Rediscovered one of my old lovers, one in whose arms I've received much pleasure and spent countless hours cuddling and nuzzling, one who has brought so much solace and carried me away to euphoric lands where no worry existed. I've missed you much my Reading. All these years I've avoided you, education, occupation and other obligations have kept me away. I did not want to receive him for the fear of treating him with negligence. He was much too precious to be treated that way.
I feel that I am cheating on Writing, my current lover with Reading. Reading has never been a forceful lover but it has always been a very, very seductive one all the same. It beckons me with open pages, its hard, gleaming spine raised upwards, lying suggestively on the bed fills me with longing. Its impossible to resist. I HAVE to ravage through those pages until I'm satisfied.
Now that I'm taking a break I have all the time in world. Now that I have all the time in the world, I realize for the first time in a long time what I have missed. Quality family time, much-missed Darling time, time to love, to hug and to be hugged, frolicking times with the petters, time for Reading, Writing, Photography and time for other loves of mine that I have grown attached to over the years. Cooking and baking flourisheth too, a dearly beloved obsession of mine that I never had enough time for. Now that I do have the time, weird combinations of ingredients, dishes and desserts emerge constantly out of the kitchen and Daddy Dearest complains that I'm making him fat. I tell him its all out of love.
Looking forward to recommencing my 3 mile jogs too. I've missed those solitary ramblings. The rainy weather so far has deprived me of this pleasure. Hopefully nature shall not keep me long from my early morning sweat blast.
In the meantime, the feedback on "Scattered", my debut collection of poetry is tremendous. The highest possible praise came when a much venerated writer, someone who I had held in extremely high regard over the years mailed me personally full of praise for my work several days ago. It all feels like a dream although I know it is happening right now. When I first wrote those poems, I had never even dreamt of publishing them. Now that they are published, I can't help but feel tingles up and down my spine every time I hear something of my book. I find it incredible. It still a little hard to believe.
Been pondering over the thought of taking up dancing again. However, I am 25, in other words, too old in the dancers' lingo. But I truly miss it, I have not danced in almost 3 years now. I am well aware of the cons in such a decision which is why I am even hesitating with the decision, or else like I usually do, I would have rushed at it without a second thought. I suppose age has indeed blessed me with wisdom or common sense or whatever it is that they called it over the years.
Rain just started beating down on the roof. I have missed it much today. Despite the 24hr raining spell last day, it hasn't rained a single drop today until now. Craving for that huge mug of warm milk with a piece of jaggery, my ideal nighttime snack. Have you tried it? Its absolutely divine!
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
National level drama queens
Was on the road today only to be shooed aside by a honking, light-blazing host of vehicles, army personnel, big bulky bodyguards and all the paraphernalia while several important looking cars sped past us. It was just offensive the way they were shooing away other vehicles on the road, glaring and gesturing very rudely with hands at the vehicles that couldn't get away in time. It was and it always is as if they own the bloody road. Well, maybe they do. Coz that's the way the politicos operate these days.
They get their Monteros, BMWs, Porches and Rolls Royces thanks to the humble votes of the pedestrians jumping away at the nick of time to avoid the muddy splash evoked by their posh vehicles. They get the bullies and the henchmen and the whole herd of them following around like love-sick puppies thanks to the long suffering citizen in the battered down Townace van stuttering along the road, the very stuff they chase away later on for their greater convenience. The irony is larger than life.
Of course I didn't get to see who sped past us in all the grand flurry. Of course once they cross over the Diyawanna, we don't get to see those overfed buffalo faces that we see plastered all over the walls and huffing and puffing on stages, beating on their chests ( When Tarzan did it, he was sexy. Not the case with these oversized meat loafs with lotsa wobbly bits) and swearing allegiance to the people on their own mothers during election times. That's just the way of life.
But what's with all the security? I mean its not like anybody would even bother to tap them with the back of a finger nail let alone go into all that trouble to kill them. I mean, the only reason we even raise our heads to look at em passing by is because of all the pomp and ceremony that allows us to have a good laugh at their expense when everything else around us in the country just makes us cry. Honestly, nobody cares about these funny little potbellies anymore. The politicos are no better a species than parasites to the people now.
The nerve to even ASSUME that somebody might be wanting to kill them just cracks me up. How very vain! Politician dudes, please grow up! Nobody cares enough to become a threat to you. So lose the jeeps and the guns already. And let the rest of us travel in peace.
SUCH drama queens really.
They get their Monteros, BMWs, Porches and Rolls Royces thanks to the humble votes of the pedestrians jumping away at the nick of time to avoid the muddy splash evoked by their posh vehicles. They get the bullies and the henchmen and the whole herd of them following around like love-sick puppies thanks to the long suffering citizen in the battered down Townace van stuttering along the road, the very stuff they chase away later on for their greater convenience. The irony is larger than life.
Of course I didn't get to see who sped past us in all the grand flurry. Of course once they cross over the Diyawanna, we don't get to see those overfed buffalo faces that we see plastered all over the walls and huffing and puffing on stages, beating on their chests ( When Tarzan did it, he was sexy. Not the case with these oversized meat loafs with lotsa wobbly bits) and swearing allegiance to the people on their own mothers during election times. That's just the way of life.
But what's with all the security? I mean its not like anybody would even bother to tap them with the back of a finger nail let alone go into all that trouble to kill them. I mean, the only reason we even raise our heads to look at em passing by is because of all the pomp and ceremony that allows us to have a good laugh at their expense when everything else around us in the country just makes us cry. Honestly, nobody cares about these funny little potbellies anymore. The politicos are no better a species than parasites to the people now.
The nerve to even ASSUME that somebody might be wanting to kill them just cracks me up. How very vain! Politician dudes, please grow up! Nobody cares enough to become a threat to you. So lose the jeeps and the guns already. And let the rest of us travel in peace.
SUCH drama queens really.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Observations, declarations!
Decided to jot down some observations that I had made during my measly existence of 25 years. I shall now try to jot them down, trying to respect the age old commandment "Thou shalt not ramble" (which of course I never seem to respect).
1. Most new born babies are ugly.
Yes I said it. They are like little spider monkeys, all arms and legs and their heads are so weirdly shaped that its almost scary. But of course they flesh out and become rosy cheeked and adorable afterwards, but the first month or so they are really scary. But the surprising thing is not that, but the fact that no matter how ugly they are, people tend to go 'aneeeeeeeeee' and 'ssssssssssssss' and 'cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute" over them and repeatedly so. I find this highly confusing. Either they really are cute and my eyesight is horribly wrong or its just social hypocrisy with people wanting to seem sensitive and caring. I dunno.
2. Baby pictures, even the ugly ones get a lot of likes on FB.
Again, social hypocrisy or am I just blind? Don't get me wrong, I think babies are adorable but I wouldn't really be cooing at a not-so-great looking picture of a baby on the internet.
3. People who don't own a pet or wouldn't even dream of getting one "like" and share pictures of little puppies and kittens and what not on Social Media.
Really. Its downright ridiculous and sad as to what extent one would go to get some attention.
3. People always say "Congratulations" or "Good luck" when people get married.
I don't understand. Is it "Congratulations that you finally managed to trick an idiot into to marrying you" or "Congratulations on securing yourself a quality man/woman who is wayyyyyyyyyyyy better than you" or "*smirk* Good luck, we'l see how long it will last"? This is why I always smile and shake hands with married couples keeping my mouth shut at all times.
4. Couple photos, no matter how blurred, ugly or f****d up they are get more likes on FB than individual pics.
Its a fact. Even if its the most commonplace, ordinary, blurred, cliched picture, even if the guy has a piece of kola mallum from his lunch stuck on his teeth, even if the girl has a booger hanging from her nose, it still gets more likes than an individual picture. Is it because we are all caught up in this romantic dream where all couples end in happily ever afters, strolling away hand in hand into the sunset or is it because we feel obliged to "like" such pics as a sign of our approval to imply that we are happy that they are together? Individual pictures hardly ever get noticed and even the most artistic, beautifully unique individual picture would get lesser likes than a couple picture. Why isn't individuality appreciated as much in this country? Must we always strut around in two's all the time? Is two indeed, better than one?
5. Women remain a mystery. Most are hard to work with.
What I have found out is that there are two kinds of women. Ones who have got over the immature pettiness of jealousy, vanity and competitiveness with other women (this is the rare kind) and others who have not matured enough and remain whiny, needy and calculating for the rest of their lives. And then there's the assumed mystery that most of them put on which always baffles me as to why, why and why.
I have worked with women whose life mission seems to be being bitchy to others, specially fellow female workers. I've seen this very blatantly in women who are in middle management while women in top management seem to belong to the rare type who are beyond the childish vanity. Is it because they believe that they are weak and that they are incapable of performing that they feel the need to manipulate people to get what they want? Maybe they really are incapable of handling the pressure and resort to petty means to achieve their goals? Either way, its extremely unpleasant and I'm never too psyched to work with such people.
6. Men are drawn to the girly, immature, frivolous and mysterious types although it always ends up biting them in the a**.
I have absolutely no problem with that if they do not end up complaining about "women" in general all the friggin' time. There are perfectly sensible girls with both their feet planted firmly on the ground if you really do care to open your eyes and look beyond the pretty face and the fluttering eyelashes. So PLEASE don't generalize. Problem is that most men folk fall for the perfectly elusive, seemingly innocent yet mysterious woman who misleads, manipulates and plays games with their minds. Then they act like their balls are being squished by a heated iron spanner till they get the girl. But once gotten what they've asked for, they complain that women are nagging, whiny, fickle, clingy and what's more, dumb and incapable of doing anything by themselves! If you don't like em, don't date em, simple as that. Really, SUCH drama queens!
7. Working with men is easier.
By men I meant "men" whose testosterone levels are well balanced with the amount of estrogen their glands secret. I have met with foul and lowly specimen of men who are obviously suffering from testosterone overdoses and I've met petty, vain and manipulative creatures whose estrogen levels have long surpassed the accepted limits and turned them into sexless things. But I do know quite a few fine men who are well cultured and are "gentlemen" in every sense of the word and I am very proud of their acquaintance. So you see, the hormonal levels are crucial.
However,
8. Most men tend to think if a girl is being nice to them, she likes them in a way that is not entirely platonic.
No, no, no and no. Sometimes when you are instinctively compassionate and caring, this happens quite a lot. Its awkward. But can't really blame the boys what with the majority of womankind playing games with this poor lot. I feel sorry for them sometimes. They must be very confused.
9. People find it shocking when someone speaks their mind.
We ARE living in the 21st century after all. I mean, if we are all thinking it, what's so blasphemous about saying it out loud? I'm a straightforward person and I like that quality in others too. Of course living in this country, I've figured out that speaking out your mind isn't always the smartest choice if you wanna live to be 30, but I don't see why we shouldn't do it when it comes to more domesticated matters. Speak your mind, lay it out there. Life's too short to be solving riddles.
I'm bored. Don't wanna write this anymore. Adios! Buenos noches amigos, hasta luego!
1. Most new born babies are ugly.
Yes I said it. They are like little spider monkeys, all arms and legs and their heads are so weirdly shaped that its almost scary. But of course they flesh out and become rosy cheeked and adorable afterwards, but the first month or so they are really scary. But the surprising thing is not that, but the fact that no matter how ugly they are, people tend to go 'aneeeeeeeeee' and 'ssssssssssssss' and 'cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute" over them and repeatedly so. I find this highly confusing. Either they really are cute and my eyesight is horribly wrong or its just social hypocrisy with people wanting to seem sensitive and caring. I dunno.
2. Baby pictures, even the ugly ones get a lot of likes on FB.
Again, social hypocrisy or am I just blind? Don't get me wrong, I think babies are adorable but I wouldn't really be cooing at a not-so-great looking picture of a baby on the internet.
3. People who don't own a pet or wouldn't even dream of getting one "like" and share pictures of little puppies and kittens and what not on Social Media.
Really. Its downright ridiculous and sad as to what extent one would go to get some attention.
3. People always say "Congratulations" or "Good luck" when people get married.
I don't understand. Is it "Congratulations that you finally managed to trick an idiot into to marrying you" or "Congratulations on securing yourself a quality man/woman who is wayyyyyyyyyyyy better than you" or "*smirk* Good luck, we'l see how long it will last"? This is why I always smile and shake hands with married couples keeping my mouth shut at all times.
4. Couple photos, no matter how blurred, ugly or f****d up they are get more likes on FB than individual pics.
Its a fact. Even if its the most commonplace, ordinary, blurred, cliched picture, even if the guy has a piece of kola mallum from his lunch stuck on his teeth, even if the girl has a booger hanging from her nose, it still gets more likes than an individual picture. Is it because we are all caught up in this romantic dream where all couples end in happily ever afters, strolling away hand in hand into the sunset or is it because we feel obliged to "like" such pics as a sign of our approval to imply that we are happy that they are together? Individual pictures hardly ever get noticed and even the most artistic, beautifully unique individual picture would get lesser likes than a couple picture. Why isn't individuality appreciated as much in this country? Must we always strut around in two's all the time? Is two indeed, better than one?
5. Women remain a mystery. Most are hard to work with.
What I have found out is that there are two kinds of women. Ones who have got over the immature pettiness of jealousy, vanity and competitiveness with other women (this is the rare kind) and others who have not matured enough and remain whiny, needy and calculating for the rest of their lives. And then there's the assumed mystery that most of them put on which always baffles me as to why, why and why.
I have worked with women whose life mission seems to be being bitchy to others, specially fellow female workers. I've seen this very blatantly in women who are in middle management while women in top management seem to belong to the rare type who are beyond the childish vanity. Is it because they believe that they are weak and that they are incapable of performing that they feel the need to manipulate people to get what they want? Maybe they really are incapable of handling the pressure and resort to petty means to achieve their goals? Either way, its extremely unpleasant and I'm never too psyched to work with such people.
6. Men are drawn to the girly, immature, frivolous and mysterious types although it always ends up biting them in the a**.
I have absolutely no problem with that if they do not end up complaining about "women" in general all the friggin' time. There are perfectly sensible girls with both their feet planted firmly on the ground if you really do care to open your eyes and look beyond the pretty face and the fluttering eyelashes. So PLEASE don't generalize. Problem is that most men folk fall for the perfectly elusive, seemingly innocent yet mysterious woman who misleads, manipulates and plays games with their minds. Then they act like their balls are being squished by a heated iron spanner till they get the girl. But once gotten what they've asked for, they complain that women are nagging, whiny, fickle, clingy and what's more, dumb and incapable of doing anything by themselves! If you don't like em, don't date em, simple as that. Really, SUCH drama queens!
7. Working with men is easier.
By men I meant "men" whose testosterone levels are well balanced with the amount of estrogen their glands secret. I have met with foul and lowly specimen of men who are obviously suffering from testosterone overdoses and I've met petty, vain and manipulative creatures whose estrogen levels have long surpassed the accepted limits and turned them into sexless things. But I do know quite a few fine men who are well cultured and are "gentlemen" in every sense of the word and I am very proud of their acquaintance. So you see, the hormonal levels are crucial.
However,
8. Most men tend to think if a girl is being nice to them, she likes them in a way that is not entirely platonic.
No, no, no and no. Sometimes when you are instinctively compassionate and caring, this happens quite a lot. Its awkward. But can't really blame the boys what with the majority of womankind playing games with this poor lot. I feel sorry for them sometimes. They must be very confused.
9. People find it shocking when someone speaks their mind.
We ARE living in the 21st century after all. I mean, if we are all thinking it, what's so blasphemous about saying it out loud? I'm a straightforward person and I like that quality in others too. Of course living in this country, I've figured out that speaking out your mind isn't always the smartest choice if you wanna live to be 30, but I don't see why we shouldn't do it when it comes to more domesticated matters. Speak your mind, lay it out there. Life's too short to be solving riddles.
I'm bored. Don't wanna write this anymore. Adios! Buenos noches amigos, hasta luego!
Monday, October 22, 2012
Trip back the memory lane
Went to see one of my old teachers, the one who introduced me to the English language and pushed me past all the complex grammatical and vocabulary labyrinths as if it were a mere bicycle ride. I don't ever recall stumbling. She made it look and seem like a breeze.
Rachael Dominique Margaret Pathirana is her name. She is ageless. To this day, I cannot really place how old she really is. She is as beautiful as she always was with the spirit of a young girl, clad in her customary dainty frocks and ornate jewelry. I suppose being with children made you look and feel young.
We practically spent our lives in that class. From Grade 2 right up to O/Ls we were there, 2 times a week for 4hrs each day. And we were hooked. I think it takes up a special kind of talent and quite a good deal of that special kind of love to sustain children's interest like that. She has a very big heart. The ones who grew up in her shade, learning from her is as same to her as her own kids and her own grand kids.
She keeps all the keepsakes from all her students. Today she unearthed a piece of my poetry that she had discovered among the pages of a book I had given to her to correct when I was in Grade 5. To this day, I had not known she had it. I suppose these things are her treasures.
Her voice is musical. She had always had a sing-a-song voice, so sweet and so liquidy in the ear. We used to have sing-alongs at Christmas and she used to sing with us always, her strong sweet voice rising above our young and coarse ones. She had a tinkling kind of laugh too, one that would ring above anyone else's. She still has all that. Not much had changed.
That beautiful picture of the Christ still hangs on the wall as it used to. I remember gazing on it listlessly for hours and hours while searching for the correct answer during exams, that odd moment of blankness and etc. I had always been taken up by the sheer, almost ephemeral beauty of it. It is just as it had always been. Only its frame is new. The old gilt frame is now replaced by a gold one.
She is a devout catholic married to a Buddhist. Sometimes we would see pictures of Lord Buddha among her rosaries and statues of the saints. It was a fine melange of religious artifacts up there on her desk. A curious thing her desk was. Always cluttered with books, pens and pencils and the most interesting looking items scattered about, along with that little brass bell that she liked to ring from time to time in class.
The long benches and the desks that we sat at still stands. Only they had been painted a posh black. But I'm sure if I looked close enough, I would still be able to see our childhood scribbles and pencil tip carvings there. She had banned correcting fluids in the class back then. And all because we wouldn't stop doodling on the desks with those things.
She still calls me her little beauty. She cannot believe how much I've grown and how I have become a woman in my own right. She asks me how many hearts I have broken already. I laugh.
Those were beautiful times. Christmas was always special as we would visit her place with gifts. She would serve us homemade Christmas cake and the piano would be played either by her or by her daughter Jeewani akki. There would be a lot of laughter, a lot of celebration. However, after her husband passed away a couple of years ago, things never did seem the same. She only used to go to Mass on Sundays. Now she goes to Mass on Fridays and Sundays both.
She raised a beautiful and a strong willed daughter. Jeewani akki tutored me on English Literature for my O/Ls. I remember always looking forward to those classes. The conversations were always very interesting as she treated us as adults and not as kids. She was a university student with a vibrant personality back then and I remember being quite mesmerized by her wit and sizzle for life. I haven't met her much since she got married and I wonder what she is like now. Nevertheless, I suppose I was a fortunate child who has had the opportunity to mingle with strong female personalities right throughout my life.
I could go on but I just realized that it is late and that I must sleep. Its so very cosy the manner in which the mind stores up these memories, images, smells, sights and sounds. However, things have changed very much. She is all alone what with her husband here no more, her daughter abroad and her son having his own family, having not much time to attend to her needs. Yet in my mind memories are all intact as if nothing has changed. In my mind we are all in grade 5, fighting over each other to win a red star, trying hard not to get any black marks on our records for talking too much or creating trouble in class. It was beautiful. Those golden afternoons laughing and passing notes in class, standing in line to get our work corrected and rejoicing when we get a V.V Good next to the big, red tick mark lashed out right across the page.
Rachael Dominique Margaret Pathirana is her name. She is ageless. To this day, I cannot really place how old she really is. She is as beautiful as she always was with the spirit of a young girl, clad in her customary dainty frocks and ornate jewelry. I suppose being with children made you look and feel young.
We practically spent our lives in that class. From Grade 2 right up to O/Ls we were there, 2 times a week for 4hrs each day. And we were hooked. I think it takes up a special kind of talent and quite a good deal of that special kind of love to sustain children's interest like that. She has a very big heart. The ones who grew up in her shade, learning from her is as same to her as her own kids and her own grand kids.
She keeps all the keepsakes from all her students. Today she unearthed a piece of my poetry that she had discovered among the pages of a book I had given to her to correct when I was in Grade 5. To this day, I had not known she had it. I suppose these things are her treasures.
Her voice is musical. She had always had a sing-a-song voice, so sweet and so liquidy in the ear. We used to have sing-alongs at Christmas and she used to sing with us always, her strong sweet voice rising above our young and coarse ones. She had a tinkling kind of laugh too, one that would ring above anyone else's. She still has all that. Not much had changed.
That beautiful picture of the Christ still hangs on the wall as it used to. I remember gazing on it listlessly for hours and hours while searching for the correct answer during exams, that odd moment of blankness and etc. I had always been taken up by the sheer, almost ephemeral beauty of it. It is just as it had always been. Only its frame is new. The old gilt frame is now replaced by a gold one.
She is a devout catholic married to a Buddhist. Sometimes we would see pictures of Lord Buddha among her rosaries and statues of the saints. It was a fine melange of religious artifacts up there on her desk. A curious thing her desk was. Always cluttered with books, pens and pencils and the most interesting looking items scattered about, along with that little brass bell that she liked to ring from time to time in class.
The long benches and the desks that we sat at still stands. Only they had been painted a posh black. But I'm sure if I looked close enough, I would still be able to see our childhood scribbles and pencil tip carvings there. She had banned correcting fluids in the class back then. And all because we wouldn't stop doodling on the desks with those things.
She still calls me her little beauty. She cannot believe how much I've grown and how I have become a woman in my own right. She asks me how many hearts I have broken already. I laugh.
Those were beautiful times. Christmas was always special as we would visit her place with gifts. She would serve us homemade Christmas cake and the piano would be played either by her or by her daughter Jeewani akki. There would be a lot of laughter, a lot of celebration. However, after her husband passed away a couple of years ago, things never did seem the same. She only used to go to Mass on Sundays. Now she goes to Mass on Fridays and Sundays both.
She raised a beautiful and a strong willed daughter. Jeewani akki tutored me on English Literature for my O/Ls. I remember always looking forward to those classes. The conversations were always very interesting as she treated us as adults and not as kids. She was a university student with a vibrant personality back then and I remember being quite mesmerized by her wit and sizzle for life. I haven't met her much since she got married and I wonder what she is like now. Nevertheless, I suppose I was a fortunate child who has had the opportunity to mingle with strong female personalities right throughout my life.
I could go on but I just realized that it is late and that I must sleep. Its so very cosy the manner in which the mind stores up these memories, images, smells, sights and sounds. However, things have changed very much. She is all alone what with her husband here no more, her daughter abroad and her son having his own family, having not much time to attend to her needs. Yet in my mind memories are all intact as if nothing has changed. In my mind we are all in grade 5, fighting over each other to win a red star, trying hard not to get any black marks on our records for talking too much or creating trouble in class. It was beautiful. Those golden afternoons laughing and passing notes in class, standing in line to get our work corrected and rejoicing when we get a V.V Good next to the big, red tick mark lashed out right across the page.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Burping for attention
Just when you think that you can no longer be surprised by the behavior of the Sri Lankan male, they surprise you again. Sri Lanka is filled with this curious species who seem to be on a lifelong mission to shock and surprise you on a daily basis. This particular specimen was met on a Sunday afternoon at a roadside cafe. Seated in the cafe facing the main road visible through the glass facade of the shop, I could see a man staring inside the cafe as if the people inside have just converted themselves into huge headed aliens and started dancing the samba. After a while he comes inside, orders some food and sits himself down at the neibouring table. Now I don't want to sound like a snob or a prude but the range of sounds that he made for that short period of time as he went through his food were just unbelievable. This could have been simply disregarded if not for the atrocious burping that started right afterwards which makes you wonder if indeed a human being is capable of burping such a lot. That's when we realized that he was burping and slurping to get our attention.
Now the cure for such attention whores had always been indifference and although my face muscles contracted and formed themselves in a painful grimace once or twice, I managed to look straight ahead while the man kept on burping and making repulsive smacking sounds with his mouth. We got up to go at which this curious specimen of a man too scarabled to his feet in a hurry and rushed out from his table, leaving more than half of his food still left on the table. Needless to say he followed us right out, slurping and burping. The sound was positively sickening.
The weekend itself was a smooth one. Went to the theater with Daddy Dearest just like the old times, found tickets for Evita and good seats too which was very lucky because they were the only seats left in the house by that afternoon. Now Daddy Dearest had always been my partner in theater as we share the same near-hysterical love for drama and with Mommy Dearest not being too keen on the art, I had always managed to drag him away with me whenever I set my mind upon watching a play. The Darling has always been a reluctant Theater goer and therefore, Daddy Dearest willingly filled in for the spot to keep me company for the evening. We had already checked for tickets on Saturday. They were all gone except for the balcony ones.
The play was good, it was a long time since I had last seen one of Jerome's plays. However, I did feel that the play in itself was a teeny bit crowded with too much information. Nevertheless, it was an afternoon very well spent.
Watched "Karma" on Saturday and spent the rest of the day in blissful joblessness, wandering around the whole of Colombo with a bunch of equally happy-go-lucky companions. Speaking of Karma, it was ok and I am glad that I watched it. However, I do feel that despite the astounding amount of awards and nominations that it had received, it could have omitted certain scenes and information here and there. Seemed a wee bit crowded in there, would have been nice if it were "cleaner". The idea was powerful enough, it could have been presented in a more striking manner. Oh well..............
I broke my mug of 2 years! Its funny how attached I've grown to that mug, seeing as it was an inanimate object. Nevertheless it had been my friend and companion through good times and the bad and it had always been there, that rounded weighty presence keeping me company through countless sleepless nights, nights of utter hysteria, blissful dreaming or hour upon hour of studying. Daddy Dearest had always referred to it as 'the Barrel', referring obviously to its shape and size and it had indeed been big and cosy just the way I liked it. That pudgy heaviness had always comforted me, holding my tea and coffee throughout the years. It had warmed me when I needed the warmth when everybody else had walked away. It was the only companion that I could tolerate on peaceful rainy evenings with the balcony windows thrown open or those difficult times when nothing seemed right. My mug always held the correct kind of comfort for trying times. That mug had a sense of humor. Nothing else would do, nothing else would ever take its place. R I P Mug. There can never be anymuggy like u :'(
Now the cure for such attention whores had always been indifference and although my face muscles contracted and formed themselves in a painful grimace once or twice, I managed to look straight ahead while the man kept on burping and making repulsive smacking sounds with his mouth. We got up to go at which this curious specimen of a man too scarabled to his feet in a hurry and rushed out from his table, leaving more than half of his food still left on the table. Needless to say he followed us right out, slurping and burping. The sound was positively sickening.
The weekend itself was a smooth one. Went to the theater with Daddy Dearest just like the old times, found tickets for Evita and good seats too which was very lucky because they were the only seats left in the house by that afternoon. Now Daddy Dearest had always been my partner in theater as we share the same near-hysterical love for drama and with Mommy Dearest not being too keen on the art, I had always managed to drag him away with me whenever I set my mind upon watching a play. The Darling has always been a reluctant Theater goer and therefore, Daddy Dearest willingly filled in for the spot to keep me company for the evening. We had already checked for tickets on Saturday. They were all gone except for the balcony ones.
The play was good, it was a long time since I had last seen one of Jerome's plays. However, I did feel that the play in itself was a teeny bit crowded with too much information. Nevertheless, it was an afternoon very well spent.
Watched "Karma" on Saturday and spent the rest of the day in blissful joblessness, wandering around the whole of Colombo with a bunch of equally happy-go-lucky companions. Speaking of Karma, it was ok and I am glad that I watched it. However, I do feel that despite the astounding amount of awards and nominations that it had received, it could have omitted certain scenes and information here and there. Seemed a wee bit crowded in there, would have been nice if it were "cleaner". The idea was powerful enough, it could have been presented in a more striking manner. Oh well..............
I broke my mug of 2 years! Its funny how attached I've grown to that mug, seeing as it was an inanimate object. Nevertheless it had been my friend and companion through good times and the bad and it had always been there, that rounded weighty presence keeping me company through countless sleepless nights, nights of utter hysteria, blissful dreaming or hour upon hour of studying. Daddy Dearest had always referred to it as 'the Barrel', referring obviously to its shape and size and it had indeed been big and cosy just the way I liked it. That pudgy heaviness had always comforted me, holding my tea and coffee throughout the years. It had warmed me when I needed the warmth when everybody else had walked away. It was the only companion that I could tolerate on peaceful rainy evenings with the balcony windows thrown open or those difficult times when nothing seemed right. My mug always held the correct kind of comfort for trying times. That mug had a sense of humor. Nothing else would do, nothing else would ever take its place. R I P Mug. There can never be anymuggy like u :'(
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Rain, Oh Beloved Rain.................
I know most people like rainy nights so that they could curl up and sleep. I on the contrary, feel more alive when it rains. I like to stay up and listen to the rain. Rain is fascinating, it has a music of its own. I like the sound of the rain on the roof, I like to hear it falling down on the leaves of the tress outside. I love the fluttering curtains in the loud blast of wind that somehow manage to get in through the windows. I love how the rain manages to block all sound out and invade your ears, almost forcefully with its powerful and earthy presence. I love how it would rush up on you and slowly wither away gently, like a wilting flower, yet with the promise to bloom again.
I love the rumbling thunder, the way it sometimes rattles the doors and windows, making the glass tinkle in that pretty way. I like the electric flashes of light from the heavens that appear and disappear again like a dream suddenly and unexpectedly just like it came. I like how after a flash of light you always expect a loud rumble from up above and how sometimes it never comes. I like the unpredictability of it all. Sometimes you just get a little too tired of the predictable formality of the world.
I like it how rain manages to intensify some smells while drowning out others. For me, rain smells clean, it smells of new unpolished wood, yet to see the likes of varnish and other synthetic things. It smells pure and tranquil like a secluded world, still untouched by vulgarities of the outside. I have never smelt the "smell of wet earth" as many have described it. The closest I've ever felt of it is a mixture of trampled grass and rotting kitchen waste that faintly smelled of puss that oozes out of infested wounds and I cannot say that I like it very much.
Another thing I love is hot tea or coffee on a rainy day and a big mug of it at that, no fooling around about the quantity of it. I love the almost scalding feel of it in my hands, I love its liquid warmth as it travels down the throat and radiates its warmth like a cosy blanket right across the skin. I simply love the smell of hot tea or coffee with the smell of the rain, mollycoddling in its fumes in an armchair, feet up just like I'm doing now.
I also love the after-rain sounds. The never ending croaks of the frogs in the garden pond, the soft breathing, heaving sound of the trees, adjusting themselves after the downpour. I like the feel of the departing rain, its like a painful yet necessary act to preserve the beauty of the moment forever. That pain is beautiful, beautifully exquisite.
I suppose I'm in a never ending courtship with the rain. And unlike any mortal relationship, the romance will never fizzle out.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Typical tropical afternoon
Its one of those afternoons that make you breathless by the sheer naked beauty of it. One of those hot, slightly sweaty yet nevertheless golden ones that you usually spend out in the garden, with a large jug of homemade lemonade, fanning yourself against that inescapable tropical heat. The sun beams are extra golden today and the world seem to be rejoicing for God knows what reason. Am I drunk you ask? Yes, I guess I am, drunk with life, with the beauty surrounding me, this incredibly homey feeling of which I shall never get enough. Just thought that instead of grumbling about how incredibly sucky life is, this post is to celebrate life and afternoons like this that make you feel like a character in a romantic novel. Its a typical tropical afternoon and I wouldn't have it any other way.
There's music streaming in from the radio and the sound of unseen boys playing in the adjacent playground. Apart from that, everything else is peaceful. Sometimes, the leaves of the mango tree in the yard shine in the soft glare of the sun and other times, they slowly move to cast shadows and sun beams alternately across the lawn. It smells green and woody out there a mixture of trees and burning wood somewhere in the distance. The light breeze that rustles the tree leaves is quite insufficient to quell the heat but nevertheless, that soothing cool fingers brushing a stubborn strand of hair off your forehead is a welcome intervention. Its an afternoon worthy of celebration, worthy of a post and here I am, drunk in it all and rambling on, grouchy no more!
There's music streaming in from the radio and the sound of unseen boys playing in the adjacent playground. Apart from that, everything else is peaceful. Sometimes, the leaves of the mango tree in the yard shine in the soft glare of the sun and other times, they slowly move to cast shadows and sun beams alternately across the lawn. It smells green and woody out there a mixture of trees and burning wood somewhere in the distance. The light breeze that rustles the tree leaves is quite insufficient to quell the heat but nevertheless, that soothing cool fingers brushing a stubborn strand of hair off your forehead is a welcome intervention. Its an afternoon worthy of celebration, worthy of a post and here I am, drunk in it all and rambling on, grouchy no more!
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Grumble, Grumble.............
Its just abominable how incredibly lazy I've become, but I suppose the laziness is just a part of my reluctance to pick up the wad of notes and attempt to beat in some international law and comparative political systems into this kicking and screaming brain of mine. And its amazing how so very important the frivolous task of cleaning out your bureau drawers (they've survived throughout the years with all the crap inside them just fine) or how very inspired you become to write that never ending novel of yours, all very much out of the blue of course.
The fact of the matter is that I am not a quitter. I feel guilty quitting, no matter how hard it is and no matter how impossible something may seem, I still keep at it, even if it is excruciatingly painful and even though I grumble all the way. That in fact, is my vice. As a result, I am studying away, cursing the very inventors of this wretched subject, cursing the institution and in fact, cursing every Tom, Dick and Siripala responsible for this immaculate mess that I am in and still sitting down and trying to knock in some extraterrestrial knowledge into this brain of mine which seemed to have shrunk radically during the utter waste-of-time excursions of the past 4-5 months. I haven't been to a SINGLE class for the past 5 months (as a result of the said good-for-nothing occupation) and now I am expected to sit for an exam with the help of a few scribbled notes photocopied from a friend! The past 4-5 months had passed in a daze, a sort of a daydream and here I am suddenly startled with the knowledge that I have to face an exam on things that I am completely alien to. How could it POSSIBLY any more perfect!
However, the past two weeks had been God's gift to me. I read voraciously, I wrote, rather typed like a woman possessed, I cooked and baked and reveled in the delicious baking aromas that send golden beams of homeliness radiating through a house and felt the soft gooey textures of dough as I mixed, folded and kneaded various breads which were things that I have never had had time to do (and missed doing) in a very long time. My doggies were overjoyed to pounce on me, bite and lick me all over while yelping happily as they used to and my dear, dear parents, The Darling, well, the time spent with them is definitely priced above everything else. Life is indeed beautiful if you did not have exams breathing down your neck.
Two students involved in FUTA died in a motorbike accident. Some say they were killed and there seems to be enough evidence to support that while the son of a certain minister has been declared to be qualified to hold the post of the Minister of Education post once he comes back from a one month (one week?) course in the USA. That is actually very true because any flea brained, uneducated moron is qualified to become the Education Minister of our country at the rate of which it is going. I feel lucky to have gotten out of the uni when I did. We seem to be the last batch ever to get out of a local uni, unperturbed. I am completely, utterly and blissfully politically ignorant but even those of us like me to whom this filthy game of politics is as elusive as that ephemeral rainbow at the other end of the world, the atrocities that go on in the country has become all too evident.
Thinking back on the death of the two students, its heartbreaking. Being a battered victim of that repulsive joke they call as university politics myself, we are well aware how certain political parties take advantage of the naivete of the students, specially those of who come from rural areas. They influence these poor students to rebel, picket and to harass innocent students in that abominable practice referred to as the rag who will in turn brainwash the coming generations the same way that they have been treated. Not that university administration is in anyway helpful. Over the years, we came to realize that walled up within those air conditioned offices of the university were the hell's very best in flesh, screeching banshees who will willingly tear out your intestines and bloodthirsty demons who will rip out your throat if a poor meek student dare ask a question. Its a vicious circle nevertheless. However, those who don't convert to the ridiculous system carried out within the majority student circle (which usually consists of terrifying newcomers to death, picking fights with other student groups, etc) will be harassed for the rest of their miserable university lives and be forced to live amongst various insults and torture, burning a pint or two of blood daily, exchanging burning words and twisting frowns with the fooled and delusional on a daily basis. Young minds are infinitely malleable and these filthy rotten scoundrels of politics know it very well. While these innocent creatures trapped within a colourful illusion lead in the front trenches of a bloody battle, taking every single blow, ruining their future and their education, the real leaders of this chaos seated amongst plush cushions behind the scenes in comfortable rooms, claim for themselves prestigious positions and other mercenary benefits. All the students will get are sleepless nights, bruises and wounds, fatal cuts, complete and utter ruin of their education on which their parents had spent the money they never had, sorrow to their loved ones and in this case, even death.
While all this is true and right, a human life is worth much much more than all the riches that a politician can horde in his entire life time. So if anyone really is responsible for these deaths, they deserve an extremely slow, prolonged maggot infested death with their eyes searing in a cauldron of hot oil. The country is rapidly going to the dogs with its authorities sucking out its very bone marrow like soulless parasites. Its citizens are now showing their true evil and selfish inherent nature me thinks, induced by the extreme conditions that they are put through each day in their lives. Sri Lanka is a beautiful country which does not deserve this abuse. It is a land with whole shiploads of potential which once upon a time was chockful of helpful, genuine people, a species that seem to be extinct these days. Smiles are rare in this country now while frowns and painful grimaces are in plenty, muddying the streets and sullying the souls of those who pass by. And thus the tragedy ensues .......
The fact of the matter is that I am not a quitter. I feel guilty quitting, no matter how hard it is and no matter how impossible something may seem, I still keep at it, even if it is excruciatingly painful and even though I grumble all the way. That in fact, is my vice. As a result, I am studying away, cursing the very inventors of this wretched subject, cursing the institution and in fact, cursing every Tom, Dick and Siripala responsible for this immaculate mess that I am in and still sitting down and trying to knock in some extraterrestrial knowledge into this brain of mine which seemed to have shrunk radically during the utter waste-of-time excursions of the past 4-5 months. I haven't been to a SINGLE class for the past 5 months (as a result of the said good-for-nothing occupation) and now I am expected to sit for an exam with the help of a few scribbled notes photocopied from a friend! The past 4-5 months had passed in a daze, a sort of a daydream and here I am suddenly startled with the knowledge that I have to face an exam on things that I am completely alien to. How could it POSSIBLY any more perfect!
However, the past two weeks had been God's gift to me. I read voraciously, I wrote, rather typed like a woman possessed, I cooked and baked and reveled in the delicious baking aromas that send golden beams of homeliness radiating through a house and felt the soft gooey textures of dough as I mixed, folded and kneaded various breads which were things that I have never had had time to do (and missed doing) in a very long time. My doggies were overjoyed to pounce on me, bite and lick me all over while yelping happily as they used to and my dear, dear parents, The Darling, well, the time spent with them is definitely priced above everything else. Life is indeed beautiful if you did not have exams breathing down your neck.
Two students involved in FUTA died in a motorbike accident. Some say they were killed and there seems to be enough evidence to support that while the son of a certain minister has been declared to be qualified to hold the post of the Minister of Education post once he comes back from a one month (one week?) course in the USA. That is actually very true because any flea brained, uneducated moron is qualified to become the Education Minister of our country at the rate of which it is going. I feel lucky to have gotten out of the uni when I did. We seem to be the last batch ever to get out of a local uni, unperturbed. I am completely, utterly and blissfully politically ignorant but even those of us like me to whom this filthy game of politics is as elusive as that ephemeral rainbow at the other end of the world, the atrocities that go on in the country has become all too evident.
Thinking back on the death of the two students, its heartbreaking. Being a battered victim of that repulsive joke they call as university politics myself, we are well aware how certain political parties take advantage of the naivete of the students, specially those of who come from rural areas. They influence these poor students to rebel, picket and to harass innocent students in that abominable practice referred to as the rag who will in turn brainwash the coming generations the same way that they have been treated. Not that university administration is in anyway helpful. Over the years, we came to realize that walled up within those air conditioned offices of the university were the hell's very best in flesh, screeching banshees who will willingly tear out your intestines and bloodthirsty demons who will rip out your throat if a poor meek student dare ask a question. Its a vicious circle nevertheless. However, those who don't convert to the ridiculous system carried out within the majority student circle (which usually consists of terrifying newcomers to death, picking fights with other student groups, etc) will be harassed for the rest of their miserable university lives and be forced to live amongst various insults and torture, burning a pint or two of blood daily, exchanging burning words and twisting frowns with the fooled and delusional on a daily basis. Young minds are infinitely malleable and these filthy rotten scoundrels of politics know it very well. While these innocent creatures trapped within a colourful illusion lead in the front trenches of a bloody battle, taking every single blow, ruining their future and their education, the real leaders of this chaos seated amongst plush cushions behind the scenes in comfortable rooms, claim for themselves prestigious positions and other mercenary benefits. All the students will get are sleepless nights, bruises and wounds, fatal cuts, complete and utter ruin of their education on which their parents had spent the money they never had, sorrow to their loved ones and in this case, even death.
While all this is true and right, a human life is worth much much more than all the riches that a politician can horde in his entire life time. So if anyone really is responsible for these deaths, they deserve an extremely slow, prolonged maggot infested death with their eyes searing in a cauldron of hot oil. The country is rapidly going to the dogs with its authorities sucking out its very bone marrow like soulless parasites. Its citizens are now showing their true evil and selfish inherent nature me thinks, induced by the extreme conditions that they are put through each day in their lives. Sri Lanka is a beautiful country which does not deserve this abuse. It is a land with whole shiploads of potential which once upon a time was chockful of helpful, genuine people, a species that seem to be extinct these days. Smiles are rare in this country now while frowns and painful grimaces are in plenty, muddying the streets and sullying the souls of those who pass by. And thus the tragedy ensues .......
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