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Wednesday, February 23, 2011

I will be a jar of iced lemonade on a hot July day

I will be a jar of iced lemonade on a hot July day when anything else fails to quench your thirst. I can’t promise you that I will keep you entertained till the last drop as most of the fizzy drinks promise to do, but I assure you that I will not give you bad after-effects.
I will be a scrapbook over-brimming with recollections, dog-eared with age and extreme handling. When your memory is too small to remember all the days, I will make you look back, walk far on the memories and fall asleep on my pages. I can’t promise you that I won’t upset your sinus. But, I assure you that I will help you retune your laughter.


I will be the fragrance you long to sniff whenever you are far away from home. I will pass you like the wind and tickle you like in a dream. You will unknowingly know that I am there for you forever and always no matter how aged we are and how far and away we live from each other. I can’t promise you that I will not make you homesick, but I assure you that the homesickness will not be intense enough to drag you home.
I will be the concluding note that makes your composition complete. I will sound the way your fingertips command me. I will bend myself to the tempo you set. And I will bring the silence you long to loose yourself in. I can’t promise you that I will not make you fall in love with my closeness and flexibility but I assure you that I will not fall in love with you in return.
I will be the hue that you feast your eyes in when the Colombo sun bids adieu from dusty horizons. I will be the tint that takes a handful of colours from your palette and still refuse to come into your painting. Thus, I will teach you patience and make you realize that, you are not the centre of the world, and having me by your side does not make you a king either. I can’t promise you that I would not hurt you, but I assure you that your stubbornness will have a fair battle with that of mine.
Like water and air, I will take the shape of the container you put me into. But if you fail to bring me the right container, I will be me and you’d better learn to take me as I am and tolerate my eccentricities.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Audition for an inner voice



Sometimes, people will hate you for what you have and what you are capable of. They will pull crowds against you and question your confidence in public. They will make your reputation hanging loose from your shoulders and strip you of the last shred of credibility others had on you.
Perhaps you deserved it perhaps you did not. And for them to hate you so much there would have been a drop of venom that bred in some unknown vessel, something that brew into such degrees with age and change. Perhaps you were the only unlockable trap-door they could find in their furry to break into the fortress.
They will hate you for having it all easy while they toiled for quarter of life to achieve what you have already got. They will dislike you for the support you get and the crowds that circle you when you stroll outdoors, a kind of popularity, their erudition could not attract. They will envy you for the way you carry yourself and the vibrancy you spread around you. They will carp you for your fearlessness and assassinate your character for being unconventional.
They will try to kick the ladder you are climbing and shuffle the instruments of your symphony. They will know when to attack and where, but you should know better. Leaving them no place to break into the fort you have been holding for so long is not a hard task. All you have to do is to assure yourself that no matter how difficult, you will continue to do the right thing. Once you take the correct path, there is very little space for any external force to come between you and your ethics. If you have never heard of the voice of your conscience, now is the time to start auditioning for a voice, as you have taken already too long.
Remember, they watch your every move and you should know better than walking in your pajamas in the public.

I wonder



I was wondering how old would I be if I didn’t know my age and which is worse, never trying or failing every time I try. I wonder how many people I will long to meet up with, if I ever get to know that I have only one more day to live. I wonder how many waters I will willingly cross if my dream is waiting for me in some far away place.
I wonder how many friends who are currently in my contact list will make it my contact list after another five years. I wonder how many how many of those friends who wished me for my 23rd birthday will be there to wish me on the 30th one. I wonder whether I will be able to accept frailty with the same grace I accept old age and streaks of silver hair. I wonder whether I have the same certainty of where I am going to end up and how I am going to conclude my journey when I turn fifty-something.
I wonder when I will get over the habit of scribbling smilie-faces, happy suns and trees on the borders of tutorials and notes when I get bored. I wonder how many more bathroom sessions will it take for me to realize that my singing is not even up to the under-the-shower standards.
I wonder whether I will ever get tired of eating rice and pol sambol, waking up to the Maha Pirith in the morning and fall asleep with my head on Amma’s lap.
I wonder if I ever have to give up writing letters to my friends, make them handmade cards and wait for their replies coming in snail mail.
I wonder when Egypt will stop having the mystic pull that enthralls me, and keep me dreaming of setting my feet on her soil one day. I wonder how she will not hold her ancient charms even with her governments getting shaken and her museums being plundered.
I wonder how many more litres of ink will it take to make me feel ready to dip my pen, my heart and soul into the novel that has been knocking on my door ever since I turned fifteen. I wonder how many unexpected criticism and praise it will take for me to understand that there are more people reading my writing than I think.
And I keep wonder whether I am doing them justice :-)

The language of magnanimity


Very often do I find it ridiculous how people opt to celebrate their milestones and achievements. When you are blinded by happiness, you become blind to the feelings of those who live around you. You keep floating on your cloud number whatsoever with the music playing in the background at a glass-shattering volume while your neighbours keep stuffing cotton wool into their ears, pinning for the goodnight sleep they are very much entitled to.
Parties are nice affairs with sufficient music to groove and keep the chatter going. Even if the party drags on till midnight, let the music play at a certain volume to keep the dance floor alive but not your neighbour wide awake at the wee hours of the morning.
We Sri Lankans have turned out to be a great set of show-offs, who will do anything and everything to place ourselves high above the rest. But sadly, this topping comes at a great price.
The sad side is that by the time you realize happiness or grief is already too full to be filled to with bottles and glasses of alcohol or thundering sounds only you can call music, best of your years will be gone. And to celebrate in the manner it is to be celebrated, there wouldn’t be anymore fetes left in your life-story. Spending your happy moment amidst your friends and loved ones is pleasant enough. Playing a host to them and keeping them entertained is your duty. But perhaps you always forget that your guests were never enemies with your neighbours and that they never backed you up to disturb your neighbourhood. You share the special meal with your loved ones but at the same time you snatch away the morsel of sleep of the ones who are within earshot.
If you are not too drunk in the ecstasy of passing an exam, getting promoted or being a birthday boy or girl, take a bird’s eye view from your mind’s eye and see how many are rendered destitute by poverty, floods and other disasters. And spare a thought about their hunger, the helplessness and constant exposing to elements. They are not super human beings, but the ordinary ones just like you and I. If you are not rich enough to cook a meal for them, at least think of the ones who are within the reach of your help. Certainly the woman next door who attained motherhood few weeks ago must be struggling to put the baby to sleep while the teenager in the rear house might be studying for his O/Ls, and they deserve to be in your thoughts before you touch the volume control of your hi-fi set up.
And they say, silence speaks, in this case, perhaps the language of magnanimity.