Isle of truth

By Altaf H. Mackeen

Rising from the lush earth of Sri Lanka with all the majesty of the fortress-kingdom it had been fifteen centuries ago, Sigiriya appeared as a stepping-stone to heaven itself. I stumbled toward the entrance, peripherally noticing the armed soldiers so representative of the ubiquitous military presence that had seized this land of ethnic strife. My eyes darted anxiously from the face of the mildly attractive, female soldier, checking identification cards, to the nervous gaze of my uncle. His concern stemmed from a wish to economize, while mine grew from a long sought affirmation of my own identity. Since a tourist had to pay a hundred and fifty times more than a native to enter Sigiriya, or "Lion Rock", the plan was for me to "pretend" I was Sri Lankan - pretend to be what I already was - a curious plan, indeed.

Nevertheless, on the whole, the scheme seemed to fit the uniqueness of the situation that I called my life. Even the event that prompted my return seemed fortuitous, at best. In scarcely legible red letters, the advice of a fortune cookie reminded me of a proverb which I had thought would never apply to me: "To know where you may one day go, you must know from where you came." Nevertheless, the maxim conjured up thoughts of the tear-shaped island - my island - once again reminding me of how little I truly knew about the land of my birth. I dreaded discussing my origin with others, for after realizing they had mistaken me for Indian they would invariably ask, "What's it like in Sri Lanka?" Masking the discomfort, I usually replied nonchalantly, "Oh, it's beautiful. It's really one of those places that you just can't describe with words." Yet, all the while I prayed for an end to what felt like an interrogation, so that I might once again escape looking the fool. It is far too easy to lose touch with one's own culture in the American "melting pot", especially from 11,000 miles away, knowing neither the native languages, the history, nor the traditions of the land nevertheless still called home. So, partially because of an adage and partially to end my own ignorance, last summer I returned to the country I had not seen in seven years.

Anxious to immerse myself in the culture of Sri Lanka, I eagerly awaited the weekends to interrupt my internship at Citibank and tour the country. To gain admission to Lion Rock, my uncle bought me a native's ticket and told me not to speak. I found his anxiety unwarranted. I was simply a Sri Lankan seeking more knowledge of his home. "How could I be seen as anything else?" Nevertheless, I obeyed out of sheer curiosity as to the outcome.

As the soldier finally reached me, she noted my lightweight sneakers, the ultra-American corduroy shorts that hung just below my hips, and seemingly even a difference in the air about me. "You must go back and buy a foreigner ticket," she squeaked as the expression on my face changed from confusion, to despair, and finally to anger. But my pleas went unheeded. As I turned dejectedly towards the main tourist office, my welling anger finally burst and I poured out my indignation upon the civilian administrator. After vehemently debating whether a passport or a birthplace determines ethnicity, I persuaded him to let me tour Sigiriya as if I were a citizen. Strangely, such a simple victory became the culmination of my search for an identity. Even though to many others, in America I am not American and in Sri Lanka I am not Sri Lankan, slowly I grasp my core truth. I am neither American nor Sri Lankan alone. In my heart, at least, I am both.

Mmm.. to travel in 'semi-luxury'

By Aditha Dissanayake

Standing at the Hatton bus halt, with my bag placed precariously on my left leg, I ponder over the two choices before me. I could get into either an "A/C Colombo" private bus, or a "semi-luxury-CTB'. I opt for the latter because the bus is huge and looks luxurious enough for a citizen Perera like me. The time is yet 8.15 in the morning and I have the whole day to get to Colombo.

As I keep my foot on the first step of the bus, the conductor apologetically informs me that a ticket costs Rs. 45. I smile and nod my head to indicate I don't mind. Inside the bus I find the floor is well-swept and that the seat covers are new and clean. Feeling comfortable and safe, I grin at the head rests of the empty seats around me the way Mr. Bean does, ever so often on TV.

By 8.45 a.m. the huge bus is filled and the long journey to Colombo begins. But the driver who is new, does not know the difference between the Hatton-Colombo road and the Hatton-Nuwara Eliya road. When he takes the latter those who are seated near him, jump on to their feet shouting "That way, that way," even though the driver cannot see their pointed fingers. "He doesn't seem to know where he is going," those at the back begin to mutter and shake their heads in dismay.

At Ginigaththena the bus leaves the main road and heads towards the central bus halt. It is difficult to turn the massive monster of a vehicle in the narrow road. Most of the men stand up and begin to give directions to the driver. "Cut, cut, cut," they tell him. "Ho, Ho, Ho," they shout in unison when he reverses too close to a wall. While the driver struggles with the gear stick, the steering wheel and the advice of the conductor and a dozen passengers, I observe the Ginigaththena town. Early as it is, all the shops are open, even the jewellers. Young men, with their hair combed back, wearing bell-bottoms and rubber sandals, stand in front of them, dressed up to go somewhere, yet showing no interest in the buses that pass by.

As the sun begins to ascend, the road begins to descend towards the low-lands. In the distance the Laxapana reservoir glistens in the sunlight like a piece of tin-foil. We pass mountains covered in thick foliage. "Are they virgin forests?" I hear a young teenage boy ask his dozing elder brother. "Eh?" he mutters sleepily, opening one eye to look out of the window. "Are they virgin forests?" asks the boy again. "How would I know?" says his brother, and then, laughs at his own witticism.

I open Arundathi Roy's "God of Small Things" and begin to read. I have reached the stage where she describes in detail, the activities of Baby Kochamma, Rahel and Ammu inside the WC. I glance from the corner of my eye at the young man seated next to me. I wonder if he has been reading the book over my shoulder. He is tapping his toes and seems to be listening to an imaginary song. I sigh with relief, but close the book nevertheless, scared it might reveal further embarrassing details.

By the time we reach Kitulgala the tyre-screeching, head-reeling bends on the road begin to cease. But an old woman with her little sleeping grand-daughter in her lap, jerks up suddenly and taps the gentleman in front of her. She points to the bunch of shopping bags hanging near the door. Before the journey had started the counductor had emphatically stated that anybody feeling sick should ask for a bag. The sleeping passengers are roused from their slumber. A sense of urgency enters the bus. The bag is passed from hand to hand. When it reaches the old woman everyone relaxes. Things become normal again.

I keep my eye on the woman. She shows no sign of discomfort. Opening the suitcase in front of her feet, she takes out several packets of sweets and begins to fill the shopping bag with them. I try to turn the bubbling line of giggles inside me, into a cough. Alarmed faces turn my way. I glance out of the window lest someone should pass me a bag too.

The smell of the soap used by a housewife as she hangs the morning's washing on a clothes line wafts through the open shutters. I begin to observe life along the Colombo-Hatton road. A cat or a dog can be seen sunning itself on almost all the doorsteps of the houses that we pass by. In small dark boutiques, men sit behind huge bottles of biscuits and boiled sweets reading the Sinhala paper. Occasionally we pass restaurants with funny names on them. Divine Rest is one such. I marvel at those who have the courage to stop and seek this kind of rest.

The bus stops for tea at Karawanella and the first half of the journey comes to an end. Soon the forests, the paddy fields and the occasional waterfalls are replaced by factories and houses. The doors of most of the latter remain tightly shut indicating the absence of their owners. Beads of sweat begin to appear on my upper lip. For the first time I realize there is no A/C.

The heat becomes unbearable as we reach Orugodawatta and I gather my things to get off. After four hours on the Colombo-Hatton road I am back in the capital. The bus leaves a cloud of dust behind as it takes off towards Pettah. The young man who has been seated next to me turns his head and waves. I smile and wave back.

I have reached journey's end, and what a luxurious one it has been!

A dog called cookie

• Nip..nip...it's time for a walk

By Udena .R.Attygalle

A two-month- old puppy whimpering in pain, his hind legs strangely immobile. What had happened?

Tired and hungry, this puppy may have scampered into a nearby boutique looking for food and been thrown out after being cruelly beaten, is what Mrs. Suranganee de Silva could picture from the talk of unconcerned onlookers.

Though now happily adopted by Suranganee, "Cookie" as she calls him, still has a broken back. The best of vets could not put things right. Yet amazing innovations have made Cookie's life easier. Two wheelchairs, one made by the vet students at the Peradeniya University and the other especially made abroad have been his for some time. But now Cookie has outgrown both, and is back at square one.

Incredible as it may seem he spends all his time in one place, except when carried about for a few moments each day. Cookie in fact seems content not knowing what he is missing. "Ever since he was brought here he has never been in the company of another dog," says Suranganee. "It seem so unfair for him to see other puppies running about and doing all those things he cannot do." His only playmate is ET, the Silvas' cat.

Sitting in one place also causes sores similar to bed sores. Unable to venture outdoors, Cookie has no choice but to dirty inside. Other than that Cookie is an untroublesome, almost unobtrusive dog. Sometimes though, he bothers Suranganee at night, having himself had a good snooze in the afternoons!

Incidents like this are not exceptions, they happen everywhere and quite often. Cruelty to dogs is commonplace in a society that is indifferent and unfeeling even in the face of human tragedy. But in the midst of such callousness, it is heartening that there are still some people like Suranganee whom our four-legged companions can count on as their "best friends".

Nip..nip...it's time for a walk

On a cold December night, 'Sithu' our Pomeranian arrived from Nuwara Eliya to the delight of my heart. My husband and I are a working couple and have no children. Sithu not only changed our life, but also made us realise how lonely we had been.

Sithu, now five months old, is well established in our home. We leave him in the house when we go to work, and only see him again in the evening. The reunion in the evening is heart-warming - we are greeted with loud barks. Then he stands on his hind feet to be carried, so that he can lick our faces.

Every morning at five he is near our bed, although he still cannot climb onto it. Keeping his front paws on the bed, he nibbles our toes until we wake up or lift him onto the bed. If we go back to sleep he will start nibbling our fingers and hands till one of us grumpily gives him room to lie down. If we still ignore him, he will pant and groan as if in pain. I jump out of bed then, as I know he wants to go out very badly. So in the end he gets his way.

It's the same when he wants to go for a walk. If we neglect to take him for his morning and evening walks, he will nip our ankles and bark his frustration or even pull my dress. There are several routes that he takes on a walk - village lanes and paths or through the fields surrounding our home. But the decision is his. We just accompany him.

Sithu has made many friends, canine and human on his rounds. Some children even call out a greeting when he passes at a trot, head held high.

Dr Nalinika Obeyesekera replies your queries

Q:In hot weather, my pet, aged two and a half years, began to lose his fur. His skin also looked red. The vet advised me to give him Avil tablets three times a day. I also applied Negavon powder mixed with water and Benzyl Bensoate cream. His coat has improved and the fur is gradually growing again. Of late, though, his eyes are covered by a white film and his vision seems blurred. I apply Asclor eye ointment to his eyes every four hours, yet there is no improvement. Can this be due to cataract? Please advise. Can we bathe him?

Mrs Sheila Wickremasinghe
Ratnapura

A:There are many possible causes for this condition, but it cannot be diagnosed without examining the dog. However, cataracts are most frequently seen in older dogs (six-seven years). Please consult your vet or the head of department of Veterinary Clinical Studies, Faculty of Vet. Medicine, University of Peradeniya for further advice.

A gentamycin eye ointment such as 'garamycin' may be a good antibiotic as a temporary measure, till you can consult a vet.

This column will provide more information on skin rashes in the future.

Q: My German Shepherd has suddenly developed a limp in one of his back legs. There was no injury or damage to his paw, as far as we could see. Our vet prescribed a 25 mg tablet of Voltaren to be given but the dog had passed blood with his stools, which indicated he had internal bleeding. This has gradually lessened. Can you suggest what kind of pain-killers can be given, without the dog developing any side-effects? My friend suggested Brufen tablets.

A: There are few, if any, pain killers available for oral administration that do not have serious side-effects. It is, therefore, better to use external applications, such as hot or cold fomentation and linaments such as 'Algepan' etc.

It is important to try and find out the cause of the limp and treat it specifically. Pain-killers are only temporary solutions.

The group of pain-killers called NSAIDSs which include Voltaren and Brufen can cause internal bleeding in both humans and animals as a side-effect. Dogs are more sensitive to these effects than humans. Discontinue the use of these drugs immediately. If bleeding persists, please see your vet immediately as it can be very serious.

Even drugs such as panadol can have serious negative side-effects in dogs and are toxic to cats. Do not use any pain-killers without veterinary supervision.

Readers are invited to send in any queries about pet-care problems to: The Vet Column, c/oThe Sunday Times, P.O Box 1136, Colombo.

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