17 Castle Lane, Bambalapitiya, Colombo 4, Sri Lanka

That was my address between 1959 (I think) and December 1961.  I was five years old in 1959.  This morning, after almost sixty-five years, I walked past this address.  As expected, what I saw was completely different from what it was then.  As I passed the block of land, which was 17 Castle Lane, Bambalapitiya, I also walked down my memory lane.  Most of the memories of life at this address revolved around my dad.  My memories, not necessarily in chronological order, follow.

I recall it being a vast plot, with a majestic building as the main domicile, named The Rook.  I guess that the name of the lane, Castle Lane, is named after this house.  Very likely, a British Administrator had lived here.  The facade had arches, painted white.  Its portico could provide shade to at least two cars.  However, I don't remember seeing any cars there.  I don't remember any residents in the main house.  If there were any, they were very private.  Behind the main house, there was an out-house, which was probably a garage at one time.  It was remodelled into a small house, which my parents rented.  It was where our childhood, mine, my sister's, and my two brothers' started.  

                                                        17 Castle Lane, Bambalapitiya, today

When I was five, one evening when it was dark already, my father taught me how to read time from a table clock.  He explained that a day is divided into 24 hours, with a clock displaying 12 hours at a time. Each hour is further divided into sixty minutes.  He explained that the small hand represents an hour, and the big hand represents minutes.  To tell the time, look at the number the small hand has passed to know the hour, and then find the number where the long hand is, and multiply that by five to know the minutes.  After a few trials, and with a few hits and misses, he threw a challenge.  He will keep moving the clock's hands to different positions, and I need to tell the time correctly.  If I get ten correctly in a row, he will buy me an ice cream.  And, I did it.  He took his bicycle, put me on the cycle bar, went to Alerics, which was about a kilometer away, and bought me ice cream in a paper cup with a wooden spoon, for ten cents!

When my mother and the rest were away in Jaffna, my father would get up in the morning, prepare breakfast and lunch, and pack for both of us.  While cooking, he will also supervise me as I do my homework.   I had five sets of white shorts and shirts, which I wore to school, although a uniform was not required.  My father will wash them during the weekends, dry and iron them for me to wear during the week.  One pair per day.  We both left home together till we reached Galle Road.  We will visit the temple to pray, then he will buy me a snack for lunch before I head to school, and he will go to his office.

The Manicka Vinayagar Temple, Bambalapitiya.

Later, I started walking to school on my own, but I was afraid to cross Galle Road.  A police man, on duty daily, will help me cross the road.  He will hold my hand, and walk me across, and I started calling him uncle.  I think he liked it.    

During those days, the only entertainment was going to the movies.  When my mother and the rest were away in Jaffna, I recall my father and I going to the Plaza theater for a movie.  He bought himself a packet of cigarettes – Three Roses.  I insisted that I, too, should have a pack – he bought me a pack of candies that resemble cigarettes.  Their tips were in red.  I was happy.

It was in late 1950s or in early 1960s, escalators were installed for the first time at the CEYLINCO house.  At that time, it was the tallest building in Colombo.  My dad took me there, so that I could go up and down the escalator!

On another occasion, my parents trained me to sing a movie song at a Children’s program presented by the Radio Ceylon.  The song was about how parents appreciated children and never felt them as burdens.  One of my uncles, who knew the presenter, arranged for me to participate and took me to the recording.  All was well until I was in the soundproof booth with the presenter.  I got scared to be with a stranger and started crying uncontrollably.  There was no recording, and my uncle had to bring me home.

I also remember the day we as a family went to see Charlton Heston's Ben-Hur at the Liberty Theater.  My dad bought balcony tickets, because my mother was with us.

Liberty Cinema, Colpetty

I recall my younger sister was much braver than I.  When we went for walks along the coast, we had to cross a narrow pedestrians bridge.  About 10 m below was where a drain met the ocean   I had to hold my parents' hands as we crossed, but she does not have to.  She will swing her arms and danced her way across the bridge.  She died in 1971, when she was thirteen. 

It was also the house where my parents had twin girls in September 1961, one of them died as a three-month-old baby in December 1961.  It was then that the family moved to Jaffna, where I began my schooling at Jaffna Hindu College in January 1962.  I continued my education at Jaffna Hindu College until I went to the University, although my parents and the rest of my siblings moved back to Colombo briefly.  All settled as a family back in Jaffna in 1967 for good.

I got help all the way

I had to travel from Pune to Mumbai by train recently.  My train was to depart at 6:45 pm, but I reached the train station at 4:30 pm.  The station was PACKED.  Passengers were spilling to about 50 m away from the station.  I managed to find my way through the crowd and reached the first platform.  Again, there was standing room only.  I noticed signs for AC Rooms and AC Dormitory two levels above the platform, and I found my way there. 

At the reception, I was told that all rooms are occupied, but I can have a bed in a dormitory.   I wanted to see it before I pay for it, and I was taken in.  It was a spacious hall with about twenty bunk beds.  Each had a storage box.  I decided to stay there for the two hours.  I paid 5 USD for a bunk bed for three hours.  The attendant brought washed sheets and pillow cases, and showed me where the bathroom was.  Thinking of public restrooms in developing countries, I was not keen on using them.

 Pune Train Station Dormitory with Bunk Beds

There were four male passengers, all engrossed in their devices.  I removed my shoes and lay down to rest.  After an hour or so, I had to relive my blader.  To my surprise, the toilets were clean, and if I wanted, I could have a shower.

I returned to my bunk, and by 6:I5 I got ready and went to the platform.  There was a LONG train, but the train number displayed on the screen was different from my train's.  I thought, once this train leaves, my train would come.  However, by 6:30, the number changed to my train's, but the destination, was not Panvel, was not on display.  Then I realised that mine is one of the stops on its 30-hour journey.

                                        A sign posted at Pune Station - Note the sign for Cancer

Now I need to find my seat, which means I need to locate my compartment.  The compartment number was not clear on my ticket.  The ticket was an A4 sheet document in which my seat number was buried.  I looked for an officer, but, despite 1000s of people, there were none.  Most people couldn't understand why I was asking for the correct compartment in English.  Then, a person pointed me to a compartment, and I looked for my seat. 

There was a family, seated, which included a young girl.  I asked her if she spoke English, and she nodded affirmatively.  Then she showed me where to look for my seat number on my ticket.  The seat number was a string of alphabets and numerals, separated by forward slashes.  She told me that I was in compartment B3, and I need to go to compartment B1.  Good enough, I rushed towards B1, and felt that someone was following me closely.  It was the young girl who wanted to ensure that I found my seat.  Together, we found the seat.  I thanked her, and she left.

Seated in front of me was a middle-aged man who reminded me of Tamil movie actor MS Baskar.  We started conversing briefly.  He asked where I was from, and I said I am from Sri Lanka.  He inquired about Sri Lanka's debt crisis and whether China had captured markets in the country.  The conversation was pleasant.  He owned a factory that produced a component for Bajaja Scooters.

Then I wanted to recharge my phone, which I desperately needed to find an Uber from Panvel station to the hotel.  The international adopter I had would not stay in place, as the train traveled.  He took his charger and offered it to me.  I wanted to recharge my second phone, as I had the Indian SIM on one to hotspot the phone, which had the UBER app.  He offered his powerpack.  The EXPRESS train took 2.5 hours to travel 120 km.  India is far, far away from China in this regard.  The train reached Panvel, and the passenger in front of me (passenfer-1) told the passenger (Passeenger-2) next to him, who was also getting off at Panvel, about me, and my lack of Marati language skills. 

At the Panvel station, I thanked passenger-1 and got down with passenger-2.  Passenger-2 did not speak much English.  We walked silently to the road, negotiating our way through crowds.  I ordered UBER.  Passenger-2 stayed with me until the Uber arrived.  He located it among hundreds of cars, auto rickshaws, and pedestrians, and explained to the driver where I had to go.  I thanked him, and he went on his way, trying to reach his detsination, after losing 15 minutes, helping me about.

I was helped all the way on this journey.  There are too many good people around, willing to help without any return.  They keep the world liveable.