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Givantha Arthasad animates life

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By Uditha Devapriya

On the way to Moratuwa from Piliyandala you cross the Bolgoda Bridge, where the path bifurcates between the road to Katubedda on your right and the road to Rawathawatta on your left. The road to Rawathawatta is smaller, and yet more crowded: you pass countless furniture shops, fruit and vegetable stalls, fishmongers, and grocery stores, as well as a church and a temple. After driving on for two kilometres, you wind into a suburb called Shramadhana Road, which forks into several small lanes.

 

This is where Givantha Arthasad lives.

I initially found it difficult to locate him, because of the maze-like lanes that lead to his house. Once I found it, however, all those other houses seemed to vanish before me; this one looked like it stood a world or two apart from them.

A series of steps lead to a lower elevation, with copious shrubs and bushes flanking either side. The veranda, where I sat down to meet the man I had come to talk to, was adorned with so much craftwork and so many designs, including paintings and clay figures, that I could only be awed. I felt like I had walked into a lair.

Givantha Arthasad likes to call himself an artist. What kind of artist? Diplomatically, he refrains from answering. For someone who led so many lives – graphic designing, painting, photography, drama, cinema, television, broadcasting, and journalism – calling him an artist hardly captures his versatility, since his contributions surpass anything a crass generalisation of that sort can lead us to assume. This is his story.

He was born Baminihennedige Givantha Arthasad Peiris in Katunayake to a religiously devout father and mother, both of whom were involved in education: his father, George A. Peiris, was the Scout Commissioner of Sri Lanka, while his mother, Dulcie Peiris, worked as a teacher. “I initially attended Methodist College in my hometown, where my father served as principal, before being sent to Wesley College Colombo from Grade Two.”

Givantha inherited his artistic touch from his parents. “My mother used to bring children in our neighbourhood to our home, where she taught them to make toys, sculpt, and paint for free. Naturally, she taught me too.” His father, on the other hand, taught him “to read newspapers upside down, and to read aloud, paying close attention to the dramatic nuances of a passage.”

With these early encounters, he moved on to Wesley. His first class teacher there had seen him paint, and, since he painted well for his age, had even once remarked, “You shouldn’t have been born in a country like this.” That classteacher was Cyril Wickramage.

He hadn’t been the only staff member who’d encouraged his talent. “My Grade Three class teacher, Mrs Ivy Marasinghe, used to conduct art classes after school which we helped her with. During weekends she took us to watch cartoons. That’s where I encountered the world of animation, from Mickey Mouse to Donald Duck.”

Surprisingly for someone who loved to draw, young Givantha opted for science at Wesley. This became a problem when his studies clashed with his desire to paint and to submit what he painted to various art competitions. The principal of Wesley back then, the renowned educationalist Shelton Wirasinha, had to sign his work before it could be despatched, “and almost every time I went to his office, he’d say something to the tune of ‘Putha, we can’t do this every day, it would be better if you chose art.’”

Not that he cut himself from science. In fact, physics had been one of his favourite subjects. “As I moved up, I graduated from geometry to mechanical drawing. I can’t say these didn’t influence my career. For instance, when we draw, the foundation for our work is the line and the circle. No matter what those who try to divide art and science try to say, there will always be a scientific aspect to drawing. I realised this very early on.”

Still, as he confesses, “Mr Wirasinha’s prodding caused me to wonder whether I ought to be studying science.” Fortunately for him, through the intervention of Wirasinha and Jayantha Premachandra, the head of the Arts Section, he shifted from the science stream to Arts. As for his elders, “my father had wanted me to become a parson due to a promise they’d made to God after the death of my elder brother.” But they gave into his wishes. “After my O Levels, they allowed me to do what I pleased.”

The problem for Givantha was that no institution taught the field he had chosen. “The only place I could go to was Heywood. But Heywood taught music. I realised soon that it wasn’t my cup of tea, so I decided to teach myself.” He reckoned that “an opportunity would come my way.”

The opportunity did come, much sooner than he’d reckoned.

Linus Dissanayake, a doctor turned film producer, had started a small but prominent studio called Dissanayake Studios. It had bankrolled Professor Siri Gunasinghe’s groundbreaking film Sath Samudura in 1967, which featured a breakthrough performance by Givantha’s first class teacher at Wesley, Cyril Wickramage. Three years later the studio financed another landmark production, Vasantha Obeyesekere’s Wes Gaththo, also starring Cyril.

By the time of Wes Gaththo’s release, Givantha had come into contact with Dissanayake, “from whom I borrowed a camera and went on to make a short animated sketch on Andare. The Film Critics’ and Journalists’ Association nominated it for their annual Short Film Festival in 1971, where I competed with Sunil Ariyaratne and Dharmasena Pathiraja.”

Givantha’s next destination was Ceylon Theatres, where, thanks to his friendship with the comedian and singer Freddie Silva, he made contact with “a man called Derrick Fernando, who worked as an official there,” and Titus Thotawatte, “who taught me filmmaking and introduced me to Andrew Jayamanne, who taught me cinematography.”

By now he had made another animated short film, Muhuda Yatin Ira Payayi, which won for him a Jury Prize from the Film Critics’ and Journalists’ Association in 1972. His third attempt, seven years later, would leave behind a much larger imprint on cinema.

That third film, Dutugemunu, was not well received by officials at the time of its release in October 1979, though the few ordinary people who saw it had been thrilled by it. Based on an important episode from Sri Lankan history, its charm lay mainly in the dazzlingly novel way it presented an otherwise serious subject.

“I didn’t follow a conventional narrative,” Givantha tells me. “Instead of relating the story of the hero, I started with an unlikely beginning: a cat visiting the Ruwanwelisaya Dagaba with its kittens, which ask about the story behind its construction. From there the film relates the Mahavamsa version of events. The cat figures in those events because in one of its previous births, it had served as Dutugemunu’s purohita or chaplain.”

Boasting a prominent cast, including influential figures from Givantha’s own childhood (Cyril Wickramage voiced the eponymous hero, while Felix Premawardhana the thespian, who’d taught literature at Wesley, voiced his main soldier, Nandimitra), Dutugemunu concentrated on the hero’s search for the giants in his battle against Elara. With Henry Jayasena voicing Kavantissa and Givantha voicing various other characters, it was tipped to be a watershed. As things turned out though, “audiences barely noticed it.”

The issue hadn’t been with the audiences. It had instead been with political authorities. In 1977 the United National Party had come to power promising, on the one hand, a dharmista samajayak or a ‘righteous society’, and on the other, ethnic coexistence.

According to Givantha, “certain educationists thought the story of Dutugemunu was not amenable to coexistence, given the racialist overtones of his triumph over Elara. They made a complaint to the Education Ministry, which excised the story from textbooks and imposed a ban on any form of propagating it. That is why I was forced to take out my film right after I’d released it.” An avoidable tragedy, because the movie didn’t carry a racist message – “It was entertainment for kids based on Westerns like The Magnificent Seven!” as Givantha puts it – and also because the director had toiled hard to make its characters – including the sunglass-wearing cat that takes us through history – come alive onscreen.

How hard had he toiled, really? Consider that this was a time when digital cinema remained, even in the West, a distant dream. “I had to insert India ink on every frame. In each of my first two films I used more than a thousand such frames. Dutugemunu used more than that. You can imagine the concentration I had to put into these efforts.”

Mercifully, he didn’t have to suffer a loss due to the ban. Far from it, in fact: he tells me that “I bought this house with the compensation I got, for costs incurred on the production, from the authorities after they ordered theatres to stop screening my film.”

The controversy over Dutugemunu notwithstanding, Givantha proceeded to the next phase of his career. Six months before Dutugemunu’s release, television had made its entry to the country. The following year Givantha was sent to study television in Berlin. Upon his return he was posted to the Animation Division of the Sri Lanka Rupavahini Corporation. Later, through a request by the then State Minister Anandatissa de Alwis and then Secretary at the Ministry Sarath Amunugama, he got to work in various other Divisions as well.

In 1987 he tendered his resignation from Rupavahini, two years after he had discovered his eyesight was failing. “Dr Upali Mendis, the head of the Eye Hospital, told me my retina had got damaged, and I’d lose my sight in a few years. He said I would have to live with God. Well, God has been merciful to me. I can see clearly even now,” he tells me.

He also discovered a new career: stamp designing. On the walls of his veranda is a huge poster displaying his most prominent designs, including the 150th anniversary stamp of Royal College and a stamp issued to celebrate the opening of the Victoria Dam. Once again, in a pre-digital era, “drawing these wasn’t the easiest thing to do, even for an artist like me.” For the Victoria Dam stamp, for instance, Givantha had to personally visit and survey the site, “just to come up with a miniature graphical representation.”

In 2001, 22 years after Dutugemunu, Givantha made Sri Lanka’s first digitally animated film: Mahadana Muththayi Golayo Roththayi. Due to the then ongoing war, however, it too passed by unnoticed, though on those who saw it (including an eight year old me), it made a favourable impression. It certainly made an impression on the OCIC. At the 28th OCIC and UNDA Awards Ceremony the following year, it won a Special Jury Prize.

Last year he screened his third feature film – after Dutugemunu and Mahadana Muththayi Golayo Roththayi – called Eureka, for dignitaries and journalists. Unfortunately, it still hasn’t been released. There’s little doubt it’ll pass by noticed this time; in fact there’s reason to believe Givantha will get his long sought after place in the sun that his first two films barely garnered, and his third feature length masterpiece did not, with this newest venture.

The writer Thilakarathna Kuruwita Bandara describes Eureka as an experimental work that may well become “a turning point in the cinema for young directors.” Only time will tell if the film, as a whole, stands up to such an estimation. Until then, we can only wait.

 

The writer can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com

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Sat Mag

Breathe clean for better health

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Air impurities enter the respiratory system via inhalation, causing various health effects in all age groups.

Air pollution and climate change were recognized as the top environmental global threats to human health in 2019 by the World Health Organization (WHO).

Air impurities enter the respiratory system via inhalation, causing various health effects in all age groups. The health of susceptible and sensitive individuals (pregnant women, kids, elderly and people with severe disorders) can be impacted even on low air pollution days.

Short-term exposure to air pollutants is closely related to cough, shortness of breath, wheezing, asthma, and other respiratory diseases, with high rates of hospitalization. Long-term exposure to these also leads to severe conditions like lung cancer, heart disease and central nervous system dysfunctions.

Nasal hygiene matters

Your nose is a passage to various air impurities; hence it is important to take care of your nose. Air impurities e.g. allergens, pollutants, bacteria or viruses etc. may enter the nose and get trapped, leading to complications.

Take care of your overall health:

*Manage diet – Antioxidants, fibre, protein and polyunsaturated fatty acids (PUFAs) may help you beat the effects of air pollutants.

*Regular Nasal Washing -Saline sprays wash out the impurities and debris trapped in the nasal passage and helps to prevent allergy symptoms and sinus infections. It also supports natural nose functions.

Benefits of nasal saline wash

* It is a good habit to use a saline wash every day to clean the trapped debris and impurities.

* It also helps to moisturize your dry nose, especially in winter.

*  If you are taking any steroids or medications to treat your nasal allergies, it is suggested to rinse your nose with saline before using them. It will clear out debris/mucus and help medications work better.

Take care of your nose and practice nasal hygiene regularly to breathe cleaner.

Minimise the exposure to air pollutants:

* Shift from motorized to active travel e.g. walking and cycling

* Track the air quality index in your area

*Exercise regularly but moderate outdoor activity when air pollution levels are high

* Ventilate your kitchen or cooking room

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Sat Mag

Places and people

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Raddella and Karangoda

By Uditha Devapriya
With input from Roshan Jayarathna

From Panadura to Ratnapura the bus takes three hours to complete the ride. It goes through Horana, Ingiriya, Idangoda, Kiriella, and Kahangama before reaching its destination. The bus stop at Ratnapura is largely empty after six in the evening, and after eight there’s no one. It was raining last December. I was getting late. The clock struck 4.30 when I reached Kiriella. Another hour or so, and there wouldn’t be anyone to take me. I had come to visit Raddella, 25 minutes away. I would be staying for Christmas: I wanted an escape from the fireworks, and I wanted some peace and quiet. Raddella promised both.

Tucked away in a far off corner, Elapatha is one of 17 Divisional Secretariats in the Ratnapura District. The road to it is small, just wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other. Located seven kilometres from Ratnapura Town, it turns and swerves for three more kilometres before you reach a village called Karangoda. From there to Raddella it takes 10 minutes. Filled with forbidding roads and welcoming homes, Elapatha, to which it belongs, is located in Niwithigala, in turn a part of Palle Pattuwa in the Nawadun Korale.

The area is of immense historical interest, though it’s not obvious at first glance. Ratnapura, of course, features in the travels of Marco Polo. Yet this part of the country figured in the country’s history long, long before Polo’s visit, particularly in the reign of Parakramabahu I. In 1156 AD he faced a revolt in Ruhunurata led by the mother of an aspirant to the throne, Manabharana, whom he had defeated and vanquished. The mother, Sugala Devi, provoked an uprising in the South in the hopes of restoring the monarchy to her son.

Parakramabahu was by then engaged in bringing the country under one dominion, a feat unaccomplished since the days of Dutugemunu. Perturbed at the machinations of Sugala Devi, he ordered two of his generals, Damiladhikari Rakkha and Kacukinayaka Rakkha, to traverse to Ruhuna and subjugate her. The mission took years, and it threatened to drain the country’s resources. Yet in the end, the king triumphed.

Codrington speculated that Kacukinayaka Rakkha proceeded to Devanagama, or Dondra, after suffering defeat at Mahavalukagama, or Weligama. From there he and his army made their way through Kammaragama (Kamburugama), Mahapanalagama, Manakapithi, the ford of the Nilwala River, and Kadalipathi. Damiladhikari Rakkha, on the other hand, had taken the route from Ratnapura: Codrington wrote that he may have gone through the mountains between Rakwana and Deniyaya, or the mountains of the Kolonne Korale on the outskirts of the Ratnapura District. Either way, he reached Koggala, and from there to Magama, where he waged a series of battles after which, finally, he won the war.

As they marched through Ratnapura, Damiladhikari’s troops captured the villages of Donivagga (Denawaka) and Navayojana (Nawadun). From there we are told they advanced to Kalagiribanda, or Kalugalbodarata, encompassing the Kukul, Atakalan, Kolonna, and Morawaka Korales; from there, to the Atakalan Korale, Dandava between Kahawatte and Opanayake, Tambagamuwa near Madampe, Bogahawela, Binnegama, and finally Butkanda. Nawadun, roughly the Nawadun Korale of today, hence became the army’s first priority; so impossible to claim did it become that the army despaired of it as “hard to pass through.” During the civil war Parakramabahu had waged with Manabharana, he set about taking the region from Manabharana’s forces, and eventually succeeded in doing so.

The writing of the Tripitakaya precedes Parakramabahu, Manabharana, and Sugala Devi by several centuries. It was in Nawadun that the first puskola poth on which it would be written were made. Two kilometres before Raddella, you stop by the village of Karangoda, which reputedly got its name from the word given to the remnants of ola leaves after they’ve been used to make books. Here, at a temple less well heard of than anything Parakramabahu built and came up with, the first talipot books were put together for the Fourth Buddhist Council. Thus the region from Elapatha to Raddella is linked to two of the most important events in our history: the unification of the Sangha by Vatta Gamini Abhaya, and the unification of the polity by Parakramabahu I a thousand years later.

After Vatta Gamini Abhaya suffered defeat at the hands of a South Indian dynasty, he and a group of his most faithful followers retreated from the capital, Anuradhapura. Among them was a monk, Kushikkala Tissa; he would settle in Karangoda with his disciples and several other refugees from the war torn capital. The village of Weragama is not too far away, and there a sentry by the name of Bodhinayake, who befitting his title had been in charge of the Sri Maha Bodhiya, founded a settlement of his own, giving it its present-day name. Those who hail from the Bodhinayake line, according to local sources, continue to reside in the area. Its history, and the history of the sangha parapura from Kushikkala Tissa, has a great deal to do with that temple in Karangoda: the Potgul Viharaya.

Locals call Potgula the second Sri Pada. There’s no real resemblance: the association with the latter comes off mainly in the fact that locals, and even those passing by the area, tend to pay their respects to it before making their way to the Holy Peak. Not unlike the maha giri dambe at Sri Pada there’s a series of steps – 460 according to a pamphlet issued at the temple, 469 according to Explore Sri Lanka – to ascend before reaching the viharaya. The climb stiffens the limbs, though shorter than Dambulla. Yet despite its reputation, not many seem to have heard of it: an anomaly that proves to be more curious when you consider its history is tied, inextricably, to the history of the Buddhist order in Sri Lanka.

A. H. Mirando has written of the emergence of Ganinnanses or lay monks, comparable to the Achars of Cambodia, in Kandy in the 17th and 18th centuries. With vast sections of land coming into their possession, he observes, they remained priests in name only, contravening the rules of Vinaya and getting involved in the affairs of the laity. Owing to their persecution by the tempestuous Sitawaka Rajasinghe, many Buddhist monks fled to Kotte, contributing to the disintegration of the Sangha in the upcountry further. Dutch and British annexation of the littoral regions distanced the Kandyan priesthood from low country monks, compelling the latter to seek favours from colonial officials.

The descendants of Kushikkala Tissa had made Potgula their sanctuary, and despite the moral decline of the Ganinnanses, the sangha parapura flourished. We next hear of a Chief Incumbent whose contribution to the revival of Buddhism has been as scantily noticed as the historical significance of the Potgul Viharaya itself: Vehalle Sri Dhamadinna. Together with Sitinamaluwe Dhammajoti, the last non-Govigama monk to be initiated into the Siyam Nikaya, Dhamadinna began a campaign to breathe new life to the order and the doctrine in the Maritime Provinces. The two of them had been ordained by Kadurupokune Navaratne Buddharakkitha, who resided in Tissamaharama and became one of two monks initiating a generation of reformists to the priesthood; the other, Suriyagoda Kitsirigoda, Rajaguru and Dhammanusasaka of Narendrasinghe, would ordain Velivita Saranankara.

In 1753 when the upasampadawa was finally established under Kirti Sri Rajasinghe and Buddharakkitha’s students underwent the ceremony to symbolise the beginning of the new chapter, Dhammadinna, who took part in it with 22 Ganinnanses from Sabaragamuwa and 20 Ganinnanses from Matara, would have been 74; if so he was 97 when he passed away in 1776. Together with Malimbada Dhammadara and Kumburupitiye Gunaratne, he formed a trio of low country monks who, after Saranankara’s demise, were placed in charge of the Shrine at the Sri Pada. This proved to be a source of contention once they came to hold two offices – Chief Monk of the low country and the Shrine – following the separation of those offices after Kamburupitiye Gunaratne’s passing away in 1779.

Far, far away, 12 kilometres from Raddella, the Sumana Saman Devalaya continues to occupy a preeminent place in the Sabaragamuwa Province. 13 kilometres away in Kuruwita, the Delgamuwa Viharaya, a quiet, empty, yet still hallowed reflection of its past, links the entire region to the patronage of Buddhism. It was to Delgamuwa that Mayadunne moved the Tooth Relic in the early 16th century. Faced with the threat of destruction at the hands of Portuguese marauders and proselytisers in Kotte, it remained hidden beneath a kurahan gala in Delgamuwa for 43 years. Around it an entire culture and way of life came into being: Sabaragamuwa natum, instituted for the perahera of the Relic, and angampora, instituted for the protection of the Relic from thieves, spies, and proselytisers.

Tourists and devotees flock by the hundreds to the Saman Devalaya, yet few, if any, seem to visit Delgamuwa. The road to it is narrow, empty, and quiet: house after house line up along the way, reminding you more of a suburb than a religious site.

Potgula endures the same fate, though more pilgrims make their way there. There, at the viharaya after climbing the 40 or so steps, you come across a well full of holy water – and plastic cups to drink it with, used and reused by devotees and visitors – as well as a stupa, a watering hole, a swarm of wasps said to be descendants of the sentries who had guarded the temple, and a long, winding, though enclosed tunnel which some believe goes up to the Ehelepola Walawwa in Ratnapura town. Regarding the latter, no one really knows where it ends: a local told me someone tried to test the Ehelepola Walawwa thesis and lost his way, never to be found again. Vatta Gamini Abhaya apparently hid himself here, though locals dispute it: according to them, given his contribution to Buddhism, temples everywhere went on claiming that he and his family sought shelter in them.

Living next to these edifices, genuflecting to them, but also dispelling them of the myths surrounding them, are the people of Ratnapura. At least one local I met took me by surprise with his candour. Unlike the people of the South who tend to accept unconditionally the folklore their societies are rooted in, their counterparts here who I met didn’t seem to buy the Orientalist aura visitors conjure up about their surroundings.

Modernity in the Western, cosmetic sense has obviously arrived, and you see it in patches everywhere. The old cohabits with the new. Thus family bonds are reinforced and adhered to, while the lucrative occupations – not just gem mining but also textiles, groceries, and the law – are breaking them apart. Religiosity exists with rationalism: one generation follows the myths of popular Buddhism, while the other spurns them. And of course, there’s the dialect. Osmund Jayaratne, canvassing for the LSSP here, was once offered a maluwa. Expecting fish, he was astonished at being handed a completely vegetarian lunch: “Maluwa,” he was told, “can include anything with rice in it.” Things have in one sense changed from then – a period of half a century – yet in another, they have not: I too could barely conceal my astonishment when, expecting fish, I was handed a maluwa full of anything but fish.

The writer can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com

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Sat Mag

IDIOMS: Befriend Languages and Communities

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‘Idioms are the distilled wisdom of a community’

By K. A. I. Kalyanaratne
Consultant – Publications
Postgraduate Institute of Management
University of Sri Jayewardenepura
Vice President, Hela Havula

While being locked down with the rising high tide of the recent COVID-19 gush in the country, I kept on reading as there was nothing much to do to spend the spare time. This was of course in addition to my legitimate work of the office. In my ponderings while reading I came across a phrase which said “a bad apple would spoil all the apples that surround it”. It struck me that a bad apple would be like someone who would act irresponsibly, without caring a tuppence for the incessant publicity given by the authorities as to how we should behave and act hygienically. In fact, these practices have taken near-mandatory status, as they are that important in our struggle to bring new-normalcy to the society. It is a must that one should get acclimatized to ward off the threat of the current pandemic. Is it that necessity knows no law?

I was imagining what would happen if there’s one rotten apple inside a basket of apples. This picture will help you to convince that a bad apple is someone who creates problems or trouble, or exerts a bad influence on the other people in a group. Herein I was pondering as to how COVID-19 has been capable of bringing back to normalcy certain words and phrases in our attempt to create new normalcy!

Becoming Curiouser and Curiouser to Know More About Idioms

It is but natural that when you come across a peculiar word or phrase, obviously, you become curious to find out more about it. So I accessed the sources at hand, and that search gave me the clue, that ‘a bad apple’ is an idiom. This is how I began to dip my pen to write this short essay. As I became curiouser and curiouser to know more about idioms I searched in every possible nook and cranny to first find how the word ‘idiom’ crept into the English vocabulary. The English language is full of idioms. My university teacher Dr. George Thambaiyapillai, climatologist, writing his research findings on rainfall in Ceylon commenced his monograph with the sentence ‘In Ceylon it never rains but it pours”. I was then wondering whether what he meant by this phrase was the ferocity of the downpour we experience, especially our monsoonal and inter-monsoon tropical thunderstorm weather. However, I little knew then that it’s an idiom he has used to connote a deeper meaning. Now I know that in modern English this is an idiom which means that a series of events, and especially misfortunes never come singly. The Proverb Hunter website elucidates this idiom with an apt episode,

‘What a day it’s been’, sighed Mrs Wood. ‘First, I burnt out the kettle, then the electricity fused, then Mrs Mopp didn’t arrive, then the butcher didn’t deliver the meat in time for lunch, then the doctor called and said Tommy’s got measles. It was one thing after another. They say it never rains but it pours.’

Origins of Idioms – Covered with a Haze Dust

No one has so far been certain as to how ‘Idioms’ entered the English language. It is guesstimated that the origin of idioms goes back to the 14th century. Those who have researched say that the idiom ‘nook and cranny’ had come into usage after the two words first appeared from mid-1300s and 1450s respectively. While ‘nook’ had been used to connote ‘a distant corner’. ‘cranny’ had meant ‘a crack or gap’. It thus becomes pretty obvious that the particular idiom came into being after 1450s.

As we know English is a ‘mixed up bowl’ or a ‘mixed bowl’, and the word ‘idiom’ had got mixed up in this bowl from the French word ‘idiome’, which had been again borrowed from late Latin ‘idioma’, which had again been a word loaned from Greek ‘idiome’, which meant ‘peculiarity, peculiar phraseology’. Fowler, the famous lexicographer writes that “A manifestation of the peculiar” is “the closest possible translation of the Greek word” idiome. He further says that idioms are sometimes treated as ungrammatical. It is normally said that ‘borrowed things will never shine’. But whatever said and done, after the word got into the English-bowl, idioms are ‘shining like nothing’.

Idioms Bemuse All Measures of Grammatical Classification

It is found to be a common trait in any structured language that those who are familiar with that language know at a glance to which part of a speech a word belongs. It is also a common trait in many languages that some words can belong to two or more parts of speech. However, there is a category of words which cannot be readily understood or brought under any part of speech. Their meanings can only be construed through the common usage of years or centuries, for that matter. Such a category of words (or phrases) that bemuses all linguists and grammarians are the so called idioms. Idioms, thus have not only bemused them, but have also brought haziness that challenges all the rules that classify and define the parts of speech.

Idioms as Seen by Sinhala Grammarians

Idioms are common to all communities as they are offshoots or spinoffs (upstarts?) of their total communication process. In the Sinhala language idioms are referred to as ‘prastha pirulu’. (in the spoken dialect ‘pirula’ has been changed to ‘piruvata’. In a verse composed by Veedagama Thero ‘pirula’ appears in a poem starting with ‘Pirulen aragath abarana mangulata’ which means ‘jewellery borrowed/loaned for the ceremony’. Hence, the word ‘Pirula’ means borrowed or loaned. The Pujavaliya of the Dambadeniya period had used ‘pirula’ in the transformed form ‘piruvata’. ‘Prastha pirulu’, therefore, connote words/phrases that are borrowed/loaned for the occasion. ‘Sinhala grammarian, linguist, writer and poet, the late Raphael Tennekoon, explaining Sinhala idioms in his ‘Honda Sinhala’ says that idioms of the language could be categorized under upama and bevahara:

(i)

upama’ (Similes) are those words used by learned people of the past, to elucidate or to explain some phenomenon and to make it clear and easy to understand. ‘uru thudehi datha thebuwa se’ is an example cited for a simile by Tennekoon. A pig could dig into the soil with its long snout that is strengthened by a prenasal bone and by a disc of cartilage at the tip. The simile says that ‘placing a tooth in the pig’s snout’ would make its digging much easier.

(ii)

‘bevahara’ (Vyavahara/Usages) are traditional or popular sayings that have been passed down through ages. These are also rendered into English as ‘proverbs’. For a proverb or a traditional usage Tennekoon refers to the famous saying ‘inguru deela miris gaththa vagei’. which means ‘an injudicious exchange; that is about ditching one invader for another. According to Tennekoon a usage or proverb (bevahara) differs from a simile (upama) as the former derives its origin from a previous event or incident. The idiom referred to above is a well-known saying in the Sinhala language, the origin of which is King Rajasinghe II, in 1656, seeking help of the Dutch to get rid of the Portuguese from the coastal areas. It’s an important revelation as a majority of the students and teachers wouldn’t know this difference, and they put everything in one basket.

Logicality and Rationality of Idioms

A deep study of both these categories of idioms would reveal that although the origins of a majority of them are shrouded in mystery, they are, nevertheless, extremely logical and rational. They stand to reason, giving the indication that whosoever had originated these sayings they could, for certain, be men of standing in society. Take for instance the old Arab proverb ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’. There’s a similar saying in Sinhala which says ‘Hathurage hathura mithurayi’. Look at this Tamil idiom ‘Aadu nanayuthendru Onai Aluthathu’ which says ‘Wolf crying that sheep are getting wet’. A marvelous gesture from a good-mannered and sympathetic wolf, out of all the other animals! Sheep are said to be eternal prey of wolves. See how rational it is to advise someone to ‘Put on your thinking cap’. If you tell someone to put their thinking cap on, you ask him/her to find an idea or solve a problem by thinking about it. It is certain that Edward de Bono’s concepts of Six Thinking Hats, had its origin in this idiom. Instead of one thinking cap de Bono has twisted it to say Six Thinking Hats. De Bono introduced the concept of using six different coloured hats, so participants can use it for thinking logically as well as creatively to generate and assess innovative and different ideas.

Idioms Build Bridges Across Communities

A comparative study of idioms also unearth several hidden facts, which indicate that amidst the differences that exist among communities there’s a common chord that binds humanity across all the man-made barriers. It is, therefore, heartening to expose such similarities as they, more often, reveal that humans are a single species, although socio-cultural and political factors have kept them apart. The following tabulation clearly shows that irrespective of the differences in the communities they either use almost the same or different expressions to convey similar sentiments/ideas.

Sinhala, Tamil, English

Kimbul kandulu helanava (shedding crocodile tears) Mudalai kanneer (shedding crocodile tears) shed crocodile tears (To display hypocritical sadness) Linde inna mediya vage (like a frog in the well)

Kupa manduka

(in Sanskrit) Kinatruth thvalai (frog in the well) A frog in the well (an individual who cannot or refuses to see the big picture) Betalu hama poravagath wrukaya veni (an insincere pretender) Aadu nanayuthendru onai aluthathu (wolf crying that sheep are getting wet) A wolf in sheep’s clothing

(those playing a role contrary to their real character Poth gulla (book mite/weevil) Puthagam puzhu (Book worm) Book worm (a person reading/ studying more than usual) Have nose in a book (people who always seem to be reading) Gal hithak (stony heart/mind) Kurangu pidy (Monkey grip / stubbornness) Stubborn as a mule (intractable/ refractory) Hulangata desana karannakmen (like preaching to the wind/ a futile act) Eeyotudal (chasing flies away* no occupation) A futile act Pouring water off a duck’s back (a futile act as water doesn’t retain on a duck’s back)

Humour in Idioms

Irrespective of what the language is, a close study of idioms would reveal they have been coined by master-craftsmen, who are both witty and humourous. In this background it becomes pretty obvious that quite a number of idioms are bent on sarcasm as well. As most idioms are products of communities who had enough time to enjoy life idioms reflect that most of their sayings were either witty, humourous, sarcastic or punchy.

If you look closely at the literal meanings of most idioms, you will realize that they are often downright hilarious. Here is a compilation of some such humerous idioms found in Sinhala and English.

Labba degawwayi labu wela gawwayi

– while the pumpkin-creeper is only a gavva away, the pumpkin is two gavvas away. A ‘gavva’ is said to be a league in Sinhala which is taken as a distance of three and a quarter miles.

This idiom is similar to ‘a bridge too far’ in English – a goal or plan which is too far.

Do a Devon Loch –

is an idiom which says a person giving up half way when everybody expects him to succeed. Devon Loch was a racehorse that collapsed just short of the winning line of the 1956 Grand National race in the United Kingdom.

Theetam tinunne pattiku ariyamo oochinde mannam’ is a Malayali idiom which says ‘the dog that eats shit cannot smell a fart’. How similar is the Sinhala idiom which says ‘urulevata uge ganda therenne ne’. It means a civet-cat cannot smell its own smell (odour).

Idioms – A Veritable Palimpsest of a Community

While planning to conclude this short essay with a punchy note, it stuck me that I had come across a very rarely used phrase, ‘a veritable palimpsest’; a phrase which could be used only in very special circumstances related to subjects like geology, topography, architecture or inscriptions where evidence is found of superimpositions on effaced earlier features. They, in fact, still bear the evidence of original surfaces. Based on this premise I strongly think that idioms are ‘veritable palimpsests’, that still show so many facets of a community out of which these had emerged. They either reflect beliefs, virtues, and even habits, behaviours and human relationships built on moral, principles and respect of a community. Moral is related to the standards of what is right or just in behaviour. Or as rightly exposed by Raphael Tennekoon, erudite scholar, many idiom are off-shoots of historical incidents/events. So a ‘veritable palimpsest’ itself is an idiom that could be used on very special occasions as spelt out above.

‘Puhul hora Karin denai’, –

The pumpkin-thief is seen by his shoulder’

‘Raigamayata Gampolaya ekvuna veniyi’,

– Similar to meeting of Raigamaya with Gampolaya.

‘Kana kiri pata keeva se’

– like the blind person told the colour of milk’

‘Straight from the horse’s mouth’

which means getting information from the most reliable source, is said to come from the 1900s, when buyers could determine a horse’s age by examining its teeth.

Why We Need to Study Idioms in a Language

Every developed language is rich in idioms. Although it is possible to converse correctly in non-idiomatic language, anyone with only a superficial knowledge of that particular language will find himself/herself at a serious disadvantage in his/her reading, and even more so, when he/she takes part in discussions and other means of communication.

Although cultural variables would make differences in the settings or use of words, all idioms help stress particular points. Therefore, cultivating familiarity with and using them often, even a foreigner would sound more like a native, and can also boost his comprehension skills. By now you would have been sufficiently convinced that idioms are a fun subject that will, for certain, help making one’s communication descriptive, colourful, creative, lively, interesting, exciting and at times concise/precise as well. Idioms have, thus, enriched every language. The more one uses idioms in his/her communication, the more he/she becomes closer to a native speaker.

Idioms are Distilled Wisdom of a Community

An idiom is an everyday figure of speech or metaphorical expression whose meaning cannot be taken literary. They often go against the logical “rules of language and grammar” despite being commonly used by the language’s native speakers.

Sir Winston Churchill, former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom (1940-1945) who had not stepped into a university in pursuit of higher education, once said that eighty percent of his education had been through the study of idioms. In fact, he referred to idioms as “Distilled Wisdom” of a community.

 

The writer can be reached on kaly@pim.sjp.ac.lk

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