One one things

I think a family history is that much richer if it can boast an impressive family feud. I was reading Micheal Ondaatje’s “Running in the family” recently and was continually amazed at how exciting and spicy the Ondaatje family life seemed to be, specially the feud between the Ondaatjes and the Bandaranaikes. It reminds me of a quasi-feud that our family had with our neighbours a long time back, at the time it was more fun than anything else, and I remember taking part with glee as a 8 year old right until we left the neighbourhood when I turned 16. When I look back on it now it’s even more amusing than it was at the time.

It all started back in 1992 when my parents had started building our house in Kollupitiya, they were relatively young (in that they were just out of postgrad) and aiya and I were 8 and 10 respectively. We’d visit the building site regularly and mess around with Amarasekara bass and his wheelbarrow. One time there was a bit of a hullaballoo outside. To see, thaththi was having an argument with this old lady about our gate. Now, our main entrance was on a private road, and under a strict reading of the law the house opposite us has a claim on the land immediately in front of our gate. But nobody really makes a fuss except for this old lady. This particular issue would be the cornerstone of many an ensuing skirmish. So thaththi that was apparently trying to convince her that having a gate there isn’t really going to change anything bc they weren’t using that land at all in the first place. Unfortunately old lady wasn’t impressed and decided to set the dogs on my father, diplomatic dialogue at its best.

Things went downhill from there. A few weeks after we moved in I opened the gate to see that pissu aachchi had decided to plant a coconut tree bang in front of the gate, making it impossible to take any cars into our house. The tree was quite small and as soon as thaththi got home he was fuming and went about removing the tree with his bare hands. Naturally it didn’t quite work, and the ever looming threat of the dogs had him hurrying back indoors. The next morning however the tree was forcibly removed, and another squabble took place. We’d watch from the balcony as pissu aachchi and her daughter engaged in verbal warfare with my parents. It was hilarious.

Pissu aachchi had 4 grandkids, and most of them were around our age, and naturally the familial politics spread across the generations. At first we didn’t do too much other than stare and give gal looks across the balconies, but later on us kids had our own skirmishes. It started when I used to ride my bike on the road and they’d leave obstacles to trip me. Coconut husks (the coconut tree was one of their formidable weapons at the time), large rocks and bricks were placed strategically along the road whilst they watched from the balcony. It would have been pussy of me to just avoid them and ride somewhere else, so I’d usually try and ride over them, and sometimes i’d get past and turn around to give a triumphant, smug look, and other times i’d tumble and walk home with my tail between my legs to endless sniggering. I found a worthy ally in pissu aachchi’s tenant, a boy of my age from Vavuniya. Pissu aachchi’s grandson had dropped a brick on this bugger’s head from the balcony, so we had a common enemy.

Every 31st night we’d get together with the boys on the other side of the road and have firecracker wars with the fronthouse kids. This entails sending ahas kooru along the ground towards the other camp, and throwing ali dons and thummulas into their garden. Every single year we’d blow up pissu aachchi’s mail box by filling it with fire crackers and exploding it. The next day pissu aachchi would be scream at us about the litter, like a prayer.

The little buggers were utter snitches as well. One time Vavuni Ally and I were messing about with an old badminton racket and some stones, seeing who can hit a stone further. Unfortunately a van decided to stop in the middle of the junction and one stone went crash through the window. We hooked. We hid behind some bushes while the van driver came around looking for the culprits. The idiot kids next door pointed us out to the driver who threatened to call the cops, luckily we managed to get out of it by inventing some sob story. Another time when we were playing cricket on the road, the ball went next door and one fellow in sarong climbed the wall to retrieve the ball. The next door kids decided that this fellow was flashing them (3 of the 4 kids are girls, damn terrors) and told their mother. Aunty ran straight to my mother to complain in the customary dramatic fashion. Happily enough my mother knowing their track record wasn’t too bothered about the accusation. In retaliation to the lack of response, Tarzan (the only boy next door, who gets his name from running around in his undies when we was small), wrote a nasty note about the alleged flasher, calling him a kukul betta. The note was dropped in our letterbox, and I came across it. Fuming, I composed a response, mustering all the filth I had learnt in my 10 years of life. Unfortunately I didn’t quite understand the meaning of a lot of the words I used, and didn’t realise that it was pretty hardcore Sinhalese filth. I dropped my response (on the same paper) in their letterbox and awaited a reply. A couple of days later they made a brilliant tactical maneuver. Instead of an angry retort, aunty brought the piece of paper to my mother’s attention with the intention of apologising for her own son’s note, knowing full well that my mother would see my response and look like a fool.

Pissu aachchi continued her antics on a regular basis. One day she had decided to dig a massive ditch just next to our gate. Ammi’s brother is a lawyer, so we called him up and he came to put his 2 cents. Maama walked upto the ditch to see pissu aachchi busy digging. “Mrs. S, are you digging your grave by some chance?” Fireworks. Annoyingly we were sent inside but I heard stories about an udella wielding pissu aachchi, redda hiked up, threatning maama from across the ditch. Later on pissu aachchi had some heart trouble and spent some time in India, during this time there was a lull in the action as we actually thought she might have died.

The kids remained a pain, disrupting our cricket matches by throwing stones, riding their bikes through the pitch and generally being annoying. One day a bunch of friends from school came over to play some cricket and the girls next door were walking home from some place, and as usual we halt the game till they pass. This was during the time of the major pitch invasions in England by Pakistani and Indian supporters during one NatWest series. One of my friends said to another “we’re also having pitch invasions”, and someone else said “not pitch invasion bitch invasion” This wasn’t too clever, but he didn’t say it for them to hear. Unforunately they did hear something and complained to their aunt. Now their aunt is a bit of a battleaxe who probably never quite let the ’60s pass. She summoned me and threatened to complain to my school principal about this. I said sorry, and that they were joking around and didn’t mean for anyone to hear, let alone get offended. But in true feud spirit, I called her bluff and told her to tell anybody she wants, and walked off. Looking back, it really was quite stupid of those buggers to have said that, joking or otherwise.

The kids had taken on a new craze of adopting stray dogs. One of these dogs was an utter pain and kept growling and putting part to ppl on the road. One day the stupid dog decided to attack Vavuni Ally and we knew something had to be done. The two of us got together and got some beef, laced it with chillie and laxative and left it for the dog. Two weeks later it died of a car accident, and I still feel a bit guilty though I don’t think the spicy beef had much to do with it.

As we got older we began to tolerate one another better. One day Tarzan came home with a peace offering on Christmas, and since then we didn’t have any problem with the kids. We started talking and even hanging out together and chilling on the road. That last 31st night we didn’t even blow up pissu aachchi’s mail box, and spent most of the time lighting firecrackers with the kids. In the end they were quite sad when we left. I never told them about the spicy beef though.

Pissu aachchi continued her antics right till the end though. The last incident I remember was when we were playing cricket on the road, as always, and the ball rolled into pissu aachchi’s garden, as was usual pissu aachchi was tending the garden with her helper. Due to our more cordial relations of late, the guy who hit the ball went upto the garden and asked pissu aachchi’s helper to pass the ball. Pissu aachchi wasn’t impressed and told the girl not to lift a finger, and told Mani to not dare order her servants about. Mani shrugged his shoulders and started to walk into the garden when pissu aachchi stood up and told him not to come in, and muttered under her breath “pita rata demalu”. This pissed Mani off bc he’s an upcountry Tamil. He started towards her and I had to run and hold him back. Pissu aachchi, not to be outdone was up and at him, idella in hand. It was a classic scene, me dragging back Mani on the middle of the road with pissu aachchi threatning him with a large idella. She followed us all the way up the road, heart condition and all.

Recently I saw two of the front house girls at coffee stop, but only exchanged smiles and said hi, but I was pleased to see them. Vavuni Ally, who also moved out at the same time as I, met them last year and apparently they’re doing good. Even pissu aachchi is still alive and kicking. We left that house in 2000, and despite the feud I love the house and the neighbourhood to bits, it was an amazing place to grow up.