Friday, June 30, 2006

Dear You,

I am speechless as to how many people are feeling me. I did not in the least expect so many youth living in the Diaspora to feel like I do. When I was in London I felt so alone with my feelings, and now I feel like I am creating this connection with so many Tamil youth worldwide who have the same problems, questions and journeys to travel...

As for all the comments, I would like to make a few responses to them.
Firstly, I want you all to know that I am on a journey. I am not a believer in the LTTE. I have come here to explore, and although I have seen a lot that has opened my eyes, and has made me think, I am not one to immediately accept anything. Please do not get me wrong. I respect the views of all, but I have questions, and until I find the answers to them all, I am not willing to label myself in any way...

One thing I can say with full conviction however is that the world has no idea what is going on here in Vanni.. I feel I have so much to learn and am completely amazed at how so much can be hidden from the world.

I am due for an updated journal entry that I am willing to share with you. I promise to put it up within a few days. I will put up photos as well for you to see. I understand the yearning for photos... one of the most divine things of this place is its beauty. It is postcard perfect and yet it is no tourist spot. Almost like 'The Beach' movie where it is a tropical secret waiting to be discovered, only there is a grim side of the looming war that makes it that much more intense and yet exciting...

Anyway, till my next blog, please stay in touch, I do love to keep contact with you so that I feel I am travelling this journey not alone...

With that, I shall say good bye for now

Shivi

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Here it is in text for those that could not open the jpeg file



This is my first trip to the Tamil controlled area of Wanni. It is also the first time I am setting foot on my Mother country. Despite understanding and speaking Tamil on an average level, I still am keen to make the best of this trip. On arrival I went and stayed at my hotel, and got myself ready for the unknown. I had come with no specific project in mind, just ready for an adventure in my home country, going where ever the wind takes me. However, I never expected that it would take me in the direction of being invited to experience life with the Tigers themselves. Why was the wind blowing this way? I like finding things out for myself, but am I ready to take this risk to spend a week with one of the world’s most infamous rebel groups, known for their suicide attacks and lethal qualities? Even the moments when I was getting into the van to go to the camp I was unsure whether I was making the most stupidest decision in my life. I was scared, but wanting to face the challenge, and get a peak into this hidden world. The door to the world of the Tamil Tiger rebels has been slightly opened ajar during the ceasefire period. If I did not take the opportunity now, with the likelihood of war resurfacing, I feared the door will shut soon. A once in a lifetime chance I thought, and with that I took on the offer.

So here I was, a few days into my adventure, ready to settle down into a rebel camp, and have a taste of the life of a Tiger. Are they vicious? Do they hunt at night and eat their prey? Do they share stories of killing and bombing the Singhala people? I had read a lot of about them, but all the news was so distant and I always had many questions that no one dared to ask, such as how could they really brain wash that many people to follow them, let alone die for the cause that they preach? And this elusive leader of theirs, there must be something and more. I was so eager to probe these questions, and knowing that I had to be careful as to how I navigate my investigation, I was eager and ready.

But nothing would have prepared me at the shock that I was welcomed with. The first thing that struck me as completely out of this world is that the female soldiers I was with were laughing, unlike the standard images that we see of them in international media! They had a sense of humour! Nobody ever told me that these soldiers were human! I was cautious, were they making a show for me? I kept watching them, for any hiccups in their well rehearsed play. But I was only to be disappointed in this respect. Nonetheless, although what follows is not the juicy news that would intrigue even the woman's magazines, it is most definitely insightful. And more importantly, another side to the story of the LTTE that is shut from the international eyesight. A side that definitely requires attention.

Hospitality, Tiger-style

Besides trying to get over the ‘humanous’ of the cadres, I spent my first day getting used to the idea of sleeping in the bush, surrounded by mosquitoes, wild pigs, monkeys and the threat of an elephant coming to pay me a visit. Nonetheless, I was not going to chicken out, especially since I knew that many of the girls that were positioned at that camp were younger than me. It was an issue of self-pride but also willingness to take on the challenge. Afterall, how many of us would get the chance to say to our friends over coffee that one part of our holiday adventure was spent with Tigers! I am not sure whether the animal or the fighters would be more shocking for my colleagues in London...

They dusted the only bed that they had on site, laid out new sheets, pillow and mosquito net for me and left the room. Scared, I wondered if I was going to have to spend the night alone with mosquitoes, only to wake up the next morning with a monkey or wild boar sleeping next to me. But before I could think any further it was morning, and I was woken not with not with a wild boar or monkey lying next to me, but rather a soldier, lying on a mat next to my bed, rifle and magazine jacket in hand. I was taken aback that these girls were sleeping on the floor while I was in a bed, as uncomfortable as it was. I was then given a second shock. I turned my head only to be greeted with a smiling face, with tumbler in hand. Inside was a steaming cup of tea. I took the tea and thanked them. It was the sweetest cup of tea that I had ever tasted. How do they drink this and still remain so thin?!

Answer to my confusion was provided in a few minutes with the sound of a whistle. Two blows and the girl lying next to me was up in a flash, mat put away and running to her line before I could blink my eye. What followed was a half an hour drill in the open fields. As the sun scorched on their sweating faces, I watched them undertake training with stern morale. They did not flinch or shift they head until the training was over. I even wondered if they blinked in that time. What happened to the smiling faces that had greeted me this morning? Where had they gone?

Training finished, they all returned to their rooms, faces and uniforms drenched in sweat. If all the youth in London were to take this training every morning, the problem of obesity would not exist! I was later told stories of how some of them struggled the first time they took training. Some tried to hide behind trees to avoid having to run the full course. But they were found, as their masters would be hiding in the trees ready to spot them. They jokingly informed me that their masters too had gone through basic training at one time, meaning they too had tried the same tricks! All the same, they now stood in front of me, with muscular cuts that even Demi Moore would die for. How did they do it? I still did not understand. The more I stayed there, the more I realised that the deeper I dug the more I will find. Understand the Tigers? Not an easy task, and definitely not possible in a week.

But are they women?

The third day in I watched the girls pull apart and reconstruct their rifles. They treated them with so much care, and cleaned them immaculately. I suppose just the same degree of care that we back in London would take to do our nails or hair. I wondered what they would think if they saw us spending our days glamourising ourselves. Would they envy us or would they be disgusted? I was unsure. Just as I contemplated this thought, a female cadre in her mid twenties entered the room. She was absolutely stunning. Her long black locks sat just beneath her hips. She had just come from taking a wash down at the lake. Her hair was glowing in the midday heat, a shining lustre that made me think immediately of a Pantene ad. She would be just perfect!

She took out a bottle of coconut oil. Inside were all these herbs that were meant to be nutrients for the hair. I suppose she was an attest that it works. She sat on the mat on the floor, combed through her hair and oiled it well. She took so much care of her long mane. She was a woman! They were not so different to me after all! She then explained how she had been growing her hair for the past 6 years. Having joined the movement at 16 years of age, she had gone for the chop, since she feared her hair getting caught up in the barb wire when going in for an attack. I asked her what she thought of the fact that she was a child when she joined and that it is against international law to recruit child soldiers. She laughed, and blatantly replied, 'I lied!'

"Of course I knew what was best for me when I was 16. What makes you think that youth do not know how to make mature decisions? I made the decision independently. I was not forced or conscripted to join. I felt the need to join the struggle. I had a vision of freeing my people, a vision that many adults fail to have. I was not jaded or cynical. I am still an idealist. If it were not for the eighteen thousand idealists that have given they lives in our fight for self determination, then there would be no peace talks, no opening of the A9 Road, and no 'you' sitting in front of me now, hearing my story."

"Anyway, it is so ignorant of the West to cry child soldiers! I studied about World War I and II. Children lied then too and joined their country's military, and gave their lives to protect their Homeland. Why aren't they called child soldiers?! Why doesn't the West first look at their own backyard before they go around poking in others?"

Poison Necklaces

Who taught her to speak like this?! Most girls in the Tamil community remain domesticated, unfamiliar with the public sphere and unable to express their ideas in public. I dared to ask her the question, who taught you speak so well?

"I learnt it all in the movement. When I was at home, I was a rebellious child, I disagreed with many things that were customary in our society. However, I was not allowed to express my ideas at home. I was shut out from the world of politics. Politics was only discussed in male circles while the women all crowded in the kitchen and gossiped about the latest love affair or marriage proposal...

"When I came to the movement, I was encouraged to debate issues. We read the paper everyday, and have regular knowledge tests. We need to know about international and national affairs. From the start I was encouraged to write poetry and articles by my leaders. It is the clear vision of our national leader to emancipate our society as well as our nation from the environment that breeds such oppression. Nobody really knows much about our leader. But if anyone bothers to read his philosophies, he is a very forward thinking intellect and pragmatist. You know he does not sleep on a mattress. How many world leaders do you know who do that?"

But, he is also the man that garlands each cadre with a poisonous necklace, with a cyanide pendant. How could he be a great leader when he is taking away the lives of our Tamil youth? I figured I might as well ask her this question, considering she seemed to have an answer for everything else, she may have one for this too...

"The cyanide capsule is not what the world sees it as. Yes, it is a definite threat to the Sri Lankan army as they are unable to intimidate us, nor are they able to obtain information from us. We are dedicated fighters. Unlike the army (Sri Lankan army) we have come voluntarily. We have a higher cause than them. They fight for money. We fight for our people, our language, history, land and culture. Biting the poisonous capsule is simple when you have such a clear vision in life. We have one goal. We know what we are living for. It is for the future of our people, not selfishly for ourselves. So, we tie the cyanide with pride. It is a symbol of our dedication, not our blind following. At the end of the day, it is each fighter that is going to take the capsule, and bite it. Our leader can only give us the capsule. He can not force us to bite it. That is our personal choice. I am ready, willing and able to die for my nation. And if biting a poisonous capsule is the way I must do this, then bite it I shall. I would rather do that than fall in the hands of the enemy and be subject to torture, especially since I am a woman. This cyanide is tied around my neck to protect myself and my dignity"

Her name was Arivalaki, meaning knowledgeable beauty... an appropriate name for she was gorgeous and had also got me thinking...Not the adventure I expected. SB


Sunday, June 25, 2006




Thursday, June 22, 2006

Dear You,

I know this is a strange beginning. Sitting at the airport in Katanayaka, I realise that I am about to enter a journey that is going to change me forever. The decision to step foot onto my Homeland after being born and bred in London was not an easy decision to make. I have thought about it long and hard, and although I have travelled the world, touched every continent, treked mountains and valleys, I realise that this adventure is going to be like non other. I am scared, for I am alone. But I am also excited. I know that I only have you, pen and paper, to accompany me ever step of the way. I will document my thoughts and experiences and hope that later I can read back on this and understand the journey that I have travelled. My personal journey of self-discovery...cliche as it may be..

Currently located in the North East region of Vanni, the area currently under LTTE control and interestingly the area which was targeted yesterday by the Sri Lankan airforce bombing, I feel I am breathing the air in which history is being made. Although fear is also part and parcel of this feeling, I have a craving to discover for myself the answers to so many of my questions. Having born and lived in London all my life, coming to my motherland is a very emotional experience. I have now got the chance to document history. History in the making.

So, my questions are numerous and find the answers I shall. Anyone who wants me to search answers for their questions as well, feel free to throw them my way. Being a Tamil, a part of my journey is to find out who I am. I realise that I have come at a daring time, in which I shall confront thousands of dangerous adventures. I will accept that a part of me is truly anxious, but I am mostly excited. Too long, I have been seeking to find out who I am. I have finally come to accept that the answer is not there in the streets of London. I know this is back to front but below is a poem I wrote before I left. I was initially not ready to share my sentiments with anyone, but now I am ready...

As I walk down these streets of London

I sense a feeling of loneliness.

Could it be that of alientation,

of entrapment..

I don't know

Conscious I am that it be a question,

A yearning question at that

As to where I belong...

From here questions pour in mind

Who am I?

Where is it that I belong?

Where is my Home...

And to all these queries, the answer

remains rhetorical..

From Ilford? Wembley or Tooting?

Born and bred in the British land

Knowing only to converse in a language

I know remains alien to my own

Am I British Tamil? Or Tamil British?

The quest for identity within a pool of others...

A British Asian.. the most compatible label..

But knowing my identity is more specific

I am bemused by the parody

in calling myself British

Is it not the British that conquered

my parent's land?

Colonised, Divide and Conquered.

Made what was two nations, one.

And after

left

behind a conflicting people

Two nations ...One Island?

And what follows is a violent history

A militant group

reknowned as terrorists

A Tamil?

A Tamil Tiger

Unable to express my identity for the negative connations

Easier to say Asain

for I can be free of a terrorist label

Unable to express my identity

I am lost

My identity tangled within a web of

racial politics, bigotry and war

But where do I belong in all this? ...

I need to find my place

Conform to the image or recreate it

as my own

The journey I sense is long and daunting

To my Homeland I must travel

and find out for myself

Who it is I really AM...

Where it is that my parents build their values

My language

That I fail to speak

But the only means to

communicate with my ancestry

An upturned tree

awaiting to find roots

to grown deep within myself

as to understand myself

My past, present

and future

To become a grounded being

I must say...

Au revior to London Town...

Wish me Bon voyage!