I hadn’t heard of Jaga until a few years ago. And even on that day I met him, I didn’t have any idea who he was. My friend Tharindu Amunugama who has made it almost a life-mission of introducing me to landscapes, off-grid archaeological sites, cultural nuances and personalities took me to ‘Jaga Food.’ And, as is often the case, it was all unplanned.
We just happened to be approaching Polonnaruwa at an hour that was a fair distance from ‘breakfast.’ Someone might have mentioned lunch, I can’t really remember now. He said ‘I have a friend called Jagath, you’ll like him.’
No questions asked. That’s also not unusual with Tharindu. A call was made, customary greetings and a smile: ‘let’s go.’ D9 Ela, Wel Para, Polonnaruwa. That was the address. A sign, a turn into a nondescript road through lush paddy fields and a carpark. And then passing a well maintained vegetable garden, what could be called an open larder replete with dry rations and firewood, and eventually the restaurant skirted by an irrigation canal looking out into a tract of paddyfields in the light green of that moment in the cultivation cycle.
And Jagath. Jaga. Recognition and a greeting no less warm to that accorded a first-time visitor, as I would soon find out. There followed predictable chit-chat about what brought us to this part of the country and an invitation to partake of the culinary feast that was neatly laid out at one end of the long, open, hall that was the restaurant. The food was in large earthenware pots, each accompanied by a label and the main ingredient. For example, there was a comb of ash plantains on a ledge above the row of pots, lined up adjacent to the ash plantain curry.
Jaga may have spoken to us in Sinhala, I can’t remember, but he did explain the nutritional attributes of each and every food item. In fact he took the time to repeat all this in English to all the foreign tourists who had come for lunch. Every one of them.
It was one of the best meals ever, this I remember. But I also remember thinking that just being there was enough: the mind and heart would be adequately nourished if nourishment were required just sitting anywhere in that restaurant and just looking around.
Jaga doesn’t maintain a visitors’ book. No formal facility for complaints, comments and suggestions. Just markers and an open invitation: write what you will, wherever you want. There was graffiti wherever you looked — the walls, parts of the ceiling, chairs, tables, pillars were covered with comments about Sri Lanka, the food, the ambience, Jaga himself, the hospitality and even a few political slogans (‘Free Palestine!’ demanded Elena and Susi from Italy in June 2019).
Among the hundreds of comments there were quite a few in English. All positive. Great food. Nice people. We will be back again. Amazing. Loved (this, that or the other but ‘everything was delicious’). Thanks. It’s all out there. No filters. In multiple languages.
Irrepressible. That’s the word I associate with Jana. He had a story and it is best that you ask him. Suffice to say that although life was unforgiving, but Jaga entertained no rancour. He has the imagination, drive, energy and resilience typical of those who would transform circumstances into residences they prefer to inhabit. Cheerfully.
There were a few kabaragoyas basking in the sun upon the lawn between the restaurant and canal: ‘they have got used to this place and they know there’s always food,’ Jaga explained. It’s not just human beings who partake of ‘Jaga Food,’ clearly.
I can’t remember what we ate. I can’t remember how it tasted except that it was ‘delicious.’ There are flavours that left a trace in my mind and that’s how I can write even this, three years later.
We went to ‘Jaga Food’ in early February 2000. Before Covid-19. Before economic collapse. There were places we wanted to visit during that trip: Kawdagala, Maduru Oya, Dimbulagala, Namal Pokuna, Maara Veediya, Gal Viharaya, Pothgul Viharaya among others. We planned to bathe at the Parakrama Samudraya or wherever there was a reservoir close to where we were when it felt right to take a dip.
Tharindu however is never in a hurry. He’s no box-ticker. Neither were we. We hadn’t heard of Jagath or Jaga Foods. We hadn’t planned to stop for lunch. When we decided it was lunch time, we didn’t think of how much time we would spend. Half an hour, an hour perhaps, might have been a notion in some corner of the mind. It’s been three years since we turned into D9 Ela, Wel Para, Polonnaruwa and I find myself sitting on the cement steps outside the restaurant, watching the kabaragoyas, fanned by breezes that must have stories about toil and stolen harvests from centuries ago, noticing a curve in the time dimension — good enough for a smile.
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