You don’t know traffic until you know Colombo traffic. Sitting in a tuk-tuk at the busiest intersection in the city, in “lane” three of seven. On the scooter just ahead of you, a dark brown baby is sandwiched between a man and a woman. You see his tiny feet jutting out from the woman’s hips, – her curvy, rice-and-curry hips – the bottoms as white as the sky. To your left, the exhaust pipe of an 18-wheeler coughs rudely in your face so that when you start to move again, your sweaty skin has traces of black clinging to it. Colombo continues to make its mark on you. But all you can think about is how tuk-tuk’s look so much like Monopoly pieces, bright little tokens shuffling across the board, weaving throughout this congested city, this suffocating traffic, this land that is both enchanting and disillusioning. Zippity zip zip, they sputter. Anywhere you want to go. 


One thought on “colombo, seeping out of my pores.

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