Truths in a goodbye

Sometimes, it is easy for people to leave, run away from tough times, even though too often in stories, they become heroes. But in reality it those who are left behind are the real heroes. Sometimes, it is easy for people who flee, to forget their past,erase their footprints and balm their old pains and heartaches; yet those who are left behind would not be able to do so that easily.

There is nothing graceful about leave-taking. It is not like turning off the radio after listening to your favourite song; nor does it look anything like turning the back page of the book you have been reading.  There is pain in it-there is a distant hope of returning, yet there is a fear that the person who is leaving will never look back in his/her stride away from you to shed you a one last smile, a wink or some sort of token to take home with you. There is torture in it that you are unable to categorize. It burns you and makes you oblivious to hunger and thirst. You think you have come to the end of the road; instead of seeing a by-road, all you see a tall wall to lean on, weep and fall asleep.

When times go by, the intensity of the feeling dies down. You will be able to go about in your daily duties without getting lost in the corridors of the past. There will be peace with a little something missing in it. You will be able to be indifferent to a tinge of familiar perfume coming with the wind, tread the same paths without stretching your hand involuntary to a grip you know you won’t find.  You begin to realize that it is easy to miss someone badly than continuing to hate that person for leaving you. After many lost battles, finally you concede the fact that, there are some things you can’t change- and you tried your best to see a different ending. You will outlive the anguish and narrate the story which does not make the leave-taker a hero.  Goodbyes do not make good bards; they only make mature individuals the hard way.

Heroes are those that hold their ground and fight back, they seek the fulfillment of passion that tempts one to live and die old. Heroes are those that understand change and do not blame everything on the fate. They are the ones  who build new fortresses when their old knights abscond at night. It is not fair to make a coward a hero and make yourself just the narrator in the epic of your battle. Admit it, you saw the end of the tunnel that was quite bright, it was pity the protagonist couldn’t see the light.

Misinterpreted silence

I was silent because I was too sad to speak. But, instead of trying to comfort me, you misread it as indifference. Sometimes, there is sadness that is undissolvable in tears, too complicated to be moulded into a cry, and too thick to flow freely out from the heart.

I was silent because I was too shy to speak. Instead of breaking the ice, you labeled me as ‘proud.’ Sometimes there are people who are not born with the charm to make friends at first sight. Some of them develop the skill with a lot of practice, the others just are content with their introvert-nature. The world is made that way, and dark horses are never too dark.

I was silent because I was in love. Instead of asking for the reasons for my crazy behaviour, you said I was drunk. Perhaps you did not know that, love makes people build castles in the thin air, and I was deciding on the color of chintz curtains for mine when u barged into my reverie.

I was silent because the truth I had to speak would have hurt you. Instead of counting your blessings, you said I was a one without an opinion. Sometimes, it is best when such things are not spoken, for ill-timed truths can throw people off balance. Sometimes, there is a reason why people do not comment when you ask for their feedback. However much brave you seem to look their criticism might shatter your lion-image in a second. Perhaps, you will be able to do without them.

I was silent because I was too happy to speak. Instead of stretching my smile into a one big laughter, you said I was insensitive. Sometimes, strong emotions make people speechless. It can be a feeling generated by a person and incident or even a work of art you came across by accident. A joy is something your wealth cannot buy and your bank vault cannot hold. Immerse yourself in it while you can and live with the memory when things get tough in life.

I was silent because I did not have anything to say that could make you feel better. Instead of rejoicing over the fact that I was not one of those to preach you impossible things, you said I was devoid of empathy. Instead of making lengthy speeches, I could only say ‘I am sorry to hear it.’ And while the others went on promising every comfort under the sun which you and I knew would never become realty, I could only hold your hand and cry with you. It is said grief is borne better when it is shared, and some have no clue as to how it is done other than crying with those who cry.

I was silent because I believe it is more powerful than the spoken word. Yet, like the truths that are twisted and statements that are misquoted, silence too was misinterpreted. There is comfort in it any one can draw when he/she wants. It resonates your heartbeat and the voice of your conscience.

Discoveries by accidents

When times go by you realize that gaining wisdom is harder than enduring the pain of an emerging wisdom tooth. You make countless mistakes; take many wrong turns or do not turn at all when you ought to have turned. Sometimes, apart from a very few people who genuinely care about you, others are only there to boast about their foresight once things turn upside down for you. Perhaps, what they do not realize is that an I-told-you-so look is not the best source of comfort one can provide.

When you get older, you will come to grips with the reality that world does not move to the pace you set. Traffic jams are villains that hinder your punctuality. Letters do not reach you on time. The bouquet of roses had become potpourri by the time it finds your arms. Neither this is your fault, nor is it that of the world. After much sprinting, you will finally understand the ideal speed that suits both you and the world. Until the discovery, you are free to run your own race.

When you cross the threshold of adulthood, you will realize that growing up is a tiring purpose and not every adult is a grown up. You can be a responsible adult and still have your age-old Teddy bear at your bedside. Growing up does not mean you cut your ties with your school friends, grandparents and those who used to be really close to your old self.

You can afford to fall in and out of love and learn from your mistakes. There is no hard and fast rule to get in and out of relationships. Go by what your heart dictates. There may be relationships that last for all seasons, and there are those that wither with time. it is not your fault that it did not move on the way you expected it to be. After all, a relationship is a discovery; it is not an act that goes according to a pre-written scrip. It can be both an adventure and a misadventure.

Once you are seasons by trials and tribulations, you will be humble enough to admit the blunders you made, the people you misjudged, the words you misinterpreted and the choices you made that did not bring right results. More than the outcome of the choice, what matters is that your bravery to make a choice and venture out of your comfort zones. Do not hate choices or try to turn your back at them once they arise your way. After many roller coaster rides, you will have the intuition to see things more clearly.

After all, not everyone with a wisdom tooth is wise

You will always be there

During the hot August days when the kites fly far above my head, I will picture you making ‘peacocks’ and ‘snakes’ for the neighbour boys from your colorful bundle of tissue papers, finally walking into the playground without a kite in your hand. You will be there in my August memories, like its inherent heat and the Sun that constantly smiles down on me.

Whenever I turn my Literature notes, which never went to the bin along with other books, I will picture you patiently explaining Elliot’s principals, desperately trying to make me not hate cats so much. I will remember you being sidetracked by an occasional hymn you sang at church and ending up teaching me its meaning instead of the poem we were supposed to learn. You will be there in that study-room memories, a teacher with a patience that hardly suited your age and a brain that I believed was too heavy for your little head.

I will walk on the footpaths we walked before, under familiar trees, which bore fruits, the taste and shape of which we knew so well. I will picture you acting my guardian and the elder brother who could never be as strict as you wish you were. Even if the those trees go to the axe and gateposts and car parks appear in their places, I will take along with me the memory of you, walking under the canopied trees, carrying my things on our way home after school. You will be there in my heyday memories, the one that never asked for a share of my success when others demanded a shred of my limelight.

I will keep playing the final few hours in my head and laugh at my childishness to follow you around the house when I ought to have been helping you with packing.  I will count the number of people who came to see you and your wife off at the airport, and wonder what could glue people to you in such a lasting way. I will picture you in your wedding photo- the proud groom who was desperately trying not be overjoyed. You will always be there in my awesome memories of grownup life, a skinny little boy who grew up to be the man he always aspired to be.

Friends walk in and out of life and some say they lost their best friends for men and women who become their better halves. I will say mine is an exception. On gloomy Sundays when there is no cricket to watch or no more music to calm me down, I will hear your lonely saxophone that summons my feet to a slow dance. The modern saint, surrounded by a bunch of church kids who thought you were their Einstein, your place will eternally be there.

Hate me

Hate me because I know how to say ‘No.’ I am not the polite female who would say yes to everything and suffer the miseries of not being able to do the impossible. Instead, I have learnt to accept only the responsibilities I can fulfill; the rest is somebody else’s cup of tea.

Hate me because I go by the tradition. I believe in the customs that bind me to my preceding generations. I trust in the safety it gives to a society; a power of which could have made the world a better place even without rules and regulations.

Hate me because my life does not breathe technology. I can still scribble letters, can spell without the spell-check, and do handwritten assignments without getting the grammar wrong. I can fall asleep without taking leave from the Twitter community and get up without worrying about how to greet Facebook friends.

Hate me because I do not build my world around anyone else. I decide my life’s itinerary and guidelines to live. Like anyone else, I am born with a free will; and exercising it the way I want is my right. I am not answerable to anyone who is not part of my life nor am I anyone’s private property. If anyone expects me to be hurt, trampled or bruised by trivial things, I am not responsible for their disappointments or heartbreaks.   

Hate me because I am blunt. My frankness is a product of those who mistook my courteousness to meekness. Politeness comes in small doses. As for me, they are always saved for the people who deserve it the most.

Hate me because I do not let my life be entertainment fodder for gossip-mongers. I do not support those who dig into other people’s private lives all the while holding onto their diaries tight. Privacy should not be penetrable and confidence is something that has to be won, not demanded.

Hate me because I make blunders. Whatever I have l learnt so far, I learnt through trial and error. For me, perfection is not an inherent characteristic but a result of a gradual process. I make mistakes and am humble enough to admit them. Unlike those who run away from error, I take its responsibility, put my head down, and start over again.

Hate me because I speak my mind. My life is not for public entertainment. I stand up for what I believe in and criticize where criticism is necessary. I can be a hermit and a rebel at the same time. There is a saint and a devil within me. There is both fire and ice. Getting frozen or burnt is your choice!

Bend in the road

Every time when things don’t go the way you want them to be, you begin to wonder who controls your life; the one which you are supposed to control, but often lose its reins.

Seeing the children in orphanages, shanties in the heart of Colombo and even the rural childhoods who seemed to be immune to the evils of poverty, beckons your spirit to the far away corners of your own childhood. Groping for the childhood comforts, you think that life would have been different; it would have even been brighter despite the circumstances that changed your way once you entered the adult world.

Every time a plane flies above your head, you wonder what you are doing down here on earth, when your place would have been the sky. But again you doubt whether it was just another childhood fantasy  or something little more than that-to become a pilot who would have known the sky more than you know the earth now. As a pilot would you ever yearn to be on the ground and do a kind of a job now you seem to be doing?

The truth is that, you and I are adamant to have the best of both worlds without getting used to transition. Even when you are hit with the reality that you are a poor multi-tasker, your heart is not made up to let go of one thing. Because, more often than not, one of them is what you are really good at, while the other is, what you want yourself to be good at. Though, things seem to be sad on the surface, those who make a choice are always being compensated, no matter whether their decision is right or wrong.

When you look around your office, you find many of them end up there by their choice, for the others, it is the sheer chance. It was the tempest that tossed their lives that landed them there.

There are those who aspire to become writers but never make it to a newspaper. On the other hand, there are those who never wish to become journalists until accidentally they discover that their writing is as good as if not better than the regular press people. This is how reality dawns to them. The night watchman becomes a regular fighter in the frontline.

Life is a funny pantomime whose strings are in invisible hands. True enough, we know very little about the complicated details of living; as a result of which we go by what we see.

But the truth is, it is not “what you see is what you get” for there seems to be a lot of things we don’t seem to know and when suddenly it hits you, you will only exclaim that it was what you have been looking for all through your life.

I write

I write, because the world makes me write. Everything, from political mud puddles to fall of dictators, and the democracies that had gone wrong, fills my notebooks. My words stop at the things that rather catch my heart than my eye. I let my heart command my pen and my mind dictate the diction. What comes out of my pen does not belong to me, but to the world, which plays the Muse to me.

I write because I fear boundaries. I learn discretion at every effort to thwart my writing with censorship. I sugarcoat. I sandwich my message between layers of honeyed terms and decorate it with frills and bows just to please those who come between the reader and me. I scribble before they discourage me. I send it off before they silence my voice.

I write on behalf of those who can’t hold a pen or don’t know the words to pen down their message. I write because, they have faith in my writing and they draw strength from my scribblings.  My words reflect their struggle, their agonies and above all their indomitable power to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I write because, it is my religion, my faith and my conscience. My writing reflects my notion of good and bad, justice and freedom. I become a fighter with the weapons I best trust myself with. My battles do not know bloodshed. Yet, it can disturb someone with the questions I bombard him with, and the sarcasm I bury for someone to step on.

I write because I believe in the power of words. They can be razor blades or rose petals- depending on the person whom the words are directed at. My poetry makes people cry and my prose makes them smile. I believe they not only see me through my writing but also get a glimpse of themselves.

I write because I need to prove my innocence, counter many baseless allegations and bust the misconceptions. My written word is more lasting than the spoken one. My pen speaks more eloquently than my mouth does. My writing carries things I am not brave enough to say aloud. They are there for past reference- for someone to cherish or tear and burn in an autumn fire.

I write because I need to release the overload of emotions I take in from the books I read. I scribble poems on things I have never seen or people I have never met in real life. Gradually I come to realize that I am in love with fiction and treat reality as an unwelcome diversion.

I write because I need to confess the sins I commit in secret and the fantasies I hold close to my heart. I rewrite and publicize them, for the readers to empathise with me. Yet, those who come looking for uniqueness in them instead find universality.

I write because the words make me a timeless traveller. They take me through past, present and future across the seas and continents through all weathers and stop my heart closer to home.

Like many other writers would do, I cry, laugh and bleed words, but still I won’t call myself a writer.

Scribbler’s Diary

Sunday

It is partly true and partly false that idleness can kill you. For someone who had been as busy as the clock-hands, it can certainly be a blessing. Too often, people tend to pay themselves the minimum attention while running through the hectic schedules and impossible to-do lists. What is the point, even if you are a multi-millionaire, that your face tissues are too stressed to stretch themselves to smile? What is the point in living, if you cannot stop and look at your reflection on a shop window?

Monday

A lot of things in life are like the pictures you find in menu cards. The actual dish does not even come closer to the printed depiction. Yet, I would settle for the cooked dish rather than the uncooked one that looks heavenly in the picture but far from edible in reality. Looks do count-but you can’t eat them!

Tuesday

I will play you like a harp on a mid Summer morning, with a pull of each string, generating a different emotion. I can let you die of jealousy, or make you cry like a baby. I can shatter your defences and rebuild them in a moment. Call me your weakness and your strength, your life and your death. My notes can tweak your ears and speed up the flow of your blood. Like noble lovers would do, you will endure this torture with dignity and unlike other women would do, I won’t hold you above a cliff. Thank God, I didn’t turn into a harp and even if I did, you are not very good at playing string-instruments!

Wednesday

Flip flops are a temptation too strong to resist. Leave a lone the comfort, attractive colours and popular brands, who would have thought ‘rubber sereppu’ would attain fashion-icon status!

Thursday

You have no right to ask the world what you want simply because you fancy it. May be that was the old-fashioned way of doing things. But your predecessors once they reached their palaces in the sky, chose to close the gates against the world. That is when the world stopped conspiring to make things work for people. Prove yourself worthy of having it. And fight your way to the end without getting your hands stained by chicanery. You are not the first person who started innocent and lost that innocence during the journey nor will you be the last. The only consolation is that even if you fall from the sky, the earth will receive you without letting you fall into a bottomless vacuum. And that gives you very little right to call yourself a star!

Friday

Hunger can literary make you a criminal or go against your conscience. The self-made, breakfast table promises melt like icicles the moment you see the unhealthiest food pervading the most alluring aroma. The scenario often makes you wonder, “are all those who run little bake-houses, saints?”

Saturday

They say the world is round. Surely, it must be so round that what went around takes ages to come back to me. 

Staple food of happiness

My memory may be little photographic. Yet, even the greatest photographs cannot capture a certain characteristics of some objects; taste is one of them. Likewise, I too can’t remember the taste of the first ‘kiribath’ I ate, for I must have been too small to tell apart ‘kiribath’ from usual rice when Achchi stuffed a ball of milk rice into my mouth at the auspicious time. According to her, that was how they started giving me solid food. When times went by, I would have certainly preferred milk rice to red rice and usual curries, for it had a nice flavor and a strange charm to make me happy.
Like every child, I would have been addicted to it at some point that Amma had to cook kiribath once a week to pacify my cravings. Kiribath made another special appearance when I read my first alphabet. As a three-year-old I had an alphabet of my own which mostly looked like a line of ladybugs who could not walk straight. They took a fair amount of space in my father’s books. The need to learn the letters escaped my little brain as I could look at the pictures and tell what they were without reading the word underneath. The first official word I read must have been ‘Amma’ since it is the first word in the ‘hodi potha.’ Quite shamefully, my most vivid memory of the day is a huge plate of kiributh and a dish of red-hot lunu miris on the table where I sat by.  
Its aroma crosses my mind again with a softness of a forgotten lullaby, which drags me all the way back to my first day at school; new books, crispy white uniforms and shiny shoes, and of course to complete the picture, a steamy plate of kiribath on the breakfast table. Perhaps I was too ignorant to be nervous about the new life I was about to enter, or I was too excited to show off my new things that I couldn’t feel butterflies in my stomach. Perhaps, my breakfast would have devoured the naughty creatures!
Like every other Sri Lankan, I have come to accept kiributh as another name for happiness and a symbol of good. It hardly misses to come to table on birthdays, weddings, every first day of the year and on the day of Avurudu, no matter at what time the auspicious time for eating falls. Perhaps I have grown out of my childhood cravings, yet I view it with respect. Kiributh is one of those things that walk with you through every milestone of your life and tells you that you are part of a timeless tradition. As for me, it is a page-marker that has flagged all my picturesque memories and an air-freshener of past that will keep refreshing my air in future.

Traveller’s wish

Take me down a road that I have never walked before. Sweep me through alleys that had never been trodden by tourists. Let me see people who are not accustomed to perform for them. Let me see the life in an unknown land in its unspoilt state where the natives go about their daily tasks without acknowledging the fact that tourists are there to observe them.
Make me sit by an unknown fountain and listen to your adventures, all the while, ignoring the stares of the onlookers. I will laugh at your globetrotting madness while envying your limitless freedom. I will force you to teach me the way to be a survivor instead of a rebel who goes against every rule set by the world. I will try stealing from you the theory of travelling light and living out of suitcase.
Take me to the far away past when history is synonymous with myth. I want to touch the the  high walls of Troy before their collapse, see  the tears of Andromache at the death of Hektor  and Penelope’s gaze of never-dying hope, awaiting the return of Odysseus.  Show me the island of Thera before the most destructive volcanic eruption that destroyed an entire civilization. Let me see the relaxing lifestyles of its people who thought they had forever and a day to live. Let me indulge in their unsophisticated food; not the much hyped Santorini sundried tomatoes and cucumbers that taste like water-melon when they are ripe.
Let’s sit on the steps of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi and talk about how prophesies could not stop war from ravaging great cities. When you try to call it all a myth, I will try to drive the point that even the history could not stop people from committing the same mistake over and again let alone prophesies uttered in unknown languages and lost in translation.
Take me through books and unwritten epilogues of the stories I keep reading for the thousandth time. A tour to Pemberley or a surprise visit to the recovering Mr. Rochester might not do any harm. I can be your guide for a moment and take you around the orangeries and topiaries, dining halls and haunted staircases. Don’t ask me how I know my way around so well- they will just happen to be in the exact location I painted them to be in my imagination.
Take me to see ‘The Magic Flute’ at Opéra National de Paris on a winter night. Though you know I don’t fare well in the snowy weather, I will promise not to sneeze or cough while the opera is staged. I will hold my breath not because I am scared of you; but for the simple of joy of being stung by the magical notes.
Sweep me through the streets of Prague, the fairytale city I keep dreaming to set my feet on. Perhaps, one more trip to Giza before you drag me home. Teach me how to live like a traveller; to see the beauty of everything without being possessive and greedy to bring Taj Mahal or the Great Wall home. Teach me to be detached while being attached to the maps and travelling bag. Teach me to meet the horizon and come home looking for the comforts of my small bed and worn-out blanket.

Let go…

Even though your life is very much yours sometimes you can’t decide on the shelf-life of the people and things you find fascinating in life. They come and go on their own accord. All you can do is be grateful for them while they are there and cherish them once they make an exit. Letting go of things both physically and emotionally is how you de-clutter your emotional waste and get a new start.
Let go of the physical remnants of a past that you no longer need in your future. Let them march to the dustbin, leaving space for more beautiful pictures on your bedside table. Let there be space in your trinket-box for the ones you are going to receive in future. Let the letters and cards find another place so then you’ll have space for the ones that are on the way.
Let go of the faces of those who torture you in your dreams. Come to terms with reality. Even if you play the last moment hundredth time in your head, things are not going to change. Do not beat yourself up for the dates that didn’t work, relationships that didn’t last and the deals you couldn’t win. Let go of the incidents that made you feel like the culprit while the real culprit acted innocent. They are not worthy to be in your memory any more.
Let go of the memories that fill you with negativity. It is time to let go of the memory of the evil teacher who punished you in front of the whole class or lecturer who read your answer script amidst a lecture. Either they did not know your strengths or did not have time to assess your abilities. You have long grown out of the mould they identified you with. Logically, their power to overrule your life is something you shed when you ceased to be a student. And it is way too childish to cling into the scars of humiliations now.

Let go of the faces of those who make your blood boil. It may be true that we cannot be saints yet hold grudges that only end in the grave is not good for your health. Whatever wrong they have done to you, they do not deserve to be penalized continuously for one thing they had done and forgotten.
Let go of the stories that ended without proper endings. Stop cross-questioning yourself as to why things have to end that way. Let those who break away from your life be happy in what they do now. Stop trying to make others feel bad simply because things did not work out. Whether it was your fault or that of the other part, it is an expired past that can never be brought to life again.
Do not deprive yourself the joy of living by holding on to the past. The sun rises everyday; it is a matter of keeping your sky cloud-free to receive the sunshine.

May all the days be their days!

“Sometimes, as a batsman, you have days when you know it is going to be your day and this was one of those as I dropped into a rhythm right from the start. Conditions were perfect; the outfield was like glass,”
-Kumar Sangakkara- Serious Winning Business –August 3, 2003.

Even though eight long years have passed after the accolades were made, the Sinhalese Sports Club ground looked unchanged on the the warm, sunny Saturday when Sri Lanka played Australia in their third and final test. When the Lankan cricketing heartthrob made this comment after scoring his first century at the SSC, that came a few months after his maiden ton in Galle, he would have never thought that this would be the venue for his hundredth test appearance.

Perhaps that is what makes test cricket in Sri Lanka so much more special than the two other forms of the game. It certainly lacks the intensity and nail-biting anxiety. Yet, as the players who love playing the game, test matches have their inherent characteristics; for me, it is all about breaking the cords with the outside world and enjoying the Colombo heat and the occasional breeze that makes the Lion flags flutter with pride.

That was the dose of cricket I have been missing for so long: a strange, timeless fascination that sometimes bordered on madness. It seeped into my writing. When the season was on and the weekends were strewn with schedules that often dragged me to a shady pavilion at the SSC, I ate cricket, I breathed cricket and I lived on it.

My madness did not have a method. My family failed to see the logic behind my meditation on eleven men clad in white, running behind a ball under the merciless sun. They were oblivious to the beauty of a cover-drive coming out of Sangakkara’s bat or the magical spin of Muralitharan. My teenage fantasies were all about the home team walking away with the series win. And to this day, it has not changed.

It was a dream-come- true for me to sit again in a familiar pavilion on a mid September afternoon to see the home team having the upper hand in the game. I let pineapples indulge me. I can excuse myself to sip a fizzy drink and I get happy-feet when hearing baila and papare music. My heart swells with an innocent pride to be at a match that marked a milestone of a brilliant cricketer who boasts of Sri Lankan-ness with his every stroke, both in and out of the field.

On my way home, clutching at the tickets that will end up in my treasure box, I kept hoping, ‘May all outfields look like glass and may all the days be theirs!’ 

‘I am sinner, I am saint’

I went to sleep with the sound of the rain and got up to the prelude of another. The occasional birdsongs were sunk in the patter of raindrops against my window. Life has changed so much that rather than making paper boats out of anything that was within my grasp as I used to, I sit crossed-leg on the bed and read Kamala Das’ poetry-to gain entry to a world that was soaked by many rains, seared by many droughts but survived every bit of it.

Even after writing so much of poetry I kept wondering how she could sketch her entire life in one poem, which begins with ‘I don’t know politics’ where she goes on to say, how she was being looked down upon by society for being born a woman. It is a call of a woman who was so brave to break the mould she was being brought up to fit in.

She narrates her triumphs, her strife and and finally she has a story to tell. The penultimate line of her poem , ‘.I have no joys that are not yours, no aches which are not yours,’ makes one feel that the story she tells is not only her story; but that of everyone of us.

Like Kamala Das, there may be many  who could swim against the tide and reach the destinations that were in their minds, rather than landing on the shores where the tide was to take them. it is this bravery, the stubbornness, and the belief that you are on the right route, that make one go against what society dictates and conventions demand.

After the initial stage of pain and agony, you gain the maturity to look at those who  pull the carpet beneath your feet , with an expression of amusement. You will let people envy you without enlarging your ego. You will not bloat as a frog in a summer pond, for your journey has been one of substance. Troubles will season your story. The harder the life you lived, more rhythmic your poem will be. The longer had been your toil, more moving your plot will be.

Kamala Das says ‘I speak three languages, write in two and dream in one.’ It is this language that keeps talking to your inner self, when all the outside talks try to discourage you. your dreams, your deepest desires and your ultimate goals are written in this language, which sometimes does not have words. Das in her poem  ‘An introduction,’ introduces not only herself but many others who fit her description.

When I read it over and over again, I felt that each line has a different voice, written with a different emotion, looks at a different dimension; a slice of human life that is neither black nor white- but a shade of grey. How true when she says, ‘I am sinner, I am saint.’

Home republic

Home…with its noise, messiness and a lot of activity can still be your heaven and haven. Specially, if you are busy person who rarely get to spend some time at home, the yearning to know your pillow and blanket better is ever so tempting. As times  go by, when classes or work keep you away from home even on holidays, and when you can’t remember the last time you saw the morning sun rays falling over your dressing table, it is probably because you are not giving yourself enough time to breathe.

Take a break and sleep till late. Wake up only when the newspaper headlines are being read on television. Sit in front of it while enjoying your tea, or better still walk into your garden to sit on the bench you haven’t seen for ages. Get ready for a typical family breakfast you are going to have after Avurudu.

Help your mother with household chores. If she has been washing your clothes all this while-be a good child and offer to wash hers. Hum your favourite song while dusting your way around the trophy cupboards filled with what you and your siblings had won during school time.  Try to remember why those cups are there. Steal into your father’s library and try to renew ties with the books you used to flirt with. Get lost in the fictional dreamlands and find your way back to reality-newly smitten by your childhood heroes.

Stroll into the garden and listen to the birds and squirrels singing in harmony. Walk around to see if the jambu or guava trees have borne any fruits. Indulge yourself in seasonal treats that rarely come your way. Open all the windows in your bedroom to let in as much sunlight as you can. Let it fall over your fancy perfume bottles and make dancing lights on the mirror. For a moment, thinking of nothing; at least nothing about what awaits you at the end of the weekend.

Take a long shower. Your hair needs that time underwater. Your skin needs to know how it feels like to be relaxed and refreshed. Most of all, you need to know that time can in fact wait for you once in a way.

Enjoy lunchtime political conversations with your father and let your mother intervene with the delicious caramel pudding you have made specially for him. Relish in the expression on the faces of your parents and siblings when they gulp down your delicacy.

Try reading the weekend papers; and fall asleep on the mound of news if you can’t avoid it. Drive your family down to Galle Face or Parliament grounds to watch the sunset. It is totally justifiable to fall for prawn vaddai and tapioca chips.  Seal your day with a take out dinner. And rejoice over the fact that you have a family to see you through the high’s and low’s in life, to tolerate your mood swings and to make you feel loved and wanted.

Sometimes, there isn’t anything that can’t wait while you dust your roots.

The child in me…

It feels like yesterday, when I had been the bridesmaid at her wedding. The blue and white orchids, a sleepless night that saw us ending up in front of a beauty salon mirror and a photo shoot at the busy Mount Lavinia beach are still very much fresh in my memory. Her wedding is a vivid memory as I had seen her in the white school uniform with her long hair plaited into two. She would let Nangi and me pick pocket money from her bag and run to cafeteria too often. It was her last year at school and soon she became a no-nonsense teacher.  Our routes became distant, but she never stopped being the caring ‘Chooti Akka’ she always was.

This was the filmstrip that was playing in my head when I saw her four-month old son, whom I was seeing for the first time. Her serenity as a mother overwhelmed me. And the little one only looked too happy to finally see the bridesmaid who stands next to his mother in the wedding photo, or so I thought for he looked at me with eager eyes when I was talking nonsense and gurgled and smiled at me when I held his tiny hand from going to his mouth.

On my way back home, I kept wondering how much she has grown up and in the process, and unbeknown to me, I have grown up too. It is quite amazing that you notice how other people change almost effortlessly but rarely your own changes, unless they prick you in the eye. When I kept looking at the little one it was not the same me who was gazing at the seeni sambol sandwiches in Chooti Akka’s lunch box so many years ago. The house too has changed; there is a huge fish tank where her organ had been. The walls have brighter colours.

Our lives will never give us another chance to be kids again, for she is a mother of a kid already. The school holidays when we ate Amberella- achcharu off the same plate or broke into the kitchen to hunt for the jar of salted tamarind are stories to reminisce in the days to come. The road on which we used to play badminton, has been widened and frequented by many vehicles now. We know our school van is not among them.

The final look at the mother and son gave me this picture of her reading to him off a book of Russian fairytales on a boring evening, with her very own voice variations for Babayaga and Karalevich like she once did with Nangi and me. The thought made me want to be away from the endless hassles of work, studies and far from the world of double-faced people-just there on the wicker chair next to her on a boring August afternoon, listening to her with my eyes, mouth and ears wide open. 

Live for all seasons

For you and I, under the Colombo sun, everyday is either spring or summer and every night has at least one slice of moon and a heap of stars to adorn the sky. Living is a joy that has to be shared, expanded and grown like the plants your mother grows that bore roses. ‘Life is beautiful ‘ may be a saying that had grown hackneyed with over quoting; yet one cannot dismiss its meaning that easily.

Life is beautiful when one comes to learn its ripples and torrents. Slopes, waterfalls, shallow waters and storms all make the world what it is. Everything is essential to the continuity of life on it. Likewise, troubles, tribulations, conflicts, praises, encouragements and  appreciations you face and receive, shape your life to what it is. They may not come in measured                quantities at the times you expect them. Uncertainly is a beautiful thing that makes you love the life you are living. This makes you respect your life, look after yourself and do good to the world because you know you are not going to live forever.

Life is beautiful when one knows his/her strengths. You may envy a painter for his swift brush strokes, or envy a ballerina for her balance. But envy cannot make you a painter or a ballerina; there is a lot more to it. Just because your name is not on billboards or magazines, that  does not mean you are a nobody. Every time you envy somebody, tell yourself that there must be someone out there who envies you for your creativity and strength of character.

Life is beautiful when you have right company. Relationships make our lives worth living. Choose your friends wisely. If they hurt you or try to exceed you, do not give them forever to grow up. Walking out of these circles is better than falling prey to a bunch of opportunists. Love your friends who are genuine; treasure their friendships and stand up for them even if you can see through them.

Life is beautiful when you are being loved. Go ahead and fall in love. Shed your defences and learn to trust. Mix each others’ lifestyles which will take the monotony out of your life. Get lost in the woods, enjoy the sea breeze and watch a really soapy movie to see who is going to cry first. Be childish once in a way. And go crazy when times allows you.

Life is beautiful if you know the art of living. Simply go on living without pre-conceived notions about people and places until you see or experience them yourself. Believe in the fact that every case has an exception, so it is not a wise thing to do when you theorize things according to the past. Even with your bad reading habits, a nose that you think is too big for your face and hellish temper, be yourself.

Never too old to start

Life, even with its ups and downs, will settle into a usual rhythm. You will not enjoy the sunshine outside if your inside world is flooded with dissatisfaction and disappointment. You might complain to yourself continuously that world is full of unfair changes. This unfairness, you will only remember when you are in the middle of the whirlwind of change. Perhaps you may decide to be a spectator instead of a fighter in fear of getting into trouble.  Taking the change in the stride or changing its shape to suit you is entirely your choice.

Don’t be scared to change your attitudes and opinions, even if this means changing your entire outlook to life. The change comes with the experience and the difficulties you have gone through in life. It is perfectly normal to dislike someone whom you have respected all this while. It is perfectly alright to look up to someone whom, you all this while, took to a villain. Don’t be scared when you are able to see through the people whom you thought had superior judgment and strength to thrive in hard times. It is not the discovery of the century, when you can see the stupid mistakes they continue to make while ignoring the outcry. The transparency of their characters is not a result of a new disease. Only you have begun to see things more clearly. But, this does not mean you have the super power to enforce your opinion on the others around you.

Never hesitate to admit the fact that you were not the best judge of characters. Being deceived, let down, trampled and abandoned by those whom you trusted most will only teach you not to place absolute trust in anyone; because nor human being is absolutely perfect.

Have no strings attached to your worktable. Ethics might demand you to be married to the mound of files on your desk or the heap of spreadsheets and project proposals in your computer. The truth is that a file can go from one hand to another, and even if you see that it is not being handled the way it ought to have been done, it doesn’t fall within your line of duty to instruct or authorize the proceedings.

A world awaits you beyond your cubicle walls. If you shut the office doors against its beauties, you are a fool. If you are one of those people who take office- trash home, it is high time you have bigger dustbins near the work exit to avoid littering in your world of tranquility.

You deserve your share of sunshine and it is nobody’s business but yours to lift your face to the sun. Just remember, sometimes even a chocolate-taster can get sick of his job! And you are never too old to start all over again.

Flying in the rain

An untimely rain was falling against the inflamed, mid-day Colombo streets.  And a shade-less bird was flying against the shamelessly heavy skies. Looking out from the third-floor office window I thought a shade would do very little for the already soaked crow. Yet it kept twitching its heavy wings against the grey clouds and soon disappeared.
Long after it went out of sight I kept wondering why the crow didn’t take refugee of any of the high rise buildings that crowd the Colombo skyline. Like anyone else, did it have a specific place in mind to rest? As a kid I always wondered where all the birds went when it started raining all of a sudden. I always wanted to find out whether they took shade under random trees until the rain stopped or they kept flying in the shower until they found their nests.  For some strange reason, I felt every one of us had been or will be in the situation of the crow which kept flying in the rain.
Perhaps, if someone knows what awaits him or her at the end of the journey, keep flying in the rain would be the better thing to do, rather than stopping under unknown trees. The sky is sure to break into thunder many times and the winds will change its direction without prior notice. The speed and the size of the raindrops will vary from time to time. Perhaps it will rain throughout your journey or you may come across sunny skies in its course. This does not guarantee that the sun will remain shinning till you finish your journey. So, while you keep drying your soaked wings, keep in mind that sky will change its mind any moment and you will be back on the square number one.
But the silver lining of it will be that, you have covered half or three quarter of your journey and the toiling has energized you so much that even if you have to start from the very beginning, you will have the strength and the courage to see the end of it. Sometimes, it is okay to take the long route which has more trees and buildings to cover you from the wind. Sometimes you will need a minute to breathe because your journey has been a long one. Sometimes there will be people who envy your wings and hate their strength. Sometimes no one will raise their heads to look at you because you are just an ordinary bird devoid of shiny peacock feathers.
But always keep in mind that your journey is always for your sake, and it’s the nest that was built for you and your efforts awaits at the end of the trip. If others applaud it, be happy. If others want your wings or try to step into your nest, after making the long trip, you will know you can always make a better and stronger one!

Lessons you keep learning

At one point of your life, you come to realize that when you stop worrying about your health, your health stop worrying about you.  Every time you prod down foods contaminated with preservatives, you make your tongue your friend, but the rest of the body, your enemy.  Just because you run for your day-to-day things with so much, never come to the conclusion that your body tolerates your fickle eating habits. Like the nature, it will show you its fury when you exceed its tolerance levels.
Exercise is not as torturous at it sounds. It is rather fun, once you get the taste of it. You need not have expensive exercise machines or gadgets to keep you fit. If you are an outdoor person, the road is the best machine you can find. If you are an indoor person, yoga will  be a better option.
Don’t mess with your sinus. If your doctor advises you to keep away from cold beverages, ice-cream and cold showers, it’s better if you listen to him. Midnight or early morning showers may sound very romantic, but the repercussions are not so. Your mother knows your medical history better than you do. So, understand that   she has a point when she insists that you drink lukewarm water and forget about the comforts of iced water.
Skip lunch if you want, but never skip your breakfast. It doesn’t have to be a regal meal with thirty-two dishes, but something that is enough to put your gastritis to sleep.
Eat fruits in their natural condition-straight from the tree, rather than straight from the tin. Pick them over cooked snacks such as fries and pastries. Indulge in chocolate, but don’t become a chocoholic. Fall in water.
Keep your mind healthy to keep your body fit.  Stop worrying about things that are beyond control. Be it a great happiness or a sadness that hits the very bottom; don’t take it too much to  the heart. Things are subject to change and nothing remains the same in life-sometimes even the memories.  Try not to get hurt when you are being let down by the people whom you trust the most. When you fall of short of challenges you tried to overcome, don’t beat yourself up for the failure. You cannot put right the hypocrisies of the people which were encouraged or ignored by their parents and respective environments since childhood.
Live for yourself and make others live happily through the life you are gifted with

Love a girl who thinks

Love a girl who thinks about others more than she thinks about herself. That’s the kind of a girl you need when you forget to think of yourself. Fall in love with her empathy and caring nature, for, after your mother she will be the only woman who will have a genuine interest to find out how you are faring.
Love a girl who thinks about little things. She will know how you want your evening tea and when to leave you when you start biting your nails, watching the final quarter of a heated football match. Love her for taking seriously your stupid childhood passions and understanding how much these trivial things matter to you.
Love a girl who thinks about the present. She will never compare present with past and future. She would never complain about forgetting her birthday nor will she ever remind you of the surprise birthday party you threw for her in your first year together. Love her for her sensibility but do not take it for granted.
Love a girl who thinks about crazy things. Listen to her when she says how she caught a man in the bus wearing pink socks with leather shoes. Laugh at the cartoons she sketches, for there’s so much to laugh about even though she can’t draw half so well as you.
Love a girl who thinks out-of-the-computer. For she will still prefer making a card for your anniversary rather than sending an e-card, and when she has to break the news about the new arrival to the family, It will never be a mere SMS. Love her for not getting swept by the currents of technology.
Love a girl who thinks the story of life is written by the person who lives it. She will make you feel that the stars you kept reaching for, have finally fallen into your backyard. She will stick with you through thick and thin and show you nothing indeed is impossible.
Love a girl who sometimes thinks of nothing. She will see the brightness of your eyes in the raindrops drooping down from the kitchen window. She will think of your smile when she cooks your favourite dish for dinner. She will meet portions of yourself in the fictional heroes she admires. she will boast about you among her girlfriends.
Love a girl who thinks about you. She will still love your hair even on the days you run out of hair gel. She will know what is best for you, when you don’t know it yourself. And she will keep loving you despite your blaring temper. The next time when you say, you do not want her, she won’t take you seriously at all!

Fickle faithfulnesses

Loyalty is not something that can be bought for money. If one thinks loyalties are buyable-then the quality of such loyalties are questionable. Loyalty is something one has to earn, win, or deserve. Such loyalties cannot be bought for money, nor can they be easily changed.
Be it in a relationship or in an institution, a lot depends on faith each party has in the other. In fact, a strong loyalty is not a work of a day, but a gradual development over the years. Trust is built on reliability, care and the feeling of safety in each other’s presence. This reaches to a point where one will put the other party before his or her own self ; this can be called loyalty.
No matter whether it’s a relationship between parents and children, siblings or between two lovers, loyalty is a strong emotion which makes one stand up for the other, and be there for himself or herself irrespective of whether they are right or wrong. Loyalty assures the long run of a relationship.
What makes someone to change their loyalties may be a question with many answers. It can be a little misunderstanding grown out of proportions with time. It can be the inability to reach mutual grounds when two parties are involved in an argument, or it can simply be the fact that one has exhausted his or her tolerance levels in the attempt to immerse into the other party’s way of living.
In an institution, loyalties of the employees are considered a long lasting assert. These loyalties also change for many reasons. It can be anything ranging from lack reachability and concern on the part of the employers to de-motivation of the individual.
All in all, these loyalties, once lost are very hard to be restored. New and powerful packages may be strong enough to keep them bound to their chairs. But very rarely does one forget that, by offering those who tried to fly, an arm and leg, those whose integral loyalties that never made them complainers, only feel sidelined and belittled.

Diary page of a book therapist

Gloomy days come without notices. Raindrops trespass the hospitality of your veranda without invitation. Lying on the bed with a book in hand is the second best thing to walking out and getting wet in the shower. The words that greet you would be as magical as the drizzle that kisses your hair and face. The characters you find among the pages will be as fascinating as the melody of the patter. The choice whether to let yourself dance in the rain or let the characters dance in your head, entirely lies in your hands!
Hellen Keller is the best rainy-day companion if you are craving for a dose of optimism in your life. Her biography, ‘The Story of my life,’ not only makes her the most optimistic human being to have ever walked on earth, but also makes you realize that the world you constantly call ‘bad’ is not that bad after all!
If you think your life is a misery-welcome to Charles Dickens’ London. Take his hand and walk down the dirty London streets. Be inspired to make things better for those who are not as privileged as you.  If you feel handling the pile of documents on your desk is a fatal torture, it’s your time to read Nelson Mandela’s ‘Long Walk to Freedom.’
If you wish to dig  deeper and get strangled in subtle realities of relationship and complex individualities, nothing would do better than Paulo Coelho’s magical realism and popular spiritual fiction. ‘The Alchemist’ may be the best piece that came out of his pen which addresses to anyone irrespective of his/her believes, caste and creed. But ‘By the River Peidra I sat down and wept’ and ‘Zahir’ beat ‘the boy’ in many ways.
Even if you read Archie comics or Stephanie Meyer, nothing would stop you from going back to classics. They will be best sellers until you keep falling in love with Mr. Rochester and Mr. Darcy. They will be immortal until you keep treading down the halls of Pemberley and Thorn field hall. And in your hearts of hearts you know, you don’t have to wait for a rainy day hug your dog-eared Jane Eyre for the four-hundredth time.
If you need a new definition for determination and courage, meet Madame Curie in Eve Curie’s biography on her mother. Not only you’ll feel the energy that ran through the body of the small made woman, but also the immovable courage and over-brimming love of a mother. If you complain about 9-5 office work and two kids-madame Curie had three kids-her two daughters and radium.
If you think Princess Diaries are better than all the regency books put together, it is your time to meet Georgette Heyer. If you need good stir in the mind, Oscar wilde should be your first choice, his ‘Picture of the Dorian Grey’ must have got him into trouble, but his ‘Happy Prince’ can make you cry for its simplicity and portraying of universal human suffering.
If you want to pick up something closer to home, Shehan karunatilake is the best person to satisfy your hunger for cricket-reads; that is only if you can handle his razor-blade sarcasm. Nihal de Silva would be your pick if you get used to his settings. Only, don’t fall in love with Captain Wasantha- he is mine!

Before the bubble bursts…

Living a normal life is always a boring reality that is devoid of fairytale charms and magic portions. These enchantments seem to bedazzle the lives of those who come in these stories. But in real life, your fairytale moments are what you make out of your life and certainly magic is synonymous with successes you achieve.
Be it a girl or boy, man or woman, it is always easy for anyone to be the prince/ princess or king/queen in his or her world. These imaginary kingdoms have imaginary territories. They have their royal courts filled with the favourites, and sometimes enemies who are beyond the kingdom’s boundaries.  Living in a fairytale always means being ignorant about what is happening around you. The tower you live in is so high that kitchen is not within your vicinity. You don’t know how the food comes to your plate or whether they are vegetables or meat. You can’t differentiate between a cukoo bird and a hen and you wouldn’t know whether your royal garden has jasmine creepers. Anyone who laughs at your lame jokes and nods in agreement with every illogical thing you utter is an ardent royalty-lover, anyone opposes your statements inevitably become a traitor. You think it’s your birthright to discuss the weaknesses of anyone in the public the way you want, and if someone else does it in front of you, you think he should be sent to gallows for doing so. Double standards is another name for royal standards. You think it’s a royal privilege to pass judgment on things even when it is unasked for. You think you are mature enough to rule the world when the people around you keep thanking god for not bestowing a real kingdom upon you!
Living in this bubble is so easy until the day riots start and you find the lords around you have got sick of your demanding nature and your condescending air. Then in no time, without any prior notices, your bubble bursts and your hypothetical kingdom gets flooded with realities. This makes you think where you went wrong. And you start by saying sorry to owners of the hearts you broke and the friends you took for granted- you realize it was a word long missing from your vocabulary. When you make peace with yourself, you will start building your kingdom again. In the process of rebuilding you will realize chivalry and respect are things  you have to win and not demand and falling in love is not as easy as wearing a glass slipper. And this time you know, you will be a commoner like the rest of the world and the farthest you can climb is to become a king or a queen in people’s hearts.