Tears. They are for both joy and misery. They water the dryness in absence. They encompass forgiveness. Even regret. Or hard work.
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| Pic source :cmev.org |
We all cry. As much as we laugh under sun shine. Some cries are heard. But not all are heard. Birds sing. But not everyone understands their pitch, their tune or what they sing. Have you ever wondered if they are happy while singing? Or are they sad? Likewise not all tears are read. Nor they are perceived every time.
Tears were remembered. But this time it was different. They did not have anything to do with love lost or nothing of a death or so. They talked of commitment and dedication. Or I would like to call it being loyal to their Boss. Two days back, when I was coming back home from work the bus had to stop for the red light in Kirulapone junction. To my left were hundreds of people, ordinary men and women with their kids walking along the pavement. They wore green shirts and green caps. Looking at these green people, my first thoughts were that they are UNP supporters. Yes. They were. There was no doubt. However, no youth was to be seen. There were mothers and fathers, old perhaps. They carried leaflets. They looked weary. And some were squinting eyes to the bright sun. Some teared. It was too hot and a long journey. I discerned.
The incident took me to Bertolt Brecht, the famous playwright and theatre director whose poetry had a rare poetic vision. His poem ‘The worker builds history’ says like this:
Who built Thebes of the seven gates?
In the books you will find the names of kings.
Did the kings haul up the lumps of rock?
And Babylon, many times demolished
Who raised it up so many times? In what houses
of gold-glittering Lima did the builders live?
Where, the evening that the Wall of China was finished
Did the masons go? Great Rome
Is full of triumphal arches. Who erected them? Over whom
Did the Caesars triumph? Had Byzantium, much praised in song
Only palaces for its inhabitants? Even in fabled Atlantis
The night the ocean engulfed it
The drowning still bawled for their slaves.
Walls are built. Mausoleums are made. Buildings are erected. Wars are fought. But the builders are not remembered. No one talks of others who wept for country and soil. No one praises the people who sweated to thrive. Governors and Kings have forgotten that all triumphs are a result of masons, the carpenters or the ordinary men who do work for them. Little men are little. Always. In record of human advancement or victory Leaders somehow get into books.
Brecht’s thoughts were finely tuned by Nanda Malini later. The song ‘Perahera’. But this particular Perahera is different from glorious pageants you and I have seen all this time. It is a one visited by teardrop and sigh.
පෙරහැර එනවා කස පුපුරණවා හේවිසි නද පතුරණවා
කස කරුවන්ගේ දහඩිය මුඟුරින් පාවඩ මඟ අතුරනවා
යදමින් බැඳි ඇතු අසීරු ගමනින් හෙමිහිට පාද තබන්නේ...
යන ගමනේ ඉම දැක ගනු රිසියෙනි ඇත් ගොව්වන් ගාටන්නේ...
ගුරුන්ගෙ අණටයි නිදිමත දරු කැළ කළගෙඩි අරගෙන එන්නේ…
පන්තේරුව බොල් පින්නෙන් නැහැවී දෑතට දියවී යන්නේ…
පාර දෙපැත්තේ පොඩි මිනිසුන් දෙස නිළමේවරු නොබලන්නේ...
රජ සිටුමැතිවරු නරඹන තැන් වල නිළමේවරු නවතින්නේ…
එතැනදි වැයුමේ රිද්මය වැඩිවී හොඳ හොඳ නැටුම් පෙනෙන්නේ…
එළි අඩු පන්දම් තෙල් නැති පන්දම් තෙල් ගල්වා දල්වන්නේ...
හිතේ වේගයට හේවිසි හොරණෑ තම්මැට්ටම් අඬවන්නේ...
මාළක්කම් මැද වෙස් නළුවන්නේ පීඩිත මුහුණු පෙනෙන්නේ...
අඹු දරුවන්නේ කුස් පුරවන්නයි වන්නම් තාළ වයන්නේ...
වේළ දෙවේළට අත සරු වෙන්නයි කොහොඹ කළේ නටවන්නේ
The dance step, rolls of udekki , the drumbeat of thammattama , the pantheru that twirl in air , somersaults along the streets are the ones that add glitter to all the pageantry and veneration. It is the fuel and strength of dancers and drum beaters that keep a Perahera alive. These are performed by ordinary men and women. They would perform for a little sum of money. It is what survives them. But no one wants to talk about them.
In the end the little man does all the work. Like the performers at the Perahera who does all the work for the idle nilame. The incident in Kirulapona proved it.
I was thinking of ‘Elections’. Election fever is bad. Not the Politicians. But how useless it is to canvass for candidates when ordinary people waste themselves and do everything for those who practically do nothing when they are elected.
So in this year, as we move on for a second election, it is good for Politicians to think of tears. It is good for them to think of the people who have worked hard for their political journey. It should not be forgotten that people help to promote candidates because they have faith
in what candidates have promised to give them. Remember , they deserve the true credits.
Apart from lessons in fact school years are a lot like reunions. You would find a jing bang around you doing different things. They’ll laugh together with you. They’ll bully you. They will annoy you. They will make faces at you when you get on the stage. They will make phone calls and tell you to be present in school the next day for some important meeting and then go missing when you come to school. It is certainly a unique gathering of people that you want meet again. There are sad days and stories. There is disagreement and fight.
