Temple of the Tooth

Located in Kandy, long a center of the Buddhist faith, the stunning 17th-century Temple of the Tooth (Sri Dalada Maligawa) is believed to house the left upper canine tooth of the Lord Buddha himself. This precious relic attracts white-clad pilgrims, bearing lotus blossoms and frangipani, every day.

History

According to legend, the tooth was taken from the Buddha as he lay on his funeral pyre. It was smuggled to Sri Lanka in 313 AD, hidden in the hair of Princess Hemamali who fled the Hindu armies besieging her father's kingdom in India.
It immediately became an object of great reverence and was enshrined in a series of nested jeweled reliquaries. The tooth was brought out for special occasions and paraded on the backs of elephants, which are sacred to the Buddha. where it survived numerous attempts to capture and destroy it.
When the capital was moved to Kandy, the tooth was taken to the new city and placed in temples built to honor it. The temple was originally built under Kandyan kings between 1687 and 1707, but later severely damaged during the 18th-century colonial wars against the Portugese and Dutch. After the wars, the original wooden structures were restored in stone.
In January 1998 Hindu Tamil separatists bombed the temple, damaging its facade and roof. Restoration began immediately afterward.

What to See

On the outside, the temple buildings are not magnificent or elaborately decorated. White with red roofs, they cluster around Kandy Lake (the island in the middle once housed the king's harem).
In striking contrast to the plain exterior, the interiors of the temple buildings are richly carved and decorated with inlaid woods, ivory, and lacquer.
Around the entire complex is a low white stone wall, delicately and simply carved with openings that give a filigree effect. During celebrations, candles are placed in the openings, lighting up the entire front.
The relic of the tooth is kept in a two-story inner shrine fronted by two large elephant tusks. The relic rests on a solid gold lotus flower, encased in jeweled caskets that sit on a throne.
The temple is joined to the Pattiripuwa (Octagon) tower, built in 1803, that was originally a prison but now houses a collection of palm-leaf manuscripts. The king's palace is also in the temple compound.

Source: http://www.sacred-destinations.com/sri-lanka/kandy-temple-of-the-tooth

Street Drama ToT Workshop

I walked into SIDA Center in Hatton on Thursday, March 9^th clueless to the magic I was about to witness. The many faces I had encountered before – field assistants, local partner staff, and field mobilizes – were gathered together but wearing different masks. They were there to participant in a three-day Street Drama Training of Trainers (ToT) workshop.

As an ice-breaker, the participants were asked to introduce themselves along with their talents. Singers, dancers, actors, poets, and yogis were disguised as ordinary youth. In the beginning some of them, especially the girls, were shy but as the training progressed, they shed their shells and their fears and allowed the energy to engulf them. Through team building, team spirit, communication, and leadership exercises - such as “Tsunami,” “Rocket,” “Telephone,” and “Animal”- they explored their creative potential and transformed into performers. As the final act of the workshop, the participants were split into two groups and given the task of conceiving and performing a drama. One group set their drama in a funeral home and conveyed the ill-effects of alcohol abuse; while, the second group used the “day-in-a-life” approach and captured the plight of a woman plucker. With enough time to polish their skills, the groups are expected to perform at the Career and Trade Fair scheduled for March 27^th, 2011. They will perform three dramas highlighting the key messages from all PCP II components.        

After their inaugural performance at the Career and Trade Fair, these trainees are expected to become trainers and to form street drama groups within their respective estates. Having earned poetic license, they are expected to be the platform for discussing taboo social issues and their implications within the estate communities, such as gender-based violence, substance abuse, and money mismanagement.   

The participants’ enthusiasm served as evidence for their positive feedback. They expressed satisfaction regarding the venue, the food, and the facilitator; however, they requested that more time be allocated for the training in the future.

Our special thanks to resource person Prem Kanth for his expert advice, creative training techniques, and for the motivation he provided for all participants. The success of the resulting street dramas will be a reflection of his, Kumarkoddi, and Irfan’s efforts.

Not a City Girl

The hustle-bustle of city life is not for me, 

I want to sit under the cool shade of a willow tree.

Tired of the hum of technology,
I want people to search and find me.
Learn to wait for some time.

Disenchanted by city lights and streets that never sleep,
I want the night to serve my body and soul as respite.
Awake to the sound of a wind chime.

The hustle bustle of city life is not for me,

I want to hang clothes up on the line.

Captive inside the iron cage of money.
I want the wallet to escape my memory.
Free from the chains of slavery.

Sympathy fatigue is a messed up philosophy.
I want to give to those who ask and those who don't.
Repaint hearts with the colour of bravery.

The hustle-bustle of city life is not for me,
I want to sleep under the stars.

Lonesome when people are all around.
I want undivided attention in any conversation.
Retune ears to the sound of human voices.

Acquired reluctance to try new things.
I want the universe to teach me in immersion.
Disengage fear from choices.

The hustle-bustle of city life is not for me,
I want to have time just to be.

Cricket Fever

The world cup is here and until it’s over, Sri Lanka’s work is pending. The daily routine has changed, everybody lives cricket. It’s an addiction, they plan their days around it. The spirit is overwhelming. Like a black hole, you can’t help but be sucked in. Every conversation starts and ends with cricket. People bond over it, cry over it, and rejoice over it. Cricket brings the nation together. Helps them forget about their woes and their differences. People wait outside the gates of the stadium from dawn to seek a peek at their favourite cricketers. The majority of them are turned away but they try and try again. Rows upon rows of the stadium are filled with die-hard fans, and their heartbeats linger during the match. Fire burns inside them as the bowlers run to the pitch, lift their arms, and tilt their shoulders in the direction of the batter. I always wonder how they able to stop so abruptly after running so fast. I guess they train for that. The batter leans forward and hits the ball; the crowd holds their breath and roars in unison as the umpire raises both his arms to the sky signalling a sixer. The whole stadium comes alive; people at home cling their bottles and hug each other with joy.  

Everywhere I go I see the youth practicing their bowling, batting, and fielding, whether with a team or alone, they yearn to play in the big leagues.  Cricket is not a game; it is a passion, a remedy, and an escape.     

Tree Hugger by Kimya Dawson

The flower said, "I wish I was a tree,"
The tree said, "I wish I could be
A different kind of tree,
The cat wished that it was a bee,
The turtle wished that it could fly
Really high into the sky,
Over rooftops and then dive
Deep into the sea.

And in the sea there is a fish,
A fish that has a secret wish,
A wish to be a big cactus
With a pink flower on it.
And in the sea there is a fish,
A fish that has a secret wish,
A wish to be a big cactus
With a pink flower on it.

And the flower
Would be its offering
Of love to the desert.
And the desert,
So dry and lonely,
That the creatures all
Appreciate the effort.

Et le jackalope a dit
"Je voudrais tre un yti
Pour voler dans la nuit
Et m'en aller loin d'ici"
Mais le y ti a dit
"Je voudrais tre un monstre marin
Pour pouvoir rentrer dans la mer
De tous les requins."

And the rattlesnake said,
"I wish I had hands so
I could hug you like a man."
And then the cactus said,
"Don't you understand,
My skin is covered with sharp spikes
That'll stab you like a thousand knives.
A hug would be nice,
But hug my flower with your eyes."

The flower said, "I wish I was a tree,"
The tree said, "I wish I could be
A different kind of tree,
The cat wished that it was a bee,
The turtle wished that it could fly
Really high into the sky,
Over rooftops and then dive
Deep into the sea.

And in the sea there is a fish,
A fish that has a secret wish,
A wish to be a big cactus
With a pink flower on it.
And in the sea there is a fish,
A fish that has a secret wish,
A wish to be a big cactus
With a pink flower on it.

And the flower
Would be its offering
Of love to the desert.
And the desert,
So dry and lonely,
That the creatures all
Appreciate the effort.

The Wonder of Tea

If anyone asked me a few months ago where tea comes from, I would say that it comes from the grocery store. Many experiences are lost in transportation when you live in industrialized countries (where most consumer goods are imported), understanding the labour that goes into every cup of tea is one of them.

I’ve had the pleasure of visiting Sri Lanka’s tea plantation estates and factories; and, I’ve witnessed the pain that plantation workers endure. This is the story of tea (more on the workers later): tea pluckers, majority females, wake up before the sun and start their household chores. They cook for the day, and then take their children to school before starting another day in emerald fields. Their working hours are long, usually 9-10 hours, and the sun overhead is strong. They collect two-leaves-and-a-bud one by one from the sea of green around them into their cane or plastic baskets that hang from their foreheads against their backs. Restrooms are few and far between so they have to run home in-case nature calls and return to work as soon as they can. At the end of the day, their output is weighed and they are paid accordingly. (The average income of a tea-plucker is 400 Rs. per day (approximately $3.5)). Then the tea leaves are transported by truck to the nearest factory. Here, the tea leaves are first withered for 14 hours, then they are dried for 20-22 minutes, then they are processed into the form we purchase in grocery stores. The metamorphosis from two-leaves-and-a-bud into consumable tea takes approximately 22 hours.

The tea here is a coppery, sunset colour. Its aroma is refreshing. Its taste is awakening. Known as liquid gold, Tea is Sri Lanka’s primary source of income. But, the hands that contribute are often forgotten. Knowing the story behind every cup of tea, putting a face to the tea bags, smelling the sweat and blood of the labourers, I truly appreciate the wonder of tea. 

Punk Rocker by Sandi Thom

Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
In 77 and 69 revolution was in the air
I was born too late into a world that doesn't care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair

When the head of state didn't play guitar,
Not everybody drove a car,
When music really mattered and when radio was king,
When accountants didn't have control
And the media couldn't buy your soul
And computers were still scary and we didn’t know everything

When pop-stars still remained a myth
And ignorance could still be bliss
And when God Saved the Queen she turned a whiter shade of pale
When my mom and dad were in their teens
And anarchy was still a dream
And the only way to stay in touch was a letter in the mail

When record shops were still on top
And vinyl was all that they stocked
And the super info highway was still drifting out in space
Kids were wearing hand me downs,
And playing games meant kick around
And footballers still had long hair and dirt across their face

I was born too late to a world that doesn't care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair

Sri Lankan Women

Sri Lankan women are by far the most beautiful women I've ever seen. They adorn themselves in rich colours and their ears and necklines are always decorated with ornate gold. They have the most soulful eyes and contagious smiles, it's like they open their hearts to you when they smile. Their eyes speaks volumes, secrets that their lips hold captive. I want to take a picture of every women I see: clad in sarees, shalwar kamez, pant shirts, and skirts. Some with their feet bare, others comfortable in their flip-flops, and others sporting fancy high heels or dress shoes. Representing different walks of life but unified in their common roles as mothers, sisters, wives, workers, supporters, chearleaders; these women are the real front-line warriors every family's struggle. They fight without complaint; they make the impossible possible without acknowledgement. Here's to you, women of the world. Thank you for giving our lives colour and beauty.

On The Radio by Regina Spektor

This is how it works
It feels a little worse
Than when we drove our hearse
Right through that screaming crowd
While laughing up a storm
Until we were just bone
Until it got so warm
That none of us could sleep
And all the styrofoam
Began to melt away
We tried to find some worms
To aid in the decay
But none of them were home
Inside their catacomb
A million ancient bees
Began to sting our knees
While we were on our knees
Praying that disease
Would leave the ones we love
And never come again

On the radio
We heard November Rain
That solo's really long
But it's a pretty song
We listened to it twice
'Cause the DJ was asleep

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath

No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again

A Beautiful Day by India Arie

Life is a journey,
Not a destination,
There are no mistakes,
Just chances we've taken
Lay down your regrets cause all we have is now.

Wake up in the morning
And get out of bed
Start making a mental list in my head
Of all of the things that I am grateful for.

Early in the morning
It's the dawn of a new day
New hopes new dreams new ways
I open up my eyes and
I open up my mind and
I wonder how life will surprise me today.

Early in the morning
It's the dawn of a new day
New hopes new dreams new ways
I open up my heart and
I'm gona do my part and
Make this a positively beautiful day.

Life is a challenge not a competition
You can still smell the roses and be on a mission
Just take a moment to get in touch with your heart
Sometimes you feel like you've got something to prove
Remind yourself that there's only one you.

Just take a moment to give thanks of who you are.

Let's make this a powerful
Let's make this a beautiful day.

The Blue Sweater: A Book Review

The Blue Sweater by Jacqueline Novogratz is a gripping read for anyone interested in International Development. She is an extraordinary woman who has shown me the path I want to follow. I feel as though her book was written for me, it answered my questions about the development sector and explained away all inconsistency. She provided a solution for the conscipious problems of accountability and transperancy when working with NGOs. Her foundation, Acumen Fund, invests "patient capital" into the poorest regions of the world by providing local innovators, enterpreneurs, and visionaries with the means to expand their business and provide services to the poor. Her mandate is to treat poor people like consumers rather than giving them hand-outs. Her vision and that of her partners is to create a world where the rich and the poor are given equal opportunity and where everywhere lives with dignity and freedom.

She grew up in America with a loving family and worked her way through her undergrad. She worked for a year as an international banker and left her job to quench the thirst in her soul for meaningful work. She worked in Africa for a long time and then pursued her MBA at Stanford and said that it gave her confidence and the analytical skills necessary for her career. Her foundation, Acumen Fund, is now 10 years old and is getting global recognition for transforming philanthropy into a for-profit venture that caters to the needs of the ones less fortunate yet sustains its capital at the same time.

She has walked on unchatered teritory and left her trail. I hope one day I can follow in her footsteps and build on top of her learnings (her successes and failures).

The World As My Necklace

On a bright sunny afternoon when I was 9 years old, I came home from school and found an envelope on my desk. The right-slanted cursive writing on the front helped me put a name to the anonymous envelope sitting silently on my table. "Oh Appa," I thought out loud. I openned the crisp white, sealed envelope, to find a necklace inside; hanging from a black string was a small, silver, globe pendant in the middle with a red wooden bead on either side. There was a note attached that read: "because you mean the world to me."

A World Galvanized

With the world in revolution, hope is gripping my heart. I used to think that I would have to fight this battle alone; I am so relieved to see the millions of faces joining the cause of peace. Egypt and Tunisia have been successful in overthrowing the dictatorships toiling with the futures of their countries. In Bahrain, they are protesting for a different style of monarchy, one that does not consider itself above the law. They don’t want to overthrow the monarchy but want to welcome ordinary people with "royal" blood who see and understand the plight of citizens. Morocco and Yemen are protesting too. It’s the domino effect that started with one courageous person in Yemen who decided to set himself on fire because he’d rather burn himself to ashes than live under tyrannous rule. He inspired millions to go out on the streets and voice their opinions, demonstrate their power, march for change, and protest peacefully. He urged them to show the power of their citizenship and demand governments that respect their citizens. There are two common themes among the beatified chaos that has engulfed the Middle East: freedom and dignity. As we watch the people pen their own his/herstory and shape their future, we can only hope that these times of revolution do not turn into civil strife like in the past. I hope that we can learn from the histories of revolutions past and that we can see the toppling of regimes as a journey rather than a destination. I hope people everywhere do not let a sense of temporary relief set in unless and until constitutional and behavioural changes have taken place. I can smell the candle of peace burning, but the road ahead is still unpaved.