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.
No comments:
Post a Comment