A man loved by all

You may have seen air balloons darting in the sky. Bright and pretty. Air balloons have a burner below its envelope. When profane is fueled into the burner, the balloon goes up, up and away. Air balloons fly when hot air rises. Science has taught me that hot air is lighter than cold air, which means it rises. Air balloons fly high and they fall. When balloons are swaying, crosswinds, rain and storms can bring them down. Like air balloons also giants fall. Heroes leave us.

Many Thursdays ago, a giant fell, coming down gently, rocking and looking for his destined destination. Sidewalk signboards, walls and broadways changed for the first time on Friday. This time they lamented.

It read, ‘jaathiyata jeevaya dun sonduru minisaa numbayi’ (you are that beautiful man who reawakened this nation). The other side of the road carried a quote ‘oba paraada natha’ (you haven’t lost). I was on my way to the supermarket. Religious lessons have their variations. A day without wine is a day without sunshine, I thought. All quotes portrayed the ‘respect’ that all Sri Lanka’s people had for this statesman. It also glossed over the boxing days we have had. For thirty decades. And then suddenly the lifetime peace struggle. It didn’t FIT the image that majority had sketched of him during the recent years. 

Yes, he destroyed the LTTE. He built expressways. Constructed walkways. Built markets across the country. But he was a cult leader. They said.

But during later days, soon after elections, it was different. For a moment even Facebook was stocked with posters and images of Mahinda, his sayings and letters of tribute to him. 

Maithri won the presidential elections. There was enough sing song about winning. On the main street men, in shorts, who were passing groceries and fashion boutiques, lit firecrackers. It’s the practice, when someone wins or when something ‘new’ arrives. Like New Year it was a new regime. These incidents also give us a reminder that Sri Lanka has not always been as peaceful as it’s today. 

There was a divergence in views of the old, who once voted for the opposition, and the young, who have only heard of New Democracy recently in their lifetime. 

‘It’s really sad,’ I heard an older fellow say in a shop. 

‘Mahinda was a rare politician. I don’t think there is no person who wouldn’t like him.’

Some want him back. Just to make sure that the country is in safe hands. Born a few years before me, a friend said she wants no war. She thinks if Mahinda remained, it would have been great. But down the road some others had a different talk on Mahinda.

‘There was a time when people thought he is a harsh, oppressive politician. Now they think he is God’

Someone else confirmed that he was no ordinary man, but a statesman. He was a good leader. And then he changed, someone said adding, “but you have to obey the law in land. No one should act according to his whims and fancies.’

 

There was a time when people were dismayed by our political leadership. Some wished they were born in India, where there was a greater struggle. Some idealism. Gandhi. Bose. You know, those men who worked for their country. We have been having lackeys. Everyone wanted to be the Head Boy in the government. They lacked vision. I remember someone telling me that he wished Ven. Sobitha was a Statesman. 

But Mahinda went into greater lengths. We won against terrorism. And it made the country open to all Sinhalese, Tamils and Muslims and every other community in the island. This won over many distrustful politicians. Won against international politics. Mahinda was exceptional. A good orator. A fine, well tuned persuader. He knew the art of compelling. He knew how and well to address his people. 

Breaking up is not just about giving up a person whom you have loved. Love broken isn’t cold and heartless always. A break up does not make you run around easily and move with another. There is chance that you will stick around the same person again. And leaders are loved.  Even after they are gone.

The politically vocal are adored. They keep leaders on a pedestal, trusting and agreeing with them to make the right decisions for you. There is love in politics. And there are sensual leaders. The more we love, the more we want them. This is why I think love poetry often carries a sense of belongingness. Like ‘Oba mage, maa obe’  (you are mine – and I’m yours).

Two days ago I thought for myself, “there are no songs saying Chandrika is ours, or we are for Chandrika. But Mahinda, certainly is for us.” Love needs no publicity. Still Mahinda is owned. He is claimed by some, kissed by many and loved by all.

Courtesy - 'The Nation' newspaper , 1st March 2015 titled 'An ordinary man loved by all'

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On winning and losing *

It’s the election night. And I’m writing this now. All campaign rallies are over. Not too noisy. No more trumpet sounds. Everything sounds peaceful and calm. Things are  better than I’ve thought.  Everyone has voted.   Almost many I think. We’ve done the duty for the day. It’s more than a duty though, a civic right. Perhaps. And so many promises to be   embraced. Some to be lulled at. Things are not too far away. Tonight and tomorrow we will assess and ponder about them. We will soon get to know who’ll be the leader. Who is going to lead us for the next few years.

Election is not just about patriotism. Or how much you love the country. Or the ground work you’ve done to the country. It also carries some other criteria. Track records of candidates are not enough. A creative manifesto is also something perceived by a voter. Or in other words who could bring a change. And in doing all these, campaigns are necessary.  Campaign powers are crucial. Because that is how candidates make aware an electorate. What voters come to know about their candidates are secondhand from newspapers, posters, flyers, television and radio.

The law says all candidates should be given equal opportunities in elections. They all should be kept on equal grounds.  But it never happens. Election is like a horse race. The one who makes it faster, the better. This is why you never can keep candidates on the same ground. One will always go ahead another. Political coverage is like a sports show. Likely elevated to the color and drama of an athletic event.  Content is what wins the day. The more it’s appealing and attractive, people are convinced. The tension, the drama and everything makes it an athletic contest. We live in a world of marketing and advertising.  And thus it’s inevitable. Visits to villages, orphanages, factory gates and toxic waste dumps are the life blood of electoral politics. Sometimes the number of leaflets and advertisements will win the day and the party who did not impress people that way might lose it. But you never can say it’s always the same.  Political coverage has its unexpected plays. They can create an uncertainty in the outcome.

It’s quite alright to do what the candidate likes. Using posters, advertisements or anything to reach the people. And whatever said and done, when the decision is made, it should be accepted with  decorum . You don’t win always. And you don’t always lose either. That’s the beauty of sport. Sometimes you laugh, and sometimes you cry. Same with anything in life. Even politics.

Winning and losing takes me  to Meerigama. Where most of my vacations were spent.

I often played cricket with cousin brothers. And out of them was the 8 year old cousin, Matheesha who always wanted to win. He needs to win. Winning, by whatever means, evokes a feeling of pride in young ones. Losing makes them feel ashamed. When playing games, they take pleasure in their victory and make fun out of our defeat. They make up their own rules , changing them for their advantage . And if they lose, they will throw game pieces , insist a do –over or refuse to play. These are earliest of my memories. And quick learnt lessons in life. That winning is a gleeful triumph. It’s something to brag about. Or boast.

We are mortal. We die unplanned. Things get lost .Things decay. They perish. People rise.  People fall. Like kites that fly high and fall back. When kites fall, we will pick them up and fly them again. All we need is some determination.  Defeat is nothing to be ashamed of. Defeat is nothing bad .  Defeat will let you know where you have gone wrong.  So the next time you won't  do that again.

There will be days where there is no wind. There will be days when there are no stars. Some days will be too dark. Too dark to even walk alone in the garden. But it won’t be the same always. There will be days you see stars moving, pulsing up the sky. There’s hope. There’s always a next time for those who lose this time.

We will get to know the winner and who loses. Sooner .And the one who loses will have to leave all things aside. Power, money and what not. Leaving things aside is ok. Because it’s a fleeting world. That is  why Buddha told Venerable Ananda this way just before his parinivana: ‘vayadhammā sankhara appamādena sampādethā’

( Nothing is permanent in this world , work hard for your own salvation)

The loser should retire with grace and the winner should treat victory with humility. That's the first step forward.

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Meanwhile in a parallel universe

Nights have been too noisy these days.  Rallies mostly. And some woo hoo –ing about   Maithri- Mahinda politics on streets and what not. Dogs barking. Horns. Chatter near the handiye kade. Viren stepped out of the veranda.  A dark shadow moved outside. That was Erath .  This happened just two days ago.  Erath  had a cup of milk. And Viren had his coffee.  9.00 pm from their time .They ditched dinner. Instead talked talked  and talked. This time it was different. They didn’t exactly talk about  University   stuff Neither aboutThaththa’s loku akka   , Amma or Nangi. Just got the transcript from Chandare, who had suddenly broken into Viren’s house for some invitation. In a parallel universe.

‘Oh darling! See how we’ve lost democracy’. Viren sighed.

‘ You mean that Demo bugger who works for Demo cars?’

‘What?’

‘I mean that Demo fellow. Our funny cheeky mate. He is crazy. Always!  Good to have him around for a hearty laugh.’

‘We need democracy back!’ Viren affirmed.

courtesy - www.cartoonstock.com

‘You mean you need some crazy time with Demo?’ Erath chuckled.

‘He’s alive man! Good and well. Why you saw him dying in dreams?  I can take you over there. Let’s go in the noon. Tomorrow for sure. We haven’t been to his for a long time. ‘

‘No boy. I’m not talking about that Demo.  You know what I mean. It’s D-E-M-O-C-R-A-C-Y. That funny kind of Government. Where there are Free Elections, Civil Liberties, so called Political participation and all other nonsense. Don’t tell me you didn’t know these.’ Viren groaned.

‘Oh I see. That Democracy. Wait. I learned it years back. So why suddenly a democracy?’

‘Hmm. By the way, how you see all these? I mean these elections and all drama queens and kings? ‘

‘Why on earth you should bother about all those? You’ve got a roof for sun and rain. You’ve got your kirikiththa’s plot of land for dowry. Enough money to fill your stomach. Two kids. A wife. What more are you looking for? Why? this ain’t enough for you? Well, you have enough space in the house. May be you can get some stray dogs in. How ethnic!’

‘This is no joking. You know. ‘The man was serious.

‘This is what I feel. Whoever comes in, all are the same brother. We never know which is worse. Until the devil comes and play all nadagam. We share this country with gullible coots. Morons everywhere. Especially those who run campaigns. All candidates are crooks after elections. They fall on others feet. Feed their families. And we are just dumb lambs that vote them for lunch. Simple thing. We just got to be blind. ‘

‘So   is it your achchi who is going to feed you rice and dhal every day? May be I’ll also join someday’.

What? Erath retorted.

‘Well doesn’t that mean you and your family has enough to spend? Money won’t win the day. Sorry for the bad news. But then, are we supposed to be puppets and let them dance their ball? Huh? They say its people and peoples’ government. Tell me what they do?’

‘Everyone wants to hang on the line. Save their chair for the next day.  So they will bring manifestos made by the candidates that the people are left to choose from... So, the authority is still with the politicos and not with the people because those are just options that the people get to choose from and not the assortment of things they really want to see taking place in their country. When there is election , this is what happens everywhere.’

‘Greed! Greed! Viren pointed out. That won’t do any good. A change is good. But the sad story is they bring a change for their dead father or to regain military powers. Half way through most of them forgets what they say. Look at them! Are we here to choose the most creative manifesto?’

‘Ok.It won’t happen this time. A change is sure. If you just browse up and down on Facebook, you ‘d trust me! Everyone believes a system change.’

‘Rubbish! Facebook politics is just a waste of cyber space. The only good thing it does is letting people share ideas. That majority in Facebook will not even clean their gutters to prevent spreading dengue. And want to see a change in the country. Especially the young ones. Like you. They are trying to be cardboard weerayo. They just go with the trend. Viren went on with a grin.’

Erath was confident. ‘At least we shout out what people need, let’s say’.

‘Shouting and screaming don’t work. It’s simple as this. You guys clean one side while dirtying the other. I’m beginning to realize this. We are no different from the USA. The crooks and games we play are same as theirs.’

So that’s good news?

‘No, but at least they are our saviors. They wish nothing but our wellbeing!’ Viren relieved Erath.

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