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.