COVER STORY
What comes to your mind when someone mentions Sri Lanka casually? A tear-drop? Cricket? Elephants? Tamil Tigers? Ranatunga? Jayasuriya? Sangakarra? Jacqueline Fernandez? Pretty much the same for me, except that all this was towered by the presence of a friend’s uncle in the country, who had extended invitations to us to visit the country. The plans made in the dark and full-of-terror nights of house job ultimately fell prey to procrastination. But, eventually, desperation triumphed. Landing a job you want to take-off from, taking a lot of exams and awaiting the results of just as many has its way of warping your head. The next thing I knew, I was off with a friend to Sri Lanka, the pretty islandcountry in the heart of the Indian Ocean. Before I take you to visit Lanka with me, here’s a little thank you note to people who made it possible. Ikram Zeb Khan, for injecting this crazy idea into my head, and for being an infectiously crazy person generally. Haroon Ashraf, for taking the call and agreeing to this trip on the go (How do you do this, man? I need ten months to understand a thing, and another twelve for planning). Nayela Naviz, partly for who she is (half Sri Lankan) and partly for what she did (helped us with the visa process). And since I’ve been tricked into the mood already, let me take it out of my system by doing something I’ve never done before. Thanking my parents, for loving me enough to let me go. Anytime, anywhere!
P.S: The line was Arundhati Roy’s, but the feelings were mine.
P.P.S: My dad did look down upon Lanka and then on me, but anyway.
Ayowbaan (Hint: Google Translate)
As you land in, pronunciations aside, the Bandaranaike Airport, a little off the capital Colombo, the acreage of the coconut trees and tropical climate welcomes you to the country. The capital is like any other metropolitan centre, and we entered it amidst the constant complaints of our driver on its bad traffic. “Is this what you call bad traffic?” my Abbottabad and Lahore genes asked in unison, looking at the mildly congested roads and cars following their lanes. “Sweet!” We later came to know that a reason for following traffic rules might be the heavy fines imposed for not following them. In a country that passes for generally being quite cheap, 30,000 Sri Lankan rupees (roughly 21,000 of ours) for not wearing a passenger seat-belt! Heck, here they chalan us for 500 rupees for driver’s belt and we’re still trying out ways to get around that! After we had checked in to our hotel, having canvassed through the breadth of the city, there it was: the horror. The more things change, the more they remain the same. A Lankan daily looked me in the eye, with the header declaring the upsurge of dengue cases in the country. The ghosts of my medicine ward had decided to accompany me across the seas. Not being in the mood from giving dengue treatment in one country to getting it in another, I coated myself with ample mosquito repellant before we went to walk through the city. When we returned, we had met many polite Lankans, and experienced a lovely downpour, so things started looking up. They especially looked up when we had rested and eaten; fresh as energiser bunnies the next day to embark upon an adventurous voyage. Upon checking-in Lanka on Facebook, I was asked to keep an eye out for Jacqueline Fernandez and take her picture. That demand remained in my uploads for almost all of my stay in the country; the details of which follow...
Pakistanis, welcome! (No, seriously)
Amongst the top reasons you as a Pakistani should visit Sri Lanka, is that we are welcome there. Close call, obtaining its visa isn’t a process in humiliation (I’m looking at you, US!). But reverting to the point, Sri Lankans love Pakistanis (or at least put up a brilliant show of it, and that cuts it just as well for us). I was surprised to the point of skepticism when the immigration authorities in Colombo took quite a while to scrutinise the papers of the white couple before me, but passed me in a minute with a smile. “Pakistani? Here for visiting? Enjoy your stay!” Where are those fabled “green passport” insults, I wondered. I consoled myself they were to come later. They never did. Every person who came to know we were Pakistani was very cordial to us.
The conversation usually started with, “Are you from India?” because that’s the standard brown man’s burden of explaining everyone you’re not Indian if you’re not Indian; but would take milder, warmer tones (sometimes replete with handshakes and jhappis) after our clarification. As one tourist guide told us, they don’t like Indians because a) They are arrogant b) They are not clean, spitting and littering everywhere. At the end of the trip, I came to the conclusion that they like us better because they think a) We’re very friendly, which might be true except in case of international relations where we have only one sweeter than honey, higher than Himalayas friend b) We are clean, not spitting and littering everywhere (hahahaha) c) Our government has always helped Sri Lanka, apparently even when it couldn’t help itself - which is quite often d) We’re very good at cricket, and at least the PCB agrees with this and e) We’re generally the stuff Sri Lankan fairness cream ads are made of. The last one is purely my theoretical musing, and it’s a bit unnerving since Sri Lankans, despite generally being dark-skinned, are very attractive people. Also, they’re way cleaner and friendlier than Pakistan and India’s growth rates combined and that is saying a lot. In fact, so clean that my eyes had once starting hurting on missing the vistas of open garbage they’re otherwise so used to. One day as I was buying some train tickets at Habarana Railway Station, an elderly man came to me and asked the traditional, “You phrom India?” “Pakistan”, I replied. His face lit up like the shore at Galle Face, and offered me his hand. “Thank for depheating Indian in Champions’ Trophee!” Sometimes, you only have to chant an emphatic “Boom Boom” to get discounts from Lankans. We never tried, though just to keep the money trail straight.
Up in the Tigers’ Den
One of the points many people had not known about my visit to Sri Lanka (besides not getting the whole point of my visit to Sri Lanka) was my plan to visit the extreme north of the country. These areas have traditionally been Tamil dominated, and were closed off to not only foreigners but also southern Sri Lankans during the bloody Sri Lankan war that lasted 25 years and claimed more than 100,000 lives. All links between these hugely different parts of the small country remained disconnected for decades. But since the defeat of the LTTE, the Tamil Tigers as we know them, situation is almost back to normal. Still, hopping on the Yala Devi Express to visit Jaffna is something very few tourists in Sri Lanka do. The locals’ response to this visit is just the same, the typical before and after response on this issue means something like, “You’re going to Jaffna? Are you okay?” and “You went to Jaffna? Are you okay?” respectively. But Jaffna, the battles for conquering which were a constant in the war, is perhaps the place in Lanka I most vividly miss.
The first impression when you reach Jaffna is how basically everyone in the city looks like Kattappa. You won’t get this reference unless you have watched Baahubali. Also, you need to stop reading this and watch Baahubali if you haven’t. The city doesn’t have many typical tourist attractions, and it is perhaps this negation of its need to prove itself that made it so special for me. Once the second most populated city of the country after Colombo, it has now fallen to the eight number owing to the war - memories of which can still be found in the rubbles of some buildings and the marks of Army boots patrolling the roads of the city at night. There’s this majestic Nallur Kandaswamy Temple, where men have to take their shirts off before entering. There’s the Jaffna Public Library, where all have to take their shoes off before entering. Once among the biggest libraries of South Asia, it was torched by the Sinhalese during the war, and now is only a shell of the place it once was. There’s the Dutch Fort, the beach, the spicy South Indian food, music, dance, and most importantly: character. It’s a place that’s neither here nor there. It’s the reminder of the Tamils’ failed attempt at secession; it’s also their will to enter the Lankan mainstream. It doesn’t have the air of suspicion so typical of war-stuck places, but forfeiture - and hope. I asked a Tamil in Jaffna how he felt about the whole fiasco that led to so many people losing so much. “I’m still all for the Tamil cause”, he said, “but I’ve spent practically all my life in a curfewed city. This uneasy peace is still better than those years of war.” These complexities of Jaffna, along with the late night strolls in those laid-back streets, are what characterise the city for me. On another note, we lost our way back to the hotel one night, and were interjected by the Army personnel. I should be lucky I wasn’t wearing my favourite military print sweatpants then.
The sacred footprint
Whose footprint exactly lies atop the revered Adam’s Peak is a fact to contend with, yet it doesn’t take away from the wide-spread awe the peak inspires from all. Some Muslims (don’t know which ones, I’m the Wikipedia generation) believe it’s the place where all our stories (and problems, depending on who you ask) began, as this is where Prophet Adam descended from the skies. Buddhists argue this point (and given what I read in the Lankan newspapers, they’ve lately been arguing with a lot of things, more on that later) and claim the footprint is Buddha’s. They’ve also put up banners in case you’re in doubt: “This is not Adam’s Peak, but Sri Padaya”, in an obtuse manner slightly reminding of NAB’s text messages that we all are guilty of receiving. Hindus and Christians also decided to be the cooks in this bubbling broth - they say the footprint belongs to Lord Rama and Saint Thomas respectively. But one thing is clear: all religions agree that the peak, the fifth highest and probably the most popular in Lanka, is holy. They also agree that the view from the top is very scenic, and witnessing a sunset or sunrise from its peak is an experience in itself. And that was what had us all adrenaline pumped and charged at 2 in the morning, making our way to the steep top via thousands of stair steps. It was all dark, save for the sphere of our flashlights’ influence, and we were chilled to the bones. While my Fitbit tracker was having the time of its life, my fragile ego was occasionally threatened by some of my fellow hikers - mostly white - who were double to us not only in age but also stamina. The desis, if you may, often constituted one end of the spectrum (the bad one, to be clear) at such junctures. I put it down to our love of (all sorts of unhealthy) foods. Anyway, when we reached the top, there was no sun but rain, a lot of mist, a dog and a monkey. Since the pilgrimage season hadn’t yet started, the temple that houses the sacred footprint was closed. But here’s an important personal snippet from the adventure: just standing in front of that mark, which could or could not be a lot of things, and indulging in a momentary supplication was a spiritual experience to cherish. And also to cherish were the views on the descent. They were shrouded in darkness before, but had opened up to daylight by then - and tea plantations, mountains, waterfalls and gushing streams offered us the unadulterated beauty of central Lanka. If all this isn’t holy, I don’t know what is!
Buddha’s own country
There is, borrowing from Kamila Shamsie, a god in every stone in Sri Lanka. Buddha statues are found everywhere, from the Uber dashboards to the hoary hills. And the local population is quite touchy about these. Buddha tattoos aren’t allowed anywhere in the country, and people have been deported for this. Getting particularly chummy with the statues can also lead the law enforcement agencies to get chummy with you, and I doubt anyone would want that sort of intimacy. No photographs with your back against Buddha are allowed, clicking selfies with the statues is prohibited (a point here can be made on how selfies should be prohibited anyway, that should save us all a lot of time), and in many places the rules tell you to avoid any people in the same frame as Buddha. Inside the holy places, you invariably need to have your head uncovered and your legs covered. The latter allows for some nice enumerations for the locals, when they sell shards of clothe to the tourists (many of whom are firm believers in MPC: minimum possible clothing) to wrap themselves in before entering the holy sites. We should be thankful Sri Lankans are way less passionate with blasphemy charges than we are, or else we would have been in trouble. There were times when I would put my cap on my head (very unintentionally) inside a Buddhist complex, or those when a friend would indulge in taking a selfie with an image of Buddha (somewhat intentionally), but the guards would only whistle and point to us and shout in Sinhalese (which could have been expletives of the profane degree, but ignorance is bliss), and that would be it. Of the various temples in Lanka that we visited, my favourite would be the Dambulla Cave Temples, which host a massive collection of the holy man’s figures against a dimly-lit ambience. At various places, Buddha’s philosophical quotes are engraved along with the statues, and those are a pleasure to read. One of the lasting legacies Sri Lanka’s tour would have on me would be to read more about Buddha - a revered personality I know very little about but intend to learn from his wise teachings.
To be continued ...
Pictures by the writer