Ginger Biscuit

GINGER BISCUIT

Cruising the next bend, precipice on the left with verdant green plains stretch up to range after range of blue mountains that take over the horizon.

Behind me as stunning and isolated as what’s beyond me, is the road.

On my right, plains and valleys undulate. There is only the howl of the wind outside.

I am alone and at times I talk to myself or sing to the radio.

As expected to my delight, a couple on a bike is parked by the road. She is standing looking out and he is leaning against the bike.

If he reaches out, he can hold her.

They both look peaceful.

 

I would have left them alone, but every 4th couple I see admiring the view I told myself, I will park near them and be friendly. 

More so a pest from their point of view, but so far I have been lucky. For the past two days I have spoken to 2 loved up couples on the way to my treks and drives.

The scenery is breathtaking where ever you look in the Dumbara Kanduwetiya.

I have reasons to pull to the side of the road at any given moment.

 

Lovers’ country, this place.

 

I slide to the side around 15 meters before them and get out.

They both look my way, there are hints of civil acknowledgement. I am relieved.

Sitting on a rock by the edge, I stare and take out my pocket notebook.

Through the gusts of whipping wind, I sometimes hear murmurs from their side.

 

Almost 10 minutes into it I go back to the vehicle. In the boot I have snacks for emergencies. I am not the one for snacking, but I am prepared for any situation, these months.

I choose my favourite and walk back to my spot, opening the pack.

As I savour the first savoury sweet bite, I look at them casually. The man catches my eye and I stand up holding the pack towards them. I would like to share.

They both smile and say, “Naha Epa” but I insist and they go “aaah” and giggle.  It’s a good moment.

 

With the cookie offering we are sort of close by now and I start casually chatting about the scenery and pollution.

After a while, where, how, why, from their end. I have standard answers to all. They are intrigued and chatty as time passes.

It’s my turn.

 

(I will not to go into specifics, the conversation is condensed and the sequence is mixed up)

 

She is from around Rattota.

He has ridden down from Rajarata, straight after work. They meet once every month.

They are both teachers and in love.

And married to other people. (this I figure and they are comfortable enough to admit it)

 

A weekday is a good bet with very few people around. Also at their end, less questions unlike in the weekend where spouses and children are involved.

They mostly put it on work. Today she is visiting a sick friend.

It is a difficult situation, he is in an arranged marriage and she married someone she thought she loved.

Things have slowly changed after fifteen plus years and they have been having an affair for the past two.

 

They met on her school trip.

As the kids started climbing, she had to stay back with a student who was sick. They walked back to the drop off point. He was there having a cup of tea, and continued to stay the whole time. The chat started with the tea recommendation, she smiles at the memory, fondly. He is blushing.

He had to go see a sick friend. For real this time. We all laugh.

 

After talking about the woes of the teaching profession in the tea shack, they proceeded to talk about farming. This is his passion but it does not pay. She too comes from a farming family.

The girl is slumped on a chair nursing her bad stomach, she has been to the Lat (toilet) twice now. Their bus has left to return in a couple of hours or so, therefore she cannot lie in the bus.

 

They are surprised I know a thing or two about growing and I too dream of farming.

“Aney pudume?” they say. “Hitha gannawath behe, oyath me deval gene hithanava kiyala”

(Oh surprise, cannot imagine You thinking of these things)

“Ay e?” by now I know the answer to this.

(Why is that?)

“Oya ithin mehe ma anda gena, konde kapala, carr elevanava…” they trail off…

(You of course, dressed like this with short hair, driving a car)

“balannako oya denna diha.” I point out.

(Look at both of you, will you?)

They are intelligent enough to understand where I am going with this.

“Ekath eththa. Kavuda hithuve?” She says.

(That is also true, who would have thought?)

 

I ask them what their plans are. If it happens at all.

 

“Api Uva ta yanawa, kawadahari” she volunteers. “Meyage yaluwek innawa Ruhunu Vishvavidyalaye, eyanang kiyanawa e pathi wala karadarayak nathuwa api dennata inna puluwan kiyala”

(We will settle in Uva, one day. His friend is from Ruhuna University. He of course says the two of us can live in those areas without any trouble)

“Mehe apita inna denne naha, ek unoth…” he is grave when he utters it.

(Here, they won’t let us be if we get together)

I come to the conclusion his family is a bit influential.

“Kohe giyatha, prashna thiyanawa, api pitagam karayo ne”” that’s her –Miss Reality.

(There will be problems, where ever we go. We will be strangers/not of the land there, no?)

 

What about the two kids between them, I ask?

They have 3 more years, until they both finish their A/Ls.  They will explain to them and hope they come around. They are welcome to live with them.

There is a University in Wellassa too. And Ruhuna is not far away, He says.

What about starting from scratch.... jobs....making a living?

"Api dennama dan naki wenawa, amaaru wei..." His answer is soft.

(We are both now getting old, it is going to be difficult)

Our conversation is now riddled with pauses and there is an air of gloom hanging like the clouds in the distance, as the enormity and reality of the situation dawns on them, not for the first time, I am sure.

I really don’t want to stick a poker into the little time they enjoy together and make them sad, in this stunning landscape.

 

“Ginger Biscuit?” I say. “meka ivara karanna, saththu wahanna issella.” (Finish this before bugs get at it)

There is a trail of Dimiyas (Weaver ants) on their way somewhere in front of us.

 

“Carr eke athule mona Kuhumbi da?” (What ants inside the car?)

He pokes fun at me and they both grin at my mock exasperation.