The Black Australian

Chapter 15 (Part I)

The vanished trails

by Sunil GOVINNAGE

The Australian Computer Society's annual conference had been scheduled to be held in Sydney and Siri decided to attend as soon as he received information about the event. For Siri, more compelling than the conference itself was the opportunity to catch up with Sisira Jayasinghe, a friend he had known since high school. Two years ago Sisira had migrated to Australia with his wife and step-daughter. Since their arrival in Australia, Sisira had found it difficult to find suitable employment. Siri knew that his friend was disgruntled and blamed Australia's historically racial policies for his inability to secure suitable employment.

Having made his decision, Siri immediately submitted a leave application and notified the conference organisers of his attendance. He also e-mailed Sisira telling him of the upcoming conference and indicating that he would stay a couple of days with them afterwards.

The next day a memo was circulated regarding accrued leave of company staff. It stated that staff members who had more than eight weeks of annual leave should use at least fifty per cent of their leave entitlement by the end of the year. Siri had accrued nearly fourteen weeks of annual leave. Since starting work, Siri rarely had the resources or the inclination to take annual leave. Siri embraced the school of thought that hard work meant prosperity. It was a motto he often repeated to his young relatives in Sri Lanka and was bemused to one day come across the words on a motivational poster, attributed to the Book of Proverbs. It was true that wisdom knew no borders.

Siri reviewed his leave schedule. He had already applied for five days' leave to attend the conference. Realising he had never seen tropical Australia, he rang his travel agent to find out whether he could include a trip to Queensland along with the Sydney conference.

A few hours later, Siri's travel agent advised him of a good deal: a three week holiday package which included several days in Sydney, Brisbane and Cairns. Siri accepted the Travel Agent's conditions to spend only three days in Sydney. After the four-day conference as his first stop, he would follow with a visit to Queensland.

Sitting back in his chair, Siri mused over Sisira's arrival in a strange country without any relatives to greet him just like his own experiences in the mid 1980s. It was over five years since they last seen each other, when Siri had visited him in Toronto. Sisira did not do well in his Advanced Level "the University Entrance Examination" in Sri Lanka, hence, could not enter the university.

Although his heart was in literature, Sisira was forced to study science subjects for the exam under his parents' strong influence. After failing the University Entrance Examination twice, he found a clerical job and ended up in the travel industry. This led him to migrate to Canada and finally to Sydney.

Sisira was an avid reader and was a good writer during his high school days. He and Siri were very close friends at school and attended many literary events together. Sisira was the president of the school's literary society and Siri was the secretary.

Thinking about Sisira evoked vivid memories of the great times they had shared in school. Siri wondered why he had not followed Sisira's path and sustained his interest in literature. Siri remembered meeting Wimal Dissanayake who was a well-known poet and an academic in Sri Lanka. When Wimal Dissanayake visited their school to talk on new trends in Sinhala literature, Siri and the visiting academic had an intense debate about a popular Sinhala novel. Then, Siri was just sixteen years of age. After the seminar, a lot of friends and even teachers wanted to know why Siri was in the engineering stream, instead of studying Arts subjects.

The plane began its descent and Siri peered out the window excitedly to see the famous landmarks of Sydney, the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, from the air.

As the plane taxied to the arrival terminal, Siri felt as if he had come from another country. He made a quick mental calculation. Had he been living in England and flown the same number of hours eastward, he could have reached Moscow, or even further away.

"Australia is a huge country"

Having nothing more than hand luggage, he found a taxi quickly and managed to leave the airport before the rest of his fellow passengers.

Inevitably, the driver asked him the universal question. "So, are you from India? What are you doing in Sydney?"

Recognising the driver's Italian accent, Siri made an effort and used the standard reply he had practised so often before: "No mate, a Perth boy! I tanned because we always expose ourselves to the sunlight. That's the tradition in the West. We have several nude beaches!" Siri smiled menacingly.

"So, you are on a holiday, ah?" the driver questioned him again.

Siri didn't want to get into an argument with the taxi driver. Instead, he thought of Sisira. Siri thought of Sisira being unemployed and without a proper job for nearly two years.

Sisira had worked with a travel agent in Toronto Canada, which was owned by an African travel wholesaler. Despite his Canadian experience, Sisira could not secure a good job after he arrived in Australia. Fortunately, Sisira's wife, Sujatha, who was a qualified accountant, found a job as an administrative assistant to keep the family afloat.

"Poor fellow! He always missed opportunities to find good jobs.

Sisira told me last time that employers are racists in Australia.

"Is Australia a racist country? Why migrants are always treated differently in this country?"

When Siri saw Sisira at the Hornsby station he did not immediately recognise his old friend. Sisira had not only put on several kilos in weight, but also had a long beard.

"Oh Sisira. You have changed!" said Siri.

"We all have changed, Siri! What happened to your thick, black curly hair?"

Siri thought he heard a suppressed tone of anger in Sisira's voice. Sisira's place was just a few minutes away from the railway station. Siri was greeted at the door by Sisira's wife, Sujatha.

"Sisira, why don't you show the room to Siri; I'll finish this chicken curry soon," said Sujataha and disappeared in to the kitchen.

"Have a change and a shower, if you want," Sisira said politely.

When Siri returned after a shower to the lounge, Sisira enquired whether Siri had continued with his writings.

"Who reads Sinhala in Australia, Machan? I haven't written a poem for ages. I've about a hundred unfinished poems. I must one day find time to edit them and pass them onto a publisher in Colombo. Publishing in Sri Lanka wouldn't be a problem. Time and sustaining my interest on one subject is the problem," Siri confessed.

"Sisira, how's your writing going? When you were in Toronto, you were really fired up. There's a famous writer there with a Sri Lankan connection, isn't there?"

"My problem is not being able to find a job in this bloody clever country! These Australian bastards don't give me a job. I couldn't even get an interview for a clerical job with the Air Lanka Office, in Sydney. Even the jobs here are created and approved by the bloody politicians in Sri Lanka.

There is nothing to talk about para-ballo. [1] Do you know whom they hired by rejecting me? A bloody Indian fellow! He apparently has connections with a few big boys in Sri Lanka. Bloody Indians! They have enough to do in their country but they come here and grab our jobs!" Sisira stretched his hands and went to the kitchen.

Siri could smell a fine aroma of Sri Lankan food being cooked. Sisira came back with a bottle of cheap red wine and two glasses.

"Let's forget about job hunting, my blood pressure will go up. Let's talk about poetry."

"Whose poetry?"

"Your poetry, Siri! Your poetry! You used to write good poems. Even while you were at the University, I used to read your poems in the Silumina and Navayugaya. [2] I can still remember you writing about the falling Sky Lab and comparing it to a fallen love affair. A great simile!"

"That was during the good old days! Now there"s not even a fallen love affair to write poetry about! I can write about a failed marriage, but not love," laughed Siri and continued, "There's no inspiration to write poems any longer, Machan. I started scribbling a few English poems after I did a couple of literature courses in Perth and sent them to a magazine.

They didn't even bother to send me a rejection slip! When I asked my Professor, who was also an editor of the magazine, he said they were not good poems. Full stop! There is no place for migrant writings in this country. Everything has to be white and linked to their bloody convict past!" Siri unveiled his anger this time.

"What did you write about?" Sisira asked curiously.

"I wrote my feelings on Australia; the Aboriginal issues, deaths in custody, reconciliation, about locations like Perth and Swan River, Fremantle Beach. It looks as though bloody Aussie editors don't like my work for whatever the reason," lamented Siri.

"I have done a few translations of Haiku poems into English and Sinhala. But who'll read my original Japanese translations in Australia?"

"I'm not surprised! These fellows are racists. I sometimes wonder whether I did a good thing by coming over here.

If not for the nasty winter in Toronto, we wouldn't have come over here at all. But Sujatha is happy. Our daughter Nimali is doing very well. She's studying Marine Biology at Sydney University. I'm the only person who missed out on everything!" Sisira filled the glass and continued; "I wanted to do a Philosophy degree, but I won't be able to find a job by studying Philosophy. If not for our mortgage, "I'd have gone back to uni to study Philosophy. I'm doing some meagre jobs in a computer assembly plant, casual work for my pocket money. I can chip in a hundred or two hundred dollars for the home kitty.

Coming back to poetry, what we must do is to have a website and print some of the poems as a kavi kole.

"That's a great idea. But, I don't have a Sinhala keyboard or the Akuru Tharu software package."

Siri's thought process was interrupted by a nice aroma which breezed through the lounge.

"What's that smell, Sujatha?" enquired Siri.

"Oh, this is plain parrippu. I'm just adding themparadu mixture."

"How do you do that? My parrippu is always hopeless. No aroma, at all!"

"Just wait a little. Otherwise, this will be burnt. I'll give you the recipe later," said Sujatha.

The dinner was simple but the aroma of a freshly cooked meal filled the atmosphere.

Siri gulped the food down as if he had'nt eaten in days, and wanted to know the secret ingredients and recipe behind Sujatha's dishes.

"Sujatha how did you prepare this parrippu?"

"Oh, it's so simple! First, select whichever parrippu you like. We of course use red lentils. Wash it once or twice and just place the lentils in a saucepan. Pour in just enough water to cover the lentils."

"What else do you add?"

"Nothing, until the lentils are cooked. Once the parrippu is cooked add your themparadu [4] mixture."

"Do you buy it from a gourmet shop?"

"No, I use my own. Get a small or medium size brown onion, a few garlic cloves, sliced ginger, and a few curry leaves. If you don't have fresh curry leaves, you can use dry ones or bay leaves. Chop the onion, garlic and ginger while you cook the lentils. Once the lentils are cooked remove them, keep the same saucepan for the themparadu, but make sure there is no water left in it. Pour in some coconut or olive oil, and wait until it becomes hot and then put in all the ingredients except the curry leaves. Keep cooking until the onion and garlic are tempered properly."

"How do you know when that is?"

"Simple, wait until the mixture is golden brown in colour, and not black. Then you add a few curry leaves. After a few seconds, put in a little bit of mustard seed. Not much though! Add cumin seeds for aroma.

Wait until the seeds pop and then add coconut cream or fresh milk, it doesn't matter whether you use cream or milk.

When the mixture is boiling add the cooked lentils. Close the lid for two minutes, stir it well and serve it hot!"

"And tell me, why do you have whole garlic cloves in this curry?" Siri served more lentils with a garlic clove onto his plate.

"Oh, that's for Sisira! He eats garlic for his cholesterol. The only problem is that he is unable to kiss anyone other than me! In your case, being a bachelor, you have to be careful," Sujatha smiled coquettishly.

They finished the meal talking about Sri Lankan politics and gossip about politicians. Sujatha had a lot of stories about President Kumarasinghe's private life.

To be continued

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, places characters, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Footnotes

(1 Para ballo - Slang in Sinhala meaning 'stray dogs' implying those who are involved in mean tasks.

[2] Silumina and Navayugaya - Sri Lanka's weekend Sinhala newspaper and feature magazine respectively.

[3] Kavi kole -Sinhala poems printed in single sheets for sale and distribution.

[4] Parrippu - Lentil

[5] Themparaduwa - The process of stir-frying with a combination spices and curry leaves as used in Sri Lankan cooking.

6 Themparaduwa, the process of stir-frying with spices and curry leaves as used in Sri Lankan cooking.