His story begins, quite silently, born amongst three, though the youngest, his sole earning become the family’s dinner. He craves a better future, going to Colombo, writing his Bookkeeping exams, but since his father’s death, these hopes are only that, hope, deeds do not do what undreamt dreams see. He becomes older and a woman is arranged for him, in the wake of wars. Her dowry is important. Her life entangled with this man, new but also familiar. She agrees, for the sake of others, to marry and go live with the others, to become their beacon of light. The dowry is put to good use, invested in a passport and a suitcase. He is sent off to a faraway place, called Germany. He has to land in three different transits, eat with knives and spoons and by god, a utensil called the fork. His heart is with his unborn child, left hastily with this woman, familiar and yet new.

There is a certainty in newness, it smells different, is different, but whether you like or dislike it, that property is not attached to newness. A new child born, she puts her in a cradle made of an old sari, so her head is round and thick of black hair, so the elders say. Her father is not present when she is born, the army helping her mother to the hospital, leaving her absently at the entrance, telling her the door is not far from here. She is in labour and this pain is unlike anything, the nurses fear she will topple from the stretcher, lay a sheet for on the floor to roll on. They keep vigil, the unborn child’s grandmother prays. She is scared, her son is not here.

Oldness like her grandmother, smells good. It feels good, like her mother’s old saris, hung around her so her head is round and her hair is thick. Her pictures are sent, yet her father changes addresses frequently, never quite make it to its destination. Lost in journey, she may look back at this, one day grasping her framed degree as an ominous sign of her future. They speak often, her parents, her mother asking when she will see him again. Her father replies that the time will come.

Time comes, they are shipped, human cargo, he meets his daughter, does not kiss this new child. He is afraid to touch her, her fragility scares him. This child, he was not present for is now the centre of his life. His beacon of light. She wonders now, her father’s grateful eyes forget the details. Smoke screened behind other duties, he becomes quiet, distant, unsure as to what to do and worst of all, what to say. 

She beckons for words, but only some come.