You don’t speak Tamil ? – how and where do I begin with my explanation ?

Written quizzically in Blue ink against ‘nationality’ on my Birth Certificate is Lanka Dhemala (Ceylon Tamil). To be more appropriate in the current context it would be Sri Lankan Tamil. Apart from trying to string a few phrases together and perhaps understand bits and pieces falling off a conversation, I have to hang my head in shame and admit that I am unable to speak it with ease just like I can ramble on in English and Sinhala. Thanks to the language classes I have signed up some months back, I am elated at the thought of actually claiming ownership to an expanded Tamil vocabulary and dream of the golden era where I would be able to add Tamil to my record of language fluency (If I live to celebrate this happy moment…) Until then I am pleased at the though of getting the hang of something …and learning to speak it like a true Tamilian.

I was born in Colombo, a typical commercial city brimming with the usual hum drum of a capital city. Life was always a race, living that life was to keep running, one that always made me feel a rat in the end. Having grown up mostly in Sinhala neighbourhoods and socialised mostly with the Sinhalese, my Sinhala turned out to be impeccable so much so that my accent does not carry a trace of a Tamilian’s Sinhala accent. I blended well into the mainstream society with my flawless Sinhala. At work my colleagues were mostly Sinhala and a few Moslems. The occasional Tamilian I bumped into at work was very likely to be housed in the Finance Division of many of the companies I worked.

The questioning arose simultaneously with the rising tensions during the ethnic conflict that has now been laid to rest, ugly and harsh memories but realistically impossible to be wiped off. Hands of military sleeves would stretch out at checkpoints (set up within every 50 metres) asking for my National Identity Card. My family name was one vastly different from the typical Tamilian family names and could be easily passed off as a Sinhala family name. My looks were not the least closest to a typical Tamilian. Hoplessly addicted to pop music, I sport a boyish hairdo and often decked in pants, t-shirt and sandals that were way off to even be linked with a typical Tamilian identity. With a wide grin looking at me, the same hands that stretched (asking me to prove my identity) would wave that everything was OK. Often amused at the misconception of being taken for anything other than a Tamilian, I utter Thank you and move on.

When I stepped out of the corporate world and began work in an aid agency, that when I began to realize the value of the Tamil language. The working environment was multi cultural and suddenly I was interacting with a lot of Tamilians, interestingly many of them originating from the North. A part of the country that remained closed up for many years. I paid the supreme price of confessing my ethnicity when inquired from some of my colleagues. “How come you don’t speak Tamil, if you are a Tamil?” bounced another question with eyebrows raised to the sky. I had to then begin reciting a part of my historical beginnings.

Back in the 50’-60’s during the reign of the country’s then Prime minister, Sinhala was made the first language and those who did not possess Sinhala medium education had to either fill the void by getting themselves qualified or quit serving the state sector workplaces. One thing was certain….the country was trudging on a nationalistic path. If the Tamilian city mice were to continue living in the city, it was best to adopt and fit in.

My father educated in the Tamil medium had to halt his career with the Ceylon Military Police for the simple reason that he had no Sinhala medium educational qualification. I wasn’t around then of course, but when I did eventually come into this world and start formal schooling there didn’t seem to be much of a choice left but to enrol in the Sinhala medium. At 6 years I couldn’t care less but simply enjoyed the company of 39 other six year olds moving each year into a higher grade. Only when our childishness disappeared we realised that we were of different ethnicities. By that time it was too late for any kind of hatred or discrimination to blossom. We got along quite well, teaming up together in the usual classroom mischief and fun. The fact I was a Tamil and didn’t know Tamil never crossed my mind. The other 5 Tamil kids in my class were like me, didn’t know Tamil and had enrolled in the Sinhala medium for similar reasons. We blended well with each other and the rest.

The questioning didn’t stop with that. “Does your mother speak Tamil?” I recall telling many eager eyed faces “Of course she does”. A few more why’s and why nots followed. I decided to avoid a repeat questionnaire of this sorts, the best was to avoid the topic of ethnicity in a conversation for the simple reason that I was too lazy to go over the long tale of why I can’t speak Tamil. In the process I felt silly too having to go over this long rigmarole of explanation. Beaten I was to hear people clucking and wagging their heads, reciting how unfortunate I was not being able to speak my own maternal dialect. To me It was more fun to observe the curious looks by some who tried hard to decipher if I was a Sinhala, Moslem or what?. I could read the looks and the thoughts that crossed their minds in an instant.

Until I get the hang of it all, the language classes will remain my saviour. Till such time I will be a typical city mouse happy to have grown up with other city mice enjoying the typical frenzy and the rush of life, traffic jams, blaring of horns and the cacophony of loudspeakers, people and music. Being able to connect with every Sinhala, Tamil, Moslem, Malay, Burgher, Labourer, Bus Conductor, Vendor, Businessman, Office worker, Retailer was better than being considered unfortunate. To enjoy Sinhala Baila music, hum along the tunes of Tamil melodies, see the sparkle in the eyes of Moslem acquaintances who nod in glee when I greet them with Assallam Alleikkum was much more important to me than be singled out as a Tamilian. To me those who are not able to connect with all sorts and all types of Sri Lankans are those who are truly unfortunate.

I would rather flush out the ethnicity factor, and enjoy Pongal, Eid, Christmas and Wesak together with the rest. Tell me why should I now be singled out as an unfortunate Tamilian ?

Sandi Poam !

p.s. : Apart from this, when I sit behind the screen of my computer and hit the send button of an email I have replied to, there have been times recipients, (often an unknown face in my head) has asked me if I am of Latino heritage !!!!!!!!!