Sri Lanka, You Flirt!- By Kopal

If this were a movie, Sri Lanka would play the part of the put together romantic saviour who helps

the big city girl regain perspective.

I hadn’t really wanted to go, if I’m being perfectly honest. It wasn’t because of anything profound.

Just the fact that life has a way of wearing at your excitement for exciting things in the world. My

fellow travelers, however, have always possessed some unique persuasion skills.

The plane lands in Colombo, and I immediately embark on a drive to Habarana. It wasn’t until my

eyes beheld the green palms lining the streets of Colombo that I felt presence crawling its way back

into me. Green grass, expansive, and umbrellaed by monsoon skies. I’m usually one to fall asleep on

road trips. I couldn’t on this one. Not when the quaint roads, the gentle grass and straw huts put me

at more peace than I had known in a very long time.

A village in Habarana saw me before Sigiriya. My body had certainly protested at the pretext of

getting off the bus, my mind more so. The crisp, cool wind shut me up immediately. It had just

rained. A river flowed quietly along the earth. People walked by, went about their day, barely

registering my fellow travelers and I. I didn’t mind the anonymity.

The people of this village had sluicing architecture preserved for 150 years, still perfectly functional.

Commitment to water conservation inherited through generations. The water nourishes traditions

and customs that the people have carried on with sheer determination. The sound of the water

made me want to dive in it, but I figured a bunch of people panicking to get me out of the river

would really work contrary to the whole quaint, quiet thing. I settled for a boat ride on the river,

though. The spray brushed my face. That shut me up all over again.

Nature is deeply ingrained in the lives of people, banana and coconut orchards reverently

maintained. Urban living detaches you from the basics of humanity. It was humbling to be reminded.

This would be the moment in the film when the big city girl, albeit reluctantly, learns to pause and

reckon with the fact that she won’t see light until she opens her eyes. Like the oddly perceptive

romantic lead gently hands her a truth nugget, that albeit was unwanted, but was met with a

tentative grip and reluctant acceptance anyway.

After a lunch with some delicious Sri Lankan food, we heard of some elephants that were waiting for

us at the Ecopark. It took some effort to find them, but when we did, it was positively joyous. Sri

Lankan elephants move with more whimsy than I do, I could learn something from them. Even the

time it took to find them didn’t bristle me much, the jungle was far too serene for that.

The city of Habarana greeted me with the promise of much needed rest, I was indeed to climb the

Lion’s Rock in Sigiriya the very next day. I have historically been averse to physical exertion on trips

that are sold to me as vacations. The Cinnamon Village Resort must mix bewitched potions along

with that delicious tamarind into those welcome drinks. I had two servings too, admittedly.

Morning brought anticipation. I thought I had heard someone say the climb was around 12,000

steps. My first reaction was disbelief, the second was self – censorship. I was trying this new thing

where I try to see the silver lining on 12,000 steps. That would be a lot of silver, except that the step

count is limited to a breezy 1200. Makes for less silver to search for.

The lion’s rock in Sigiriya is said to be monolith, carved out of a single piece of rock, commissioned

by King Kasyapa I of the Anuradhapura Kingdom in the 5 th Century A.D. as a natural fortified capital.

It was chosen as defense against the usurping forces of his brother. He ensured that the rock had

freshwater facilities. For that the King built several structurally enduring water gardens meant to

harvest rainwater. The king had a taste for the fine arts, and commissioned frescoes, some of which

survive till today. Portraits of women going about their day persevere, for pilgrims and tourists alike,

to behold.

Nothing much really compares to what awaits curious eyes atop the rock. The ruins of the

administrative and residential structures of the royal palace remain. A throne sat overlooking the

expansive beyond. Rain drizzled over the vast green that cloaked the ground. With a view like that,

anybody could feel like a king. Canopies of leaves and tree-draped hills stretched for as far as one

could see. No wonder the Lion’s Rock is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It was high up enough to see

clouds at eye level, mist suspended in the air. The wind would cut right through you and you’d call

yourself grateful. I wished this movie had a background score running, nothing like some mellow

synths to anchor the moment. I guess the silver is found.

It is rare to find culture, history and nature reinforcing each other as cause and effect. Sri Lanka is

effortless at braiding the three. It has offered consistent and unwavering devotion to Buddhist

beliefs and practices. The site of Polonnaruwa carries ruins of Buddhist monasteries and idols, as

sanctioned by successive kings to commemorate victories, and extend patronage to Buddhism as a

state religion. One discovers varying interpretations of Buddha, of enlightenment, of Buddha’s life

and history. The city of Dambulla is yet another expression of devotion through art and sculpture.

The Dambulla Cave Temple Complex is exceptional in the longevity of its architecture. Sculptures are

carved into caves that stand to this day. The cave walls are adorned with paintings of playful colour,

periodically restored. So much talk of enlightenment, I’ve realized you find it only at the feet of the

huge mountain of everything you don’t know.

I must admit, the idea of Bentota, our next destination, dug up an old, buried excitement that I

thought was beyond resurrection.

Build you a scene again? The romantic saviour, beyond the restraints of rigid etiquette, throws a

rock the big city girl’s window. She walks up to the window, startled and irritated, asks him why he’s

here. He tells her that the ocean glimmers like diamonds under the moonlight. He knows she’d want

to see it. She resents the implication that some stranger she just met – or anyone she’s ever known,

really – would to presume to know her better than her own self. She’s tired and just wants to go to

bed. She also knows that it’s only between her and God, how she’d wished and imagined and

fantasised to behold the ocean. To float with the waves and never come out. No resentment was

stronger than what the proposition promised. What was an exhausted annoyance on her face,

metamorphosized into tentative curiosity. Letting life in, or whatever they call it.

If it weren’t for this pesky thing they call an itinerary, I don’t believe I would’ve left. I would’ve

stayed at the Bentota beach for an eternity. More realistically, until someone at the NH Bentota

Ceysands Resort kicked me out.

I would wade out into the ocean, feel the sun warm on my skin, find myself smiling at nothing. My

feet have never felt better than when they were dug into the soft, warm sand. I never knew the

ocean could make me this happy, the feeling was ancient and slightly unnerving. I could stare at the

waves forever. Never need to eat again, never need to sleep again. I could watch the ocean gleam

and ripple and shimmer until it took me with it. I really didn’t want to leave, but the romantic

saviour made promises that I didn’t quite believe yet, but I would, in due time. He drags me by my

hand, I let my feet follow in his direction. There’s trust that exists now, reluctant, but unignorable

and hard – won.

The Dutch made their way into Ceylon in the 17 th Century, built themselves a fort that stands today

as the coastal city of Galle. It is now reclaimed by the Sri Lankans as a major tourist and cultural hub.

It was the chicest place I’d ever seen. Cozy restaurants littered the streets. Little souvenir shops that

called to me like sirens to a sailor. Sure, nothing could ever replace the ocean, but this little town

could certainly revive the excitement.

Well, now I’m happy again, walking with the romantic saviour’s hand in mine. Reluctance that might

have once existed in my body had all but evaporated. It felt like a date, the least performative one I

might’ve ever been on. The most fun one I might’ve ever been on. I shopped so much and it wasn’t

enough. I ate so much and still made a list of what I still had left to try. String lights shone above me

everywhere I went, as if they were part of the sky. Conversation and music and laughter spilled into

my ears from everywhere. The big city girl realizes with deference to the romantic saviour and

disdain for herself when she realizes he might’ve truly made her happy. “Really?” she asks herself

dryly, “is this all that it takes?”

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Why must the clock strike 12 just as the ball starts to get good? My one night at Galle turns to

morning quicker than I would have liked. I could have lived at The Merchant if they’d let me. Why

must I have to leave just as I might have discovered something precious?

Clarity takes the shape of patience to wait for a next time, and a quiet determination to ensure that

there is a next time. The romantic saviour gently turns the big city girl’s head to look at the

endlessness of possibility, to absorb the abundance of happiness. He sends her back with

perspective she hadn’t accessed herself yet, to know that peace exists everywhere, all at once. All

she must do is recognize it, and let it come to her when it does.

Sri Lanka, I might have discovered a place for you in my heart no one else could take. I’ll always

come back, if you’ll have me.