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.
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”
All Rights Reserved © Saambavi Sivaji
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