I have worn mehendi and pirith-nool with equal passion

 If I die today, let it be said that I am not a victim of racial hatred. If you respect me enough, do not let anyone walk over my body to glory or lemon-puff martyrdom.

Emergency 2018

If I die today, my life would be one that was lived through emergency. From birth to death, with brief periods of free breathing here and there.

I fear for my life. I fear that I may not be able to reach home safely. I fear that the sight of my husband this morning when I stepped out of the house, would be the last time I got to see him. I fear that there would not be chance of returning to work tomorrow.

 I fear for my loved ones. I fear that they are unsafe and suddenly made vulnerable to forces that are waiting to devour them for no fault of theirs.

I fear for my friends and colleagues. I fear that they could become preys of causes that they do not even endorse. And I know that losing them would be my loss alone.

I fear for the people I do not know. I fear that they are as scared as me and as helpless to do anything about it. I know that the same fear that burns me, burns the majority that have nothing to do with it.

Like most of them, it was not my choice to become a victim of a political farce, acted upon by people who are blind to the fact that they have been made actors of it.

Do not preach pliability to a woman, born into a couple hailing from the Deep South, who has two Indian names and a Portuguese surname, and being mistaken more than once to have belonged to all ethnicities and religions this country houses. This, I wear like a tiara with previous stones of different hues. This is the mosaic of islandness that I have become. This is my Sri Lankanness that no one can rob me of. I have worn mehendi and pirith-nool with equal passion.

My generation has not known perpetual peace. We were born to a war. Bred through the darkest chapter of history—perhaps caught in a vicious time loop—that every time we thought we saw the end of it, instead of seeing game over, we get to see the next level. This is a game for which we did not subscribe ourselves.

Where we went wrong is when we thought our rulers were wise enough to make decisions for us. Our vote did not carry the mandate of setting the country’s tapestry of unity on fire; or the immunity to watch it burning down to rags without netting the perpetrators.

My generation contains an underwhelming minority that cannot tell apart their political preferences and sentiments of ultra-nationalism. This, given the teensiest of spaces that they occupy, we thought would be buried in our collective cries for kokis and biriyani.

Perhaps, what we thought was wrong. We have sinned more by leaving space to access and manipulate them.

I can live with the existence of politicians who will go to any length to see that their popularity is intact. I can try hard to stop myself from throwing up when I hear their cheap tricks to instigate disharmony so that they could appear to be guardians who can restore the island to normalcy.

What kills me is the silence of the wiser—those who pride themselves to be impartial, those who tell the world all the time that they have nothing to lose.

War was willing to teach us many lessons. But we have not been willing to learn them.

I laugh in the faces of those who come and tell me that it may not stop soon. Because I believe like the sun rises tomorrow, that, as I write, in many neighborhoods in curfew imposed areas, Menikes and Fathimas are sharing food over fences and walls, while their kids are watching cartoons in front of one TV. This I know that no racist political agenda can take away from the resilience of my citizenry.

If I die today, let it be said that I am not a victim of racial hatred. If you respect me enough, do not let anyone walk over my body to glory or lemon-puff martyrdom.

In life, I would never forgive such cowardice and even in my death, I never will!