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 !
