92. MY TALLEST TALES EVER

They say evidence given by a child is unconditionally accepted in the court of law as truth. I don’t know whether this is just an urban legend but it better had to be as I know how much we lied as kids. Or are they really so naïve not to have heard all the tall tales we used to say as kids.  Sometimes these tall tales were blown so out of proportion that one had to be either so dumb to believe it or had to have a very good reason not to laugh at them. I remember a few of the tallest tales I ever said to other kids.

The Toy Plane that really flew:

Sometimes the tall tales had this nasty habit of adding more and more features each time it was told. Yeah, like that grampa’s fish, alright. My classmate Rathwatte boy, whose wealthy aristocratic background made most of his outrageous lies more convincing, used to boast often about his toy plane.

Another boy who seemed to have been to Rathwatte residence confirmed this. At the earliest versions, it was a battery operated plane that ran on the ground. And each time the story was retold, it upgraded to something that actually took off and flew by remote control. This fascinated me who was a huge fan of airplanes. When I told my mother about this she said anything was possible with them as they were aristocratic and stinking rich Rathwaththes. I had dreams of me owning a toy plane that really flew. 

By the end of the year, more features were added to the story as well as the plane and finally the Rathwatte boy actually could get into the small cockpit and fly the above his massive estate. This made me really long for one.  At least to see this.  I had daily dreams of me flying over the school yard over the mat slide and seesaw and some nights I was just flying without the plane. That was in the second grade.

My Biker Dad:

In fourth grade I used to sit in the same row with this arrogant and conceited boy Dhammika, who was constantly fighting with me over the same girl who was sitting between us. We were locked in a never ending battle to impress the girl and win her heart. 

Dhammika’s family had a newspaper agency or lottery agency which I can’t exactly remember. I think it is a lottery agency as I had this mental picture of his parents driving around in their much boasted dark green Volkswagen with the lottery stick with fluttering lotteries sticking out of the car window. I’m not sure if I have really seen it or this was my imagination. Most probably the latter. And they were regular lotteries whose first price was a car and the scratch type instant ones were yet to be invented.

What really made me resent Dhammika most was the slogan he always muttered when he broke his pencil into two or bit a half of the eraser and spat it towards the dust bin or tore pages off his exercise book crushed them into balls and threw them, saying “අපි නාස්ති කාරයෝ. අපිට සල්ලි ප්‍රශ්ණයක් නෑ." (We can waste because money is not a problem for us) just to impress the girl, which failed most of the time because she was more down to earth type.

Dhammika was a very grumpy and whiny one. The girl seemed just to tolerate him. It’s so funny that I can’t remember her name exactly. It was something to do with moon. Maybe Sandhamali or something like that.
 

At the beginning I was sitting in the middle which led to constant fist fights and alarmed the teacher who strategically made the girl sit in the middle. Even the girl was trying to play the peacemaker, sitting in the middle, keeping us away from each other’s reach.  This didn’t stop us who used to lean over her head or reach behind her back and punch or kick each other and pull each other’s hair. We sometimes stabbed each other with pencils leaving pencil lead under the skin. And an occasional punch landed on the peacemaker girl, too.

He often boasted about his dad’s driving skills and the Volkswagen’s incredible performance.

“My dad pushes that car to the limits."

“Hey, that old rust bucket?”

This had a duel effect of making the girl giggle and Dhammika instantly pissed. I was feeling euphoric.

“Not like that stupid old wreck of a motorbike of your dads.”

“Okay, how fast?”

“60,” he said. (Remember this is MPH not kmPH)

“Sixty? You call sixty a speed? Maybe it is a big speed for a Volkswagen. My dad usually does 70 on our bike. I sit on the tank. So I watch the meter."

“Your BSA can’t do 70.”

“You don’t know jackshit. It can do even faster. 70 is the cruising speed. Dad says engine misses when going any slower.”

“Okay how fast can it go?” Dhammika wanted to know.

“The speedometer's marked up to 80. They are made for speed.” I instantly regretted this. I should have added at least 20MPH more.

“Haha, Our car speedometer has up to 90.”

There I sure had stepped on shit. In no time I was on damage control mode recovering fast.
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“But now it can do 100 easily.”

“Liar, Liar How?”

“Talk about a shit you know. There is a peg in the speedometer at 80. Last week Dad and I went for a ride and he twisted it all the way. Then that peg broke because the needle was pressing against it and now it can go all the way to 100.”

No matter how outrageous this farfetched claim sounded, not only the girl whose technical know-how was no match for the us two gear-heads, but also Dhammika-the know-all seemed to believe this bullshit. I was a bit surprised at this unexpected hit.

That evening when we went to town I saw a green Volkswagen which I thought must be Dhammika’s. I peeped into see Dhammika but only a man with a cigarette stuck between his lips was behind the wheel. Later as my dad was filling the tank at the filling station we saw this car go sailing towards Oluganthota. The VW's beautiful engine beat with a whistle made me wince with envy.

The next day in class we had our horns locked as usual. 

“We saw your car yesterday, dad and I.”

“We saw your too, You were trying your best to overtake a bullock cart.”

This truly pissed me off but I did my best not to show it.  And the girl giggled to make the matters worse. I held my ground.

“What? Only your dad was there in that rickety old wreck when we saw that. No one else was there.”

“Okay, dad dropped me and mom at the shop and went to Oluganthota.”

“Heh heh, that’s where that thing happened.”

“What thing?” Dhammika eyes hardened.

“We were also going to Oluganthota.  Then your dad came along and overtook us. Sort of challenging way.”

This brought huge grin to Dhammika’s face. Even the girl narrowed her eyes and was staring at me with a puzzled expression.

“That’s what I told you, your BSA is no match for our Beetle.”

“You just wait. Then this pissed my dad off. He usually won’t take shit like that from anyone. “Hang on, son,” he said, He shifted up rapidly and sped after your car. Your dad was stepping on it too. We caught up with him easily. We were overtaking your car but in the middle of that he paused by your dad’s window. I looked at the speedometer. We were doing 70 on that twisty road. Another bend was coming up. Coolly my dad took out a cigarette while still riding the bike with the right hand and tapped the cigarette on Volkswagen's roof three times. Then he stuck the cigarette in the mouth a he tapped on the car window with the knuckle and asked your dad “Got a light, mate?” And your dad was so stunned. He gave his cigarette to my dad. My dad lit his one and handed the cigarette back over to your dad and said, “Thanks mate. Bye,” and twisted the handle grip. And Wham! Off we went. We were doing 90. I looked over my dad’s shoulder and watched your Volkswagen falling behind fast. After two bends there was no sign of him. When we bought the newspaper a Oluganthota and coming back we met your father still coming that way.”

Dhammika’s eyes popped out of his face and his mouth hung open. He watched me incredulously. Even the girl seemed suitably impressed.

“You are lying! He didn’t say anything like that happened yesterday. You are a big fat liar.”

“You think he would? Ever? To anyone?”

Dhammika knew when he was beaten and decided to shut up. And I can’t remember him saying anything about this incident or contradict it then or even later. I still can’t imagine why.

Read in Sinhala @ මගේ ඩෙනිම/MyBlue Jeans as

ටොම්පච, කෙබර, බේගල් සහ පම්පෝරි.

91. The Kindhearted One!

 

He loves animals, specially dogs.  And the dogs seem to unconditionally love him back.  Wherever he goes strange dogs around used to come looking for him. Unfortunately, in the country he had to spend his childhood in, displayed a sign at the airport which listed dogs as contraband in addition to fire arms, dart guns, idols of worship alcohol and pork products. So he had an aquarium instead.

90. Lovelocked Padlocks - the Love Token Hardware - The Russia We Saw - 1

 





Foot deep snow crunch under our feet as we walk down the wooded path to the river.  The merciless cold bite through the thick winter boots and two layers of thermal socks. The crisp chilly morning air hurts the lungs. When I turn my faces up towards the watery sun which is shining relatively brighter today, I feel the ghost of a warmth in the -7  ͦC Russian winter. We childishly shake the branches of the evergreens laden with snow creating mini s snowfalls.

62. HELLO STRANGER!

Every time I pass this downhill slope at Bollagala, on Biyagama Road and I pass Bollagala town, there is this familiar landmark that has etched deep into my mind, now, for several decades.

We get memories etched into out minds for different reasons.

They maybe for both good and bad.

I have never met the person who lived in this house 

who I always wanted to meet and ask

why he did, what he did.

But I never made it.

Well, I know you want to know what he did.

So this is it.

I went to school and then went to work every morning, passing this place, for so many years. And, what I saw every morning filled me with wonder. The occupant of this house had a large lettered calendar exhibited on his balcony wall for the benefit of the people who passed by. It had Day, Date and Month, which the occupant duly changed daily without fail and without a single error for all those years.

Remember, these weren't the days of the digital displays. This was a set of letters and numbers printed on maybe cardboard or plastic sheets. These had to be changed manually every morning.

I have checked this out early mornings when I passed this place around 4.30 am, and and on stormy days when  weather discouraged anyone in his right mind to come out on a balcony to change the digits of a calendar. 

No matter what, the calendar continued to update without a hitch, everyday, for years on end. 

And this was done for the sole benefit of the passerby. 

As I said I was very curious about this person who had this  unwavering dedication, and this unselfish motive to carry on without any publicity over the years. I wanted to know what made him do that and why was he different than the rest of  lazy dudes, selfish dudes, publicity hunter dudes who would do anything to attain their selfish motives.

Well, I didn't see this calendar recently. You would notice in this picture we took the other day, also that the wall is empty. I didn't want to stop and make inquiries as I didn't want look suspicious. Does anyone know what happened to him?

And if you are still there, I want you to know that your act of kindness wasn't unnoticed. Maybe this wouldn't look much to some people. But, to me this is good enough. I was one of the people who were benefited by your calendar. And I want to thank you my unseen friend for what you did. 

I only hope I'm not too late.

Read this article in Sinhala as  "ඔබ කවුරුද, නුදු‍ටු සබඳ?" @ මගේ ඩෙනිම/My Blue Jeans

61.Yala Adventure - Stuck In An Elephant Crossing!

I swung the wheel to the left to avoid the water-logged potholes on the causeway. Suddenly, without warning, the offside of the van tilted wildly and sank into the earth with a tremendous crash and a thud and explosion. Everyone screamed. When I stepped out, I realized the driver's side was unnaturally higher than normal and the front wheel was jutting out of the wheel bay at an unusual angle.

I walked around the front to have a look. Deepa was already out and examining the damage. The left hand side of the bumper was resting on the concrete. The concrete under the offside wheel had caved in. The vehicle was balanced on the lower suspension arm resting on the concrete. As the wheel crashed through the concrete, the good Bridgestone tire I had on that wheel had burst leaving a gaping hole through which I could push my hand through, which also explained the explosion we heard.

And the crash of the concrete giving way, and the thud as the suspension arm hitting the concrete with the total weight of the fully loaded van plus the forward momentum, and the explosion of the tire all accounted for the blood curdling noise. The van was stuck in the concrete.

And what I saw next brought me out in a cold sweat. I was standing on a steaming heap of elephant dung.

 We were stuck in the middle of an elephant crossing!  And, this was the time they cross!

This incident took place two years back. We were visiting ‘Yala National Wildlife Park’ in the southeastern tip of the island. Actually, we were on one of our ‘road trips’, where we plot plans on the go.  After visiting Kataragama, we had decided to visit Yala as well.

Those who have been to Yala National Park must be aware that only certain classes of vehicles with enough ground clearance are permitted in the Park. Actually the 4X4 are the ideal vehicles for that terrain.  They form convoys of about ten vehicles, which are accompanied by a guide. As it was the end of December, the trails were damaged by the rain. There were huge pools of muddy water in the middles of the rutted tracks.

And we were very much disappointed as that day there weren’t enough wild animals to be seen as we expected.

And, if you have had the experience you would know that driving in the middle of convoy presents certain problems. If you drive alone, over a track with an uneven surface full of potholes, you wouldn’t speed over them. You would use caution when crossing the muddy pools with unknown depths.  However, here the leading 4X4 light vehicle with the Guide onboard would speed over the broken track forcing the normal street vehicles like ours, which are fully loaded also to follow suit at the same speed.

So, the vehicles suffer a lot beating hurtling over the broken trails. My fiber engine guard underneath the engine dislodged on one side knocking on an edge of a pothole and was being dragged along all the way. I couldn’t warn the guide as honking, stopping or getting out of vehicle is not allowed.  The engine guard had taken quite a beating as I later discovered.

It was after dusk when we returned to the ticketing office where I crept under the vehicle and removed the guard and put it into the back of the vehicle. By the time, we set on our 12 kilometer journey over the rutted track through the wild to the main road, all the other vehicles had left and we were alone. And on this road, there are several causeways.

I swung the wheel to the left to avoid the water-logged potholes on the causeway. Suddenly, without warning, the offside of the van tilted wildly and sank into the earth with a tremendous crash and a thud and explosion. Everyone screamed. When I stepped out, I realized the driver's side was unnaturally higher than normal and the front wheel was jutting out of the wheel bay at an unusual angle.

I walked around the front to have a look. Deepa was already out and examining the damage. The left hand side of the bumper was resting on the concrete. The concrete under the offside wheel had caved in. The vehicle was balanced on the lower suspension arm resting on the concrete. As the wheel crashed through the concrete, the good Bridgestone tire I had on that wheel had burst leaving a gaping hole through which I could push my hand through, which also explained the explosion we heard.

And the crash of the concrete giving way, and the thud as the suspension arm hitting the concrete with the total weight of the fully loaded van plus the forward momentum, and the explosion of the tire all accounted for the blood curdling noise. The van was stuck in the concrete.

And what I saw next brought me out in a cold sweat. I was standing on a steaming heap of elephant dung.

We are stuck in the middle of an elephant crossing!  And, this is the time they cross!

First, I tried to calm everyone down although I didn’t feel so myself.  That day in addition to my family, there were others like my sister’s family, my mother, a cousin, and a friend of our son’s.  So, we had enough manpower and woman power as well!

Though I was asking everyone not to panic, my subconscious mind was screaming that we were stuck in an elephant crossing at the wrong time.

And let me explain, for the benefit of those who know about Sri Lankan causeways and wondering how on Earth could a causeway collapse.  And also for those who don’t know what a Sri Lankan causeway is in the first place.

Causeway is a bridge where a waterway and a highway cross each other at the same level.  In other words, the water flows across the road in the middle of the causeway.  The road descends  downwards a slanting concrete ramp to meet the water flowing across over a flat bed of concrete and then ascends along another upward slanting concrete ramp on the opposite end. The water flows over only when the water level is high in flash floods. In normal dry weather, the water is tunneled across under the flatbed.

So the chances of a flatbed collapsing is very remote as it rests firmly on the earth and not suspended like a normal bridge.

In this special case, the zero maintenance of the ancient concrete, together with decades of constant exposure to the elements had led to structural failure. Not only were there potholes on the flatbed, the flash floods had also carved under the concrete slab leaving it suspended unsupported at certain places. Unfortunately, my front offside wheel was passing over one such weak point when the concrete gave way resulting in a cave in, trapping it there, making us stranded in the middle of an elephant crossing!

After I got everybody to calm down, we thought of the operation at hand.

“First we’ve got to take the vehicle out of the pothole freeing the wheel,” I said.  “It’s dangerous to push it forward. So let’s push it backwards.”

So while some of us heaved the van out of the hole others it  pushed backwards. 

It didn’t work. It was stuck.

Then we changed the strategy.

“Let’s use the engine power, “I said. “Few of you please get into the back of the van to weigh it down for better friction as the back is up.”

“And as I’m all muscle like Schwarzenegger, I’ll try to lift the wheel off the hole, who’s going to reverse the van?” I joked.

Chunji, my brother-in-law said, “You get to the driver’s seat, We’ll do the lifting.”

So Deepa, being the muscle man’s wife, gritted her teeth and went to lift the van. While a few were pushing back slightly, others were heaving the front left side of the van by the edge of the wheel bay, window and door frames and all the surfaces possible to take a grip on. While they rocked and heaved, I shifted into reverse and let in the clutch while stepping smoothly on the accelerator.

At the beginning, nothing happened.

But, in a few seconds, the wheel climbed out of the hole. I was careful to hit brakes as soon as I was safely out of the trap as our guys were all over the vehicle body in various postures. After they moved out of the way, I backed the van up over to a safer place.

One major step was over. So far, so good.

Next is to change the wheel. I had recently bought this sporty alloy rim set and to my dismay, the rim of damaged wheel had also suffered some scratches.

I shone the flashlight on the undercarriage and checked for visible damages. The brake hoses and pipes were intact and no visible brake fluid leaks. The sump was not leaking oil. But  the lower suspension arm was dented. The wheel alignment must be shot. So once the wheel is changed we’ll be on the move.

Chunji and I brought the spare wheel, wheel brace and the jack and lever to the front.

Just then, a tractor came rattling along out of the dark and pulled up parallel to us. The driver climbed off.  We were jubilant about this god sent Good Samaritan but this feeling didn’t last long as the dude seemed to be drunk like a skunk and could barely keep standing.

“What’sh the problem shir?” he asked.

I kicked the heap of elephant dung out of the way so that I could kneel down to place the jack underneath and explained the situation to him.

The dude punctuated my speech with his swearing.

“You need any help, shir?”

“Yeah, you could have been a lot of help if you arrived a bit earlier.  We practically lifted the van put of that hole.” I said while Chunji was placing chocks under the wheels. I loosened the wheel nuts.

“Can you shine your headlights on this job?”

“Ooopsh, these lights are not bright enough,” he said.

“Okay. No problem.”

“Holy shit, This is the @$%$#& elephant crossing. You’d better change that fast and get the hell outta here”

“Dude, that’s what I’m trying to do,” I said looking for a suitable spot to place the jack.

“Shtep back shir. I can do it.”

“Don’t worry. I can do it.”

“Shtep back shir. I’m @#$%&^ mechanic.”

So I ‘shtepped back’ because he was supposed to be a mechanic. All I wanted was to get the job done, by hook or crook. However, I was watchful because the dude was stupid drunk. And of course he was trying to jack up the engine sump.

“Dude, don’t jack up the sump.  It’ll be damaged. Jack up the axel.”

“There ishn’t enough room under the akshel.

“But don’t jack up the sump. That jack must be lowered. Give it to me”

“I am a @#$%&^ mechanic. Don’t try t o teach me about @#$&^% jacksh!”

He pulled the jack out, clung on to the side of the van for support and climbed on to the jack to weigh it down. The jack didn’t budge. A stream of abuse poured out of his mouth.

“But when you twist this valve and get on to it, it won’t do the trick because this is not a hydraulic jack. It is a mechanical one. You have to twist the handle the opposite way to lower it.”

“Are you bonkers shir?  When you looshen this thingy and get on to this, thish,  it’sh gotta come down. I know my jacksh.”

We persuaded the dude to step back and chunji and I got the wheel changed.

He was becoming more of a hindrance than help by the minute. If it wasn’t for him, we would have been through by this time.

“Where are you from shir? Colombo?”

To dudes from these remote parts anywhere in the Western Province was Colombo. Moreover, it was a convenient answer, too.

I put damaged wheel in the back of the van.

“Cool. Where about in Colombo?”

“Anderson Flats, Narahenpita.”

“Fantabuloush! I’m planning to come to Colombo neksht week.  Gimme your phone number, shir.”

Come on. Gimme a break!

“456123,” I invent these kind of numbers for situations like this for its easily repeatable pattern.

“What the hell kind of number ish that? That’sh a fake number ishn’t it?”

“Why the hell should I do that, when you stopped by and volunteered to help us?”

“Okay, Ish thish Mobitel or Dialog?”

I returned the jack, wheel brace and levers to the back of the van and slammed the door shut.

“That’s Tigo 072.”

The dude pulled his cell phone out and was fumbling with the keys to add it to contacts.

“072… where the@#$% ish thish goddamn zero?”

I was now getting pissed off at this dude for his swearing and cursing, irrespective of the ladies and children. And the kids were broadening their horizons on their vocabulary and language usage.

“Hang on a second,” I said to my sister.  “Would you please write this number on a piece of paper for him?”

“Okay tell me,” she said with the pencil poised.

“Why? Write my number will you? 072 456 123.”

She wrote it for him.

“Shir, gimme a ring to check if this is genuine.”

“What the hell is this? Dude, my phone battery is dead.”

“Okay, as shoon as I arrive in Colombo, I’m gonna call you, okay.”

“Sure dude, I’ll be there to pick you up.”

I walked around the van to check if we were leaving anything behind.

I sighed with relief when the engine started.

“Shir, then I’m gonna call you. And when you were shtranded in our territory I helped you, and when I come to your territory, you return the favor, okay?” he screamed.

“Of course, why ever not?  Consider it’s done. Thanks very much dude. Then Bye,”

I shifted into first and let in the clutch. The van started climbing the concrete ramp.

“Oh, my god. The wild elephant would’ve been better.  He was a real pain in the lower regions.”

“That’s what. And the way he was cur…” Chunji’s voice was drowned because everybody started scolding that dude at the same time. Only my mother who was hard of hearing when she is not wearing the hearing aid, and she lacked the technical knowhow to understand what damage the dude was really trying to do said, 

“There are still good Samaritans like that, who would go out of their way to help the needed.”

I realized the van was pulling to s side as soon as we were on the level road.

I later realized it was just because I had mismatching alloy and the normal wheel at the front, though I wanted to mount the spare wheel to the alloy rim, all the tire workshops were closed for the night.

Actually what I should have done was to have exchanged the spare wheel to one of the rear alloy wheels and have matching wheels at the front.  I didn’t have the right mentality to think this up partly because of that wild elephant threat and partly because that dude was driving me nuts.

Finally, we reached home in the small hours of the morning. And I love that vehicle for not letting us down, no matter what.

And this heron must be it!

And what my mother said later, “Tch, even though you underwent all that trouble and spent so much to go to Yala and see the animals, all I saw was a common heron”

This immediately became a hit with my son.

The tire a few hours before the incident

This post is simulblogged in Sinhala @: මගේ ඩෙනිම and මට හිතෙන හැටි