Only between us:

Cherry blossoms and Avurudu

Aditha DISSANAYAKE in New York

Washington D.C. last weekend proved to be wet, wet, wet. Looking back, what I remember the most are the pink ocean of petals around the area called the Tidal Basin in the mist covered capital and the sound of digital cameras as visitors from other states tried to capture the beauty of the pink confetti-like flowers.

Cherry Blossom petals flurrying across the Jefferson Tidal Basin.

Yet, the large crowds we saw did not come as a surprise for, Dr. Evelyn Newman who had travelled in the bus from New York with us, who said she grew up in DC under the cherry blossom trees had already told us how overwhelmed the city was with tourists and visitors during the two week cherry blossom festival. Once in DC I could not help asking myself the same question I overheard a six-year-old ask her father as she posed in front of the Jefferson Memorial "Daddy I see the cherry blossoms but where is the festival".

By afternoon however, having watched a million petals swaying softly to the rhythm of the different kinds of music coming from the iPods of everyone around us, our disappointment evaporated. As we strolled the streets trying not to get into other people's photos we came upon the 43rd Annual Smithsonian Kite Festival on Washington Monument grounds near Constitution Avenue. The exhilaration though was short lived, for, after learning about the history of kites and how to make one, we were told we could not get a free kite to try flying it against the wet breeze because the organizers considered us overaged for such a past time. "They are for kids" the officer waved us off.

Undaunted, as we watched the sky decorated by the multi coloured kites we kept exclaiming "Hari Lassanai" and overheard a lady ask the gentleman beside her if we were speaking in Hindi. He must have said yes because she asked him again "Is that real, Hindi Hindi?". This time the wind carried his answer to us "Yes, they sound so fluent". "Acha" we shouted, not wanting to disappoint the lady about the IQ of her knight in shinning armour.

Now, back once more in New York, seated at my usual table in the bakery round the corner I can't stop myself from frowning as I read the emails, crowding my in box during my long absence. I should have known better for the frown captures the sharp eyes of Rebecca from behind the counter. "Diss, honey you are in a bad mood today" she says "Is something wrong?".

I tell her my predicament. I have been asked to write about the way the Sinhala New Year is celebrated in New York by the Sri Lankans living here.

"What is so difficult in that?" Rebecca wants to know.

"I don't know any Sri Lankans. Well... not real Sri Lankans". I tell her and, when she looks baffled, do my best to explain. "All the Sri Lankans I know are more American than the Americans. They can't eat without fork and spoon. The men wear pyjamas at night and say they have forgotten how to wear the sarong. You should see how proud they are to claim their children can speak only English and not a word of Sinhala".

“I see the cherry blossoms but where is the festival”

Rebecca clicks her tongue in sympathy. Then, her face lights up. She says she knows a friend who knows a Sri Lankan lady who might tell me how she is going to celebrate the New Year.

In next to no time I find myself listening to a homely voice telling me in Sinhala "April 14th will be just another normal working day for us. But we plan to hold an Avurudu Ullela on the 12th. After all, even though we have lived here for so long, we cannot forget where we came from".

I listen eagerly to her voice, speaking to me in my beloved mother tongue and wish I could meet her. "I will be making `kokis' for the avurudu ullela." she continues and as if in answer to my prayers says "Please come and join us. You will meet a lot of Sri Lankans there who help one another and soon you too will be a part of our huge Sri Lankan family".

I thank her profusely and say good bye. It's a joy to realize there are real Sri Lankans too who, though uprooted from their homeland have yet remained loyal to their roots.

So, it looks as though there will be Avurudu for us too here in New York. All the same, we will still miss you... Think of us when you eat that `kevum'... And yes, we wish you too a Suba Aluth Avuruddak!