Written By: Keera Ratnam
Manvaasanai is a new feature by Keera Ratnam that tells stories of back home. Keera is an avid artist and writer. Keera Ratnam was the recipient of the Top Talents 2013 Visual Arts Award.
March 26 2012
Mother nature was not doing me a favor, the weather was sticky and humid. The change from 14 degrees to 38 degrees was too drastic for me to handle. I felt sweat drip down my temple making a trail that lead to the bottom of my ear. My eyes red, face swollen and limbs aching, all from the uncomfortable 10 hour transit at New Delhi Airport and lack of sleep since the day of my departure from Canada. I stood with all my backpack holding on to my father’s hand luggage. He was in deep sleep and didn’t even realize that we reached our final destination. I tapped him, “Appa…Appa…we’re here,” I said. He opened his eyes and looked at me. His eyes were red and his face was also swollen. He held on to my arm and tried standing up. His back was hurting and couldn’t stand properly. “Ennum konja thooram than ..Appa…elumpungo“. I told him we only had to walk a bit more. He smiled and took his luggage from me.
My father was a darker gentleman. He was in his mid 60’s. He had difficulty walking on his own due to his spinal injury. There was a long line up, the only way in which we were told to assemble to depart the plane. As my father and I reached the exit, a air hostess from Jet airways wished us a good trip and helped my father down the stairs. As I came down the stairs I looked around and saw nothing but trees and cement. The air was extremely humid, but had no scent and no breeze. I felt like I was an egg frying in pan and at that moment only one thing came to mind was I just wanted to shower my self with ice cold water, this was the only way to freshen myself up. As we waited by the plane a streetcar pulled up to retrieve passengers, we got on. The streetcar lead us into the Sri-Lankan airport. It was definitely not what I had expected. It was small, but very clean.
As my father and waited in line to show our visas and passports, my father asked me if I remembered this airport. I was young then my father said. He said, “I visited this airport twice, once when I was 18 months old and when I was 3 1/2 years old, when I migrated to Canada”. He remembers the day that he left my mother and I behind to migrate to Canada, and how we waved to him farewell in this very airport. Things changed over time he said. Yes, he is right, things did change but I was just too young to remember.
As I glanced around I felt like as if I was at a shopping mall in Canada, but with very low air-conditioning. After clearing thing at the customs office, I headed down the escalator to retrieve my luggage. Stacking all of our luggage on one trolley, I told my father to follow me. As we walked to wards the exit an officer stopped my father asking to see his Sri-Lankan passport. I walked towards the officer giving him my fathers passport and told him that we don’t have Sri-Lankan passports. ” Oh you only have Canadian passports?” he asked. I nodded my head. ” You are only Canadian citizens?” he asked. “Yes”, I replied. He nodded and wished us the best of luck on our trip. As we walked across to passenger pick up I noticed that, those who had Sri-Lankan passports were asked to open up their luggage for inspection. I was amazed with the power of my Canadian passport and was happy that my belongings weren’t examined.
At the passenger pick up my cousin and aunt waited for our arrival. My cousin noticed my father and waved his hand. I quickly pushed my trolley towards them and waited for my father to join. My cousin and aunt looked at me with happiness in their eyes. “It’s been 18 years my dear, we missed you so much” she said as she gave me a warm hug and a kiss on my forehead. My cousin whom I call Anna, meaning big brother took my luggage out side. Out side the air-conditioned Airport it was 10 times the heat.
Wiping my sweat off my forehead, I took off my cardigan. Within 15 minutes our van pulled up in front of us. I sat in, removing my shoes and letting my feet breathe. Next stop, Vavuniya said my cousin with a smile.” Aaru manithiyalam edukum Vavuniya poha,” my aunt said. She was explaining to my father that it takes 6 hours to travel from Colombo to Vavuniya. I looked out side the window. I saw palm trees, coconut trees and colourful tropical flowers. It was a country filled with lots of vegetation. After a long six hours in the van, my cousin finally said that we have arrived at my aunt’s house. It was late at night, 10:15 pm to be exact. It was dark, but I could still see the silhouettes of the tree and houses. There were lanterns and small lights that helped view things in the dark.
I stepped out of the van, holding my shoes in my hand and my backpack on my shoulder. I placed both feet on the ground, feeling the soft soil with my toes. It felt nice and moist. The air smelled fresh and sweet. It smelled like fresh soil, something that I could recognize but I wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but I knew I liked it.”How do you like it here so far?, asked my father.” “Its nice Appa I feel like Im at home, the air is sweet I can even smell the soil,” I said. ” Ithu thaan pillai manvaasanai” he told me. The smell of soil is what my father said, but it was something more than that. It was indeed the smell of the soil mixed with the sweetness of the palm trees and the warm air. But aside from the nature, it was symbolic, it held more value. It was the smell of home, a scent that I recognized because I was finally home after 18 years. This was something that Canada didn’t have and something money couldn’t buy, it was the smell of belonging. I felt it in the wind, saw it in the sky, touched it with my feet as I squished the mud and taste it in the air. I was definitely home.
It is then that I realized that there is so much more that I have to learn, and understand. There is a lot to see and feel. I closed my eyes tight and took a breath. This is not a trip to reunite with my family, but where I will rebirth as I unravel my identity as to where I came from, who I am, and the history that my ancestors have carried. This is just the beginning.
Tags: Speak Out, Tamil History/Culture