Asa kid, I looked up to Seneviratne Maama and Asoka Maama.
The story begins with Seneviratne Maama, the elder brother. With fair skin, unusual for a Sri Lankan, and straight nose made him handsome. He came from the Sinhala Buddhist heartland and wore a white kurta and sarong. He was a teacher in a remote school with my uncle, who was also his friend.
My uncle, my mother’s elder brother, was simply called Maama. He lived in the remote town where he worked, but he had a room at our house where he would visit on weekends. Sometimes, he brought his friend, Seneviratne Maama, with him. My parents welcomed Senevirate Maama warmly and treated him like family. I liked him because he was kind, unlike my uncle, who ignored me. Even though he was short and spoke little English, Seneviratne Maama had a friendly and charming personality that stayed with me.
Seneviratne Maama’s mid-country dialect and accent fascinated me as a young boy eager for grown-up conversations. I would sit on a cement block by the well, chatting with him as he bathed. He was easy to talk to and interested in what I had to say, unlike my uncle, who was cold and aloof. It was a great opportunity to learn from an adult from Sri Lanka’s Buddhist-majority heartland.
I was overjoyed when Seneviratne Maama invited us to his wedding in his hometown. It was a generous gesture of appreciation for my parents, who had hosted him many times. The invitation included staying at his family home. The idea of being part of his family celebration was thrilling. My father, always ready for a holiday adventure, arranged for us to take the train to Rambukkana in Sri Lanka, where Seneviratne Maama’s home was.
We reached Seneviratne Maama’s family home, and I gasped at seeing the white brick house surrounded by acres of green land. Coconut and banana trees offered a cool shade from the blazing sun. The house was alive with people and noise. Relatives and neighbours had come in droves, all pitching in to make the wedding successful. I saw people running around, cooking, cleaning, polishing furniture, and putting up tents. At the back of the house, women cooked in the open air, their skills filling the air with delicious smells. It looked like a mini village fair, full of colour and energy. The drawling speech of the people was unfamiliar to me; accustomed to the quick and sharp city talk. But I was curious and excited by the difference and eager to participate in their festive spirit.
Then I met Asoka Maama, Seneviratne Maama’s younger brother. Asoka Maama had a university degree, wore pants, and spoke the Queen’s language. He was not like his big brother at all. They were as different as night and day but cut from the same cloth. Asoka Maama looked up to his elder brother like a father figure. He said that his brother paid for his university studies. Asoka Maama was plump, unlike his elder brother, who was lean.
They gave us their largest room, where we crammed happily — my parents and two siblings. The next day was super fun. We wandered around the nearby area, passing by banana and durian farms. I splashed around with some local kids in a nearby stream. We enjoyed the tasty snacks the ladies made for the upcoming wedding.
For a brief spell, we left behind suburban life and embraced the rural charm of Sri Lanka. My little brother made a friend among the locals and explored the green fields with her. They would disappear for hours, having adventures and fun, while my mother fretted over her missing son.
Seneviratne Maama set off to meet his bride with a red saree in his hands. It was the final step before the wedding, a cherished and respected tradition. While he was some seventy kilometres away in Matale at his bride’s home, his home was buzzing with joy and excitement and full of relatives, friends, well-wishers and neighbours for the big event the next day.
But as the night got darker, everyone got more nervous. Where was Seneviratne Maama, the groom? It was already eight pm, too late to travel in Sri Lanka with limited transport options. Everyone was worried and murmuring. Some were looking out. When the clock hit nine, there was no sign of Seneviratne Maama. Some of his relatives and friends went to the road to look for him. Panic seized the Seneviratne household. His mother cried like a fountain. Despair hung over the household like a black cloud. This was when the mobile phone was still a distant dream, and instant communication was impossible.
That’s when I saw the clever Asoka Maama, the younger brother, spring into action. While everyone else was panicking and crying, he offered hope. He was calm. He assessed the situation and tried to soothe the frightened relatives and family. He laid out the possible scenarios.
Someone had kidnapped his brother.
He had been robbed.
He was on his way, safe and sound.
Asoka Maama had a solution for the first two scenarios, a brilliant solution that I never imagined. The wedding would go as planned, as the Seneviratne family cared about their dignity and honour. He offered to take his brother’s place at the wedding. The bride’s extended family wouldn’t notice. Asoka Maama would sign as his brother. Then, after the wedding, they would look for his elder brother. They would inform the local police. If his elder brother were to be found, there would be no problem. No need to have another wedding at another huge cost.
Luckily, Seneviratne Maama showed up just before midnight. He had missed the last bus from the bride’s home and had walked ten miles.
Everyone was ecstatic, and the wedding event went smoothly the next day.
That was the contrast and the love of two brothers, Seneviratne Maama and his younger brother, Asoka Maama.
A Child of Curiosity How inherent inquisitiveness became a key driver in learning experiences. Denzil Jayasinghe · B orn in the mid-20th century, I am a product of the post-World War II era. My parents, who were teenagers when the war commenced, married in the 1950s. As a representative of the baby boomer generation, I was born under the astrological sign of Capricorn, the tenth sign of the zodiac. My birth took place at Zoysa Nursing Home, a renowned institution in Colombo, Sri Lanka, around 5 in the morning. Sri Lanka, known for its tropical climate, is a beautiful island nation south of India. This climate appealed to me, and I sought similar weather in my twenties, spending them in Dubai, where the winter resembles an Australian summer. Raised by religious parents, I held them in deep affection. However, the church teachings posed a paradox for a young mind, instructing one to love God more than one’s parents. I initially adhered to the Ten Commandments and other societal norms in ...
Demons and Devotion: A Family’s Pilgrimage Denzil Jayasinghe · “Demons and Devotion: A Pilgrimage to Tewatta” is a short story by Denzil Jayasinghe about a family’s pilgrimage to a holy site in Sri Lanka. The story follows Denzil, the eldest son, as he reluctantly accompanies his devout parents on this journey to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Although initially sceptical, Denzil reflects on his childhood faith and his family's hardships. However, the pilgrimage turns unexpectedly when an encounter with a priest who claims a demon possesses Denzil creates tension and leaves him angry. T he air hung heavy with a solemnity that felt out of place for a silver wedding anniversary. Denzil’s father, whose pronouncements held the weight of scripture, declared, “We are going on a special trip to the holy place of Our Lady at Tewatta. This day, showing God’s blessings, will be a private event for our family.” On a recent arrival for a two-week holiday in Sri Lanka...
Shattered Innocence A story of a needle Denzil Jayasinghe · “Shattered Innocence. A Story of a Needle” by Denzil Jayasinghe is a short story told from the perspective of a lad who discovers their father injecting insulin . This discovery shatters his innocence as he grapples with the reality of his father’s diabetes and the fear and uncertainty it brings. The story explores themes of family, responsibility, and the challenges of facing difficult realities. T he pre-dawn light filtered through the window, casting a pale glow over a scene that shattered my world. We were lost in the quiet routine of getting ready — me for the apprenticeship, my siblings for school, and my father for his work. I wandered into my parents’ room, searching for the familiar black comb. What I found wasn’t the comb but a sight that froze me in my tracks. Father, stripped down to his white undies, his usually strong face creased with worry, was doing something… di...
5 min read·May 6
Comments
Post a Comment