Sabbatical Diaries*
* The author thanks herself for this fine specimen of human intellect...and two anonymous referees.
Disclaimer: The following posts are not funded. The views expressed do not reflect those of any of the organizations the author is affiliated with. Some posts are prone to laughs, tears, or both. Serious readers would be better served by shifting their eyeballs to the author's equally serious work.
Abstract
The inter-link between cognitive development and writing has been well established. Since writing is a multi-faceted endeavor, experimenting with non-peer reviewed outlets is often under-estimated, understudied, or some combination therein. The current experiment is an attempt to fill this gap. I aim to write aimlessly and observe how that affects more 'aimful' and peer-reviewed endeavors, or at least my vocabulary. What ensues below is an amalgamation of creativity, boredom, and need to get back to my roots. During my formative years, I used to write profusely. As a student of humanities and languages, creative writing was highly encouraged and required. At the time, economics - my true passion - had been on the sidelines. Upon majoring in econ and higher educational pursuits thereafter, the creative writing was inevitably relegated to the back burner; the one that doesn't work. Naturally, being a good writer helped getting my more serious work published. Despite the tangible success, I have become aware of the paucity of inspiration and articulation that often stems from possessing an unparalleled command of the language. Thinking like an economist is a life-long endeavor. The scarcity of economists who are both articulate and creative is exacerbated by the ever increasing length between idea generation and publication. Hence, the following posts shall be my outlet to document observations, inclinations, and serendipitous moments as I spend my year of sabbatical roaming the planet. Better understanding the frame of mind behind the mid-career crisis (I mean self-reflection) would help create policy geared toward more fruitful and restful sabbaticals for the future generations. Or not.
Image credit: Dhanu Thamarapani
[1] October 25, 2022 [Burnsville, Minnesota, USA] - Toothpaste
I'm told that there are three reasons to be an academic: June, July, August. In my opinion, there's just one: sabbatical. The magical time to begin new ideas, track down important people, breathe, publish the current revise & resubmits, get a haircut, self-invite to give talks at places of important people so that they'd take notice, or not, breathe, have a baby, write a grant, serve in an important selection committee, breathe, travel, meditate, collect data, do experiments, seek therapy - I mean self-reflect - and such. I had plans too. And I wrote them down beautifully... in the sabbatical proposal: I will travel to Sri Lanka, convince authorities to give me data on a silver platter, clean and analyze the aforementioned data, write a draft, present at conferences, submit to a journal with important people who are too busy to notice the mustard stains on their cloths. Well, I wrote it better (better enough to be granted sabbatical on first try) but that's the gist of it.
Then May 9th happened.
People of Sri Lanka managed a coup overthrowing the government as a result of deepening economic inequality, insecurity, and hopelessness the country had been facing for quite some time. People persevered until the culprits of corruption fled the country, swam in the president's pool, and while at it, they conveniently managed to throw water on my perfectly curated sabbatical plans. Revolutions should really take notice of other people's (those who don't even stay in the country) well-crafted sabbatical plans. We'd all be living in a much better world had revolutions been less inconvenient.
In any case, just like my people, I persevered. I changed lanes, plans, planes, and landed in Minnesota on a one-way flight. The first three months of my sabbatical were punctuated by writing serious stuff, driving to impromptu destinations, crying, holding meetings with great people to do more serious stuff, spending time with friends closer than family, cooking, and consulting to the World Bank (not necessarily in that order). Finally I found an opening to go to Sri Lanka, in one piece. As preparations for the trip, I shopped to pack bags so that I would be self-sufficient upon landing in Colombo. Laptop - check, monitor - check, keyboard and mouse - check, notebooks - check, clothes and shoes - check, you get the idea. Due to the country's bankruptcy, Sri Lanka has stopped imports and even the slightest consumer need has become a logistical nightmare. Of all the times I have traveled 'home', including the one after mother's stage IV cancer diagnosis in 2017, this time was the hardest. I had to think long and hard about anything and everything that I might need, that will save a trip (if Petrol is available) to the store. Band-aid - check, nail polish remover - check, body lotion - check, lip balm - check, toothpaste - check...toothpaste!?
Then it dawned on me. The home I'm going to is not the country I know or remember. The nostalgia of days past - when the likes of toothpaste didn't make the packing list - hit me hard. I stared at the half-packed bag which felt like an abyss. No amount of packing will prepare me for the reality that inevitably awaits at the end of the tarmac. My home is gone. It's not coming back anytime soon.
[2] October 27, 2022 [Chicago, USA] - 7 minutes
I've loaded my bags and ready to go home! Cost me $300 extra for all the luggage, but hey who's counting...The excitement lasted exactly 1 hour and 29 minutes; the length of time between Minneapolis and Chicago, my first flight out of three. Transfer in Chicago was extremely stressful. Mind you, I have a Sri Lankan passport and a US green card. To go to Sri Lanka, I'm basically traveling royalty as far as I'm concerned. Gone are the days of coughing up money for every little transit I spend in a 'foreign' land. The convenience fee people like me are asked to pay for breathing the same air as their fellow worthy citizens. A friend of mine tells me that the visas were invented by Nazis to keep track of the traveling Jews. Is it true? Well, whatever it is, the modern standards of traveling has preserved the complete dehumanizing experience intended upon the less fortunate (or the less prestigious passport holders). Can you imagine how pumped I was to travel this time without any metaphorical hiccups!
Who am I kidding??? First, I'm not allowed to check-in online. The error message tells me that an airline staff member at the airport need to verify my details in person. Verify that I exist? Or that my Sri Lankan passport which I'm using to go to Sri Lanka is real? Or that the Green Card has a hologram? Well, take your pick. I should say though, the staff member(s) at the airport have typically served me well. They seem decent people. If it were up to me though, I would like to completely circumvent the need to meet these decent people. Considering that I don't particularly intend to hijack their wonderful plane(s) or blow up the place to pieces. Oh well, I guess I should be lucky that I still get to travel. I have met colleagues who don't even bother get their American passports. I can't imagine what goes through those people's minds. What's a life that hasn't spent time trying to convert the price of coffee in a foreign land? Or haven't used Google translate on the phone to read which one is the women's bathroom? Anyway, I digress.
Where was I? Oh right, Chicago. A nightmare. No offense. You know what, take offense. Shame on you for not getting your act together! One of the largest airports in this fine country, and yet couldn't be bothered make navigation between terminals commonsensical (ya it's a real word, you're welcome). I had to beg, plead, and cajole my way to the gate thanks to ridiculously long waiting lines at the security check-in (though I had already gone through security at Minneapolis). You know what will make me hijack a plane? These damn security lines. As I inch forward ever so slightly contemplating my life choices that inevitably land myself in some queue with equally miserable fellas inching through life, thought of a plane hijack seems quite lucrative. NSA if you are reading I'm just kidding.
Nevermind. Ok Chicago. Yes, a nightmare. Even though I had two full hours before my next flight (to Doha, Qatar) I set foot, literally, on my plane with 7 minutes to take off. 7 minutes!!!! The blaring sirens of the plane door closing (presumably to motivate folks contemplating suicide to seek other avenues) helped spike my heartbeat so much that a flight steward had to tell me "calm down you made it". Easy for him to say. After they still made me check in right at the gate with sirens blaring. I paid for one flight, so far two security check-ins and two boarding check-ins.
Oh I forgot to tell you, I had paid extra to reserve a seat next to my father. Yes, he was on the same flight. We are both going to Sri Lanka. For reasons too long and irrelevant to mention here, my father has spent six weeks in East Coast, USA and was going back to Sri Lanka. So I decided to join him to keep him company, attend to his needs and such.. You know the things a dutiful daughter would do to collect points in heaven. Though I have no desire to go to heaven, in fact I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell. Believe me, I'm looking forward to it...
Where was I? Hell? No, not yet. Well, pretty close, Chicago. After heart-pumping sprint to the Qatar Airways flight QR726 and locating my seat 27C, I realized that my wonderful padre is not in 27A - his seat. Or so I thought. I almost broke down. It's a humongous flight. Even after putting on so much weight since coming to this fine country, I'm still tiny in comparison and completely indistinguishable. How on earth am I supposed to find my hard-of-hearing, silver-haired father - a brown man, in a flight full of hyperventilating browns, beiges, khakis, and caramels? Then I realized, this isn't even the seat I paid for!!! I speak 4 languages, none of them equipped me to vent what went through my mind at that point!!! I paid for 19C because my father was supposed to be in 19A. I pleaded my way to the front of the plane to check his seat. A fully black ball of hair was seated in 19A. Unless biology had undergone an anti-aging miracle while I was checking in, for the second time, I was pretty sure that brown bearded man couldn't be my father. Helplessly, I came back to my seat. The one that was assigned to me, without my consent. If this story so far hasn't enlightened you on what it's like to be a non-majority, woman, without privilege (or a privileged-passport), you should get your brains scanned.
I resigned to my seat. My neighboring seat was empty. Soon, a woman floated, presumably to the empty seat. Being the good neighbor, I stood up to let her pass. As I stepped away from my seat, whom do I bump into? My father- with all his silver hair in tact!!! He was running up and down the aisle looking for me just like I had done moments ago. He, who was supposed to be in 19A, was sent to 42D! He doesn't have the awareness or language skills to defend his seat. Me, equipped with both of them still couldn't get the seat I paid for. Had I been at 19C we would have found each other much sooner because that's where we both instinctively thought to look first. Still I was elated that the search was over. In a 17-hour flight where I was supposed to attend to my aging father's needs, I compromised to visit his seat whenever I could. At least I know where to look. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade they say. And boy did I make some...
By the way, do you know the difference between visa and passport? It's quite alright if you don't. Most people don't. Just let me know though... so that I can make a mental note... to use rat poison next time I host you. Annnd you thought I'm bluffing about going to hell. Huh!
[3] October 28, 2022 [Doha, Qatar; Colombo, Sri Lanka] - 6 minutes
Here we are in Doha. Strolling through the magnificent airport, dipping our toes and wallets in duty-free, smelling perfumes advertised by famous folks with perfect skins, clothes, incomes, and chaotic lives to balance it all.
Wait, is that what really happened? Perfumes can invoke certain memories and emotions. But.. did I smell any? Let me refresh my memory (sans parfume). Research shows that when you think of something long enough it may over weigh the memories of the actual experience. I believe it's called the science of false memory. Luckily I have perfect recollection of how activities actually unfolded in contrast to my daydream above.
Father and I arrived at Doha, in different seats than planned (see my earlier post). That meant I had to de-board the plane and wait for him. Details are important. Pay attention, otherwise I wouldn't be spilling all this tea. By the time he finally joined me, (in his defense he walks slow, old age sucks) how many minutes did we have before our next departure? Six minutes. Yes, you heard me right. Six whole minutes.
Not withstanding that both of us have already been exhausted by the previous flight debacle, Father and I were now wondering if we'd even make this next flight on time even if we collectively beat Ussain Bolt. Rather than calculating the probability of defeating a tall, thin, Jamaican, I thought my time was better spent presenting my predicament as swiftly as possible to a tall, thin Arab with a walkie-talkie.
We approached airport ground staff who rushed us into a golf cart; you know those white small cars that can be driven indoors? I always think of them as golf carts since that where I have seen them for the first time. On TV that is, not in real life. I'm afraid the allure of hitting a ping-pong ball to a 3 inch hole with a 4 feet stick is lost on me. I'd rather lay down on those well manicured fields and count the stars, or clouds....
So we were herded to the next departing gate; the aforementioned magnificent airport fading by, with 3 minutes to spare. You'd think that we'd be cannon-balled to our seats. No, no, no, here comes yet another security check-in... bags on, shoes off, the whole nine-yards. And then comes the check-in check-in. Is this the third or the fourth? I've lost count. We are given yet another pair of boarding passes and this time we are sprinting the walkway to the flight. Not beating Bolt or anything like that, but fast enough for both of us to be out of breath by the time we park ourselves on 28A and 28B in Economy. It's already night in Doha, I have no idea how long the flight is. All I care about it that by the time gates re-open we'll be in Colombo. Finally the final destination. I put on my eye mask in addition to the KN95. Now my whole face is covered. I recline and this time mentally check out.
Image credit: Dhanu Thamarapani
[4] October 29, 2022 [en route to Kandy, Sri Lanka] - Fortune
It's been three hours since Father and I landed in Colombo. I'm using Colombo loosely here. The airport is actually at Katunayake - a nearby city - but it's always referred to as such. You know how San Francisco airport is actually in San Bruno? Or Vancouver airport is in fact in Richmond? You didn't? Well, they are. Take your nose off the phone and pay attention. I tell you, there's a whole scam of airports assuming their closer, more-well known, and populated neighbors' names. Someone's ought to out this airport cat-fishing scheme!
In any case, what I remember most about my first three hours is my first meal upon arrival which certainly managed to awaken all my jet lagged taste buds. It was on the way from Airport to Kandy. A hole-in-the-wall tea shop. Did you know that my cousin had come to pick us up? You didn't? Oh...well... now you know. He's not really my cousin. Well he's married to my cousin (I have lots of cousins, you'll see) but I tend to think of him as a cousin too, of sort. A cousin-in-law perhaps. Is that even a thing? That's the first I heard of it. May be I invented it... Actually I prefer to refer to him as a cousin. Even though he joined our family much later (by marrying my cousin), I prefer him over some of my other cousin cousins. Catch my drift? Oh don't worry. None of them are reading this anyway.
Where was I? Oh right, the tea shop. OH my the tea! It was plain black - which is now the norm. No household nor establishment seem to have milk powder, the staple of milk tea, and the whole country seem to have shifted to drinking black tea (a.k.a. plain tea) over night. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Never understood the lure of cow milk (in any form). I'm not a nutritionist therefore I cannot comment on how bizarre it is to be the only species on the planet perfectly content to sip another species' milk (intended for their young), beginning at the ripe age of 6 months! Having said that, do not mistake me for one of those tree-hugging hippies mind you! Although, come to think of it, I have hugged trees and certainly don't mind linen clothing. Well, I supposes it takes one lot more conviction to become a tree-hugging hippie than the occasional tree hug and affinity for flax-based clothing.
I digress. Yes, the tea, the plain tea. It was golden in the cup, the perfect brew, I kid you not! There was the three of us: Father, cousin, and I, sipping our teas at 5:45 in the morning. Outside is still pitch black. We got snacks too. My favorite thing about Sri Lanka is our affinity for savory (and spicy) snacks. Wherever I go, especially in the West, folks seem genetically incapable of churning out a good snack without dumping a metric ton of sugar in it first. We on the other hand are much more sophisticated. How come? Well it's simple. We dump a metric ton of spices! The spicy ones that is. Here's a prime example of how inadequate the English language is to capture the breadth of our palate. Anything remotely flavorful is deemed spicy! We have half-a dozen words for differentiating the spice (as in condiment) and the spicy (as in the flavor). I should like to imagine that the inventors of our fine language Sinhala (a derivative of Sanskrit) spent a good deal of their precious time making the language palatable to our cuisine. But, English would do for now.
So yes, we had ordered savory snacks. Father and I are vegetarians, him for 5 years, me for 25 years (hmmm, I wonder if I'm a tree hugging hippie after all, disguised in an economist clothing...), and my cousin is an omnivore. But out of care for the two of us, he had ordered everything vegetarian. There were vegetable roti (a triangle shape bread with a well-peppered potato based mixture inside), rolls (a savory pancake wrapped as a cylinder with a potato based mixture inside and deep fried with a coat of bread crumbs), and coconut roti (a round shaped bread typically served with coconut (or pol in Sinhala) sambol which is sort of...you know what, I'm tried of describing our food, because it makes my mouth water all over again. Just google it will you?
So yes, we had snacks of three kinds: vegetable roti, rolls, and pol roti. Father and I devoured one of each. Actually, I dug my teeth into yet another vegetable roti (my all time favorite snack) and decided to take it to go. My cousin just smiled. He asked the server to pack it to go and asked for the bill. Later, upon revisiting my memory I realized that he actually ate only one roti and perhaps one roll. Or differently put, he certainly ate much less than Father and I. The reason will become obvious very soon. The bill came, and as I was about to put my rupees on the tray, but I stopped to check the bill because I didn't know how much the food has cost. My cousin, on auto-pilot, grabbed the bill and put a thousand rupee note. I was shocked why he's putting down so much money. And I insisted on paying if he'd just let me see how much the bill is. He repeated, no no no, it's all taken care of. And pushed the tray towards the confused server. When the change came I finally saw what the bill has been. Seven hundred and thirty rupees!!! Three people, some snacks and plain tea cost Rs. 730/-. My head was spinning. For context, this is how much I would pay for a whole meal at a nice restaurant for 2-3 people. Or how much it would cost for bi-weekly groceries for a small family. I had encountered food inflation before - Hawai'i I'm looking at you - but never at this scale. I felt really bad. My cousin, still on auto-pilot pocketed the meager change, still leaving a decent tip on the tray. I was wondering whether that was the only thousand rupee note he had in his wallet until next pay day?! Is that why he didn't eat much in the first place? I feel like a complete idiot and thought I better check my American privilege (as a result of my hard-earned fortune) right at the airport until I'm ready to fly back. I have to be sensible and much more sensitive now.
The three of us walked silently to the car to resume our journey. Now it's 6 AM and the sun has pushed all the darkness away. It was bright sunlight gleaming through tree branches. My ignorance of the plight of the common folks also found some glimmering insights thanks to a bunch of random experiences. While at the Colombo airport any person who is helping you (like with luggage) was asking for more money. People collecting luggage trolleys were waiting next to you with their hands out for some money before you get in your vehicle. I guess it all adds up. From now on, even if people spring to pay for me, I should insist on paying myself. Or, take a page from my cousin, eat less to be on the safe side. Lesson learnt. Let me tell you, as I munched that last vegetable roti in the car later I kept thinking to myself, where did the taste go? I sank in my seat with this sunken feeling (how hard it must be for a single-income family like my cousin's) and I'm pretty sure that it ruined the taste for me.
[5] November 9, 2022 [Kandy, Sri Lanka] - History
It's been two weeks since I landed in Colombo. Kandy has resumed to the bustling, vibrant city it was pre-pandemic. People feel and are significantly poorer compared to 24 months ago. Let me recount what has stood out to me. The cricket - the sport that is - is on full flare as ever. The game technology has also significantly improved. For instance, the wickets have in-built LED lights that immediately illuminate upon contact with the bat or the ball. At the slightest touch of the unfortunate batsman (or the lucky bowler or wicket keeper) they illuminate and fall apart like fireworks. While performative, they do heighten the spectacle I admit. The stumps also have in-built microphone that catches the waves of the bat's swing, very useful to declare an 'out' - stopping the batsman from carrying on - especially if the batsman contests no-contact (meaning, protesting that the bat didn't touch the ball, which can be now verified by the microphone built into the wicket/stump). I also see a lot more diversity in teams. Cricket has historically been played at (and embraced by) British colonies. That's the one thing I'll probably forgive them for. Once you get the hang of it, it's actually quite fun to watch. Now I see that there's Canada, Netherlands, and Ireland have also started their cricket teams. Japan is not too far behind I'm told. Even in South Asia, Bangladesh has managed to overcome Sri Lanka's prowess and is now neck and neck with India or Pakistan. Afghanistan isn't too bad either. I'm very happy for them, let me tell you. They could do with a distraction.
I used to be really fond of cricket when I was younger. Admittedly that was the only sport that was televised more regularly. While I patiently waited every four years for the Olympics - that would be summer Olympics - and later for the football world cup, cricket filled my sports needs. I haven't watched a game since 2014. And it shows. I was bewildered by the LED wickets and microphone technology. In non-sport entertainment, singing competitions have filled the TV roster. Some 12 years ago I remember the very first competition - the local version of American Idol - and even voting dutifully to help my candidate win. He didn't. But it was fun watching. Fast forward 12-13 years, every TV channel has some competition for folks ranging from 2 years to 82. Everyone seems to be chasing their own cellulose dream. Come to think of it, the harder the real life gets, the stronger the general populace seems to be embracing any and all forms of escapism. I'm sure there's a history lesson in there somewhere.
Other countries have gone through the ringer as well. Take Japan for instance, post WW- II. The country was shredded to pieces that the only surviving trait was the gambatte (good luck/let's do this) spirit. When I spent my exchange student scholarship in Japan back in 2006, one of my Japanese professors - Koga sensei to be exact - used to handout verbal gambattes to students like free candy. One of us foreigners asked him if that's his favorite word of the Japanese language. He smiled and gave us a mini-history lesson. After the war, a lot of Japanese were destitute, there was nothing much to eat, no roads functioning, an entire economy collapsed. All they could count on was their unbroken spirit, that we will rise again. Come to think of it, my study abroad thesis was on the rejuvenation of small and medium scale industries in Japan post war. I aptly titled it "Rising from the Ashes", and was very proud of my language prowess too. Now that I reflect on it, what fills my heart is not nostalgia, but anxiety. Here I am in a country shredded to pieces, severe food shortage, economic turmoil and no end in sight. What are we doing in the meantime? Flocking around TV - when electricity is functioning - to cheer for 2 teams of 11 grown men chasing an imaginary number to win. Or a bunch of not-much grown kids singing on top of their lungs to clench the next super singer title. I have this very uneasily feeling that we aren't learning anything from this turmoil. Instead more escapism is springing from all corner. I mean who can blame them? Unlike 1950s Japan, we now have internet with tiktok, instagram, twitter, and the rest touting what life should be. So it's very easy for forget what it actually is, and will be for the foreseeable future. Any gambattes for us??? I wonder.
[6] November 18, 2022 [Colombo, Sri Lanka] - Luxury
I'm going to Colombo proper today (not the airport unlike in my earlier posts), this is the city center I'm talking about. And it's after ages. I cannot recall the last time I was in Colombo. Was it 2019? In any case it's been a long time - at least it's felt like that. This time I'm going to a whole new part that didn't exist before. I'm not joking. The previous government, taking Chinese investments - that's a whole other Pandora's box that I'm not going to open here - filled an area which was previously the sea and built a port city!!! with an artificial beach!!! The promotion campaign boasts of residential, shopping, and office spaces at a scale like never before. The project altogether was indented to boost tourism, both foreign and domestic, enhance the allure of Colombo as the commercial capital and create a local version of New York (or Manhattan to be specific) of sorts. They even touted a Central Park! Specifically “The central park will also see a canal flowing adjoining it and this will help to create a Blue Green environment.” Now that's a thought! I give full points for originality. Did any of it materialize? Sadly, no. The office space did get built (called One Gall Face Tower), and so did the shopping avenue- One Galle Face Mall.
Most of these spaces are now sparsely populated both up in the towers and down on the ground. How the government - past, present, or future - is going to recover their investment (to pay back the Chinese I presume) is yet to be seen. That's luxury going up in smoke...
Did I tell you why I'm going to Colombo? Well, I'm asked to pick up a security key from the World Bank local office located in the 37th floor of One Gall Face Tower. The digital key will enable me to access Bank's intranet and continue with my consultancy.
Wait, she is working on sabbatical??? Ah, shocker!!
While I give the impression that I'm laying on my back, sipping coconut water, spitting one blog post at a time, truth be told, the reality is anything but. It's true that I don't have 12 hour work days anymore, which was the norm during any semester for five whole frekking years trying to stay afloat with a 4 course-load, 'service' commitments, and an ambitious research agenda that I refuse to give up on, though every two seconds somebody will remind me that this is a teaching school (mark my words, when I leave Chico, 80% of my reasoning would be that I don't have to listen to that bs, as if teaching and research are mutually exclusive!!! The less research I do, the more despicable my teaching gets. I was bread on energetic economists in Sri Lanka who were capable of doing both and flourishing - there's very few of them, but I've studied under most of them - what luxury! lucky me I guess! That's the model I emulate. I want to be the most creative out there so that in my classes my students get to see the best of me. Not some beating the dead horse, same old, same old, graph and numbers reproduced from lord know how long ago without an ounce of excitement. But hey it's a teaching school! teaching my arse).
Now that the weekly rant is over, let me fill you in on what's I'm really up to - vaguely. You'll soon see why. Recently I was introduced to this concept of 'moving in silence'. The way it was explained to me, it's this idea where you keep your cards close to your vest. Can I be more cryptic?! Certainly. Well, I'll divulge just this once. It's the idea that what plans you have for your future (it can be about how to spend your time or whom to spend it with), you keep it to yourself. Tell the world when you have results to show. Not before. Not during. When someone asks about your plans/hopes/dreams and such... be vague - never lie, there's no reason to be insincere, some people are just curious - but do not tell exactly what you are thinking. Broadly construed, there are two reasons for this: envy and forgiveness. Envy, both professional and personal is real and this is coming from someone who has burnt her wings one too many times trying to be open and open-minded. Lesson learnt. The second reason is forgiveness, that is, if you dream up a life and things don't necessarily go your way, you get to take control and change course while being kind to yourself. After all nobody knew what you were really up to anyway!... and therefore cannot be happy/sad/irritated when your plans didn't materialize. Rather than justifying your actions (or inaction) to the prying souls, you get to constructively think about how you can adapt to the new normal in a way that best suits you. Just YOU. If people keep asking - keep being more vague. In that vein, let me tell you my sabbatical plans. I'm taking the time to be creative. Ya, that's it. I won't go into details, in fact I'll forgive you for asking and you'll forgive me for not divulging.
Back to the 37th floor of One Galle Face Tower. After my appointment I decided to use their bathroom since I have a long train journey back to Kandy. Let me tell you, whom can you count on to splurge on installing great bathroom facilities during an economic collapse? The World Bank. My hunch was right. Here comes the Toto toilets - the infamous Japanese brand - with their humming, seat warming capabilities, in-built bidet, rear drying, and many more functionalities. Well Done Dhanu! You bet well! Of all the places I could have chosen to let go of my bodily liquids, World Bank takes the cake. Oh what luxury!
[7] November 29, 2022 [Anuradhapura, Sri Lanka] - Family
Father and I are going to Anuradhapura to meet some folks at the last university he worked at. He was the bursar, for those who aren't familiar with British university system, that's sort of director of finance. He has a lot of integrity - my father. I suppose I take after him. He had enough opportunities to get bribes and get much richer than his current predicament. He didn't. Consequently, whenever he visits any of the universities he's worked at, he's always received with admiration, gratitude, and awe. This time we are going to present his book to some of his previous colleagues.
Father wrote a book - did I tell you? It's his second book actually. He has a big literary side to him. He's done theater in his youth, wrote poems and prose - all in Sinhala. As of a decade ago, he started writing short stories and synopsis for novels. Then he wrote two short novels. The first was about the first political marriage of Sri Lanka back in 137 BC. Yes it's ancient! The love story between Prince Saliya and layperson Ashokamala is Sri Lanka's candidate for Romeo & Juliet, but this time with a happy ending because they marry (prince abdicates the throne) and live happily every after. Or, until the first kid is born. I mean, who really knows?
My father's take was rather different. Instead of writing a legendary love story, his attempt is to lift the curtain of this supposed love birds of the century. The boy is the affluent elite - after all he's a prince - the girl is from a clan/tribe that is preparing to revolt against the King (Saliya's father). So their marriage, a political union, results in peace and prosperity. And who wouldn't want that! His book was published by one of the oldest publishing houses in the country using his own money. Yes, that's how it's done here. You want your book published? Pay up. Remember how academic journal charge you to submit your scientific article to that outlet (which may or may not be published)? Yep, similar to that. In any case Father was very proud of his achievement and frankly so was I. He's keeping his wondering mind occupied and I'm as happy as a clam.
His second serious writing endeavor was also rooted in history. Father has a real penchant for history. Sometimes I wonder if that's how his fear of being forgotten manifests? This time the story is about a British colonial master - an arsehole responsible for killing numerous elephants and tuskers (elephants with tusks, ya it's a real word) - for fun. There's a waterfall named after the British dude as well. Father's story tells and imagined tale of family, plight, and loyalty. It's a pretty decent read actually, if I say so myself. I thought the ending was too abrupt. I told him so too, but by then the book was in print. It has been in print for two years. First Covid and then the paper shortage (because of the economic collapse) postponed the printing even though Father is paying for it himself. Finally, about two weeks ago, it was done and we picked them up. See the photo attached. Since then Father has been distributing his royalty copies - free of charge - to friends and family with emotional anecdotes. I think he gets a real kick from signing these things and I'm happy to see him happy.
So this time, we are going to Anuradhapura. His book is well-received. He's very content. The pictures speak for themselves.
Image credit: Dhanu Thamarapani
Receiving the first book from the publisher
Offering the next copy to my mother
Few of the many recipients
[8] December 06, 2022 [Colombo, Sri Lanka] - Museum
Father and I are going to Colombo. Let me rephrase. I am going to Colombo for some work, after which I am visiting the big museum there. All this time with my globe trotting, I've never been to the Colombo museum. My parents have never taken me there. So I announced my plans and said he should join me. Let the child bring the parent to the museum, for once. He liked the idea, especially since he hasn't been there since 1950s...when he was a young lad himself. He still salivates over the lunch packet that his mother sent him with during this school trip to the museum. He even remembers the tree under which he sat to eat it. Given his spotty memory where every time he steps out of the house to go somewhere, he inevitably has to come back to get his phone, wallet, glasses, keys, cap, or all of the above - the fact that he has such vivid memories of the tree, the lunch, and the museum is quite remarkable.
Our museum visit lasted approximately 2 hours. It was educational and entertaining, although, not that impressive since I've already been to some of the most amazing museums in the world already. I bet had I come here as a kid I would have thought this is the best museum in the whole wide world. Because my world was quite small, like me, back then. This is why I refuse to re-watch TV shows that I adore as a kid. Now I'll see the gaps in the story lines, sheer misogyny, and any number of issues that my adult brain is aware of. But at that age, where you've never seen a plane in real life let alone set foot in it, anything remotely interesting on the TV was ground-breaking and earth-shattering.
As we were about to leave, after watching the final exhibit of a skeleton of a blue whale (think Museum of Natural History), a group of school kids entered in a neat line. We stepped aside to let them pass. In the meantime I took this photo of Father looking on and kids passing by. It's unfathomable for me to imagine him being so tiny and in a school uniform. But I guess he couldn't have been all that different either.
Image credit: Dhanu Thamarapani
[9] December 10, 2022 [Ella, Sri Lanka] - Odyssey
This time I'm going on a whole new journey! Because of the Petrol shortage in the country, all my travel has been limited to public transport. One day I got this brilliant idea! What if I travel (for sight seeing) through the train. Some googling taught me that there is a tourism bound train to Ella - aptly named Ella Odyssey - that take trips twice a week. We could join the train from Kandy and make the 6 hour journey to Ella and it's infamous 9 arch bridge and come back the following day by the same train. Ella in Sinhala means steep slope. That is, this train takes you to some of the hilly side of the country. Consequently you get to enjoy some amazing views right from your seat!
Image credit: Dhanu Thamarapani
It's a fantastic idea and even though the tickets are not exactly cheap, I think it's worth the effort. Getting hold of tickets is a whole other story. They sell out really fast. I showed up at the train station 2 weeks prior to the trip with a stack of money to get the necessary number of seats reserved. By now, I'm desensitized to how expensive everything is, so paying for those tickets, with cash was the easiest I've ever been in a while. So here we are (Father, cousin's family - yes the same one that picked us up from the airport - and I), soaking all the beautiful scenery.
The name of the train is a play on the title "Space Odyssey" by Arthur C. Clarke. Did you know that he made a permanent home in Sri Lanka? He is well-regarded by the locals and admittedly thought not everyone has read his books - me included - we all know what a big deal he was, and is. The Ella Odyssey trip was quite relaxing, we didn't feel the 6-7 hour journey at all, especially since the trained lulled us to frequent slumber. When awake, we spent time taking pictures, staring out the windows and frankly just being in the moment. We also managed to catch the World Cup (that is football) game between Portugal and Morocco at a fancy restaurant with a fancy crowd. I was so glad not to have missed the game.
[10] December 31, 2022 [Kandy, Sri Lanka] - Journey
It's a New Year pretty soon! Google has recently sent me the following infographics. Pretty cool. I get to see my globe trotting in a snap shot. This year I guess I really hit the mark. Among many thing I'm grateful for during this sabbatical, my renewed love for travel has been the best. I admit that it tires me much easier than earlier. Yet, there's something about traveling that does not satiate my soul by any other means. Oh I started reading (for pleasure) again too. And that's another thing I'm grateful for. Well, I know that people look at me and wonder what's she so happy about?! I guess for people like me, no amount of normalcy is enough to really quench the thirst of exploring and learning.
[11] January 01, 2023 [Kandy, Sri Lanka] - Blessings
There's just something to be said about going to the temple on the first day of the year. A lot of people do it...all over the world. Perhaps it's the joy of a new dawn, or the fear of the past dusk...either way it has this sense of new beginnings. Let bygones be bygones. These are the flowers we offered to Sri Dalada Maligawa in Kandy. It's sooo crowded on New Years. It's usually crowded so no wonder it's packed to the brim on special days like today. Still people flock from all over the place, perhaps with the hope of a new beginning. This is my first time at the temple on January 1st, that too thanks to our helper. Did I tell you we have a helper lady? Well, we do. She takes care of our house in Sri Lanka and cooks, and cleans, and the rest. I've never grown up with helpers of any kind. We couldn't afford it. So we did everything on our own. However, since Mother passed, it was obvious we have to get some help to well... help around the house so that my Father's sanity stays in check. You know what, I wonder if we'd done the same if Father passed and Mother stayed behind! Hmm, what a macabre thought you say! Huh, welcome to Sri Lankan sense of humor. We think of death allll the time. It's nothing new. In fact, Father always wonder if he died instead of Mother. May be because we all wanted her to stay alive longer. Sometimes I wonder whether everything good in me died with her. Other times, I'm positive she's smiling at me from up above. Oh yes, she's in heaven. I'm positive. If she isn't, then the whole thing is a scam I tell you. In our faith, building temples is one of the holiest holy things one can do before kicking the bucket. Not only did Mother build temples, she made sure everyone else was part of it too. She's like that...my mother. Always making sure she won't be going to heaven alone, because I imagine it'll get quite boring..even up there. Oh well, what do I know, I'm going to hell. I'm sure I'll be quite busy down there....
Recently I've been thinking, when it comes to parents, there's really no good time to go. I was in my thirties when Mother passed and I thought that way way too short a time for me to have her. Then I talked to our helper, who had lost her mother at age 15 and I thought holy wack-a-moly, I got to enjoy my mother twice as much as she got to have hers! I really shouldn't be yammering about how unfair life has been to me. See..that's the thing about life isn't it! It's never really fair. We are all yapping on like tadpoles in a pond until it's time to kick the bucket.
My my this new year is so philosophical! Who'd have thunk! I wonder if this is what one is supposed have found during sabbatical?! Epiphany...revelations... inner peace or whatever you wanna call it.
Image credit: Dhanu Thamarapani
[12] January 04, 2023 [Yala, Sri Lanka] - Wild
For the first time in my life I'm going on a safari. Remember the time I went to the museum over here and wasn't too impressed...because I've been to bigger and better ones overseas. Well, I didn't want same thing happening to my safari. At some point in my (near) future I will be going to Africa and I'm sure I'll be blown away by the beauty. Before that happens though, I wanted to soak in what wild life has to offer over here. Frankly, Sri Lanka has such rich bio diversity you won't be disappointed. However, let's not forget that the country is in economic ruin at the moment and the ETA on recover is less bright than my future. So, I had to be creative about transportation because I have to travel to the other corner (Southeast) of the country. I don't know about you, but I will never travel in Sri Lanka alone, especially on a trip that's a couple of days long. Patriotism be damned, I've always been the first to criticize how unsafe and unfriendly this country is to women, its own women. Shh.. don't tell my father, he'll be so disappointed to hear it. I should say that Sri Lanka is not the worst place for a woman in South Asia - I'm sure India or Pakistan will take that cake. Oh my those two never get tired of competing with each other. Even if it's women's un-safety, both are neck and neck. It's wild - pun intended. They are both much bigger countries too. So I should imagine that even if all these 3 countries (India, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka) have the exact same percentage of arseholes and perverts, there are theoretically many more of those that happen to be Indian or Pakistani because their populations are much much larger than over here. You see, it's just probability.
Be that as it may, I'm not going to roam around here freely without a male in the near vicinity. As it happens the most convenient is to take my Father along. You see, we are a package deal now. If you see me, he's not too far behind. If you spot him first, look further I've already gone past him (boy does he walk slow!). He just likes to hang out with me and I just like to stay alive. So it's a match made in heaven.
To be continued...more pictures and stories coming soon...