Many moons ago I used to cherish the trips made to my dad’s estate in Etampitiya, which was on the Welimada Road, despite we being regularly reminded when we visited the place that we had stepped into the dry zone.
My dad, Bonnie, who bid adieu to this world in 2005, also possessed two wells close to his bungalow and had a close watch over these assets at all times. This was because water in that area is scarce and was more valuable to the public over there compared to electricity. 
During our school holidays we used to take long walks, but the chilly wind that blew in our faces and made us cool also made us boil inside when we saw that the many waterfalls in the area were almost dry with the flow of water reduced to a trickle. It was then only that we were able to fathom the depth in the sign boards that were hung up in the washrooms within dad’s bungalow which read, ‘Please don’t waste water, you are in the dry zone’. It was often freezing cold outside in the estate in the evenings, but the comforting weather made it hard for us to understand that this ideal holiday destination is terribly short of water.
When we grew up and were big enough to understand business, dad revealed to us a barter system of dealing which he had with the authorities where he supplied water to the neighboring state owned tea estate and in return received electricity free for his bungalow.
I still remember dad being concerned, but not moody when there was a delay in the monsoonal rains. For a planter rain is like payday for a labourer. Sometimes there was rain, but when showers were sporadic he used to sum it up saying, ‘the rain didn’t even wet the surface of the land’. Solid continuous rain for a few days brought a smile on to my dad’s face and gave the tea leaves a nourished look. The sound of rain for my dad was like music to the ears of a music lover.
As I finished school and moved into journalism my focus went beyond the hills in Etampitiya, but I never missed the chance to read up on environment, weather and water; the latter for the vital reason that it is now considered as a basic human right.
From planting to newspapers my attention did shift, but there was something within me that stopped me from quenching the ‘thirsty’ for knowledge about water and the environment.
Sri Lanka has more than 100 water basins, is blessed with both ground and surface water and is considered to be among the world’s 25 biodiversity hot spots. But all what we have and do to preserve our water resources looked unimpressive to me when I came across the book ‘Losing my virginity’ which is the autobiography of businessman Richard Branson; the man who started a business empire under the name ‘Virgin’. His round the world balloon trips over the Atlas Mountains in Morocco made him realise to what alarming level people were contributing towards global warming, especially multinational companies. In the book Branson writes about the hypothesis formulated by James Lovelock that ‘the earth is a living entity like a single cell and like a single cell everything it needs for its existence is contained within and that the planet can heal itself if damaged, but there is a point of no return to which the word has progressed to’. Though what we read here is scary, Branson also recalls having given enough warning that by the year 1986 that we had reached the ‘earth’s carrying capacity’. Some of the reasons for this being the over exploiting of fisheries, over-gazing of pastures, destroying of forests and polluting oceans.
But however enriching the reading experience of Branson’s books are, I also like to reminisce memories of my life on a tea estate where the first signs of rains for my dad merited a scientific explanation while for the estate labourers it was the work of their deity. Anyway, the rains we all cherished with clapping of hands and like us the frogs in my dad’s well jumped up and down when the rain drops disturbed the waters they swam on. As for dad’s barter agreement with the authorities did face a test for existence when an official one day visited the estate and demanded the agreement be canceled and an electricity metre be installed. The officials had then turned to my brother, who inherited the property, and asked ‘how much would we (as in the authorities) have to pay for the water in the well’ to which my brother had said ‘Rs 30,000 a month’.
The official sported a sheepish smile and had given all indication that nothing in the past agreement should be changed. In my dad’s estate ‘water talks’ and not green notes. But I like it when people pay for their water in these times because everyone doesn’t have a well. Like the theme for the World Water Day this year reminds us we must get the message to people ‘leaving no one behind’ that every drop of water counts, like the contends in a chilled bottle of cola!
