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.
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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
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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
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