Reflections from my Rocking Chair

By Nihal D Amerasekera

My soul delights in the stillness as I rest in the comfort of the chintz cushions and the gracious curves of my rocking chair. As the autumn wind and rain batter my windows I recline in my chair at peace with myself. There is often an urge to return to the dim and distant past. It gives me a soothing warmth to rummage through the archives of my mind to recover my very first childhood memory. My earliest recollections are of Bogawantalawa. It is a small town in a valley in the Central Province surrounded by mountains of tea estates.We were there from 1942-46 where my father was a Government Servant. It was a troubled time. World War II was raging across Europe and the Far-East. Somehow my little town seemed untouched by its cruelty and horrors. As a kid I was bemused to see an occasional convoy of jeeps and trucks carrying military men waving rifles.

We lived in a quaint upstairs house with a small rear garden.  At the front there were many rose bushes that were always in bloom. Our neighbour was a Tamil family. Their little girl was about my age. She came over to play with me. It seems I was more fluent in Tamil than Sinhala and wish I had kept it up. The house backed on to a hill. St Mary’s School on the hill had a large playground where my little friend and I often played. Next to the school was MrCherian, the headmaster’s house. He was a kindly man with jet black skin. He was often clad in a verti. His wife was a skinny lady with a Colgate smile. She was my mother’s closest companion.

In Bogawantalawa the rain was never faraway. I remember the cloudy skies and the rolling mist that covered the surrounding hills. People always wore mufflers and sweaters and carried umbrellas. The raincoat was a ‘must have’ accessory. There were many European planters riding noisy Motor Bikes. The only shop I remember is Maskeliya Stores on the High Street.It had lots of sweets on display. This was also the biggest shop in town where people did their weekly shopping. It gives me such great pleasure to see the shop has survived the ravages of time and is still open to business as shown in the Google Map of the area.

As I remember the evenings were peaceful beyond belief. Very often my mother and Mrs Cherian went out for walks on the gravel road in front of our house. There were times I joined them.The road meanderedthrough a lonely pine forest.I recall the primeval silence except for our chatter. My mother spoke in Tamil to her friend. We never met anyone on that winding road that went upto KehelgamuOya. This is a fast-flowing river with a temper and a simmering rage. There was a deafening noise of a multitude of rapids, water-falls and swirling currents. Therewasa footbridge across the river, a sentinel, which stood calm and serene despite the mayhem down below. One cannot get any closer to nature than this. Despite the years I can still recall the utter loneliness of the place with not a soul in sight.

When so much time has passed it is hard to find the earliest memory.There are no date stamps for the myriad of images that emerge at random. It is impossible to tease them out.There is a single memory that comes to the forefront of my thoughts.I was then about 4 years old and seated by an upstairs window fascinated by a storm that blew across the valley.The thunder and lightening were frightening. Rain fell in bucket loads. I watched in awe as the road was turned into a river.It is such a simple childhood memory of the splendour and the power of nature.

Servants of the Government were moved every 4 years what was euphemistically called transfers. All our possessions were loaded into a lorry and we bade farewell to our friends. As the sunset on our lives in the valley there was a new dawn in Nugegoda. We never returned to Bogawantalawa again.Since I retired, with time on my hands, there are always flashbacks of times past.  Occasionally those early wistful memories stillwakeup bringing joy to my soul.I enjoy the hustle and bustle and the bright city lightsin London.Time and again there are remindersof the peaceful existence in this rural idyll thatdistils the real meaning of life.

I have lived longer in Britain than in Sri Lanka but the memories of home and family and friends seem such a strong pull even after nearly half a century in exile. I have left a part of me in that beautiful island of my dreams.