Down the isle

But the streets are cleaner,the pavements unmolested (though you can trip on the gnarled foot of a hoary bo tree) and the bus service efficient. No crush of a billion on its dainty squares (the population is 3 million); its pace is a leisurely amble. There seems to be the time to step back,settle on a bench at the Galle Face promenade and hear the ceaseless roar of the crashing sea.

Peace has long been elusive. In the fractious civil war that raged for years in Sri Lanka’s northern region,the city was a prize target,bloodied many times by blasts and assassinations. The death and capture of LTTE chief Prabhakaran last year was the violent endgame that left nearly a million internally displaced persons in the country. Their rehabilitation remains a prickly political issue. But for the man on the street in the Sri Lankan capital,the tide appears to have turned. From autorickshaw drivers to monks,people are optimistic that they have left a troubled past behind.

Till the 16th century when the Portuguese arrived,this was a small fishing village called Kalamba. The Portuguese ruled till 1656,building the nucleus of modern Colombo — the Fort. The fort no longer stands but the commercial district that is named after it houses the city’s best hotels,banks and offices. You are free to walk around most of it but check points and barricades can interrupt you near the Clocktower-Lighthouse,a stone’s throw from the fortified President’s palace. The clocktower was built in 1857 on the orders of British governor Henry Ward’s wife,in the hope that it would prod her imperial subjects to a finer sense of punctuality. The lighthouse was added a decade later. It skulks now,in the shadow of taller buildings.

History is not made much of in the city,even by untiring brochure writers,though there is a fair smattering of colonial buildings around Fort. For most tourists to Sri Lanka,the city is simply a stopover before the holiday begins. Its charms are modest compared to the ruins of the great Sinhalese cities of Anuradhapura or the beaches of Unawatuna. But it is a personable city,with a cocktail of people and communities.

For the flaneur,there are quiddities to discover,the many clues to a city’s character. The parasols which bloom every afternoon on pavements in the commercial district,and from under which men sell lunch boxes (chicken or fish curry) to office-goers; the odd austerity of the women,dressed almost always in unshowy skirts and blouses; stacks of VCDs of Tamil and Hindi films on sale,Akshay Kumar jostling with the much sexier Surya (cable channels show Bollywood movies once a week,with subtitles). Or even the sight of the staff in uniform inside banks and government establishments.

Nothing can beat the Gangaramaya Temple,a 120-year-old Buddhist temple located in a tree-lined neighbourhood of the city,for quirkiness. To start with,a black vintage Rolls Royce gleams at the entrance. Bizarre enough to distract you from the temple’s brilliant white facade and the gold-trimmed roof. You step into a dark chamber where a confusing clutter of basins filled with old brass coins,hulking clay ogres and shiny plastic masks greet you. A red upholstered sofa sits carelessly in the room. Inside the beautiful temple complex,six-feet long fibre Buddhas with an unimpeachable air of antiquity are created from scratch. And then the most intriguing discovery: a garage filled with vintage cars,in various states of disrepair,that well-wishers have donated across the years.

A few paces away is the Seema Malaka,modelled on the forest monasteries of Anuradhapura and Ritigara. It was built by Geoffrey Bawa,Sri Lanka’s foremost contemporary architect,and paid for by a Muslim businessman,who sponsored the temple to spite his community,who had ostracised him. This modern temple seems to rise from the waters of the Beira Lake,serene as the row of Buddhas that frame it. A causeway links the lakeside with the central plinth,that is linked to two other platforms. Behind loom the tower blocks,a perfect snapshot of contemporary Colombo.

I return many times to one of Colombo’s most beautiful stretches,the Galle Face promenade that runs through its financial district. It was built in 1859 by the British governor of Ceylon,Sir Henry Ward. A plaque to Ward says that the green is “recommended to his successors in the interest of the Ladies and Children of Colombo.” There is no real beach in the city,as the sea is squally and often rough. But in the evenings,the Galle Face Green,a nearby grassy verge,is filled with people out for a stroll or to catch up with friends.

Today,as on most days,the waves that ram into the seafront are wrathful,unwelcome of frolic on its narrow strip of sand. To my right,at the rim of the horizon,the port is visible. Only last night,in the strange orange glow of the night,we were escorted by police connvoys to a cruise — on a warship that till last year was shipping soldiers from Colombo to Trincomalee. Now,it hosts wedding parties and tourist delegations. As we dug into chicken kottu and rice,a former navyman pointed to the deck and said,“This is where the guns were. We have come some distance.”