By Yasara Abeynayake Marija
My first article of the year is dedicated to my parents, the two people who gave me life and kept me alive. I believe giving life to someone is easier than keeping them alive, and my parents did a remarkable job of doing both. They made sure we had everything we needed. A loving home, great meals on the table, regular holidays and, most importantly, memories.
Memories we have now learned to pass down to our own children. Our home was wholesome, always smelling of fresh red floor polish because my mother was extremely house proud and kept a beautiful house. There was always music playing in the background. Jim Reeves, Celine Dion and old Sinhalese film songs formed the soundtrack of our childhood. My parents came from very different backgrounds and had a significant age gap. Yet despite their differences, they figured out how to do life together. When it came to raising my brother and me, they were always on the same page.
I will start with my mother, Thanuja Fonseka Abeynayake.
My mother was just sixteen years old when she married my father. This was the norm back then. Whenever I asked her as a little girl what she wanted in life, her answer was always the same. She wanted to be a mother. And she made my brother and me feel deeply wanted. Though there were choices in her life she may have doubted, her love for us was fierce and unwavering. We never questioned whether we were loved. We always knew. Because she married young, my mother was unable to complete her studies. She left school after her O’Levels and became a homemaker. She was an exceptional housewife, mother and cook. The kind of cook who could create a gourmet meal from whatever she found in the fridge. Even a simple sandwich tasted like it had been flown in from another country. I am convinced my mother’s cooking shaped my palate into what it is today.
She was a strong woman who could do anything on her own. Yet the life she had created was not enough for her. She wanted more. She was talented, hardworking and fully aware of her potential. In the late 1990s, she suffered a serious accident while swimming in the ocean, which resulted in cervical spondylosis. She visited countless doctors and eventually had to wear a neck collar, but it did not help much. Refusing to give up, she continued searching for a cure until she met Dr Vimal De Alwis, a sports physician who successfully treated her injury. This experience sparked something in her. Even as a child, she had always been drawn to healing people. Dr Vimal introduced her to therapeutic massage as an alternative approach to pain relief and rehabilitation. That was her stepping stone. From there, she was unstoppable.
She travelled the world, learning everything she could to improve her knowledge and skills. London, the Netherlands, Denmark, India and Thailand, adding qualifications to her name along the way. I was nine years old when she began this journey, and by the time I was fourteen, she had earned her doctorate in acupuncture. She went on to open her own clinic, Healing Hands, where she treated countless patients with various injuries. She created her own oils, which remain bestsellers to this day, and built a respected name for herself in the world of holistic medicine. She did all of this while running a home and raising two children. My brother and I were always given the very best. Holidays, dinners out, overseas travel and everything else we needed.
In 1994, my mother travelled to the UK for her studies, and it was there that she experienced a different culinary world. Food like pasta was not common in Sri Lanka at the time. She learned to cook dishes such as shepherd’s pie, spaghetti bolognese and chicken nuggets, and recreated them for us whenever she returned home. On one of those trips, she brought back a steel colander and a blue cast iron cooking pot. That pot holds my earliest memory of pasta. She cooked the first pasta I ever ate in that pot, drained it in that colander, and made her own version of spaghetti bolognese with a Sri Lankan twist. I was instantly addicted. I would ask her to make extra so I could take it to school and eat it when I got home.
When I got married twenty years later, she asked me what I wanted when I moved into my own home. Those were the only two things I asked for. Today, I cook for my own children in that same thirty-year-old blue cast iron pot and drain pasta in the same colander my mother used three decades ago. One day, I hope to pass them down to my daughter. My mother has been running her clinic for over twenty-five years and has maintained a wonderful work life balance, teaching me how to do the same. She taught me that I can do anything and never to put fear first. Watching her, I learned to travel the world alone, to move confidently through different countries, to speak my mind and to always hold strong family values.
By watching her, I learned how to be a good wife and a good friend, how to love and treat my in laws. She always told me that you do not only marry the man, but you also marry his family. That mindset helped me broaden my heart and love those around me as my own. I think the greatest thing she taught me was empathy. She feels deeply for everyone. Sometimes people took it for granted, but being empathetic towards humans and animals is the greatest trait a human can possess.
I mentioned earlier that all she ever wanted was to be a mother. She proved that once again after my brother and I had children. She was blessed with five grandchildren, and it seemed like she was given a second chance at motherhood. When I go back home from Kandy, she makes me feel like I am sixteen years old again. I am taken care of like a forty-year-old child, and my children are lovingly taken over by her. They love her as much as they love me and look forward to their weekends with their grandmother. My mother has proven over and over that she is the epitome of love, and we are incredibly lucky to have her. I would like to share a small piece of my childhood with my readers by sharing the recipe for her version of spaghetti bolognese, one of the fondest food memories of my childhood.
My mother’s Spaghetti Bolognese (with a Sri Lankan twist)
Ingredients
300g minced mutton or chicken
1 large onion, finely chopped
3-4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbsp ginger, grated
1½-2 cups tomato purée
1 tsp coriander (powder or finely chopped fresh)
½-1 tsp black pepper
1-1½ tsp corn flour
400-500 g pasta (spaghetti)
Cheese (grated,
to serve)
Salt (to taste)
Olive oil (for cooking)
Method
Cook the pasta
Boil pasta in salted water until al dente.
Drain and set aside (reserve some pasta water).
Sauté the base
Heat 2–3 tbsp oil in a pan.
Add onion and cook until soft and lightly golden
Add garlic and ginger.
Sauté briefly until fragrant.
Cook the mince
Add minced meat and cook until browned and moisture evaporates.
Add tomato purée, salt, coriander, and black pepper.
Simmer for 8–10 minutes.
In a small bowl, mix corn flour with 2–3 tbsp water to make a smooth slurry.
Lower the heat and slowly stir the slurry into the sauce.
Cook 1–2 minutes until the sauce thickens (don’t overcook).
Add pasta and toss well to coat evenly.
Adjust thickness with a little pasta water if needed.
Serve hot with grated cheese on top.
