Is it really..? In such a flamboyant manner?
I was wondering and thinking about this for the whole of today. Even now at 1245 am the sound of two separate 'bajjawwa', drift in through the window.
I'm not unpatriotic. No. I've done things for my country in my own small manner, which i'm mighty proud of. But i was really trying to understand why people have been driven overboard with joy at the killing of prabha n co. I mean it's good and just that they should be killed, they deserve more pain and suffering for the hurt they have caused sri lanka and it's people. But to celebrate by processions in the street, crackers that scare the shit of you, joyous singing far into the night..
Was it a kind of sadism, i wondered.
But then it occured to me that what we are celebrating here is not a killing but a liberation. A liberation of our minds from the overhanging cloud of fear. A cloud that sometimes we did not even know was existing, but nevertheless darkened the visage of every sri lankan without cast or creed. It was this relief from the oppression that we are/were celebrating.
Freedom from terrorism that has plagued us and has been almost able to crumple our beautiful country, that's the true cause for celebration. Peace was a rare commodity in sri lanka for a long long time.
I don't plan to go and join in the frolicking, but there's no denying that my heart has also taken a lift.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Vesak at NHSL
Vesak at NHSL
Originally uploaded by Caduceus2009
Vesak full moon poya does not miss the national hospital, either. Albeit without any fancy pandals or overt deco, the wards are dressed up in the devout buddhist colours, and most sport vesak lanterns of vivid colours. The monks attached to the nearby temples also visit each ward and chant pirith and the occasional small sermon.
Vesak at NHSL
Vesak at NHSL
Originally uploaded by Caduceus2009
Vesak full moon poya does not miss the national hospital, either. Albeit without any fancy pandals or overt deco, the wards are dressed up in the devout buddhist colours, and most sport vesak lanterns of vivid colours. The monks attached to the nearby temples also visit each ward and chant pirith and the occasional small sermon.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Front on... I look a joke
Today, i cut my hair. The barber cut one side first and then did the other.
Result: On one side i look like one person, and on the other i look a totally different one. And from the front... I look a joke.
You see, this barber has a shop in punchiborella, that were you not specifically searching for it, you would never find. Kind of like "platform 9 and 3 quarters" in that way. I could tell you that it was just 4 shops Maradana side to the new Cannes', but then if you weren't led there by hand yourself, you'd never see it. I was led there by a friend.
It's a very dinghy place. Approximately only 1m x 10m in size, so small that once you sit on the chair you need to push it right in under the counter for someone to be able to pass behind you. Indeed if you were obese, you were turned away at the door. So necessity dictated that the barber cut my left side first and then move to work on the right.
You might wonder at my choice of saloon. But then, i have never been persuaded to have it done at these high flown places. What the hell for? I mean they cut YOUR hair and take YOUR money for it, and it will anyhow grow back it another 3 weeks no? So as long as a saloon confirmed to the basic hygiene standards and did a decent job without me suffering in waiting queues any place would do. Further unexpectedly, this place had A.C. too a boon in these times of hotness.
Nothing was amiss, until i got back to my room. I hadn't noticed anything at the view as i paid the barber, and it did look ok. It was only after the shower and towelling that the changes appeared.
Hair on the right side was shorter than the left and was of a different cut style alltogether. Even the sideburns were a good 2 cm length different and styled in two ways. And from in front.. the less said the better.
Before forming any sort of plan for the salvage, i went and sought the advice of my most loved free critic. After a critical appraisal of me from all sides and from far and near, she conveyed to me that from the right side i looked like "jamal malik" of slumdog fame, while on the left i was a mix between Roshan Ranawana and tintin (what the hell that is supposed to mean). And told me that if we could do somework on the sideburns and if combed right, the front would look just as well. So it's a wrap then, and i don't have to go accost the barber with the abomination he's created.
But, i do wonder sweet's can be a little biased at times. Would someone like to give a second opinion?
Result: On one side i look like one person, and on the other i look a totally different one. And from the front... I look a joke.
You see, this barber has a shop in punchiborella, that were you not specifically searching for it, you would never find. Kind of like "platform 9 and 3 quarters" in that way. I could tell you that it was just 4 shops Maradana side to the new Cannes', but then if you weren't led there by hand yourself, you'd never see it. I was led there by a friend.
It's a very dinghy place. Approximately only 1m x 10m in size, so small that once you sit on the chair you need to push it right in under the counter for someone to be able to pass behind you. Indeed if you were obese, you were turned away at the door. So necessity dictated that the barber cut my left side first and then move to work on the right.
You might wonder at my choice of saloon. But then, i have never been persuaded to have it done at these high flown places. What the hell for? I mean they cut YOUR hair and take YOUR money for it, and it will anyhow grow back it another 3 weeks no? So as long as a saloon confirmed to the basic hygiene standards and did a decent job without me suffering in waiting queues any place would do. Further unexpectedly, this place had A.C. too a boon in these times of hotness.
Nothing was amiss, until i got back to my room. I hadn't noticed anything at the view as i paid the barber, and it did look ok. It was only after the shower and towelling that the changes appeared.
Hair on the right side was shorter than the left and was of a different cut style alltogether. Even the sideburns were a good 2 cm length different and styled in two ways. And from in front.. the less said the better.
Before forming any sort of plan for the salvage, i went and sought the advice of my most loved free critic. After a critical appraisal of me from all sides and from far and near, she conveyed to me that from the right side i looked like "jamal malik" of slumdog fame, while on the left i was a mix between Roshan Ranawana and tintin (what the hell that is supposed to mean). And told me that if we could do somework on the sideburns and if combed right, the front would look just as well. So it's a wrap then, and i don't have to go accost the barber with the abomination he's created.
But, i do wonder sweet's can be a little biased at times. Would someone like to give a second opinion?
Friday, May 1, 2009
Letter
Darling,
I love you. I love you more than I can say. I love your smile. I love your smell, but even more i love you bringing me tea in the morning, as we step out on a sunday and listen to the birds celebrate the joy of light, life and love. I love our walks, our talks down the bund in the evening, leaning against one another. So much, so many things, you are more to me than my love, you are my strength. You are the stiffness of my spine. You are my comfort, also my refuge. You make a man of me and let me be a boy.
I got your last letter on January 12. The posts are a little delayed after we moved on to this new camp. Yes, I was also thinking about you when new year dawned. It is my only prayer that we will be able to celebrate the sinhala new year together, hopefully this war will be over by then. But really the hardest part is now my love, when the enemy is hard to target as they are hiding cowardly behind innocent civilians. But our leadership is strong and our morale is high. Do not worry about my safety dear, regardless of what you hear in the news, I am OK and will stay that way. You know that I am an electrician. I am surrounded by several divisions of infantry whose only job is to keep us safe. So love, come April I will board that bus on my way back to you.
As for the news here: We continue to occupy into the town, rescuing more and more people as we go. The rains have stopped at last and we'll see little or no more until end June, the civilians tell me. Its getting terribly hot & dry. Did I tell I can now speak tolerably well in Tamil! I promise to teach you when I'm back. Oftentimes after talking with there people i think that only he we knew each others languages and talked a little bit more, so much of this could have been avoided. At least now they've started to teach it at school, which is very good.
About the war: Here at camp we see first hand the effects of it, rescued civilians passing through on their way to resettlement camps. Their faces filled with new hope and happiness. Those are the moments that make our whole effort worthwhile. They are out of all danger now. Really darling, I'll not lie, apart from the straw artillery shell and the very rare mine on the roads it's not at all risky here. I might be more at harm in the village from your brother. Ha ha.
Last week our division discovered another hastily covered mass grave of the enemy, where some kids found dead were even smaller than younger brother. This is the brutality of the enemy who force there innocents to the forefront of the field. We dug up the bodies and buried them proper in graves, however unmarked- somebody's son or daughter, somebody's brother or sister.
Yesterday I also helped at the security and clearing station up front for the endless stream of civilians that managed to evade enemies. I can only imagine the agony and suffering at the hands of the enemy while being forcibly held as human shields in the no fire zone. The officers there are overburdened and my Tamil came in pretty handy. I'm free tomorrow and I expect I'll go again to help them out- beats staying in camp idling and playing cards.
Well darling it's getting late and I'll end here. I love you and miss you. I'll post you from camp tomorrow. Good night and sweet dreams.
---------------------------------------------------------
Dear Mrs. Weeramuni,
You don't know me, I'm just another soldier like Saman was. But for some reason I feel the need to tll you what happened. I've waited a bit to do this, I expect Saman is home with you by now, and the Army has done their duty in this regard.
I found this letter on the ground after we picked up Saman, and held on to it. I'm sorry. I don't know why it always makes me cry. Oh hell, I said I was going to tell you what happened so here goes,
We were at the clearing station for the refugees coming from the front, sorting and directing them to the resettlement camps. We were severely overburdened and welcomed the assistance from other soldiers like Saman who helped us out. Saman was stationed no less than 10 metres from me. Suddenly there was shots fired, with a loud report and we instictively dropped to the ground. With a ball of flame, and explosion went off almost immediately.
When we got to our feet again, well, nothing, just Saman lying there on the road, among the other fallen. When we got to him he was already gone, by those bullets. There was nothing we could do but take him back to camp. As you know the others escaped with minor injuries, it was a minor explosion afterall.
It's not much if a story I guess, no big battle or anything for the papers. I still don't know why I am doing this. But, well Saman was out there volunteering and helping some people, and there were those that sadistically wanted to hurt them. I guess that is why I am writing this. Saman, was there to help protect people from those who hurt them. And so, I guess that makes Saman a hero, not the victim. I'm sure you miss him; but he was a good man and please take some comfort in knowing what he really was.
I love you. I love you more than I can say. I love your smile. I love your smell, but even more i love you bringing me tea in the morning, as we step out on a sunday and listen to the birds celebrate the joy of light, life and love. I love our walks, our talks down the bund in the evening, leaning against one another. So much, so many things, you are more to me than my love, you are my strength. You are the stiffness of my spine. You are my comfort, also my refuge. You make a man of me and let me be a boy.
I got your last letter on January 12. The posts are a little delayed after we moved on to this new camp. Yes, I was also thinking about you when new year dawned. It is my only prayer that we will be able to celebrate the sinhala new year together, hopefully this war will be over by then. But really the hardest part is now my love, when the enemy is hard to target as they are hiding cowardly behind innocent civilians. But our leadership is strong and our morale is high. Do not worry about my safety dear, regardless of what you hear in the news, I am OK and will stay that way. You know that I am an electrician. I am surrounded by several divisions of infantry whose only job is to keep us safe. So love, come April I will board that bus on my way back to you.
As for the news here: We continue to occupy into the town, rescuing more and more people as we go. The rains have stopped at last and we'll see little or no more until end June, the civilians tell me. Its getting terribly hot & dry. Did I tell I can now speak tolerably well in Tamil! I promise to teach you when I'm back. Oftentimes after talking with there people i think that only he we knew each others languages and talked a little bit more, so much of this could have been avoided. At least now they've started to teach it at school, which is very good.
About the war: Here at camp we see first hand the effects of it, rescued civilians passing through on their way to resettlement camps. Their faces filled with new hope and happiness. Those are the moments that make our whole effort worthwhile. They are out of all danger now. Really darling, I'll not lie, apart from the straw artillery shell and the very rare mine on the roads it's not at all risky here. I might be more at harm in the village from your brother. Ha ha.
Last week our division discovered another hastily covered mass grave of the enemy, where some kids found dead were even smaller than younger brother. This is the brutality of the enemy who force there innocents to the forefront of the field. We dug up the bodies and buried them proper in graves, however unmarked- somebody's son or daughter, somebody's brother or sister.
Yesterday I also helped at the security and clearing station up front for the endless stream of civilians that managed to evade enemies. I can only imagine the agony and suffering at the hands of the enemy while being forcibly held as human shields in the no fire zone. The officers there are overburdened and my Tamil came in pretty handy. I'm free tomorrow and I expect I'll go again to help them out- beats staying in camp idling and playing cards.
Well darling it's getting late and I'll end here. I love you and miss you. I'll post you from camp tomorrow. Good night and sweet dreams.
---------------------------------------------------------
Dear Mrs. Weeramuni,
You don't know me, I'm just another soldier like Saman was. But for some reason I feel the need to tll you what happened. I've waited a bit to do this, I expect Saman is home with you by now, and the Army has done their duty in this regard.
I found this letter on the ground after we picked up Saman, and held on to it. I'm sorry. I don't know why it always makes me cry. Oh hell, I said I was going to tell you what happened so here goes,
We were at the clearing station for the refugees coming from the front, sorting and directing them to the resettlement camps. We were severely overburdened and welcomed the assistance from other soldiers like Saman who helped us out. Saman was stationed no less than 10 metres from me. Suddenly there was shots fired, with a loud report and we instictively dropped to the ground. With a ball of flame, and explosion went off almost immediately.
When we got to our feet again, well, nothing, just Saman lying there on the road, among the other fallen. When we got to him he was already gone, by those bullets. There was nothing we could do but take him back to camp. As you know the others escaped with minor injuries, it was a minor explosion afterall.
It's not much if a story I guess, no big battle or anything for the papers. I still don't know why I am doing this. But, well Saman was out there volunteering and helping some people, and there were those that sadistically wanted to hurt them. I guess that is why I am writing this. Saman, was there to help protect people from those who hurt them. And so, I guess that makes Saman a hero, not the victim. I'm sure you miss him; but he was a good man and please take some comfort in knowing what he really was.
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