Introduction

MY SRI LANKAN STORY BEGINS WITH ME STANDING ON THE VERY TIP OF SOUTHERN INDIA, STUNNED, BECAUSE DAD WAS ABOUT TO TRY AND JUMP OUR PRECIOUS AUSTIN MINIBUS (CONTAINING EVERYTHING WE OWNED) OFF A RICKETY WHARF ONTO TWO LINKED DUGOUT CANOES. THIS STRANGE BARGE WAS TO BE PADDLED OUT TO A FERRY AND OUR MINIBUS HOISTED LIKE A COW ONTO THE SRI LANKA-BOUND VESSEL. I WAS FOUR-AND-A-HALF YEARS OLD.

We had already driven the minibus from the UK across France, Germany, Austria, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan and India. Our arrival in Sri Lanka would mark the return of the prodigal son, Wickramapala Kuruvita—my father—who had left home on his Indian motorcycle many years earlier to seek his fortune in England.