Sri Lanka is poised on the brink of becoming the next big tourist destination. –Source: Sangam

Whenever I am heading for our remote bit of heaven in the southern coast of Sri Lanka, friends often ask: ‘But what’s there for you to do?’ Actually, I never know how the time goes past here so quickly. A large number of books remain unwritten and unread. Movies I had planned to watch remain in their plastic wrapping. And dishes I had wanted to experiment with stay in their recipe books.

The day starts with a swim. But before readers think of me as a disciplined athlete, let me hasten to clarify that my version of the backstroke is probably the slowest in the world. When my son teases me about it, I tell him I’m not in training for the Olympics, and that I would much rather look up at the sky, the trees and the clouds, than the bottom of the pool. I also use this time to mull over what I’m going to write about in my next column.

Yesterday morning, I saw a pair of sea eagles slowly soaring across the sky; a little later, I spotted a splendid Brahmani kite, with its white head contrasting with its golden brown body as it swept overhead. Now and then, brightly hued kingfishers perch on a branch before flashing off. And in the background, our five hens cluck around all day, eating their fill in preparation for providing us with fresh, free-range eggs in the morning.

In a hectic world, I have been fortunate enough to be put in touch with nature at this late stage of my life. Having lived in cities for most of my life, I find it an endless source of renewal to have lush greenery flourishing around me, with the ocean just fifty yards away. The occasional, brief power cut doesn’t bother us in the least; and the traffic is virtually non-existent on the few occasions we leave our house.

One of the great treats of being where we are is the possibility of seeing wildlife in its natural setting. The other day, we set off on a whale-watching expedition. This happens between December and March when blue whales make their way from the Gulf to the Far East and then back. The best spot for seeing these magnificent giants of the deep is off the southern tip of the island where the continental shelf meets the deep ocean. Here, the whales feed on their annual migration.

We set off from Mirissa Harbour, about 45 minutes from us; this has become the centre for the nascent whale-watching tourism industry, with an enterprising operator running two large boats. We had taken along an old-fashioned nashtaidan containing bhuna hua qeema; parathas; and aloo ki tarkari. This was standard picnic fare in our childhood, and the tactile pleasure of eating minced meat with a paratha is matched by few other joys of the table.

Soon after we had finished lunch, we ran into a school of spinner dolphins. These creatures swam along, torpedoing in and out of the water, and every once in a while, exploding into the air where they would spin around before falling back. Their exuberance was wonderful to watch, and they appeared to take great pleasure in their acrobatics.

We chugged along for a couple of hours before somebody spotted a distant telltale plume of spray. I was tempted to shout ‘Th’ar she blows!’ We had to be patient because the whales would dive frequently, and reappear at a distant spot a quarter of an hour later. Finally, we were about 50 yards away as the two blue whales swam silently before blowing out a jet of water.

A week earlier, we were at the Yala National Park on a safari in an attempt to spot a leopard. This vast area has the highest concentration of wild leopards in the world, but thus far, I had never spotted one. Out on an open jeep, we bounced around the park in our search for the elusive big cat. Although we saw several different kinds of deer, monkeys, peacocks, wild boar, and a huge elephant, leopards stayed away. It wasn’t until late afternoon that our driver slammed on the brakes and pointed to a gap in the jungle. Straining my eyes in the semi-darkness, I saw a long spotted tail and hindquarters before the leopard disappeared.

As we went around the park, we saw a large number of jeeps carrying other tourists. In our area, too, we have seen many more foreigners than we have for many years. Clearly, Sri Lanka is poised on the brink of becoming the next big tourist destination. In the last fortnight, we have met four foreigners who have either bought, or are about to buy, beach properties.

This has raised the prospect of being in the middle of a popular resort area, something that fills me with horror. One of the joys of being here is that the much of the southern coast is entirely unspoiled. Our beach is mostly deserted, with the odd fisherman walking along to sell us his catch.

To return to the question of how I spend my time here, I read, write, check what’s happening in the world, and chat with the many friends who come and stay with us. Currently, Javid Ali Khan, one of my oldest friends, is here, and has been persuaded to extend his stay. For lunch, he cooked a delicious yaqni ka pulao. He and I have been following cricket matches being played in different parts of the world, and generally catching up.

Tomorrow we head off back to Yala, hoping to improve on our leopard-spotting record. Before you think I have abandoned my journalistic duties for the good life, let me say in my defence that I do chat with local people about how the presidential election campaign is shaping up. It’s actually getting much tighter than anybody could have predicted even a month ago. Our housekeeper Nandi told me today that onions were now selling for 160 Sri Lankan rupees a kilo. This is around 120 of our rupees, and clearly, the poor are suffering from the relentless inflation that is devastating household economies. Nandi, for one, is clear she won’t vote for the incumbent.

This discordant note apart, I don’t know what I did to deserve this slice of heaven. As my son Shakir said when I wondered about this aloud: ‘Dadi ki dua lagi hogi aap ko.’ Truly, it must be my mother’s prayers...