• The author of Paper Plane, Nifraz Rifaz on SL’s ability to forget its fractured mindset in the midst of disasters

Sri Lanka is once again picking up the pieces – streets washed away, homes destroyed, and families displaced overnight. Yet, in the middle of loss, we also see what has carried the country through every crisis: resilience, community, and the quiet strength of ordinary people. 

On Kaleidoscope, we turned to a story that feels especially resonant in this moment. Paper Plane is a novel about silence, identity, and the long shadows of conflict – but also about rebuilding, reclaiming, and finding your voice after being fractured by circumstance. Author Nifraz Rifaz shed some insight on the novel, life, and on Sri Lanka’s strength to keep going. 

Following are excerpts of the interview: 

Paper Plane deals with silence as survival. How do you see this playing out in Sri Lanka’s response to the blood, sweat, and tears?

I think that as a Nation, we kind of unite. If you had to compare Sri Lanka to a human being, Sri Lanka seems like a 98-year-old wounded and troubled man or woman, with bandages and plasters all over. That’s Sri Lanka, if I compare it to a human. What I see is quite ironic, because, we unite only when there’s a tragedy. When there’s a tsunami, we unite. When there’s a bomb, we unite. When there’s a disaster, we unite – even among people we were just fighting with. So, that’s Sri Lanka for me. 

Is neutrality a coping strategy in Sri Lanka still or have repeated crises made people more vocal and act more boldly?

No, I think that neutrality is still there. I’m going back to the first point, because, the country feels old – like that wise old man. We are not the US; we’re not this troubled young person, so, we look at things from a different perspective. We’ve got wounds that haven’t healed because we’ve been exposed to so much repeatedly – civil war, natural disasters – there was never time for us to heal. And, because we are also a combination of different communities, there are so many nuances and layers in between. So, people may remain silent; they may not want to expose themselves. 

Speaking about my own Muslim community, I invited a young Muslim entrepreneur for the launch of my book. He asked me what my book was about and when I said that it was about the 2019 Easter Sunday bombs and what our community went through, he replied: ‘Why are we trying to gain sympathy?’ That answers your question of why people prefer to remain silent.

In Paper Plane, while Zed hides his inner turmoil, Sri Lankans show incredible public resilience. Do you see a connection between that private struggle and the collective strength?

Yes. Sri Lankans are resilient as a Nation – that’s very evident. And, I can draw parallels from my own life. As a person, I’m strong and resilient. But, I’m a Muslim. Growing up, I wanted to become an artist. I studied at Royal College, and we had this art circle. Every year, I used to win gold medals. I drew inspiration from George Keyt and Sri Lankan art – the Sigiriya frescoes, et al. This was normal for me. My parents encouraged it. Once, when I had an exhibition and my father visited it, I realised some of the paintings had half-naked women. But, he was fine with it.

However, an uncle of mine said, “Nifraz, what are you doing? You’re drawing humans with eyes. You are not God to create stuff”. I was 11-years-old and very impressionable. That was the day that I stopped painting. I thought that painting was my gift, but, I abandoned it and switched to writing instead.  As you can see, just from my example, there are so many boundaries which seep into the characters. I see a part of myself in Zed.

This novel explores displacement. How does that resonate with the thousands displaced now by the floods?

We are all displaced, literally or metaphorically, and it’s something that we have to think about. Displacement isn’t something that a Government alone can fix. It can’t be top-down – it has to be bottom-up. We are part of the ecosystem, so, we have to take agency. That’s what I’ve tried to do through this novel. Do I like violence? No. If there’s a war or a fight, I’m the kind of person who would distance myself. But, I realised that storytelling is my gift, so, through that, I can change perspectives, make people aware of what’s going on, and get them to think differently.

What role does the diaspora play when their homeland faces a crisis?

I’ve lived in London, for a while and in Hong Kong. In London, there’s a huge Sri Lankan Tamil community. In London, the first person that I encountered was a Tamil guy sitting at the station speaking on the phone in Tamil. I knew that he was Sri Lankan and my immediate thought was: “Tamils are here because of the war. If there was no war, he wouldn’t be standing in Canary Wharf. He was privileged; lucky enough to escape. But, as a Muslim who grew up in Galle, although we were also affected, we didn’t have that privilege”. 

I also realised that I could not compare what I went through to a Tamil man, because I never lived in Jaffna. I wouldn’t know. But, 2019 Easter Sunday reminded me, “Maybe this is what Tamils must have gone through”. Only then did I start drawing parallels. Initially, when I met Tamil Sri Lankans in London, I had anger. I thought that they used the civil war to escape, leaving us behind. But now, I understand why they did. Because, in your own country, you should have the freedom to do whatever you want. You shouldn’t be treated as a second-class citizen. 

I never felt like a second-class citizen because I studied in the Sinhala medium and spoke Sinhala well. You can’t change your skin colour or features, but, you can learn a language. Language plays a huge role in crossing boundaries. Because I knew Tamil, I could understand what he was saying which gave me an understanding of his situation.

Your protagonist is forced to confront his past. Do repeated national crises force Sri Lankans to actually confront their old, unresolved wounds?

As a Nation, we don’t spend time to pause or reflect. We just move to the next big thing. And, we’re very forgetful, we move on quickly. We’re very resilient, which is great. I was proud to see a Sri Lankan in a Hollywood show when I saw actress Maitreyi Ramakrishnan in Never Have I Ever. But, in interviews, she says clearly: “I’m not Sri Lankan. I wasn’t born there. I’m Tamil. My parents are Sri Lankan. I’m Canadian”. That’s the rhetoric I see among the newer Tamil generation — they distance themselves from Sri Lanka. And why? Because they have anger. They haven’t lived in Sri Lanka. They only know the country through stories told by their parents. There’s a whole dialogue there, and through my story, I try, in some way, to answer those questions too.

Maya pushes Zed to speak his truth. What truths do you think that Sri Lanka needs to voice right now?

I think it’s about realising that this is our country. Don’t wait for politicians to make decisions. You’re intelligent. You have a voice. You have social media – your followers. Raise your voice. It’s a democratic world. You live once. Use the power of your voice and be the change that you want to see.

Is Sri Lanka moving from endurance and silence towards a more vocal demand for change?

I think that that’s what we aspire to be. But, just like the character in Paper Plane, there’s so much conditioning. I want to be that free spirit, but, my parents might pull me back saying, “No, you can’t do this”. So, there’s this generational curse in Sri Lanka. We remain this old, wounded, troubled man with unhealed wounds. If we were a young person, like the US, it might be different. But, with what’s going on, it’s difficult to convince the old person to change.

Paper Plane asks what it means to be whole. When you look at Sri Lanka after yet another catastrophe, what does wholeness look like for our country?

 We should stop, pause, and learn. Rather than uniting only during disasters, we should keep that spirit throughout. That should be the way forward. The youth are very different from previous generations. For example, I don’t see you as Tamil, Sinhala, or Muslim, I see you as a human being. That’s how the current generation sees the world. 

Gen Z and the alphas – the little kids with iPhones – are much smarter and better connected. They think beyond geographical boundaries. They see themselves as global citizens. That mindset will create the shift. And, literature plays a role in that, because it changes people and helps shift perspectives.

The writer is the host, director, and co-producer of the weekly digital programme ‘Kaleidoscope with Savithri Rodrigo’ which can be viewed on YouTube, Facebook, Instagram and LinkedIn. She has over three decades of experience in print, electronic, and social media

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The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication