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The Sri Lankan New Year: family and food.

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“Returning to Port”

That is what my college calls the integration journey back to the US, specifically the campus. 

Time has been flying by in Sri Lanka, as the sun gets a bit more saerayi (spicy, strong, fierce) but soon knocked away by the stormy clouds. I have been away from home for over a calendar year, officially, and have spent most of that time in Asia. I never quite thought about the readjustment to US life until very recently. 

Here in Sri Lanka, we are in a conflicting space. We are the “a bit more than tourists.” Definitely not local, but definitely more involved than the average tourist. We are still seen to be representatives of American culture (if the questioner even believes that I, an Asian-America, am American at all.) The entire continents of Latin America and Canada are blurred in the term America, to be only represented by the United States. How should I think about my return when I feel like the presence of American culture never left? 

But, after a couple more hours of contemplation, I do see the potential hassle of the return. No longer will there be the hustle and bustle of the streets. Walking outside, especially in my home state Texas, is an oddity only done by those crazy enough to endure the saera sun. The word Muslim will no longer be commonly pronounced with the long ‘u’ sound but a short ‘uh.’ Cultural exchanges that I have known as “normal” for most of my life will be questioned. Eating with my hands, despite how much more enjoyable it makes the food, will be seen as “unmannered” and “strange.” Friends and strangers will be eagerly asking me to summarize my year in Asia, often forgetting the heterogeneity of the “exotic” and assuming preexisting stereotypes. Am I then to act as an ambassador of three different countries (Japan, Sri Lanka, and Indonesia) that I am still learning about? How will the locals of the “greatest country in the world” react to my identity as a student, the “bit more than the tourist?” 

In the meanwhile, please enjoy a gorgeous photo of the current tourist mecca, Nuwaraeliya, heart of the hill country and tea plantations. 

-G

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Here is to halfway! Excited for what is left to come!

-Zack 

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A Practical Guide to Sri Pada

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We have returned from the longest trip in ISLE history (10 days!) during which we went to the Northern Province (Jaffna) and the ancient cities of Anuradhapura and Polonnaruwa. 

I have many thoughts on the history and the present of the multicultural conflicts and power dynamics, but this trips highlights must be given to the most hilarious host family (my 5th one this academic year). Thank you to the three children for all of the laughter (read: intense ab exercises and musical talent shows) ningal (formal, plural you) provided and engaged me in. To amma, who cooks so wonderfully and efficiently, I will be back to learn your skills when I have acquired more Tamil. Without the relationship with the family, I would have felt like a complete tourist without connections nor attachments. Yet, I was welcomed into the home and invited to amma’s home village. Once again, human interactions have proven to be just as pleasant cross-linguistic boundaries with the help of nonverbal expressions and body actions (although not being able to communicate in Tamil proved to me how much Sinhala I have learned in three short weeks.) But, now, I have a solid motivation to learn (more Tamil) and to return again. ~Soon~ 

G

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What Can’t Be Done in Flip-Flops?

Since arriving in Sri Lanka, I have been presented with many new things. Including, a new cuisine, a new climate, and a new schedule, just to name a few. Despite some burnt palates, sweaty days, and groggy mornings, I feel as if I have adjusted to these fairly well. However, despite my success in adjusting to these things, I have not adjusted to everything. 

While walking around Perideniya, I pass dogs, who could not care less about me, threewheel drivers, who give me a friendly honk, and many individuals going about the work of their normal day. This includes laborers of various occupations such as, storeowners, gas station attendants, and construction workers. Despite the vast differences in their lines of work, these individuals share something in common: flip-flops. 

I have come to learn in the past two weeks that there really isn’t anything that can’t be done in flip-flops. Building a concrete drainage ditch? Flip-flops. Riding a motorcycle? Flip-flops. Driving a bus? Flip-flops. Lifting weights? Flip-flops. This insistence on doing everything in flip-flops seems foolish and borderline dangerous. Is it worth the comfort or the ease of wear to sacrifice safety? Is this just a show of bravado? Or, am I the one that is wrong? Does the West unnecessarily emphasize the safety of closed toed footwear for dangerous activities? Either way, flip flops have captured the hearts and feet of Sri Lankans, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. 

-Zack 

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Pol Roti (Coconut Roti) is a popular and very simple Sri Lankan recipe!

Mix freshly grated coconut, butter, hot water, and flour. Roti can be eaten plain or with side dishes such as sugar & butter, spicy fried onions, or smother it with your favorite Jam. Any combination is delicious!

Special thanks to my homestay Amma for showing me how to make this fantastic recipe. Enjoy the video! - Jeremy

(& for those of you curious cooks..) 1 cup Flour, 1 cup Grated Coconut, 1/4 cup Butter, Hot water (add as needed) Mix by hand. Roll into cookie dough like consistency & press into 5 inch rounds. Place on stovetop, medium heat. Cook until crispy & slightly browned on either side.

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Thinkin about trees

It’s really difficult to find what the average lifespan of a Bo tree (Ficus religiosa) is, mostly because nobody really knows.  The answers I’ve been able to find have ranged from an understated “over 50 years” to a more poetic but equally unhelpful “perennial.”  The reason for this is that the Bo lifespan can only be guessed at from the earliest descriptions of the tree, both Buddhist and Roman.  The oldest recorded living tree in the world is a Bo tree, Jaya Sri Maha Bodhi, which we visited in Anuradhapura.  This tree is a cutting of the Sri Maha Bodhi in Buddha Gaya, India, which the Buddha is said to have achieved enlightenment under. It is now about 2,266 years old, and its planting by Sanghamitta Thero coincided with the initial push to spread Buddhism in Sri Lanka under the aegis of Emperor Ashoka.  The tree itself is large and visibly old, but looks healthy.  Some branches are too long for their own weight, and are held up by ornamented gold crutches.  One branch is gnarled in a way that looks almost burnt, and this one is said to be the original cutting planted so long ago.  

What really got me about this tree was that it was right there.  At the temple of the tooth, Sri Dalada Maligawa, nobody is ever allowed to see the sacred tooth relic.  There are myriad stories from throughout history about how the relic was destroyed, rematerialized, lost, returned, and hidden.  While these stories add to the sense of awe and mystery around the tooth, my inability to know anything for certain about it led to my skeptical side taking over.  Is there really a tooth in the temple, and is it really the Buddha’s?  I couldn’t help but have doubts.  At Sri Maha Bodhi, this was not the case.  Here I was confronted with an ancient being who has witnessed the rising and falling of empires, countries, religions, and ideas.  It makes sense that the Buddha attained enlightenment under a tree that knows so much; it’s also no wonder that Bo trees were worshipped long before the advent of Buddhism, and by people of other faiths too. So many trees that have seemingly eternal lives or immortal, ever-green leaves are worshipped like the Bo tree is. I think we tend to be fascinated by what will outlive not just us, but anything we can attempt to imagine.  To know that a certain tree, if undisturbed, will likely remain through millennia of incomprehensible changes incites a profound respect for it, and to me even a certain sense of comfort.

My family has been sending me photos of fall leaves turning orange, red, yellow, and brown; it’s making me remember the oncoming winter, and how I’m not experiencing that steady crawl to snow, and silence, and stillness which is so familiar to me.  Looking down at the wrinkled pale-yellow Bo leaf I found on the grounds of Sri Maha Bodhi, I’m thinking that even the pine trees my family brings into our home each winter seem to be standing in for ancient evergreens, symbols of that which is stalwart and unchanging through time.  

Maybe the Christmas tree in my home each winter is the persistence of some primal respect for everything which survives us.  Maybe it’s not.  Maybe the tooth relic defied all odds and survived to the present day.  Maybe it didn’t.  Probably the idea of an ancient respect for all that is forever green and alive, or of the Buddha’s tooth containing supernatural power, is what’s actually important.  But my doubts don’t really matter, because for every one thing I’m skeptical about, there’s always another like Sri Maha Bodhi: completely miraculous, and right there in front of my face.  

-Joey

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The Guessing Game

Just the other day, as I was walking down a main street in the center of Kandy, a shop keeper called out to me, “Hey Japanese!” When I was walking back to my host family’s home that same day, a security guard at an intersection near the home came up to me and asked if I was Korean. And there have been countless times when people call me out as Chinese. My ethnic identity is ambiguous enough that it becomes a game for most folks to see if they can pinpoint who I really am.

It is not enough for me to say that I am from America because to be American is to be white. A further explanation of my background, of my parent’s background, and how I am able to call myself American accompanies the statement, “I am from America.” At times, it can be annoying to elaborate and to justify where I am from. At other times, it just feels routine. Even in the U.S. people incorrectly assume where my ethnic identity lies and I must explain to them that I am multiethnic. So, is the guessing game any different in Sri Lanka than it is in the U.S.?

For me there is no difference, but there is a difference in how people play the game. In Sri Lanka, people will immediately shout out their guess(es) whether I am walking past a store in the market or whether I meet someone new. I don’t take any offense to their vocal guesses because I know that they are just curious about where I come from. In America, the game usually plays out by me mentioning something about my background and the other person exuberating surprise that I am multiethnic. That person would continue by telling me their guess of my ethnic identity. This just makes me question why I have to explain where I come from while others escape the burden.

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We’ve been discussing the topic of displacement a lot during our lectures because post-Civil War Sri Lanka is still dealing with internally displaced Tamils and Muslims who were evicted from their homes during the war. These two groups were relocated into internally displaced persons (IDP) camps and there are some who are still living in the IDP camps today. One of our lecturers, Ms. Esther Surenthiraraj, talked about displacement as an ongoing and an embodied experience rather than just a terminable event. I began to think about embodied displacement in the American context. As an Asian-American, I am continually racialized as foreign in my country, which is evidenced by my hyphenated label. Yet, I cannot call Asia my home, which I have come to realize during the past years when I have traveled to different parts of Asia. In Asia, I am also seen as a foreigner.

With the current racist and xenophobic rhetoric put forth by the national government in the U.S. and with the more recent talk of the elimination of the diversity visa lottery, where is home for those of us labeled with the hyphenated identity? How about for those of us who are second generation and beyond and the so-called “return to the home country” is not viable for us since that is not home? What kind of America are we working towards if we allow the terrorization of ethnic communities and the deportation of immigrants when America was literally built by the (enslaved) labor of people of color?

This semester in Sri Lanka has made me think more about my identity and I know more questions will come up as the semester progresses to an end. 

-DJ

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The Loudness of a Silent Warring Mind

I often pick indecision when debating which path is best. Despite this, both paths mock me for my indecision, leaving me wanting to make a choice but never doing so. The realization of the pattern does nothing to prevent it, which is why I am dealing with it here. The choice between bliss or irritability, for both come with their own troubles. The best way I’ve attempted to describe it was at a Dutch fort in Batticaloa.

“As I sit here staring out at the water, on such a relaxing sunny day, I can’t help but think about the history of this place. How many have died here? We see it for its wonder and beauty and with that the problems of the past wash away. Even visiting as a student, I feel disconnected, still having the privilege of not calling this place my home. Here, my difference is met with many questions and curiosity, and home I have to bring it out. I have to stretch for awareness. There is no psychiatry that hides the scars, or pretends it does not exist. It is bare, raw, and unforgiving. Perhaps the patriarchy of colonial rule is hard to be rid of, but there is no conspiracy to hide it. Here, I am unable to distract myself from the history. Here, in some ways, I am reliving it. Seeing it again and again. These forts, although peaceful now, were meant for terror then. How scars are often forced to heal, yet provide no tools to do so. Is the history worth it? If so, who is it benefiting?”

Analysis of moment perceived by self:

“I, although detached from this island because of nationality, feel connected to its history. That a people, like my own, have been deduced to entertainment. That we can experience anything without acknowledging why we have the privilege of participating in certain activities and events. Of course, this is a bleak observation of being in a new country and neglects the good that is also present. But, too often it feels we gloss over the bad with what is seemingly good. That just because things have changed the scars of the past are erased.”

I could not silence the parts of my mind that desperately wanted conversation and that needed to enjoy the breeze. I did not converse nor did I enjoy the breeze. In fact, I sat in discomfort pondering why, yet remaining indecisive. This place is packed with rich history and not every moment can be documented and discussed, for some things require silent reflection. However, since I’ve been here there’s been much cognitive dissonance. I need that dialogue. I have physically adjusted to the environment, but my mind is far from reach. It constantly craves more, more of everything, but there is only so much space one can fill before it overflows. 

So, I guess, I find it hard to describe my thoughts of this place. That I desperately need the bliss to function, but see only the irritation. The more time that passes, the more the feelings grows stronger. 

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The Truth about Wade

Today we’re here to spread the word about Sri Lanka’s Number 1 Food: wade. There are lots of rumors out there about what wade really is, and today we want to shed some light on the truth because gosh is it dark out. 

Incorrectly known to some as vade, wade is a local variant of that favorite category of food known as deep fried carbs. It’s made with a black lentil paste-batter flavoured with ginger, cumin seeds, curry leaves, chillies, tiny chopped onions, these little green things, and some classic salt and pepper formed into a doughnut-like shape, and then thrown into bubbling oil until it’s a perfect golden brown. A key feature is the delectable crispiness of the outside and the softness of the inside. Must be eaten hot right out of the frier, otherwise it’ll be a disheartening room temperature and nobody likes that. 

The academics will tell you all sorts of fabrications regarding this delicious food. In John Clifford Holt’s unfortunately seminal The Wade Reader: History, Culture, Politics it is said, and I quote, that “wade is often eaten at lunch as an accompaniment to another dish”. This is false. Wade is a main dish in itself and most certainly can and will be masticated at any time of the day that we please, thank you very much professor. 

Rumors, sourced from this text, abound about the origin and authenticity of wade. Holt’s gathered essays is propaganda for his anti-wade agenda aimed at defiling the Real Wade, purporting a complex history of the delicacy with diverse permutations along geographic and both macro and micro cultural lines, spouting that it can be made with many different types of legumes and even potatoes. Dear friends, this rhetoric is shameful and a threat to the Real Wade we all know and love. Listen to me when I tell you that the authentic wade can only be found at its one and only birthplace: Gamba canteen, Arts Faculty. Real Wade has been made in its original way at this site ever since the crunchy meal was invented, way back.¹ In the face of change and and all these imposters it can be easy to lose sight of the truth. We must hold on to what we know is right. We’ve attached some pictures to show you the way.

Real Wade: crispy, golden, scrumptious. Beautiful.

Fake Wade: hard, gross, corn. Revolting.

Please don’t fall pray to deceit, my friends. Come home, to Gamba canteen; come home, to wade.

-David et al

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Food is a big part of Sri Lankan culture. Whether it be eating delicious coconut sambol, fresh curries, kiri bat (milk rice), or our all-time favorite ‘canteen’ food - wade. If you are ever having a long day here, you can be sure that it will be topped off with delicious food! 

I created this short video featuring my Amma showing me how to cook String Hoppers, a signature Sri Lankan speciality typically served with a side of fresh curry and homemade coconut sambol. This is one of my favorite dishes so far.

GoDak Rasay! (Very Delicious) 

-Jeremy Partyka, ISLE Student Fall 2017

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Introductory Sinhala

In the days leading up to my departure for Sri Lanka, my mom bought me a journal, my aunt bought me a journal, my grandma bought me a journal, all expecting pages full of descriptions of my Lankan Life for sharing when I get back home. Our program director, CR de Silva, regularly reminds us that ten percent of our Sri Lankan Studies Seminar course grade depends on a journal that we keep and submit to him on 1/11 (November 1st, for all the Americans out there). In response to these expectations to thoroughly record the happenings of these forty-or-so eventful days that have passed, I have made it my task to take a comprehensive inventory of all audial, visual, gustatory, olfactory, and cutaneous sensations that happen before me on any given day. It’s a full-time job, and unfortunately, all of this journaling has left me with little-to-no room in my schedule for socializing with others, eating, sleeping, and tending to widely-recognized standards of hygiene. Further, my right, writing-hand has grown so much larger and stronger than my left that I have began to receive comments and sideways looks from strangers.

On the bright side, my commitment to The Journal has provided me with comprehensive analytics on all Sinhala words spoken by ISLE students. For those playing along at home, here is a list of the most-frequently used Sinhala words by ISLE students. Hopefully this list will enable you to incorporate such words/phrases into everyday practice, or help you communicate with the ISLE-attending person in your life upon their return home. Here is the list:

aiyo: “Oh no.” Used to express fear, grief, dread, or embarrassment. For close calls, regrettable occurrences, or moments where you’d naturally wince, cringe, widen your eyes and gasp, or put your palm to your forehead.  Can also be interpreted as “yikes.”

At Sigiriya, you have to be silent while climbing, or else the wasps come out. aiyo!

æti: “Enough.” ISLE students find this word incredibly useful while sharing meals with host families whose consumption expectations we often cannot keep up with.

My younger brother, Shane, giving me an entire plate full of jagriy (similar to hardened caramel). I could have (but did not) say æti.

epaa: “I do not want.” At the dinner table, epaa is sometimes interchangeable with æti. There are instances where æti does not do the trick, however. When interacting with zealous salesmen in Kandy city or a younger brother (malli) who wants to drop a wild draw 4 card to your dismay in the card game Uno, you can say epaa.

DJ offers me a wood apple. I’m a picky eater, not a big fan of the wood apple. epaa.

istutiy: “Thank you.” Used in thanking various people for their hospitality, kindness, generosity, stories, and smiles. Said more than anything else, and yet could not be said enough.

We showered our Sinhala professor, Amare (pictured here, twice), along with his family, in istutiys when they had us over for tea and snacks and songs and conversation.

masuran: “Cool,” slang. Usually held out, like “masuraaaan.”

2 ice cream cones? masuraaaan.

David on a motorcycle? goDak (very) masuraaaaaaan.

mokakdə?: “What?” Used frequently to ask simple questions: what is your name, what time is it, what are you doing this weekend. Despite being forty days used to Sri Lanka, we find ourselves encountering new situations daily. For this, we use mokakdə.

Sometimes we have trouble understanding the enigmatic sayings displayed on tuk-tuks. To “STREET BLOM,” we say, mokakdə?

lassanə: “Beautiful.” Can be applied to landscapes, works of art, feelings, people. Gender-neutral.

A particularly beautiful scene in Batticaloa.

pisu: “Crazy.” Carries the connotation of misbehavior. The adjective of the scoundrel.

Rigo, my family’s dog, embodies pisu. One of the ways he does this is when he performs his favorite trick. This involves taking our frisbee, running into the jungle with it, and never returning it.

Honorable Mentions: these words may not be used as frequently as those above, but they form an all-star team of Sinhala words, in their own unique ways.

brahaspatindaa: “Thursday.” Not all that useful, except when talking about Thursdays. Just happens to be the most beautiful word in the language, objectively speaking.

mal kadənəwaa: Literally “pick flowers.” Idiomatically “flirt.” I think it’s a sweet image.

keek, biit, liiks: “Cake, beet, leeks.”

pustəkaaləyaadipətiniyə: “Librarian,” feminine. The longest word we’ve learned. Has not been used a single time outside of the classroom, but has a lot of potential to impress.

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On Corvus macrorhynchos and Kiri Tee

We’ve officially passed the one-month mark—inconceivable, I agree—and a question has been plaguing me this week: what do privileged crows do in their free time?

Bear with me.

We visited a solid waste management site recently—vast spreads of compost-turned-fertilizer, trash heaps, and sorted recycling, though not on the enormous scale that I’m used to picturing in America—and it looked like crow heaven. The birds perched on every fence and rooftop, intermittently diving down to tug on browning banana peels and tweeze tasty morsels out of piles of who-knows-what-other organic matter. No hunting and gathering for these Corvus folks—they really seemed to be taking it easy.

So—what do they do all day? It’s not like they’re filling hour after tiresome hour scrounging and scavenging for each calorie. Do they fly around just for fun? Do they consistently hang out with the same other crows—“Subə udææsənak, Hank, what say you we meet at the northwest compost peak for lunch?—or have some other sort of social organization that I can’t fathom, amongst the moldering eggshells and curry leftovers? Do they know that most crows aren’t provided with consistently replenishing mountains of food for the taking?

These are the questions that keep me up at night, here on the other side of the world.

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I’m sitting at my desk, writing this blog post, and my ammaa (host mother) just brought me the usual morning cup of tea. Kiri tee (milk tea), but like the sugar—scoops upon heaping scoops of it—the milk goes without saying.

Or rather, the profusion of milk and sugar goes without saying if you’re an especially respected guest or family member, or, perhaps, white/non-South-Asian foreigner. At least, that’s what I’ve been told, but I don’t have much of a metric for comparison; it seems as if every time our group is stationary for more than half an hour or so, a tray of tea appears, and so far each cup has been as milk-laden and sweet as the last.

It’s abundantly clear that beyond securing extra sugar in my tea, my being a white foreigner gets me a lot of places here. In a couple relatively small-scale but unambiguous instances, it’s gotten me a clear shot at a deserted bathroom—one reserved for foreigners—while local women stand in line and wait their turn, one door down. And our program assistant, Olivia, has mentioned that we are lucky to feel comfortable taking three-wheeler rides to get around, when many a local woman would never get into a three-wheeler whose driver she did not already know and trust. These may seem like insignificant examples, just affecting daily convenience, but they’re no less noticeable and impactful for that. Those little conveniences really stack up. And of course, there are other, more ostensibly far-reaching elements of that privilege, but those moments are some that come immediately to mind as I sit here with my tea.

I love the kiri tee. I love knowing that I’ll have a cup of it at 6:30 every morning, to sip as I try to remember the differences in Sinhala among ekə and ekkə and eekə. The sugar rush is a lovely start to the day, delivered to my door with the regularity of compost to overstuffed crows. But there are other crows out there, and not all tea is quite so sweetened.

-Katie Morse-Gagne (Bowdoin College '19 / ISLE Fall '17)

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One thing I’ve definitely noticed since coming to Sri Lanka is the way my relationship with transportation has changed. Before coming, I spent my summer in New York City, commuting everyday by subway to and from work. It became second nature for me to walk to the train every morning, wait for one to arrive, transfer to a different train, and wait until my stop. I did all of this without really paying attention to my surroundings, normally by plugging my headphones in and reading a book to tune out the world around me. I viewed transportation simply as a way for me to get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible, and would groan at the slightest inconvenience or delay.

Since coming to Sri Lanka, I’ve started to view transportation as more than simply a way of getting somewhere as fast as possible, and more so as a different way to experience this new place I am living in. For example, I commute to classes by a three wheeler, which allows me to see my surroundings whir by as I go from my house to university or the ISLE center. I no longer wait impatiently for my train to arrive, but rather with excitement for my three wheeler to come so I can enjoy a ride filled with conversation with other ISLE students and the scenery that is slowly starting to become familiar. Transportation in Sri Lanka, whether it be by bus, three wheeler, or even car, has become a social environment that has taught me to be more aware of my surroundings and not tune out the world around me.

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Above are a few of my favorite pictures from this past week. The thing about photography that I enjoy it that is exercises both a metaphorical and literal perspective. Similar to how I choose which bits and pieces of this journey I write to my parents about in emails, each photo I take is inherently including and excluding something simultaneously. As we move through life, and this semester particularly, we will come across choices, of which will be a selecting and leaving out. I hope to gather up as much experience and perspective as I can with my time here but I realize I can only learn and see so much. I will not understand what it is like to be a Sri Lankan women, only a woman in Sri Lanka. I will not fully understand what it is like to Buddhist, but I can listen to a monk tell me stories with his legs tucked under his robe. I will not fully understand the deep rooted conflict between the Tamils and Sinhalese but I can soak up words from books and my professors. I guess what I am trying to say is I hope to form a new, less limited perspective with the knowledge that there will always be something I don’t know: a curiosity I use to point my lens and my heart this semester and afterwards.

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Bad photo of a wonderful ISLE Program New Year breakfast!  Special thanks to all of the staff in Kandy, who feel as close as family now :)  Maya and Violet stood with the students <3