Train rides and haunted bungalows!

The three-day trip to Badulla last week deserves a post of its own. If the excitement of the train ride wasn't enough, the haunted bungalow and all the tales heard within it is a spine-tingling thriller which is a tale in itself!

Well we got to ride in the engine room of the train, side by side with the engine driver which was an unforgettable experience. We got to ride through 14 tunnels and let me tell you, riding in the engine room, that is a whole different experience. The engine driver too was a cool fellow who had loads of stories to share, having worked in the railway for 30 odd years. Apparently he has seen 50 deaths during his tenure with him behind the wheel....err..the engine. Some lie in the track and walk away when the train gets near, having changed their minds. Some jump in unexpectedly and those are the ones who really do mean business when it comes to committing suicide.   

We lodged at this old estate bungalow at Passara, a lovely colonial building of over 100 years old. The place was humongous and still preserved the old age charm, replete with grand colonial items (old fashioned furniture, clawed-footed bathtubs, chunky metal Shanks bathroom fittings and etc) with large airy rooms, long windows and your typical Appo (the Sri Lankan version of the head butler) in the white sarong, white shirt and the black belt. The bungalow had three living rooms which we were informed were the rooms where visitors were received according to their importance. Back in the colonial days, the lower officers were received in the small living room closest to the entrance, while the higher ranking officers were received in the slightly larger room next to the former mentioned. The governor and persons of similar stature were received in the much larger, innermost living room and we were told that in days of the past, members of English Royalty had graced that very location. It was almost like time travelling, the many tales that the appo had to tell once we got friendly with him, the setting itself creating a blissful hallucinatory effect on the mind.

And then there's the resident ghost/ghosts. Apparently in one of the rooms, a girl had been murdered once upon a time. So now she roams the bungalow during night and if a woman happens to sleep in the room that she had been murdered, she gets strangled whereas if a man happens to sleep there, he gets pulled off the bed. This is the estate superintendent's quarters and he happens to be a friend of my father and his wife and children too had experienced several inexplicable phenomena while staying there. His wife, the daughter of my father's best friend swears that one night she had been strangled in bed and that she felt a presence leaving her side as she woke. Her elder son, a boy of seven years swears that he saw a womanly figure passing in front of him and crawling under his father's desk. The children had woken up screaming on several occasions while the superintendent has not apparently seen anything. But while he was there, several people , good friends of his have stayed in the room and they each has experienced the ghost in different ways. (A girl had been strangled, two drunk men have sworn that there was a third person in the room with them, a Police DIG who has been there to investigate a murder case has been pulled off the bed, several people who had absolutely no idea about the story could not fall asleep in that room however much they had tried and etc) It was all very fascinating. Until the superintendent's 3 year old daughter said something that raised everybody's hairs.

This little girl who had initially been quite shy became very friendly with me later on. We were all sitting outside chattering nonsense about this and that when the little girl who had been sitting close to me chattering about her toys suddenly told me (mind that we were not discussing ghosts at this point and neither was she anywhere around when we were discussing ghosts) that "that woman" comes sometimes at night and she gets scared. I was wondering what woman she was talking about since the only woman in the household is her mother. Then I asked what she looked like and she told me "that dark woman with hair like yours who occasionally comes. Even aiyya is afraid of her" indicating her 7 year old brother. This managed to let a teeny bit of actual fear into everybody's blood.

The Appo too had the most interesting stories. At first he remained absolutely silent but once we got friendly, he became chatty. Having worked at the same bungalow for more than 40 years, he claims to not having slept a single night there without scattering a line of holy ash over the doorway and the window. He claims that spirits cannot cross these lines. The several times he had to sleep outside in the corridor (when superintendents' wives and children get creeped out, they request him to be at hand) he had felt someone step over him and walk away while when looking back, he had seen a dark shadow of a woman passing. Taking into account that the Appo is a dignified fellow who does not usually talk much, you do tend to believe him. He is faithful and loyal as told to us by my father's friend under whom Appo had served for many years.    

The most hair raising incident happened when my father's old colleagues dropped in for dinner that day. Now my father used to work in Badulla for more than 3 years and he was given quarters at this charming old colonial bungalow as well located a little away from the Badulla town. He has lived there alone for more than 3 years with just the watcher guy and the cook for company (they had their quarters away from the house so practically my father lived in the house alone) and even I when visiting for holidays had stayed there for days all alone. One of the people who visited for dinner is the one who who holds my father's position now and he too has been given quarters at the same place. An incident that he reluctantly came up with (as he is not a believer in ghosts) is that one day as he walked in through the front door of the house, he felt something strange. Hair was raising at the back of his neck and as he looked to the side, a foreigner who was sitting on the sofa got up and walked away. Let me tell you, hearing that about a place where you used to stay alone, sleep alone is not fun at all.               

And then I remembered everything. Although I haven't actually seen anything, I, a heavy sleeper, had always had difficulty sleeping at that place. I was never very comfortable at night and one night, while visitors were occupying my room which was larger, instead of staying in my parent's room as suggested, I asked for another smaller room (to which I was inexplicably drawn to) to be set up for myself as I was writing my final year thesis at the moment and needed a room for myself. This room had large windows, a whole row of windows in fact and I threw several blankets over them when the feeling of being watched became unbearable, thinking that the watcher may just be peeping in from outside. That room in particular was uncomfortable while I had never really felt at ease in any rooms that I had slept in at that house.

And then there's this tale about the white cobra that the caretaker keeps seeing creeping into the house that we often carelessly waved off. Oh well............

Planters' bungalows often have the most fascinating tales. Having been inhabited by many over the years and also owing to the dramatic lives that these planters had led anyways, these houses are bound to have some sentiments echoing within the walls anyway. Anyhow, I am sure that if I stayed there for at least a week, I would have collected enough material to write 2-3 novels as the number of ghost stories, first hand encounters with the supernatural and etc is stupendous. Come to think of it, I think I can pull off at least one novel out of all this!

Speaking of novels, mine is developing rather slowly. Tempted to leave that aside and start on a horror story but I just wouldn't know where to start! Oh well, lets see. "Scattered" sales are good surprisingly for a poetry collection and I am getting positive feedback and well as constructive criticism for which I am grateful. Most comments I get is that they would like to see another poetry collection soon. Let's see. Time to write is rare indeed!

Antisocial Saturday

Saturday mornings, I usually wake up a misanthrope and remain steadfastly so till midday Saturday, only to slightly be able to tolerate a little human company during the weekend. Yesterday however has been an antisocial Saturday. Today a less so but it did take some effort on my part to socialize as life required me to do. Hope the mood won't last right throughout the week :/

Was sitting at a dinner party yesterday and was observing people,listening to what they had to say about everything from toothpaste to their kids' teachers to tap water to their families' eating patterns. I wondered if I could ever make that kind of small talk when my time comes to fill up all the awkward silences at dinner parties - discuss allergy causes for their children and fret about their pooping patterns, woe over the details of morning sickness (what they throw up, when they throw up, what makes them throw up, what made their sisters/mothers/sisters-in-law throw up, etc), which minister is sleeping with whom (other than their own wives of course), best remedies for wrinkles, solar power lamps and etc. I just can't imagine myself there. It was with some effort that I managed to politely nod my head at everything that they said without offending anyone. But then again, I had already zoned out and had that spaced out smile on my face that anyone who knew me would have understood.

Speaking of weekends, most weekends I just don't feel like being the 21st century civilized human being. Being civilized includes wearing cloths, combing hair, getting out of bed, conversing with people other than in unintelligible grunts, being in a good mood, smiling etc. After an entire week of being formal, civilized and prim and proper, the bonds need to loosen allowing room for the primal being inside to jump out and wreck some serious havoc. Unusual you say? Well, I'm not exactly the portrait of normalcy as it were.

Was at the neighborhood Avrudu Uthsawaya briefly when I realized quite suddenly that I want to be 10 years old again. There were a few little girls there around that age, roaming about so very carefree and I wanted to join in, grow a few feet shorter and a few years younger, wearing one of those cute little cotton frocks with a ribbon tied at the back, tugging at the hair carefully combed back into a ponytail, wearing brightly coloured flipflops and flicking my head all around, quite unaware of the tired looking grown up observing the scenario with wistful nostalgia. It was 'un moment eclaircissant' as it were, a sudden yearning that became so very clear, crystal clear, as clear as day as one would say.

But then again, I don't think I was a very happy 10 year old. That period of life was divided between two countries and two cultures, both of which were not very pleasant. I had a class teacher who made life an everyday torture chamber, a woman who obviously had issues of her own and liked to take it out on children that she taught. I for one was a child who never did my homework. I was a shy child who only opened up to those who really cared and who was otherwise a silent kid who liked dreaming away as much as she likes it even now. While other children in the class hastened to please the easily angered woman by waiting for her by the gate, carrying her bags, wishing her good morning etc, I just preferred to remain lost in a world of my own, not giving a shoelace about anything else. I suppose my silence scared and puzzled the woman and maybe I struck her as obnoxious.

The other half of that period was spent in Pakistan where I was an outsider and a woman. I don't think I was an attractive child being very much darker than them and a tad bit overweight and neither was I old enough to be considered a 'woman' to reap whatever little benefit that came with being one. But nevertheless I belonged to the female gender which entitled me to all the discrimination, the public harassment that came along with the curse of being a woman in such a country. I was groped twice at public places which utterly disgusted me although I did not know what it meant. At school, my class teacher, a Pakistani woman told me to cover my head (there was no law in school that requested me to do so as I was not a Muslim and it was an international school which supposedly supported freedom in thought, dress and etc) which I vehemently refused for which I was penalized. I was penalized for thinking freely for my school report says that I am too imaginative for my own good and that it would do well as a girl, to curb that imagination and enthusiasm a little bit in order to thrive well in the society as a respectable woman. In the school van, an older boy, a Pakistani, bullied me saying that I should be riding in the backseat because I am a girl and not be sitting in the front seat as I wanted to. I told him to go take a hike. But then my boldness cost me my social life. And once again I was a different child, silent, dreamy-eyed and preferred the company of soft rustling pages to living breathing human beings whose sole purpose in life seemed to be was to judge.

I guess what I really wanted was to live another 10 year old's life, not go back 15-16 years and live those years all over again. Oh well.........I'll always imagine what its like to be that, a cotton dress-clad girl child, lively and carefree, starring at the world full in the face, quite unaware of what's waiting in store for all that innocence, all that joy.

Becoming a bit of a killjoy, bearer of doom aren't I? I guess its the misanthrope speaking still. Sigh..................  


  

  

Avrudu sells/sales

The world seems to have gotten louder. Everybody seems to be talking all at once all of a sudden. Loud music blares out at you at every stop, vehicles honk louder, engines roar more intensely and I can barely hear myself think! Granted that it IS the Avrudu season after all, one can indeed say that the loudness is only justified. But was it this loud last Avrudu season too? I don't think so.

Looking at the streets and the rate at which the textile shops are filling up during these days, one starts to wonder if all these people have been naked all this time. Its like suddenly the need for new cloths is so great that they are climbing over one another to get to a yard of material as if to save their lives. However, 'tis the season of drying wallets and anxious faces, fumbling hands digging deep into "sale" boxes, angry women yanking and pulling pieces of cloths among each other as if their lives depended on it, impatient drivers, screeching of breaks and large "Sale" signs fluttering about in the breeze. Makes you wonder really, about the nuances of human nature and observing these things can be quite fun.

Speaking of shopping, happened to wander into a textile store during the weekend quite forgetting the fact that it is the season of the crazies, to find the place inundated with franticos running about, cradling armfuls of cloths and holding onto them for dear life. Dressing rooms & women I tell u.... Why they need open the door and model every single piece of clothing in the store for their bfs/men when there's a long queue waiting outside, fidgeting about till their turn in the dressing rooms I'l never understand! Is it the fact that these women cannot make a decision by themselves or do they just want to pose around for the man? Well, its not like the opinion of the men matters anyways, the woman always end up doing what they please while the men folk shuffle their feet behind them looking so forlorn, carrying armfuls/bagfuls of stuff that they are supposed to pay for at the end of the whole excruciating exercise. They look tortured, the poor souls. The only happy-looking men I found in the men's section of the store, enjoying the solitary experience, dabbling in a bit of retail therapy by themselves, far far away from the nagging female presence that irks the male existence somewhere else in the store.  

See, this is exactly why I prefer to do my own shopping, rather than drag around a bored looking male companion. The look of sheer pain on their faces pain me too *shudder*

Avrudu sells good this season. It passes from hand to hand in the form of coloured notes issues from the Central Bank of Sri Lanka and sells itself like a common prostitute over blaring speakers and thundering radio broadcasts. Its like a passing illness that causes the crowds to wander the streets like zombies and instead of brains, these zombies consume consumer goods and rather mercilessly too, very unceremoniously.

Oh well, the unbearable heat has subsided the tiniest bit. Let us see how it behaves over the coming couple of weeks. 

BBS please GAL!

I have tried for a very long time to turn a blind eye to this whole "let's hate the other races and point fingers at each other" scenario that's been going on lately, hoping that if I ignore it long enough without contributing to it, that people would soon tire of it. But seems not. Atrocities heighten day by day and my groucho-level goes up every time I spot some post or the other on a social media platform. 

The BBS (aka the Beastly Bullshit Squad) had successfully done their part it seems. In addition to wanting to ban halal, rip hijabs off Muslim women's heads (which the feminist in me secretly condones cz come on, these ladies have pretty faces that they should totally flaunt) and rebelling against contraception for Sinhala women, they have managed to successfully incite the ignorant (or rather bored) "Sinhala Buddhist" majority into a frenzied racist fury. One should only look at the various posts being shared on social media to gag in total disbelief at the sheer blatant animosity, the narrow mindedness of the majority that the shock and disgust just freezes you for a good few minutes. With a herd of brainless bullocks in this country to follow them, no wonder the BBS has such a large fan base, bawling "sadu sadu" at every idiotic stunt that they pull.  Seems that Lankans, better yet the "Sinhala Buddhist" majority are no better than Tamilnadu ignorants who go about brutally attacking innocent Sri Lankans under the slightest provocation.

This is not to say that there are certain Muslims and Tamil people who are as nitwitted as the Sinhala patriotic junkies hammering out BBS-inspired slogans, beating their chests, dangerously whipping their robes/sarongs/sarees/skirts and etc out there. It was just a while back that I was attending a workshop on building intercultural dialog that a Muslim young man, a local university student (I am assuming that one needs at least a tiny bit of intellect to get into a local uni) and an "educated" one at that declared and threatened that the Muslims will overtake Sri Lanka very soon during a peaceful discussion about how to advocate intercultural dialogue between the races for a peaceful future. He was rather aggressive about it and a few other Muslim members of the group joined him in the taunting while the rest of us looked on utterly shocked.

So yes, the truth is that there are extremists in every religion, in every race, in every sphere of life. After all, one is partial to one's own community, however impartial they claim themselves to be. But that does not, by all means, mean that one has to be aggressive, violent in the way in which one remains loyal.

But I am of the opinion that behind this latest racist craze are the authorities themselves, igniting issues with the aim of covering up much larger issues such as the corruption, the declining economy of the country, the seriously effed up education system and etc for which they themselves are to be blamed (Remember the coloured rains, the spaceships, the UN resolution drama, etc just when the fuel prices shot up?)  The general public too is custom-made-stupid for the authorities it seems. Now that the war is over, we have nothing to keep us entertained. Once the colourful rains are done and the spaceships have all left us earthlings in peace, there was simply no entertainment. So now we've resorted to finger pointing and hating. Its the latest trend now.

So the point being, one should not even think of tainting the name of Buddhism by such heinous acts, shameful words and soul crunching aggression. Buddhism is a beautiful philosophy and it does NOT need your bullshit to give off a bad impression to the rest of the world. The people in yellow robes (for I refuse to call them monks) who engage in such acts need to be arrested and properly punished for hiding behind this noble philosophy to engage in such lowly acts. Where in Buddhism is it stated that one should hate and despise other religions? Where in Buddhism is it stated that one should engage in aggressive acts against all those who bear different ideas than what you think? After all, how many of these goodness preaching know-it-alls actually are aware of the true core of Buddhism? How many of them actually even adhere, at least once in a blue moon, to the principles preached? And IF they adhere to those principles, will they go around throwing rotten eggs at unsuspecting females, would they go around vandalizing others' hard earned property, would they go around harassing individuals from other religions and most of all, would they go around harassing all others who dare challenge their views? And WHERE were these righteous knights, rather noble guardians of Buddhism when people were being harassed, brutally murdered for political reasons, money and etc? WHERE in the world were they when innocent women get raped and tortured, harassed in the public? Too busy picketing against the average Mala and Sumana trying hard to manage the number of mouths they have to feed with their meager income by purchasing the occasional contraception I suppose.

It was just recently that I stumbled upon a certain pseudo Sinhala Buddhist page that claimed with much ardour that we must put a stop to women wearing trousers in this country. The page had a regular generous flow of pictures featuring female backsides clad in denims. I wonder how "Sinhala Buddhist" they were feeling when they chased random females down the streets, taking so much pains to photograph their derriers.

So lets say they do manage to chase off all the Muslims, Tamils and even the Christians out of the country. What next? Who to pick on next? I'm sure they'l be flying at each other's throats next, the "Sinhala Buddhists" murdering each other over cast issues and whatnot.

So BBS Puh-leese GAL! (Get a Life!)!    

Dedicated to victims of obnoxious salon personnel.......

As late as it is, this post is dedicated to all those who had lost all their hair, got traumatized and scarred for life in the hands of  salon personnel at least once in their life.

This strange and frightening phenomena has been taking place from time immemorial, actually ever since the art of hair dressing has been introduced to this callous and dangerous human kind. Whatever you do, do NOT be fooled by that comfortable chair sitting smugly amidst a sea of various hair torturing equipment, for this is where many long, healthy and unsuspecting hairs had perished, shedding their very last breath, quivering, at the hands of an evil salon personnel.

Once you sit there, you are no longer a human being with opinions, wishes, likes or dislikes. You are just a head of hair, practice material, a playground for the evil saloner/saloness which waves suggestively, beckoning the salon personnel to come and practice their dark arts upon it. God forbid if you so much as knew what was good for yourself or your hair! The evil hair dressers will leer and jeer at you with sarcastic smiles on their faces as you stress upon what you want your hair to look like. While you demonstrate with all the talent you have got as to which length you prefer for your hair, what style you choose, the sinister looks on their well made up faces would spell only one thing- your hair is now MINE! ALL MINE!! Mua ha ha ha ha!!!(evil sinister laughter ensues) You should know that once you sit, you have already surrendered your soul to the devil. Once you sit, you cannot help but watch helplessly as large chunks of hair fall away, bidding their final goodbyes as they fall away, fallen warriors who dared enough to rise up to meet the fatal cut of the scissors and perished in return, leaving you with a broken mess that once upon a time used to be a glorious mane of long black hair that cascaded proudly down your back.

Why all the drama? It was only last week that an obnoxious hair dresser went ninja on my hair. Battle scars are still fresh and wounds have not yet healed. Picked up the pair of scissors and snip, snippety-snip she went, yanking, pulling while all the time, making rather ugly faces at my hair. As she snipped away to her heart's content I tried protest, but my humble attempt was silenced by a scorching look directed at me and I sank back into the chair defeated. Small as she was, armed with that large pair of very mean looking scissors that snapped at me from time to time like an angry piranha and a frown that meant business, she looked truly menacing. At the end of the whole ordeal as she smugly looked on at her hand work, I was left shocked, wild-eyed, wild-haired, with the larger part of what used to be my hair lying lifelessly on the floor. It was not what I envisioned for my hair at all. On my head was the obnoxious salonness's masterpiece. I was in no way impressed by her handy work.

Good news is its growing back rather rapidly. Oh well, I'l live.

So despite the many rumors that revolve around this prestigious prize, I decided to drop by and check out the scene of the Gratiaens this year. Well, things did seem awfully fishy when the sister of a shortlisted author came up to the stage, equipped with a very long speech because the author herself could not attend (it is harped upon insistently that the shortlisted authors will NOT be notified prior to the event) And later on, Ashok Ferrey himself came up to the stage to excuse the other absent finalist who had called him and told Ashok to deliver a few lines from him at the shortlisting since he could not be at the event himself. Maybe it was just coincidence that both these finalists seemed, and as the sister of the other finalist so openly claimed upon stage, to be very good friends of Ashok Ferrey? Or is it really a self-congratulatory award/event where the only qualification to be selected is to move around in the right (i)literati circles, attend the right parties and suck up to the right people as rumor has it? Surely to notify Ashok Ferrey prior to the actual announcement and for the other author to send her sister armed with a very well prepared speech, there must have been quite a lot of prior preparation which could only mean one thing. That they had known all along. But if in reality that is the case and the award is indeed already fixed, maybe be a tiny bit discreet about it and try not to be so obvious? If that really is the case its almost like a loud and thundering clap on the face of other participants as if saying, now look here, its great that y'all have sent in your entries but we have already chosen our own for the title long before you have sent in your entries!

Among this year's finalists are Ruwanthi de Chikera and Nadee Kammallaweera for Kalumali. I really truly hope that they will receive the prize this year for this absolutely brilliant piece.

All in all, an interesting week indeed!






  

Of tight skirts and men.............

What is it with skirts and men?

Wearing a regular office skirt, not very short, perhaps a little bit above the knee and crossing the road is quite an ordeal I've learnt of late. It makes vehicles slow down and toot their horns while some even can't help but flash their headlights full on. Quite a few sha's and shoos and wolf whistles too. Wonder why one does not get so much attention when wearing jeans.

Of tight skirts and men, one has a lot to tell. I've caught quite a few men, belonging to miscellaneous age groups staring at legs eagerly, literally drooling as one of colleagues described a personal experience just recently. Perhaps waiting for a glimpse of a mysterious world beyond the material? I will never understand.

Well, its not really the tight skirts alone, skirts in general, whether it be long, knee length  three-quarter length  etc attract the same attention. The material that fully covers the lower region of the female body, thereby transforming it into a land of unsolved mysteries and undiscovered treasures intrigues the men way too much I guess.

Speaking of skirts, I accidentally overheard this flea-brained woman on some talk show on TV talking about how men AND women are both responsible for rape. She went further to add some catty comment about women wearing jeans for which the moderator counter commented asking how would Susanthika win a bronze medal for us at the Olympics if she were to finish the race tumbling about in a saree. I wanted to give him a big, tight hug then. This was a talk show on World Women's Day mind you. It made me sad. This is the opinion of the average majority, that women go about asking to be raped, abused and maimed. I wonder if she has daughters. I wonder if she would slap her daughter senseless if she happened to come home raped, her cloths torn, her skin tattered and all battered up.

I know I haven't blogged in a while. Guilty of sheer and blatant procrastination, that I shamelessly admit to, hands down. I was thinking, if my procrastination was ever turned into an energy source, it would totally solve the nation's fuel crisis. Hell, I think I would even be able to solve it for the entire world! And before long, America would be waging war over me too! Aww.........................*touched*  

And here goes the Lady, robes swishing n all on her daily chores. Well rather, her weekend chores. Monday looms like a dark, ominous cloud (oh wait, I like dark, ominous clouds). Well let me rephrase that. Monday looms like a, like a lasagna gone bad, and there are things to be done before I dive in, head first into the rat race again. Sigheth........... Have a great week people. Hugs and kisses (the eating kind you find in the supermarkets mind) :)

 

Random post

Anybody else aware of the outrageously flirty Kelly Felder pretty boys? ;)

I've been a huge fan of the brand ever since they've just begun to put some of their stuff over at ODEL. Bought a pair of their jeans a good many years ago and had been hooked ever since. It was about a few years back they set up their own store and I must say, apart from the truly attractive gear they flaunt they have a brilliant marketing strategy - Hire the most good looking dudes and get them to flirt with the customers!  And I must say it works! Would the average female customer say no to a gorgeous hunk holding out a dress for them batting their eyelashes while starring soulfully into their eyes? I guess not :D

Although I must say, not every time do they have good attire. Most of the time the store is an absolute bore with nothing really grabbing your attention. But once in a blue moon they have drop-dead gorgeous stuff that you just can't keep your hands off. By that I mean cloths of course :P

Well its been an eventful couple of weeks, a period of revelations, enlightenment, harsh realizations and whatnot. Burst a few bubbles too along the way, which I think is a good thing. Looking back today, its been a good couple of weeks, a period of assessing one's own strengths and weaknesses and thereby achieving liberation. Well, partly. There's still a long way to go.

Yet another working week ahead and plenty of things to do. Novel still lagging behind, not a single word written on it. Something I've recently realized - I have wayyyy too many interests! And 24 hrs a day is just not enough for all of them! A tragedy in its own right indeed :(  

Also I suck at titles. Hence the title "Random post". Sigheth............ :/