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Chennai
Hyderabad
Colombo calling
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Roaring through the empyrean blue skies in a Boeing 747 and purring into a foreign airport, SHONALI MUTHALALY emerges excitedly into a different time zone and a deliciously exotic landscape
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Pic. by Anjana Chandramouly
ONE HOUR, ten minutes and one scalding cup of airline coffee. And suddenly, you're `abroad,' `on exotic shores,' in foreign climes - and all this despite the fact that you're neither flaunting exotic vaccinations nor an impressively languid jet lag. As you stretch, yawn and set your watch back by half an hour, you'll realise that you aren't even suffering from Passportitis (non-communicable disease caused by nervously fiddling with sweaty passports in visa queues). And, coming to think of it, driving to Velachery probably takes longer than a journey to this colourful overseas destination.
So, it's hardly surprising that Sri Lanka's stopped coyly beckoning Chennaiites with a taste for duty free shopping, Lonely Planet guides and a penchant for "when I was abroad" stories and started hollering out to them instead.
After all, India's palm-fringed island neighbour is just a hop, skip and jump away, making it closer than a good number of Indian cities. And now, with the island offering visas on arrival and the skies being thrown open to private airlines as well, the inevitable war of the airlines will mean that the customer is going to be King. No more lunches that taste like lovingly re-heated candle wax. No more air hostesses who look like they'll confiscate your life jacket "in the unlikely event of the aircraft landing in water." And no more squirming sadly in one pair of grimy jeans all through your holiday as your absent-minded luggage travels to Paris, Rome and Hong Kong before it returns home to India, without you.
At the Chennai airport, as the flight to Sri Lanka is announced, a long and winding line made up of excited tourists, blasι business people and, for some inexplicable reason, women in large flowery and distinctly un-ironed gowns, forms in front of the Indian Airlines aircraft. Add a group of journalists waving an assortment of dog-eared notebooks, dictaphones and pens, as they board their flight to Colombo (organised by Indian Airlines to showcase the island as a tourist destination) and you have a planeload of peoplewaiting with anticipation for Sri Lanka to unfold.
The plane begins to shudder its way into the clouds. It's finally time to shrug goodbye to Chennai and start having tourist brochure dreams, crammed with sun-drenched beaches and swanky buildings.
And then, in the middle of a complicated cellophane-smothered bread roll, Sri Lanka suddenly appears — looking deliciously exotic with its honey-coloured coastline riddled with wandering water bodies. The picture-postcard beach stretch is then replaced by a military line up of coconut trees, ridiculously geometric fields and a liberal dusting of houses with warm tile roofs interrupted by bursts of jungle in a sombre dignified green. However, the drive to Colombo (which actually takes longer than the entire Chennai-Colombo flight) reveals a landscape with a familiar `been-there done-this' quality to it.
Yes, their fancy reconditioned Japanese cars snootily swish down delightfully smooth roads. Their tree-lined pavements are invitingly wide. Their offices are futuristic-looking towers of lovingly polished steel and glass and their homes are graceful villas. Beautifully laid-out Colombo is disconcertingly quiet, clean and organised.
But it's all still surprisingly familiar. Sometimes the landscape is like Kerala, with fervidly green trees and crowds of coconut trees. Sometimes it's Goa, with its laid-back atmosphere, blonde beaches and sun-tanned tourists. In patches, it's like Coonoor or Ooty — a holiday retreat with an elegant small-town feel.
And, sometimes, it's even Chennai. Friendly auto rickshaws in blue, green and red bustle through the Colombo streets thumbing their noses at the impatient imported SUVs all around them. Ambassador cars peer out of a `Yuni Motors' Ambassador showroom. The main market is unnervingly similar to Burma Bazaar. And in the midst of an avalanche of imported luxury items, one advertisement towers over the rest. `Titan. Coveted in Britain. Flaunted in Sri Lanka.' Sounds familiar?
That's not all. Between all the fancy Italian, Spanish and German restaurants, amid the KFCs and Deli France outlets, the Donz Delis and Bistro Latinos, two familiar establishments wave from the Colombo streets - Qwikys and Barista, and they're both crammed with young Sri Lankans, enthusiastically quaffing mochachinos and slapping each other on the back with cries of `machaan.' (And you thought Chennai had a copyright on the machaans of this world?)
At Rhythm and Blues, one of Colombo's many strobe-lit hot spots, an Enrique Iglesias look-alike croons Outlandish's version of `Aisha' as his friends in the audience empathetically strum imaginary electric guitars. In the background, glasses clink at the well stocked bar besides subdued clicks of billiard balls from a pool table at the back of the pub. Very Chennai.
At the Taj Samudra bar, a group of women sit and giggle at the dance floor where a small crowd of wild-haired young men sadly dance with each other since they have no partners. Very Chennai.
At the beach stretch along Galle Face Road at night, small groups of men hurriedly down the contents of their paper cups, and then shiftily refill them from a suspicious looking bottle, keeping their eyes peeled for women to whistle at all the while. Yep. Chennai.
What Chennai doesn't have, though, are Colombo's casinos. Masquerading as private clubs with `Only foreigners allowed' printed across every entrance in bold lettering, they're reportedly swinging all night long. Colombo also has a variety of `Karaoke Bars' offering karaoke... and much more. But, if you don't want to rock round the clock, there's still plenty to do. Whiz around the city's silent roads admiring its affectionately restored British buildings, or sit and watch its placidly rippling lake quietly reflect the bright lights.
And once you're all shopped out, (one look at the boutiques and the prices and you'll shop till you drop. And then, you'll shop some more) sip a frothy cappuccino at Colombo's bright orange Barista teamed with a wickedly rich strawberry shortcake and eavesdrop on the musical blend of Sinhalese and Tamil that cheerfully fills the air... That pretty much sums up the Colombo experience to a Chennaiite, in one shot of espresso: A classic case of being so close, and yet so far.
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