Mirror Magazine

Mirror Magazine

Evening stroll
By Aditha Dissanayake
Legend has it, that in ancient times, a woman could walk safely from one end of the country to the other, unchaperoned and unharmed. Could the same be true today?

Can a girl walk on her own from one end of the beach to the other, in Wellawatte, unchaperoned and unharmed? On a Poya day, at 4.30 in the evening, I tried to find out.

The beach is crowded with families, elderly gentlemen, teenagers and lovers. Taking my shoes into my hands, rolling my denim up to my knees I begin my walk. I fall behind a couple walking hand in hand. From the way the girl looks adoringly at the man beside her, who looks much older than her, I feel they are not married - no, not yet. I try not to listen but can’t help hearing what he is saying “I made a resolution this year.” The girl gazes at him starry-eyed, and waits for him to continue. “I’ve decided not to borrow money from anyone this year.” She smiles. They slow their pace. I overtake them, and just in time avoid a tennis ball from hitting me on the head. “Sorry,” says the teenager who comes to retrieve the ball. His apologetic grin seems genuine enough to warrant a forgiving smile in return.

My eyes take in the groups of men, seated like Buddha statues and drinking golden coloured liquids from plastic cups. They are too absorbed in the liquid and probably the woes they are temporarily trying to drown, to notice anything or anybody else around them. Snatches of popular songs are heard from a group of boys dancing to the beat of a tin drum. It is hard to discern whether they too are under the influence of a strong liquid or that they are simply intoxicated by the salt breeze around them.

Far, far away I see the buildings of Colombo, through a white haze. Much closer, is an old shipwreck - a local Titanic? But the sense of desolation it tries to cast with its dark brooding presence on the atmosphere is drowned by the shouts, screams and laughter of those brave enough to brace the evening cold and wade deep into the water. Men and boys in shorts, girls in t-shirts, fully dressed middle-aged women frolic among the waves, splash each other and seem to be having the time of their lives.

As I walk, I find myself thinking of John Lennon’s song Imagine. He seems to have written the lyrics to suit this particular scene in front of me. Watching the Muslims, Tamils and the Sinhalese as well as a dozen foreigners, walking, playing, swimming, gazing at the sunset, there seems indeed to be no heaven, no hell, no countries, no religions and no possessions with “only the sky” above us.

Flopping down on my shoes I stare at the horizon. One girl among a group of teenage girls standing close to me, begins to ask a riddle. “What goes in hard and stiff and comes out soft and wet?” Some of the girls cover their mouths with their hands and begin to giggle. The others stare at her in bewilderment. “What goes in hard and stiff and comes out soft and wet?” asks the sphinx again. “Who can tell me the answer?” she demands from her friends. No one dares to open their mouths. Soon, two women begin to walk towards them from the edge of the waves. “Quick, tell us before Amma comes,” urges one of the girls.

The 21st century sphinx waits dramatically till the older women are within earshot to give the answer. After repeating the question yet again she gleefully says, “Chewing-gum”. Everyone, including the two matronly women laugh, probably in relief at the unexpected answer. I watch the group walk towards the two portly men waiting for them on the road, with the keys of their vehicles dangling in their hands. The holiday outing is over.

The sky turns into a hue of colors. The sun seems to be staging a special performance today. He is the star. I am his audience. When the blue becomes orange, and the orange turns into yellow and then into a host of other colours of which I do not know the names, I feel like clapping to show how much I appreciate the show. The white edges of the waves look as though the sea too is smiling.

When the red ball of fire finally dips into the ocean I make my way towards Galle road. I had done it. Walked on the beach on my own, unchaperoned, unharmed. Times aren’t as bad as they are made out to be.

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