Thai Pongal

A festival of harvest, thanksgiving and community cohesion

The Tamil month of Thai will be ushered in tomorrow (Monday). It marks the end of the harvesting season of rice for the Tamil farmers who will be celebrating that harvest with their famous festival of Thai Pongal.

Pongal means ‘boiling over’. To signify that they have had a bountiful harvest, the people allow the milk in which they pour the rice to boil over – as a pot bubbling over with its fare is a sign of abundance.

It is a time of rest and relaxation for the agrarian community after the stresses of planting, tending and harvesting their crops. If we remember that we were all once an agrarian community (as we still mostly are), why this festival is so important to the whole community of Tamils becomes clearer.

In the days before globalization, imported products and refrigerators, communities depended on their own agricultural produce for survival. That produce was at the mercy of the elements – the sun, the rain, the soil, and the pests.

It is no wonder that they began to pray to those elements. Thai Pongal is primarily homage of the Tamils to Surya, the Sun god, but they do not forget the Rain god Indra or even their cattle, whom they have deified.  The festival in its full aspect is celebrated over four days, with a day each being dedicated to Indra, Surya and the farm animals. The last day of the month of Margali, preceding the month of Thai is known as Bhogi Pongal. It honours the god of rain, Indra whose good-will is essential to the farmer to avoid either a deluge or a drought.

The next day, the first day of Thai, is Thai Pongal – so on Bhogi Pongal day, people get ready for a new beginning by sprucing up their houses and yards and making a bonfire of the refuse collected. They symbolically offer all their past resentments, unhappiness and angers of the last year into the fire as well. The next day is to be a joyous one where the first grains of their staple crop of rice successfully harvested will be offered in thanksgiving to the Sun deity.

Agro evolution

According to Dr. P.B Dharmasena, an agricultural scientist, there are three dimensions to the way agriculture has evolved in Sri Lanka: the bio-physical , the socio-cultural and the cosmo-spiritual.

“The bio-physical dimension is the most basic one, the practice of sowing and reaping that is practised all over the world,” says Dr. Dharmasena. “It is the socio-cultural and cosmo-spiritual dimensions that are specific to different communities.  The different cultural practices they have such as singing certain songs as they are sowing and the different methods they have of inter-community bonding falls under the socio-cultural practices, while their pleas to forces more powerful than themselves to safe-guard their crops comes under the cosmo-spiritual dimension.”

In that respect, one could say that Thai pongal straddles both the socio-cultural as well as the cosmo-spiritual traditions of the agrarian Tamils.

It is a festival of thanksgiving to the deities who govern their crops but it is also a festival of community bonding and merry-making. People get up well before dawn on Thai Pongal day because they have to have the pongal ready and boiling as the Sun deity is rising.

In the early morning hours, they purify themselves with a bath, wear new clothes and in their courtyards, set out the items for the pongal. A large rectangular ‘kolam’ (traditional courtyard decoration using rice flour) is drawn and bananas, other savouries already prepared, milk and various other auspicious items are set up.

One such auspicious item is cow dung. When patted into a certain form, it is said to represent Lord Ganesh and is worshipped as such. According to Indian environmental activist Vandana Shiva, it is not surprising that the Hindus started worshipping the manure as it is essential for the renewal of soil fertility and thus the sustainability of their civilization. To complete this symbolic depiction of Ganesh, the Tamil people also stick in some Arugam Pullu (bermuda grass), which is said to be dear to Lord Ganesh as it once cured him of indigestion. The grass is known to have medicinal value, which is perhaps why it attained an exalted status but given that it is a pest to farmers and has no value for them whatsoever, even as fodder or organic manure, that they include it as something worthy of veneration is rather surprising. The metaphysical explanation given by the Hindus for this is that even a pest has its place in the universe and is thus dear to the Lord.

Within the Kolam, a new clay pot is set atop a brick hearth, made with three new bricks. Even in these days of gas cookers and rice cookers, people as much as possible try to adhere to the tradition of a brick hearth lighted with firewood. As sunrise begins, the cow’s milk is poured in and set to boil. There is jubilation when it boils over in its symbolic prosperity. People shout ‘Pongalo pongal’ as this happens, to mark their elation.

Next, the rice that has been set aside for the Sun from the very first grains harvested is poured in prayerfully, first by the head of the family and then by the rest of the family. This is not a simple cooking expedition, the spirit of thanksgiving is paramount and so the rice is not just dumped or scooped in. It is reverentially poured in. This milk-rice preparation is further garnished and sweetened with jaggery (which gives it its brown colour), raisins and cashew nuts.

When it is ready, it is scooped onto banana leaves (which were traditionally used as plates and still is), and with the other fruits and savoury items added, offered to the Sun god, who would by now be near his zenith.

According to Bahirathy Jeeweshwara Rasanen, senior lecturer and Head of the Department of Sociology, Jaffna University, the festival of Thai Pongal epitomizes the universal value of thanksgiving, to those who produce food as well as those who assist in it. “As a landmark cultural festival of the Tamils, it upholds the cultural identity of a community, which is in a constant state of flux in this age of globalization. It also serves a purpose in rejuvenating as well as maintaining their cultural identity through several generations. And though primarily a celebration of farmers’ harvests, the fact that all other members of the community celebrate it too, irrespective of class or caste, serve to promote intra-cultural cohesion.

“As a celebration it brings together family and friends in a spirit of thanksgiving and happiness, thus uniting the community psychologically,” says Jeeweshwara Rasanen.

Pot-loads of pongal at every household means there is a superabundance of the sweet milk dish on that day, which keeps making the rounds from house to house. The next day is ‘mattu pongal’ (cattle pongal), in which the cattle who worked alongside the farmers are honoured.  The cattle are bathed, garlanded and worshipped. They are also given the first offerings of the pongal and fruits, prepared for that day.

The last day of the festival is ‘Kaanum pongal.’ ‘Kaanum’ means ‘seeing’ and is thus the day people make a special effort to see friends and relatives by visiting them.

All four days are generally celebrated by the Tamils of South India, although in Sri Lanka it is only Thai pongal that is the most important. People who own cattle celebrate the ‘mattu pongal’ too, but ‘bhogi pongal’ and ‘kaanum pongal’ is not so important an element of the festival here.

‘Thai pongal’ however, is universally celebrated by Tamils everywhere, whichever part of the globalised village they might now find themselves in.

 

(Pictures sourced from the internet)

A Question of Rights

In Delhi, a rape apparently takes place every 14 hours. But for reasons that leave many media analysts stumped, one particular rape has caught the entire nation in a whiplash of fury. True the rape was particularly brutal but even so, horrendous rapes are a dime a dozen in that vast subcontinent.

Before anyone takes offence at that seemingly judgmental remark, let me hasten to add, that Sri Lanka is no stranger to rape either – along with any other area of the earth where the species homo sapiens sapiens live.

They think very highly of themselves, these homo sapiens. They even have the nerve to name the nouns and adjectives of being kind, compassionate and considerate after themselves. ‘Humane’ and ‘humanity’ anyone?

So back to the media analysts. They come out of the woodwork from all over the place to offer their expert (but more often idiotic) analysis whenever something like this causes enough of a public furor. The recent Delhi rape has not only caused a furor in Delhi and subsequently the rest of India, but now is being analysed by the rest of the world too. The Guardian has already done an excellent job of dismantling the idiotic ‘holier-than-thou’ analyses of western newspapers but closer to home, we have the writer Arundhati Roy offering her opinions as well. She has made her name as an activist in several fields but perhaps – seeing nothing but negativity and oppression for so long can warp your views too.

According to her, rape is nothing out of the ordinary in India (true) and the only reason that this particular rape is being so railed against is because the perpetrators feed into the public’s notions of the ‘criminal poor.’ They are essentially lower middle class people – a bus driver, a gym instructor, a vegetable seller, who dared to assault a middle-class girl  – and so the middle-classes have risen up against them. That’s her ‘expert’ view on it.

The rape victim, known to the public only as Damini (not her real name), was horrifically brutalised during her rape and eventually died of the injuries sustained after lingering several days – but why exactly her particular rape has India outraged is a moot point. Arm-chair activists can speculate all day long on talk shows and ‘news’ on what exactly caused the national and international phenomenon but they hardly ever do anything more than speculate and most of the speculations, in an attempt to sound intelligent and wise, are only crossing the border into inane idiocy.

On the other side of the divide, we get the public causing the phenomenon. Suddenly the internet, specifically the social media outlets are ablaze with posts on women’s rights. Their right to do what they please, wear that they please, go where they please and still not be raped.

Granted! I completely and unconditionally agree with that. Yet, there are some grey areas here that one needs to tip-toe around. As a woman, I do think it highly unfair that I can’t go about as I please, wherever I please without risk to my safety. Unfortunately though, I have long realised that I live in a less than ideal world where I do have to take precautions for my own safety.

I remember begging some drunk girlfriends not to go to a deserted beach to continue their impromptu party, which they in their giddiness thought a great thing to do, sometime past midnight. They went anyway and I sat up praying nothing would happen to them. It’s all very well to carry placards saying, “Just because I am drunk and passed out in the middle of the road, you can’t rape me.”

I agree – I really do. The question is, does the rapist? It takes a certain kind of psychopath to be a rapist. They are not your average frustrated male out there. I somehow doubt that carrying placards like that is going to change their mindset. For what it is worth, women have to realise their own vulnerability and take precautions.

That does not mean that I condone society’s tendency to blame the victim. Even in the Damini case, there have been both males and females pontificating that she might have been at fault. Why? Because she got on a bus at 9.00 pm after attending a movie with her boyfriend. We still have some archaic thinkers who think a girl shouldn’t be out ‘late’ in the nights – and 9.00 pm constitutes late in the night, for them. There have also been aspersions cast on her character, because (gasp!) she had a boyfriend (or at least a male friend she was out alone with).

So on the one hand we have the feminists screaming their rights and trashing anyone who dares argue – and on the other side we get these archaic and judgmental upholders of ‘culture’ – never mind that that culture is Victorian and an import from our colonial masters rather than our own.

Stuck in the middle is us – the average women who live in a world where we frequently have to work late or even go shopping at 9.00 pm. We are told by the upholders of our rights that we can do anything that we want and still can’t be raped. The reality however is different. And if, God forbid, it should happen, we’ll have to hear, “what was she wearing?”, “Why was she out at that time?” and even “her virtue is ruined” from our own communities.

It takes some getting used to, this paradox we live in.

A female driving force

The glass ceiling has been poked at and poked through in various places of the world. Now the war devastated North and East of Sri Lanka have joined in too. Women-headed families left fending for themselves after their menfolk have been killed or gone missing in action, are redefining the patriarchal norms that have held sway in their area. 

A lady driver of a three wheeler taxi

It is a peninsula left devastated by three decades of civil war. But looking at Jaffna now, one would be hard put to find evidence of it. ‘Development’ is in full swing everywhere; supermarkets, smoothly tarred and widened roads, multi-storeyed, modern buildings, and pretty houses.

A land and people who have thought of nothing but war and survival for over 30 years are moving on. Due to their circumstances, they have unique problems – which they are also learning to fend in unique ways. One of the best examples is the overabundance of war-affected widows and women-headed families. It is a peninsula that traditionally believed that a woman’s place was in the home. But now, of necessity, they have had to move out. Several non-governmental organizations (NGOs) tried to help them cope in various ways; poultry, farming implements and wells, sewing machines…

The Women’s Education and Research Centre (WERC) however identified another need and came up with something different: ladies driving three wheeler taxis. This is a country that already has female pilots. We also have plenty of women driving cars. In Jaffna, it is no uncommon sight to see girls on scooters, or even on motorcycles. Yet, nowhere in the country did we previously have women taxi drivers. A few women have been known to drive their own private three wheelers, but driving that hardy little vehicle is generally considered the unique preserve of men.

A passer-by in Jaffna glances at the relatively new scene of lady drivers at their stand

Thanks to the initiative of WERC, however, Jaffna, Batticaloa and Ampara now sport some scenes that the locals are still getting used to; seeing females driving three wheeler taxis. The initiative is nearly a year old in Jaffna and from there, it was taken to Ampara and Batticaloa three months ago, according to Director of WERC, Dr. Selvy Thiruchandran.

“We wanted to give the women some non-traditional skills, which would also be less laborious than their traditional skills set of farming or sewing,” explains Dr. Thiruchandran on why they chose this particular project for their target beneficiaries. “We chose women who were supporting their families, mainly single mothers and gave them intense training on assertiveness, personality development and gender equity before equipping them with the vehicles. We also taught them basic accounting and banking skills as well as how to cope with public and sexual harassment. As it turned out, however, they have been far better received by their communities and their fellow male taxi drivers than we anticipated.”

The women concur. According to Komaleswari Selvakumar (42), a mother of four, the male three wheeler drivers of the area are extremely helpful and protective. “They on their own, gave us their mobile numbers and told us to call them if we ever run into any trouble with customers but we have not had any such trouble so far,” she smiles. She has her stand in a busy spot in the heart of Jaffna town and according to her, other drivers immediately come up and offer to take the hire if a shady looking character walks up to her. “Just yesterday though, after I had accepted a hire, a fellow driver called me and told me the customer looked a little troublesome, so he would take him instead. I told him that he should have acted promptly (as they usually do) in diverting the hire to himself as the customer was already in my taxi and it would be insulting to him to transfer him after that. I took the hire – the man was indeed shifty-eyed and nervous, which in turn made me nervous. But when I got talking to him, I was amused to find he was actually afraid of me. He was a big, burly man, which is what must have set the alarm bells ringing in my colleague’s mind, but as it turned out, he was far more conscious of the fact that he was alone in my three wheeler than I was.”

Komaleswari at the wheel

According to her, the reception from the community has been positive but she does hear some snide remarks as well from ‘traditionalists’, not all of whom are men. Her husband, a labourer, unable to support his family had taken to drinking to drown his disheartenment, and so it has fallen to Komaleswari to not only bring up her children but earn their bread as well.

“I do this out of necessity, not out of any wish to do so. But I hear a wide spectrum of comments, ranging from encouraging ones for supporting my family as well as staying on with my husband, to advice to divorce him and marry another man, to sneers on how dare I wear the pants in the marriage. I just shrug it off and do what I have to do. What else can I do?”

It is a daunting challenge that these women have taken up, not only because they juggle housework and childcare with their jobs but because of the nature of that job, which their culture and backgrounds had never prepared them for.

“I only knew how to go to the hospital and the local temple from my home. As girls we were not allowed to go anywhere else, especially unescorted. We lived such sheltered lives,” says Sujanthini Indrakumar (33) a mother of three. “I still have to ask my way around. Finding the places people wanted to go to was one of the biggest challenges. Along with learning to drive. We were not given adequate training and were launched before we were comfortable with the vehicle. I used to practise test runs outside my house for days.”

She has built up her own client base, mostly female office workers who are happy at the prospect of having a lady driver. “I have regular customers, mostly children and ladies. It is so much easier to be self-employed like this as I can regulate my times. I used to work in a supermarket before this and had to work till 8.00 or 9.00 p.m., coming home too exhausted to do anything else. My husband is an ex-cadre who surrendered after the war but has gone missing since then. I looked for him in all the rehabilitation camps but eventually gave up, figuring if he was alive, he knew his way home. I have to single-handedly look after my children and can’t afford to take time away to look for him, so I had to give up.”

The first batch of lady drivers from Jaffna

In addition to not knowing the topography well like the men do, the women launched into a completely new field, didn’t know the rates to charge which had apparently caused some problems. It has since been solved by another innovation, new to the area: they are among the first meter taxi drivers there.

The rate, at Rs 70 for the first kilometre and 40 for every kilometre after is a lot heftier than Colombo rates, but is apparently the stipulated rate for outstation taxis.

“We fixed them up with the metres as they had no idea of what rates to ask for,” says Rajani Chandrasekaram, a Jaffna-based women’s rights activist, who was asked by WERC to supervise the project. According to her, the project is a success in that they hadn’t encountered the level of opposition they had feared at first. “We gave them a lot of training on how to deal with harassment and are still planning on self-defence classes too, but none of that has been necessary so far. Of course only four are currently driving their vehicles in Jaffna and all four are rather strong personalities.”

In the Jaffna project, 25 women had been selected to be beneficiaries, of which only 15 had stayed the course and 10 had finally passed the license to receive the vehicles. But only four are now actively running. The others gave various excuses as to why they are not running.

“One said KKS road is being repaired and she is scared of the heavy traffic running up and down the available half of the road, when I called to ask for an explanation,” says Rajani. “Mostly they seem to be giving in to community pressures and perceptions. They are getting remarried or preparing to remarry and so are getting culturally repressed from showing the image of a ‘strong woman’ which might be detrimental to their marital aspirations.”

The ones who are running meanwhile, project the ‘strong woman’ image for all its worth. “I have developed this personality where I talk to my customers in an easy manner,” says Komaleswari. “Men, especially adolescents and youths might make the mistake of thinking we are weak or meek otherwise. Lady drivers are still a novelty and so they gravitate towards us and if they find us friendly, try to flirt. I respond with witty repartee but make it clear in as genial a manner as possible that I am a strong woman not to be messed with.”

Picture credit: Dushiyanthini Kanagasabapathipillai

Book Review

When Tom Bower, a supposedly award winning author and biographer wrote an ‘unauthorized’ biography of Simon Cowell, it thrilled fans around the world. Until that is, most of them got their hands on the book.

Sweet revenge: The Intimate Life of Simon Cowell

Remember the charismatically nasty judge on American Idol, Britain’s got Talent and the X-Factor? Many people started watching the shows just to see the put-downs he gave most of the (untalented) contestants.

Unfortunately, over time the media, cottoning on to the public’s fascination made too much out of it. The Cowell factor became a syndrome of its own where judges in similar reality shows across the world tried to emulate him – Sri Lanka being no different.

Before he knew it, Simon Cowell instead of trying to pick stars became THE star, and thus an industry was born in and around him, trying to cash in on his unforeseen mega-celebrity status. The book, Sweet Revenge, is one of the products of that industry.

It is neither a readable nor a particularly informative book. The biographer is no diligent researcher. He has just cobbled together random gossip in all the media out there, concerning Cowell’s private life and personality and come up with an ill-planned and haphazard biography. Anything with the name of Cowell will sell, seems to have been his reasoning and so he hasn’t bothered to make it either good or readable. At the end of the day, he has made his money. And that is all that seems to have counted.

Fans across the world bought the book because, though it was termed ‘unauthorized’, everyone knew that Cowell, an extremely narcissistic personality, had made himself and his friends and relatives widely available to the author. Given that level of access, the fact that 98 percent of the book is just a rehashing of already published tabloid gossip, leaves much to be desired.

And whatever little ‘new’ information the author has come up with is not really relevant or insightful, though he presents it with unnecessary emphasis and gloating. Take for example, his discovery (through a genealogist he had hired) that Cowell’s father had Jewish roots –something Cowell had been unaware of himself. He makes much fanfare of the fact that Cowell’s Anglican great grandfather Joseph had married Nancy Levy, a Jew and their son was brought up in his mother’s religion.

Cowell’s father had not apparently been a practicing Jew and Bower gleefully inferences that he was ashamed of his roots and tried to hide it, even pointing out that he had a ‘Christian’ funeral – as if that were of any concern to anyone but the Cowell family.

Catty inferences and innuendoes like these might be what makes cheap tabloids sell, but one would expect better from an entire biography. Without anything really solid to go on, the writer resorts to tantalizing hints that leaves the discerning reader thinking, “Who do you think you are kidding?”

In the first half of the book for example, he makes out that Simon Cowell and his brother Nicholas, shared an unhealthily close bond where they even swapped girlfriends. Switch to the second half and we see Simon celebrating his 50^th birthday party. He had apparently been unnecessarily rude in his best man’s speeches at both of his brother’s weddings (Nick has married twice), and on his birthday, his brother paid it back with interest – or so Bower in his narrator’s voice tells us.

Except that the quotes he gives of what both brothers actually said are only funny ones – he just goes on to hint that they took it too far and left guests shocked with their ‘venom’ but where are the venomous quotes so that we can decide for ourselves?

Here are the relevant extracts:

At Nick’s first wedding to Kim, Cowell during his best man speech had quoted from Nick’s teenage ‘diary’: ‘Off to Paris to meet a nice boy; went off with him. Met a nice donkey in the bedroom.’ Next Cowell read a ‘letter for a job application’ explaining why, as a boy scout, Nick had been found giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to another scout in a dark room….

At Nick’s second marriage to Kate, Cowell had again read a series of ‘letters’ sent by a dating agency during their worldwide search for a bride, which climaxed in finally unearthing Kate in Eastern Europe….

Nick’s body language as he mounted the stage was combative. ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold,’ he started. ‘At my wedding Simon made a dreadful speech, and I was going to wait until his wedding to make this speech. But until they make a law that you can marry yourself, I won’t get the chance, so I’ll make it now.’
His theme was not only his brother’s vanity but also his homosexuality. “Simon’s favourite animals as a child were elves, goblins and fairies and he still likes fairies today,’ he began, ‘and his favourite group was the Pet Shop Boys.’ Then he added, ‘Simon couldn’t believe that Terri could be a girl’s name as well.’
The side splitting laughter amongst the insiders was mixed with bewilderment from the likes of Philip Green, who was stunned by the brother’s venom.  Sitting next to Green, Cheryl Cole was left open-mouthed…

Yes well… two heterosexual brothers’ innuendoes that the other was a homosexual may be immature at best but hardly venomous. The above extract is typical of the whole book – making something out of nothing, which is what the author excels at. Despite Cowell’s long string of girlfriends, there have been aspersions in the media from time to time that he is a closet homosexual; something every celebrity is subjected to, when it is a rainy day at tabloid offices. Bower admits that he has been unable to unearth any evidence of this himself – but caters to the gossip-hungry fans who for whatever reason of their own would want to believe it, by speculating if it could be true, given Cowell’s ‘camp’ mannerisms.

So ultimately what does this book tell you?

1 – Simon Cowell is a narcissist, addicted to his self-image.

2 –  Simon Cowell is a commitment phobe who has a string of girlfriends but is unlikely to ever marry.

3 – Simon Cowell hates Simon Fuller, the producer of American Idol and wants to out-do him.

4- Simon Cowell is a manipulative TV mogul who engineers rifts in his reality shows just to up the ratings.

Learned anything at all about Simon Cowell that you didn’t know already? No? Neither did I!

Oh wait… I learnt something. You think Simon Cowell is interesting? Read this book. You’ll find him dead boring!

Yep, that’s what it feels like, after you’ve read the book

Evolution of the Sari

It is a form of cloth our mothers and grandmothers wore traditionally but is now phasing out among the younger generations; the sari. It is a dress form that has been worn in the Indian Subcontinent for millennia and has caught the fancy of the West for as many years. Elizabeth Taylor is said to have remarked that the sari was one of the most beautiful dress forms ever invented. The famous British fashion journalist Colin McDowell, who has been covering fashion for decades now, confided his admiration of the Indian sherwani (men) and sari on a recent trip to Sri Lanka: “It dawned on me why India doesn’t have such a varied fashion industry as in the West. They had already perfected the most beautiful of clothes.”

Elizabeth Taylor’s Sari inspired wedding dress

Perfected or not, the sari had evolved and continues to evolve in various fashion crazes. It is not unusual to attend fashion shows that highlight only the sari and the various innovative ways it can be draped. Where though, did it originate from? That is a little harder to answer. The oldest recorded form of the sari is that of a priest in the Indus Valley Civilization, sporting a draped lower portion of the sari around his waist. Both men and women wore these pieces of unstitched cloth, artistically draped in neat pleats at the middle, once upon a time. Both sexes went uncovered about their upper bodies except for a piece of shawl, occasionally draped about the shoulders.

There are many a description left by scandalized Arab and European travellers, of the bare-chestedness of both sexes. As cultures, weather patterns and religious injunctions on modesty evolved however, so did the sari. There are depictions of women in South India as well as in Sri Lanka going bare-chested until the late 19^th Century.

The sari jacket (also known as blouse/ravike /choli) made its first appearance under the Cholas hundreds of years ago, but was adopted for wear in Sri Lanka and South India only within the last 150 years.  The commonly known Indian word for the sari blouse, choli, apparently derives its name from the Chola Empire that introduced it. Similarly, it was during the Pallava Kings’ time, that the concept of elongating the cloth to cover not only the lower portion of the body but the upper as well, developed. So the piece of cloth, left over from draping the waist that is used to cover the upper body and thrown over the shoulder, is known as the pallav.

Although only a long piece of cloth, usually six yards in length, the way the sari has been draped to bring out the curves of a woman’s body as well as adding an elegance and aesthetic appeal of its own has drawn appreciation from many – even from cultures where the sari is not traditionally seen.

A famous quote on the sari, attributed to Orissa’s Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik goes, “The sari‘s radiance, vigour and variety, produced by a single straight length of cloth, should give us in the West pause and make us think twice about the zipper, the dart and the shoulder pad.”

It is also amazing how that single, straight length of cloth has adopted itself to various different styles. The most commonly known style is the ‘Nivi drape’ – what Sri Lankans call the ‘Indian style.’ There are however various other Indian styles of draping the sari, depending on the areas they originate from; Gujarati style, Madisar style, the Bengali/Oriya style, Kodagu style and so on.

The sari in Sri Lanka

Kandyan Sari (Osaria) of an earlier avatar

Sri Lanka too has its own famous regional version – the Kandyan style.  According to fashion designer Kirthi Sri Karunaratne (81), the Kandyan sari evolved only in his mother’s time as a ‘new’ form of fashion. Before that, high-born Sinhalese ladies wore European-style skirts and blouses while the middle and lower classes wore a version of the redde-hatte.

“I remember ladies of an older generation wearing the full skirts and blouses of the Europeans, fashionable at that time. My grandmother wore that dress but my mother took to wearing the Kandyan sari as it came to be known. In those days, the fall (over the shoulder) was not so long and they wore very decent blouses which covered their full arms and midriffs.”

So according to Kirthi Sri, the sari is a fairly new form of dress to the Sinhalese community; a little more than a 100 years old. According to the book Costumes of Sri Lanka by K.D.G Wimalaratne and Dian Gomes, the Indian sari was introduced in the early 20^th Century to Sri Lanka by the women of Moratuwa and hence was known of as the ‘Moratuwa sari’.

This sari as well as the Kandyan sari became more popular through the nationalist campaigns of Angarika Dharmapala who, it is said, detested the sight of Sinhalese women in skirts, hats and gloves. He had his mother champion the cause of the sari as the ethnic dress of Sri Lankan women by having her take up that dress form and be photographed in several popular publications of the day, wearing it.  The book quotes Dr. Ananda Guruge, well-known academic and writer, as saying, “The European fashions among Sinhala women vanished almost overnight, under the influence of this publicity.”

Mallika Hewavitharana, mother of Angarika Dharmapala circa 1936

Although introduced several generations ago, the sari continues to flourish – literally as well as figuratively, with several flourishes and embellishments making new appearances as well as phasing out over time, under the vagaries of fashion.

Western fashions are on the wax again after the wane brought about by Angarika Dharmapala but the sari is still very much a part of the ethnic identity of Sri Lankan women. It is still their national dress and costume of choice at weddings and functions.

For just a straight line of cloth, it can be proud of all the ways it has lent itself to women’s fashion. Just a piece of cloth it may be, but a humble piece of cloth it is not.

Western designs inspired by the Sari

The Sari’s different avatars

Nivi (Indian) Sari

This is the most commonly known style of sari drape. Its popularity is attributed to Bollywood and other Indian actresses sporting this style of drape in their movies. It employs the use of an underskirt and choli. One end of the Sari is tucked into the skirt and then brought round the waist before being pleated at the navel in graceful folds. The rest is thrown over the shoulder as the Pallav and depending on the wearer, it can be left free flowing, pleated on the upper body like in the Kandyan Sari, or brought round the shoulders to cover the head. Some Muslim ladies are known to employ the last style of draping the Nivi sari.

Kandyan Sari

Also known as the Osariya, it was an extremely modest piece of clothing covering even midriff and forearms, when it first appeared. The Osaria distinguishes itself from Indian styles of drapes by having no pleats about the waist although the head-piece (Pallav) is neatly pleated and thrown over the shoulder, similar to Indian styles.

Another distinguishing feature of the Osariya is the frill at the side. The frill varies in size and shape depending on which part of the country it is worn, but the sari style as a whole is credited as having originated from Kandy; hence the alternate name, Kandyan Sari.

Gujarati Sari

This style of drape, commonly worn by the ladies of Gujarat, has also become quite popular in other parts of the world including Sri Lanka. Here the lower portion is tucked in the Nivi drape but the Pallav is brought back over the right shoulder and draped at the front. Many Sari textile designers heavily embellish the pallav with patterns, for design and artistic purposes and this style of draping shows the Pallav to best advantage.

Kodagu (Coorg) Sari

This is the sari worn by the ladies of Kodagu, formerly known of as Coorg, in Karnataka. Another favourite drape on the party circuit, this style distinguishes itself by having the pleats at the back of the Sari rather than at the front. The Kodagu ladies trace back the reason to mythology. The Sage Aghastya had a wife called Lopamudra who became the river Kaveri. As she transformed into the river and rushed away from him, the sage attempted to hold on to her by pulling her sari. The folds of her sari moved from front to back and thus the women of Kodagu wear their pleats at the back to commemorate the event.

 

Madisar Sari

This is a sari traditionally worn by the Brahmin ladies of Tamil Nadu. It distinguishes itself by having a puffed pants like appearance about the legs instead of the skirt / sarong like appearance of the other Sari drapes. It is a hardy style that is conducive to movement not to mention affording an appreciative glimpse of shapely calves. The way the sari is draped, quite a bit of legs show, affording views of the feminine pulchritude that other cultures might not be stranger to – but is nevertheless unique for the South Indians.

Photo Credits: Amitha Tennekoon, Costumes of Sri Lanka and the internet.

Out-of-the-box or Jack-in-the-box?

Ever wondered at the paradoxes around you? Such as when you were small, your parents and elders might have told you things like, “Children must be seen and not heard,” or “Be quiet, your opinion doesn’t count.”

Children are taught to be quiet, respectful and most of all conformist. Sri Lankan culture is a very conformist culture that abhors deviations and aberrations. God help the child who thinks or acts ‘differently’ from the mainstream. He or she is likely to be bullied at school as well as sneered at by the adults.

And so most of us grow up learning to conform.

The ‘rebels’ out there, who deliberately disobey your parents, have wild parties and indulge in behavior which you know that society does not approve of – for your information, you are ‘conforming’ too. You are conforming to standard set practices of what you think it means to rebel.

We are not very creative as a culture, whether it comes to conforming or even, ironically, not conforming. Yet, when you start entering adulthood, have you noticed?; you are taught at most courses in university or private institutes to think ‘creatively.’ When you enter the workplace, bosses ask for creative solutions to problems.

What exactly do they mean by creativity? And just how do they expect us as adults to suddenly think out-of –the-box as they term it in their jargon, when as children, we had such thinking literally boxed out of our ears?

Children are naturally creative in their thinking and problem solving skills. It is the several years of adult conditioning around them that drives it out. Most of us can relate to childhood memories of being looked at like Jack-in-the-boxes for coming up with some out-of-the-box suggestion. Then, the adults might have told us – nope, this is the way you have to think, this is the way you have to walk and this is the way you have to talk.

When you hit adulthood and realize what a mess they have made of the world you are to inherit with that mode of thinking and acting however, they acknowledge (or at least the more progressive ones do), that what they are doing is not working and so they want you, the next generation to think out-of-the-box and come up with creative solutions to fix it.

Right, Good Luck!

Even as a child, I remember my mother criticizing me for constantly asking questions. “Goodness, child, why must you always ask so many personal questions of people?”
Because I was naturally curious and wanted to know? Because children are still learning about the workings of the world around them and so ask a lot of questions?

As a seven year old, I was fascinated to find out for the first time they was such a thing as fake gold, which looked (to my eyes) prettier than real gold jewellery. So when a lady sporting a very decorative jewellery set on her person visited my home, I asked her, “Wow aunty, is that fake gold?”

The woman’s face blackened like I had deliberately set out to insult her and my mother apologized for having such an obnoxious child. She said that I was always asking such idiotic questions of people and she didn’t know what to do about it and then the conversation took the route of ‘kids these days.’

After having it drummed into me throughout my childhood that I was NOT to ask inquisitive, probing questions of people, I found myself as a journalist in adulthood doing just that. What had come so naturally to me in childhood had to be re-learned all over again.  As a green young intern, I wouldn’t ask any probing questions of people and would come back with only information they had volunteered.

Asking them ‘personal’ questions was a no-no, remember? Rule Number One that I had learned as a child and found so difficult to unlearn as an adult: NEVER ask ladies their ages. I can still remember the kohl rimmed furious eyes of the aunty who snarled, “None of your business kid” to that question.

The very first interview / profile I wrote as a young journalist did not mention the interviewee’s age anywhere. When my editor pulled me up to ask my why, I had to shuffle and admit I hadn’t asked. When she asked again WHY, (the thought did flash in my mind whether she hadn’t ever been taught not to ask ‘WHY?’), I had to point out to her, it was considered a culturally inappropriate question to ask.

This time a pair of flashing eyes from behind steel rimmed glasses glared at me. Déjà vu!

“You are a journalist and we don’t conform to social niceties. Go and ask the question and put it in your article.”

Sigh, Right!
It took me nearly two years to re-learn how to fearlessly and inquisitively ask people questions of their work and lives, the way I had done as a child.  Because I am a journalist. And what people would love to know but wouldn’t ask for themselves because they have built all those societal rules around them, I have to ask on their behalf and put in the paper. So that they can then read, know about and understand the world, in a more ‘civilized’ fashion.

Meanwhile, the rest of you start thinking ‘out-of-the-box’ as the adults around you would now tell you. Because thinking within their boxes didn’t get them anywhere and it’s up to you now to set the world to rights.

Remembering 9/11

On a hot August day a few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to visit Ground Zero as it has come to be famously known; the site of the fallen twin towers of New York City.

New York, the city that never sleeps, the city that seemingly has a constant buzz of adrenaline in its atmosphere, somehow had a different atmosphere in and around Ground Zero. No, not one of morbidity or even melancholy, but surprisingly, (considering the rest of New York), one of tranquility.

Two deep pits with cascading waterfall-like streams down their sides mark where the towers once stood. The sound of the gurgling water and the trees and grass around the area makes it an idyllic, calming spot right in the middle of the city.

It could easily be a spot that someone needing a break from high stress work could gravitate to from the surrounding high rises. Eleven years down the line, one has to pinch oneself to remember this was the site of a great tragedy. And that, despite the number of boards and placards detailing the tragedy, on the way to the memorial.

The area is still under construction and visitors have to go through a fairly convoluted trail consisting of a number of high security checks. It was almost reminiscent of Sri Lanka, the number of check points to get to the memorial. People had to make their way in long, slow queues but that didn’t deter them. Behind me an American father was explaining to his blonde haired daughter of about eight years, the significance of the place; “A long time ago, two big towers stood here. Some planes came and crashed into them killing many people….”

It reminded me how much time had passed and that another generation had born, who would view this as ‘history.’ I was barely 20 when I saw the news of the burning towers on television. Few people who saw them can forget the images of people jumping off the flaming buildings, to their certain deaths.

It is amazing how fast the time has flown. Eleven years later, as I wandered around the memorial, I could still remember vividly the scenes of horror and carnage I saw on television, from half a world away. Standing and wandering around the site itself however, it was difficult to juxtapose the images of tranquility before me with the horror of that day.

Many Americans and international visitors alike visit Ground Zero. The names of the 2977 victims of the 9/11 tragedy are engraved on the perimeters of the two pools that mark the sites of the towers. It is a memorial that took several years to erect, and had a lot of thought put into it. For all that, it is deceptively simple to the eye. It soothes the senses without any sense of the extraordinary or the extravagant.

It is a place that seeks to remember a tragedy but also offers solace and the hope of continuity anew.
Thus, a few hundred metres away from Ground Zero is a scorched and damaged building, left to be exactly like that, as a stark reminder of the burning carnage of 9/11.

Within the memorial area, one of the most well known features is a tree – a tree that had been in the area since the 1970s but almost died and had to be nursed back to health. The only tree from the original location to survive, it has come to be known as the ‘Survivor tree.’

A lot of care was taken to revive and replant it.
Ground Zero is very symbolically not only about tragedy. It is also about surviving that tragedy.

The Survivor tree as it was being replanted

Now

Chronicles of a Greenhorn in America

Universal Studios, Los Angeles

So recently I found myself on a sudden three week trip to the United States of America. I felt as self important as explorers of old, exploring new lands.

New people, new cultures, new ways of life… I was about to see them all. It was going to be a real hardy road of discovery discovering how the concoctions and decoctions at KFC and Pizza Hut were different from Sri Lanka’s.

America was a surprise though. In this world of Americaniz… er… I mean globalization, I had figured we had all become more or less ‘globalized’ enough to wear T-shirts and jeans and were therefore more or less like each other. Certainly more of a homogenous society than in the days of Christopher Columbus anyway.

Plus, Americans as a people might not know much about the rest of the world but they have done a great job of telling the rest of the world about themselves. I know more of American history than Sri Lankan history (No, I am not proud of that. Put it down to the fact that I grew up away from here in a neighbouring South Asian country and got plenty of books on America to read at my school and local libraries but none on Sri Lanka).  I have also watched many American serials and movies. So I figured I knew all about America and its people.

So did my co-travelers. Much to their disappointment, they couldn’t find Pamela Anderson look-alike lifeguards on the Santa Monica beach. They had apparently looked forward to the trip to Santa Monica in order to be rescued by such a lifeguard. Nevertheless, they braved the cold waves for a swim.

Probably, if I had looked around, I might have found some David Hasselhoff type lifeguards but that still wasn’t enough of an incentive for me to go for a swim. I just did what I do at Wellawatte beach – got my toes wet. That’s the kind of swashbuckling adventurist I am.

The waters of Santa Monica Bay were blessed by my feet

Anyway, regarding the ‘All American’ experience… we toured the cities of Washington, Los Angeles, Iowa, Philadelphia and New York. They each had a distinct character and personality about them, putting paid to my preconceived notions as to the All American identity.

Washington D.C was green. I don’t mean just green. It was GREEN! Colombo looks like a desert by comparison. Washington is a planned city and it shows. Somehow I had not expected America’s capital to be so full of old world charm and greenery.

For the skyscrapers and characterless buildings of glass and steel go to New York (though to be fair, they too had their buildings of ‘character’). In Washington, one can see a lot of varied architecture that somehow looks very old (though the buildings are not that old and some are very new).

The Washingtonians are clearly not impressed with glass, steel and skyscrapers. As for the trees, they have thickly forested growths on the sides of roads, the likes of which I would not have thought possible if I had not seen it for myself. We are not talking about trees every few feet as you see in most cities including Colombo (and the rest of America that I saw). These were thickly planted massive trees that gave one the impression that we were travelling on highways in the midst of a forest.

Perhaps, because of that, Los Angeles was a bit of a let-down. California is famous for its warm climate, one of the reasons no doubt for its high Asian population.  Our visit was in the height of summer though and we found it a bit too warm.  Coming from the greenery we had become used to in Washington by then, it was a bit of a shock to find Los Angeles not so green.

It had a few scrawny trees every 10 feet or so, mostly palms. With its atmosphere of dry aridness and the Palmyrah like palm trees, it almost seemed to be a more developed version of Jaffna.  Except that there was no sand or soil to be seen anywhere (other than at the beach). I made the interesting discovery that If I took off my footwear and walked on the road barefoot, I could only feel smooth cold concrete underneath; no granules of dirt or sand.

That was because all the land excepting bits of parkland was completely covered in tar or cement blocks. One of my disgruntled colleagues started actively looking for soil at least by the sides of roads where the trees were. But even they were closed in with cement above ground. It became a bit of an amusing quest, trying to find sand and soil in the cities of America.

Iowa, which we visited next, became my favourite city. A quiet little town without the hustle and bustle of other American towns, Iowa is known for only two industries; its farming and its Universities. So you get dedicated farmers or academics (or people who are both) populating Iowa and they proved an extremely hospitable and nice people.

Not that Americans in other cities weren’t hospitable but here they were laidback and hospitable as opposed to being rushed and hospitable. Americans are also great ‘do-it-yourselfers’ and volunteers for good causes. So in Iowa city, our hosts thought it was a great idea to treat us to a morning of building a house for the needy by the NGO, Habitat for Humanity.

Our hosts and fellow American volunteers who were University Academics clearly knew their tools and their way around hammers and nails which is more than can be said for most of us. I don’t think they will be ‘volunteering’ any Sri Lankans for any such project hereafter. Thanks to our contribution, one needy family in Iowa city will have one of its outer walls plastered in interesting designs, instead of in neat, horizontal rows.

Philadelphia, one of America’s oldest cities and home to many of its most important historical events had that aura of history about it which Washington seemed to strive for but somehow fell short of. It would deserve more than a paragraph to do justice to it so I’ll try to do so in another follow-up article.

And from there, only a short bus ride away (driven by a lady driver) was New York.

Here was America as I had seen it portrayed in books and movies (though I don’t recall being warned about the massive crowds). Just as in India, you can’t walk on the pavements of New York without jostling into somebody.

Apart from that, there were the glass and steel skyscrapers, the yellow taxicabs, people of every hue and ethnicity all over the place, the massive rush and feeling of industry…

After touring the other cities to realize what America was not according to my preconceived notions, I finally met those preconceived notions in New York. And I don’t mean that as a bad thing. It was just surprising to realize that what I understood to be “American” is most probably only “New Yorker”.

And that brings us to the end of the tour. When I landed back, many of my friends wanted to know what new foods I had tried. What new foods? I spent most of my time eating either Pizzas or Indian food. It was more than I could handle, trying out their varieties of ‘tea’ and coffee, without experimenting on food too. I gave up on finding tea to my taste in America but the agonies I went through trying to get milk coffee like I was used to, among the hundreds of coffee options available over there is a tale that could make an article in itself.

It was good to see America with my own eyes but it’s even better to be back in Sri Lanka now. Good ol’ Sri Lanka, where if I ever order iced tea or iced coffee, there is only ONE option available and so I know exactly what I am getting.

Photo Credit: Cynthia Norcross Willson

A Moment in Time

Capturing history in a millisecond

Today is the 25^th anniversary of the Indo-Lanka Accord. It was an agreement signed under much tension, between the governments of Sri Lanka and India.

A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since then. Stakeholders in the agreement which include almost all the citizens of Sri Lanka are still unsure as to the successes and failures of the Indo- Lanka Accord. What it has achieved and what it hindered is still heavily in dispute but amidst all this miasma of confusion, one success story stands out. That of Sena Vidanagama, then staff photographer of the Daily News.

Whatever the accord did or did not achieve, it put Sri Lankan photojournalism on the international map.

Vidanagama was the one and only photographer to capture the assault on the Indian premier, Rajiv Gandhi the day after the signing, by a naval cadet on camera. He was at that time a little known photographer in the Lakehouse Group. The internal strife in Sri Lanka and India’s subsequent forcible intervention was international news at that time. As such Vidanagama was one of a large group of photojournalists covering the event. There were foreign photographers of international stature and repute in that group. Yet he alone took that one picture, now internationally famous, of that assault on Rajiv Gandhi as it was occurring. The attack was so sudden that all the other photojournalists had been caught by surprise and missed the opportunity.

Eventually it was Vidanangama’s picture that made it not only to the Daily News (though it almost didn’t get exposure even there, read on), but also to several other publications both locally and internationally. He who had been struggling for years to be recognized as a photojournalist made that name overnight.

As an interview with the now retired veteran bears out though, it was not a matter of luck but more of dedication and focus despite adverse circumstances. He had been rather annoyed that day as the raised dais on Janadhipathi Mawatha to which the photojournalists had been relegated to cover the event of Gandhi’s departure, had very limited options for him to move around and find a vantage spot. The movie cameramen and international photographers had taken up all the best possible spots at the front of the dais and he being a little known photographer then, had to be content to snap pictures from behind them.

Most of the cameramen had only expected to take routine shots of a VIP departure. They had finished clicking Rajiv Gandhi, J.R Jayawardene and their entourage emerging from President’s House. After many ceremonial photo opportunities, there was a lull as Jayawardene and the others moved to another pavilion while Rajiv inspected the Guard of Honour , escorted by the  Sri Lankan Navy Commander on his right and by his security officers from behind. As he began moving down the Guard of Honour too, several photos were clicked. The photographers, thinking that the photo opportunities of that particular ceremony had been exhausted had brought down their arms for a rest by the time Gandhi was halfway down the inspection.

Vidanagama, an experienced news photographer had become conditioned to being always on the look-out for untoward happenings that he might need to click at a moment’s notice. Even he might have relaxed at this juncture though if not for his editor Manik de Silva’s words of advice that morning, ringing in his ears.

“He told me to be on the look-out as the situation was such that ‘anything could happen.’ The SLFP and JVP had organized protests against the accord and the whole nation was under a state of tension.
And so, even though it was supposed to be just a ceremonial procession for a departing VIP, I was on alert to catch anything at all out of the ordinary.

I too had finished clicking Rajiv Gandhi inspecting the Guard of Honour but kept watching him as he moved down the line of sailors. I acted reflexively when I saw one of the men move from the orderly line of sailors that Gandhi was inspecting. I really had no time to understand or process what was happening. I simply raised my camera and clicked.

At the back of my mind, I had a vague notion that the sailor was fainting but after all, even that was news. I had no idea at that point that I was clicking an assault. It all happened very fast. The sailor had raised his rifle butt and brought it down as Gandhi passed by. Two things saved Gandhi. His own quick reflexes which made him duck his head and turn sharply as well as the navy commander acting quickly to pull back Vijitha Rohana, the assailant. The combined action made the rifle butt strike only the back of Gandhi’s shoulder instead of his head. The rifle slid out of Rohana’s hand after striking Gandhi. Gandhi’s lead security officer immediately pounced forward and punched Rohana on the stomach. It was mayhem all of a sudden but it was all over within a few minutes.  The other sailors and the security team immediately surrounded Roahana, berating him and then whisked him away. If I had had a camera with today’s technology, I could have taken all these shots but I had to crank my Asahi Pentax before each new shot, to focus properly and thus lost out on quite a few. In those days you couldn’t click pictures one after the other like you can now.”

Despite that, he managed to get some shots of the immediate aftermath. One of them shows a very young Rohana – he was only 22 at the time – being aggressively pushed back against a post, his collar bunched up in an angry fellow sailor’s fist.

There are also shots of Rajiv Gandhi displaying serene aplomb after the incident, calmly taking part in the rest of the ceremony before taking his leave.

“The media in a frenzy rushed to J.R to query what had happened,” recalls Vidanagama. “He had been in another pavilion at the time, he really couldn’t have known what was happening. He immediately soothed everyone, saying that it was just a mishap and the sailor had suffered heatstroke and fallen down. Rajiv Gandhi standing next to him, remained with a passive face, and said nothing.

The reporter covering the event with me was Amal Jayasinghe. He had been covering the event from the ground as only the photojournalists were up on the six foot high dais. After the melee was over, he called up at me to ask if I had gotten the crucial shot and jumped up and down in joy when I confirmed I had.

The event had begun at 9.00 am and it was now around 10.30. The proceedings had wound down, so we decided to get back to office to develop the pictures, in time for the provincial edition. More importantly, we wanted to see what kind of pictures I had. Even I wasn’t certain at that point.

News had gotten around already that I might have been the one to click that one crucial picture. Fearing that it might be confiscated by the CID, I removed the film roll, shoved it down my right sock and then ran all the way back to Lakehouse with Amal.

Even as we were waiting for the lab technicians to process the prints, calls started coming in from other newspaper editors and international agencies on whether it was true that we had the picture of the assault – and if so whether they could have it too.

Since J. R Jayawardena had told the media that it was just a sailor suffering heat stroke, all the editors were on tenterhooks to see if the photos would prove otherwise.  As soon as the film was processed, we developed it into two sets of 8 x 10 prints – one each for our Sinahala and English daily papers and ran to Manik de Silva’s office with it.

He happened to be on the phone and in the middle of an argument as I walked in. The person at the other end was the then Chairman of Lakehouse,  Ranapala Bodinagoda. He also happened to be J.R Jayawardena’s right hand man. He and my editor were having an argument on whether the incident that morning was an assault or the unfortunate result of a heatstroke.  Bodinagoda was insisting that it was simply a heatstroke and that was how the newspaper should carry it. In the middle of this conversation, I handed over the photos to my editor, who responded, “Well I now have the photos in my hand which proves it was an assault.”

The Chairman immediately came over to the Editor’s office and confiscated the photos, saying “we can’t publish these without J.R Jayawardena’s permission.” He took them away to the premier’s residence in Ward Place, to show him. For a while it looked as if my pictures might not see the light of day and I was very upset. Apart from having captured some unique photos which no-one else had, it was also a story of both national and international interest.

In any case, the BBC and other international agencies reported it on the evening news as an assault and thus it was perceived as useless to go on denying it any longer. Moreover, the movie cameras of not only Rupavahini but also Doordarshan had captured the incident clearly. So, though we had long missed the provincial edition, we were given permission late at night to use the photographs for the city edition. The published pictures brought widespread appreciation both locally as well as internationally.”

Adi Vel procession takes to the streets tomorrow

Hindu devotees will be thronging the thoroughfares of Colombo in colourful processions over the next few days. Chariot processions, coconuts being smashed, people decked in their brightest colours worshipping with camphor and flame, youngsters dancing the Kavadi dance and many other features of the Tamil Hindu community will be displayed on the streets of Colombo, instead of behind their temple walls as is usually the case.

This is one of the most important Hindu festivals hosted in Colombo; the Adi Vel Festival which has a unique history going back to 1874. While many other pilgrims from other parts of the country are on their way to Kataragama even now, Colombo is one of the few places that brings the famed deity and his annual festival to the doorsteps of its own people.

The festival, celebrating the Kataragama deity’s triumph over evil forces and his marriage to the Sri Lankan Veddha girl Valli, has been taking place in an elaborate 14 day festival at Kataragama and is reaching its culmination about now. Pilgrims from all over Sri Lanka, who started out on a pada yatra (pilgrimage on foot) to Kataragama will have reached or are almost at their destination by now. Colombo is the only place from where most of his devotees opt to stay back instead of making the annual pilgrimage. That is because they have their own festival to celebrate him right here.

Called Murugan / Skanda or Kataragama deiyo according to the denomination of his devotees, this particular God has a huge following not only all over Sri Lanka but also in India.  Legend goes that he is the younger warrior son of Shiva and Parvati. One of his most famous battles was with the demon Surapadman and his brothers. The battle raged for several days and Skanda had to use six fortresses in different towns to fully finish the battle. All six of those towns are famous sites of pilgrimage with major temples dedicated to him on each site. The last of these towns in which the battle reportedly finished is Thiruchendur, situated at the southern tip of India.

Just before he was about to be killed Surapadman asked for mercy. It was granted in a roundabout form. He had to turn himself into a peacock and serve the God as his official mode of transportation. That done and this being the tip of India, he decided to fly over to Sri Lanka on his new peacock vehicle for a restful holiday – and landed in Kataragama.

There, he saw the Veddha cheiftain’s daughter tending to a field and proposed marriage. He happened to be married to Deivayanai, the daughter of the King of Heaven, Indra already but that didn’t deter him. He could have of course approached Valli as he was but being a prankster, he first approached her as a hunter and then an old man, annoying her with his repeated proposals.

Since she kept refusing him, he enlisted his elder brother, the elephant headed God Ganesh’s help. Ganesh changed himself into an elephant and came charging at Valli who having no-one else nearby ran to the old man for protection.  He promised to save her if she accepted his proposal and under duress she gave her word. Whereupon he chased the elephant away and turned to face the very young Valli, now extremely upset at her predicament. It changed to joy however, when he revealed himself in his true form. And that is how Valli, a veddha native of Kataragama attained goddess status in Hinduism, being revered even in India. Look for her in his pictures. She is the wife, usually placed on his right, the dark skinned one.

There are different legends by different communities on who the Kataragama Deiyo is and how he came to marry the native Veddha girl. The above is the one predominantly believed by the Hindus of Sri Lanka as well as many parts of South India.

Different Skanda temples celebrate the successful culmination of the war and the union of Skanda and Valli at different times but in Kataragama, it is taking place right now. In this pilgrimage center, the Kataragama Deiyo has a temple of his own while his two wives also have separate temples of their own.

The other noteworthy feature of Kataragama is that here, he is worshipped as a yantra – a small metal plate with a mystic diagram on it, instead of as a statue.

The Kataragama festival currently ongoing is a celebration of the young lovers’ honeymoon period. Every day, for 14 days, the priests of the temple will take the God (in his form as a yantra), in a royal procession to the temple of Sri Valli and leave him there for a couple of hours. On the day before last of the festival, the assumed ending period of the honeymoon, he spends the entire night with her. The last day is the ‘water cutting’ ceremony where the deity is carried to the Menik Ganga to purify himself. The Kapurala (priest) officiating will dip the yantra into the water to signify his bathing and purification.

So widespread is this God’s worship in Sri Lanka, that it is known of as a cult following. He has widespread followers among both Sinhalese Buddhists and Tamil Hindus. Even people of other denominations are known to visit the shrine and as such, Kataragama is considered one of the unifying places of pilgrimage in the country.

For centuries, during this peak festival time, people from all over Sri Lanka – though mostly from the North and East, had been in the habit of walking from their areas to Kataragama. This pada yatra (pilgrimage on foot), is an annual feature for many Tamils.

It isn’t hard to understand why this worship is considered a cult. Tamils in Colombo were devastated when in 1874, a cholera outbreak made the then colonial government prohibit the pada yatra for that year.

Thus was born the Colombo Vel Festival, a minor replica of the Kataragama Festival. Unable to go to their beloved deity in Kataragama, the Colombo devotees made do with the local Murugan temples in their own place. It was so successful that it eventually became an annual feature in Colombo.

At the present time, the deities are brought in a procession from the Sammangodu Sri Kathirvelayutha Swamy Temple in Pettah to the Sri Manickavinayagar temple in Bambalapitiya and separately, from the Kathiresan Kovil in Pettah to the New Kathiresan Kovil in Bambalapitiya.

The Pettah kovils, founded by the Chettiar community in Sri Lanka are over two hundred years old. The Bambalapitiya Kovils are however fairly new. According to Rajendran Chettiar, a trustee of the New Kathiresan Kovil, when the Colombo Vel Festival first started in 1874, the current temple spaces in Bambalapitiya were occupied by ‘maddams’ – places of rest for weary travelers.

“This area was undeveloped shrub land at that time, what was called Wattas. The pilgrims however needed the festivities that they had become used to at Kataragama and so all the rites and rituals done at Kataragama are also done here in the same manner. Part of that was carrying the deity in a procession from one place to another.”

Over time, the Chettiar community (businessmen from Chettinad, India), purchased extensive amounts of lands in Bambalapitiya and built two temples in that area too. For the final water cutting ceremony, the deities are given a dip in the Wellawatte sea to substitute for the Menik Ganga.

Traditionally, devotees in Colombo have become accustomed to two sets of chariots – a wooden one drawn by tractor and a silver one, 110 years old, drawn by bullocks. It happens to be a competing procession by the different managements of the two sets of temples though they are of the same community of Chettiars.

Silver chariot of the Kathiresan Temple

This year though, due to renovation work at the New Kathiresan temple, the silver chariot won’t be out in procession. Devotees will have to be satisfied with the sole procession of the wooden chariot, which will travel the streets of Colombo over the next four days.

Wooden Chariot of the Manickavinayagar Kovil