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| Sunday, 18 July 2004 |
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Features |  |
| News Business Features Editorial
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Living on the fringe: Strangers are her family By Umangi de Mel She stares at the mad rush along Stanley Thilakeratne Mawatha, with no particular interest. Her worldly goods are packed neatly in two small bags, and kept close to her. "I prefer this corner to where I was before," says a teethless, 80-year-old Senanayakege - Nandawathi, seated in a corner at the Nugegoda - 'Bo-tree' junction.
There was nobody to support me, which is why I decided to work at the same tea factory as a minor employee," she says taking a few steps down the memory lane. Money she earned helped her send the two children to school and fend for them till they could manage on their own. Later when the children were older she worked at a domestic in order to ensure they were not in want. But in a tale that's turning out to be all too familiar, she was packed off to a 'home,' by her children, when she was too old and couldn't bring in an income. "My son is a police officer today. Both my children are married but look where I am today..." she wonders. Nandawathi shows no sign of remorse or sorrow when she recounts her plight. Instead she smiles her cares away, and says: "There's a lady who teaches at the University. She's the one who takes care of me now. I don't know her name, but she takes me home when it rains and washes all my clothes." Feeble as a wounded bird, Nandawathi tries her best to keep up with the noise of the rabble and endless traffic. An onlooker comes to the rescue, "She's been here over a month. She doesn't like to talk about her children who have ill-treated her," he says. Over-hearing the conversation, Nandawathi chips in to say she doesn't like to talk about her children, "In fact, I'd rather forget that I have two children. My children didn't want to keep me at their houses, which is why I was dumped at a 'home'. I had some money and I gave it to a 'sil meni' so that she can do my burial rights. "My grand-daughter got to know about it and she would have told my daughter. They were always after my money," she says explaining that when she was working as a domestic, her children would come to collect her salary at the end of every month. "When they got to know that I had some money, my children visited me at the home and that was after 3 1/2 years." She tearfully recalls how her daughter took her home and beat her when she found out that Nandawathi didn't have the money. "They made me do all the household work. I washed and had to draw water from the well. "It was impossible as I was very weak and people who passed by the house used to help me. One day I was doing some work and my daughter tried to set me on fire, I survived, but I told her to kill me at once if she likes. That day my son-in-law was very angry and vowed to kill me if I was still around when he came home. That's when I moved out," she pauses to catch her breath. Seeing no other option Nandawathi was forced to take refuge in the streets. "I'm happy here. I was treated like a real slave at home, by my own daughter." When questioned about her son, she says a kind gentleman took her to the son's place," My son hid and got his wife to chase us off. They wouldn't even let me use the bathroom...," Nandawathi wonders why her children couldn't stand the sight of her, and says pointing at some men in the vicinity, "Now it's they who care for me." Nandawathi looks worn out, yet her clothes look clean, "I even get my food on time here. The gent who spoke brings my tea, breakfast, lunch and dinner. They even take me to the doctor and get my medicine. It's just that this place becomes a puddle of mud when it rains." Her friends at the 'Bo-tree' junction say she's not stingy or piggish like a lot of other street folk. According to them, she'd never accept food if she's already had her meals. "She can't walk properly though. She's very sick at times, but people support her a lot. We are trying to take her back to a home but it's a bit difficult as she doesn't have a proper guardian. This place is not the place for her, especially in the nights. But she never complains," they say. Nandawathi is lost in her own thoughts. She seems so many miles away from where she actually exists. |
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Born in Opatha, she was happy at the time she got married. "I have
two children, a son and a daughter. But my husband who was doing well at a
tea company died while I was pregnant with my son.
