Archives for June, 2005

I became proficient at taking pictures through the windows of whizzing cars. Many of them turned out surprising well.

Hambatota (pronounced HUM-mun-THO-tuh) was the second worst hit town in the country. It lies right along the coast. Travelling to it, we drove along the shore. Before the tsunami, we would not have been able to see the water; there would have been buildings blocking the view. I didn’t know this at the time – only afterwards, when we walked through the rubble, did I see this. But it’s hard to comprehend. It was almost as though I became inured to the destruction – I had no idea what the area had looked like before, and everything I saw seemed to fit in with the image of a country that had been at war for twenty years. So it wasn’t really that strange to me.

And what I saw wasn’t even half of it. Everything short of actual walls and floors had been removed – there were no bodies, no heaps of discarded concrete, no pointless miscellany. Occasionally, we’d see half a boat lying in the middle of a room with only one wall. The boats must have been easy to break. In the interests of floating, they’d been made from a light spongy material – something like cardboard.
What we did see, what had been left behind as a testament to the destruction were bare foundations, staring up at the bright bright sky and bleak, empty houses with walls torn off. It was a very neat madness; surreal, but manageable.

In Hambatota we visited some of the camps. Most of the victims – they’re called refugees in Sri Lanka – continue to live in tents. These tents are emblazoned with the colours, logos, and nationalities of their generous donors.
We also drove out to the New City. Again, I was aware of an acute lack of perspective on my part. While the others could remember the tangled jungle that had stood in place of the razed ground in front of us, I could not imagine anything except what I was seeing – even in spite of the living jungle looming at the clearly demarcated edges of the City. I had to take everything at face value because I had no idea what else to expect. And so the painfully straight rows of identical houses standing on smooth red soil was fact for me, where for others it had a dream-like quality of disbelief.
The New City was far away from the water and the government intended to transfer the victims to these houses. I have no idea how they intend to fit everyone in that neighbourhood. Hambatota was the only place where I saw evidence of the government providing new homes for the victims.

We spoke to some of the survivors. One was a 6-year-old cousin of mine; I have her on video.

I made exactly 7 posts with WordPress, and then left for Sri Lanka.
I’d expected to have access to the Internet there, and there’s no real reason I never logged on, except that I didn’t want to.
So what’s there to say.
Except that the first two weeks were hell, and for the first time in my life, I knew what it was to pray for something. What it was to want only one thing. I came close to achieving something like purity of intention.
And that is as it should be.

We visited some of the worst hit towns. In places, the reconstruction effort proceeds at a crawl. For the most part, victims continue to live in tents. The tents are emblazoned with the colours and logos of sponsoring organisations. “Foreigners” abound; these aren’t tourists.
One camp had a playground.
I saw so much. And at the time did not realise it.

I have never been one for summaries – they seem too complacent, too dismissive of the sudden streaks of tears and colour that infect real life. So I’m not going to write one here, but I do have to make a report and once that’s done I’ll upload it.
And pictures.
(My father broke the camera midway through the trip, when we were standing on a beach in Kalmunai, just behind rubble.)

This is the second night since we got back that I’ve dreamt about the sea.
The first was ridiculous; my father driving us to the water in our blue van, driving us into the water, driving us past the shallow bank straight into the waves. I remember the fear crawling up inside my throat, remember also the undeniable excitement.
Last night it was much more conventional; standing at the window of some highrise, watching the waves tumble toward us, engulfing the city. I woke up reciting Ayahtul Qursi.
It’s ludicrous this. But it makes all the more real.

Places where only the foundations were left. Do you understand – the remnants of a floor staring up at the bright bright sky, no walls, no doors, nothing.

And a new fear of water in everyone’s eyes and words, but also the same age old fascination.