Thursday, February 27, 2014

Going Back



The curtains on my room move gently here and there like my heart. I move my curtain and look through the windows – a microscopic view of the alien land- Canada. Winter has gone and people are enjoying the warmth of the sun. The Rajanayakam family – ever helping neighbours - goes hand in hand for their usual evening walk. They have adopted themselves to Canada. But I couldn’t. Why?

A caring and loving husband, a ten year old kid, with them my life is a beautiful nest of happiness. Yet I can’t enjoy the happiness whole heartedly. One part of my mind always reminds me that I belong not to Canada.

“Ding dong” – our calling bell

Suresh is home. I must definitely talk with him without further delay about my decision. I open the door and embrace him. He looks very tired

“What is for dinner Malini?”

“Ah it is one of your favourites. Guess what”

“Let me guess……. Masala dosai” He replies with wide eyes

“Nope”

“mmm string hoppers and prawns curry?” His mouth waters

“Yes it is!”

“I’ll change and come, where is Kavi?”

“She has gone to the dance class.”

“Oh it seems that Kavi doesn’t like Bharathanatyam, let her learn whatever she likes. Kavi is very much interested in pop music and break dance”

“What are you talking? She must know our tradition and culture. You are spoiling her.”

“Malini I’ll change and come.” When I start arguing with him, he escapes this way.

Suresh comes quickly and sits at our dining table. I serve his meals and look at those smiling eyes that had once taken my breath away. ‘Malini talk with him, come on’ my instinct urges me.

“Suresh I am planning to go to Sri Lanka”

Silence

“Suresh I must see my house."

“Malini this is your house, you belong here in Canada”

“No I am not. The war is over, the A9 is open, and people are allowed to go to high security zones. I don’t want to miss this opportunity I must go”

“Malini why are you so stubborn? Who is there for you in Maaviddapuram. No one. Do you think that your house will be there still?”

“Yes Rohini aunty said that her house is there, in a dilapidated stage. Of course, ours is close to her. So my house will be there”

“Don’t cling to the past, think of Kavi and myself. Don’t think about your lost world. It’s over Malini. Come out of that”

“No I can’t. You don’t know how much I was attached to my house. Your house is in Jaffna town. You were not chased from your place. You don’t know the pain of living without a cherished treasure. …… I am taking Kavi with me.”

“What the hell are you talking Malini? Do you want to stuff all this rubbish into that little mind?” His eyes are like flames.

“These are not rubbish. She must know our culture and tradition. Please try to understand me”

He is silent, digesting my words.

“Ok, go and come back.” No expression on his face.

He leaves the plate half eaten, washes his hand and bangs the door behind him.


 I am sipping my coffee on the balcony, watching the sunrise. The rays of the morning sun on my skin remind me of my mother’s touch. I can hear the chirping sound of the birds. An unprecedented joy fills my entire heart and body. I arrange my slippers and begin to soak into my own world. Kavi is asleep. Watching her angelic face doubles my joy. She crawls in to bed like a snail. Her hands are curled up, just like my mother’s. Whenever I miss my dear mother, my angel is there to console me. Unlike me she is fair, curly haired and rosy lipped.  Every now and then I adjust her curls and put it behind her ears. But her curls are so stubborn- stubborn like Suresh who always rejects the idea of revisiting his own native land. As soon as I adjust her curls, they come to the previous position without a moment`s delay.

Last night was spent on arranging our travelling bag. My daughter was tired of which clothes to select. Her pink dress with frills, buttons and laces is considered as her lucky dress as she won the first place in her speech competition wearing this dress. She has boasted at school about going to see her mother’s motherland. For the last three days the phrase “going to see Amma’s  homeland” is a slogan repeated in an automatic chanting way.

 I wash my coffee cup and begin to wander here and there not knowing what to do. My thoughts begin to float on those sweet memories. My dearest Appa, Amma, Thambi-my adorable little brother, our dear little house, and the life we lived. I look at myself in the mirror, at the scars on my face which reveal the lost pleasures, and my longing and yearning to witness something. I adjust my hairpin; patch my face with powder and lipstick. In between, my eyes rest on our clock. All these days I have been fighting with time, struggling to get a free time. But now the clock stands still. We must go to the airport at 10.00 am. I watch the movement of the clock.

I begin rubbing the dishes and finish cleaning the kitchen. The food needed for Suresh when I am away is safely in the fridge. My hands need washing too. I apply the sanitizer and rub my hands. I hear Kavi’s voice. She has the habit of calling me when she gets up from the bed. The sounds which she usually makes when she gets up reach the kitchen. She hugs me tightly. I pour her coffee and hand it to her. She starts sipping it slowly. I stroke her hair and pat her shoulder. Thousands of questions pour from her mouth like a cascade of overflowing waters.

“Amma, at what time are we leaving?”

“Have you packed up my pink dress?”

“I am planning to wear it on the day we go and see our house.”

The same questions came from her mouth yesterday and I answered her several times. I smile at her and she smiles back. I am nervous. Again and again I watch the movement of the clock. I rush for the towel and push Kavi into the bathroom. She comes back with drizzles of water everywhere on her skin. It will take half an hour for her to get ready.

While I am getting ready, Kavi comes with a clip card and asks me to fasten the clip on her hair. I try my best to pin the clip, it keeps on falling. She is agitated and goes back skipping to take her things. I convince her that she looks pretty with her hair loose. Everything is ready. We get into the car. Suresh drives the car silently. We reach the airport. Suresh’s unwillingness is shown in his face. He tries to be happy but he is a poor actor

“Malini take care of yourself and Kavi”

His words move me in a way I cannot describe. I wave my hand till his head disappears into the crowd.
We are in the aeroplane now flying to Sri Lanka. After a long awaited twenty three years I am going to see my native place. I remember the good old golden days filled with happiness. My little house was surrounded with immense joy. It was my Appa’s everlasting wish to have a house of our own. He worked extra hours in his office. I still remember how he saved each cent from his income, in the bank. I used to go with him to the bank to put the money in our account. Appa had a scooter on which I used to sit behind him and enjoyed the rides everywhere. As a result of his day and night work we were blessed with a little house. We celebrated with a small house warming ceremony. Thambi and I were given new clothes and crackers. We were jumping up and down to see our newly built house. We lighted the crackers when the ceremony started. Our little house was big enough for our cute little family. We had a small verandah where we used to sit in the evening, chatting. We had three bedrooms and a shrine room. The incense smell from the shrine purveyed all over the house. Amma kept jasmine flowers in a dish with water at our doorsteps.

My daughter touches my hand and brings me back to reality. I adjust her curls, Kavi opens her mouth
.
“Amma why did you leave your house and settle in Canada?”

 I avoided this question, left it unanswered many a times. Now my mind forces me to tell the truth. I utter the word which I hate intensely.

“War, because of war my dear.”

Kavi frowns her face and repeats the word “war”. I know this word is new to her. She is surely blessed to live embracing peace. War seems to be awkward to her.

“Amma you have been talking about war all the time. What is it really like?”

How can I explain these horrible things to this little one?

I am a little bit confused. What to tell and what not to tell.  I am forced to walk back into the bitter memories. A tear drop runs down from my eyes

“We lived in our little house happily. It was during the 1990s. The situation in Jaffna became more tensed as the government and LTTE started fighting ruthlessly. There were curfews, strikes, blackouts, shelling and bombings. War, the evil Satan chased us from our dear little house. I still remember that moment, when Appa cried loudly embracing the walls of our house. It was the first time I saw him cry. Amidst the sounds of shelling and bombing, I was able to hear Appa’s loud sobs. We were compelled to leave our heaven. It is true; life without our dear little house was like hell. We were homeless at that time. Appa believed that the situation will somehow turn to normal. But it never happened. We were given shelter in our relatives place. We underwent severe mental trauma. We were in a topsy-turvy stage not knowing what to do. One of our uncles helped us to migrate to Canada. As we had no other option, we decided to go there. After much hardship and struggle we reached Canada. Our life was completely changed. Thambi and I enrolled in universities to do our further studies. We were able to receive solace by our academic career. But Appa was unable to forget anything. He spent his days thinking about our house. I can picture him, sitting on the cushion, tugging his beard, looking at the ceiling and deeply pondering.  During the nights he walked here and there in his room. I used to get up during midnights to do my assignments. Each time I come back from my room I could see the lights on in his room, which clearly indicated to me that he was awake, thinking of our dear little house and the lost pleasures. Appa’s last wish to see our house was only a dream. He died with unfulfilled hopes and desires. God was cruel. He grabbed Amma from us as soon as Appa died. 

Years passed quickly. I married your father and continued my career. After twenty three years I am going to my homeland with you. Our village “Maaviddapuram” was marked as a high security zone all these years. Now people are allowed to see their motherland.”

“Am I stuffing Kavi’s mind with details about an unknown environment?”

Kavi is listening to everything keenly. I am not sure whether she could picture out the whole thing but I see tear drops tears falling from her eyes. She hugs me tightly and begins to sleep on my shoulder.
                               ----------------------------------------------------------
On a fine April morning we reach Sri Lanka. I hire a vehicle at the airport to reach our destination. Colombo is completely changed. New buildings towering above new high ways, the flyover in Dehiwala, shops lined up on either side of the streets like matchsticks on a matchbox. I am gazing through the windows from the airport to our hotel. The amount of beggars has also increased. We check into our hotel now. We have a nap and have taken our lunch. As my little one wants to go out, we start walking on the streets of Wellawatte. I was boarded at Fussells Lane when I was studying in the Colombo University. My hands automatically close my nose when we are walking down Fussells Lane thinking of the fish market and the stench. To my surprise it has been removed.

Kavi starts buying things here and there. The same night we are travelling to Jaffna. With the thought of revisiting Jaffna, the air conditioner in the bus was unbearable to me though I have comfortably adjusted myself to the cold weather in Canada. We cover ourselves with extra clothes. Next day morning we reach Jaffna.

The stone board “Jaffna welcomes you” stares at us. I feel like a fish being thrown back into the sea. I smell the familiar smell. This is my land. Our bus reaches the Jaffna bus stand. It is the same. I get down holding Kavi’s hands. Three wheeler drivers crowd round like bees and shout   “Amma auto vila povoma?” – Can we go in auto?

One driver tries to pull my bag off my hands. Kavi is puzzled at the way they bargain. We get into a three wheeler with our bags. The vehicle starts jumps and hops and the wheels suck out all the potholes. The roads are being widened. We reach our hotel. After a shower, we fill our stomachs.

My little daughter is wearing her pink dress. As usual I fail to clip her hair. We start our “journey to our motherland”. She starts nagging me with questions.
“Amma is your house beautiful?”

“Is it big or small?”

“What is the colour of your gate?”

“How many trees are there?”

My daughter is looking at me expectantly for answers, with widened eyes and curled lips. Her curls are as usual in front of her ears I adjust them

I told her “our house is not big, a small one but very pretty. Amma mastered the art of maintaining it prettily. We had lots of trees and flowers. In front of our house, there was a big Margosa tree.”  I inwardly experienced a strange nostalgic feeling when suddenly thought of this Margosa tree. I was thinking of how Thambi and I used to fight for the swing that was tied up on this Margosa tree. “Every evening Amma prepared something delicious to eat. As soon as we had eaten the short eats and drunk the tea, Thambi and I would run as fast as we could to reach the swing. Usually my Thambi won the race. He used to jeer at me like a monkey while I stood on the verandah looking at him playing on the swing.”

Kavi is listening to everything with bright eyes and a smile on her face. She nods her head up and down as if agreeing to my comments.

Minutes ticked by, when our vehicle reached “Tellipalai”, drizzles of memories fragrant the air on the way home. Kavi spots the little girls, wrapped in white uniforms, carrying big bags and running to schools. Kavi is delighted to see them in uniform. I admire the little girls with a smile on my face as they jump and hop. School day memories flutter in my heart. I felt like a butterfly eagerly waiting to see the lost pleasures. Kavi turns her face towards me with a question.

 “Amma did you wear this uniform when you were studying?”

“Yes my dear I used to wear the same uniform, Amma plaited my hair into two and tied it with a ribbon. We went to school in Appa’s scooter. My Thambi stood in front and I sat behind. When we reached our school, we started clinging to Appa’s hands asking for pocket money. He gave us ten rupees each. At that time ten rupees was big money. In my school I was named as a naughty kid by my teachers because of my constant laughter and running. We had a math teacher named Mr.Rajadurai. He wore thick glasses, full sleeved shirt and walked with a cane in his hand. The whole school feared the very sight of him. He never smiled, always kept his face angry. When I was in grade nine, he was appointed as our math teacher. It was the first day of math class. He came in with an angry face and of course with a cane, explained a lot about numbers, took the chalk and started writing a sum; in between writing he scratched his head several times. We looked at each other at his awkward behavior. We noticed in him this habit of scratching the head many times. I was famous for giving pet names for teachers. I named him ‘the scratcher’

When I finish narrating the incident, my daughter rolls with laughter and says

 “Amma you really were a naughty kid”.

My eyes are searching for the railway tracks. I somehow spot the Tellipalai railway station. It is in a dilapidated stage now. The building is heavily damaged. The tracks are not there. Our driver tells us that people steal the iron tracks for monetary purpose. Tracks make me think of “Yarl Devi” the speedy train from Jaffna to Colombo. The way it came hopping and jumping and reminding us of one of our famous primary lines “I think I can, I think I can”, passing the hills and mountains. When I was studying in the Colombo University I used to come home for weekends in the Yarl Devi. Yarl Devi left Colombo at 6.00 am and reached Jaffna at 2.00 pm. Appa would be waiting for me at the K.K.S station. I could see him through the windows, standing on the platform with his black umbrella and waving at me. As usual we go home in his scooter.  The day I was coming home was something special. Amma prepared my favourite dish prawns and brinjal curry. She arranged everything at the dining table and was waiting for me. I quickly put my bag in my room, washed myself and sat on the dining table to taste Amma’s preparation. We had a long chat about what had happened during week days. After the meal, fruit salad was always there for me. With each spoon I spoke something and ate a bit. Speaking and eating were my tasks during weekends. I hated my hostel meals. Early morning every one of us must eat “Karapincha soup”. Apart from the taste, the smell of it was horrible. What I did was to pinch my nose with two fingers, closed it tightly and swallowed it in one gulp. I looked forward to the weekends to be with my Amma, giving a pleasure to my dead tongue.

Those days will never come back. Kavi is checking the camera whether the battery is charged. She puts it in her bag and starts munching the chips. Potato chips are her companions. She takes it wherever she goes. She is looking through the window searching for something. I guess her search is to find mango trees. As Jaffna is famous for mangoes, I promise to show her mangoes and mango trees. I see some mango trees from the window so I ask the driver to stop the vehicle to show her the trees. We get down from the vehicle, as Kavi is ready with her camera; she takes photos of the trees. I adjust her curls and Kavi looks at me for further explanations as I had already promised her to tell the story of our       ‘maambala maama’ – The Mango uncle. I hold her hand tightly and start narrating the story.

“In front of my house, there was a big mango grove. There were lots of mango trees of different varieties. The mango grove was very pretty and added beauty to our place. We called the owner of the mango grove as ‘maambala maama’. He keenly looked after his grove and maintained it very well. He had workers to pluck the mangoes and sell it to the market. Every Sunday during the mango season, a big lorry was loaded with mangoes and sent to market. My friends and I eyed his grove to steal some mangoes. We were waiting for a perfect time. One fine day as there was no one in the grove; we jumped over the wall and went in on tip toe. My friend Padma was an expert at climbing trees. She climbed quickly and came back with loads of mangoes. As we were happy with our stealing, we came back the same way we went in. While we were jumping over the wall, mango uncle spotted us and started running to catch us. We ran fast and hid behind the abandoned building, watching his reactions. His face was covered with sweat as he cursed us; his big belly going up and down, in time to our own heart beats. We knew his eye sight was weak and he was not able to recognize us. Kavi is already laughing uncontrollably and asked me

“Amma is he alive still?”

“How can I explain the atrocities committed to his family?”

“I don’t know what had happened to him dear and his grove after we left our place”

Her eyes revealed her sadness.

The morning sun is beating on our back, scorching. We get into our vehicle and continued our journey.
Finally we reach Maaviddapuram, my native place and I spot the place where I was born and rooted, with great difficulty. We get down from our vehicle. I look around in search of my house, in search of recovery- recovery of my lost pleasure.

  Nothing!!!

  Nothing is there.

The place is covered with thorny bushes and shrubs. A picture of a barren land is in front of me. I spot the land where we used to live happily in that dear little house with great difficulty. I couldn’t control my tears. My handkerchief is not dry enough to absorb my tears as it is already wet. I felt as if my heart is crushed and cut into pieces. Not even a single brick is there. No trees, no flowers and no house. The brooding silence and the unfamiliar sounds of an invisible bird indicate me that I am an alien to this place Our Margosa tree has been cut down but the trunk is still there. It was my Appa’s favorite as it was planted when he received a promotion in his office. The remaining trunk of our Margosa tree half eaten by termite is the one and only treasure left for us to proclaim the life we lived in our dear little house.

 All these years my heart longed to see my house. Now it curses me for coming here. I couldn’t answer my daughter’s questions.

“Amma where is your house?”

“You deceived me Amma, here is nothing”

I stand still speechless and looked at Kavi, she is looking at me with disappointment. Her curls are in front of her ears. I am not going to adjust them anymore.

I take my phone and call Suresh

“Suresh I am coming back, I no longer belong to this place”
    
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