Golden hour at Khettarama
Strolling around the R Premadasa stadium, two days before the India-Pakistan match, I'm stopped in my tracks by a sighting of one of the most breathtaking views: Colombo's magic hour, just before sunset, in all its splendour. Blazing blood-orange skies form a backdrop to the stand painted in the Sri Lanka blue and yellow on the western side of ground.
I landed in Colombo early that day, without having slept a wink, having finished writing on the India-Namibia match in Delhi in the wee hours before boarding the flight to Sri Lanka. The mounting exhaustion, though, is washed away by the calming blend of bright colours, with the Pakistan players, in their green, training in the foreground. An impressionist painting I will carry with me forever.
Cricket with a side of prayer
Watching cricket can sometimes be monotonous. Especially T20 because of the volume of matches the format serves up. But the sight and sounds at a venue can break the monotony and uplift the mood. If you watch a match at Khettarama, you will soon get accustomed to the sounds of prayer wafting in at various times of the day and evening from the Masjidus Salaam Jumma Masjid, which is nearly inside the ground on the east. The sounds add to the sensory experience, just like the local trains chugging in and out of Churchgate station next to the Wankhede stadium in Mumbai.
Crustacean vs journo
Hungry after a long day at work, a journalist friend and I head to Dutch Hospital, a famous colonial-era building complex that now houses a number of shops and restaurants. One of these is Ministry of Crab, a popular seafood spot co-owned by two Sri Lankan friends who go by the names of Sangakkara and Jayawardene. Pictures of the two, standing with folded arms, look at you from the walls inside.
I had no intentions of visiting MoC. Google says you need a reservation, and the waiting list is days long at times. But life is all about trying, and we hungry hacks luck out and get a table. I pick a crab cooked in a pepper base and spend the next hour or so cracking its claws and joints. It is succulent, spicy and heart-warmingly tasty.
The maroons face-off
I text Jayawardene (yes, the same restaurant-owning one), who is travelling and can't meet me for an interview. A day or two later, unprompted, he sends a message: "You should cover our big match to show what cricket is…" He's referring to the three-day match between his alma mater, Nalanda College, and Ananda College, which stand about a kilometre apart in the east of the city. The fixture is famously branded as the "battle of maroons". While Nalanda's colours are maroon and silver, Ananda's are maroon and gold.
Schools cricket is a big part of the tapestry of the game in Sri Lanka cricket, and is a significant pipeline for young talent. Jayawardene is one of those who first made his name in schools cricket before blossoming into a world-beating batter and captain. There are several school derbies in Colombo, and some in Kandy and Galle too. I have little idea until I reach the SSC on the first day of the maroons game, which is now in its 96th year, of what a draw the game is.
Kids from both schools have filled the place to the brim and are creating a ruckus, even as live bands - featuring current and former students - blare out rock and pop music. Tickets are priced from 100 LKR to 70,000 LKR (about US$0.3 to 225). Those at the higher end are mostly bought by the schools' alumni, who travel from not just elsewhere in the capital and the country but also occasionally charter flights from overseas.
Don't stand so close to me
The SSC is a small ground, located in a far more plush neighbourhood of Colombo than the Khettarama, which you get to after riding along narrow, unkempt streets, densely lined with unregulated housing. The last World Cup match at the SSC is Pakistan against Namibia. The day before the game I arrive early and walk up close behind the nets where Pakistan are training. For the next two hours I enjoy watching the players doing their drills, making subtle technical improvisations, and listening to their banter. While I am keeping a close eye on the nets, it turns out someone has had their eye on me. A complaint has been filed with the local media liaison about how I managed to get so close to the nets. I apologise for trespassing and leave.
The bat that won the 1996 World Cup
I haven't had many opportunities to hold the bats of famous players. I did once try lifting Chris Gayle's heavily gripped bat with one hand to try and swing it. Not easy. In Colombo, I get an invite to meet Aravinda de Silva, possibly the greatest of all Sri Lankan batters, at his palatial residence. Among other things, we speak about his bats, particularly the Kookaburra he used in the 1996 World Cup to silence the 100,000-plus crowd at Eden Gardens in the semi-final against India, and then to score a match-winning century in the final against Australia.
I think the bat will be easy to lift since it was made in the last century and the edges are much slimmer than those of modern bats, but at 3.3kg it is probably heavier than Gayle's. How did de Silva manage the fast bat swing with which he pulled and hooked fast bowlers like Imran Khan, Wasim Akram, Waqar Younis, Javagal Srinath, and even Brett Lee towards the end of his career with such ease?
Five short of a century
Two days after meeting "Ara", as de Silva was popularly called during his playing days, I am at the home of Chandra Schaffter, the oldest living Sri Lanka cricketer. Schaffter, who played three first-class matches, was in his early 20s when he played a game against Len Hutton's visiting MCC side. He is set to turn 96 this April. Despite his years he is sturdy, with long white hair, has all his own teeth, can go up and down stairs himself, and is cognitively sharp. Does he do yoga? No. Does he meditate. Not really. Does he exercise? No. How then? Schaffter says he has lived a simple and honest life.
Wild in the streets
On the way in to Colombo from the airport, senior Indian journalist Sunandan Lele, who is sharing the ride with me and who has travelled to Sri Lanka many times before, says: "Do you notice one thing?" I look around and see verdant green farms and palm trees, like in any tropical country. "They don't honk here as much," he says.
It is true. In contrast to the pandemonium on the streets of many subcontinental cities, Colombo's roads are relatively quiet. The one exception, though, are the public-transport buses, the raging bulls of Colombo. You will hear them even if you are in a high-rise, as the drivers race along the streets, and occasionally even on kerbs, at terrifying speeds. My colleague Madushka Balasuriya tells me: "You haven't lived till you've come head-on with a bus on the wrong side of a winding mountain road." Thanks, but no thanks.
Lethal brew
There are many amazing food joints in Colombo. One that Madushka, who was a food reviewer at one point, recommends is the 'Stache. On the afternoon of my final match in Colombo, I get there mid-afternoon and order their signature dish: Siam Ceylon. When Madushka describes the ingredients - kiribath (creamy coconut-milk rice) topped with seeni sambol (spicy and sweet caramelised onion), in Thai red curry with chunks of fish - I picture myself being in need of a siesta after. I eat it and I am floored by the fusion of Lankan and Thai flavours. It is so filling that I need to get into the pool at the hotel to ward off the drowsiness that comes over me in the aftermath.
Another killer item, recommended by a young waiter at the restaurant, is Spicy Chilli Tamarind Fizz. It is a tangy drink, with a bit of sweetness, laced with red chili powder and salt. "What is life without trying?" the waiter urges. I do, and suffice to say, there was a brief pit stop before I hit the pool.
I'll be back
This has been my first visit to Sri Lanka in over two decades, having come here in 2005 to cover a tri-series. Obviously Colombo is different now, both in look and vibe. However, if there is one constant, it is the person on the street who remains the same, more or less: mostly calm, usually very helpful. It makes you want to come back, and I will be back. Ayubowan, Sri Lanka.