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From a grandson with love
By Nimalan Idaikkadar
My American Peace Corps service was coming to an end in Mozambique. I had successfully completed two years, teaching English as a second language in rural villages and developed an HIV/AIDS awareness community programme.

As a Sri Lankan Tamil now in my early twenties who had lived in America since infancy, I had been thinking of my country of origin, my roots, family and cultural identity. The last time, I was in Colombo was seven years ago and ever since then, I itched to return.

My maternal grandparents are still living in Colombo. My paternal grandparents though had passed away. My paternal grandfather had been a successful civil servant from the days before independence. My maternal grandfather is a retired physician, who had served in different parts of his country.

I felt it was a suitable time to be with Patta and Ammama (grandfather and grandmother) and learn about the rich family heritage that I was born into. As I returned to Colombo and entered their home, there, like a king, proudly seated was Patta, and I rushed in and kissed him on the cheek. I could not let go for at least two minutes and then I searched for Ammama.

She was in the kitchen, seated and looking blankly into the open. She smiled, kissed me and we embraced. She always had that soft touch that can heal anything that is bruised, scratched or torn apart. The warm hug of my grandmother was a perfect cure for me after the two challenging years as a Peace Corps Volunteer.

Patta is an amazing man at the age of 94, despite suffering from Parkinson's disease and diabetes. His mind is crystal-clear and he spoke with eloquence and clarity. On the other hand, Ammama can only remember her childhood.

I was upset, brooding over the fact that they had to spend the evening of their lives all by themselves, while their children were dispersed in different parts of the world.

I stayed in Sri Lanka for three months and during those months, my parents, uncles and aunts from England, United States, and within Sri Lanka all came to visit. It was a great time to re-connect with old bonds and prepare future plans. Having not seen a family member for years and then to be overwhelmed with love and support was an extraordinary experience.

After the relatives had departed, I had two months left to understand and relate to Patta's history and feelings. I tape-recorded, and wrote down everything he told me, and later reflected on the discussions that we had. To young people like us, living in the comforts of the Western world it is food for thought to know how our forefathers lived and struggled to come up in life in the land of our birth.

Patta's life story is inspiring. He was the son of a poor farmer and only started attending school at the age of 11. He and his six brothers had to help his parents in the rice fields of Jaffna. He had to rise at three in the morning and plough the fields, return to the house for breakfast and then prepare for school. After school, he would help his mother with odd chores in the house and then, return to the fields to work until seven-eight at night. He would have dinner at nine and then complete his homework.

With some assistance from his cousin, he learnt to write and speak English. After his secondary schooling, he was first in his class. His cousin strongly urged Patta to enter University and study Medicine in Colombo. After passing out as a doctor, he began to help his brothers to go through school in Jaffna and Colombo.

He married into an affluent family in Colombo and served in rural districts. Patta and Ammama had five children, three boys and two daughters and four of them entered the medical field. Some of them left for United States and England to pursue their careers.

Patta believed in family unity and felt that with a strong knit family, you will have endless support. His own life was tough, studying late into the night, writing letters to his brothers in Jaffna, and continuously making sure everyone was looked after properly. As I sat there, listening to Patta recalling funny and solemn events of family, we developed a bond of affection.

He had narrowly escaped death during the anti-Tamil riots of 1958, when he was serving as a doctor in Polonnaruwa. He had the sad experience of seeing the clinic that he established in Colombo, destroyed overnight. His son, my uncle, who had taken over from him, had to leave Sri Lanka and start life all over again in America.

On my last day, I talked to Patta about my aspirations and goals. He listened attentively and provided words of encouragement. Patta's philosophy is that education is the key to success and through determination you can achieve your goals. His words will never be erased from my memory and I can only pass it down to the next generation.

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