Sri Lanka is Loud
Sri Lanka is loud.
it’s the choon pan tuk tuk at 6 am playing Beethoven’s Für Elise on a megaphone
it’s the squawking crows, the twittering squirrels, the chirping geckos
it’s a nest of baby bats crying all night to be fed
it’s the king coconut vendor calling “Tamalee!”
it’s the Buddhist chants competing with the Muslim call for prayer
it’s constant car horns, not to punish, but to announce “Here I come!”
it’s taxi madam, taxi madam, taxi madam every time you walk down Galle Road
it’s the commodore ambling across the roof, dragging his long slow tail
it’s the thud of the coconut hitting the grass, unannounced
And it’s all of it, all at once, all the time, until
Sri Lanka is quiet.
and it’s hundreds of kites over Galle Face Green, caught in the current for hours
it’s the swoosh swoosh swoosh of the ceiling fan in the heat
it’s the silent soft center of Viharamaradevi Park, lovers hiding behind trees
it’s the wide, open streets on a rainy poya day
It’s a family function, rows of heads eating on plastic chairs, bite after bite, in silence
it’s tea and biscuits with giggling aunties who have no idea what to say to you
it’s the hand gestures of the parking guard in the rearview mirror
it’s the humidity hanging in the air
until it swells into a hundred slate balloons, the sky darkening and then shattering into one thunderous CLAP!
And then Sri Lanka is loud again.
And it’s raining.
And it’s washing everything clean.
And it feels welcoming to me.
As foreign as I am.