By Sajla Anees 
Evening walks along Marine Drive is one of the best things that can happen to a retired old man. I walk all the way from Wellawatte to Bambalapitiya and back. I meet different sorts of people – oh, some of them are my friends now too – who I stop to talk with, near the chai truck.
Life is beautiful, I sometimes think. The sun to my left when it sets while I walk, and the world to my right; busy streets and tired souls. Sometimes, the child in me likes to count the ships – a quiet habit.
My favourite days are Fridays. I don’t walk but cycle. I make my way to Galle Face, park my cycle somewhere, and walk all the way to Nana’s shop. Who wouldn’t like a nice cup of tea and a plate of isso vadei?
Today is a Friday, and I’m sitting on a bench with my regular cup of tea – the ocean before me and the sound of waves crashing in my ears. There’s Sunil walking towards me with his bag of roasted peanut packets.
“Mahaththaya?”
“Ah, you never miss me, do you?” I ask, taking out a Rs. 100 note. He takes it with a smile and hands me back a few packets.
“Sit here,” I say, dusting the spot next to me on the beach.
He looks at me hesitantly, but sits next to me a few seconds later.
“Mahaththaya, how come you’re here every week?”
“Are you surprised because I’m an old man and still manage to come here on my own? I’m 76,” I say and laugh at his reaction.
“But…”
“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve heard it before, that I look younger. Our mother ensured we ate healthy food. One must preserve one’s energy, you know,” I say, showing him my biceps and patting it. He grins at me.
“Do you see that ship?” I ask him, pointing at the horizon. The sun is setting right before our eyes and I can see Kamal in particular is enjoying the view more than I.
“I can, sir. I’m only shortsighted,” he says.
“In 1882, long years ago, a German vessel came to the Colombo Port. And something special happened then. It was 26 June. Can you guess?” I ask him.
He shakes his head at me.
“It was the first time Sri Lankans saw light.”
He’s confused.
“It was the first time Sri Lankans saw light from an electric bulb. It was on the ship. And you know what? People gathered to see this, and my grandfather was one amongst them. He was only 10. He used to tell this story, when I was this small,” I say, pointing at a child nearby.
“Strange, isn’t it? How many of us come to Galle Face, yet aren’t aware of the first time it witnessed light? Well, now look around. Does Galle Face sleep in the night? No. It’s lit with lights in the nights. This is how things change with time.”
Kamal is still intently listening with his mouth agape. And for a moment I miss the days I used to teach, the vast lecture halls and my students who would come into class like wild animals but would walk out like gentlemen.
“You know Kamal, only those who witness the dark would know the value of light. For example, you take home Rs. 1,000, let’s say. You know the value of that. Let’s take a man dressed in a good suit who walks into one of these hotels day in and day out. He might value a bigger amount. Just saying. Nevertheless, we need to value what we have and conserve it whether we have experienced the dark or not.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“It’s the little things. I can come in a car every week to Galle Face, park it and just walk. But I choose not to. I am doing my own part in conserving energy. Use only when needed. My wife is very strict about turning on lights unnecessarily at home. We’ve kept a till at home. If any of us get caught wasting water or leaving a light on when not needed, we put Rs. 10 into the till. The tradition has passed on. Our relatives and friends do it too. Silly old man, you’re thinking?”
“No mahaththaya, I should tell my family also,” he says.
My teaching skills haven’t left me, I think. “A good teacher leaves a mark”, I remember our principal telling us at a meeting once.
“Ever heard of something called solar panels?”
He shakes his head at me.
“Okay, that’s what I’ll share with you next week then. Until then, have a good week, Kamal,” I say, waving goodbye to him and walking back to my cycle.
(This article was published to mark National Energy Day which fell yesterday [26 June])
Evening walks along Marine Drive is one of the best things that can happen to a retired old man. I walk all the way from Wellawatte to Bambalapitiya and back. I meet different sorts of people – oh, some of them are my friends now too – who I stop to talk with, near the chai truck.
Life is beautiful, I sometimes think. The sun to my left when it sets while I walk, and the world to my right; busy streets and tired souls. Sometimes, the child in me likes to count the ships – a quiet habit.
My favourite days are Fridays. I don’t walk but cycle. I make my way to Galle Face, park my cycle somewhere, and walk all the way to Nana’s shop. Who wouldn’t like a nice cup of tea and a plate of isso vadei?
Today is a Friday, and I’m sitting on a bench with my regular cup of tea – the ocean before me and the sound of waves crashing in my ears. There’s Sunil walking towards me with his bag of roasted peanut packets.
“Mahaththaya?”
“Ah, you never miss me, do you?” I ask, taking out a Rs. 100 note. He takes it with a smile and hands me back a few packets.
“Sit here,” I say, dusting the spot next to me on the beach.
He looks at me hesitantly, but sits next to me a few seconds later.
“Mahaththaya, how come you’re here every week?”
“Are you surprised because I’m an old man and still manage to come here on my own? I’m 76,” I say and laugh at his reaction.
“But…”
“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve heard it before, that I look younger. Our mother ensured we ate healthy food. One must preserve one’s energy, you know,” I say, showing him my biceps and patting it. He grins at me.
“Do you see that ship?” I ask him, pointing at the horizon. The sun is setting right before our eyes and I can see Kamal in particular is enjoying the view more than I.
“I can, sir. I’m only shortsighted,” he says.
“In 1882, long years ago, a German vessel came to the Colombo Port. And something special happened then. It was 26 June. Can you guess?” I ask him.
He shakes his head at me.
“It was the first time Sri Lankans saw light.”
He’s confused.
“It was the first time Sri Lankans saw light from an electric bulb. It was on the ship. And you know what? People gathered to see this, and my grandfather was one amongst them. He was only 10. He used to tell this story, when I was this small,” I say, pointing at a child nearby.
“Strange, isn’t it? How many of us come to Galle Face, yet aren’t aware of the first time it witnessed light? Well, now look around. Does Galle Face sleep in the night? No. It’s lit with lights in the nights. This is how things change with time.”
Kamal is still intently listening with his mouth agape. And for a moment I miss the days I used to teach, the vast lecture halls and my students who would come into class like wild animals but would walk out like gentlemen.
“You know Kamal, only those who witness the dark would know the value of light. For example, you take home Rs. 1,000, let’s say. You know the value of that. Let’s take a man dressed in a good suit who walks into one of these hotels day in and day out. He might value a bigger amount. Just saying. Nevertheless, we need to value what we have and conserve it whether we have experienced the dark or not.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“It’s the little things. I can come in a car every week to Galle Face, park it and just walk. But I choose not to. I am doing my own part in conserving energy. Use only when needed. My wife is very strict about turning on lights unnecessarily at home. We’ve kept a till at home. If any of us get caught wasting water or leaving a light on when not needed, we put Rs. 10 into the till. The tradition has passed on. Our relatives and friends do it too. Silly old man, you’re thinking?”
“No mahaththaya, I should tell my family also,” he says.
My teaching skills haven’t left me, I think. “A good teacher leaves a mark”, I remember our principal telling us at a meeting once.
“Ever heard of something called solar panels?”
He shakes his head at me.
“Okay, that’s what I’ll share with you next week then. Until then, have a good week, Kamal,” I say, waving goodbye to him and walking back to my cycle.
(This article was published to mark National Energy Day which fell yesterday [26 June])