Tharmathurai - The sadness of geography: my life as a Tamil exile

Copyright Logathasan Tharmathurai, 2019

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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: The sadness of geography : my life as a Tamil exile / Logathasan Tharmathurai.
Names: Tharmathurai, Logathasan, 1966- author.
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190084111 | Canadiana (ebook) 2019008412X | ISBN 9781459745025 (softcover) | ISBN 9781459745032 (PDF) | ISBN 9781459745049 (EPUB)
Subjects: LCSH: Tharmathurai, Logathasan, 1966- | LCSH: RefugeesSri LankaBiography. | LCSH: RefugeesCanadaBiography. | LCSH: Tamil (Indic people)Sri LankaBiography. | LCSH: Sri LankaHistoryCivil War, 1983-2009Personal narratives, Tamil. | CSH: Tamil CanadiansBiography | LCGFT: Autobiographies.
Classification: LCC DS489.86.T43 A3 2019 | DDC 954.9303/2092dc23

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To Celia, Eric, and Daniel

Do you understand the sadness of geography?

Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient

I sit in the plane at Mirabel Airport in Montreal, gazing out the window at the snow-covered tarmac. I have been travelling under a false name for six months and living as an exile for much longer. It has been more than a year since I left Sri Lanka, my beloved homeland, which is being torn apart by civil war.

I am the last passenger to disembark and the last to join the line at immigration.

Before I left London, my Tamil friends told me that I would have to surrender my illegal passport and declare my true identity to immigration officials at the airport in order to be granted asylum in Canada. It had to be done at the port of entry. If I were to leave the airport with the illegal passport and then try to apply for asylum later, I would be deported back to Sri Lanka.

I am nervous, torn. Should I declare my true identity or leave the airport as an illegal French national and figure it out later? I am tired of living as a fugitive, but what if I tell them the truth and they arrest me?

Finally, it is my turn.

At the last moment, I decide to trust my instincts and take the risk. I approach the immigration officer and hand over my illegal passport. I am Tamil from Sri Lanka and would like to apply for asylum here in Canada, I say.

I am not sure if the officer has heard me. My throat is so dry that I find it hard to speak.

The officer does nothing at first. But finally he stands up from his chair behind the desk and instructs me, with a flick of his hand, to follow him. We enter a small cinder-block office with no windows and just a few chairs. He motions for me to sit down. He leaves, closing the door behind him. I hear it lock.

I am alone.

Sangkaththaanai, Jaffna District, Northern Province, Sri Lanka
1983

Elumpu! Elumpu!

I woke up suddenly, in the dark, startled. Am I dreaming?

My father was standing over me, his face bent low to mine. He straightened up, then kicked me, hard. Elumpu! Wake up.

I am awake, I answered sleepily, although I wasnt sure why. No lights were on. I could hear smothered whispers as my brothers and sisters moved around hastily in the house.

I begged my father to tell me what was happening.

Aamykarar vaarangal! my father whispered. The army is coming. Oodippoi oliyada! Run away and hide.

Groggy with sleep, I rose clumsily but quickly from my bed on the floor.

It was still pitch dark inside the house. I peeked through the window. It was silent. The moon was gone; soon it would be dawn.

Now! my father hissed, yanking me along.

When the weather was hot, my brothers and I preferred to sleep on blankets strewn across the concrete floors in the front hall of our house, where it was much cooler. My father, however, had his own room and insisted on sleeping on a cushioned bed under the ceiling fan. My mother, my aunt, and my sisters slept on wooden beds topped with comforters.

I looked for Kanna, my younger brother, but could see only blankets scattered on the floor. Perhaps he was hiding or had run away already.

Where should I go? I blurted out, confused. I rubbed my eyes, attempting to bring my fathers dark silhouette into focus, but he was just a blur. I could hear more panicked rustling and harsh, muffled whispering from my mother and sisters.

Be quiet! my father said. Go! Run!

I blundered forward in the dark but slipped on a blanket and tumbled hard to the floor. It seemed easier and faster to crawl. I crawled as quickly as I could to the kitchen, where I found the key to the back door and flung it open. I ran outside, then froze. I turned back momentarily, looking for my two brothers and sisters, hoping theyd followed. I did not like the idea of being on my own.

Lathy! I called back into the house, hoping my older brother would appear. Kanna?

Where are my brothers? Should I wait?

I squatted in the darkness of our backyard for just a moment, one that seemed like an eternity, wondering what to do.

Where can I run?

I could hear the soft rustling of the wind passing between the leaves on the coconut tree, a soothing hush that belied the terror of the moment. My body felt like ice and my heart was pounding so hard it felt as if it would burst through my chest.