Anecdotes -1

Asantha U. Attanayake

On a Pedestal

We returned from America in early May 2014. Before we departed, my husband’s grandma asked us to pack the stuff we needed from among what I was using during my stay in the US so that she could cargo them to Sri Lanka later. So, one day my husband and I were packing them in the big boxes Grandma had brought for the purpose. So, both of us sat to work. After a little while my husband started having a Facebook conversation with one of his buddies. Initially it went on while he was still packing but eventually, the argument-turned conversation (usually is the case) made him forget that he was packing. I reminded him once or twice and he said “coming” but never resumed the work. Then I had completed packing one full box. I was tired; my hands hurt from lifting stuff, my back ached by bending up and down and most of all it was my heart that was in great agony! Back at home if I went to contribute to something like that, my Dad would never let me. He would say, “Go away, you’ll hurt your hand”. My Mom would chase me out with, “You can’t do this stuff. Just go read a book” or something. Even when I was studying abroad, every time I left Sri Lanka, it was my two big brothers who packed my bags and sent me off. Coming from abroad, my two good friends, Samanthi who was studying there with me and Anita, my Indian friend were the ones who packed my bags. The reason for not allowing me to pack my bags according to my two brothers was that I would try to pack the whole house into one bag; for Anita, my packing means throwing items one by one into the bag, so she couldn’t bear to send me off with a bag “packed” like that.

Now while packing alone, all these memories were streaming before my eyes. Alas! Just got married and here I was, picking stuff and packing them all by myself! The agony my heart was going through was too much to bear! And then, even before I could realize what was happening, I was crying! And crying my heart out! Grandma came running from somewhere. My husband, suddenly thrown back to the packing field, was perplexed. (Well, we were just married.) “What is this? What’s wrong?” asked Grandma. I could only sob. “I was away for a minute. She had to pack alone. Probably that’s why.” My husband guessed. Correctly! Grandma threw me a look to ask whether it was the case. I nodded through sobs. Know what she said? “Little one, you will have to get off your pedestal. He is not the type who cares about such stuff.”

 

And that was eight years ago!

Well, two years ago we were getting ready to go to three South Asian countries to collect data for my research. We planned to go for three-and-a half months at a stretch so that we could cover all three countries in one go. One evening, my husband called me; “Come here wife friend!” (By the way, he calls me ‘wife friend’ and I call him ‘husband friend’ in return. I am not supposed to call him by his name. According to him, a well brought up Sri Lankan wife is not supposed to call her husband by his name. Ahem!) So, he called me and said, “You can take ten sarees for the whole trip. I selected six. You can select another four of your choice. Also, if you don’t like the ones I chose, replace them with what you like. By the way, I already packed your saree blouses and the underskirts.” My heart was singing!

And now, he packs everything when we go somewhere and this happens to and fro both. His return packing is as excellent as his departure one without missing a single item that he took with us initially. He does this to the perfection so much so that once when we were in Kandy, my parents’ home, I wore my Mom’s new batik kaftan, which was decorated with a beautiful floral design. Back in Colombo, after a few days, I opened the closet to find a dress and there it was, the neatly folded kaftan, among my clothes! I couldn’t believe it. “Why did you bring it here? It’s Mom’s.” I asked. “It’s beautiful on you. Besides you liked it.” He said coolly.

The packing stories do not end there. Once we were given a free room in the hotel where we had our Sri Lankan wedding for the first anniversary. Upon our return to Colombo, to my immense dismay, I found the beautiful strip of cloth that was on the edge of the hotel bed among my clothes! (They put it on the bed for decorative purposes), “My god! Why did you bring that here?” This time, he truly looked taken aback a little. “Why, isn’t it a folder (osari pota) of your saree? I thought it was that.”

 

Our next visit to Kandy was to return the goods to the owners with a genuine apology.

Now, I do not know what is packed whenever we go somewhere. I am not required to choose what I want either. All I know is when I get there, wherever it is, everything I need is there, neatly packed. Nevertheless, must say, I am very vigilant when it comes to return packing! Well, you never know. How much forgiveness can we ask for?

Before I forget, I am still on the pedestal.