Sha! What a beauty?!

A few months ago we went to Sri Lanka for our summer holidays. It was the same ol Sri Lanka with its non existent traffic rules, tall coconut trees, hungry crows and statues of the very peaceful Buddha. Family members still stare at you, cousins still expect stories about how you paint the town red in your hot pants because you live abroad (an expectation that could not be farther away from reality!) and aunties will give you their opinion on what you look like, even though they haven't been asked for it. Their judgements will focus mainly on three categories:

Height: It does not matter what your height is. They will just have to comment on it. Nothing too complex. The comment will be a basic "she's tall, ah?" or "she's pretty short, no?". You do not necessarily have to be TALL to be labelled as tall. You just have to be tall according to Sri Lankan standards. For girls, an average height of 5 ft 2 inches would easily be considered as tall. Also, if you're too tall (close to 6 ft) it may be seen as a slightly worrying issue for your parents (where will they find someone tall enough to marry her, ah?)

Weight: Slightly more complicated. I guess the scale goes like this: skinny - thin - slim/healthy - fat - overweight. Being 'slim'/healthy is preferred, but not clearly defined. What is perceived as slim/healthy could be chubby, curvy or just neither thin nor fat! It is also absolutely mandatory that your current weight be compared to your weight when you were last seen by your aunt (e.g. "You've lost a lot (of weight) ah?" or "Oh, you've put on (weight) no?").

Complexion: Now this is the racist bugger - complexion. Females are expected to be fair skinned. They are called white even though they are not necessarily what is commonly known as white (think snow white). Instead they could be the colour of tea with milk (when the tea is not too strong, and you can still taste the milk - not the kind I prefer) and be called white. If their skin is fairer than 'white' (this can be anything between a slight tan and snow white), they will be refereed to as 'white, white!' (yes, with the exclamation mark). In most cases, the complexion of the person will be spoken of in terms of how 'fair' they are, instead of the actual skin tone. For example, a dark skinned girl will most probably be described as "not fair at all" instead of simply "dark skinned". For men, it is acceptable to be any skin shade, but again, the fairer, the more they are considered as attractive.

In many cases, the height and even the weight may be overlooked, but the complexion is at a higher point. If it's not clear already, let me spell it out: in our culture - fair is beautiful. Therefore the popularity of skin whiting products among both women and men (but most commonly women). 

Height, weight and complexion of skin become even more important factors (in addition to other relevant points such as age, education, occupation, wealth, reputation, family background, neighbors, great-grandfather's occupation, size of house, size of family, length of hair, size of toes, etc) when it comes to judging ones eligibility for marriage. If you are Sri Lankan, your eligibility for marriage is probably being judged from the time your first tooth emerges but things get serious by the time you start walking without support.

People of Sri Lanka - you are people of Sri Lanka!! I can appreciate that every culture has their own perception of what is beautiful, but we are who we are. Why would you want to see being fair skinned as the ultimate beauty factor when you come from an island in Asia who primarily have darker skin tones?

Having said that, why look at skin tones at all? Whether it is trying to judge a person to be beautiful or a suitable marriage partner for your son/daughter, is the exterior all that counts? How about what's inside?

That charming personality, charismatic smile, kind heart, ability to adapt to your family.

True beauty is more than what meets the eye. Have you ever had that moment when someone tells you about an act of goodness done by someone else; someone you have never met and have no idea what they look like and yet you feel their beauty? You feel it in the niceness of their character and the care in what they have done. Push yourselves past the superficiality. There is more to a person than the common social cultural perception of what makes people beautiful.

And I swear I'm not saying all of this because I am somewhat short, chubby, a darker shade of milk with tea and have still not met any suitors. Aunties (and secretly uncles) - we don't want your un-asked-for comments on how we look (unless you have nice and decent things to say - that boost to one's self esteem and ego is always welcome!). Talk to us and find out more about who we are rather than what shampoo or face wash we use.

Please excuse the excessive swearing and points irrelevant to this post but do watch, its quiet entertaining:

And this has pretty much nothing to do with what I wrote about today, but its a response to the previous video and is just hilarious (I thought so at least):

HarryPereira and JehanR are individual Lankan YouTube-ers who had made the above videos. I do not own or am in any way related to any of the videos. I am just copy/pasting their links. I also clearly do not know how to write disclaimers.

You are a beauty!

 

From Him we have come, and to Him we return

It was a Thursday morning. I need not say more. Any working/studying person in the Middle East will know and still not be able to explain the joys of being face-to-face with the weekend (which will no doubt pass by too quickly and we will be back on Sunday complaining that there aren’t enough weekends in a week!). Everybody who walked in, walked in with a smile.

And then we got the news – my supervisor’s father died. She’s trying to get a flight out of here to the U.S. to take care of the final things (funeral arrangements, his house and things, etc.). Apparently they were never close, but this sudden event has definitely shaken her up.

I lost my father almost a year ago (28^th September 2011, 28^th Shawaal). I was very close to him.

It amazed me how in spite of the depth of the relationship or the age of the surviving person (my coordinator is almost twice my age) – a loss is loss. A death is a death. A person gone is a person gone. It seems logical, but when you are in the grieving stage, you feel like you are the only person in the entire world going through this and nobody anywhere in whatever situation can feel the pain you are going through.

What I realized along the way is that time doesn’t actually heal any wounds. Instead, you learn to deal with those wounds – to live with them, to embrace them and to look beyond them. It’s been a year already, but I can still hear my father’s voice. I can feel his happiness and I am afraid to disappoint him. The truth is, my father is living – not in the same world as I, but instead he is in the REAL world. One day when all of our journeys end on this earth, I believe that we shall be rewarded for our deeds and we will be together, as a family once again. I look forward to that day. I actually do. Even if it means having to face one of my fears – death. I saw my father move forward so gracefully, and I hope that when my time comes, I will be able to embrace it and move towards the end of my test.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not living a pointless, life-less life and waiting for my death to come to me. All I mean is that, when it does come (and it will) I want to be able to accept it and be prepared.

Many asked me what we did for his 1^st death anniversary. If we were living in Sri Lanka, we would have had a massive feast and invite the entire family, extended family and non-family over. There would have been recitations followed by some gossiping and an occasional complaint or two about how the food was not up to standards. It would become less about remembering the person lost, and more about the get-together – sort of a celebration that’s not being celebrated. Since we are here in the U.A.E. and do not have many family members with us, we just got together, recited together and spent time remembering him. Together. We were together at that moment. There wasn’t much crying or any depressions. We laughed at the funny memories he left behind and looked forward to achieving the dreams he had for his children. His children. We were the center of his existence.

The truth is we did nothing special for his first year. He isn’t remembered once a year. He is remembered every moment; every second. He is a part of us, just as much as we were a part of him. His departure has left an empty space in our lives and he can NEVER be replaced – not by a husband or children or grandchildren. I intend on giving them all my love, even though none of them exist yet, but they can never take the high place of a father; of my father.

My coordinator is back to her desk now. She seemed alright, yet not alright. A feeling I am familiar with yet cannot completely understand. As the days pass by and people stop asking about her sudden trip and her father, she seems to be getting better. Other issues at work take over and as far as the 9 hours I spend with her, 5 days a week are concerned, she’s okay. She has started to laugh whole heartedly again and throws a few sarcastic (yet non-offensive) jokes around occasionally.

Time won’t heal her wounds. Instead she will learn to deal with those wounds – to live with them, to embrace them and to look beyond them.

Don’t live your present life selfishly and save yourself from a guilt and regret laden future. Prioritize your family and do not take your parents for granted (you may think you don’t, but think again). 

Spread smiles and try to help those around you. No matter how much you feel like you deserve that last tuna cutlet or egg appa, look around and see if someone else deserves it more! What you really leave behind are the loving memories and acts of goodness that people will remember you by.  

From God we have come, and to Him we return. 

I love you Deda! <3

A little souvenir from Pettah

It is amazing how I manage to meet friends who are visiting from outside the U.A.E, but do not seem to find the time to meet friends who are living in the U.A.E! I guess this is because, in my mind, I can meet friends who live in neighboring cities any time I wish, but I only get one chance to see friends who are here for a short period of time before they fill out their departure forms at the airport and take the next flight to another country in this beautiful world!

 

This weekend though, I decided nothing is going to stop me. I broke all barriers and stood against the procrastinating part of my being and sent out an email to friends proposing a potential meet up in Dubai (it’s always a potential plan – subject to change without prior notice due to either aunts and uncles deciding to visit suddenly or parents deciding at the last minute that letting a young unmarried girl go out will bring shame to the honor of our generations – past, present and future. Most of the time there won’t be an explanation though. A no could turn into a yes or a yes turn into a no and there is nothing you being the non-parent can do about it) and one of them was able to make it! We met at Deira City Center and then decided we want to try Granny’s Waffles (had the crepe with white chocolate sauce and pieces of fresh strawberries (the perfect kind – not too sweet, not too sour), topped off with a few drizzles of strawberry sauce – it was dreamily balanced and I highly recommend it) at Dubai Mall. We spent the next 5 hours amazed at how spontaneous we were with that plan and not being able to believe that we have actually finally really met up! Needless to say we were not even close to finishing all the things we wanted to discuss and plan and gossip about but we were happy souls with stars and rainbows and unicorns and all other pretty things sparkling from our eyes.

And the end of our lovely little reunion, I gifted her a little souvenir I picked up from Sri Lanka – a chubby little wooden elephant complete with tusks (not ivory) and all. I had got it from Pettah in Colombo. Pettah, as funny as it sounds, is the heart of bazaars in the capital city. Most of the locals still call it Main Street (or rather, maaiyn ishtreet) – a name apparently given to the area during the time of the British reign. It is located close to another area called Fort (another name given by the British I assume. It is known for being a commercial area. Although, I have never actually seen a fort in Fort!) which is where it gets the name Pettah from. Pettah is derived from the Sinhalese words Pita Kotuwa which means ‘outside the fort’. 

 

This area is filled with stores of every imaginable kind and truly tests both your bargaining and driving skills. What appears to be a two lane road will be filled with carts filled sky high with bundles of things pulled by men, trucks, vans, cars (4 wheel drives, little buggies and everything in between), autos (little 3 wheeled cross breed vehicle between bikes and cars), bicycles, motorbikes (that were built to carry two adults, but manage to carry two adults, 4 children, their school bags and this week’s grocery shopping), people (lots of people), dogs, cats and even crows! If you are able to drive through Pettah (highly not recommended) without damaging your vehicle, someone else’s vehicle or hurting/killing a person or animal – you should receive a gold coin! Also, the vendors are highly talented at separating those who are Sri Lankan, are Sri Lankan but don’t live in Sri Lanka, and non Sri Lankans. They then adjust the prices of what their selling accordingly.  You will be called ‘sister’, ‘madam’ and even ‘hello’ all in one sentence and asked to buy ‘just one, no’. It’s best to take a street smart local with you to reduce chances of being ripped off (I definitely was!).

Pictures do not even begin to capture the heat, sweat, hustle and bustle of Pettah! You will find yourself going in and out of different stores, stopping at the few air-conditioned ones to enjoy some cool air while pretending to be interested in the overly decorated yet very attractive sarees. Your shopping break will be a random stop at a stall to drink king coconut juice out of the actual coconut itself using a straw that would be highly contaminated by pollution but you convince yourself that wiping it with a tissue has cleaned it off all impurities. I don’t know if it is the natural awesomeness of the coconut juice or if indeed the impure straw does add some unknown magical flavor (I prefer to think it’s the former), but it is the most refreshing (and healthy) drink ever!

I enjoyed walking down Main Street, being introduced to shops where my grandfather, father and uncles used to do business or knew people who owned shops. It was an exciting challenge to make way for every other human and non-human while stopping at stalls and stores to sometimes buy and mostly practice my bargain skills. Pettah is definitely worth experiencing and if you are a good bargainer (and a Sri Lankan living in Sri Lanka), you can get great value for money!

I hope my friend liked her chubby little wooden elephant complete with tusks (not ivory) and all – it was bought from a place that is the heart of bazaars in Colombo, and probably the whole island of Sri Lanka.

http://www.asiaexplorers.com/srilanka/pettah.htm

My Fly

Turns out the normal route I take from the bus stop to my office had undergone some rather drastic constructive surgery over the weekend, because of which I had to take a detour and walk fast enough to reach the office before 8, but look like I'm not really in a hurry to the average passer-by (don't ask me why I care...). Knowing that I was short of time (and breath at this point), the air decides to de-oxyginate so that I am enacting the scene from Toy Story (1) where Woody knocks off Buzz's helmet, and Buzz is left there gasping for air. Just as my lungs get used to the reduced levels of O2, I turn around the corner and am greeted by a mini sand storm, that seemed to have formed just for me. As I brave my way through it (like Ethan Hunt in MI4) and inch towards the office, I realize that I'm not alone. I felt followed. In the beginning it was to my left, and then to my right. Attempting to figure out where that annoying fly was made me look like I was trying to do a Michael Jackson dance move in the middle of the street (and it's not a pretty sight, mainly because nobody can dance like MJ - he's a legend (and also, I'm not very well coordinated))!

I stop spinning around, try and ignore the fly, rush to the office and make sure I close the entrance doors behind me. I switch my computer on and settle in for the next 9 hours at work when I hear a "zzzzz..." IT WAS BACK! How did it follow me? I have no idea! Suddenly, this one little fly was everywhere at the same time: on the rim of my tea cup, keyboard, telephone, papers, calendar, scarf, nose, table...EVERYWHERE! Rubbing its hands (or legs) together, it plotted of different ways to annoy me.

I tried all the sane ways of getting rid of it: shooing it away, huffing puffing and blowing at it, karate chop actions - the whole shebang. Nothing worked.
I tried ignoring it and continue to type away but I couldn't! It had captivated my attention 100%! Does that mean I'm easily distracted? Phhtt...NO!

In the end, I resorted to the most reasonable way of ending this dispute: communication. I spoke to the little fella (while nobody was looking at me of course). And believe me - it worked! Well, sort of. Fly now occupies the right corner of my table and I get to keep my space and peace. Fly does like to remind me of its presence every now and then so does zoom past my face and cause me to instinctively slap my nose, but for the most of it - we've made peace. Now if Fly and I could work things out by just getting it all out and talking about it, why would it not work with two (or more) human beings? TALK! You never know what good might come out of it.

Wait...is this the same fly that sat on my roast paan in Sri Lanka 2 years ago??? Why you FLY!!!