The Guarantee Shroff
C.K. Sankarakumaran
C.K. Sankarakumaran stepped into the shoes of his father and grandfather as a guarantee shroff, a kind of banker. He reflects on his two homes of Kandy and Jaffna.
When we first met the Sankarakumarans, they were preparing for the Kandy Esala Perahera that was due later that month. Every year they hosted a private gathering on the veranda of their family home in Kandy town — one of the best places to watch the procession as it passed by. It was their way of giving something back to the people who helped in their household.
Mrs Sankarakumaran was busy preparing her kitchen for the annual occasion. To add to her chores, their children and grandchildren, now living in America, England and Australia, were also planning to visit. Whenever we came to Kandy during the project, we often dropped in on the Sankarakumarans. They kept an open house, and despite their many commitments were always generous with their time and hospitality.
Portraits on the walls of their home traced a journey that began in Jaffna and travelled across the hill country, spanning five generations.
In true Jaffna fashion, our first conversations revolved around connections: where I was from and whether they knew anyone in my family. Jaffna — and it seemed Kandy too — were small worlds. It turned out that both my uncles, who had lived in Kandy for much of their lives, were friends of the Sankarakumarans.
“How are Wicky’s children doing these days?” he asked about my cousins, whose father I had always known simply as “Kandy Mama”.
Although the Sankarakumarans had not visited Jaffna for many years, they remained deeply connected to their hometown. It was present everywhere around us: in the photographs on the walls and in the flavours Mrs Sankarakumaran served from her kitchen. On each visit we were offered a different delicacy — laddus, mothahams and crisp vadais.
Yet for all these memories of Jaffna, Mr and Mrs Sankarakumaran were also Kandyans at heart. It seemed entirely possible to belong to two homes.
Mr Sankarakumaran was a wonderful conversationalist.
“Jaffna is sometimes called the Scotland of Ceylon,” he said with a laugh. “I suppose because both are equally tightfisted.”
How could you not listen on? I helped myself to another laddu, settled back in my chair and listened as Mr Sankarakumaran carried me back to another time and place.
Kandy
November 13, 2010
Transcript and translations
Language
Subjects discussed
Our roots were there
They had their elders in Jaffna and they would have preferred to have the assistance of the elders at the time of delivery. So shortly before that time they would go there and live with them for a month or so, have the baby and come back a month later.
Every one of us, five of us in the family, were born in Jaffna in our ancestral house.
Every April holidays we went there for a month with the… entire family moved to Jaffna to enjoy the holidays there. We didn’t lose touch with Jaffna. Our roots were there and we were happy to… happy to learn about our roots and so on.
It was more of a village life than the town life. Of course we enjoyed the frequent trips to Keerimalai tank for our baths. My grandfather was very particular to teach us the traditional games that were played there.
What do you call that? In English, I’m not very sure… The game of thaatchi… I think two teams of people are made to stand at two ends. And they are supposed to break through… break through the barriers without being touched by one of the opposing team. Then you have made it to the end. It’s a game of dodging, of learning to dodge anybody on the opposing side being able to touch you. If you can make it to the finishing touch then you score the points.
That sort of very simple traditional games we were taught by my grandfather so that we didn’t forget the values of the old days you see.
(Laughs) I was the tiniest person in the team I think (laughs), so I must have been just running around behind somebody else (laughs).”
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