Wednesday, August 11


Sauntering down a busy street in a West London suburb; suddenly I hear something that sounds familiar... turn around so fast I think I got a crick in my neck.

Yes, there were two of them and they were speaking in Sinhalese.

It's difficult to emphasize how utterly normal, yet at the same time out of place that smattering of conversation really was. In a 'burb populated mostly by Asians, Africans and other immigrants, one shouldn't be surprised to find fellow Sri Lankans. Hey, this is London, after all. But at the same time, in that backdrop of a busy London street, with strong summer sunshine beating down on my face, it almost seemed like home for a minute.

Well, at least there is a level of comfort attached to understanding the language of a country that you're visiting. In this case, English. Well, what passes for it, after the various accents have been sorted out. Stay in a country which speaks a language that is utterly alien to you, and you tend to gravitate to a familiar language like a drowning man clutching at straws.

Ten minutes later, it started raining. I got bloody soaked sprinting back home. So much for memories of home. From summer sunshine and nearly clear skies to pelting rain inside ten minutes. That's English weather for you.


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