Journey to my Motherland

2007-09-06T10:11:00.000-07:00

It breaks my heart to write these words.. but I must confess that I have departed
No longer able to withstand the pain and connection of missing my family. I must go back to my adopted home, for they have nurtured me into what I am and I can not forget that nor expect them to forgive me for being away for so long.
I believe that many share the same angst, understand my torn emotions as you too have felt the pain of leaving what is so close to us- our Homeland
But i shall return- when I do not know... but return I shall
Shivi

2007-06-05T22:09:00.000-07:00

It has been a while folks and I am sorry for being 'In Hiding'

Hope you are all well. I am doing well... have a read of what i have been up to, and I promise to be more in contact from now on

Yours

Shivi

2006-08-29T20:40:00.000-07:00

Keep posted for the next blog in a few days...

I do not know where to begin. Staring into the distance, I am registering little. My thoughts are a complicated minestrone, a masala mix. I do not know which thought leads to which, which emotion leads to the next. Caught in between two worlds, trying to make sense of one.

I began my journey to my motherland in early July. Traveling to the capital of Sri Lanka, Colombo, was a part of this journey because I needed to renew my passport visa. A citizen of one country, seeking the right to live in my motherland, asking permission from the very Sri Lankan government that controversially claims to represent the Tamil people. Fascinating how such an entity could be the cause of so much hardship, pain and yet hope. Motherland. What in the world is that? A piece of land, territory or more? It is simple to say that I am on a journey to my motherland, but its implications are myriad. If I had come a year or two ago, maybe my understanding of it would have been different. Standing here on the North East edge of this island, I know that history is being made around me. Am I a part of the audience, or an active participant? I do not know. So many questions that swarm my mind. Answers that I am yet to discover. I am like Marco Polo, exploring and discovering so much. However, unlike Marco, I am comforted with the knowledge that my exploration is justified, not colonial.

That knowledge itself offers a political explanation to one of my many questions. I have come to understand the struggle that surrounds me. In the process of understanding the struggle, I am discovering part of this exploration includes you all out there. Unable to comprehend why, but I have a sense of community, not only with my Tamil brethren here but all those that share their thoughts with me, traveling through my own journey since for many reasons you are unable to explore it for yourself.

Reflections...

July 25th 2006, Colombo.

Staring through the motel window in Wellawatte, I am immersed in thought and analysis. Tamileelam is so close and yet so far away. So many Tamil homes, Tamil shops and eateries surround me, and yet there is something missing in the Tamils that occupy them. It was only 23 years ago that homes and shops such as these were set alight. Tamils were looted, killed, burnt alive; their lives destroyed. Studies say that over 3000 were killed in what even the British suggest was a orchestrated attack on the Tamils. What this event signified in the least was the absence of approval for Tamils to live there. The message was clear. And yet, still deaf to this message, thousands of Tamils have returned to the site of the riots, to live. Could they be the next victims when history repeats itself? In their hearts and faces, that fear is apparent. Hence, on the 25th of July, they act like it is just another ordinary day. Legacies, memorials surround them in concept but nothing; no statute, plaque or memorial site remains to commemorate those lost. They are forgotten victims. History has been erased in Colombo, but the fear of its return is indelibly etched in the hearts of the Tamils living there.

This perplexed state of mind is by far the most frustrating. The talk is LTTE is bad. Why? Because they claim tax, they ask for customs fees at the border. They blame the Tigers for everything, but use them as well to try and attain asylum in the West. I ask them why they stay in Colombo when it may well be a more dangerous place than being the North-east battlefields, especially for Tamil youth who live in fear of interrogation by the Central Intelligence Bureau, as was conducted upon nearly 1000 Tamil youth on New Years’ Day this year. Listening to Colombo Tamils complain of the Tigers makes one think that they are against the Tigers.

However, the reality is far from that. Although there are some who are most definitely in opposition, often when one digs a bit deeper the reality is shockingly far from it. For example, one of my relatives is a staunch and vocal UNP supporter. But it was in his home that I found a picture of LTTE leader, Vellupillai Pirabakaran, tucked away in the linen cupboard. Having proof in hand of the revelation, I approached my host in isolation and asked for an explanation. His reaction was a combination of discomfort and more acutely, fear.

I had been outspoken of my experience in Wanni, only to be repeatedly told to shut up and not talk of the North in public because ’you never know who is listening, and who was part of the CID’. Due to my vocal opinion, I found my host was willing, though reluctant, to provide me with an explanation. Why campaign for Ranil while hiding Pirabakaran in between the sheets?

He explains.

“No Tamil does not want their own Homeland. Whether they are supporters of the Tigers or not, the love for their motherland is eternal. However, for reasons of self-preservation, people stay away from this topic since supporting a separate Homeland is equivalent to supporting the LTTE, and supporting the LTTE movement is equivalent to being in the movement. So many of those outspoken supporters have been persecuted. Those that are active participants of pro-Tiger events in Colombo have been detained and beaten many a time. Colombo is like a transit launch for Tamils, a step closer to the Western world where fear of persecution is no longer part of daily life.

“We in Colombo, we live in fear. We only think of the next stage of leaving if we can. We are no longer at home, nor are we safe. My own cousin is a Tiger, but I can not be true to myself here. Instead we must put on a mask. Openly groaning about the shortcomings of the Tigers is a safety net; it protects us in the short term from being blacklisted. There is no other way to live here. Our support must be kept undercover.”

I ask him about July 25 and the legacy of the Black July riots.

“Black July is like a Black hole in the hearts of Tamils here. It eats away at us all, for its return is completely possible if not probable. We are like Jews living in Nazi Germany, awaiting the Holocaust...”

Of course, his identity can not be disclosed.

Returning Home

The journey home ought to be simple, but when unsure as to which direction ‘home’ is, the journey begins to be complicated.

The Trincomalee problems started to bubble up, with Muttur becoming the hot topic for all major news sources. But its implications for me were far more personal. I do not know the people in Muttur, but my journey in life was to be determined by these very people. Was water to become the straw that broke the camel’s back for the ceasefire period in North-east Sri Lanka? Was water going to change the course of my journey? My family and friends in Colombo were not in the least in favour of my return journey up north. They had struggled so hard to get themselves to the south, they could not understand why someone with everything would go after paddy fields and mud huts.

And the truth is, neither could I. Why was I so attracted to this land? It was like I had a magnetic charge to the North-east that meant that I could not be anywhere else. It is sad I think that I barely miss my family and friends. I do not miss the London life. But I could not tell you in words what it is that made me return Home, instead of trekking back to London. Thinking back, I know it was the right decision. Something is keeping me here. Maybe it is history in the making. Maybe it is the pace of life. The ability to enjoy the beauty of the land, and not feel guilty about wasting time.

But the reasons were not all positive, for it was also the feeling of guilt that kept me here. I had seen so much, seen how much help and social work that needed to be done in the North-east. I had made promises and if I was to leave just because of the threat of war, I would be just like the rest of them. The rest of the Tamil Diaspora, who came when the times were good, to enjoy the cheap but delicious ice cream and fruits of their Motherland, but only to go when the going got tough.

What about those who have nowhere to go? They will be the ones who will face the shellfire and aerial bombing attacks when the war begins. If I was to leave now, how would I be able to return when the times become good again? Leaving now would be a betrayal of my fellow brethren, a slap in the face of the upcoming onslaught of violence the war will bring. Having grown so close to so many of my brethren, I could not allow this, though I knew their hearts and minds were magnanimous enough to embrace me even after such a betrayal.

So I remained and watched the waters rise and cause the battle waves to crash...

Journeying Back Home...Through Alien Land

I take a step down from the rickety airplane onto the Palaly airstrip. In front of me is a vast expanse of asphalt plains. The sight reminds me of a barren dessert land, causing me to forget that where I stand is at the tip of the Tamil homeland, Palaly, Jaffna. There are no coconut palms to temper the tension I feel in the air. All those disembarking clutch onto their suitcases tightly, holding their heads low. It’s an extremely humorous sight — humorous except nauseating, to see middle-aged Tamil men, who fit the stereotype of being the Man of the Manor, hanging their heads low. The same men who are King of the Hill at home, now are submissive. I wonder if they learn a lesson from this, and realize how demeaning it is to be overpowered.

The luggage checking is a painstakingly arduous task. Each bag is checked at the pace at which the checkpoint staff wish. Most checking is based on personal discretion of the guards, young girls and boys being the most apparent targets. This meant that I too was one of those selected. The man in front of me came with six bags full of shopping from Colombo. He went through smoothly. I on the other hand, came with a laptop on one hand and an Adidas sports bag slung over the other. Unfortunately, I was pulled outside from the usual queue. There my interrogation began.

‘Where are you going? What for, in these times? Why did your parents leave you alone? Are you running away from home? Are you single? Do you have a boyfriend?’

And most amusingly,

‘Are you part of the LTTE?’

The last question seemed to be based purely on the fact that my hair was cropped. What was interesting however, was the nature of the interrogation. The power balance was obvious. There was no right to legal advice, nor right to silence. The questioning became so random, and in many instances, offensive and derogatory. I was close to talking back, but I sensed, showing my personal strength, was not only inadvisable, but inappropriate. This was most evidently a scare tactic of theirs, rather than a questioning in search of answers. Fear was the blatant weapon of psychological warfare here.

When I first started talking back, the old lady behind me pinched me on the hip and whispered,

‘Don’t talk back, it will not give you any results.’

She was right. Silence is not a right, but a form of enforced self-preservation here in the Jaffna peninsula. It’s also the cause of self-destruction. People do not walk the streets. Curfews come and go, but social gatherings are few and far between. A stark difference to Kilinochchi, which is buzzing until 9 pm every night.

Daily life here in Jaffna, the hometown of so many Tamils worldwide, is nearly depressing. Luxury is in copious quantity, but it is this very luxury that is slowly going to eat away at the people here. The source of this destruction is nothing but the idiot box.

SunTV satellites are present in most homes. Bunkers for safety from aerial bombings are fewer in number. Watching the Tamil folk as they sit in front of the television 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, watching Indian movies, teledramas and video clips, I doubt that they would even get up when the aerial bombings start firing down upon them.

Television seems to be the most potent drug that has been fed to the people in Jaffna. Apathy, indifference and absence of motivation is evidenced by the scarcity of entrepreneurship. While family members in Europe, Asia and other Western countries including the UK, work day and night to send finances by post to their loved ones living in their homeland, these very loved ones sit in front of the TV, and like couch potatoes, watch the money get sucked in by Indian cinema, commercialism and luxury goods. DVD sets have become an essential item in Jaffna, when even those who send the money fail to have one. However, I cannot be too critical of those living here. Scattered like wildflowers are Army checkpoints, stationed in front of homes, on street junctions and near schools. Although these guards are meant to be protecting the Tamils, the deep seated fear in the Jaffna townfolk suggests otherwise. As one middle-aged woman told me, ‘We haven’t forgotten everything, although we try. We know of Tharsini’s rape, and know that when the war begins again, these soldiers at the checkpoint won’t just tease the schoolgirls and smile at us like they do now. They will bring back their old ways. It has already started, little by little. But there is nothing we can do. Our homes are here. We have nothing if we move to Wanni. So until the war becomes full-scale, we will stay here.’

Apathy and fear is by far the worst concoction here in Jaffna. To escape reality, they engross themselves in television. Knowing all the while they are only waiting, waiting for the day when the war begins.

10th of August, 2006

I travelled through Muhamaalai, passed the checkpoints, and am glad to be out of the soul-crushing town which is my hometown. Jaffna is my parent’s birthplace, but to me, feels more alien than London. The whole place is full of zombies, waiting for the gates of heaven or hell to open. Stepping foot into Wanni is a relief. The air tells me I have come to the right place. HOwever, the air at Elephant Pass seems to sting. Times are bad here, and the wind feels it too.

As I pass through the town of Palai, it is deserted. I stop at a tea shop for my favourite snack: rolls and milk tea. There I overhear the conversation between the old man at the counter and one of his customers.

Signs suggest that the war is to begin. All the iNGOs are evacuating, taking with them their belongings. His next door neighbour has already left to stay with his relatives in Puthukudiyiruppu. He doesn’t know what to do, since all his relatives are in Jaffna.

He states, ‘If only those fools would listen to me and come to Wanni, we could all get a place inside and be relatively safe. Then the Tigers could easily capture the Peninsula for us, and then we can return home safely. Instead, I am unable to move because I cannot abandon my family. But at the same time I don’t even have contact with them since the phone lines are cut. I don’t know what to do...’

As I travelled down the A9 road, I wonder if the war is to begin. Who is going to die? I captured photos of the beautiful landscape. Who knows whether the next time I come, the tops of the coconut trees will be wiped away? Would the salty water, washing gently upon the shores, be crimson, soaked in blood? Would people I know die? Immediately my thoughts go to Arivalaki. Her long black locks, would they get caught in the barbed wire, or would she mistakenly place her foot on a landmine and maim herself, or worse die? My thoughts are overwhelming and my mind, about to explode. Where am I now? A few months ago, I was in London town, contemplating my journey. Now I am here. When I came I was highly sceptical of the Tigers. But now I am standing here, in faith that they will protect me and wondering if one of their cadres will get wounded or die.

I am no fan of complicated politics. I have made a conscious effort to stay away from it. All I know is that something in me says I belong here. This is my home. I miss my mother, father, friends and family. But I was never content with their company, whilst being caught in an alien land.

The wind blows through my hair and the sun sets behind the coconut trees lined along the horizon. I am here and something tells me I am not alone. I have things to do and places to see, and far to go before I sleep...

11th of August, 2006

The War Began.

2006-08-20T08:42:00.000-07:00

Dear All

I am sorry for the long silence. I promise to share with you all that I have stored within me. I am currently going through a tumultous and emotionally straining period. What I see, what I experience is too strong to put in words. I am consumed by feelings of guilt, sorrow and contentment. My thoughts are wandering with speed and confusion that a pen can not manage. Words will never do this justice, but for you all out there I shall attempt. Give me a few days, I will write. But know, that putting pen to paper is like placing a mouse in a cat's hand, it's suicidal, for my emotions are like a tangled web, caught between two worlds, trying to make sense of at least one.

As I said, I will write, may be it will be you all that make me untangle and make sense of the emotional milestrone that I am currently immersed in...

2006-07-21T05:51:00.000-07:00

I just posted a note on Share your Journey, from a not so young Mr. Mylvaganam
It is an interesting read.. have a look and please send me yours or friends to share as well
Thanks
Shivi

2006-07-15T11:55:00.000-07:00

Just the text:

From the dense forest of the Tiger base, to the thatched hut of the average dweller in Wanni. It was a change in environment and climate, but the hospitality remained the same. Like the typical Tamil living in the North East, they held me up as the 'foreigner' and gave me the 5 star accommodation that they could provide.

The home that I stayed in was that of a widowed woman. Her 2 children have their home in the same compound, but next door. Her home is a thatched mud hut, 2 bedrooms, and a kitchen. The bathroom is outside, and it is not that you would find in any average hotel. The water well is where they wash, and the toilet is a single unit, kept at a distance – this is your average Tamil home in Wanni.

She is a wrinkly old woman, with enough curves on her face like a rippled sheet, an adorable one at that. Her grandchildren are similarly adorable. They were six in total, their ages varying by a year or two. The youngest was six months and the oldest 8 years of age. They are evidently naughty to say the least and a handful I am sure.

During my stay there I noticed that this grandmother was not your average woman. She was the equivalent of many. She would wake up in the mornings at 4:30, make tea for everyone, wake them up, and get those that need to head to school ready and cook breakfast as well. When I say cook breakfast, do not be confused with toast and juice or cereal.

Here, breakfast is just that, a break from the fast, and a feast at that. Hot meals are the standard preparation, dosai, pittu, string hoppers, idly, or hoppers are the standard preparation. With them comes the complimentary dish of curry and even a chilli coconut sambal if you the cook is feeling extravagant. On a day off, the food is hot bread with curry or banana.

In addition to preparing the morning meal, this 'old wrinkly woman' known more commonly as Kannamma, meaning 'darling amma', would prepare the lunch meals for her grandchildren and one of her daughters and son in law, both of whom head off to work six days a week. She packs their tiffen for them and then after that would get down to feeding those left over grandkids the morning meals and gets them groomed with baby cologne and powder. I was eager to carry one of the younger ones, a little girl of about seven months. However, I noticed that the children here fail to wear nappies. Instead, they are covered with only a thin linen clothe. Again, the job of cleaning them up is that of super woman, Kannamma. Watching her work was like watching one’s life in London in fast forward. I had been told that life was much slower here in our motherland, but watching Kannamma, I realised that this was only true for a specific few, and although there is no train to catch, few schedules one must attend, for those living life here, daily chores in itself can wear them out.

However, Kannamma was an exception for even Tamileelam. Her daughter in law one day told me, "Without Kannamma I would really struggle bringing up my children. My husband, he is doing service in the 'Elaipadai', the Tamil Tiger auxillary force, and so I mostly have to bring up my 3 children alone. I keep telling my husband to come home and help me, but he insists that the country needs him more. You see, he used to be a Tamil Tiger fighter, but in 1999 he was sent home by the LTTE administration, after his only other brother who was also in the movement became a martyr. He did not wish to return home, but since his mother was alone, the LTTE ordered him to do so. After returning he got married to me.

“We are happily married, do not misunderstand, but my husband felt his call was in the battlefront, and so he joined the auxillary force. It is tough, but I suppose it is what he wants and since Kannamma is here it is okay."

The Tamil Tiger Auxillary Force is a paid miliary force. They, like the Tiger fighters are sent to battle, and may have to sacrifice their lives, as they have in the past. I asked Kannamma what she thought of her son joining the force again after being sent back.

"It was only 5 years ago that I ago that my son returned home. I had not seen him for over 6 years and was very exciting to see my son. He returned after the death of my younger son, who had died in 1999 during the battle to recapture Elephant Pass. I was distraught, and the presence of my elder son was comforting.

However, I know that his life goal was not within the home. He wanted to take care of more than 'one' amma. He would always tell me that his duty is not confined to the home, but rather to the homeland. He returning to the force was expected, and although I get worn out with the work I do, I am still proud of my son.

“Anyway, he is not the only one. There have been married men who have died at battle when at the same time, their wife gave birth to their first child.”

Listening to her speak of the past made me realise that every wrinkle on this woman's face held a long history of pain, sorrow and hardship. Her ability to straddle on, despite all this was fascinating, and inspirational at the least.

But not all was gloomy with Kannamma. In fact it was far from that. During my time spent with this super woman, I had some of the most simple and natural moments of joy. It was also most definitely an adventure. I did more daring things than which I had done at the Tiger base.

One of the most extreme of this occurred one morning, the third day into my residency with Ms. Kannamma. I woke up around 7 am, to find the kitchen utensils all outside laid out on the front yard. Inside the kitchen was Kannamma, crouched on all four, patting some mud mixture on the floor. She was repolishing the floor, not with your hardware store vanish, but with cow dung! That’s right folks, the floor of the kitchen was being polished by dried cow dung, mixed with mud and water. At first this made me want to throw up all the food that I had eaten the last three days. However, Kannamma sat me down and explained the ancient Tamil tradition of using cow dung. Apparently, cow dung is used to polish floors as well as sacred sites. During Thaipongal, the harvest festival in January, cow dung is smeared on the floor before setting up the fire and cooking in offering to the sun, in thanks for providing the harvest. She also tried to convince me that it was highly hygienic, though I still have my doubts on that, and explained that it keeps the mud floor below from cracking.

What came next was the adventure. After the explanation, she then held out one of her hands, full of the cow dung mixture and offered it to me. "Here. Do you want to have a go?"

Daring as I was, I was not so sure about this offer. I hesitated, grudgingly started to hold out my hand, withdrew it and then thought, "Hmm... another amusing story to share with my friends I am sure, and hey, not an opportunity available in London!" With that I stretched out my hand, took the dung in hand, got on all four and got down to work. At first, I have to admit the smell was a bit off putting, but once I got over that, then it was quite fun. It was like being a child again, playing with mud, but doing it for a constructive purpose of course!

Repolishing the floor is a regular routine for a mud hut like Kannamma's. The amazing thing of the local Tamils is their ability to live life ecologically sustainable. Any green environmentalist would admire the way of life here. Nothing is wasted. Apparently, not even cow's shit! Produce from a coconut tree is used from top to bottom. Coconut fronds are used for building fences, for roofing, weaving baskets, making brooms, and firewood. Coconuts are used for cooking, their shells used for making jute rope, gardening and for firewood. The same applies for the palmyrah tree and many other natural products. Everything necessary can be received from the one compound. Kannamma explained to me that it was the Tamil people's ability to be self-sustainable that got them through the harsh times during the war. During 1997, when the Jeya Sikuru operation by the Sri Lankan army was underway, food, medicine and all else was blocked from entering the North East. During these times, it was their ability to make do with what was within their reach that got them through at the end.

This was also the saving grace for the LTTE during this time of blockades. Kannamma recalls, "We often say that the Wanni paddy fields fed our Liberation struggle. It was the Wanni rice that that was the strongest weapon we had. I used to help with cooking for the fighters at battle. We would work around the clock to cook and pack the parcels for those at the frontline."

What was very much apparent through my stay with Kannamma was that war was part and parcel of life here. The world tries to understand the psyche of the Tamils by looking through the Western eye. However, by looking through the Western eye all they achieve to do is misunderstand the Tamil psyche. Living here means living the liberation struggle, you can not escape it as that is the political reality that they live in.

Even during the ceasefire period this reality continues and Kannamma, like many, continues to live life that way. Currently, she is one of the many that are undertaking the daily 'self-defence' training for civilians organized by the Tigers. While on one end the Sri Lankan government cries to the international community that the Tigers are training the people, on the other hand, women like Kannamma go down to the local field everyday to get trained in basic shooting and physical exercise.

This has got to be the biggest fear for the government. The Sri Lankan government has stated that they are at war with the LTTE not the Tamil people. However, at the same time they evidently attack Tamil civilians as in Pesalai, Mannar. Now their enemy is not only the Tigers but those thousands of civilians, including Kannamma, that have taken training.

The Tigers must have faith that the people too want a liberated self governing state or else they would not train them to fight. Otherwise, the people could easily turn and fire on them. What was once a guerilla movement, which then expanded to be a conventional military movement, is now turning into a people’s movement; one which is going to be very difficult to control and win against for the Sri Lankan government.

Asked what she thinks of this training program, Kannamma laughs. "Its tough, leaving the children and attending the training, but it is also necessary. Nothing is meant to be easy for us Tamils during this time of struggle. I do not have to attend the training but I go out of choice. May be then the next generation of Tamils won't have to go through this hardship. That is what keeps me going". Sacrifice is like daily bread here.

She looks at her children's creations, and I sensed that she saw her lost son in their faces. She would have dreamt of so much for him, and now those dreams were being fostered in her grandchildren. But we both knew that there was no guarantee that this fight would end within their time. We could only hope, and in the case of Kannamma, she was also ready to fight.

2006-06-30T12:45:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-27T05:55:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

2006-06-22T08:17:00.000-07:00

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!