Andewatta is no more, but memories of Avurudu come flooding back
Faded picture but vivid recollections: Andewatta-- a haven for all the kids during Avurudu. The writer is second from right
At Sinhala and Tamil New Year, nostalgic memories flood the mind. Being an only child of mixed parentage, I had the good fortune to be exposed to both worlds, and New Year took precedence in our household.
The first purchase would be a new little clay pot, for the boiling of milk at the appointed time. Clothes would be bought for the domestic help, who always left to their home villages by April 10 or 11. For days ahead our “Amme” Roslin, would be at the outside “lean-to” open hearth kitchen, mixing rice flour and treacle,pounding mung beans by hand into the konde- kavum,mung kavum, and athirasa sweetmeats.
The konde kavums were an art perfected by Roslin. She had her own equipment -a little blue toy plastic cup, which measured the mixture out “just so”, a long piece of thin metal (which I later learnt was part of an old umbrella) and of course, the slotted spoon for the oil and an ekel or two. I would watch fascinated as the correct quantity of mixture would be poured into the hot oil, the slotted spoon constantly providing a drenching of oil to the sides of the now frying, browning orb, and then the art of it coming into play, the lifting out of the half done centre, a gradual twirl and coaxing into that “konde” or knot – the umbrella metal and ekels coming to the fore. The heating of the oil again, of importance, with the small stack of firewood by her side, to aid in temperature control.
Not everyone could make konde kavum. Roslin herself told me that her talent sprang from trial and error. As a young woman with her children clamouring for ‘Avurudu’ fare, she asked an elderly expert in the neighbourhood to make her some. The woman never turned up and Roslin after many ‘konde-less’ kavums, managed it! A lesson learnt by sheer necessity, strength of will and purpose.
Aththa with the writer’s son
The only time Ammi interfered was in the making of kokis, insisting on the addition of an egg to the batter, plus the salt, and a drop of sugar. Some years, variations occurred with chillie powder and, even grated cheese. Ammi’s ‘light as air’ Kokis became a family favourite. The “Asme” always came on order from Panadura or Horana, as our Colombo kitchens never could access the appropriate leaves that were needed.
The kokis was always stored in tins, large clay pots held the kavum and other Avurudu fare. I soon learnt that kavum were best eaten hot off the fire -Thaathi and I always asked to sample and critique, much to our benefit.
The fact that she was a Burgher was no hindrance to Ammi who embraced all the Sinhala traditions and customs with zeal. We thus adhered to all the ‘nakaths’ or auspicious times.
When the time came for lighting of the hearth, Thathi had already brought in an old roofing sheet of corrugated metal, and set up a fireplace with bricks and firewood. We would gather around in our Avurudu finery, as Ammi lit the fire for that little pot of milk to boil over. How true is that adage, that a “watched kettle never boils”; impatience was foremost in this child’s mind as a wait in the kitchen, during the hottest month of April, with a hearth at her feet, and smoke ascending was not fun. But eventually it did boil over and Ammi and Thaathi clasped their hands with a silent prayer. The direction of that boiling milk, spilling over, always took place to Ammi’s satisfaction.
While Ammi busied herself with the making of ‘kiri bath’ or milk rice, it was my task to set the table, a task I took great pride in. A lace tablecloth,with the centrepiece a shining brass oil lamp, with wicks and oil at the ready, the base of which I adorned with betel leaves and the Araliya flowers from our garden. We had our pick then-the white scented Araliya with a centre of gold, the dark red crimson flower, and the white Araliya with a red rim (oh, how I miss those trees).
Then came the dishes, of kavum, kokis, mung kavum and athirasa, plus the seenisambol and fish ambulthiall all made by Roslin earlier. A tray of asme,a cake in the shape of a betel leaf, home-made milk toffee and coconut rock, a pot of curd and a jug of honey, with the Kiribath completed the setting. Ammi had the plates and chairs positioned in the correct auspicious direction, prescribed for the partaking of food – the first meal of the New Year.
After the meal, it was the obeisance to elders. Handing them the sheaves of betel, stalk facing the recipient we bowed showing our respect to parents and elders. Heads touched and blessings received in return. Coins wrapped in betel leaves were placed in our hands, as the elders exchanged these tokens of good fortune amongst themselves as well.
Then came the interesting part, the happy part, as I was enlisted with the task of taking the trays of New Year fare to the neighbours. For the Wijeykoons who lived opposite, the tray always included “Koppa Kiribath”– Kiribath made in cups with a layer of “pani pol” in between. Grated coconut cooked with treacle, layered and moulded with kiribath. Turned out into little mounds, the Wijeykoons’ grown up son, Ralph, relished this annual treat, that Ammi made with a little extra effort. I always looked forward to the trays we received from the neighbours. A tray never came back empty!
No sooner the distribution was completed Ammi made packs and parcels of all the treats and we set off in our Peugeot 203, to visit Thaathi’s three paternal aunts. Sita, Soma and Daisy. Sita Nanda lived in Kurunegala at the time, at the base of the Kurunegala Rock in the Assistant Government Agent’s bungalow, and it was our stopover en route to Matale. Daisy and Soma lived in the vicinity of Colombo, and after seeing these two aunts and their families, we’d proceed to see Sita Nanda and from then on to Matale.
Andewatta in Waalawela was our prime destination at New Year, because it was here in that little village nestled ina valley in the Matale hills, that my grandmother “Aththa” lived. Aththa would be waiting for us with her “the Messe” (tea table) at the ready. It would be enhanced with all the other contributions that the aunts and uncles brought with them, as well as ours. “Aluwa, “Narang Kavum, and Ammi’s favourite, soft fine grained (hence the name - sand) “Weli Thalapa”, made by the village Veda Mahathaya’s wife.
Andewatta would be overflowing with family and friends who’d descended “en masse” for the New Year. Somehow that little three bedroomed country cottage held us all. With a wonderful flow of food brought down from the wattle and daub kitchen that led upfrom the rear of the house, bordering an enclosed section that served as a car park, and washing up area
Many a male occupant in the village was named “Banda” and always there was a prefix to the name. Heen Banda whom Aththa called Aiyah (elder brother) would’ve been tall and lean. Ran Banda (gold), Muthu Banda (Pearls) Kuda Banda (small) and even a “Sindhu” Banda, (with a love of singing) comprised some examples, prior to the advent of more modern Sinhala names.
Soup was an Andewatta tradition – the big pot of vegetable soup that had been simmering all afternoon on that wood fire, would be served in old fashioned tea cups, to all of us gathered in that enclosed section, housed between the cottage and kitchen to SING! We sat on benches and chairs, with no musical accompaniments to belt out songs from the Tower Hall plays, and old favourites like “Coming through the Rye” and “When Irish eyes are smiling”. The tear jerker for me was when the uncles and aunts sang “Galway Bay” so movingly.
After dinner we’d sit out on the little verandah, while conversation flowed around us. We’d hear some drumbeats in the distance, and step out to gaze at an absolutely clear night sky dotted with stars. Peace and serenity abounded.
Sleep time – in comfort, on a huge iron four poster bed with the “Chimney lamp” turned down to its lowest setting. We never even thought of fans. The Matale of my childhood was a cool place and we sometimes needed sweaters and scarves.
The following days brought cricket matches, visits to Udasgiriya – a village nearby, where there were other relatives and Aththa’s mother still lived, and walks to the “Deniyakade (kiosk), the closest little shop for provisions. A cluster of shops plus a sub post office made up, what was known as “Waalawela”.
One year we attended the “Avurudu Utsavaya” (Festival) at the Village School. For the first time I saw men shimmying up the “grease pole”, the pillow fight, where they balanced themselves, with feet astride atop another contraption. Only the use of one hand was permitted, to use the sack or pillow to unseat the other. A simple affair, sans the present loudspeakers’cacophony and fanfare, but all the same giving rise to much merriment.
A wonderful treat was the baths taken at different wells within Andewatta and its surroundings. These magical moss-covered blessed springs of water were like three-sided shallow tanks, with a sizeable cement platform on the open side. All we needed was a small bucket to douse ourselves with the cool clear water, while gazing at the fields and hills surrounding us. A total re-connection with a simpler way of life.
This was the way we spent our New Year holidays. New Year nostalgia brings with it a longing for those carefree days. Times past, the old ways and the old folk, who died out with Aththa’s generation. Andewatta is no more, but memories surface, and are cherished with great thankfulness.
“Subha Aluth Avuruddak”
to everyone.