On Sal Mal Lane by Ru Freeman

 I bought On Sal Mal Lane for quite a few reasons; I was told it was a nice book, that it was better than A Disobedient Girl, which I loved, and because if you were to judge a book simply on its cover, On Sal Mal Lane will be one that will definitely find room on your bookshelf. I also had to spend more than one hour in a book store, found the book which I feared I’d have to someday order online (can’t afford that right now) and wanted to buy it because I wanted to read the book I had heard/read so much about.

So I bought it but didn’t plunge deep into it for quite a few days.

Once I did start reading it, On Sal Mal Lane captured my heart and at least for a few days, gave me a world full of happiness, innocence and love. It wasn’t a book you couldn’t put down; because every now and then you have to put the book down to really feel what Freeman is telling you, to picture that world the Heraths, Silvas and Bollings live in. And you aren’t totally immersed in the book either, your face expressionless. You smile, frown and laugh as the children say and do things only children can say and do.

While reading On Sal Mal Lane, I kept thinking about The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Both books are about war, about innocence and children living through houses that are flattened to the ground. There are games and words, laughter and tears. They both have a narrator; Liesel’s story is told by the ever-present Death while the happenings on Sal Mal Lane are told to us by everything around them.





However, On Sal Mal Lane is better than The Book Thief because this is a story about our children, our roads, our country, our war. It is our story.


It becomes our story because those characters, every one of them, are someone we know. We know people who live in their musical worlds, where words are not mere letters strung together but sounds that tell us stories, that make us feel things. We know of the Youngest in the Family who is loved and taken care of her older siblings in a way that makes us envy the love of siblings. We know of Rajus, who are children, not adults. We know of Sonnas who we want to help, to love, to be friends with, but we can’t or we don’t. We know of the Herath parents, too immersed in their adult worlds and we know of people like Mr Niles who find happiness in words shared with someone still young, still healthy and still innocent.

We don’t know what the characters look like. Freeman gives us few details, about ponytails, Kalu Kellas and hidden-away scars. But their appearances don’t matter, the Alice bands, flowery dresses or sandals. In the book, what matters is who these characters are, the choices they make, the words they use. We picture them as we please, climbing trees, playing cricket and learning about things children shouldn't be learning about; war, violence, hate.




*Mild spoilers regarding the twist in the story. Events that take place aren't mentioned*



There is an artist. He shows us his empty canvas, so white, so clean. He covers it in water colors, bright, happy colors. He carefully dabs at that white sheet, with blues, purples, pinks, reds, yellows and greens. He covers it all, with happiness, innocence, love, kindness. And then he drops it in water, the paint washed off, and the paper damp with faint patches of color here and there. That sudden pain you feel when you see him dropping that painting into water, that is what you feel when reading On Sal Mal Lane.

You know something bad has to happen. No author gives the reader so many reasons to fall in love with a book without snatching all those reasons away. However, with the war, terrorism and anger, with Black July and looting and the Pomeranian on Kalyani Avenue, the reader assumes they have gone through the worst the writer has in store for them. Such false beliefs, just like those the children had.


On Sal Mal Lane isn’t about the war. It’s about Sri Lanka, it’s about children and it’s about life. Sure, there is a war going on, but it’s almost as if Ru Freeman created this war just so the story could go on. It’s not only about politics, which Mr Herath talks about and the children rarely listen to, it’s not only about dead soldiers and a man who stood before a group of youth and launched a war. On Sal Mal Lane gives you everything you expect from a book. It makes you say to those characters, “I understand” and it makes you feel like Sonna, who never joins but watches from a distance.

Why buy the book?

“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.”
John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

On Sal Mal Lane is such a book.

“Books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal.”
John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

But it is also a book that you don’t want to tell others about because they may not fall in love with it the way they should.

On Sal Mal Lane is also a book that paints that perfect picture of a childhood in Sri Lanka, the kind of memories we have, the same fears we had. It’s a book that belongs to us.

Books written by Sri Lankans who don’t live in Sri Lanka tend to be like a puzzle with a few missing pieces. On Sal Mal Lane doesn’t have those missing pieces.


And why shouldn’t you read the book?

Because it will make you think less of the other books you have read. Because it will give you all the reasons to feel truly happy, and then take those reasons away from you. Because it will make you go to bed with an aching heart and tears that sting your eyes. It’s a book that won’t gather dust on your bookshelf and it’s a book that deserves to be reread and reread, the reader hoping for all those ‘what if’s and ‘only if’s Nihil keeps wishing for.

"Love is for the person who loves, not for the one who is loved."

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Availability, dating, love, etc.

There’s a line in Sally Rooney’s Conversations with Friends where, towards the very end of the book, one character says to another: “You know, I still have that impulse to be available to you.” This line struck me when I first read it, because it seemed to describe simply what love is: an impulse, a desire to always be available for a person. Now, when I first read the book, I hadn’t really dated, but later, when it happened, I saw how this simple need to always be available to someone wasn’t love. Not necessarily. Not always. It was sometimes a sure-fire way of hating yourself and perhaps even hurting others. I don’t like dating; I’ve vowed to never date. And the reason is this sense of availability, this sense of giving it my all. I haven’t particularly liked any of the, let’s see, two people I can say I dated, even though it’s a stretch, really. But in both instances, there was no real attraction to the person. They were available and bored. I was available and bored. Quite roma
Read more

Alone time

Image
Nation Free editorial Alone time is a few minutes or even hours all for yourself. It can be spent at home, at a bookstore or library or even in an unknown city. There are no rules or regulations or rituals regarding alone time. Sometimes you just feel you need to be alone and you find a place you feel the most isolated from others. A need for some alone time arises in most of us. It starts like a mild breeze on a hot day and can end like a tidal wave that hits you with great force. This need, when not addressed, could turn into anxiety or depression. Pic by Sakuna Gamage However, many assume needing alone time is a sign of mental weakness; that it is only the troubled who need time away from other people, or in most cases, those familiar faces. This is far from the truth. We can’t continue to spend night and day with the same people and at some point or the other, we need to get out. If you feel like a trapped animal in your own home or school or workplace, plan a vacation wh
Read more

Learning to Let Go

Kumara is only a name in my memories. I think he was dark, and not that tall. I think he wore shorts, but I can’t be sure. What I do remember about him is related to bikes. Since my brother was the leader of the pack, even though the pack had three girls and only one boy, we were mostly tomboys. We never had Barbies and tea sets to play with. Among our various treasures were our bikes. Since the pack of cousins was nearly all the same age, we went through the same phases together. The most excited phase for me was the bike phase. Each of us had a cycle and we loved racing each other around the heart shaped lawn in my uncle’s garden. We never spent too much time with the training wheels, and had our knees scraped too many times. I still remember the time I fell off, my bike landing on me. The sun was setting, and my body was covered in sweat. I knew my knee was bleeding and dreaded the moment the adults would clean the wound. When my uncle and aunt rushed to me, I told
Read more