified! I’d fallen asleep in a stranger’s house that I visited for the very first time without so much as talking to them for five minutes! There was some drowsy crap in those pills that NO ONE told me! Half-asleep, half-Neanderthal, I walked out and talked to Aunty.
B led me to the lunch spread- everyone else had of course eaten already. Lunch was prepared by B’s granny and at the end of it, I wanted to kneel down and kiss those gifted hands. It was – chicken cutlets, cuttlefish in spicy coconut curry, prawns, cucumber and pineapple salad, sweet, lightly fried plantains. She converted the fish hater like me into a freaking shark. I gorged on all that delicious food and topped it off with traditional SL dessert of cold yogurt with honey.
The simplicity of the dessert yet its immense flavor made me realize that simplicity is what fills our heart with pleasure rather than the elaborate schemes of lavish palaces and umpteen luxuries that our minds fool us into believing. I discovered today that a full stomach is the taut drum on which the baton of philosophy is free to wield itself and create lilting harmony.
A profoundly exciting day.
We went to shop at the International Convention Center here. Being the Tamil New Year, there are discount sales and fairs happening in every nook and cranny and the ICC(International City Center, not the cricket board) supposedly has some VERY good deals. And they did. I bought some delicious SL pickles – something native to take home with me. B’s parents used the fair as an excuse to get away and buy a gift for B whose birthday was on the next day. I too had forgotten this itsy-bitsy fact (as many who know me are aware, I am besieged by amnesia since birth, which also I have no recollection of) but since I had travelled so many miles to see her, I was somewhat forgiven.
After shopping, we were to head to B’s aunt’s house for lunch. I had developed a migraine and wanted to rest my thumping head in the car. As the car pulled out of the ICC, I thought the mind was playing games with me because I distinctly heard Aunty B say, “Look! An alligator.” When I heard it again a second time, followed by B’s “Yeah, right out here on the road too.” the eyes snapped open. An alligator on the road? I had to see this. Sure enough, it was this critter cooling strolling on the road.
If you can’t make out, let me help you.
A ginormous monster lizard was walking on a public street of the capital city!
It was like being on an urban safari. The chilled out G that he was, the lizard shuffled his way along and smoothly made his way onto the grassy pavement when he saw our car blocking his way. As if, he was doing a favour by making way for us on his lane.
Pumped with adrenaline and a throbbing head, I arrived at B’s aunt’s place. I eagerly lunged for the pain killers to get the thumping out of my head and popped 2 in my enthusiasm. And then I fell asleep for 2 hours. When I woke, I couldn’t have been more mortified! I’d fallen asleep in a stranger’s house that I visited for the very first time without so much as talking to them for five minutes! There was some drowsy crap in those pills that NO ONE told me! Half-asleep, half-Neanderthal, I walked out and talked to Aunty.
B led me to the lunch spread- everyone else had of course eaten already. Lunch was prepared by B’s granny and at the end of it, I wanted to kneel down and kiss those gifted hands. It was – chicken cutlets, cuttlefish in spicy coconut curry, prawns, cucumber and pineapple salad, sweet, lightly fried plantains. She converted the fish hater like me into a freaking shark. I gorged on all that delicious food and topped it off with traditional SL dessert of cold yogurt with honey.
The simplicity of the dessert yet its immense flavor made me realize that simplicity is what fills our heart with pleasure rather than the elaborate schemes of lavish palaces and umpteen luxuries that our minds fool us into believing. I discovered today that a full stomach is the taut drum on which the baton of philosophy is free to wield itself and create lilting harmony.
A profoundly exciting day.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Marriage Blurs and blues
It was my birthday yesterday. That time of the year when you look back and wonder - how the hell did I grow up? I was trying so hard to avoid this!
And then, the sense of humour life has, I get an email that chills my very soul.
In case, you are having trouble figuring out what I am talking about, let me help you.
Yes, dear ones, after months of suspicion that my parents have my profile set up on Bharat Matrimony, there was proof staring me in the face. Apparently, all the vehement refusals to marry fell on deaf ears. I didn't have time to ponder over poor blokes who'd be traumatized for life after meeting me. I was wallowing in the depression of having to deal with rishtas, muhh dikhai, chai, kanda pohe and the whole sha-bang (At this point I just left and went and ate a whole chocolate excess pastry, I needed the endorphins).
When I came back then I opened the mail. This is what I saw:
There were 51 different matches for my profile and they were ALL WOMEN!
It’s real heartening to know that my parents think I am a lesbian (Where's the rest of that chocolate excess?)
Edit: After calming my nerves, I investigated and have to come to know that there is dude ou there with the same email as me – except his has a dot in the id that just about every website omits. I realized it’s the same chap whose bank statements kept coming to me till I threatened to empty his entire bank account the next time I got his bank statement in my email.
Unfortunately, he took me seriously. Pity, I could have done so much with the extra cash.
And then, the sense of humour life has, I get an email that chills my very soul.
In case, you are having trouble figuring out what I am talking about, let me help you.
Yes, dear ones, after months of suspicion that my parents have my profile set up on Bharat Matrimony, there was proof staring me in the face. Apparently, all the vehement refusals to marry fell on deaf ears. I didn't have time to ponder over poor blokes who'd be traumatized for life after meeting me. I was wallowing in the depression of having to deal with rishtas, muhh dikhai, chai, kanda pohe and the whole sha-bang (At this point I just left and went and ate a whole chocolate excess pastry, I needed the endorphins).
When I came back then I opened the mail. This is what I saw:
There were 51 different matches for my profile and they were ALL WOMEN!
It’s real heartening to know that my parents think I am a lesbian (Where's the rest of that chocolate excess?)
Edit: After calming my nerves, I investigated and have to come to know that there is dude ou there with the same email as me – except his has a dot in the id that just about every website omits. I realized it’s the same chap whose bank statements kept coming to me till I threatened to empty his entire bank account the next time I got his bank statement in my email.
Unfortunately, he took me seriously. Pity, I could have done so much with the extra cash.
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