SOME SRI LANKAN MANNERISMS

Eating Habits: the Vedda and the Sociology Professor

by Chandra Arulpragasam

In 1950, the writer (an undergraduate at that time) undertook a sociological survey of the Veddas in the jungles of Wellassa and Bintenne in the Uva Province. This involved a trek of around 250 miles in the jungles of the Uva and Eastern Provinces., where few had ventured before. My Professor of Sociology at the University of Ceylon, Dr. Bryce Ryan, came to the start of the jungle trail to see me off. Just as we were sitting down to lunch, a Vedda happened to pass on the trail. I engaged him in conversation while Professor Ryan started eating at his picnic table close by. The Vedda with long matted and unkempt hair was naked except for a skimpy loin-cloth and an axe on his shoulder. When he saw the Professor eating with his fork and knife, he shook his head disapprovingly and spat disgustedly, saying: ‘Look at that white man: see how he eats!’

The Professor sensing that something disparaging was being said about him, asked with curiosity: ‘What’s he saying’? So I imitated the Vedda’s reply, translating literally and spitting appropriately. The Professor, now agog, asked excitedly: ‘Why does he say that? Why does he say that?’ To which the Vedda replied: ‘See: he eats with some kind of instrument! How does he know how many other people have eaten with that same thing before’- and spat again in disgust. The Professor rejoined excitedly: ‘So what does he do? What does he do instead?’ To which the Vedda proudly replied: ‘I eat with my right hand, which nobody else can use. I don’t use my left hand because I know what it does’! What really surprised me later was the fervour with which the Professor defended his culinary habits – as fervently as the Vedda did his!

 Informed by this insight, during my travels abroad later, my eyes were always open to the eating habits of different peoples. For instance, in Japan, when a bowl of rice is served, a pair of chopsticks is included. The chopsticks made of pinewood are joined together at one end like Siamese twins, thus ensuring that no one else had used them before. It struck me however, that these chopsticks, having been cut out of pine trees, dragged through the forest floor, then cut by a machine and falling on the factory floor, could not be all that clean! But I then realized that I was just trying to justify my eating with my right hand (because I know what my left hand does!) as being ‘superior’ to eating with chopsticks! And so it goes on, with each culture doing its own thing, insisting all the while that it is the best!

Saying ‘No’, when we mean ‘Yes’

I became conscious of a certain Sri Lankan mannerism, on a two-hour ferry-boat journey to the isles of Capri and Ischia in Italy, around 1968. We were on one side of a large ferry, while the bar was on the other side, about 60 feet away. Since I was going to get myself a beer, I asked my wife whether she wanted a drink. She indicated ‘Yes’ with a sway of her head from side to side, in Sri Lankan style. So I crossed to the bar and ordered the two drinks. The barman, hardly looking up from washing the glasses, asked me briskly: ‘You are from Ceylon, Sir?’ I almost dropped with surprise. First, hardly any Italian knew at that time where Ceylon was – or even that it in fact existed. But secondly, how could he have guessed my nationality just by looking at me? Surprised, I asked him how he could have guessed this so quickly. Smilingly he replied: ‘I saw you asking your wife if she would have a drink, and she shook her head from side to side, signifying “No”. But then you came across and ordered a drink for her – which means that she said “Yes”. The only place where shaking your head to indicate ‘No’ means ‘Yes’ is in Ceylon!’

I was surprised, first, because I myself had not noticed this seeming ‘contradiction’ before. But secondly, I could not resist asking him how he could possibly have known this. He replied smiling, that he had been a prisoner of war in Ceylon during World War II in the 1940s – and remembered this Ceylonese trait even 25 years later! So Sri Lanka remains the country, where we shake our heads, understood elsewhere to signify ‘No’, when we really mean ‘Yes’!

As a matter of interest, the barman also told me that the happiest years of his life were spent ‘in prison’ in Ceylon, roaming the hills of Diyatalawa where the Italian prisoners were supposed to be confined! The British must have been confident that their prisoners would not escape from their haven (heaven) to go back to war-torn Europe!

Women Not Showing Their Legs

In Italy today, women at the age of 50 are usually slim, elegant and well groomed. This was not the case in Italy in the 1960’s when women over 50 (especially in the south) often had a ‘pasta roll’ around their waist, usually dressed in black dresses as a sign of mourning for some long departed family member. My wife, on the other hand, usually dressed in her full sari with a choli blouse, which coyly showed a bit of midriff. When visiting a supermarket, this was the cause of some consternation among two elderly Italian ladies, modestly dressed in baggy black gowns. After talking agitatedly among themselves, one of the ladies, not being able to contain herself any longer, came across to my wife and said: ‘Pardon me, Sigñora, but your midriff is ‘nuda’ (in Italian: ‘nuda’, means ‘nude’). My wife taken aback and nonplussed, looked down at her midriff and asked in surprise: ‘What’s wrong with my midriff?’ The old lady, even more agitated, replied that it was ‘nuda’. At this point my wife looked at the old lady’s legs and said ‘Sigñora, but your legs are ‘nuda’/showing. (In South Asia at that time, it was considered immodest for a woman, especially an older woman, to show her legs: but this was obviously not so in western society). The old lady, equally taken aback, looked down at her legs and said: ‘What’s wrong with my legs?’ And my wife replied: ‘They are nuda’. The old lady was puzzled.

Not knowing what to make of this weird exchange, she walked back to her companion for more animated discussion! We were amused at this cross-cultural exchange: of two cultures speaking across each other, but not to each other, in terms that neither could understand.

It is equally interesting to note changes within the same culture over time. On a typical Italian or western street today, girls walk around with whole midriffs exposed, showing also their belly buttons, suitably embellished with rings!

I wonder what the Italian old ladies would say to this now!

This also varies across cultures: the exposure of female legs is either a matter of good taste, sexiness or shame, depending on the culture concerned. In the Indian sub-continent (including Nepal, India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka) it is not decent for women to expose their legs, least of all above the knee. On the other hand, it is customary, fashionable and even sexy in the western world to do so. Going farther afield, in China, one notes that legs were not considered sexy at all – neither a matter of pride or shame. Traditionally in China (before Mao’s time) women wore the cheongsam, a long dress with a slit all the way up the thigh. On the other hand, these same Chinese women were shy to show their necks, favoring high collars so that their necks were not exposed! This is in contrast to women in the Indian sub-continent, who have no problem in showing their necks, but do have a problem in showing their thighs!  

The Mark of a ‘Mahathaya’

In the 1960s in Sri Lanka, anyone who wore trousers was addressed as ‘Mahathaya’. This was taken for granted, despite the movement after 1956 to use the national dress. However, it was NOT the wearing of trousers that made one a ‘Mahathaya’. The trousers only marked a person as belonging to the English-speaking ‘elite’ – which is what entitled that person to wear trousers in the first place. Conversely, in those days, if one could not speak English, one would never presume to wear trousers! The actual equation went something like this: wearing trousers = English-speaking = higher class = Mahathaya. The trousers were a badge of honour, defining one as belonging to the English-speaking ‘elite’, which signified that the person was of a higher socio-economic status, giving him the ‘right’ to wear trousers and to be addressed as ‘Mahathaya’. Conversely, a man wearing a sarong would not usually be addressed as ‘Mahathaya’ in those days – except in certain specific contexts.

I was to see the absurdity of this equation, applied in the same way, but in a different country. When in Delhi, a Sri Lankan Embassy friend offered to give me a ride to an international meeting. Having lost our way, my friend drew up to a cyclist, to ask the way. The cyclist was a simple man, wearing the long trousers/pantaloons habitually worn by north Indians. My friend spoke in English, but the man replied in Hindi, saying (probably) that he could not understand English, and went on repeating the same. Exasperated and annoyed, my Sri Lankan friend turned to me and said: ‘This fellow is pretending to know English, when he clearly does not!’ The poor man had been going about his business, in no way pretending that he knew English, but was falsely accused of doing so! The problem was obviously not with the man, but in the mind of the Sri Lankan beholder, who had assumed that the man knew English only because he had ‘dared’ to wear trousers!

This was the situation around 1970. Things have obviously changed since then: young men, even non-English speakers now wear trousers, while it is equally or more respectable to wear the national dress, as done by the Prime Minister himself!

Saying Goodbye, the Sri Lankan Way

In most European countries, there is a way of expressing parting or departure, while expecting to meet again. This is conveyed by the French ‘au revoir’ or the Italian ‘arrividerci’, which mean: ‘till we meet (see each other) again’, In Sri Lanka, visitors would say that they are going, while swaying their heads from side to side, saying ‘we will come’(api ennang) – even when they are actually going!

One notices two things in this ritual. First, instead of saying ‘then I shall go’, they will say ‘I shall come’. In Sinhala this is expressed as: ‘gihing ennang’; but this is often abbreviated to ‘Ennang’ (I shall come/return). Likewise in Tamil, one would say ‘poitu vaarane’, which is usually abbreviated to ‘Vaarane’ – which literally means in both languages: ‘I shall come’. The idea, therefore, is the same as the French ‘au revoir’ or the Italian ‘arrividerci’.

More quaint, however, is the ritualistic dance, whereby a departing couple would turn again at the door and sway their heads from side to side, saying, or not even saying: ‘Then we will come’. The significance of this movement seems to be that of seeking permission to go, which goes beyond the French or Italian versions of the same: a politeness of seeking permission to leave. In fact we are actually saying: ‘I shall go and come, Okay?’, thus seeking consent for one’s departure.

To a foreigner, this repeated ritual would seem strange. When leaving, a Sri Lankan couple would tilt their heads from side to side and then get up to go, saying ‘api ennang’ (we shall come). Halfway through the door, they would again shake their heads from side to side, like marionettes, before they finally leave!

All this is avoided by the traditional Sinhala and Tamil mode of greeting/parting -by bringing the hands together in the form of worship. What is indicative is the intentional non-touching of the body: there are no hugs or touchy-feely manifestations in South Asian partings – a special merit in these days of Covid! This is also seen in the Indian ‘namaste’, which is said to mean: “I salute the God within you, which is also within me” – marking a soul-to-soul salutation, which should be good for the soul!