My school has an unforgotten heartbeat*

Somebody told me that in France people kiss in streets. I think that is love, letting all fears go away. Nobody minds stealing kisses in public. Because to the love giver, it is giving. It is giving at any time. I think it’s nice. Love letting is easy. It’s easy with open words and open actions. There are people I have met. Many  left.  One or two are staying inside my heart.

There are very few people I love. “One is loved because one is loved. No reasoning is needed for loving,” is a saying by Paulo Coelho. A line I adore much. We are too poor to answer why we like or love someone. Heart things are complicated. Not too good to question how strings and valves and membranes work when we see people.

Some people are made of mystical heart beats. Heart warming, generous, empathetic and loving. Mrs NK Pilapitiya, the former Principal of Musaeus College, had true colors of an affectionate heartbeat. She too stole kisses in public. She was a love giver to those who came to her. She bent down to kiss cheeks and cuddle the little ones, I remember. Her kissing and hugging was not only for the kids. When teachers left school or a minor worker resigned from work she had the habit of embracing them and blessing them. She had a way of sharing humor with the laborers, the canteen staff and even the security officers who worked for her.

I think she was the last to leave school those days. She used to walk around the school after gatha in the morning and when the bell rang for us to leave school. She exchanged a few words with the passersby, smiled and laughed. Naturally she had good connections with people. Everybody liked her. She didn’t forget the treat on November 15. It is the Founders’ Day of the school. She had the habit of treating us with cake  and later a quite big Kandos chocolate for every student in the school. These little things were much awaited by students. She knew it. Students loved it.

Big matches are  fun times. For both boys and girls. For some it was a moment of cheer and revel.  I remember how seniors used to confess their crushes to boys who climbed up the walls.  Mrs. Pilapitiya didn't make much of a fuss about these as long as no school boy or schoolgirl crossed discipline that was expected. Big matches have been generally  regarded a headache. Some thought boys should be kept away from girls. For once it was different with Mrs. Pilapitiya. I was told by a senior how  she offered a treat at the canteen to some boys from Royal College  who dropped by to collect money for the match once. Mrs. Pilapitiya , in correct form is very genial and good humored.

There was wisdom and encouragement in her words. Every assembly ended with advice to spread compassion, hate less and help more. Happiness was always shared. When students excelled in academics, sports and other extra-curricular activities, she brought them up to stage with joy and pride and it is same for her working staff.

I don’t know many things about her life. I don’t know what she said and did in life mostly. I’m not ashamed for not knowing many things. Of all things I know, she was humane and dedicated.When St Anthony’s Girls’ College was founded in Kandy, in 1973, Mrs Pilapitiya was appointed as the principal there. She started teaching bio science and home science while heading St Anthony’s Girls’ College. St Anthony celebrates Mrs.Pilapitiya much for her efforts taken to reduce school leavers after O/L’s. In 1981 she was transferred to Mahamaya Girls’ College in Kandy. And soon became the Principal of Musaeus College in 1995. Being an old girl of Musaeus College, becoming a principal would have treasured by her. No doubt.

Her 14 year service at Musaeus College didn’t end with an ordinary farewell. A lifelong dream was fulfilled. The tale of a Mud Hut was retold. Her concept of a book to unfold the Musaeus Saga was completed in around 2011. She left in 2009 leaving love with all her heart to the school she meant the most.And last Saturday a call made me know that she had passed away. A legend is gone. But she will be loved by many.

She owes nothing.There was enough and more knowledge and virtue bestowed in her times.

(Featured in the FREE section of "The Nation " newspaper on June 29th 2014)

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Threads and hearts *

Some threads are heart woven. Knitted close to each. Sometimes to pull one by one out is difficult. I’m scared that everything might come out. It should be done with a lot of care. They are too tender. Only those who weave will know the art of pulling and putting them back right. Weavers are made of hard – wearing hands. They are patient, committed and watchful. If they stitch over the other, that would make a dress look ugly.

When I was small, I had plenty of frocks. Most of them were smocked frocks. Appachchi shopped for frocks in “Little Women”, a shop in Majestic City which is exclusive in frock technology. I remember, he took me with him to buy frocks after Montessori sometimes. I went to Tiny Tots School in Bambalapitiya. It was in the left end of Melbourne Avenue, right next to the Majestic City. The frock collection was done when I was about 6 or 7. I naturally shifted to shorts and pants.

I don’t collect anything in specific. People collect many things. They like collecting. I have a friend of mine who has a big collection of stamps. She has almost everything except for stamps in a few countries. Recently, I was invited for some project work at a friend’s house. He had a rack full of movies. All DVD’s and CD’s nicely piled up. Even collecting things need a lot of workout.

When I wrote for the school journal, I would collect the paper cuttings of things I had written. Later, with time I didn’t even bother looking at a paper to read what I had written. Some even questioned me  why I don’t keep them for myself. I didn’t have copies of what I had written when someone wanted to read. Again I vigilantly start collecting stories and poems when I was given an opportunity  to write for The Nation. I would bring printouts of what I have authored. It no longer continued for more than 3 or 4 times.  Naturally stopped. I was too lazy to go out looking for printing shops. I have stories and poems saved in word documents. I thought that is enough. And blogging will not lose anything. Only until Google Blogger would think to stop functioning forever. Still backups will work. Hopefully.

I’m not the ‘collecting ‘ person. I throw things instead. I don’t like when my table is piled up with papers. Same with the drawers. Files full of papers and documents  make me angry . Cleaning days are rare for me . And papers would make me take longer time to clean than I think. I have the habit of reading all papers, bills, handouts and paper cuttings that will come across while cleaning. More ever when I find things that were meant to be lost, I start playing with them. When I see documents that don’t belong to me, I would go asking home people if it’s necessary or not. On such a rare cleaning poya day I found some toys stuck in a drawer. There were toy characters, a toy dog, a doll with no hands and legs and a few metals cars. The wheels were missing. Some papers were covered by dust. Printed text was faded. Some discolored. Over dated. Crushed and torn. It is time for them to be in bin.

Among them were some birthday cards I had received. Long time back. A few photos too. There was memory lagging. They were old friends . All the fun things we did at a younger age . I last saw them 18 years ago. Maybe.

Like everything else, papers get thrown, they get decayed and lost. Toys will get damaged and fixed again and again. When fixing isn’t possible we will put them aside. But for now, I know memories stay for long. Like those close knitted threads, some people cannot be left aside. Because there is possibility for damage.

Did you know that people come to see you all night and day break and that forgetting is impossible?

( Published in "The Nation" newspaper on 22nd June 2014)

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George , Harold and Captain Underpants

On the left, is my friend Harold in green pants. He has bushy hair that grows upwards. Quite funny. But that’s how it is. I’m George, you see in blue pants. Harold is my best friend in school. We walk together every morning to school. Harold is scared of dogs. I carry big plastic injections filled with water to shoot at dogs that come around Harold. Harold is happy. Harold says I’m his hero.

For me and Harold, school is too boring. There is nothing much we could do. One day when Michael climbed up a monkey bar in the playground, I warned him that he is 20,000 feet above a mystical river that kills people if fallen and he can never come back. Micheal screamed, his head was hanging down with legs up and hands were clenched to the pole. He didn’t want to jump off the bar. The whole school came running to the ground. I just made Micheal imagine. Mr. Krupp says that imagination will lead to a lot of creativity. Otherwise it’s boring. Have I committed any offence for being a bit creative? Hmm...

We got to sit at a desk and listen to all the animal stories, big America, water cycles and global warming. Even then, airplanes pee while they are up. Tell me now, isn’t that polluting environment?  Aircraft Engineers should be taught of a better technology to squat.

 Professor Poopypants is amazed by triangles, rectangles and squares. He thinks Pythagoras is the greatest of all. I think Pythagoras is his hero. Professor Poopypants say that someday he will solve the Polydimensionarian theory. Oops! Let me introduce Professor Poopypants. I think he is important because he is taking all troubles to solve theories around the world. He is our math teacher. But Harold says he poops in his pants. Everybody in the class laughs then.

One day I and Harold had to fight some aliens to save Captain Underpants. A spaceship was trying to abduct that poor soul. He is the crazy Principal in our school. He may well be the greatest scientific genius the world will ever know. He knows every chemical reaction on earth. May be he even knows what will happen if pee gets mixed up with adenosine triphosphate. Unfortunately, nobody takes him seriously! He is been laughed out by every University he has taught, possibly for his name. In fact, he comes to our school under one condition. Captain Underpants assure to himself that “kids are so accepting and loving”. He thinks that nobody will make fun of his name or write a comic book out of him. Because if someone does, he will fly into some rage and destroy the planet by mixing all acids and carbons he has got to know.

Childhood days are fun. I’m sure we’ve all found funny teachers and comic Principals of whom we've laughed off our backs when in school. But not for all. For some they were bad days, trying hard to put on with homework, getting scolded by teachers for not giving the correct answers, getting punished for not bringing books or bad handwriting and many more. And yet, we embrace those days with much happiness. There are days we wish to go back. Like for Harold, we had many friends who helped at every instance. They became our heroes of all time. Friends were good enough to trust because they were easy to know. We were all carefree.

But time has a way of taking away the joy. We are left with nostalgia as we move on from childhood.  We ought to become more responsible for what we do. We are forced into a society filled with imbalanced proportions of laughter, pain, trust and seeming goodness. We are thrown into a society where human action is complex to explain. There are men capable of doing many things. There are men who can hide their spots even when a tiger cannot. There are friends today, who become tomorrow’s backstabbers. Stealing and killing have become a way of life. Some satisfy their worries by putting others to death. There is jealousy  where there is beauty. Laugh is rare. Tears have conquered.

Kids are the most accepting and loving.  Captain Underpants is correct. But interestingly they turn into rascals as they grow into adults. 

What carbons and acids would have turned these loving creatures into deadly rascals? Would Underpants know to  formulate  the chemical reaction?

 ( Published  in " The Nation" newspaper on the 15th June 2014)

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Rain and Heart

It's ten past in the morning

in early June

And I'm just seated here

Blank and grim,

A less speaking heart,

some things straying inside

some vanish like soap bubbles 

So fast ,uncatchable.

Papers and notes

fly in air

lost words and the  forgotten.

Pen flips,

Hands go mad,
and it's raining here

But one side blue

and  the other is grey.

I'm sure,

Where ever you are

it's still morning as mine

may be in bright pastel color

more warmed and smooth.

And,
among all flipping pen  , papers , blue skies and greys 

there is 'you'

stuck in my eyelids

and my eyes , so poor

cannot close

because you are too tender

even tender than this teardrop and sigh.

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Love Things

Eye to eye

Lip to lip

He stole kisses

Mischievously

Wall to wall- 

hidden beneath

Love cuddles- cuddles not

Threw hearts

Into breathless winds

Of words

Of joy and tear.

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The feet we keep

To the left 

to the right

the feet we keep 

forward and backwards 

the feet we keep 

in and out

the feet we keep

on sand and soil 

the feet we keep 

on rock and cement 

the feet we keep

thorn and stone

that pierce feet

smiles and thoughts

that fleet in speed

( Inspired by Thilina Brown Photography)

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Land

There is cut and erase of " render",

replaced by others

And for now

it is more than an endnote

big sized and bolded

shaped in 'Italics',

There is transfer and gift,

Deeds of trust,

Mortgage and recovery,

Land acquisitions

Title and declaration

in millions and billions,

in measure of gold,

Kidneys for free

'lands for sale'

And there is no pay toll for blood vitamin

pumped to liver and fingertip

So little and prized,

I wonder why they wonder why

Blood is cheap

and land is sky- high

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