Serendipity 5

issue 5

Aspirational. Inspirational. Sri Lankan.

Noble Sage Art Gallery Art with heart opens in London

Turtle Watch New fiction by Amanthi Harris

Hip Hotels Mt Lodge and Nisala Arana For mind, body and soul

volume 1 issue 5

Reel People From London to Paris to Colombo, we present The Brave Generation of Sri Lankan film making ISSN 1749-6144 (print) ISSN 1749-6152 (online)

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46 The Noble Sage

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contents 10 Kothu This summer’s hot news stories

18 A Thousand Words Monochrome magic

12 Lankan Invasion Sri Lanka takes over the City of London

20 Mount Lodge and Nisala Arana This month’s Hip Hotel exclusive

14 SriLit London 2006 Knox, Woolf and the rest of the family

26 Reel People The brave generation of Sri Lankan filmmakers revealed

16 Serendipity Cricket Party Highlights from our Summer Bash

42 See No Evil Creative censorship – the opinions that matter

44 The Washington Report Lankan films showcased in the US of A 46 The Noble Sage Serendipity visits Jana Manuelpillai – the man behind the gallery 52 Turtle Watch Fiction by Amanthi Harris

editor’s letter When I was a kid growing up in Colombo, one of my fondest memories was of my father taking me and my friends to the Savoy Cinema in Wellawatte to watch Bruce Lee films. We’d walk back home afterwards, throwing fake roundhouse kicks and giving piercing shrieks, inspired and energised by the sheer excitement of the film.

Years later, film still has the power to move people in strange and mysterious ways; for me at least, there are few things as delightful as catching an afternoon show in an empty cinema, feet up, just letting myself sink into the screen. That’s why I’m so proud of our first Serendipity Film issue, put together by our dynamic duo of Colombo Editor Suranga Rajapakse and Picture Editor Alefiya Akbarally. A Herculean undertaking - coordinating interviews, research and photo-shoots across three continents, you can see their breathtaking, funny and beautiful results on page 26.

It’s a snapshot of a brave new generation of film-makers; ones who are prepared to stand up and fight for their right to express their view of the world. It’s the sign of a civilized society that even if you disagree with someone else’s opinion, you should fight to the end in order to protect their right to express that view. Serendipity is proud to support these talented individuals in their efforts to generate debate and question the status quo.

After all, isn’t that what the movies are all about?

From our family to yours, much love

Afdhel & the Serendipity Team feedback@serendipitymag.net

PS: If you’d like to show your support then come along to the launch of the film issue at The Noble Sage Art Gallery on the 19th of August. See Page 9 for more details

www.serendipitymag.net

Published by Diasporic Media Ltd.

Picture Editor: Alefiya Akbarally

Mailing address: Flat 1, 36 Craven Hill Gardens London W23EA

Colombo Editor: Suranga Rajapakse Fiction Editor: Shiromi Pinto

Email: letters@serendipitymag.net

Writers: Soharni Tennekoon, Daphne Jayasinghe

Publisher: Tony Thirulinganathan

Editor-At-Large: Nihal Arthanayake

Editor: Afdhel Aziz

Digital Marketing Manager: Ravin Fernando

Sales Director: Gaddafi Ismail Art Director: Geoff Cowan

party people

Aspirational. Inspirational. Sri Lankan.

If you would like to get Serendipity delivered straight to your home, then send a cheque made out to ‘Diasporic Media Ltd’ for £15 for 6 issues to: Serendipity Magazine Flat 1, 36 Craven Hill Gardens, London W2 3EA Please include your name and full address.

Offer applies to UK only.

Film Issue: Launch Party Come and celebrate Serendipity’s film issue at the special launch party organised at the Noble Sage Art Gallery in East Finchley on Saturday the 19th of August from 6pm onwards.

Mingle with some of the cream of Sri Lankan artistic and cultural talent, and join us for some chilled chenin blanc and cutlets, as you check out some of the finest South Asian art in London.

The Noble Sage is the pre-eminent gallery specialising in South Asian art and is the brainchild of British-born Sri Lankan entrepreneur Jana Manuelpillai (see page 46).

There will even be an auction of art during the evening with a percentage of the proceeds going to Teardrop Relief, Serendipity’s chosen charity partner.

If you would like an invite to the launch please email feedback@serendipitymag.net.

Noble Sage website: www.thenoblesage.com Teardrop Relief: www.teardroprelief.com

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The best of Sri Lankan arts, culture and beyond…

URBAN THONGS The brainchild of two Sri Lankan sisters (reliable sources call them ‘the Asian Paris and Nicky Hilton’), Urban Thongs is a line of casual footwear determined to bring a psychedelic spring to your step. Using both outrageous colours and trendy designs, Urban Thongs was launched in 2006 and consists of two ranges of rubber flip-flops; basic and fashion. The basic range is primarily based on vibrant colours of unusual contrasts and single colours, while the fashion range consists of a Sri Lankan fashion staple – batik. Designed and manufactured wholly in Sri Lanka, Urban Thongs is both hip and community-oriented, drawing from local creativity and production skills as well as using local, 100% recyclable rubber. For more of the latest designs, log on to www.urbanthongs.com.

RAS CEYLON Another emerging Sri Lankan talent comes in the form of Ras Ceylon, a gifted young musician from Los Angeles, California.

His sound combines a mix of hip-hop, rap and reggae and tracks like My Island and DeColonize have strong references to the artiste’s Lankan roots as well as his take on the country and its future. With a steady online following as well as an album - ‘The Collegraduate’ to show for himself, Ras Ceylon is a refreshing change from the commercial rap music that gets pumped out over the airwaves these days. With more and more artistes rapping about turf wars, clubbing and the proverbial bling-bling, it’s good to see rap being taken to the days of legends like Public Enemy who’s politically charged lyrics focused on addressing social issues and the bigger picture.

Check out Ras Ceylon and his music on www.myspace.com/rasceylon.

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ONYX The newest addition to Colombo’s nightlife is Onyx, a plush cosmopolitan nightclub which took over the former MKOP venue at the Taj Samudra. Owned by the minds behind Tantra, Party 31 and the much loved but recently departed Glow, Onyx has made a total overhaul of the MKOP layout and now features a sophisticated interior boasting luxe tactile fabrics such as suede, teak and brushed steel, with a colour palette of warm mocha, deep aubergine and champagne. The centrepiece of the bar is the 22-foot long glowing onyx counter.

The focal point of the club is the sunken dance floor with the iconic elevated DJ stand where resident DJ’s Thanugika, Roger and Shaan D create their own brand of magic from Wednesday to Saturday. The spiral stairway now leads to the exclusive VIP Room - Privé which offers a bird’s eye view of the madness below. This room enjoys its own bar and service to ensure that your glass of Moet is constantly full and your Cohiba perfectly cut and lit. Watch out as Onyx plans to bring down a host of international DJs this summer and organise some heavy duty theme-night parties.

Email them at info@glow.lk for more details. serendipity

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Lankan Invasion Words: Afdhel Aziz Pix: Eshan Goonesekera

You know, we Sri Lankans have to thank the British for so much. They gave us public schools and a taste for tea and scandal, not to mention cricket. So on Saturday June 17th, it was nice to give the Brits something back in return.

That something turned out to be a joyous street festival right in the heart of London, in Trafalgar Square. Right under the envious gaze of Lord Nelson, thousands and thousands of Londoners came to experience the tastes and delights of Sri Lanka.

Hizzoner himself, Mayor Ken Livingstone showed up, along with Her Excellency the First Lady of Sri Lanka Mrs. Rajapakse, together with the redoubtable and charming Sri Lankan High Commissioner Mrs. Kshenuka Seneviratne. Mrs. 12

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Seneviratne and her team at the Sri Lankan High Commission deserve a round of applause for pulling off the Refreshingly Sri Lankan Festival in all its complexity, with such aplomb.

The relaxed and happy crowds were treated to the sumptuous taste of rice and curry and lamprais from the Mt Lavinia Hotel stall, which had queues going around the block. Sri Lankan stalwarts like Barefoot and Odel opened their London branches for one day only, and had the locals flocking over the merchandise. Entertainment for the day came from stars Bathiya and Santhush and their band who, for one glorious afternoon, filled with sunshine sprayed Trafalgar Square into a little slice of Lanka.

Bravo. Now when’s the next one? serendipity

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SriLit London 2006 Words: Soharni Tennekoon Pix: Ben Ganeshwaran

book stores, (Foyles Bookshop on Charing Cross road), SriLit 2006 ran from 16th to 23rd June. The event was designed to shed light on the understated depth and diversity of English works by It’s was a warm and muggy summer evening Sri Lankan authors and Sri Lankan topics. The at Foyles Bookshop in central London. People mingled restlessly while they wait for the event to festival spotlighted Sri Lankan literary tradition (writings in English) with the ‘100 best Sri kick off. There was a curious assortment of individuals - from the energetic Kandyan drummers to Lankan books’, spanning the past 325 years.

Works of fiction and non-fiction from the days of the elite of the Sri Lankan literary world, includold literary greats Robert Knox (1681, A Historiing our Fiction Editor and rising talent Shiromi cal Relation of Ceylon) and Leonard Woolf (1931, Pinto, not to mention the Sri Lankan First Lady The Village in the Jungle) to today’s Booker prize her Excellency Mrs. Mahinda Rajapakse, and a handful of members of the Sri Lankan parlaiment. winner Michael Ondaatje (1993, The English Patient) and Booker nominee Romesh Gunasekara Geoffrey Dobbs, organiser of the event, (a man (1994, Reef) were all showcased for the delectawho has fondly adopted Sri Lanka as his home), tion of visitors. greeted Serendipity with a smile. When asked Photographers Dominic Sansoni and Jagath whether the event begins at 6pm, he answered Dheerasekara contributed to the vibrant ambiwith a dry smile, “Well, yes, in theory. But we’ll probably work to Sri Lankan timing...” True to his ence of the festival with the aid of their stunning word, and in true Sri Lankan fashion, the show got imagery, (in vivid colour and striking monochrome respectively) which lined the walls of the Foyles on the road approximately half an hour late.

Gallery.

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A minute’s silence was held in memory of celebrated journalist and author Nihal de Silva, whose tragic death occurred not long ago. It seemed more than fitting to dedicate SriLit 2006 in his honour. The moment gradually passed from poignant to powerful with the onset of special guest speakers Sir Christopher Ondaatje - author of the critically acclaimed ‘Woolf in Ceylon’ and Romesh Gunasekara, who had the crowd absorbed with their innate eloquence.

Gunasekara conveyed the need for the words ‘peace’ and ‘serendipity’ to be voiced in war-torn times like these. The more we express ‘peace’, he said, the better the chances of it happening; the gift of unexpected reward, or - serendipity (which, coincidentally is one of Lanka’s monikers). In concluding his speech, he quipped, “It’s finding what you really need at the right moment; like finding the book you really need to read when you’re reaching for your next glass of wine…”

Meanwhile Ondaatje, on the contribution of contemporary Sri Lankan writers to English litera-

ture, holds Sri Lanka, a country rich in cultural diversity and history, a muse in her own right: “Everyone wants to write; but not everyone knows how or what to write. We Sri Lankan authors are lucky. We have something to write about.”

And with this thought firmly lodged in peoples’ minds, they were left to their own devices, glass of wine in hand, to peruse the well-assembled collection.

The first of its kind to showcase Sri Lankan authors and literature in London, SriLit 2006 was part of a bigger picture: the Refreshingly Sri Lanka festival, which ran cheek to cheek with the England/ Sri Lanka 2006 Cricket Test series. Serendipity was proud to be a supporter of the inaugural SriLit Book Festival. Keep your eyes open for the next one and also a sister event in Galle. serendipity

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Serendipity Cricket Party Pix: Lee Bazalgette, Eshan Goonesekera

Cricket, Hip Hop and a Summer Evening – what could be better?

Every so often, London gives you one of those beautiful summer days when everything seems to go so well. The 17th of June was one of those days.

Sri Lanka beat England in the One Day International at Lords, thousands of Londoners sampled Sri Lankan culture at Trafalgar Square and the Serendipity Cricket party went off without a hitch and raised thousands of pounds for Teardrop Relief. You couldn’t ask for much more.

The venue for the event was the elegant and understated Agenda Bar in the heart of the City of London. With its long sleek bar, stylish lighting and impeccable staff, it was the perfect location for what turned out to be an amazing victory party.

The good-looking crowd of urban professionals were entertained by the dazzling sleight-of-hand of magician Daniel who had them spontaneously applauding his unbelievable close-up magic.

The Moet and Chandon was flowing, the crowd was buzzing and the vibe was sweet. With cricketing legends Arjuna Ranatunge and Aravinda de Silva hanging out with the literati like Bookerprize nominee Romesh Gunasekara, the night was a true gathering of world-class Sri Lankan talent.

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The night kicked off with the multi-talented and thoroughly loveable Big Ted from Kiss 100 showing us his silky skills on the turntable, with some bumping hip hop and R n’ B to get us in the mood. Much love Ted, looking forward to seeing you at the next one! Then Serendipity Editor-AtLarge (and sometime Radio 1 DJ) Nihal got on the decks, playing some Asian flavours and dropping some big tunes that got the crowds flocking to the hot and sexy dance floor.

Finally, legendary Colombo DJ Viran from the Blue Elephant and Cascades made his debut in London, superbly backed up by his DJ’ing partner JK. The dynamic duo kept the crowd guessing; mixing up some choice reggaeton remixes with straight up funky house and finally dropping some baila to tear the roof off the place.

We have to say that it warmed our hearts to see all our beautiful Sri Lankan brothers and sisters, Singhalese, Tamil, Burgher, Muslim, whoever, all hanging out and partying together without a care in the world. It was a shining example of how the second generation can ignore the bullshit and propaganda and unite together for a good cause.

Thanks to everyone who helped, everyone who came and everyone who supported us. Thank you for your generosity and support, we love you and we’ll see you soon.

What a great end to a beautiful day.

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a thousand words

A Thousand Words This section aims to showcase the work of exciting new photographers from around the world. Whatever the subject matter we’re looking for a single image that is worth – you guessed it – a thousand words. If you’re interested in seeing your work here, please email our Picture Editor Alefiya, at alefiya@serendipitymag.net

This picture:

‘‘Family Portrait’’ Shot in a small rubber plantation near Buttala - A family of Tamil labourers as they finish their morning session of rubber tapping; the mother, son and daughter patiently wait as the father finishes his morning shift.

The photographer Jagath Dheerasekara Growing up in Matara, Dheerasekara developed his interest in photography in the mid-90s. His work has been exhibited at venues that include the Royal Photographic Society of the UK and the Hasselblad Austrian Super Circuit. His passion lies in social documentary photography. This collection ‘Song of the Unsung’ was exhibited at the Foyles Gallery, London in 2006.

His influences Ernesto Che Guevara, Fidel Castro and the Cuban Revolution, Aleksei Maksimovich Peshkov [Maxim Gorky] and Russian literature, Martin Luther King Jr, Malcom X, Stephen Bantu Biko and Mahatma Gandhi. Buddhist philosophy and photographywise -Henry Cartier-Bresson.

His favourite Lankan things Hospitality, generosity, food, smiles, climate, fauna and flora.

His dream assignment North east of Sri Lanka.

About his camera bag “20 D with a 24~70 2.8 L series lens, UV filter, Polarizer, FM2 with a 50 mm lens. Note book & pen, pen torch, lens cleaning kit, a few extra pieces of white cotton cloth, CF cards, card reader, battery charger, Sri Lanka map, compass, laptop computer, a pair of binoculars and a bird guide.”

To find out more about Jagath’s work visit:

www.jd.slt.lk and www.flickr.com/photos/jagath_dheerasekara/ 18

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hip hotels:

Mount Lodge and Nisala Arana Words: Afdhel Aziz Pix: Dominic Sansoni

Serendipity proďŹ les two sister hotels run by the charming couple of Kevin and Jill – Mount Lodge, an oasis in the city, a beautifully proportioned Modernist residence designed by master architect Anjalendran; and Nisala Arana, with its colonial furniture and broad verandahs which combine the charm of an English country house with the laidback ambience of Sri Lankan culture at its most hospitable.

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Sometimes the way to find perfection is to stumble across it. Serendipitiously, as a matter of fact.

Let me paint a picture for you. It’s New Years Eve, and a group of friends and I are planning on partying til dawn at the Colombo Nightlife party on Mt Lavinia Beach. But at the last minute, our accommodation falls through and we’re left stranded. I drive around Mt Lavinia for an hour, only to be confronted by a selection of flea-ridden love motels. Out of options, I’m sitting in my car, when I glance up and see a discrete sign with the words ‘Mount Lodge’ written on it.

From the outside, it looks like an ordinary residence – whitewashed walls, iron gate, pretty unprepossessing. I ring the bell and several minutes later I walk into what is my idea of heaven: cool polished concrete floors under my feet; funky contemporary Sri Lankan art on the walls; and perfectly proportioned architecture that makes spectacularly good use of the scant eleven perches the property is built on. Not to mention a genial host in the form of the bearded and be-shorted Kevin; aimiable and a natural-born raconteur we’re soon chatting. It takes me about ten seconds flat to book the place for the night. Its not cheap – around $100 a room. But worth every single penny.

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Anjalendran is a master of space, managing to maximize a sense of spaciousness and lushness beyond the periphery of vision. The bedrooms, of which there are only four, each have a small and intimate private garden; the perfect place to read a book while you sip an ice cold thambili, the sky overhead and the neighbourhood of Mount Lavinia embracing you in its quiet heart.

Kevin and Jill originally bought the place to live in; after twenty two years on Norfolk Island, located midway between New Zealand and Australia, they felt like they wanted to live in Sri Lanka. But friends started staying over, and they realized the potential of Mount Lodge. It’s the antithesis of the faceless, corporate hotels in Colombo, with their lobby bands and function halls full of wedding parties. This is about privacy, seclusion, intimacy – and good taste.

Of course, when I found out that they had a sister establishment, I couldn’t resist visiting it. This is how I found myself sipping a cup of tea at Nisala Arana, a few miles inland from Bentota. Nisala Arana was originally the vedamahattaya’s (village ayurvedic doctor) house, and Kevin and Jill have gradually restored the original buildings and built a few new additions. An inviting Art Deco style swimming pool is in one corner of the >> serendipity

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beautifully manicured gardens; while an outdoor kitchen is linked to a shaded verandah by a thatched walkway.

White columns flank the entrance to the cool and inviting rooms, elegantly fitted out with antique reproduction furniture – four-poster beds and vast almirahs, planters chairs perfectly positioned to take in the view of the gardens with your feet up.

The bathrooms are open to the sky, so you can have a shower in the sunshine with a view of the palm trees overhead. Indoor pools feature sculptures and lilies while the simple place settings at dinner are inscribed with letters of the Singhala alphabet.

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Hidden away in one of the garages are some delightful treasures: Kevin’s collection of cars.

There’s a classic white 1956 MGA, all lush curves and shiny spokes; a rugged Willy’s jeep; and a beautifully restored classic black Morris Minor – convertible to boot! Perfect for excursions into the surrounding country, picnic hamper in the back, top down, and feeling the breeze in your hair.

Enough. Let’s let the pictures speak for themselves. If you’d like to experience Mount Lodge or Nisala Arana yourself, start your journey at www.shankilah.com

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REEL PEOPLE From Colombo to Paris to London, from newcomers to veterans of the silver screen, the brave generation of Sri Lankan ďŹ lmmakers is here.

With stringent funds, limited time and a suppressive local censorship pushing hard, these ďŹ lmmakers are pushing back; forcing not only Sri Lanka but the whole world to stand up and take notice. Serendipity gives kudos to these men and women who play their part, both in front and behind the camera.

Words: Suranga Rajapakse, Soharni Tennekoon

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SARALA KARIYWASAM Actress 1 film, Deepa Mehta’s 2005 film Water which won the Youth Jury Award at the Valladolid International Film Festival in Spain.

At eight years of age, Kariyawasam was singled out from over 50 other hopefuls for the key role of Chuyia, a young widow in Deepa Mehta’s critically acclaimed Water. With only a prior experience in school dramas and in minor roles for television, Kariyawasam showed an absolute commitment to her character; both shaving her head for the role and overcoming the difficulty of learning lines when she was neither familiar with English or Hindi. Ten years old now, this confident starlet has received offers from America, UK and Sri Lanka but remains focused on her school education.

Take heed people, Sri Lanka may have just discovered its biggest star.

Pix: courtesy of Film Location Services Pvt Ltd.

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THE CONTROVERSIALIST ASOKA HANDAGAMA Director, Scriptwriter Five films, six Tele-features, eight documentaries and three plays

RAJ KAJENDRA Producer, Scriptwriter, Promoter Six films and three screenplays A versatile veteran in film production, Kajendra’s multi-tasking, multi-faceted capabilities have been nurtured since 1976 when he first dabbled in the business aspect of the craft. A founding member of the CineSangam Southern South Asian Film Festival in London, Kajendra drew on his marketing skills to promote independent films from Sri Lanka and India to western audiences. Presently, Kajendra awaits the release of his latest film Mann, which has garnered much attention in London and Chennai. Upcoming ventures include a romantic drama and a thriller set in 1930’s Sri Lanka.

With over 30 local and international awards to his name, Handagama has nothing to prove.

A veteran in his craft, he may have no formal education in filmmaking but accredits his success to experiential learning. Currently embroiled in an uphill battle to prevent the banning of his latest creation, A Letter of Fire in Sri Lanka, Handagama remains resolved to champion freedom of expression in the country. Look out for his work in East is Calling - an episodic feature based on true incidents and experiences during the Tsunami that struck the Eastern coast.

Pix: Deshan Tennekoon

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THE FEMME FATALE NIMMI HARASGAMA Actress, Publisher Five films including Ira Madiyama (August Sun) where she won the Best Actress Award at the Las Palmas International Film Festival – 2004, where Hayden Christiensen (Lord Vader himself ) was awarded Best Actor for his portrayal in Shattered Glass With beginnings as a member of the National Youth Theatre of Great Britain, Harasgama has steadily built an impressive résumé with work in film as well as in theatre (Anna Weiss, Women Beware Women).

Balancing between her acting career, she also manages her own publishing company – well red ink, responsible for magazines like Adoh, Machang and Confetti in Sri Lanka. Currently visiting Newcastle as a speaker at the World Summit on Arts and Culture, look out for Harasgama in Ruwanthie de Chickera’s play Checkpoint and a new film based on the July 7th Bombings in London, both scheduled for later this year.

Pix: Alefiya Akbarally

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TIMOTHY SENAVIRATNE Director, Producer, Author, Photographer Five short ďŹ lms including The Commonwealth Runner which received the Highly Commended Prize at the Commonwealth Vision Awards 2005.

A true empiric, Senaviratne’s work ranges from film to music and everything in between. His seven year experience in film was strengthened by the guidance received by famed Indian director Mahesh Mathai (Bhopal Express) and cumulated in the creation of his very own company, Aragorn Films (aragornfilms.com). Presently, Senaviratne is working on a steady stream of foreign commercials as well as on his latest pet project; a series of work in black and white nude photography which will result in exhibition and publication later this year.

Pix: Deshan Tennekoon

THE EXPERIMENTALIST

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THE PROTAGONIST VIMUKTHI JAYASUNDARA Director, Producer, Scriptwriter One mini-feature, and three films including The Forsaken Land which won the coveted Palme d’Or at Cannes 2005 Amiable and unassuming, Jayasundara is a far cry from the controversy that surrounded the censorship of Sulanga Enu Pinisa (The Forsaken Land) in Sri Lanka. Hailed by cinema-great, Dr. Lester James Peiris as representing the nouvelle vague [new wave] of local cinema, he’s since spent the last year travelling the world, sharing his film with audiences of over 14 countries and counting. So what’s his next move? A feature with an independent American producer, marking his entry in to American cinema.

Pix: Alefiya Akbarally

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THE PLAYER

THE TALENTED MISS…

SURAN GOONATILAKE Producer One film and two TV documentaries A burgeoning film and TV producer, Goonatilake has done alright in a single year; his first film, Scenes of a Sexual Nature starring Ewan McGregor and Sophie Okenedo will be released in the UK this October and had the recent Cannes Film Festival buzzing. Sting and Trudie have a photograph hanging on their wall snapped by Goonatilake himself, thanks to what he calls ‘a tiny parallel life’ as a dance photographer.

Stay tuned for more of Goonatilake’s work with The Moral Verdict, a TV series set to make its appearance on US TV networks. www.scenesofasexualnature.co.uk Pix: Louis Montero

RUWANTHIE DE CHICKERA Theatre Director, Scriptwriter, Playwright, Theatre Actress 17 plays - eight written and nine directed, including her first play Middle of Silence which won the British Council International New Playwriting Award for South Asia – 1997, 11 plays – acted Her plays have been performed on stages in Colombo. London, Washington, Manila…the list keeps going. Middle of Silence was the first Sri 38

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Lankan play to be performed at the West End (produced by The Royal Court Theatre) and work like Two times Two is Two and Checkpoint have received critical success both at home and abroad. Founder of the Stages Theatre Group in 2000, She was also one of the five South Asian directors responsible for the exclusive multimedia theatre production Memories of a Legend which premiered in Tokyo in 2005. Currently working on her maiden film script, watch out as de Chickera gets ready to conquer the silver screen.

Pix: Timothy Senaviratne

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THE PACIFIST

SAI GEORGE Producer, Scriptwriter One ďŹ lm, the contentious In the name of Buddha, which won Best Foreign Film at the Beverly Hills Film Festival in 2003 A vital component of SaiAnn Films, a band of professional freelance filmmakers, George produced In the name of Buddha in 2002 which, four years on, appears to still arouse controversy.

George penned the story based on the harsh events that affected a Singhalese friend close to 40

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him. Having spent nine years writing it, this film that preaches non-violence has now achieved global recognition and is currently being plugged worldwide, despite being banned in Sri Lanka.

Keep your eyes peeled for more brainfood from George in Dear Mr President, a film about a Sri Lankan underdog played against a backdrop of minefields and senseless violence.

the arts While Sri Lankan film productions like Vimukthi Jayasundara’s The Forsaken Land and Asoka Handagama’s Letter of Fire enjoy critical success abroad, they ironically face censorship in their home country. Is Sri Lankan culture predisposed to a hushattitude when it risks exposure to work that challenges the status quo? Serendipity popped the question to some of our featured personalities.

“Why they are so scared of artistic expression? The reason lies in its power.”

See No Evil

Vimukthi Jayasundara, Director: “Compared to world cinema, Sri Lankan authorities are far behind. To understand a high level of artistic expression, one needs lots of experience and knowledge in art. Art is a gift of brain and [the] understanding of art is an evolutionary process of the brain. Maybe Sri Lanka lacks that.”

Words: Suranga Rajapakse Pix: Tashiya Mirando

Nimmi Harasgama, Actress: “As artistes it’s our responsibility to express what is happening in the country and there are directors out there on a limb, being provocative, and that’s what art is about. People like Asoka, Prasanna [Vithanage], Vimukthi; they’re all independent film makers and while it is important for us to look at our country from multiple perspectives, it’s also important to document how an auteur perceives it. We mustn’t forget we’ve lost a lot of journalists and performers, people who’ve expressed themselves and who have either been threatened or killed - people like Richard de Zoysa.”

“It’s about showing people what is happening in their society- that is what art is about - and we should have a right to do that in our country. It shouldn’t be seen as threatening.”

Asoka Handagama, Director: “This is naked hypocrisy. They [the authorities] are of the view that these films shatter the family values and cultural standards of our society. For me this argument is ridiculous. A film does not destroy or create anything in reality. If one film 42

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can destroy these so called values and standards, they can surely be protected or rebuilt by another. My understanding is that a film (or any piece of art) represents the culture that it stems from. Every person has his own type of criticism of his society. The way he or she expresses it differs according to the medium through which he or she communicates. For an example, politicians shout onstage during their election campaigns, criticising the system and their opponents. We have even seen some politicians using dirty language as well and no one imposes ban on them.

Our medium is the cinema.”

“Why they are so scared of artistic expression?

The reason lies in its power.”

Ruwanthie de Chikera, Playwright: “I think right-wing conservatism is something on the rise the world over – possibly most dramatically in the West. Over the past few years we have seen this change towards narrow-mindedness, suspicion of the other – a basic insecurity. Sri Lanka too, of late, has experienced an increase in religious and political conservatism and extremism. In situations like this, artistes and new ideas are always attacked; but this is all the more reason why art can and must proper.”

Have an opinion?

Share it with us by mailing your views to feedback@serendipitymag.net. serendipity

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Words: Daphne Jayasinghe Illustration: Suranga Rajapakse Pix: Aude Guerrucci

Washington DC was treated to a taste of modern Sri Lankan cinema at ‘Movies from the Resplendent Isle,’ a film festival held at the Smithsonian Institution’s Freer Gallery of Art. Serendipity sent Daphne Jayasinghe to scope out the films and to gather feedback from the audiences in attendance.

Samanala Thatu (Butterfly Wings): Directed by Somaratne Dissanayake, this tells the moving story of ten year old Sira (played by Dasu Madushanka) and his homeless family who earn a meagre living as street entertainers. It is the boy’s relationship with his younger sister (played

by Dulanjali Aruyathillake), who has no limbs, that forms the film’s emotional core. The young actors’ performances, particularly Aruyathillake’s, were outstanding and did not fail to impress the audience.

“You don’t even see people with disabilities in movies in the US,” - Clint Brownley, postgraduate student at American University, DC Tani Tatuwen Piyabanna (Flying with One Wing): Director Asoka Handagamma exposes injustice and marginalization in a different context in this film which portrays the life 44

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of a woman who chooses to live as a man. The story uncovers the harsher realities of gender relations in Sri Lanka and bravely tackles gender inequality, sexual harassment, homophobia and transgender issues.

“I don’t think a film like this could be made in the US. It was open to gender ambiguity and sexual identity, it was many layered.”

- Shira Keyes Pavuru Walalu (Walls Within): Gender inequality and social stigma are also the themes in Prasanna Vithanage’s haunting story of Victor and Violet, former lovers separated for 25 years, who are reunited in 1960’s Galle. Apparently given a second chance, they hesitantly attempt to revive their relationship; but family and social obligations are overpowering and, in the end, destructive.

Aruni Wijetilleke, a consultant who grew up in Florida and now lives in Virginia was interested to see the film’s frank portrayal of controversial issues in a Sri Lankan setting. Aruni also commented on how distinct the film was from the escapism and glamour of Bollywood. “It was interesting that there was so little music and action compared to Bollywood movies, it was simple and focused on the storyline.” “[It was] very raw…it created a strong and emotional connection to the characters.”

- Sashi Selvendran Argentinean, Gustavo Folgestrom was interested in the portrayal of life in Sri Lanka. He said the film provided “…an opportunity to learn more about [its] culture and society.”

Guerilla Marketing: The final film in the festival tackled political spin, an issue all too familiar to the Washington DC audience. Directed by Jayantha Chandrasiri, the movie tells the story of a creative public relations executive who becomes so involved in marketing a ruthless politician’s campaign that he can no longer distinguish between

reality and spin. Switching from political satire to moments of poignancy, the movie documents the effects of his resulting mental breakdown on those around him.

Tom Vick, film programmer at the Freer Gallery, was impressed by the high level of craftsmanship displayed by the movies. He was also surprised by the films’ stark treatment of their subject matter, remarking that they “tackle issues head on.”

Bluntness is a Sri Lankan character trait, but controversial issues are not always treated so openly.

The directors of these four films refuse to be bound by such conventions and their works present, and challenge, the injustice they see in society around them.

‘Movies from the Resplendent Isle: A taste of Sri Lankan Cinema’ was co hosted by the Smithsonian Institution’s Freer Gallery of Art, the Sri Lankan Embassy in Washington DC and the National Film Corporation in Sri Lanka. serendipity

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people “While most people were playing football I was always painting. I always saw myself as different, in retrospect,”

The Noble Sage Words: Soharni Tennekoon Pix: The Noble Sage Art Gallery

Jana Manuelpillai is the British-born Sri Lankan entrepreneur and curator behind the Noble Sage Art Gallery – the first gallery specialising in South Asian art to open in London. Serendipity hung out with him one day at The Noble Sage, his brainchild and home to his first instalment, Chennai Excite: New Work from South India

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What is now the space of The Noble Sage was once a car garage. Settled in the hub of East Finchley, you’d have no idea; while elegantly approachable, this niche contemporary art gallery maintains an air of eastern mysticism in this densely white-middle-class neighbourhood.

The interior is airy and light. And the space has a simple layout, effective in showing off the goods. 50 pieces are on display, of which 27 have already been sold. And the exhibition has only been running for six weeks. With the works of 17 hand-picked artists on show, the collection is palpably eclectic. “I deliberately chose a variety.

Because I had 48 artists to choose from, one of my criteria was to get a variety, because it’s the first

show and I wanted to really find a variety to test the market. I’m in a very white middle-class area – I’ve got Muswell Hill at the top of the road here, I’ve got Hampstead and Highgate around the corner. So I really wanted to find out what people would buy and what they would be interested in instinctively.”

Chennai Excite: New Work from South India encompasses a range of artists who differ in style, age, materials and media. The common factor uniting their work at this exhibition? Chennai, of course. “You’ve got contemporary abstract work, like Kudallur, and then you’ve got quite traditional work, like Doss,” he explains, gesturing >> serendipity

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people P. Gopinath ‘Untitled’ (2005) Acrylic on paper

“I really wanted to find out what people would buy and what they would be interested in instinctively.” to each painting. “So this show specialises in contemporary Indian art.” He pauses and clarifies, “South Asian art – it’s Indian and Sri Lankan, except that Indian art has taken off so much that I want to specialise in it. When I talk to people, I push Indian first but being Sri Lankan, obviously, I want to push Sri Lanka. In fact I’ve planned a Sri Lankan show, in six months I’d like to do something big. I want to first stabilise myself… because in the end, India is a bigger market than Sri Lanka so I want to first start with that and then grow bigger.”

The Indian art market –as India grows and is empowered financially, as Asia grows and is empowered financially – is going up at a rate. The old, senior artists are being collected now though only a few years back they were overlooked or forgotten. Now there is actually money there to collect them, and they’ve become collectible Masters.

With his finger on the pulse of the south Asian art market, Jana seems to be on to something.

According to Jana, Indian artists are currently commanding European prices for their art. But unlike the European art market, it’s still a new phenomenon in India, so it’s a wise time to invest.

“People come now to the gallery and they know that not only are they getting a good piece of art, but an artist like Gopinath is going to be worth a lot. Since I opened the exhibition, his prices have gone up by 17% in just eight weeks.”

It seems to be a win-win situation. While it’s a great investment for buyers and collectors, it’s also a good time to be an Indian artist, who, according to Jana, is capable of drawing in up to £5000 per painting. Like Achuthan, he points out. But these artists are also provided a service by art-enthusiast, free-thinkers like Jana. “My main occupation is to go to India, go to Sri Lanka,

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and find those artists there that would like further promotion and stabilise it under European branding. Because many of them don’t have that - a European stage for their work. This gallery is the first of its kind in the UK, that specialises in south Indian art. It’s about time. And its nice to have them being represented by someone like myself.”

For a 27 year old, he’s achieved something most people strive for in a lifetime – reaching that goal. That one thing you’ve always aspired to do, but don’t, out of fear of criticism or from simply getting side-tracked by mundane practicalities.

But not Jana. “I’ve worked on this (the gallery was launched with this exhibition) for a year and it’s always been a dream of mine to start my own gallery so it’s really nice to finally be able to do it. I’ve worked in galleries for about ten years.

Dulwich Picture Gallery in south London, the Mall Galleries, and in America as well, so it’s nice to finally open my own, and especially with a specialism that relates to my own background.”

British born Sri Lankan Jana describes himself as “a bit of an anomaly”. “While most people were playing football I was always painting. I always saw myself as different, in retrospect,” he muses.

But different, is often no bad thing. It was this so-called ‘difference’ which led him to pursue a career transcending the hackneyed set of ‘acceptable’ jobs. Having been head-hunted to work at the Mall Galleries after a stint at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art, (the biggest contemporary art space in the world), he has some substantial experience within his field tucked under his belt. And it is thanks to this experience, along with his cultural background and sheer love of art, and, as he puts it “feelings for a more global ethos on life”, that The Noble Sage stands today. >> serendipity

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people

B. Perciyal ‘Nothing Else’ (2004) Mixed media on board

“You’ve got contemporary abstract work, like Kudallur, and then you’ve got quite traditional work, like Doss,” As the morning draws to a close, and Jana has patiently fielded a barrage of questions, there is one thing left unanswered: why ‘The Noble Sage’?

In short, it is a play on the term “noble savage” (Joseph Conrad fans ought to be familiar with it), a derisory term used by the Victorians to describe the indigenous people of the countries they colonised. Jana smiles, “So what I did was ironically invert it, so it’s The Noble Sage. It’s the inversion of the idea of going to another country and looting from them. I’m not doing that, I’m doing something different. I’m promoting the art.”

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The Noble Sage acts as a platform for promoting the work of emerging or established artists from South Asia to UK audiences. Find out more at www.thenoblesage.com

fiction

turtle watch Words: Amanthi Harris Illustration: Geoff Cowan Pix: Jason Harris

In our continuing quest to seek out new Sri Lankan fiction and boldly go where few magazines have gone before, we’re pleased to showcase the work of Amanthi Harris. If you’re a Sri Lankan writer who would like to see your work in the pages of this magazine, then please email our Fiction Editor, Shiromi Pinto at feedback@serendipitymag.net

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The dark garden of the villa rustled and shifted, and crowded in close around the veranda. Dusty shadows crept around clay urns of cacti and ferns, two sedan chairs, a table with a single thick barley-twist leg at its centre, a candle in a jam jar for power-cuts. The shadows pressed in through the window bars, crept into Ria’s room, like smoke. She pulled the shutters closed, slid the locks. The shadows settled in the corners of the room. Geckos shrieked, splayed frozen, black bead eyes watchful, high under the eaves, under the wavering lines of dark red tiles. Mating, Sunil had said. Geckos called to each other like that; it wasn’t the noise of rats at all; she was perfectly safe in the bungalow. Something thudded down the roof, crashed into bushes. Leaves shuffled in its wake. Crickets throbbed expectant sounding.

Someone came along the path; footsteps climbing the red concrete steps of the veranda, then a tap at the door: neat and assured.

“Come in!” she called.

The carved doors opened in together, and he stood, too tall for the doorway, smiling, waiting for her.

“Are you ready?” he said.

“Almost. I’m trying to find a jumper.”

The light in the room caught in the bright gold of his hair, in the white of his shirt, the gleam of green-blue eyes. He was wearing jeans, not shorts, a navy jumper tied around his waist, and for the first time he felt of abroad, a distant London. He lay on his side of the bed, propped on one arm, legs stretched long, feet off the covers, and watched her. Three nights already he’d spent there, she mused, yet it was still more hers, than theirs.

“It’s right at the bottom of my suitcase,” she said and tugged at soft apple green sleeves until the jumper came free. It smelled of perfume >> serendipity

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fiction She’d known it the first moment she’d seen him, almost. As he strolled up the path, green-lit under the frangipani and mango trees, the torn brightness of plantain leaves. The sun fell on his pale gold hair, and on the khaki backpack that looked like it had travelled all over the world. She had watched from the veranda of the main house as he asked Sunil for a bungalow. He’d simply shrugged when he was told that they were both taken and accepted the room inside the house at once. He’d glanced across at her reading, as Sunil led the An owl hooted. A harsh high cry replied. She was way in, and she’d watched as Louis stepped inside glad of him there big and bold on the bed. the room smiling, approving. She’d seen him “I always hated the night-times here,” she said. know to feel for a switch by the door to turn on The fuzzed dark of shadows in rooms, the gloom of the fan; and known he’d been in Asia before. As electric lights, sly squeaks, scratching, scudding he dropped the backpack by the old four-poster in cupboards and empty rooms, above the ceiling. bed and chatted with Sunil, easily friends, she’d And there was a live dark under the pantry sink known that he’d travelled alone before. as you washed your hands after dinner; paw-paw “I was quite glad,” he confided later, “when my seeds in the waste bin that watched with wet, friends went on to Thailand. I wanted to stay and black, malevolent eyes. see this country on my own. Take my time, do it “I was always afraid,” she said. “Ever since I my own way – you know?” can remember. Going up to bed, past the kitchen She nodded. She loved him liking being alone. and the servants’ room, I’d see the cook rolling And she loved being like him, the two of them out her straw mat on the floor, arranging her faded together. old cotton bedding, and I’d feel so sad. And in my A horn beeped outside in the lane. room, in bed, I’d feel so lost and alone, although “That’s the van,” she said and he dropped back everyone was only downstairs…” among the pillows and groaned.

“You have to sleep through the dark,” Louis “Lets stay!

I’m all settled here now,” he said. said. “Like the locals. They go to bed so early “You wanted to see turtles!” She laughed and here. And then when you wake up, the sun’s out tugged at his hand. But he wouldn’t move from and everything’s beautiful again.” the bed.

“You’re right!” She smiled delighted. “In the “Let’s just tell him to go away,” he begged. morning it did seem incredible to have been “And who’d do the telling? Me, I suppose?” afraid.” She loved the way he understood.

“But of course!” He grinned. “You’re the local!

“But aren’t you afraid, travelling alone?” he said. “That’s what I’d be afraid of. It doesn’t seem He’ll listen better to you.”

“I’m not local,” she said, pulling his hand a litsafe, a woman on her own, in a place like this.” tle harder. “Come on! We haven’t been out of the “I wanted to get out of Colombo.” villa in days.”

“Couldn’t you have come with family?”

She shrugged. She hadn’t thought of asking He swung his legs over the side of the bed and anyone. they went out into the garden.

“It might have been safer to come in a group,” he The van drove along the bay, through lanes windsaid. ing past village houses in thick close gardens; “I don’t like groups.” black foliage like clouds, crowded around empty “Me neither,” he said laughing. verandas. Yellow light glowed deep inside, from “I guessed.” She grinned. rooms where families had gathered to gossip and worn two weeks before, on the plane coming over, returning, she had imagined, to somewhere she would always know. That would always know her. Sri Lanka would claim her, she had thought; would clasp her tightly; old loved faces pressing into hers, taking her back in among them. But she had returned belonging to another world, and politely they had let her be, left her outside them all, looking on at a new Sri Lanka that was more distantly hers than she had believed.

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fiction tease and worry and scold, whiling away the night.

The van left the houses behind and drove on to a coconut grove. A black sea shone through the slanting dark bars of trees turned silvery with moonlight. The sea winds were cold, making the trees sway high up against a blue-black sky with a thin curve of moon. They stood by the van and pulled on the jumpers. The driver wrote his mobile phone number on a card for Louis.

“I’ll come back in two hours,” the driver said.

“Call me if you want to stay longer. Hope you see some turtles,” he added and drove off.

“Where’s he going?” Louis muttered, but it was too late.

photographs more closely.

The ex-convict came up beside Ria. “Sinhalese?” he murmured. The voice, now turned adult, was a secret voice, brought out for real conversation. She pretended not to hear. He pretended not to have spoken. He darted away.

“So! Let’s go to the beach!” he cried in English; the happy child again. “This way, Sir-Madam!”

He shone an electric torch through the coconut grove, skipping on ahead of them. They followed him and stepped onto an empty beach, the sea spread directly before them. They sat against soft warm dunes, the sand sinking gently around them as the ex-convict peered at the black water.

They walked to where a light shone from the trees, “No turtles yet, Sir-Madam,” he said. “But soon, from a thatch-hut with a painted sign: ‘The Turtle soon! Dear God: please let there be turtles for SirMadam! Just keep watching the Ocean. I also will Watch Museum’. Inside, an electric bulb hung be looking for you.” on a black cord, its light swinging with the winds over the brown plaited walls and a gallery of pho- He ran to the water’s edge and marched by the tographs: turtles lumbering onto beaches at night, waves swirling idly in. He grew distant.

“Something’s weird about this,” Louis said. making holes in the sand, then, legs splayed, big He frowned at the tiny figure of the ex-convict. and straining, squeezing out eggs. There were “Why’s there no one else here?” framed details about the Turtle Watch Project, They looked along the curve of beach. It was the about the young ex-convicts employed there and first time Ria had been anywhere so deserted in taught Conservation; taught how to make a safe Sri Lanka; so far away from anywhere she knew, world for the turtles to trust and thrive in. and everyone.

There was only one ex-convict there that night.

“Do you know anything about this place?” Louis He ran over grinning. asked.

“Welcome, Sir-Madam!”The man’s face was “No.” pockmarked and puffed, yellow-glazed and tough. “Does your family ever visit?”

His eyes were threaded red, the nose broken; “I don’t know.” eyebrows interrupted by stitches. But his smile “Surely you know where your own family goes?” was eager and hopeful, and seemed apart from the he grumbled. “You should have asked someone damaged features. about this place before we came. It could all be a con.”

“Here, we don’t steal the turtles’ eggs,” he said “It was your idea to come here,” she reminded excitedly, in a high-pitched child-voice. “We’re him. There was no way on earth her family would not like the people down the road. They steal the come to a place like this. In the middle of the eggs and grow the turtles in tanks! Sometimes night. To look at turtles. they even eat the eggs! Don’t ever go to their Turtle Watch! They’re bad people over there! Good The ex-convict staggered on dark knobbled legs, thing you came here!” far down the beach. The pale beam of his torch “Do we need to buy tickets?” Louis asked. wavered on the empty waves riding in, one after “No need to pay me, Sir! It’s all free. You only pay another. The sea tried to reach them over the if you see turtles.” beach, was drawn back unprotesting into the great “Great,” Louis smiled. Happily, he studied the dark swell. She watched it recede, obliging, >> serendipity

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fiction but gathering its strength.

“Where are all the other tourists?” Louis said.

“There were plenty of tourists on the bus to Tangalle.”

She watched the lights shine across the bay in the town, where life went on unaware of them.

The coconut trees shivered behind her, clustered close in a primal Sri Lanka; a pre-world of hushed dark beaches, a muted rocking sea, searching the shore all through the night. Long still nights, full of unknowable secrets. She could imagine the war bodies washing up, maimed and distorted after night-time abductions. They seemed almost a natural result of such unreal beauty on an island so spoiled, so churned under its surface, unable to settle and grow strong and thrive. She thrilled seeing the island’s raw splendour at its secret night-time source, potent and untainted before it was lost in the world of people.

“I’m sure there should be more people here,” Louis said.

“Does it matter?” she cried, and he turned surprised to look at her.

“It’s better like this, don’t you think?” she added more softly.

“Well I don’t think there are going to be any turtles,” he said firmly. “Something isn’t right about this.” He jumped up, full of a new restlessness.

“Hey!” he shouted to the ex-convict. “Where are all your turtles?”

A single jarring note in his voice rang out over the dull moan of waves. The ex-convict spun round, his eyes very bright.

“I can’t see any turtles!” Louis shouted. “Where are they all?”

The ex-convict tensed, his round belly turned solid, his thin legs locked. Like a fat sparrow, Ria observed. But dangerous. Like he might peck you.

“This is a con,” Louis said. “This whole country is one big scam. It preys on unsuspecting tourists. I bet that bloody driver was in on it as well.

I should have listened to my friends; they’d had enough, that’s why they left. There was always something: hire cars, safaris; temple visits – you name it. Always a scam. But I kept defending the place. Like a fool.”

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“I don’t see how he could be cheating us,” Ria said. She searched for the trick. “I mean we don’t have to pay unless we see a turtle…”

Louis took out his mobile phone and the ex-convict started to run to him.

“The turtles will come, Sir!” he puffed. “Just wait! Madam: tell Sir, to wait a little!” He looked wildly, desperately between them.

“What’s it to you, if we leave?” Louis said.

There was a cold glow in Louis’ eyes as he smiled down at the pitted fleshy face turned up to him.

Louis was so much stronger, so effortlessly luckier than the fat-sparrow ex-convict. Louis’ hair shone in the moonlight, bleached almost white at the temples, swept up from the fine-boned face: the perfect lines of jaw and chin and lips. Ria didn’t feel like gazing at him anymore. She looked away from him winning, above the beaten damaged face. Louis dangled his phone before the exconvict.

“I think I’ll call the driver now,” Louis said. He reached into a jeans pocket for the card with the driver’s number on it, and started to dial.

“No! Stay! Stay!“ the ex-convict cried. “The turtles will come! I can’t know, no, what time the turtles will want to lay eggs?”

“But it’s not the season, is it?” Louis said to the ex-convict. “You know that, and I know that. So why pretend?”

The ex-convict watched silent. Not pleading anymore, or explaining about the turtles. His hard bloated cheeks glowed waxy in the torchlight.

‘Tourists missing from Turtle Watch Beach,’ Ria saw. Easily, too easily. A report filed at the Police Station in town; a minor headline in a morning paper above a small square of text with their names and ages; a few incorrect personal details.

“We should have checked about the seasons before we came,” Ria told Louis. “The driver will be back in an hour. Let’s just wait till then.”

“Yes, wait!” the ex-convict cried.

“Maybe the turtles will come later,” Ria said.

“Yes, later! Turtles will come later!” the ex-convict agreed.

“Yeah, right,” Louis snorted and sat down on the sand, silent and discontented.

The ex-convict ran back to watch the waves. Ria sat down next to Louis. He glanced at his watch and back towards the Museum, but it was lost in the darkness behind them. He turned and he bumped against her, and she felt his arm inside the soft navy wool, private and his and unconnected to her. He would always be private to her.

She would never know what he was thinking: the exact reasons, every motivation. Why he’d leaned across at dinner on his first night at the villa, and asked to join her. Asked Sunil to move the white plate, the fork and spoon, the blueand-white china bowls of fried rice and chicken curry next to hers. How did you know when you knew someone? When you knew enough? When it was safe to allow that last private door inside you to open? She could see why her relatives had horoscopes read, before anyone even began to like any other person. Anything, just to know what lay beneath the pale gauze of newness; what would be revealed, as it shifted. She watched the sea become its surly night-time self; surging in angry bursts over the beach, claiming it. Another sea altogether from the dazzling brilliant blue that sprayed and splashed up into the sun, sparkled out beyond the frangipani trees as they sat on the main veranda at breakfast.

“It looks so pure in the mornings,” she said, “so joyful and innocent. It’s so changed at night.”

But he wasn’t listening.

“It’s not nice you undermining me in front of him,” he said. “You should be on my side, not his.”His eyes, laughing and beautiful through the day in the green shade of the garden, as they talked of a life back in London together, were a scornful white glare in the tan of his face.

She glared back at him and he turned away.

She watched the sea reach for them, and it was stronger than them; knowing it would make it.

Slowly it hauled itself forward and the tide crept closer over the beach.

Ria walked alone by the water, the night spread vast and new again, around her. But the ex-convict had seen her, and he came over at once to join her.

“You’re Sinhalese?” he asked, the secret adult

voice returned.

“Yes.” “You’re from here?”

“Of course.” She lied, not expecting him to believe her. But he did.

“You’re from which town?”

“Colombo.”

“You speak Sinhalese?”

She nodded and he switched at once to Sinhalese.

“Listen, Madam: I don’t get paid for being here; whether the turtles come or not, one of us has to be here. We only do it for the Conservation, no?

Otherwise people come and steal the eggs. Tell that to your friend! I’m not asking for the whole amount – just something small, for being here all night! Otherwise there would be no eggs, no? And no Turtle Watch?”

She understood the scam at last. There was always a scam, after all. Making something from nothing.

How you took control maybe, when you thought you had nothing.

“Go and tell your friend!” the ex-convict urged her. “Explain the whole thing to him.”

“I might do,” she said, walking away from him.

The ex-convict ran back along the beach and resumed his patrol. She went slowly back to where Louis sat dark and solid and unmoving, his eyes on the unchanging line of horizon. She didn’t sit down; stood nearby, scuffing the sand with her toes, polishing her nails, the way her grandmother had shown her a long time ago.

“You shouldn’t underestimate that guy,” she told Louis. “Life is cheap over here. People are – ” “Are what?” he demanded. “So poor they have to be pitied all the time? Given money and indulged whenever they demand it? Maybe if they didn’t try to trick every Westerner they met, I’d feel more like it…” He sat scowling beside her. “And another thing, it’s bloody annoying your encouraging it.”

“I’m not,” she said evenly. “It’s just that people over here don’t see us as individuals; just people with more. They don’t see anyone as individuals…” She stared into the dark, seeing now.

“That’s what’s making me afraid.”

“Afraid?” Louis said frowning. “Afraid of what?

That twit?” >> serendipity

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fiction “Alone feels so lonely here,” she mused. “So exposed. Being just yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

She started to reply but lights swept over from the road and a horn beeped for them.

“Thank God!” Louis cried, jumping up. “I’m out of here!”

The ex-convict ran to them, eyes blazing.

“Just pay half!” he cried leaping in front of them, not letting them go. “Half is nothing no?”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Louis said, pushing the ex-convict away.

“Madam, madam!” the ex-convict shrieked. “I told you, no? I’m only asking half!” He switched to Sinhalese. “It’s nothing for foreigners, in their money. No need for you to pay, Madam, but a small amount from your friend? I was looking for turtles for him, no? Otherwise I could have been at home with my family. Nicely sleeping.” His eyes were greedy, grasping at anything before they left him behind forever, a wild man on an empty beach.

“Let’s just give him half,” she said to Louis.

“It’s only a few quid!”

“No way!” Louis said. “No bloody way! We only had to pay if there were turtles.”

He stamped over the beach to the van while she hung back and paid.

“Thank you, thank you, Madam!” the ex-convict grinned. His voice dropped low as he spoke in Sinhalese, talking just the two of them: “You come back in two months, Madam! Then there’ll be turtles. Bring your Colombo friends! I’ll take you to the best places, Madam. I won’t forget your face!” He stood outside the museum hut, waving goodbye, grinning like a child given gifts.

“You shouldn’t have paid,” Louis said in the van.

“He ripped us off.”

“You haven’t been ripped off at all,” she said.

They sat in silence going back along the bay. The moon shone on the road, leading the way. The trees leaned whispering over.

“I’m moving on in the morning,” Louis said. “I don’t like it here. I’m booking a flight to Thailand…”

“Thailand?” she demanded.

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“I’m going to find my friends. I know where they’re staying. Do you want to come?”

“No.” His eyes flickered surprised and quickly defending. They were a shining grey-blue in the dark of the van, new and unknown and beautiful again.

She looked on, not dazzled anymore by them.

“Will you be safe on your own here?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Well I shouldn’t hang around, if that criminal is dangerous,” he said. “You meant that right? He’ll be after me now.”

He seemed genuinely afraid. She wasn’t, she realised. They sat in silence as the van wound back along the ragged bumpy lanes, past the village houses again with their watery porch lights falling out into the gardens. The families slept inside, in dark, humming rooms with fans swirling in the shadows above them. But all the while, a moonlit world, altered, revealed, released from its daylight performance, went on outside. It made her glad to have seen it, and glad also of the room at the guesthouse with its torn mosquito net draped around the bed, the standing fan, the rusty lamp on the bedside table, where she could go by herself and be safely alone until the dawn broke and the new day came. And she could be dazzled anew by the world.

Amanthi Harris was born in Colombo in 1970 and moved to London in 1980.

She has a degree in Chemistry as well as in Law from Bristol University and trained to be a solicitor.

Since then she has worked as an editor, a bookseller, and from October 2006 will be studying art and design at Central St Martins, London. Her short stories have been broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and published in Kin: New Writing by Black and Asian Women (Serpents Tail, 2003).