Postcards From Sri Lanka: Fanta

A feeling of melancholy washes over her; the notes of a once favourite song invade her ears from a passing car on the road. She is seated under a ceiling fan in a poorly ventilated cafe on the side of the road, trapped in a reverie unable to come to terms with the sudden surge of emotions that are whirling about inside her. Finally she gives in. Trishaws buzz by, the horn of a truck blares. Beads of condensation on the bottle in front of her drip down in a steady stream.

She always preferred to drink out of a glass bottle.

Although she sits there in stillness she has been transported to another time and another place, a summer passed away. Eyes are open wide but she sees nothing. Her ridiculously inappropriate shoes don’t stop her from feeling the coolness of the earth, under her bare feet she is being tickled by the green blades of grass. The taste of fruit punch from a home-made popsicle lingers in her mouth. The red kind. She is eight again, sitting under the shade of the big maple tree on her front lawn. A copy of ‘Where the Red Fern Grows’ from the public library has been cast aside carelessly beside her. A self-congratulatory smile plays on her lips as she turns her gaze towards the other end of the street. Her brother (who had been playing baseball all afternoon) drinks thirstily from a bottle of water like someone who had been lost in the desert for days. He drinks greedily, completely unaware of the fact that she has backwashed into the bottle.

“Mind if I take a sip?” he asks, breaking her out of her reverie. The noise of the street fills her ears, the air is heavy with the smell of diesel oil once again.
“Here, you can have the rest,” she said picking up the bottle and taking a quick sip.
“Thanks.”

She is eight again and a smile plays on her lips.

Fanta from glass bottles were never meant to be shared. Her brother is again blissfully unaware.

Not much is really going on. It’s the weekend and I think I’m going to bum around. And no, I’ll never reveal to you the song from above. One hint though, think Salt ‘n’ Pepper. Remember, they never play any good music here.

Postcards from Sri Lanka: Vesak

Just finished off a long weekend here, the Buddhist holy days of Vesak where the birth, enlightenment and death of Buddha are all celebrated simultaneously. Dude, Buddhists? Total multi-taskers. So as a result of Vesak folks here get a four day long weekend. The rich ones head off on holiday retreats while the poor ones enter into the city from the villages in droves in order to see the city lights and take in the festivities. After spending two mind numbing days at my grandparents’ place my uncle very kindly came to my rescue on Monday. He came and got me on his way home from Nuwara Eliya.

My uncle lives in a ‘gated’ community in Colombo. He works for the Sri Lanka Ports Authority and lives in a Ports Authority home in Mutwal now. They have a beautiful home of their own in Nawala, surrounded by a jungle, cows, the works. The place they live in now is pretty much in the very heart and soul of the city. Car horns can be heard at any time of the day and the rumble of big container trucks aren’t at all foreign. As a result of their proximity to the city there’s always something interesting going on.

Pandols and Dhansalas
On Monday night, the first day of Vesak was celebrated by the lighting of pandols and dhansalas. This was my first Vesak here in Sri Lanka since we left. Not that I remember anything about it from our time here; it was all a new experience for me. We went to see the pandols in Borella at about 9:00ish (the Buddhist wait for an auspicious time before they light the pandols so there’s no set starting). It’s difficult to explain what a pandol is. The best way I can describe it is that it’s like a massive brightly coloured billboard with Lord Buddha in the middle meeting a LiteBrite. Then there are small scenes from the Buddha’s life surrounding the larger picture. It’s lit up in such a way that in the dark it looks it really does look like someone did a giant Buddhist LiteBrite and the colours change and rotate. (I took a video of it, so if you’re really interested in seeing what it looks like, wait until I come home.) Droves of people line the streets to take a look at the pandols because of their sheer size, and supposed beauty, they’re easily a few storeys high. Along with the ever present street noises, there is a man who does a Sinhala freestyle over a really bad sound system telling stories from the Buddha’s life and thanking those who have given donations to the temple. It’s hardcore yo.

In the streets you can see long lines of people waiting to get into white tents that have Buddhist flags waving in front of them. These are the dhansalas where free food can be found. Essentially a dhansala is part of the Vesak celebrations, people in the community get together, take up collections and use the money to cook large amounts of food for the start of Vesak and continue on for a few days. The entire city is lit-up for Vesak, it’s like Christmas with all the bright lights, but instead of the colour palate being red, green etc it’s all yellow, orange blue and white.

Tour de France
After two solid weeks of inactivity and eating I thought it best to take advantage of the empty Colombo streets (during the day, because of Vesak) and my cousin’s abandoned bike. Shanga’s not much of a bike enthusiast, but it didn’t take much to convince her brother Amresh to head out into the mean streets of Colombo Tour de France style. We had a great time on Tuesday morning, rode through one of the slummiest areas of town, Kottehane where most of the Port labourers live. It’s absolutely filthy. So I braved the heat, catcalls and even took the whistles in stride (girls in Colombo don’t ride bicycles on the streets unlike those in Jaffna and Trincomalee).

I prefer biking to any other type of physical activity just because you get a bigger rush off of it than you would by walking (and I have zero endurance so running is out of the question) also, you can totally take in your surroundings and absorb what’s going on around you. I saw a set of white kittens playing on a rubbish heap, and wanted to bring them home with me, then there was the fluffy little brown puppies asleep in a gutter with their mother no where in sight and how could I forget the sight of the fat, black pot bellied pig eating rice on the side of the road. (And no, it wasn’t Aiya, he left on Friday remember.) If I had a house here it would most likely end up
being an animal menagerie.

There’s also all the interesting people and their homes. Not that I find squalor and poverty fascinating, and I don’t mean to be trite and sensationalize it either. But the fact of the matter remains that in Sri Lanka because our family leads an incredibly comfortable existence, this is the side of the Colombo which I hardly get a good glimpse at. Men drunk off of toddy (made from the sap of the Kithul tree, kind of like getting plastered on Maple sap, they make syrup out of Kithul sap too) before 10:30 in the morning, stumbling around in their sarongs smoking and cursing. Children in tattered and faded clothing running and filling the streets with their carefree laughter, playing high catches not bothered at all about their surroundings. Then there are the little girls who were fascinated by the girl on the bike wearing pants and a chapeau who’d wave shyly as we passed. For all their poverty, the people of this Colombo are like ‘a breath of fresh air,’ to use the cliche. (But more on why I think that at another juncture.)

Colombo Port
In the evening we convinced my uncle to use his Ports Authority pass to go biking through the Colombo port. Flipping AWESOME folks. A little bit scary yes, but that’s because there’s armed Navy and Army personnel everywhere, with their AKs in plain sight; completely juxtaposed against the the lights and banners which were up for Vesak. Yeah even the port was decorated! I felt so tiny in there, surrounded by the container ships, cargo and the brightly coloured cranes which can easily carry a few 45 tonnes of weight. When a truck rumbles past (very quickly I might add) the sheer force of it had the potential to knock me off my bike. We went past the yard where all the tsunami relief is being held. Because of the excise taxes that the government is charging on some types of cargo, a lot of it is just sitting there being pummelled by the monsoon rains and becoming useless. NGOs are unable or unwilling to pay the government to release the goods.

In the ship yard on a flatbed truck was a little red aluminium boat named ‘Baby Pradeepa’ which was badly beaten up. During the tsunami this boat, which belongs to the Galle port’s lighthouse, was tossed about in the sea and eventually ended up in Yalle (which is an animal reserve in the south). On Saturday it found its way into Colombo to be repaired.

Unfortunately I was unable to take any pictures of my bicycle travels. In Kottehane I probably would’ve been jumped (for the camera) and in the Port a sniper would’ve finished me off even before my flash went off. But this has all reasserted to me the pressing need to get a motorcycle licence and ride across Europe. Screw the backpacking kids.

Postcards from Sri Lanka: Now playing in a theatre near you, "Attack of the 30 Foot Imagination!!"

So there’s been some curiosity over what exactly I’ve been doing for the past two weeks. To tell you the truth I myself don’t really know. My time has passed by so quickly essentially doing nothing but shopping and eating. But, that’s what I do in Toronto too. One thing for sure is, any normal mundane activity is always elevated to adventure status. The only possible explanation that I might have for this is an overly active imagination that has always managed to rule the better part of my life.

Spidey Sense
Every evening before I go to bed I have a shower no matter how late, otherwise I feel way too gross to fall asleep. If I’m at my grandparents’ place I tend to have a little company. A spider, about the same size as my palm (when his legs are fully extended). His name is Peter Parker II (the first Peter Parker perished in a small jam bottle under Aiya’s bed about 3 years ago); we have a set routine, I walk into the bathroom and give it a quick once over in search of him before I take my glasses off. I hate surprises of any kind. We never exchange pleasantries but eye each other with a mutual sense of suspicion laced with just a hint of contempt, but that’s more on his part than mine really. No matter how long I’m in the shower he doesn’t move from his vantage point, whether he’s hanging upside down from that corner where the cement ceiling and two walls meet, clinging onto the grooved blue tiles, or in exceptional moods of cheekiness occupying the empty spot beside the soap dish. It is only when I put my glasses on again and head for the door does he ever scurry off, continuing onto the destination he was trying to reach before I interrupted him. I wonder if he’s poisonous?

The Sound of Silence
One thing that always strikes me time and time again in my trips to Sri Lanka is the seeming absence of silence. I don’t think it exists in this country, but it’s delicious. Falling asleep to the rhythmic sound of the ceiling fan as it cuts through the hot and humid air. The low humming and whirring coupled with the rustling of the palm leaves on the thambili* tree outside my bedroom window act as a natural lullaby. If I’m lucky there might be crickets chirping beneath the windowsill. Sleep usually comes quickly and sweetly.

Stray cats hissing and spitting at each other; I lie on my back and look out my window, each shadow cast by the bushes and trees is a cat attempting to jump onto my bed to attack me. These are the unfortunate nights when my imagination kicks in and the night noises aren’t so sweet. Sleep is restless. Getting jarred awake to the rustling of a stray piece of paper being jostled by the ceiling fan and thinking that a snake has slithered in through the window into my room. On nights like these I’m worse than a kid who has been scared stiff by the monster in their closet. Initially gripped by fear for about 30-40 seconds, after which time I come back to reality and generally feel like the giant ass that I am.

The feasting of the senses never stops and it never gets old here. The way it feels to have my naked feet walk across the cool, red cement floors in the mid-afternoon heat, the dense thudding sound that accompanies every step. A feint outline of floor polish begin to appear on my soles, but soon they’ll disappear after an ice cold shower. Waking up early morning to the sound of rain falling on the dark red tiled roof and revelling in that lovely sensation that can only be had when listening to the sound of rain while in bed, half asleep. I breath in the rich earthy smell greedily, filling my nostrils with the spells of the monsoon.

Because nothing ever gets old here.

*thambili: King Coconut, a beautiful bright orange coloured coconut, the best thing to drink on a hot day.

Postcards from Sri Lanka: I can't find my Polydent!

Even though it’s only 9:07 PM on a Friday night, I’ve got my PJs on and am in bed. Two weeks of fun have officially come to an end today. Aiya left for Toronto at 8:20 PM. So what does this mean? Life alone with my 84 year old grandparents. This means waking up at 7:00 AM every single morning to my slightly deaf grandfather blaring the radio. Breakfast at 8:00 AM sharp with or without me. Lunch at 12:00 PM, and dinner at 8:00 PM every day. Life runs on the clock, it’s amazing what habitual creatures they are. They’ve been like this as long as anyone can remember, and most likely they’ll continue on in the same vein until they die.

Fortunately for me I have been able to find a way to break up the tedium that will eventually be a 21 year old becoming a pseudo senior citizen. Wednesday I start my job at an NGO which is dedicated to ending corruption and promoting good governance. I’ll be working on a project that’s investigating whether or not funds collected for the tsunami are being used in a proper manner. I’m stoked. The only not so exciting part about all of this is I’ll be travelling from Ratmalana where my grandparents live (think Ajax) to Borella (think downtown). This apparently means, that due to the insane amount of traffic in Colombo I’ll have to leave at the 7:45 at the very latest in order to make it on time for work which starts at 9:00. When I went to drop Aiya off at the airport today, it took me two hours to get there, and two hours to get home! All because of rush hour traffic. Eek.

Well although Aiya’s gone and I’m bound to lose a lot of mobility and independence I will have a bit more time on my hands for important things. Like watching all the pirated Hindi movies that I’ve acquired over the last couple of days. And of course replying to your e-mails and blogging a bit more (which means more than once a week ;))

Postcards From Sri Lanka: Lexiconic

So it’s been awhile since I arrived in Colombo, and this is the first essai that I have made at writing something up for the blog. The truth is, it’s almost impossible to get a chance to sit down and type out anything coherent that anyone would be remotely interested in reading. It’s so hot here the last thing I want to do is wilt away in front of a computer screen. Fortunately I’ve been able to catch a few minutes to myself here at my aunt’s place. (securely placed underneath a rather powerful ceiling fan might I add.) So before I give you a little rundown of what I’ve been up to, here’s a lexicon of important terms that are a part of my every day life here in Colombo.

Amresh (Blackie): Ravi and Dhilumni’s youngest son (14)
Athula: Aiya’s bad ass fish machete
Aunty Dhilumni: Ravi Bappa’s wife
Aunty Dushy: Niranjan Bappa’s wife
Chandra: Mamma and Pappa’s cleaning lady
Dhinushka (Bola): Niranjan and Dushy’s youngest daughter (16)
Kiara: Nirjanjan Bappa’s fat Labrador retreiver (3)
Lucky Bappa (Percy): Thathi’s second brother, the one who came and lived with us in Canada for 6 months
Mamma: Thathi’s mother
Manika: Niranjan Bappa’s cook
Nilanga: Niranjan and Dushy’s oldest daughter (18)
Niranjan (Johnny) Bappa: Thathi’s third brother, the one who comes to Toronto once a year on business
Pappa: Thathi’s father
Rani: Nirjanan Bappa’s cleaning lady
Ravi (Chutti) Bappa: Thathi’s baby brother, the only one who's never been to Canada
Shanga (Lucy, Josephine, Jos): Ravi and Dhilumni’s oldest daughter (15)
Sunil: Niranjan Bappa’s driver
Susantha: our trishaw driver, we want to give him a gift of a GPS, his sense of direction is worse than mine, and that’s me being kind
Trishaw: the three-wheeled mosquito looking vehicle that we travel in every day due to a lack of a car. Since it’s open, and there’s no such thing as ‘emmissions testing’ here there is a good chance I will develop lung cancer before I come back home
Vimala: Mamma and Pappa’s cook