Whispers of Eldeniya

The crunch of gravel beneath my bicycle tyres marked my arrival. Eldeniya, a place where shadows stretched long in the afternoon sun, welcomed me. The open living room lay before me, its sparse chairs like silent witnesses to Noel Ayya’s presence. His khaki shorts spoke of informality, a departure from the colonial echoes that once haunted these walls.

Noel’s eyes brightened as they fell upon me. “Hello, Denzil,” he said, his voice warm and familiar. I returned the greeting, my own words soft: “Is my aunty here?” My outstretched arm indicated the half-lit bedrooms and the kitchen beyond.

And there she was — Aunty — her gown’s folds cradling her hands. “Did you come on your bicycle?” Her eyes danced with surprise and delight. Without waiting for my answer, she beckoned me inside. “Denzil ayya is here!” she announced, ensuring her children knew of my unexpected visit.

The side door swung open once more, revealing Christanthi and her two brothers. Noel rose, closing the door behind them. Their curious eyes lingered on my college attire, unaware that my detour to Aunty’s home remained a secret from my unsuspecting mother.

“Sit, Putha,” Aunty insisted, her hospitality tangible. “You must be tired from cycling all the way.” The promise of tea hung in the air — a comforting cuppa brewed just for me. I settled into a chair, surrounded by the warmth of family and the unexpected camaraderie of cousins.

The clinking of a brown teacup, sugar spooned generously, accompanied the hum of conversation. On that simple veranda, stories unfolded — a melody woven from laughter and shared memories. Eldeniya, with its hidden corners and unspoken tales, became our stage, and we, its players.

Note: “Putha” is a term of endearment, meaning “son” or “dear one” in Sri Lankan.

Subscribe to my stories https://djayasi.medium.com/subscribe