Tales From Thalpawila - 3

Hoda Mama !

“Bada mahaththayo”

“Bada mahaththayo”

That is how he greets me as he comes home everyday from work. My uncle who I call “Hoda Mama”.

He works at the Education Dept in Matara. He leaves my Grandma’s home in Thalpawila early each day and goes to work carrying a bag made of leather. The bag holds his lunch packet which my grandma packs for him each morning before he leaves home. It also has his assortment of cigars or “suruttu” and his pipe and tin of tobacco.

Hoda mama is not a big made man, in fact he is probably the smallest in size from all my mother’s brothers. But for me he is the biggest in stature for the amazing love and compassion he shows.

Each day in the evening I gaze at the road waiting for him to turn the corner to my grandma’s house. He walks along the road that borders the land before turning into the path that leads up to the house. Each day he brings me something good to eat.

His bag is a treasure trove for me, and from it appear all kind of goodies. Chocolates, Toffees, Lollipops and all kinds of sweets, and on some days he brings a delicious roll made of egg and savoury filling.

He calls me “Bada mahaththayo”, meaning the gentleman with the big stomach, but he is mostly responsible for it! And I love him all the more for it.

He loves to sit in his easy chair and smoke a cigar or his pipe. He buys the most foul smelling Jaffna cigars and loves to puff on them while turning the edge round and round in his mouth while the tip glows a bright red.

The pipe he smokes is a wonder to behold. He fills it from the top with tobacco he takes from a round tin. This tobacco smells really good as he says it is imported from England.  He stuffs a bit of tobacco into the mouth of the pipe then uses a small stick to push the tobacco down the pipe, after he does this a few times he taps the pipe and once he is satisfied he lights a match and holds it to the mouth of the pipe and puffs on it till the tobacco lights up and smoke puffs out of his mouth in a steady stream. Once he gets it going he can keep puffing on it for a few hours till it is really dark and my grandma calls him in for dinner. He then turns the pipe over and taps out the tobacco and cleans the pipe before putting it back into his bag. He repeats the same ritual each time and I never get tired of watching him.

“Hoda mama”, never gets angry. He has an immense capacity to tolerate people. He is very soft spoken and always does everything at his own pace however fast the world around him moves.

He is very well read and loves to read the newspapers or listen to the radio. On some days he goes for a walk along the village road and I tag along behind. He visits “Raamahera mama’s” house once in a while. This is an uncle who is friends with him.

He picks ripe “biling” from the tree near our well and gives them to me to eat. This is one of the most sour fruits on earth and even when ripe it makes your saliva run in buckets. He loves it and I try to do my best to develop the same taste but fail each time.

He walks through all life’s travails and pitfalls with the same ease and at the same pace that he takes life’s successes.

He teaches the value of tolerance and perseverance and of loving and caring.

He is always there when you need him and when you feel lonely.

He is the “Madduma putha” of my Grandma or the son born in the middle of all the children.

He is known as “Maddu uncle” to my cousins but to me he will always be my “Hoda mama”.