Remembering the joyful time we knew at New Year
Matale today: Fields after harvesting
At this time of year my thoughts invariably turn to my childhood and girlhood and take wing to the heartland and homeland which was typified for me by “Andewatte” in Waalawela, Matale. The old folk are gone, the old homestead no longer even rubble and non-existent. But the memories remain because it was here we all converged like homing pigeons at New Year.
‘Aththa’ as we called my grandmother would have this laden table awaiting us with the blackened kettle on the boil for those innumerable cups of tea.
Every family brought their own contribution, and after all the rites and rituals, obeisance to elders, the exchange of lucky coins, it was left to my cousin and myself to return all those “plates” that had been coming in from morning. Always plates – not trays, covered in newspaper and topped with doilies and cloths enhanced with exquisite stitchery.
Each family had its own special brand of sweets they were well known for.
One, the “Pani Walalu – direct translation “Honey bangles” deep fried with luscious interiors of sugar syrup or treacle. The Aluwa –diamond shaped rice flour and treacle sweets, again, that melted in the mouth.
Wali Thalape – made to the consistency of sand (Weli) out of rice flour and grated coconut, the mixture rather akin to Pittu prior to completion.
This was my mother’s choice, that she made no bones about demanding from the Veda-mahattaya’s family.
Everything came with home grown bananas that had been “timed” to ripen naturally at this time of year. For those with lesser agricultural timing skills there were the pits that would be dug, the fruit covered in fronds of banana leaves and smoked into ripening perfection.
Who called them bananas anyway? They were plantains in those days!
In much the same way chicken curry was “fowl” curry, and that was my aunt Kusuma’s main contribution. Simmered over oil and spices without the addition of coconut milk, she’d bring this pot along, all the way from Colombo for the final additions and simmering required, before Aththa’s New Year lunch and dinner repasts.
At breakfast came those stringhoppers with ambrosial kiri hodi made by my aunt Padma and all other accompaniments. The secrets known in the wood fire, hearth, and hand ground ingredients, and the raw rice pounded into flour by this crazy Menike. (Time has dimmed my memory, and I cannot recall her name.) Her pounding skills took her wiry and toothless frame to many households in the village, and she had a story to tell of most, with actions and words. Sometimes we steered away from her, when her act overtook her senses completely, and the pestle would fly out from her hands, as she collapsed on the floor laughing! Especially hilarious was her depiction of the School Master and his wife who spoke English at home (such a rarity). She’d have them “darling” each other in her broken English ”why you do this” and” why you say that” which had us in fits!
Looking back as I write this smiling to myself, I have no doubt that many of us would have provided good dramatic material for her renditions in other village homes as well. My Burgher mother’s use of the Sinhala language for one, which are stories in themselves.
Andewatte was but a little home that stretched – in an amazing way at New Year to accommodate not only family but friends as well. Everyone brought friends or extended family along.
In the morning it was a game of cricket and treks to the wells for those baths of fresh, cool, clear water. In the evening Uncle Tom or Thomas mama would have all the lamps out for cleaning and refilling. As Kusuma nanda called it “lamp lighting time in the valley”, the old Ship’s Lantern, a relict of my father’s Navy days headed out to the outside facility and wash room, the others simple ones with wicks, or the Petromax with its hissing sound would be placed all over the house. This coincided with soup time, and song time. There were regulars from the village at “Soup time” – this pot of vegetable soup was like Aththa’s cups of tea, plentiful. We gathered on benches and on the cement ledges in this outside area between the house and the kitchen section – to sing!
The old Tower Hall songs, songs that still have me teary-eyed every time I hear “Galway Bay “or “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” and my father’s favourite “Coming through the Rye” along with many others. Ending with Uncle Tom’s enactment, a direct translation from Shakespeare’s English into Sinhalese “Friends Romans Countrymen…..”
Yes, all the siblings had English names. Aththa herself as the eldest was “Louisa” educated by a Governess in her early days, and then sent to study at the feet of Marie Muaseus Higgins as one of the earliest students at Muaseus College. The older boys Carl, Henry, James, Thomas, went to Trinity, until a change of fortunes decreed otherwise and the younger ones attended other schools.
Andewatte had once housed my great grandfather’s stables and was given as dowry to Aththa when she married. She returned to this place as a young widow of 30 with her brood of five and the sixth yet to be born. In the days of my childhood, the property consisted of rubber that was tapped and smoked in an old smoke house, coconut, and pepper creepers that grew along Kapok trees on the fence. Everywhere was leafy and shady. Little rivulets ran along the roadside.
Matale was known for its salubrious climate where anything and everything grew. One could hear the wailing song of the farmer as he sang to the buffalo as they wended their way among the fields, ploughing or threshing according to the seaasons.
With New Year traditions and customs seeing a change in many parts of the country, I feel for today’s generation who will not know Avurudu time as we did. Yes, they will know and be taught about paying their respects to elders, the importance of family and togetherness at this time, of the following of auspicious times, the rites and rituals. But with families dispersed and children growing up in other lands, few have the opportunity to go back to the villages their parents hailed from. Most importantly to touch the roots, and live that simple, carefree, and joyful time we knew at New Year.