Monday, August 31, 2015

Hit and run and other things we need to stop


The most leading cricketers in SriLanka have left the ground .Everybody doubts whether we would be lucky to have another Sangakkara or Mahela. Some wonder if the sport will just die without people like them. Because they are of a rare genome. True. They displayed the true quality of sport. But that’s that. Like anything else, rest is important.  And there is time to rest. Even for Sportsmen. We need not to worry , anyway. We are going to have a Baseball team soon. I am sure they have mastered the hit and run technique pretty well. They will do a good job.So they can test in international grounds too. They  have almost begun to practice the sport day and night , secretly. You will hear them more in TV’s and newspapers.



Pic source:Internet 

If you don’t know what the hit and run technique is , here are a few facts about that. Hit and run is a high risk, high reward offensive strategy used in baseball. It uses a stolen base attempt to try to place the defending infielders out of position for an attempted base hit. This technique is a tactical doctrine where the purpose of the combat does not involve the seize of a territory, but to inflict damage on a target and immediately exit the area to avoid the enemy's defense and/or retaliation. Such raids are meant to have a psychological effect on the enemy's morale. This is not only found in Baseball. But also in warfare. The enemy attacks to the point and escapes.



But , gosh ! We are doing this entirely different. Our team is becoming proficient in the game inside forests. They  focus , attack , shoot and go. And no one can find them thereafter. I don’t know. But may be we should  test their rules to ensure that they fit in to the right game before they go for international rounds.


A day or two ago , it was reported that a leopardess  was killed , hit and run in Yala. Murders are common in this country. Unfortunately. Whether its human or animal and if that is for money , anything is possible. Think. As we go on killing one today and another animal tomorrow, we are losing what the nature has given us. We are given to observe animals in a natural habitat. Not to chase them, kill or capture. The bio-diversity in SriLanka is said to be greater per square kilometer of surface area than any other country in Asia. We talk excessively about processions. The primeval forests full of wild life.


But where is  the wild life?


We have lost the landscape. We have lost trees. Now we are losing  animals too. And don’t  tell us tourism is going down. Or there is no income to maintain Sanctuaries. Of course, visitor attraction goes down when there’s nothing to enjoy. And eventually there is no profit  generated . Ask yourself the question. What would you expect from a Park, a Sanctuary or whatever it is?


And also come to think of Elephants. Elephants are killed by bullets, electric fences, cheena patas, snares and poison. No one is willing to let go of avihinsa. Then we keep on preaching others not to kill  and torture which seems not right.


The state should be more mindful and community-blind when it comes to the protection of forests and animals. Legislation should be strengthened. And no one should be pitied for killing or destroying nature. They are a part of our natural heritage .Community or politics should not be allowed to raze them off.


Everything starting  from  giant elephants , the brave lions , turbo cheetahs  to a speck of dust moving with sunlight .Each tells us a story. So , say no to those who try to  trample that special place called wild full of life. Before we lose anything else.

Please.




Sunday, August 23, 2015

Absconding


Pic source: www.artparasites.com

You turn into thief
steal kisses
out of my resting eyes
between hair strand,
lip-red, trembling,
and as you softly leave me
I would miss your breath
that touches my sleep.

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Some journeys are tear-made

Tears. They are for both joy and misery. They water the dryness in absence. They encompass forgiveness. Even regret. Or hard work.

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.





Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Serendipity



And Serendip
was no serendipity
or occurrence by chance
and happy encounter.
But of
kaleidoscopic fragments
falling this way and that 
forming patterns, now and then
sometimes pretty,
sometimes not.

An ode to re-visiting

Technology has made things easier. We need not remember everything.  Because they have places to store things. They’ve got places to show how things looked like a few months back.  Archives will do that all. You can find articles that were published long ago. Even web sites do have archives now. May be you can re-visit your font style, re-visit the size or structure. Do changes if you want to. Easy. 



Pic Source : Internet
Colombo Archives in Independence Avenue will help you re visit old books, deeds, inscriptions and newspapers or whatever. But not everything in this world is archived. Or preserved. We see them and we know what they are. Some things are momentary. It is not an easy task to remember everything we have seen or heard. You may miss one or two things when you try to recall them after sometime. That is human error or inadequacy, like anything else. We tend to forget. And this is why re-visiting is good. I remember how Miss Sajeevanie , my grade 12 English Literature teacher always wanted us to re-visit books. Because reading again and again helps us remember well. And every time you read you find something new which was not there before. 



Years so long gone I made frequent trips to Tangalle. Quite a lot of re-visits that I cannot name them exactly. That is where most of my childhood vacations were spent. I had an aunt who lived there doing her practice in Tangalle Base Hospital. She had no children at that time. And I was a fragment of her lonesomeness. I entertained her with my childhood adventures. She fondly recalls them. However, trips to Tangalle stopped when aunty moved to Colombo for work.


Two Sundays ago I visited Tangalle again. That was 18 years after I had left the place.


Tangalle was a happy city then.  The winter sun , the crimson skies in twilight, the dawn in orange and blue ,the every –night  glittering  telecom tower   a little away from hospital quarters , ice cream vendors along the beach , the woo-hoo sounds  of sea wave in mid night , the pulsing southern stars , curvy coconut trees  that bowed down to every blowing wind, Sunil uncle’s kade – the only 24 hour store in Tangalle  for  late night unexpected groceries and other necessities  were all perfect  and thrilling.



The  beach never had a break. It was everyday full of locals and foreigners.  A family friend always took me on sea rides. Every morning and when sun was about to sink. They are earliest of my memories. Harbor men were always busy.  Bringing ice and putting them back, sorting the fish, counting and storing. Men with fish gear set the hook, mend lines, drift and haul their catches. That was a common sight there. Beautiful and engaging. But now I have changed. I feel it’s a risk business. One would not even know if sea wave will provide a safe comeback to them and their boats.



Most of the things have had not changed  for 18 years. It was surprising .The park, the huge Mara tree  dividing the road to Tangalle Police Station and buildings were still the same. Same color. Even the Southern Bakery, to which I ran for cream bunis every morning. (That was a different cream bun altogether, with a well baked delicious crust, half cut into 4 and the surfaces filled with butter icing in different colors.) They are there in same picture board and size.



But a few things looked different the two Sundays back. The Base Hospital looked bigger, well built with a different coloring. New hotels have come in. Certain beach areas along the Colombo –Hambantota road were blocked. Walls were put up so that no can enter.  Some coconut trees were gone. Lands were seized. Regime Politics have changed the town from here and there.  Letting go has to be done sometimes. Because we are born into a world of change. When things decay or if one thinks the way it used to be has to be changed, new things are necessary. I think.



The whole trip was like a handkerchief gathering melancholia. I felt I was absent and absented through all this and more. Re –visits help you keep close records of things. Tangalle still  looked beautiful amidst the new things.  It is like when some people go away and when they come, now and again they are beautiful.



Monday, August 3, 2015

What we lost



Landscapes of daily life
water in the forest 
the giant palu and weera.

The men who did something for the country
dutiful ministers 
and honest servants.


The rules of courtesy - 
how to talk soft, when to say sorry,
how to touch a master's feet after lessons,
this matter of thanksgiving 
and the true ways of giving.

We have lost 
limits of betrayel
and monks who do abhinishkramanaya.

The sathara brahma viharana
concentration on breath,
the deeper levels of self ,
interior feelings
the art of loving.

Men who drift and haul 
for fish in the south
And Jaffna skies 
before boring holes.