54. Tongue Twister Family.

We’ve inherited so much from our imperialistic invaders, the Portuguese, the Dutch and the British. Some of us aren’t even aware that kamisa (shirt), sapaththu (shoes), paan (bread) isthoappuva (verandah), aren’t even Sinhalese words. They’ve run so deep and are comfortably localized and naturalized.

I’m sure you are so much familiar with Silvas,  Pereras , Fernandos and Fonsekas.

But ever heard of Padidilians? 

Well, I once knew a whole family of them. I met Umesh Padidilian for the first time at the Pre Service Teacher Training at the Teachers’ College at Peradheniya in  Kandy.  Umesh is a handsome dude who reminded one of Ranjan Madugalle, the cricketer.

Oh what a time it was!! 

After the pre service, to the immense relief of both of us, both Umesh and I were appointed to the same area for the compulsory difficult area service. Our schools were in the city and within a few minutes’ walk from each other.

This compulsory difficult area service for all government employees is generally regarded as ‘going to hell alive’. And everyone was dreaming about coming back home as soon as possible from those God forsaken places. We were no exceptions. And today, though it may seem strange, I feel so much nostalgic about those years.

Okay, back to the Padidilians.  

The first impression you get about the Padidilians is their talkativeness. They have a way of talking themselves out of any situation. They were rich in vocabulary and knew how to use it to the best effect. I was never bored of listening to their spicy tales with that unique Padidilian accent in eloquent English or Sinhala. Even the way their mouths worked was something to gawk at.  They had the talent of narrating even the most boring story in the most appealing way possible. 

To get to Ampara, where we were appointed, you have to pass Kandy, then those famous 18 hairpin bends, Mahiyangana and Padhiyathalava. And more than normal CTB buses, there were those small minivans like Isuzu Elf Route Vans, Toyota Hiace and Nissan Caravans. 

And there were military check points on the way!

One such day, at a check point either at Mahaoya, or Padhiyathalava, I can’t remember which, they were stopped for inspection. If you aren’t familiar with the routine. First, you are stopped at the barrier with a stop sign. Then the driver switches off the engine and waits. The conductor reports to the temporary office with documents. The passengers take their bags and get off to form a line with IDs in hand to be scrutinized , patted down, questioned and then walk through the barrier under the vigilant eyes of soldiers with T56 automatic rifles. Once cleared the passengers flock on the other side waiting for the vehicle which would be searched and released before crossing the barrier. 

Once the vehicle arrives, the passengers retrieve their original seats with mixed success and wait for the others who are still going through the inspection process to arrive.

That day, there was unusual delay for the van to resume the journey. When the passengers peeked through the dusty rear window, all they saw was one passenger being grilled by the soldiers who were now gathered around. The other passengers were growing furious as the temperature and the humidity inside the jam packed small van was rising. After a lengthy delay of sweating and cursing in the sweltering heat, the detained passenger arrived red faced and furious at the uniforms. 

Then, to make the matters worse, passengers started grilling him.

“Why did it take so long, sir?”

“Oh, that was because my name was a bit unfamiliar. They were suspicious.”

“Why? Aren’t you Sinhalese?” Passengers asked with growing suspicion.

“I am Sinhala alright, dude!” This was said a bit harshly.

“Then, what’s wrong?” One dude asked.

“Ok, ok, What is your name sir?” A bit more sensible passenger asked.

“Umesh Padidilian”

Everybody gawked with jaws dropping.

“Paddy..what?” There was a murmer while everyone was trying to pronounce the unpronounceable.

“Padidilian,” Umesh said with his patience wearing thin.

“What the hell kind of a name is that sir?”

“Dude, My great great-great-grandfather was Spanish!” Umesh explained.

“What the f***** Hell, sir,” one passenger yelled, “Why the hell don’t you have a pronounceable name like the rest of us without wasting everyone’s time?”

By the time he told us this story at dinner, he was back in his normal jovial mood.

****************************************************************************************************
Click here for part 2 of the Series, "Veggie Remedy For The Guilty Feeling"

If you want to read the original Sinhala version of this post 

පැඩිඩිලියන්ලා, click here.

****************************************************************************************************