In Gota ‘Palace’: Awestruck families, volunteer guards

Wearing a T-shirt with an ‘I need wifi’ scrawl, 13-year-old Nishang roams the living room of the President’s “Palace”, home to Gotabaya Rajapaksa who fled Sri Lanka in the early hours of Wednesday.
The boy’s parents are among the protesters who have been “in control” of the “Palace” since the time it was stormed on July 9, the morning after the President slipped into the night.
The weather outside is sultry, but the interiors offer a respite — large BG air-conditioners hum through the day, cooling rooms with high ceilings and wooden floors.

When The Indian Express walked in, Gehan Melroy, 30, headed to a beige sofa, where Gotabaya once relaxed, to watch a flat-screen television. With him are other protesters, surfing channels for news on the protests outside the residence of Prime Miner Ranil Wickremesinghe.
But the happenings outside are of little interest to Nihang. He is happy exploring the “Palace”. “This place is awesome,” he says.
Men, women, children stand in long, serpentine queues to enter the “Palace”, and volunteers among protesters manage the crowds.
While tours and protesters are allowed to enter the residence and walk up the curved staircase with the red carpet at the entrance, access to the more “premium” areas — where Gotabaya lived, ate and held meetings, the gym where he worked out, and the pool where he cooled off — is controlled the volunteers.
Calling themselves representatives of the Janatha Aragalaya (people’s struggle), the volunteers patrol these restricted areas. In one of the rooms, there are paintings of George Keyt who used Cubism to depict the life of Sri Lankan women.
Irosh Alphonso, a 26-year-old who has studied archaeology and heritage management and is one of the protesters, calls Keyt a modern painter who fused Western and Sri Lankan styles. One work that stands out is of the Governor of Ceylon, Lt Gen Sir Edward Barnes, in his British uniform finery.

“The Dutch built these buildings, and then the British lived in them. In the 74 years since independence, people of this country have not been able to enjoy these facilities. Only a chosen few have lived and enjoyed these facilities… It’s time to change that… We want common people to come and enjoy these places. But, we don’t want to harm and damage the property… We are taking extra care to preserve this building,” says Alphonso, pointing at personnel of the police Special Task Force who are standing alongside volunteers wearing ‘Go Gota Gama’ T-shirts, hair bands, armbands.
“On the first day,” says Rajitha Udawala, an HR professional from the Inter University Students’ Federation, an umbrella student grouping key to organising the protests, “some people, in the heat of the moment, did destroy some objects, but now we are taking care of them.”
One of the kitchens has been completely ransacked — there is a fridge door wide open, and a Philips toaster, used plates, tissues, open jars of jam, detergent powder are lying around.
The blue-tiled pool in the backyard is a special attraction, with couples and families sitting around it, some with selfie sticks to record their special day for posterity.
“It is not anyone’s personal property, or the property of a particular family like the Rajapaksas… These are the property of the people…We have to protect them, take care of them and then hand it over to the relevant authorities, once the leadership issue is settled,” says Rajitha, standing in an ornate room with chandeliers and handcrafted chest of drawers.
Fellow volunteer Anjali walks in with packets of buns and tea. Ready-to-eat snacks — Maliban real chocolate biscuits and American mineral water bottles — are dributed in cartons, as some go to the long, dark brown wooden dining table to eat.

There is also a queue for the bathrooms — only a couple are functioning with uninterrupted water supply. Most bathrooms attached to bedrooms, where volunteers have spent the last four days, don’t have water.
Nadeesha, 32, who is trying to manage the queues outside the bathrooms, says, “People don’t have food, fuel and electricity… These leaders were enjoying benefits… They were earning money the wrong way. This place should be made a horical monument.”
“They have money for tear gas and guns, not for milk powder and medicines,” he says, staring at the TV screen showing police using tear gas outside the Prime Miner’s office.
There is a commotion as a Sri Lankan Air Force helicopter flies over the area — all run to the terrace to see why it’s circling overhead.

In halls with arched doorways, white walls and colourful ceilings, discussions centre on one topic: What’s going to be the fate of this residence? There’s no clear answer. Some say it should be a “heritage monument”, others say “library building”, still others maintain it should be used future leaders of the country.
Suddenly, Angelo, one of the protesters, comes with a megaphone and announces that public broadcaster Rupavahini has been taken over protesters. It’s greeted with cheers from the protesters lounging in sofas.
On the lawns outside, ice-cream vendors have set up stalls on bicycles, selling cones for Sri Lankan Rs 80. There are pineapple sellers too, selling packets of 8 slices for Rs 200. It’s the final stop for those on a tour of the “Palace”.