Colombo City
One way to tell all the powerful cities apart is the personality embodied in each style of building. London is characterised by a combination of skyscrapers, roman buildings and council housing. For Colombo, other than its own office buildings, character is reflected in wiltering walls, peeling paint and makeshift roofs. They're all part of a painting by Banksy or someone of life after geological and political disaster. And there is life within these worn-down houses and bungalows, making food for the children or studying at the small desk in the corner. They're mostly made up of off-yellow, off-blue, off-white and grey, beaten down by sun rays, but still standing strong to shelter those inside.
​
In between these houses and bungalows, in Colombo's spider-web of streets are red, blue, green, black, yellow tuktuks propelling themselves ruthlessly down each road, with the sole goal in mind to chauffeur their customers. The prime mode of transport to get around the city – it's close quarters and move like bees on a mission to zip to their destinations.
​
As the tuktuks push through the animated streets of Colombo, they are rattled by gusts of spice, coconut, authentic Sri Lankan food – the tsunami of aromas threaten to swim up your nostrils to deliver dopamine and pleasure straight to your brain. This tsunami of flavours crashes over your body, nourishing it with energy and vitality. Particles of roti, hoppers, samosas and tropical fruit land on your tongue to get your day moving as the tuktuk whips past.
​
But that wouldn't be the case if it weren't for the diligent vendors working like a machine, seeming not to fatigue in the slightest, in order to get their product or services deep into public life. Phone services, financial advice, food, travel. They're specialists and they know what they're doing. Along with their crumbling establishments, they, too, start to wither in the beating sun storm, except instead of peeling paint, sweat peels down their skin. It's the kind of hard work when runners run so fast, they feel out of their body, floating along the track. It's taxing and arduous, and delirium may ensue.
​
It's time for them to come back to Earth and take a dip in the sea, where Colombo's skyscrapers stand together as a dam to cut the waters off. The same agreeable, accepting sea that merges with the sky in a pastel haze, threatens to overtake the city. The water has two sides: the sea and the tsunami. The tricky seanami. In stark contrast to it, the sky that was blended with the seanami remains calm and angelic. Whether it's made up of light grey clouds or colours like teddy-soft purples, blues and oranges, the home of the angels refuses to give into temptation to torment.
