About a young adult who has to face questions for the sake of his name; a name chosen by his parents to hide his identity; a name chosen to protect him from threat and death, from discrimination and sorrow. The story is based on incidents related to ethnic wars.
Tymme looked annoyed. The woman on the other side must be deaf he thought. Or was she being deliberate about his name.
“Yes, of course I am damn sure about the spelling. By the way, what the hell do you care about my name my dear lady?” He snarled at the woman with irritation.
“Sorry, Sir. Your ticket has been booked. Thank you for choosing Sri Lankan Air.”
Tymme dashed the phone receiver. “Bloody Sri Lanka.”
The thought of visiting his homeland hauled Tymme forcibly, back to his young days that he had squashed down consciously.
The Colombo hospitals were swarmed with crowds wounded and battling with death, on the day Tissa Yoland Madhavan Marasinghe Easwaranathan entered to light, but only to see danger. If the little one had known the reality outside him, maybe he would have preferred to be safe in the dark than the glowing threats outside. Riots.
“Mama, I can’t go to school.” Tissa screamed at the top of his voice. “Everyone laughs at me no. Why did you do this to me Ma?”
“What Putha now, do what?”
“My name men. I just hate it.” Tissa sat on the cemented floor holding his head.
“Listen Tissa, you are now fourteen and must try to understand. It was for your own safety. If you had only seen what had happened on the day you were born.” Tissa’s mother narrated in a moaning voice.
“But aren’t there others like me, who just have simple names. You on one side. Papa recites something else. And why do I have to carry Grandpa’s names. Mama this is too much. You know what. I am going to change my name soon.”
“No, you are not. You need these names if you want to be safe here. Don’t forget you have mixed parents. You might face threats from all sides mahan.” She said ‘’mahan’ when she wanted to please her son. Tissa liked to be called ‘mahan’. His mother said it differently. Not like a Tamil mother would pronounce it. Yet he loved to hear say it.
“All for your own convenience.” Tissa walked off not bothering to see the expression on his mothers face.
“Ayubowan Sir.” The air hostess greeted Tymme.
“Good evening” he replied, wondering why they couldn’t simply add the word “Vanakkam”.
Why do I have to go there? Tymme thought to himself. He was visiting Sri Lanka after thirteen long years.
“It’s peaceful here now” His parents had told him. Tymme didn’t bother anyway.
“From where do you come Sir?” The Customs intruding with their usual questions.
“London.”
“Why did you go there, Sir?”
“That’s where I live.”
“Oh! So aren’t you Sri Lankan?” The Officer lowered his glasses and looked at Tymme closely.
“No.” Tymme collected his passport and moved to give room for the next. “You look like one.” He heard the other say softly.
Tymme pretended not to have heard.
“Where do you come from young man? And what is your name” Tymme remembered the words of his Professor in London.
“I used to be Tissa Yoland Madhavan Marasinghe Easwaranathan from Sri Lanka. But not anymore Sir. My name is Tymme. T-Y-M-M-E ”
Tymme laughed with pride.
Author R.L. Mitchley, gets some help from his close friend Elias, as they franticly work to reunite Bob with three of his deceased family members, Grammy, Pappy & Arlene for one last time...
