A walk down memory lane three years ago awakens every one, living in Sri Lanka with the historical full stop to the bloody war that lavishly gulped down more than 100,000 human lives on both warring sides. Completely knotting up the socio economic and politically woven fabric of the country’s twenty million inhabitants in different directions, the war viciously stamped down its destructive organs on thousands of homes, property, flourishing fields swaying with bountiful crops and deprived thousands of youth from living their dreams. What began as raising one’s voice to gain an equal footing on a land mass of 65,610 sq km blew into a full scale ethnic war voraciously gulping down thousands of civilian lives, in the name of liberation.
A battle fiercely fought with either side stubbornly refusing to come to a consensus continued with increased military might, until a Norwegian brokered peace agreement in 2002 silenced the deafening artillery. Alas the sigh of relief breathed by the civilians did not live to see the light at the end of a dark tunnel. Months later the peace that was tabled in Oslo and Geneva flew into pieces and evolved into a fully fledged ‘eye for an eye’ marathon. A marathon where once more thousands of civilian lives were ruthlessly grabbed, this time in the name of a renewed pledge, in the fight for ‘own territory’ – territory proclaiming to uphold the rights of the Tamilians in the North and Eastern provinces of the country, culture preserved and governed by the countless academics, who by this time were tired of being what they claimed to be discriminated. Until 2008 September the battle for a separate homeland continued with hatred brimming well enough to continuously squander on each other’s villages and massacre farming families who were sleeping after a hard day’s work in border villages dotting the conflict ridden districts, destroying houses and the few possessions - all in the name of liberation.
From October 2008 until May 2009 the fighting was severe and continuous, dragging many more lives into graveyards, driving thousands out of their homes without any of their possessions and eventually filtered in to welfare camps, placing a pause to human dignity in having to spend life in a tent for months with unknown people with the least privacy. Then came the red letter day – 19th of May 2009 where all Sri Lankans who simply wanted to live a normal life will cherish dearly. The mango shaped island that captured the attention of the world, for all the wrong reasons was suddenly done and dusted with a brutal war and there was an outburst of celebration over the triumph of a menace once considered unprecedented.
While, for some of the hands that took up arms, the rotund figured, protruding macho chests decorated in bullets and guns, the boots that trudged the battle grounds planting land mines in villages, rice fields and main highways did not live to see their dream of a liberated land, for the others it was a case of jubilation proclaiming a nation free of terrorism with military might.
After the big full stop, rays of hope began to flicker, in want of pushing a scarred past behind and moving on. The plight of around 300,000 Tamils filtered to Manik Farm camp having escaped the bombing, shelling, gun firing during the final phase of the war undoubtedly ranked No.1 in the agendas of all humanitarian agencies, government, civil society networks and every other Sri Lankan whose conscience ticked hard. Never in the historical annals of the country has there been such a human orchestrated catastrophe where every responsible mantle was shouldered with the herculean task of restoring normalcy for these war beaten people, this time positioning the country on a higher seat in the donor map. Once more, in true Sri Lankan style many reached out to help the betrayed and battered Tamilians housed in the camps. Affluent school children teamed up to take educational material for the children in the camps with parents and teachers supporting their effort. Very ordinary men and women travelled 250 km to the camps taking the clothing, medication, sanitary and hygiene products for the Tamilians who were christened as refugees. This was in addition to the usual outpouring of international aid agencies doing their usual rounds of relief distribution and support service.
The craving to usher in a kind of reconciliation that would free the knots which had tightly engulfed the daily grind in life was felt very strongly among all civilians who will live to tell the tale of horror experienced over 30 long years. A tale that will recollect shivers down the spine when narrating the countless times bus bombs went off gulping down children returning from school, men and women either going to or returning from work, curfews, military checks, suspicion, doubt over each other, scrambling to get off busses and trains over parcel bomb alerts, some being the unlucky victim of a cross fire during a blast and how three wheeler drivers and every private vehicle driving by stepped in to help wheel the injured victims to the nearest hospital.
On the other side of the fighting squads, young men and women as young as 18 from peasant farming families from all parts of the country, stepped in to deck the country’s military uniform and vowed never to part with a divided country. Their pledge was so strong and steeped in die hard patriotism so much so that some of their siblings followed in their foot steps in the battle to save the country. Over the years some of these young men and women returned to the mud huts they grew up, in a coffin leaving behind wailing girlfriends, parents and siblings. During peak periods of fighting, almost every by lane had a white flag hoisted to signify the death of a young man or woman who chose to give up farming, carpentry, fishing and stand up for a unified nation.
For the Tamilians their militant don was their only saviour- the one who would get the their own homeland where their precious Dravidian culture could be preserved. Alas but what took place at the final stages of the battle was something they never imagined… around 300,000 of them were used as shields by their own saviours, who by this time were choking and gasping in their final struggle to cling on to their dream by escaping military confrontation. The glorified Tamilian Don was not a saviour but a Judas and betrayal it was in the first degree!
Tamilians from the North and East claiming to be the 'only true Tamilians' were always renowned to be embedded in Tamilian culture entwined with rituals and customs passed on by generations. They were proud of their ancestry stemming from South India which some ridiculously refuse to accept but claim they are the one and only original Tamilians !!! Here was a community where caste and social status mattered to a great deal even to the extent of socializing where one could be looked down upon if associating a person of a lower caste. Once during a visit to the North, I was sitting on the doorstep of a village woman and helping myself to the vadai she had made only to find there were many other villagers standing near the fence and staring at me. What had I done wrong ? Ooops I had committed a sinful act of eating from a woman of a lower case - bah baloney...I helped myself to many more vadai's and to everyone's horror held the woman's hand and thanked her for giving me such delicious treats. What I can't fathom is how is it when amazingly with all due respect to their sacred book the Bhagavad Gita, claims that a caste of a person is determined by his or actions can such a distorted perception be passed down from generation to generation - and that too from the so called educated ? What a whirlwind ...suddenly the people who were so conscious of their caste and social status were left to adjust with a scattered life having to share a tent with 13 or more people whose caste, social status was unknown. During many of my visits to the North, I pondered if this was a wake up call for them to let go of the utterly foolish perception. Maybe it was one of those moments where a brick lands on your head and makes one to reflect on one's own stupidiy??? Somehow in the name of humanity I feel very strongly on the extent of bruising and bashing they had to undergo caught up in this liberation madness !!!
The thousands of young men and women deprived of a decent education lingered in camps with shattered dreams, the older men and women who worked tirelessly tending to rice, vegetables and other crops suddenly became dependent on packed ration, the saree clad hardworking women who took pride in caring for their families were suddenly idle having to rely on free relief packs given by the aid agencies. This was a community who regarded education as the seat next to God and hard work the only way to real success, now had to deal with a life confined to a tent, living with people whose caste and social status was unknown.
How could this degree of destruction struck in every sphere of a human being’s life be brought to normalcy?
How do you explain to all the young children that some adults decided to fight for 30 long years to claim a separate homeland and that is why they were not able to go to school, play, make new friends or spend time with their families?
How will the once brainwashed militant minded young men and women who were only groomed to kill in the name of a free land, learn to live very normal lives?
How do you tell these young men and women that watching movies, listening to music, having different hair styles, dressing up and falling in love are not something bad but are very normal things when a human being hits the teenage milepost in life?
Why were the thousands of young men and women of peasant families picked to fight in the name of freedom while children of the top brass guerilla war mongers got the finest education in the West?
Where is the jerk who deprived all the young men and women of a formal education?
What do you do, when you have lost everything and have absolutely nothing to begin life?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Cannot undo…….. please proceed
I was on my usual round of debit and credit errands today when I realized I had to make it in time to sort out a written assignment I had undertaken. A sparkling new metered taxi was parked near a turning point to a busy highway. Taking a quick peek I saw a young guy sitting straightening up when I asked him if he was ready to take me :) Nodding he obliged and I hopped in to go on a ride on a metered taxi feeling relieved that being on time was after all a possibility.
But… the tale that opened up along the ride made me ponder on a sea of questions such as ‘why poor people often have to take the worst beating in life?’ ‘why social inequality continues to broaden at alarming levels despite the several thousand mushrooming activists and charity songbirds quaking their hearts out?’’ is there a way to address underlying needs and bring in real change?’
The young man started off first by saying “miss I do not know the roads nor areas” Taken aback I asked him in Sinhala “How can you get on with this job if you do not know your alphabet?” Somewhat writhing under the pressure of my blunt landing he replied “I began working for this taxi company only today”. Taking a quick glance at the youngster I asked him if he was originating from outside Colombo. He shook his head and said Mt Lavinia – located about 23 Km away from Central Colombo and renowned for its great beaches and the chain of tourist hotels dotted along the coast line. My curiosity was to figure out how in a busy suburb like Mt. Lavinia could a young man of 22 years, proclaim he didn’t know to get about in Colombo. My mind quickly raced back to when I stood at my 22nd milepost in life. Being a gypsy by nature, I knew my way inside out within Colombo and the suburbs and had the roads, routes safely stored much better than all the mathematical formulas that were force fed in school !!! Obviously something was not quite right in here
Getting more curious and not wanting to probe I casually said “Oh well now knowing the roads is not so much of an issue because there are road signs and gigantic bill boards with pointers towards different locations that help you to find your way” Some silence and I glanced to see why there was no answer to that, what I saw was a dejected look spread across a ebony coloured face. Still puzzled I prodded reiterating my earlier comment and said “Is it not?” Sounding very ashamed he simply said “I don’t know to read and write that much, I studied only up to Grade 6” in a very small voice. An instant cloud of confusion crept over my head not knowing how to continue the conversation. I then assumed the guy obviously has financial issues in his family”. After all I am a Sri Lankan having travelled to all corners of this island, heard many enchanting tales of survival.
Wanting very much to hear the other half of the story from the young man himself I once more casually remarked “ well you know, not knowing the roads or how to get about it’s not the end of the world because being Sri Lankan it is common to ask other locals for directions and how to get about from one place to another. Now I had to come down to the same level as a 6th standard educated human being and then said unlike in some other countries we do not follow maps for directions most times the easiest way is to talk to other locals and figure out how to get to a place”.
I also asked him why he should consider that as, something to be cautious when he could communicate easily with the other locals in Sinhala which is the commonly spoken dialect within Colombo and the surburbs. Not stopping at that I admired the courage of the several young men and women migrating from all corners of the country to the big city in search of big dreams, landing here, some not knowing Sinhala, not knowing how to get around and not fully understanding the canny nature of the city but still making it through after a struggle and a push.
I was curious to know the real underlying reasons of his reply. A smile broke in having heard that comment from me, but was soon halted with tears welling up in the otherwise sparkling eyes. “I feel sad when I think of my older brother, years ago he worked for a company that produced photo albums but an accident made his hand go numb and he cannot work anymore. It was my brother’s pay cheque that took care of my mother and the rest of us”. Tears in full form streaming down his cheeks, this time it was tears of regret “ I feel there is a big rut in my life because I never got to finish formal education and I am not able to do a job that will take care of my family” Between sniffles he continued “After my brother met with an accident all of us went through really tough time trying to survive. I quit going to school at 11 and used to go out looking for work. The one or two hundred Rupee notes that I bought in, kept us going”. I worry about my mother who is ill and lie in bed most times of the day because her feet ache from the sores. Interrupting the rambling I ask him if his mom has diabetes and he nods and how many other siblings he has to which he replies one sister and one brother. “So altogether your mom has four kids?” I ask him and he nods again.
“I got this job from one of the big houses I go to work for the youngster continued. There was a miss who was very kind, went to the extent of buying me clothes, shoes to wear to work, when I told her that I didn’t have any to wear when she offered me this job. I never had long pants nor good looking shirts like this to wear. I never owned a pair of proper shoes after I quit school. I confessed to her that I didn’t know to read and write that well but she simply nodded and took me on, maybe she felt sorry for me?”.
I asked the guy how he managed to get his driving license to which he said he had planned to get a job as a driver thus he had applied for one and got it. “For a short time I drove a three wheeler for a big sir but after that he sold the three wheeler and I didn’t have work. Trying to understand the neighbourhood and the vicinity of where he lived, my next question was, where in Mt. Lavinia he lived and he responded “My house is close to the Mt. Lavinia High Courts”. That gave me a somewhat rough sketch of the area he claimed to live. I faintly recall seeing some urban squatter dwellings in the back alleys of the High Courts.
I was testing him right along to all that he said, just to confirm that the long sob story he landed had no holes. Pointing to a Route No. 154 bus I asked him do you know where that bus is heading? He kept quiet and said no. I asked him if he has ever seen that bus running on Galle Road (the main highway from Colombo to Galle). He shook his head and said “I used to go look for work in big houses that were closer to where I lived. I never go by bus because all the money I earned from working I used to bring it home. Casually I glanced at his callous filled hands that were gripping the steering wheel to spot if the pair of hands resembled the kind of hard work that he spoke about. It did and there was no doubt about that!!! I glanced at the young man to figure out if this character resembles the type who could possibly be doing kuli vada (day’s paid casual labour) and observed that he was the kind of guy
I noticed an entry level Chinese model of a cell phone lying on the dashboard and asked him if the phone was his and he replied that a friend of his gave him the phone when he told him that he got chosen for this job.
Clearly the lack of confidence, fear, caution that sets in the mind of a school leaver, stepping into the world of work was seen in this young man, the only difference being, much of the doubts were his inability to clearly identify numbers, letters and string them to make meaningful sentences. “The many numbers in this meter are confusing” he said, to which I said, what is the confusion – on the top there is the running number of kilometers that you are driving, the right side there is the cost, accounted according to the mileage driven and the left side has the running number if the vehicle has to wait. At the end of each trip the customer pays the cost indicated in the meter.
“He replied by saying you know when I was a kid it took me a long time to remember whatever the teacher taught in class. I remember she would say it so many times and it is only after I remember, but that too for a short time. I know that I am not good at remembering whatever that’s taught”. I gauged this long before he spat out this statement by having to direct him left / right a couple of times and eventually gesture the direction with my hand.
He rattled on expressing more fear and caution “I thought this would be an easy job but now I realize that it isn’t easy as it seems”. The miss who got me this job is very kind and offered me a big pay cheque as much as LK.Rs. 18,000 (approx US$ 160) but the fact is that a lot of things make me lose confidence in continuing this job from not knowing the routes, roads, my inability to read and write properly and most of all I fear that the big important madam’s and sir’s will argue with me for the cost and I wouldn’t be able to explain properly. I am worried that I will be branded as someone who charged extra and got away.
This is one young man who is afraid of the big city and the world I think to myself. So I give the guy a little pep talk and tell him everyone’s first day of work is a nightmare and you are having yours, but every time you decide you cannot do this, think of how your family looks up to you as their savior on earth to care for them. Even if you quit this one you will still have a first day in another place and you will need to learn the work on the job and that is how it works in every place of work regardless of what ever work you do. He listens eagerly and nods. I tell him about the unshakable South African blade runner Oscar Pistorius and how he made it to world standards. (He’d never heard of Oscar and I was upset-I look upto Oscar as ‘the guy’) I also tell him about our very own biscuit king-Hinni Appuhamy, Timber merchant-Nawaloka Mudalali and Ayurvedic Doctor Hettigoda Vedha Mahattaya who are big names in the country today. I tell him the founders were also simple folk like you and me who never had the so called formal education but the only difference is they kept learning and always thought they can.
By this time my trip was over and it was time to settle his dues. The cost came to Rs. 393 (US$ 3.50) and I placed five 100 rupee notes in his palm. I could see that it took him a while to realize there was Rs. 107 (US cents 5 short to make up a Dollar) extra in there and spread the notes to figure it out, but by that time I assured him that it was perfectly OK for him to keep the change and that I wasn’t going to complain to his employer.
Amidst wishes of good luck and thank you’s for a safe ride! Turning back, I saw him carefully separating the cost and the extras in different pages of his log book.
Is it possible for a human being to go back in time
and undo what is not right in his life
without making him regret till he leaves this world?
But… the tale that opened up along the ride made me ponder on a sea of questions such as ‘why poor people often have to take the worst beating in life?’ ‘why social inequality continues to broaden at alarming levels despite the several thousand mushrooming activists and charity songbirds quaking their hearts out?’’ is there a way to address underlying needs and bring in real change?’
The young man started off first by saying “miss I do not know the roads nor areas” Taken aback I asked him in Sinhala “How can you get on with this job if you do not know your alphabet?” Somewhat writhing under the pressure of my blunt landing he replied “I began working for this taxi company only today”. Taking a quick glance at the youngster I asked him if he was originating from outside Colombo. He shook his head and said Mt Lavinia – located about 23 Km away from Central Colombo and renowned for its great beaches and the chain of tourist hotels dotted along the coast line. My curiosity was to figure out how in a busy suburb like Mt. Lavinia could a young man of 22 years, proclaim he didn’t know to get about in Colombo. My mind quickly raced back to when I stood at my 22nd milepost in life. Being a gypsy by nature, I knew my way inside out within Colombo and the suburbs and had the roads, routes safely stored much better than all the mathematical formulas that were force fed in school !!! Obviously something was not quite right in here
Getting more curious and not wanting to probe I casually said “Oh well now knowing the roads is not so much of an issue because there are road signs and gigantic bill boards with pointers towards different locations that help you to find your way” Some silence and I glanced to see why there was no answer to that, what I saw was a dejected look spread across a ebony coloured face. Still puzzled I prodded reiterating my earlier comment and said “Is it not?” Sounding very ashamed he simply said “I don’t know to read and write that much, I studied only up to Grade 6” in a very small voice. An instant cloud of confusion crept over my head not knowing how to continue the conversation. I then assumed the guy obviously has financial issues in his family”. After all I am a Sri Lankan having travelled to all corners of this island, heard many enchanting tales of survival.
Wanting very much to hear the other half of the story from the young man himself I once more casually remarked “ well you know, not knowing the roads or how to get about it’s not the end of the world because being Sri Lankan it is common to ask other locals for directions and how to get about from one place to another. Now I had to come down to the same level as a 6th standard educated human being and then said unlike in some other countries we do not follow maps for directions most times the easiest way is to talk to other locals and figure out how to get to a place”.
I also asked him why he should consider that as, something to be cautious when he could communicate easily with the other locals in Sinhala which is the commonly spoken dialect within Colombo and the surburbs. Not stopping at that I admired the courage of the several young men and women migrating from all corners of the country to the big city in search of big dreams, landing here, some not knowing Sinhala, not knowing how to get around and not fully understanding the canny nature of the city but still making it through after a struggle and a push.
I was curious to know the real underlying reasons of his reply. A smile broke in having heard that comment from me, but was soon halted with tears welling up in the otherwise sparkling eyes. “I feel sad when I think of my older brother, years ago he worked for a company that produced photo albums but an accident made his hand go numb and he cannot work anymore. It was my brother’s pay cheque that took care of my mother and the rest of us”. Tears in full form streaming down his cheeks, this time it was tears of regret “ I feel there is a big rut in my life because I never got to finish formal education and I am not able to do a job that will take care of my family” Between sniffles he continued “After my brother met with an accident all of us went through really tough time trying to survive. I quit going to school at 11 and used to go out looking for work. The one or two hundred Rupee notes that I bought in, kept us going”. I worry about my mother who is ill and lie in bed most times of the day because her feet ache from the sores. Interrupting the rambling I ask him if his mom has diabetes and he nods and how many other siblings he has to which he replies one sister and one brother. “So altogether your mom has four kids?” I ask him and he nods again.
“I got this job from one of the big houses I go to work for the youngster continued. There was a miss who was very kind, went to the extent of buying me clothes, shoes to wear to work, when I told her that I didn’t have any to wear when she offered me this job. I never had long pants nor good looking shirts like this to wear. I never owned a pair of proper shoes after I quit school. I confessed to her that I didn’t know to read and write that well but she simply nodded and took me on, maybe she felt sorry for me?”.
I asked the guy how he managed to get his driving license to which he said he had planned to get a job as a driver thus he had applied for one and got it. “For a short time I drove a three wheeler for a big sir but after that he sold the three wheeler and I didn’t have work. Trying to understand the neighbourhood and the vicinity of where he lived, my next question was, where in Mt. Lavinia he lived and he responded “My house is close to the Mt. Lavinia High Courts”. That gave me a somewhat rough sketch of the area he claimed to live. I faintly recall seeing some urban squatter dwellings in the back alleys of the High Courts.
I was testing him right along to all that he said, just to confirm that the long sob story he landed had no holes. Pointing to a Route No. 154 bus I asked him do you know where that bus is heading? He kept quiet and said no. I asked him if he has ever seen that bus running on Galle Road (the main highway from Colombo to Galle). He shook his head and said “I used to go look for work in big houses that were closer to where I lived. I never go by bus because all the money I earned from working I used to bring it home. Casually I glanced at his callous filled hands that were gripping the steering wheel to spot if the pair of hands resembled the kind of hard work that he spoke about. It did and there was no doubt about that!!! I glanced at the young man to figure out if this character resembles the type who could possibly be doing kuli vada (day’s paid casual labour) and observed that he was the kind of guy
I noticed an entry level Chinese model of a cell phone lying on the dashboard and asked him if the phone was his and he replied that a friend of his gave him the phone when he told him that he got chosen for this job.
Clearly the lack of confidence, fear, caution that sets in the mind of a school leaver, stepping into the world of work was seen in this young man, the only difference being, much of the doubts were his inability to clearly identify numbers, letters and string them to make meaningful sentences. “The many numbers in this meter are confusing” he said, to which I said, what is the confusion – on the top there is the running number of kilometers that you are driving, the right side there is the cost, accounted according to the mileage driven and the left side has the running number if the vehicle has to wait. At the end of each trip the customer pays the cost indicated in the meter.
“He replied by saying you know when I was a kid it took me a long time to remember whatever the teacher taught in class. I remember she would say it so many times and it is only after I remember, but that too for a short time. I know that I am not good at remembering whatever that’s taught”. I gauged this long before he spat out this statement by having to direct him left / right a couple of times and eventually gesture the direction with my hand.
He rattled on expressing more fear and caution “I thought this would be an easy job but now I realize that it isn’t easy as it seems”. The miss who got me this job is very kind and offered me a big pay cheque as much as LK.Rs. 18,000 (approx US$ 160) but the fact is that a lot of things make me lose confidence in continuing this job from not knowing the routes, roads, my inability to read and write properly and most of all I fear that the big important madam’s and sir’s will argue with me for the cost and I wouldn’t be able to explain properly. I am worried that I will be branded as someone who charged extra and got away.
This is one young man who is afraid of the big city and the world I think to myself. So I give the guy a little pep talk and tell him everyone’s first day of work is a nightmare and you are having yours, but every time you decide you cannot do this, think of how your family looks up to you as their savior on earth to care for them. Even if you quit this one you will still have a first day in another place and you will need to learn the work on the job and that is how it works in every place of work regardless of what ever work you do. He listens eagerly and nods. I tell him about the unshakable South African blade runner Oscar Pistorius and how he made it to world standards. (He’d never heard of Oscar and I was upset-I look upto Oscar as ‘the guy’) I also tell him about our very own biscuit king-Hinni Appuhamy, Timber merchant-Nawaloka Mudalali and Ayurvedic Doctor Hettigoda Vedha Mahattaya who are big names in the country today. I tell him the founders were also simple folk like you and me who never had the so called formal education but the only difference is they kept learning and always thought they can.
By this time my trip was over and it was time to settle his dues. The cost came to Rs. 393 (US$ 3.50) and I placed five 100 rupee notes in his palm. I could see that it took him a while to realize there was Rs. 107 (US cents 5 short to make up a Dollar) extra in there and spread the notes to figure it out, but by that time I assured him that it was perfectly OK for him to keep the change and that I wasn’t going to complain to his employer.
Amidst wishes of good luck and thank you’s for a safe ride! Turning back, I saw him carefully separating the cost and the extras in different pages of his log book.
Is it possible for a human being to go back in time
and undo what is not right in his life
without making him regret till he leaves this world?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)