Jaffna again

Retracing boyhood memories of Jaffna

I have always desired to visit Jaffna since I left Sri Lanka many moons ago. I wanted to relive those great memories of Jaffna from my days as a young boy and a lad. But, unfortunately, that wish was denied to me for a long time, which I felt was a lifetime of denials.

A few years ago, I realised my dream and visited Jaffna.

Many things have happened to my beloved country since I left. Wars, deaths, and destruction of a society I knew as a young boy and a youngster. I yearned for a bygone era, a beautiful period in Sri Lanka when I did not see the difference between races, religions, and casts. It was my homage to my beautiful memories of Jaffna.

I wanted to experience Jaffna the same way I experienced it back then. So, I took an early morning train to Jaffna from Colombo. It took me back to the early seventies. It reminded me of a train journey to Jaffna with three friends, Siva, Cyril, and Leonard, in my late teens. From the Jaffna town, the four of us took a bus ride to Siva’s home in Tellipalai, a suburb some 15 kilometres away.

The boys occupied the front room, waking up in the mornings to drink coffee made by Siva’s sisters. Coffee blended with coriander and other herbs. We bathed in their water well to avoid the northern heat during noon. We were served tasty rice with vegetables for lunch and dosa for dinner, lovingly cooked by Siva’s mum. I saw firsthand how much our host's valued water, a scarce resource in the Jaffna peninsular. Siva’s father gave each lad a shot of Palmyra toddy in the evenings.

During our visit, something that Siva told us stuck with me. The local police and the army were bad. They harassed the local boys. I was too naive and young to understand the gravity of what he said.

That trip was my third visit to Jaffna.

My first visit to Jaffna was with my father and sister when I was about ten. The three of us took an early morning flight from Ratmalana airport. Flying over the north, all I saw from the plane’s window was the destruction caused by a nasty cyclone that had hit the northern part of Sri Lanka a few months earlier. Landing at the deserted Kankesanthurai domestic airport, we took a bus and arrived in Jaffna town.

I was amazed by the ease at which my father could speak Tamil. We spoke Sinhala at home, and seeing my father’s easy interaction with the locals, whether a bus conductor or a waiter, simply amazed me — a life lesson of diversity for a young boy. After spending the day in Jaffna town, we took another bus ride to Kankesanthurai airport and returned home by evening.

Talking about my sister, her godfather was one of my father’s good friends from Jaffna. I called him Sanda uncle. He and my father were great mates. When Sanda Uncle went to France in the early sixties, he brought a model of the Eiffel Tower for my sister. It was my sister’s prized possession growing up.

During school holidays, when we travelled to the north and east of Sri Lanka, we stayed at my father’s friends’ homes. I have great memories of playing with their children.

Left — my father with his mates in Jaffna, Middle — My father enjoying Palmyra toddy with his friends in Jaffna, Right — my father with Sanda uncle and his children

My second visit was when I was about fifteen. I watched a Tamil movie, titled Mattukkara Velan, in the Rani cinema, starring MGR and Jayalalitha.

My fourth and penultimate visit to Jaffna was when I was twenty. I flew on Air Ceylon to Kankesanthurai and returned the next day. I went alone because I got a free air ticket. I stayed at Tellipalai at Siva’s home with their parents. This was in 1975.

That was my last trip to the north until a few years ago. in the intervening period, a lot happened to my old country, particularly in the north of Sri Lanka.

When I travelled most recently to Jaffna, I stayed at a friendly Airbnb home. I ate dosas to my heart's content from Nallur Bhavan and Mangos. I walked the streets in Jaffna, grasping the culture of my brethren and experiencing it like a native. I took a bus ride to Kankesanthurai and walked on the sandy beaches, breathing the fresh air of the northern sea. I toured Tellipalai, experiencing the hospitality of the civilians in that area.

I had no idea where my hosts in my teen years were. Ethnic wars have destroyed lives of most residents in the north of Sri Lanka.

I toured the Dutch-built Jaffna Fort. I took a nostalgic tour of the reconstructed Jaffna library, which the government-sponsored thugs burned down in the early eighties. I visited the Nallur temple, touring it, bare body in respect of Hindu traditions. I walked up to St. Patrick’s College, whose soccer team was known for their prowess back in the day in Sri Lanka.

I bought a vetti sarong from a shopfront, thinking of Sanda uncle, my father’s best mate and my sister’s godfather.

A one-time majestic home in Jaffna, now becoming derelict, taken during my recent trip

I was amazed at how kind the people of Jaffna were. The recent trip was my redemption.

I am grateful for those early experiences realised in my country of birth as a youngster. I feel dewy-eyed thinking of those sentimental times.

All I hope for is for this part of Jaffna that is locked in my memory to be remembered. It is nostalgically beautiful and brings tears to my eyes. I pine for the world I lost as a youngster.

Let that memory spell not be broken.

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