Is it ok to tell that you own my breath?

Kites rise high. They fall. Sometimes they get blown away. They disappear. Kites get lost. We cry when things are lost. We cry when things that we love are lost. All you need is some determination, if you want to find them back.  Things don’t always disappear completely. They leave you something behind. Like kites. They will leave broken strings on the ground.  Or  its tattered  remains and torn sau kola, entangled on a tree or in electricity wires.  I remember how buckets hung next door were destroyed last year. It was a rain drenched Vesak.  The buckets were gone. But the ‘kambi’ used to hung  them were left. Stains cannot be removed completely. They get washed . But they leave a copper brown spot. In least.

Things are lost. Things are forgotten. The forgotten is remembered. The  remembered  are  forgotten. We live on. We perish. But nature has a way of bringing back things . Even after we leave  this world.

Three Mondays ago  a riped mango fell on my feet. It was eaten by sky creatures. I observed. I t was early morning. I had just  stepped out  of the house  to Hulftsdorp. It’s been two weeks since the Final year at Law College has begun.  It was nice listening to Mr .Sarath Jayamanne , now a Solicitor General. He was  drinking tea  , along  with his thoughts.  It is equally nice to be with  people who are eloquent and funny , moreover same cultural , philosophical and moving with same ideologies.

It was a bright day. The morning sunshine crept through the window giving extra light to the hall. I cannot quite remember what we  were exactly discussing. We laughed. There were mumbles on and off. Debates. We fell silent.  Mr. Jayamanne  made a statement.   ‘ We never can get away with what we do. We leave our presence wherever we go’. He sighed. He smiled. Gently.

I don’t recall if he sighed or gasped.  But  a sigh escaped my  lungs. People leave and memories  sway like kites , battered by  storms . Yet obeying the dictates of gravity.  There’s nothing that disobeys nature. How appropriate it is! This is how nature has helped man develop science and technology, I thought. Mr. Jayamanne quoted us a line from a criminal journal he had come across years back. ‘ Api pruthajjana minissu’ (We are laymen).  We have no super powers. We cannot hide ourselves from others. We sweat. We have no ‘irdhi balaya’ . Like Buddha did. Like Gods did.

We didn’t have to say ‘yes’. We already knew enough about being lay men and how. There was sufficient knowledge in us to persuade without unnecessary acknowledgements. And this is how Forensics has grown taller. Criminals cannot escape. Even the dead. Because we are lay men – we are laymen! The ‘something’ left behind is greater evidence. It always makes investigators happy. It could be a finger print , a foot print , blood , bruise , a knife or gun left  , a broken glass , piece of cloth , hair , fibers  or semen. Even tire tracks and bite marks.  Nature is incredible enough to let leave our traces where ever we go.

Two Mondays  ago , there was no reason to remember of such leaving with traces.  But it was strange that time when I was holding a cup of water, to think how oils from  my sweat glands collect on the cup. How oils and other materials on my  fingers are left on the surface of the objects I touch. The decoration left by these substances, which collect along the ridges on our fingers, make up  fingerprints.  Same with  sweat. Even saliva that is released to air when talking combines with other structures around.  There is ‘you’ and ‘I’ formed everywhere in a pattern. They remain fixed for life. This is what helps science today to identify wrong  doers, the dead  and  left. You will find yourself  there in a broken glass , the soil and anything. Be afraid. Be very afraid now.

There are Mondays so long gone which I cannot name them. Even Saturdays, Sundays and Wednesdays too. Every day I touched. I walked. I sweat.

There is a line quoted by lovers  in love, love – broken  and love poetry.   It says ‘ oba  mage suwanda aragena yanna’ ( Take the smell of my breath with you) or else ‘ mama obe suwanda  aragena yannam’( I take the smell of your breath ) . We meet people. Some stay. Some part us very early. Some stray in our hearts. It is nice to part people with memories.   A few  days old, I realized we leave not only memories , even  the breath, the smell, the sweat and everything possible to leave . There is a chemical composition exchanged every time we talk face to face, touch or smell another.

Right now , my smile is wide. I don’t  know the reason why I smile.  All I know is there's possibility that Mondays later  I will  meet you.  I may take a portion of your breath , your smell and sweat with me  . And you will take mine . Whether you like it or not.


First published in The Nation newspaper , March 8th 2015