I have always heard about the other Lanka in North America, where malls are full of Lankans and every corner of the street is made up of Lankan stores. As a lover of all road trips, I decided to visit this town of many Sarong wearing, lungi bearing lankans. Well there was the additional incentive of meeting my cousins after years, which gave reason to make the drive.
The first place I wanted to see or visit was the “Hopper Hut”. Rightly named after the famous Sri Lankan Hopper, which slightly is a mix between the American Pancake and the French Crepe. But then there is the famous “egg hopper”. Which includes an egg in the middle. Mix some good chicken curry and ooh you will be treating your mouth to Caribbean carnival. The hopper hut provides authentic Lankan dishes found only in Sri Lanka and some even better. From the spicy chicken curry to the falouda drink that sweetens anyones pallet.
The road trip began with mom falling asleep within the first 10 minutes. However after a lengthy 5 hour drive I got the call from my aunt.
“Baba what do you want to eat”, she said as customary for aunties to say. The Lankan way is to make sure the food part is set up even before you get close to the destination. It is absolutely unacceptable not to think of food on a trip or for visitors. Sometimes I wonder if my island nation would ever survive the likes of a potato famine.
“What putha (son) you want to go to the hopper hut the first day itself?” to which I said a definite yes. Then came the surprise. Rules to adhere to while we are there “ok then tell your mama not to speak in Sinahalese ok!!”
WHAT!!! The reaction was immediate. To me this was something very foreign. I am going to a Lankan diner in a foreign country and cannot speak in Sinhala. I want to eat the food with my fingers and curse at the food in my language. But nobody had actually stressed the fact of refraining from the mother tongue. Yes it was the first step of multiple shocking events that I was going to experience that weekend. And of course when I got out of the car, my young cousin smirked and said “Welcome to Toronto!!”.
Scarborough is a suburb of Toronto. I believe the small burb has two types of rules and regulations. One for the regular Canadian and the other for the Lankans. There is the Lankan gangs (Scartigers, the scarthambi’s are some of the local names for gangs), the lankan street signs and separate lankan names for streets, the Lankan food shops, and the Lankan newspapers, the separate Lankan tax system and of course the lankan authority (yea I mean the police). Majority of the residents come from the north part of Sri Lanka. According to a CBC special report, “At more than 150,000 people, Toronto’s Tamils are the largest urban community of Tamils in the world.”
But no matter what facts one reads, see in the news, or hear from people, to actually go into Scarborough and read every sign above the stores in strip malls to corner shops in Tamil is an experience that takes one back. Why? Well one does not expect that much influence from a minority population of a country that is one of the smallest in the world in the cold north of America!
The Canadian Tamils of Sri Lankan origin (“Tamils”) are one of the fastest growing visible minority groups in the Greater Toronto Area. Canada is now home to more than 250, 000 Tamils, of which approximately 200, 000 live in the GTA. TamilCanadian
The trip to hopper hut was an eye opener. A humbling experience where for the first time I was faced with what the north of Sri Lanka see everyday. At the front of one of the stores was a long window shade with the Tamil Eelam map.
The Tamil Eelam map.
Image from TamilCanadian.com
The map has only the sides of Sri Lanka but not the middle part. It is all in red and defined as the Eelam nation. I finally realized how much work there is ahead in the peace process by just looking at the map. Here I am in Canada staring at a Sri Lanka that was cut in half. The tear drop state that I knew was completely different to these lankans in Scarborough.
Finally we reached the Hopper Hut. The apprehension felt by us through the drive immediately vanished as soon as the smell of Chicken curry, mixed in pol sambol and Biryani wafted into our senses. I entered the restaurant and was excited to see some pittu, hopper and a beef rendang in the menu. And once my mom sat down all the warnings of not Sinhala was gone, because when it comes to food, ethnicity does not matter. After all a good meal of Chicken biryani, mixed with a spicy pol sambol with some cutlets and a good tasting Faluda erased any kind of division on the map or otherwise. The waiter was happy to take the order, even though some Sinahalese was uttered because he just saw the excitement in my mom’s eyes. I realized no matter what politics people shout and scream about, at the end of the day when all the Lankans sit down for a meal, the good pol sambol will do the job the professional peacemakers have been trying to do for years.
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