liked by a bunny

meet my latest fascination, the white bundle of white flurry blub who stands on hind legs and keeps his two paws on the iron bar and sniffs..as I come closer to the cage. I just have to stop, squat and put two of my fingers and pat him...the white bundle then squats and closes his red marble like eyes halfway as if to appreciate me stroking him. ..this continues for a couple of days until it actually hits me that I am recognized every time I happen to pass by his cage. I am taken up by this new fan who actually stops to greet me...pity I don't carry anything for him to nibble..maybe the next time and I always forget ..but the greeting is always spontaneous as I pass the cage..and then I have to do the same old ritual, squat and pat him ..and watch his mate come near to see whats going on..
Just recently I couldn't help but snap a few pics of the adorable bundle and pay my electronic appreciation for being just adorable ..and they got very shy as the shutter clicked, both turned their white butts to the lens !!!

Snapshot of Mannar

On the Sri Lankan map, my index finger and my trailing eyes used to habitually navigate towards an island protruding from Mannar, that looked like a sliced fruit. Somehow islands fascinated me, there was that unusual charm in there. It was a fascination for an islands within a bigger island (I was living on one J). Maybe I got bitten by this island bug after I visited Delft (Jaffna). I didn’t get to visit Talaimannar – the strip of land connecting to our bigger neighbor, but being able to set foot in the main city and a stroll around the villages itself was a something to be thrilled about. Besides I had never been to Mannar and the moment I landed I was scanning for things that made Mannar unique in its own way.

Having been to many of the areas in the Northern Province, there weren’t things up for huge comparison except a couple of malt colour donkeys (I envied their fringe :-) plenty of fish markets and statues of the Blessed Virgin Mary standing at every street junction replacing Lord Shiva or the revered Elephant God. It was the strong influence of the sacred catholic pilgrimage site of Madhu and many of the community being Christian with fisheries being the main occupation. The rest of it was typical – brick red dust, Palmyrah trees, trees worn out by the scorching heat standing straight with all its strength on arid soil which in some places had turned into a checkered print.

Lorries whizzed by grim faced cyclists leaving a trail of red dust behind. Boards with signs “Mannaram maalu” back in Colombo flashed in my head, The lorries were rushing to and from to take Mannar’s prized Karawala (dried fish) back to Colombo.

I remembered Sam my dear friend with whom I used to travel a lot constantly yakking about the cashew and rambutan in his beloved home town Nanattar in Mannar. I sent him a text simply saying ‘hi buddy I am in your previous Nanattar’, that was enough to fire up Sam who called me instantly and was excited and regretful at the same time that he couldn’t be the tour guide showing off all the places that he talked about.  He seemed like he was going to appear through the cellphone signals and land any moment J I had to calm him down by saying let’s make it again when he plans to head home during a long stretch of holidays.

Only less than a day spent in Mannar getting a snapshot view of a place steeped with historical links but left me with a strong will to go back to see the stretch of smaller islands in Talaimannar and see the last bit of Sri Lanka fading off to the sea. Yeah islands will always remain fascinating …For now I keep my fingers crossed in hope that I will be able to do just that..someday…..somehow

behind the curtain to see the real Batticaloa

I am heading to Batticaloa fondly referred to as the land of the singing fish. During the couple of visits I made I never heard any fish sing J but have always been fascinated by its unique charm. Anxious to see how it was faring 3 months after the devastating floods my thoughts flipped the pages of my memory bank to 2007, when I first set foot and thought everything in Batticaloa was cool from the neatly stacked palmyrah fencing to the pungent aroma of the lagoon. The beep in my cell phone brought me back to the present. A text from the weather guys informed that the sun was directly above Sri Lanka ; that was enough to prepare me for the kind of weather that I was to take in during my stay. Actually it wasn’t a surprise, I could see it in the crinkled foreheads and worn out faces that passed by. My brown tinted glasses helped my eyes to stay open and sample the people and changing landscape outside cutting off the sunlit glare equal to a millions of high energy fluorescent lights glaring at one’s face. The humidity levels were beyond manageable levels and could be seen in the many faces that seemed to clearly spell out the discomfort.

Forget the heat, humidity and glare, I am here to savour a part of the East all over again. Driving through a brightly coloured archway with 2 mermaids and fish tells me that I am in Batticaloa. Nothing much has changed except some constructions taking place in some areas.  Bicycles are peddled furiously by serious looking school kids. Saree clad women pass by carrying bags that seem like groceries. Billboards from many mobile phone companies, banks and other corporate big wigs seem to scream ‘come buy us’. The town is a typical local place of hustle and bustle.  Apart from the add on’s that have come by after the rush to invest when the gates were open, Batticaloa has managed to retain it’s essence well in tact – I’m glad and now looking forward to my visit to the village the next day.

I visit a couple of villages in Kiran division the next day and this is my real work, where I put in my best to capture the vibes of people in a village and understand their lives and see how a little gesture of generosity can bring in some change in their lives or maybe make their life better.

Along the way, what unfolds before me sets my RAM churning out thoughts in rapid speeds. I am driven between paddy fields that seemed to have surrendered to a tragic death and is waiting to be resurrected from the destruction of the floods. The occasional tractor that rambled seemed like the only consolation to the villager who was trudging the many kilometers bringing in the most wanted kerosene oil, coconuts and other groceries home.  The ones who were not lucky to get a tractor ride had big bags of rice sitting on their heads while hard working hands held on to another bag.  Unlike in the urban areas, I did not spot any waddling obese human beings. These legs were so adapt to long walks and holding up heavy loads. Periodically a bicycle passed with neatly chopped firewood piled sometimes as high above the rider’s head. Charcoal coloured buffalo heads were popping out of water flown from an irrigational tank and that had formed a pond.  Some men and women were holding on to the hooks that had held the fish they had caught from a river and were doing the usual long walk. In the scorching weather, I notice some feet are bare and I imagine that it must as bad as walking over the fire cinders in Kataragama where of course the devotees do it for a vow or as a sacrifice. I couldn’t spot a hospital, bus stop, market, fuel station, garage, school, three wheelers etc., the usual row of outlets that my eyes were so trained to see in my daily commute to work back at home (not many stray dogs either).

I look into every single face and try to read the many moods and expressions that talk of a life that is a constant battle for survival.  I tell myself that I am seeing the visual of the phrase ‘it’s a dog’s life’ but frankly some dogs have better lives !