Good bye 2013. Well Hellooooo 2014 ;)

2013 is almost at an end. Fire crackers are going off on all directions startling Frankie boy witless. There is festivity in the air nevertheles, Mother Dearest is all set with the little clay pot of milk to be boiled at midnight today. Tradition.

Took the day off today, spent half the day on the balcony and half the day in Mother Dearest's beautiful garden reading, Frankie boy nuzzling by my side. Felt good. Felt peaceful. There is no other way that I would have liked to spend the last day of 2013.   

Looking back, it was a good year. It was a neutral year, it was a bad year, all in all, a balanced year. An year of awakenings, disappointments, accomplishments. An year of new beginings, hope and new revelations. And here's to hoping that those beginings would bear copious fruit and other  new beginings would form in the coming year.

But who's to say that you need a new year for new beginings?

2014 dawns just like another year. The only thing that is of significance to me about it is that my leave cycle gets reset and I shall have more leave to take! :P  

2013 has also been an year of letting go. That is letting go in a positive sense, being carefree, letting go of worries and burdens that no longer serve me. I am determined to leave my baggage in 2013 and step onto 2014 as a light traveller.

Here's to travelling light, taking each day as it comes and standing up to new challenges. Here's to expanding horizons and grabbing a bit of knowledge whereever and whenever possible. Here's to being the best that I can be, for myself and for others.

Here's to a simple and grounded life. Here's to a life that will serve a purpose to the world and people living in it.

Here's to 2014. Whether it is just hanging up a new calendar on the wall or welcoming the New Year with fireworks, wild partying and getting wasted till dawn, it is still 2014.

Note to self - Get used to the digits. Else I'l be marking the date as 2013 till mid next year. Its funny isn't it? When finally you get used to the digits, its already the next year!

Happy New Year you beautiful people. May it be the best year of your lives yet! :)   

December

The sun is extra golden and the winds are crisp, cool and colourful. Is it Christmas or is it just December doing its thing?

What feels absolutely right at the moment is whipping up one of my weird combo cakes, pushing it into the oven & cuddling up on a couch to watch A Christmas Carol while it bakes, letting the smell of happiness and festivity waft right through the house. Such a beautiful feeling.

What I've realized of late is that I often associate happiness with food. Maybe its because a steaming stove and brightly lit windows of a house, for me, is the sign of a warm and happy, homely homestead. Or maybe, food just makes me happy. Oh I dunno. 

Tomorrow being a holday (yeey!) there is no feeling of lingering doom and gloom that is usually related to Sunday mornings. The plan for today is simple; eat, drink and chillax. Oh and do some grocery shopping. Just in case I'm hit with a bout of baking.

I'm writing at a rate. Certain things have become clearer to me since of late. Its frightening and refreshing when these things hit you, like the unexpected December rain. I suppose you go through life in a daze and suddenly, lo and behold, one beautiful sunny day you wake up. And you are startled by the reality that stares at your face. And you are not satisfied until you've done something about it.

Speaking of rain, the sky has suddenly clouded up. I suppose it'l rain soon. Bummer.

Does life consist of anything else rather than just fighting for survival? All that I hear these days is people running around looking for jobs that bring in the most amount of cash. What about an occupation that makes you happy? Does happiness count ANYWHERE in this weird equation that people have made out to be their life?

Maybe I have way too many ideals than are good for me. 

I have a dream. I don't know if its possible and most probably, its way too far fetched, but I'm glad I have a dream. And there's this certain restlessness associated with it. If this is madness, I'm glad that I'm mad. Its good to be able to wake up sometime, rather than being asleep your entire life.

And now that I'm awake, its time to get busy. With life.

Resolutions

New resolution. I will try to get at least 7 1/2hrs sleep every day.

Not that I have any trouble falling asleep, oh no. In fact quite the contrary. I can sweetly sleep standing, anytime, anywhere. Its just that bed times are a wee bit sketchy for me and me being the night creature that I am, fond of the night as bats are of ripe jackfruit, end up not getting much of sleep.

And yes, its reflecting on me methinks. I am having occasional memory lapses. Maybe its my selective memory (yes, I'm blessed with the ability to completely delete unnecessary memories) but Darling thinks that I should get more sleep. Hence the resolution.

Besides, it'l be good for me, who knows. Maybe I'l be less eratic & random. Well, there's always wishful thinking.

Been thinking quite a lot lately.

I would like to take an entire week off and just read. Just get lost within words, relax, put my feet up and just be so blissfully lost. No obligations, no commitments, no duties nor responsibilities. I'd just like to, be.

To read, to write, to cook & bake, spend time with the loved ones, listen to good music. Life is wasted on zilch these days. And life is just too precious to be wasted on nothing.

There's just so much of things that I want to do and I'm worried that I may not have enough time to do all that. Then I figured, I could just be a vampire. I'l have all the time in the world!

I'l bite all the people I love and turn them into vampires too. Then we will live happily everafter.

Oh and I also decided to take my baking to the next level. Figured as baking is something that I'l always love doing, why not put the stuff that I bake out there and get some feedback. What's more, if I happen to make any cash out of it at all, I can invest all of that in ingredients (ingredients are bloody expensive these days and was the major driving force for this project) and experiment more. MORE quality time burning my fingers! Having grown up with a health freak mother, I too hav grown used to a certain way of eating - No artificial colours, flavours or preservatives, just go natural and healthy. I guess with the amount of toxins in the environment these days, the best we can do is not consciously consume toxins, eh?

Time to get off my butt and do something worthwhile. It's now or never.

Grumble, grumble..........grumble

So what exactly is bothering me these days?

I've got a pain in my neck, quite literally. I have no idea what happened but it hurts so horribly that I find it hard to walk sometimes. So no sudden movements for me these days.

CHOGM. Traffic. Its well past 7.30 when I get home these days and well past 8 when I get to work each day.

George R.R Martin hasn't still finished the 6th book of A Song of Ice and Fire. 

Alright, I'l confess to my incurable addiction to the Game of Thrones series. I'm so unashamedly obsessed! So much so, that after finishing a Dance with Dragons, I actually miss the characters quite badly. When I read something else, (I started on a Neil Gaieman book immediately afterwards), it feels quite empty. I think I'm having a book hangover. Or that period of utter devastation, doom and gloom after a book breakup. If ever there was such a thing.

The obsession started way before anyone had ever heard of Game of Thrones when the first book was only just out. I happened to stumble on it through a friend, (way back around 2000), was quite carried away with it and went about upturning bookshops for other books of the series like a woman deranged but to no avail. After a while the craze died down and then came the TV series after which it got too mainstream and I lost interest altogether. It was at the Colombo bookfair this time that I saw all 5 books together that I thought to myself, hmmm....might as well try reading it this time since it all there. And then, I was hooked with no escape, no way of turning back. And now, I can't believe that I'm waiting for the author to finish his next book!

Haiyo :( 

I also want to start on food again. Cooking and baking being an ardent passion, I want to spend more time on it, trying out, creating and experimenting. Cooking always makes me feel like a mad scientist going berserk in his crazy lab. Its a good feeling :)

In the meantime, I started a food blog. Here's the link.
http://foodsterous.blogspot.com/

Also, the Darling wants to do a short film. Well, two actually and we are short of one actress. So finding one is on the cards as well. 

Anyways, right now I want

1. My neck to stop hurting.
2. George R.R to finish his book.
3. My neck to stop hurting.
4. Traffic to cease existing.
5. An actress for one of our shorts.
6. CHOGM week to be declared public holidays.
7. My neck to stop hurting.
8. Jerome de Silva to do Phantom of the Opera here (Omg! *swoon*)
9. To start something based on cooking.
10. My neck to stop hurting.

Yeah well, its not fun when the simple task of angling your head a few degrees makes you cringe with dread. 

Anyways, I'm off to bed. Hoping against hope that my neck would be alright tomorrow. I'd like to turn my head without looking like a joint-locked robot low on battery life thank you! So annoying :/

Aiyoo CHOGM!

Hours and hours and HOURS stuck in traffic with dust, grime & pollution flying at your face after a hard day at work. Not fun.

Hours and hours and HOURS in the sweltering heat. We have no air conditioned pajeros nor defenders full of white clad bodyguards to shoo other vehicles out of the way so that we can get home quickly.

The government is on a rather violent mission of beautifying Colombo which at the moment consists of ripping up and tearing down pretty much everything in sight. Roads dug up, pavements drilled open, Colombo beautified and us, mystified. We might just be the miracle of Asia after all, for being a city that was built over the period of mere two months.

Oh well, once in a while they have to show the world where all the tax money, loans taken & donations received are going I guess.  

The point being all the drilling, tearing and ripping has made life uncomfortable for all of us, making the already congested traffic of the city even more unbearable. Just the other day, we were stuck in one spot for 40mins without the vehicles moving one inch and it has been the case for the past two weeks or so. I wouldn't want to be dying during this period of time. By the time the ambulence reaches the hospital, my corpse would be crawling with maggots!

What's more, any sort of protests, rallies and the likes are banned in the country during this period as well. Ah well..... 

The Katunayake Expressway would soon be open though. However, the end of the expressway being extremely narrow, traffic from all sides will be flocking at one spot making it near impossible to move. This is the case even now without the expressway being open, the entrance to Colombo from Peliyagoda on to the bridge which used to be somewhat wide is narrowed down to make way for the expressway. Going to work in the morning is a nightmare as it is. Just thinking about how it will be when the expressway opens makes me shudder with fear.

Talk is that the whole of Colombo will be in a sort of a lock down during the entirety of the event. The place will be crawling with delegates and their entourage, not to mention the batallions of security guards on tow. There is even talk of the delegates' own Rolls Royces being brought down. Now Sri Lanka is a small place and Colombo is even smaller with everything congested in a tiny space. Hell, I'm not sure if the Colombo streets are wide enough for a Rolls Royce to reverse!

Now wouldn't it be fun if we gave the delegates their very own official tuk tuk to ride around? The best way to explore Colombo is by tuk, everybody knows that. So why not give the delegates an authentic Sri Lankan experience? We could vamp em up with deco of course. We could stick the national flag of each delegate's country at the front of the Tuk. And Prince Charle's tuk tuk could have a fluffy crown on top of that with frilly fur lined curtains and all that. Fun!

All jokes aside, getting around Colombo during that period is not going to be fun. Lots of roads are going to be closed and almost all of Colombo's leading hotels and their environs are going to be quarantined, making me wonder how in the world are us common folk going to get to work. Whatever roads that are left will be congested with traffic and Colombo will be groaning like a man with constipation in the loo in the morning. Its going to be as painful as well. Colombo is a small place and makes me wonder, do we really have room to occupy all this?

Meanwhile the authorities are doing their best to distract the people from their painful lives, made even painful by the absurd measures taken to "beautify" Colombo by painting these rather glittery and grandiose pictures of CHOGM through media. Well, some people may be appeased and even excited but I sure as hell don't give a flea's tiny behind about CHOGM when I'm stuck in traffic for a good 3 and 1/2 hours, sweating like a grissly bear in a sauna, falling asleep and waking up every 5 mins in fits and starters only to find my legs badly cramped and whole body numb in the stuffy old staff vehicle.

And it'l only get worse from there. I sure hope that the authorities will do something about this since getting to work during that particular week is going to be practically impossible what with the roads being closed, certain areas completely closed off, security, traffic and etc. The only possible solution to me seems like a week of holidays for people who work in the Colombo area. People have already gone through a lot. I don't think anyone would appreciate spending further time on the road and getting harassed by security personnel on top of all this "beautifying" inconvenience.

Anyways, the Lady is rather disgruntled. Tired and fed up of the traffic, the dust, the grime and the traffic. Hopefully they will find a solution soon. 

No country for locals

The long weekend is coming up and there we were running around looking for a good place to wile away our time. But what d'ya know, it does seem like most hotels in Sri Lanka are not available to locals!

A certain "villa" in the Bentota area being one and several properties in Galle area, most being within the fort and named after words in the same lexicon as "fort" being the culprits of this gross discrimination. Speechless is the sentiment and comment-unworthy being the word of the day. These hotels are not even worth the mention.  

And when did the official currency of Sri Lanka become US Dollars? Every hotel that was inquired after would give their rates in US Dollars. Even when you've convinced them that you are a local and that you would like the local rates please, thank you. Rupees seem the forbidden word. It is a word that one is ashamed of even to speak!

Anyways, what is it with white skin and Sri Lankans? Walk into a restaurant and you would see everyone from the waiters to the management bending over backwards to serenade the white skins with their pitiable smiles and pathetically entreating words. Its almost painful to watch sometimes, the local staff embarassing themselves thus. The locals are attended to last, after all the foreigners had been preened and pampered. Some even dare to give airs and intimidating looks if a local dares ask a question or makes a comment while feigning utter indifference. I don't think anyone would notice if a local choked on his food and died in such a place!

I've never quite grasped the concept of "no locals please" in hotels and restaurants. True, certain locals do have very disgusting and destructive habits but so do a good part of foreigners. Certain foreigners have been known to make roti on their irons, boil vegetables in their electric kettles, burn room carpets doing one bizarre thing or the other and even cook chicken curries to eat with bread in their rooms for Gods sake! And somebody was saying that locals were bad? Please enlighten me if anyone has any idea why this should be so.

There is no place for Sri Lankans abroad and now, there is no place for Sri Lankans in their own country. While foreigners are entitled to our land, our beaches, our shores and our forests, us tax paying citizens must content ourselves stuck at home on our hard earned holidays. The best part is, it is the locals themselves who thus discriminate their own kind. Born and raised on this land, having become who they are, having earned what they have earned from its people, whoring away to the foreign while shunning their own kind is just beyond low. Disgusting really.

Well, Hitler himself was a Jew they say.

If anyone wants to be a true patriot and speak up against such hypocritical local businessmen, this is the time and the opportunity. I'd like to see the Facebook patriots of the country speaking up against this kind of discrimination and unfairness rather than going around posting valiant, tear-wrenchingly patriotic statements on social media, smashing No Limits, banning halal and hurling rotten eggs at whoever frequents shops that belong to individuals of certain ethnicities.

Meantime, if I ever happen to raise any children in this country, I plan to bleach their skins white and dye their hair blonde, just to get the waiters to notice them at restaurants and be allowed access to a nice local resort for their holidays. After all, a mother would want her children to be recognized and to be treated with respect.        

Missing the theatrics :(

For the first time in the past oh I dunno, 10 years (?), I'm missing a Jerome de Silva play.

Jesus Christ Superstar is at full swing at the Lionel Wendt till the 13th October. I've never been one to go purchase tickets before the actual day. Although always houseful, I've always been able to get good seats at Jerome's plays as there had always been one or two front seats available even on the very evening of the shows, so I had never bothered. However, I went to get tickets mid week last week just in case and also because of all the buzz [cue - "What's the buzz, tell me what's-a-happening...." :P ] created by it so far. Only to find out that ALL the good seats and most of the not-so-good seats were gone, and that too even when I've gone well before the show to get the tickets! I was rendered speechless. You can just imagine the disappointment.  

ALL the seats at the front, the best seats in the house, on ALL days had been marked off with a big fat C. When asked, I was told that they were sponsor tickets and that they had been reserved. Well, I'd understand the reservation of the front rows for a show or two, but reserving the front seats for sponsors on ALL days? What about folk like us who enjoy front row views too? Do we not deserve it? How unfair! Its heartbreaking.

And why do I want good seats? Why can't I stop my whining and get my sweet derriere on the balcony and see the play? See, I like theatre for the same reason that I like live music. Because it is life itself unfolding before your eyes. And nothing compares to the experience of theatre from a front row. There are no boundaries, no blobs of heads, no oohs and aahs from the audience separating you from the drama. You are living it with the actors, you are in there, you are connected. You hear every word, every gasp and whisper and see the slightest flicker and flinch in the characters' eyes. These are important things, these make you feel alive. 

So yes, its always been either good seats or no seats at all. And yes, I'm picky like that.

I've always had a fascination for Andrew Lloyd Webber's musicals. Combine his music with the craft of a brilliant director like Jerome and you've got a golden child. Although Jesus Christ Super Star is not my favourite of Webber's work, I was very excited when I first heard Jerome is staging it here in SL and was quite looking forward to singing along with the play (as nerdy as it sounds, I'm quite capable of singing along with most of the songs). Besides I was interested in how Jerome was going to pull it off with a local cast, knowing the man's various talents and abilities in choosing just the right people and just the right moves and incorporating the two seamlessly. Well, guess I'm not going to be able to see him really kill it this time. Sigh.................

And Jerome...well he brings Broadway to us Lankan folk. Not all of us are fortunate enough to go to Broadway you see. And Jerome does his best, and does a damn good job of it too. I've been hearing good things about the show so far but I'm glad that I didn't settle for a backrow seat cz there had been concerns where the people sitting towards the back couldn't quite make out the vocals. Well, till I get to see the actual Broadway show one day, I shall retreat with my head hung low. Until then I shall try and comfort myself revisiting an old recorded version of the Broadway play that I have in my collection somewhere. If I can still find it that is. Sigh.............. Quite sad. Very sad :(      

Book Fair - Sights, Sounds & Repurcusions

47 books, aching limbs, a gaping hole in the wallet and a full and singing heart. These are the repurcussions.

Trudging around the bookfair with so may books hanging on my arms. I feel biceps & triceps coming up on my arms already. 

Sights, sounds and not to mention the smells, well there are many.

Overcrowded beyond belief, its fair to assume that even less than 50% of the people who attend actually read. Apart from the people who actually read, people who attend the book fair belong to several general catogories. I shall list them down, for your general understanding;

1. The entourage - Parents, uncles, aunties, cousins, great uncles & great aunties who accompany a single kid who is there to buy a single book. And that too an O/L exam papers book.

2. The party-goers - Where there's something happening, they are there! Doesn't matter whether its a book fair, geek meet or a funeral, if its famous, they want to be there. Usually seen sitting under a tree, slurping on a cup of maggie noodles or eating elephant house ice cream while chatting to one another quite loudly. 

3. Romeos - These are genuine romantics, searching for their soulmates amongst the sweaty frantic crowds who hussle about in the heat. Generally, they do not have any interest in books. Unless a girl is holding it.

4. Don Juans - Well, rather aggressive & creepy Don Juans and not even an ounce as good looking. They creep up to you, whispering foul somethings in your ear and try to get a cop up. They do not have ANY interest in books. Even if a girl is holding one. Unless she is holding it by her boobs.

5. Pseudo-intellectuals - Thinks being seen at the book fair makes them seem intelligent. Usually seen wearing artsy cotton garb, reaching for the biggest and the heaviest looking books on the shelves. Holding it for a few seconds, release on to the shelf. Hold & release. Hold & release. Repeat until noticed. 

...........and the list goes on.

While it is great to see the crowd's enthusiasm in the bookfair, its heartbreaking that those who are actually there for the books have no way of browsing at leisure and making purchases because of the throngs. There should be some kind of a control, maybe a higher priced entrance ticket (Rs 100-200 maybe?) that can be redeemed at any stall when purchasing books from there? I think that should keep the unwanted crowd (ones whose purpose in coming there are not books) at bay.

Sounds - Women yapping away blocking the isles, gossiping about this one and that, teenagers squealing over the 50 shades of crap or quarelling over the last copy of the New Moon, lovers' quarrels, mothers/aunts/uncles on phones to their children/nieces/nephews informing that they are at the bookfair and inquiring whether there was anything they needed, sound of falling books, flipping pages, ah this is hardly a quiet place.

Smells - Sweat, strong perfumes, popcorn, mixture of perfume & sweat, hotdogs, maggi noodles overpowering the smell of new books and the refreshing scent of new pages being flipped which wafts by to the delight of your nose every once in a while.

Anyhow, it was shocking to see how the prices of books have gone up over the last year. And the discounts were a joke. Expographics played the foulest methinks, with an alleged 10% "discount". There, I heaped my arms up with books and took it to the counter.No discount was given to the said books and when asked, I was told that the prices marked were after the discount has been given. I was furious as the prices, or rather the "discounted prices" were much higher than the prices offered elsewhere, but there was nothing to be done as the books have already been billed. Well, that is the LAST time that Expographics will see me. 

Anyways, bookfair should introduce shopping carts. Otherwise, a few more years of trudging around with books hanging off every limb, I'm sure we will turn into brown versions of the Incedible Hulk pretty darn soon.

I'm sure in a couple more years, reading will be a rich man's hobby and a poor man's luxury. Pity really. Coz rich men are usually not really interested in or don't really have much time for reading.

 The post is long due, but better late than never they say. Its the weekend and I'm determined to milk it to the max. Saturday morning. I'm buried in books, my rooms a mess and me, a happy, happy girl. Life is good :)

Happy Girl

Heading towards the bookfair tomorrow. Can hardly contain myself!!!

Yesterday the vehicle queue was SO bad that I was forced to back down and retreat from the BMICH entrance, knowing that if getting in was THIS hard, getting a peek at the books even sideways wouldn't be an option. Unless there were more vehicles than there were people. Which seems to be the case in the country these days anyway.

It was with some effort that I controlled myself today. The desire to head that way was so great that I found it hard to stay still. Something is very wrong with me when it comes to books (not that I'm alright otherwise). The mere thought of books turns my knees into butter and my heart flutters a hundred million times. Could this be love? 

Well, I've realized of late that I'm a very happy girl. Love, support and warmth surround me in the form of a loving, doting family and a lover/partner in crime with a beautiful soul who are the pillars on which I build my world. I take every day as it comes, accepting, adopting, adapting which is easy when I have the pillars on which to lean on, for I know that this is solid ground. With such pillars, who gives a flying rat's tiny flea about other stuff? Money, career, future and the rest are just que sera sera.

I am one of the very few who found solid footing on firm hard land whereas many others are deceived by the debris that float their way, mistake it for reliable ground and drown in the process of trying to stand upon it. I on the other hand am either blessed or just wise in that sense.

Live life carefree. Make the ones that matter to you happy which in turn will bring a smile to your own face. Help when you can, who you can, the act of which will make you glow from the inside. Its living that matters. Not hoarding, not wanting more and more.

Well I thought I'd take some time to thank the universe for my many blessings for a change. Grouching, complaining, whining and grumbling can continue from tomorrow onwards.

But for today, I am a very happy girl.

And book fairrrr!! Half day tomorrow and hopefully the after lunch time slot will be relatively peaceful. EXCITED!!  :D

Book Fairrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!

The book fair is right around the corner and I JUST CANNOT WAIT!

Halls and halls of, stalls and stalls of, rows and rows of books! Sigh.......... Bliss! :)

Wandering through the alleyways flanked left right and centre with books, air perfumed with that special smell unique to those entire worlds trapped between pages, once you enter these halls you at once feel dizzy with the possibilities that lay bare right before you. Should you charge head on like a bull on to this world or tread delicately, savouring every step, every breath taken in this overwhelming atmosphere, you are confused. Which way to look, which way to turn, simple gestures and sense of direction all become muddled in your head, because you want it all! You want to devour it all in one single gulp! But as your impatience rightly whispers in your ear, you just cannot do so.

One trip to the car after the other, just dumping my loot in the boot of the vehicle, securing the goods only to shimmy right back into the lair for some more. Emerging arms, elbows and bags full of goodies. Sigh..... I am insatiable.

Going home is always a treat. Heading homewards while in your head, there is a mound of yummylicious goodies to be devoured in the backseat that you just cannot wait to caress, to smell and to flip through. The feeling is exhilerating. 

I know from experience, that September is not a good month for my wallet. But it IS  a good month for my face. I go cross eyed from looking at all those books, neck croocked from trying to read the bookspines at an angle, and my face muscles are permanently stretched in a goofy smile. Well, can't complain. Good facial exercise I'd say.

14th being a Saturday, I think I should probably head that way on that immediate Monday  to avoid the crowds. The worst day to visit the book fair is on its starting day. The following day doesn't do much to help either. Monday would probably be the best, the third day being a work day and cozily in the middle. I guess a leave is due. Or a half day. Probably.

Went for my first Poetry P'lau today. A very pleasant experience. Good poetry, good conversation, not to mention really awesome coffee. I dare say there is a big chance that I would be heading that way the next time too.

Its late and I've just finished my second cup of tea for the night. Sleep is no where near, however a book is near that demands attention. Therefore, I shalt now to my book!     

Ordinary

Simple people with simple needs. Go to school, find some work, earn, find a boy/girl with promising prospects, get married in a wedding that you cannot afford, build a house, get a car, make kids, force them into the same dreary rat race, get into debt in doing so, go partying, etc, etc. How very ordinary. It depresses me.  

The more I associate people, the more I realize how very primal we all are.

The majority just survive because they are born. And to survive we need to eat and have a roof over our heads, and we need money to buy those bare essentials. Hence we earn. In order to earn, you need an education (as per popular belief) and hence, school. In the meantime, the market has created wants that have amplified and modified our needs and hence the need to earn more to satiate the more complex wants. And thus the circle continues. And thus, the ordinary ensues.   

I sometimes wonder, are they really happy? When they lie in bed at night reminiscing of the day's events, are they really satisfied? Or are they too tired to think at all?

So this is how the ordinary life goes. You wake up in the morning and while half asleep, you are automatically steered to put on whatever your hand grabs and make your way to work, out of habit and almost in a trance. You come home brain dead, a mere zombie, ready to gobble up some dinner and fall into bed, only to repeat the same proceedure the next day. Weekends are for creating the illusion that you do in fact, have a life. Time is spent "hanging out" with "friends" taking pictures for uploading on social media, smiley faces, food and drinks. Some take pride in drinking oneself to oblivion with whoever wherever, convinced that they are indeed, living "the life". Thus is the ordinary, albeit the empty life. 

But ordinary is what is accepted, ordinary is what is condoned. Anything out of the ordinary is shunned. Blasphemy, sacrilege!

And I also realize that sitting here writing about it doesn't help either. Everybody talks, everybody writes, publishes passionate statements on their respective social media profiles. But how many are indeed willing to act on their words? A very precious few. 

 I've come to realize that people just want something to occupy themselves with, something to live for. Sad part is that they choose to occupy themselves with their respective careers, making it their whole lives. Without this they feel that they are nothing, which is why a career is so important to a person, some even sacrificing their personal lives for that. Its tragic that people don't recognize this restlessness with the need to have a purpose in life, something worthwhile doing other than just piling up money and power.

But then again, money and power can be helpful when creating that worthwhile cause at which you can look back and smile. Aie, aie, aie! There's no getting out of this, is there, this morbid cycle of cause, purpose and life! 

I'm convinced that I don't want ordinary.

An excerpt - Novel in the writing

 From the still very much under construction novel of mine. Only God and not even my disconcerted mind knows when it will be ready for publication. Until then, an excerpt. Written, on my way to work.

"This is a strange and a colourful land, its hues muted under so much muck and grime. Its people, much like its earth beneath its many layers of the concrete of westernization, modernization, zombification are moist and fertile. And much like the earth, if left untended, they grow wild and unruly with weed or just lie barren, tasteless, insipid. The best of its women are earthy and subdued. And motherly, caring, nurturing while being passionate and fiercely loyal. The rest, consumed by vanity, a plague brought on by modernization and the insistence of the modern world that the beauty of the exterior is more crucial than the interior, are just floating in the wind. Neither here nor there, life is one of convenience to them, love - a matter of practicalities. The true tragedy however, is the fact that they are quite content with what they have come to be today.

I am of the opinion that concrete throttles. The landscape is being throttled under concrete roads, plants and shrubs being controlled by concrete pavings, and grass being replaced by concrete pavements. The trees are trained in how to grow and where to grow. We train them, these century old trees which had been there, centuries before our very existence, how to be in the background, not on the foreground where they truly belong. We train which branches should be grown and in which direction and to which extent. Trees which do not adhere are either chopped off or simply, uprooted, torn off from the ground that they know best. Same as the people of this land. We are potted plants.

True, order is neat and beautiful, but so are the rows or Nazi soldiers walking together in their little killing pods. Disasterous.

Why has it become so very difficult to make friends these days? I suppose, as we grow and as we get burnt over and over again, we become more cautious about who we choose to let inside our lives. And for valid reasons too. I sense the resistance inside, I sense the reluctance. Smiling at a stranger has become oh, so difficult. In our childhood, a mere smile brings us together and we swear lifelong friendship to each other within a matter of minutes. But now, things are different. I suppose we have understood that while acquaintances can be many, friends can be less than a handful. All most people have is curiosity, they have no friendship to offer. And the times that the ones who you have accepted as friends and let into your life have turned around and lied to you, bit you back, hurting you in the process has been countless. And damned be us if we trip over the same stone twice. I suppose all these factors and more have made us more cautious. We are careful about who we let in.

And a simple fact. One cannot befriend potted plants."

Jam paan and other stories

I had jam paan today.

Nostalgic food. Brings a smile to my face everytime.

The last time I had jam paan, I must have been about 6 years old. Jam paan those days were these weirdly shaped coarse buns (to be quite honest, they looked like oddly shaped feet to me) filled with these chemical tasting red coloured jam (that awfully synthetic melon-strawberry jam) which sort of reminded me of cough syrup. I didn't like it much those days but today, my colleagues and fellow foodies at work were talking of getting kimbula banis (croissants Sri Lankan style) that I suddenly got reminded of jam paan. So that's the story of how I got to gobble down jam paan today. 

So after about 20 years today, I had a jam paan. Well, half of it to be honest as I couldn't finish one whole. I had expected the size of the jam paan to have gone down with our shrinking economy but apparently it hadn't affected the size of the jam paan as much as I had thought it would. But it had definitely affected the amount of jam that went into the paan. The jam to paan ratio was just sad. There was an awful amount of paan but a tiny amount of jam inside.

However, the bread was much softer, much delectable. There was sugar sprinkled on top which made the experience all the more nicer. The taste of the jam had changed too over the years. It didn't have the strong, chemicallish taste that it used to have before. And the jam paan somehow didn't look like a gnarled foot anymore. It was scalloped but more neatly so. It was jam paan nevertheless. We may have learnt to make bread from the Dutch but regular bakery delicasies such as Kimbula Banis, jam paan and the like - essentially Sri Lankan.  

Its Thursday and all my bones are aching for Friday evening already. I was thinking, maybe I should get into politics. Easy money that is, and any idiot can do it I guess. You just need to suck up to the right people and you are sorted. Oh, but extra malleable backbone needed to bend over backwards for them as well. I don't have that. My backbone is very stiff, too stiff at times, so stiff in fact that its hurting right now. Which reminds me of the dream.....

I dreamt that I was moving houses last night. I lifted large boxes here and there, of course, in my dream. Woke up with this terrible back pain that sent stars shooting through my head. Still has dregs of the pain and I can't quite move around freely. I must remember not to lift any heavy boxes tonight in my dreams.

Anyways, weekend approacheth! Friday tomorrow and looking forward to sleeping in late on Saturdayyyyyyyyyyy! Oh sleep! How I have missed thee! <3 nbsp="">

Why one should not try to quench one's bloodlust on civilians thirsting for clean water

Ok so I'm confused. Who exactly is our secretary of Defense? Gnanasara or Gotabaya?

Coz apparently it was the BBS (Bulshit Blaring Squad) Secretary Galagodaaththe Gnanasara who had ordered the attack against civilians of Weliweriya who had assembled together for the justifiable cause of obtaining clean water. So whos more powerful? Gnanasara or Gotabaya?

Oh wait.....has it been Gnanasara all along who had been responsible for the quelling of the LTTE terrorists and ridding the country of bloodshed and decade long terror? Is it Gnanasara who's responsible for the lovely ciy building projects that are going on still? Has it been Gnanasara all along who had been overlooking the defense ministry functions, thereby ensuring the security of the country? Was it that Gotabaya Rajapaksa had only been a figure head all along? My God! So this nonsensical "monk" who's been going around blabbering silly things had been doing something useful after all! Other than preaching Sinhala women how many kids to have and boycotting against contraception and halal food that is. That was very useful. *Saluts* 

Anyways,

3 are dead, out of which 2 are school children, aged 17 and 18, one of whom was due to sit for his A/Ls today. Shot to death they say. 

And then they said on the news that these people had died not from being shot but from being hit by stones. Where in the name of Kos, Del, Polos were these sling shot veterans during the war, equipped with enough skill to drive a stone through a human chest leaving only a tiny wound bearing an uncanny resemblance to a gunshot wound?? We could have saved a fortune on firearms and bullets with such stone slinging excellence in civilians if occupied during the war!

Anyways, makes one wonder. Why would children of such a tender age even paticipate at such a protest? Was it because eventhough they were mere children, they understood the gravity of the situation and because of the sheer arduousness of the situation decided to participate in the demonstration? Or has there been foul play where the civilians had been attacked at their homes, with the troops raiding houses like rabid dogs on a blood trail? Makes one wonder indeed. 

A factory belonging to the Hayleys Group of companies had been the culprit of dumping toxic waste into common waterways, thereby contaminating the water causing sickness and discomfort to many in the area. We see people that are known to us suffering with abominable rashes on their skin while many have had stomach problems and god knows what other havoc this chemical waste is causing within their systems. But has action been taken against the company in question? Has action been taken to relieve the ailing civilians? No. 

And then we come to the troops. Our sacred troops for whom these very civilians had performed Bodhi pooja, donated blood and prayed for the safety during the war. 

Eye witnesses say that it was with much excitement and enthusiasm that they participated in the quelling of the civilians. No questions had been asked and while much hooting and excited victory calls had been heard while they bashed and thrashed the civilians on their quest for obtaining clean water. There had even been reports where civilians who had fleed to a nearby church for protection had been made to kneel on the ground and been struck with rifle butts. Churches are holy grounds which had been considered as sanctuaries even during the World Wars. 

Blood lust. Whether the war had altered their minds or whether they joined the army to quench their blood lust, we will never know. 

Oh and the latest opinion presented is that these civilians were being led by terrorist groups or NGO's with the aim of toppling the government. May even be foreign conspiracy for all we know. Dearest darling government, not everything is about you, you know. These people wanted water, to drink to use in their day to day work. Toppling the government must have been the last thing on their mind as they set out on their quest that day. 

So instead of trying to cover the bloodspots on their hands by blaming these people, how about at least TRYING to help this time?  

 Nevertheless,

When we are small and we have been caught doing something wrong, we hid behind our mothers' skirts, hoping that we are invisible or that our mother will save us. My point being, we are all old enough to accept responsibility for our actions without hiding behind the robe. Shame on you!   
   
While all this is going on, there really ARE monetary minded NGO's, opposition parties and other opportunistic groups trying to reap benefits out of the situationas well. While trying to get to the bottom of this, one must keep an open mind and be aware of such groups too who are trying to ignite the situation. 

Let us hope, for everybody's sake that the situation gets resolved soon. May those innocent civilians get clean water, may light be shed upon the situation, may the culprits responsible be punished for their sins and may those poor children attain nibbana. 

And also, being a Buddhist myself, I strongly believe that monks belong in the temple, guiding their followers down a spiritual path, not on the streets lusting for blood. If one can't bother doing that, one can always meditate and try to attain some sort of spiritual plain. The idea is to practice compassion, not violence. Its people like this who give Buddhism, the greatest philosophy of all ever preached a bad name.






  

Inspired - In a tuk tuk

Written in a tuk tuk -

It is a truth universally acknowledged that tuk tuks are the bane of every driver's life. They wriggle their way through anything, come rain or shine, they wriggle, wriggle wriggle, a puff of smoke, a high pitched honk and they are gone, just like that. They scratch the body of your hard earned vehicle, knock the side mirrors off, stop abruptly, turn as they wish, cut in front of you, at the side of you, just behind you, etc, setting your nerves on fire while controlling yourself from getting out of the vehicle and boxing their ears good seems practically impossible.

But at times of extreme traffic one is simply driven to depend on this amazing wriggling power of these micro vehicles. The way they squeeze in between vehicles and just slide through the entire honking mess defies all kinds of physics ever known to the mankind. They know the shadiest routes, the seediest joints and they know the best bargains in town. They are well updated on traffic patterns and some even have their own little traffic networks to inform them of their traffic. They are quick to fling their arms around and curse but they are as innocent as milk sucking toddlers in front of policemen. Whatever said and done, they will get you to places in time, every time.

Great plastic grapevines hang from their dashboards while twinkling lights blink in this crazy pattern of dance, sometimes to the rhythm of the blaring music player, keeping time with the many potholes that the driver drops the tuk in. Cherubic toddlers and the like stare at you from the tin walls sometimes creeping you out. They do what they can, to make their little modest palaces on three wheels as attractive as possible.

These people are often philosophical and most of the time quirky with a blatant smartass streak. They are convinced that "Che Guevara want you to rebel" and I've never really figured out this obsession with Che or Bob Marley. Sometimes they offer advise while othertimes they just lather their attitude on you rather generously. The many quotes and anecdotes found all over these mini vehicles deserve a different post altogether. Its something to look forward to while on the streets and I think all other vehicles should follow their example and plaster some words of wisdom on their vehicle bodies as well. I mean honestly, its all paint and polish out there with just the tuk tuks providing all the entertainment. How very drab!

Anyways, the point being, I like tuk tuks. They are there for you in good and bad times and will take you wherever you want to go, down the narrowest alleyways and across the seediest neighbourhoods. These bumpy rides end up being quite enlightning (perhaps as a result of the brain being jiggled up and down everytime it falls into a pothole) at the same time giving you backpain (in the process of the brain being jiggled, your spinal code gets jiggled up too). Nevertheless, Viva Las tuk tuks! May you transport us, bth physically and mentally for many many years to come!  

RandomS

I think policemen in rain coats are pretty hot. Not the black ones, the khaki ones that assentuate the figure.Well, don't look at me like that. I'm just a teeny bit weird I guess.

To make myself clearer, personally I'm not a huge fan of the police. Can't stand the lot in fact. But this.....is a random thing that just struck me the other day. Oh well...........

What's the deal with bra straps? Someone, the ladies that is, sees your bra strap poking out from under your garment and that's the end of the world for them. They hastily walk up to you and then they either discreetly slip their hands on to your shoulders and tuck the bra strap under the cloths or they whisper urgently in your ear that your bra strap is showing. I mean, everybody knows you wear one. So whats the big deal that the strap becomes visible every once in a while? Its not something you're ashamed of, is it? I sure ain't.

Another thing I've figured out of late is, how very rare it is to find common sense in a person these days. To strike up a sensible coversation and to keep it going has become a challenge whereas with some people, you don't really know what to talk about. Whether people have become dumber or I have become more impatient I really don't know. For example, a conversation I reluctantly participated in the other day - a woman is baffled by the fact that when making tea, I add the sugar into the jug prior to adding the milk powder. Her response is that her mother told her to do the same but she had dismissed it as an "old belief". The simple logic behind it being that the sugar keeps the milk powder from sticking on to the side of the jug, I tried to explain to her at which she and her friends were amazed. "We've never really thought of it that way" they said. It was my turn to stare after them in disbelief.

I've also had to point out very obvious things, things that anyone with a tiny bit of common sense could figure out to people, educated people at that, with Masters degrees in Literature, Philosophy, this that and everything. Makes you wonder about the tedious process called "education" that people go through so vigorously, investing pretty much the best time of their youth on its entirety on it. Does it really serve its purpose? Do these "certificates" really mean anything if the individuals are not capable of thinking by themselves and making the simplest decisions? Now let's not go hammering the poor local governement about the inefficiency of the eduation system too now. I'm talking about foreign educated people too, in the supposedly advanced Western countries at that.

If I was hiring, I'd hire people depending on their common sense, not the amount of paper and certificates that they would unleash before me. And the attitude. One must always be willing to learn, not imagine themselves to be the ultimate connoiseurs of everything and snub out all other opinions and ideas. 

Denims are so comfy. They are so convenient, stylish and very chic that I can't figure out for the life of me why anybody would want to wear any other type of jeans except for denims. And I just don't get the no-no for denims in the category for office attire. I say if you can carry it off, present yourself as official, neat and dignified, it doesn't really matter what material your jeans are made of. Denims, in my opinion are the most versatile of all cloths. It doubles as smart and chic while it can also downplay your appearence as casual as well. All depends on accessorizing. And of course, the right combination of attire makes all the difference. 

Ok I finally admit, my room is FILTHY. Its so filthy that even I admit that its filthy. But I have neither the desire nor the motivation to clean it. At this time and age, its high time that they introduced self organizing wardrobes. Would make life a whole lot easier if only they would.

Life plummets forward at breakneck speed and I'm not sure if I like it very much. Weekend is almost done and it was as if it never came. There is no time for relaxation, no time for creation. Life has become drab, of monotonous routine, all the things we do seemingly futile. The only thing that seems to make sense is creation, creation of something good, something wholesome. But by the time we are done with the regular banalities of life, the routine regularities that you need to follow just to sustain yourself, there really isn't time for that.

Something must be done about this. It's a crime to let our lives pass in the blissful oblivion of routine futility. But what, I haven't figured out just yet. 

Ponderings

I like to have my lunch in the peace and quiet of the deserted lunch room. This is the only time of the day that I get for myself, alone. And I am a firm believer of the fact that I deserve some time alone with myself, to think, to ponder and to simply.....be.

Its just that gossip annoys me. When there are people around, you are obliged to listen, smile, respond and you are obliged to talk. I prefer not doing that, at least for a little while. Yes, I am antisocial like that.

Well, its better to have your nose in a book than have your nose in other people's business they say.

Speaking of being anti social, I think I need a break. Sometimes the stress is just too much and you are taken for granted way too much and you constantly keep getting hurt, keep getting disappointed and there comes a point when you just need to stop. Just stop. Look around, realize that there is much more to life, much more to happiness than just being comfortable with the familiar. Comfortable isn't happy, happy isn't always about the familiar, its about being understood, being appreciated and simply, feeling loved. Feeling loved is being recognized for what you are, what makes you happy and once in a while, being granted the small things, the tiny things that you want without having to ask and insist upon it, demand for it, fight for it teeth to teeth.

You demand things from strangers. You pay for a service and DEMAND that your needs be met. You call a cab and demand to be taken somewhere. You demand from your collegues, you demand from your waiter. You demand from your hair dresser, you demand from a vendour. I'm tired of insisting and demanding, the modern life is a constant process of insistance and you want just a single place where happiness comes naturally, uninsisted, undemanded. You DEMAND and insist on things from strangers, not from people that are supposed to care about you.

And love and care are the precious things that you give in return, more than enough payment for the occasional things that you want, just once in a while. Only those who are without love and care would realize their true value. A man who has just drunk a gallon of fresh water will not realize the value of a crystal flowing spring just beside him. But a thirsty man will treasure it, guard it with his life. Whether he will value it the same way after his thirst is quenched is a whole different story. But in my opinion, it takes an extraordinarily selfish dimwit to turn their backs on such a thing in such a time and age.      

I learn everyday. I learn and I learn and I learn. Life is a never ending process about learning. I learn about work, I learn about life, I learn about people around me. Most importantly, I learn about human beings. I experience, I learn and I remember. Its a process. A process through which I patiently look on. I've always liked my life to be simple, without much complications, without much things to worry about. People who know me, know me to be a simple being with simple needs, almost all of it managed by myself alone. Life really is a simple thing. Its simple to be happy. But its very difficult to be simple.

However, life does go on. And the long weekend unravels before me, unfolding with it, countless opportunities. To eat, to drink, to simply, be myself. To be free. 

Weekend blues

An extremely productive weekend. A whole lot of movies, home cooked yummy food, a Chitral Somapala performance, a good bit of dancing, a heavenly head massage followed by a good haircut. I feel good :)

I wish every weekend was like this. Most weekends are nonexistent these days. You are all excited on Friday night and before you know it, its Monday again! Its just that occassions I get to stay at home and chill are very rare these days. Life is fast paced. It does not feel like living at all sometimes. 

The performance on Saturday was good although Chitral played only a few songs. The band in itself, Mirage was excellent. There was quite a lot of dancing and merry making involved and I was wayyyy past my curfew but at that moment, I couldn't really care less. We just might head over there for a Friday or Saturday night sometime soon. Yes, it was that good.

After an indulgent visit to the salon, I feel like a satiated cat after a very voluptous dinner. A girl does definitely need some pampering once in a while methinks, even if its a very small treat like an indulgent head massage at your local salon. Think I should go for a luxurious, albeit expensive spa treat. I feel like I'm abandoning myself most of the time, not really paying much attention to what I even look like most of the time (note that the haircut was a move of convenience rather than of beauty). Time to spoil myself a little bit, so maybe now at the height of the stress season is the perfect moment to do it.   

Why women would want V shaped eyebrows I'l never understand. Its like having circumflexes on top of your eyes. Maybe they want an "accent" to their eyes. I don't know. I'm not sure I really understand. If anybody finds out please let me know.

Monday starts tomorrow, weekend ends in just a couple of hours. I've come to realize that Monday is not actually my least favourite day of the week, Tuesday is. Anyways, happy week ahead everyone! Can't WAIT for the long weekend up ahead! 

Life as we know it....

Those first few minutes of awakening...After a blissful night of sleep that gentle tap on the door sounds like death. And then my father's voice announcing that its 5.30 am. This is the time of the day for those abysmal philasophical meanderings; suddenly my head is flocked with questions regarding the meaning of life, my purpose in this world while all the time being convinced that I am meant for so much more than being up at 5.30 am and bumping into walls with a drooped head and eyes half closed while solemnly swearing to myself that I will quit work next month  and retire into the wilderness away from pestering humans taking my beloved bed with me so that I could finally sleep in peace.

After that, every movement is mechanical. Eyes still closed heading into the bathroom, fumbling around for the toothbrush, the toothpaste. Hands feel like wound up robotic sticks pushing a reluctant toothbrush around a mouth that is too sleepy to resist. All the time reminiscing the uncertainity of life and the futility of it all -  the teeth, the toothbrush, the toothpaste and all. And then I grope my way downstairs and make my morning tea literally with my eyes closed. Standing in front of the stove waiting for the tea to boil, I am quite unaware of the usual morning clutter and chatter that goes around in the household at that time of the day. People know better than to try and strike up a meaningful conversation with me during that time. All they would get is a groggy yet menacing look swathed with indifference coated in an uncomfortable silence. Tea in hand I would stagger once again to my lair, close the door and still clutching the tea mug I would wander around aimlessly in pajamas while a million random things flit in and out of my head. These are the aimless hours of the day when my mind loiters in that blissful area between sleep and consciousness when the mind cannot quite discern the difference betwen fantasy and reality. And suddenly reality would win over and land a well aimed slap at my mind and then I would get reminded of the real purpose behind my rude awakening. Work.

Followed by a fully fledged mission oriented fast forwarded day at work, when its finally time to go home, I would not want to go thinking of the other hundred and one things I had not had teh chance to finish. On my way home, those tasks would haunt my head and I would go through them over and over in my head till bed time, strategizing, plan making, conjuring up a hundred different ways to get it done. Then I would go to bed impatient to go to work the next day, eager to finish off those tasks as quickly as humanely possible.

And then the whole circle would follow. Sigh....such is life these days.
Weekends are non-existent and I'm longing for a day, just one single day to spend by myself, for myself.

Lately I've been feeling a sort of an impatience, the kind of impatience that could only be cured by one thing - travel. Blessed are those who can afford the luxury of travelling extensively without a care in the world. I used to be one of the blessed ones, free roaming, the camera, notepad and me and then writing of my adventures, reliving those moments over and over in my head. Now, I am confined, settled is the word used more commonly in society I suppose. But I suppose I'm not the settling kind, never have been, up to this very point. Wanderlust is my governing planet and this monster has to be appeased at least once in a while.
 
Oh well.....let us see.

Belly dancing monkeys, blazing lights, sneezing one's head off & Wesak

I saw a belly dancing monkey on the Wesak day.

And Wesak is so bloody noisy this time. 

Wesak has come to be a regular commotion of vehicle honking, annoying voices reciting ridiculous pseudo-Buddhist kavi (honestly, they are atrocious), silencerless motorbikes whirring about like irritating mosquitoes, the same old Mohideen Beg songs repeated over and over again till they are stuck in your head like a bad joke gone sour, dansal opening hullabaloo, wolf whistles, those tiny little bells of kadala carts drowning out the peaceful sound of pirith chanting somewhere in the distance. While all the fun and the general air of festivity is all very well, Wesak seems no longer the beautifully serene deal it used to be.

May winds bring the season a sense of breezy tranquility, rustling the many frills of Wesak lanterns, lovingly and carefully crafted by nimble hands. I have always associated Wesak with the smell of freshly bought oil paper for making lanterns, new store-bought lanterns or what we call buckets, coconut oil, the waffery smell of wires you get when untangling strings of multicolored fairy lights which always remind me of colorful butter icing on birthday cakes. Altogether, a happy, cheerful smell. But I can't smell Wesak this time because of this God-awful cold! :(

Wesak for different people mean different things. For children, it is the season of dazzling blinking lights, ice cream and kadala off street carts and hours and hours of endless fun sightseeing. For vendors, its their chance to clear out their white cloths stocks before they turn yellow, dress their best dummies in white and show off their best white attire on sale. For polititians, its their chance to remind the public of their presence by sponsoring Pandols (or getting someone else to sponsor for them but ensuring its their name on the sponsor list) also making sure their names are announced every 2 minutes, opening dansals (once again making sure their names are announced every 2 mins). Wesak for teenagers is the time to observe other teenagers of the opposite sex, a potential dating ground, a potential ground for getting some innocent flirting done while coyly catching each others' eyes, exchanging shy smiles. Wesak for perverts is ultimate groping paradise. Among the throngs of crowds, its a good excuse to push oneself on women and feel them up and down to their hearts' content. Wesak for jobless morons is the ultimate whistling and commenting ground, a free space to throw water balloons, hurl bucketfuls of water at unsuspecting ladies roaming the streets with the aim of getting some innocent Wesak sightseeing done. Bizarre really........

Ah yes, the belly dancing monkey.........

On the day of Wesak we went on our usual Wesak parole. Not a fully fledged Wesak seeing excursion, just out and about the town. It was then that I saw it. Amidst a group of animals singing and playing instruments (all mechanical ones of course, just one of these rather curious, out of context Wesak-time presentations that people seem to conjure up out of thin air) this mechanical monkey just stood there, belly dancing to the tune of essentially Buddhist songs. The hips gyrated from side to side like one of a skilled belly dancer and let me tell you, it was just plain weird. Way too weird, even for me.

Also, looking at social media these days, it seems that the biggest problem in the country right now is the killing of cows and adopting of stray dogs. Also for many, the killing of dogs in some country far far away (say Alaska, or Mongolia, or Timbuktu, or the North Pole for God's sake) seems like a cause worthy of posting disturbing pictures online and fighting teeth to teeth with whoever dared to challenge their views online. Such a nation of Facebook heroes we have become. Quoting from a personal favorite of one of Darling's Tweets "So everybody cares about dogs and cows. Shaa!", leaves me wondering, what about humans? Ayyo Sri Lanka!

Anyways, Wesak has come and gone. All in all, not the greatest Wesak. That incredible calming sense that descends with the season seems to have been lost in translation somewhere. Sadly.

Tuk tuk revelations

The tuk driver asked me whether we should go through Borella. I told him to take me from a route that avoids the usual city nonsense. And he did.

So we wound through narrow streets lined with modest houses of wood and tin facades, rubble and human bodies. Children played in railway tracks while groups of women, young and old huddled together in groups and starred at the distance in communal unison. Some were crouched on the ground while some perched on cheap plastic chairs that had probably never seen better days. Poverty was evident in this area but the smell of delicious cooking permeated through the air. Nothing fancy - just a flavorsome kiri hodi and some other condiments maybe to be had with rice or perhaps string hoppers. Men waited alongside tiny boutiques selling fruits and vegetables - not a lot, a few beli fruits, some scrawny looking mangoes and papayas, a few bunches of bananas either too small or too ripe to sell.
Most houses had no doors but had curtains on the windows. Girl children in dainty cotton frocks with hair neatly combed back into pony tails or pigtails either crouched on the ground along side their mothers or sat in the laps of aunties and grandmothers and either chattered or stared intently at the elders' faces obviously fascinated. Harsh fluorescent lights inside these houses gave out a cheerful homeliness that would have in another place seemed impossible. In the half light of the evening rapidly heralding the night their faces glowed with a satisfied indolence. I wondered what it would feel like to live amidst such beautiful solidarity. I wondered what the mothers told their girl children as they sent them to wash, tied ribbons in their hair and rubbed talcum powder on their faces. There was a sense of belonging there, a feeling of wholesomeness, a warmth that is unlikely in the solitary lives we lead in our own communities today.

These people were neither slum dwellers nor belonged to the average middle class. They were neatly and properly dressed, the children's faces were washed, their hair combed like that of an average middle class child. They wore sensible cloths like the average middle class but had an air of comfortable relaxation and contentment about them that the average middle class does not have. They had clean cloths and clean manners, clean houses and clean faces. Yet they had no fancy jewellery and I'm sure nor any considerable savings to call their own.

Was anyone even aware that there was such a class? Oh who says that we need to class and grade everything anyway? No need to put things and people in boxes, globes, circles and triangles. We are no longer toddlers.   

And then we fell on to the main road again. A couple was arguing inside a car. A man was yawning behind the wheel. A girl clutched the steering wheel in terror while a bus suddenly swerved in her path and nearly hit her. A woman sighed and looked at her watch in a bus. A youngster was poking around in her smartphone. A young man had his bluetooth on and was on a call. For a moment I imagined him to be talking to himself and I smiled to myself.

The Baseline is such a drab road to travel along. The usual honking, the usual brake lights of vehicles starring at you with their drunken red eyes. The usual air of impatience and annoyance. Unlike the other side of the city - so full of life and warmth. And not the scorching heat of roaring engines coughing out toxic fumes choking your insides, throttling what's left of life inside with their sheer mechanical indifference.

Bridesmaid business

According to my to-be sis-in-law’s sister, the beauty of being a bridesmaid is that you get to experience all the excitement of getting married without actually having to undergo all the responsibilities that come along with it. According to her it’s a no brainer, since you only have to dress as the bride instructs you to dress, without having to worry about how you look on that day. In plain simple words, if you look like the bride of Frankenstein on that day (or worse, bridesmaid of Frankenstein’s Bride), it will all be the bride’s fault not yours. Which is something I do not agree with.

People who know me know that I am not the frilly-attired flower-bearing, cake serving smiley type who perpetually emanates bundles of sugary sweet bridal joy. Hence I am so not your ideal bridesmaidsy type. I have been lucky so far to have been spared of this torture since I am taller than most my friends (I come from a family of long limbs for which I am grateful) and haven’t yet been made the coat rack on which all frilly things that the bride likes hang. The logic is that the bridesmaids should be much shorter than the bride. The aim is apparently, to make the bride stand out by making her escorts look ugly. The intention - not to let one of the lesser beings, the bridesmaids steal the show which I find repulsively degrading as well as personally insulting.

But now, my time has come to become a one of those servile less-prettier-than-the-bride faces. Unfortunately, my brother’s bride-to-be happens to be an inch or so taller than me and therefore, either out of pure sisterly affection or out of obligation, she has insisted that I be one of her bridesmaids. Parents strongly advised against turning down her request (which I was very much tempted to do) and as a result, here I am, one of the frilly lot, letting some strange woman measure me up and down, turn me this way and that, scrutinize my every nook, curve and dimple. This is the first time that my body assets are being so candidly discussed, debated over, agreed upon among one another and I don’t think I like it very much. 

Dancing practices are in full sway (oh I do love the way the dudes move to the music like back-sprained coconut trees) and the household is in uproar, preparing this, that and everything. A man had asked Rs 65,000/- just to teach the wedding dance (Its funny how the word "wedding" instantly raises the price on everything noh?) A saree jacket that only takes around Rs1000/- to stitch goes up to Rs 15,000/-, makeup which is just 1800 becomes 1,00,000 and etc. So as a result, I end up the tutor and them, my faithful students. And I get paid nought :/

Evenings are hot, sticky and energy draining which makes it conducive to neither dancing nor doubling over with laughter at the dance-challenged people. Weddings can be fun I guess, though I am dreading the inch thick makeup, bottles of hairspray emptied over my poor hair and the stifling, suffocating dresses that I am convinced were invented as torture instruments for misbehaving women back in the day.

Await more bridesmaidsy posts. Oh I’m sure there’ll be plenty more where that came from.