And in a Long Time, She Smiled

She took her aim. That aim she knows all too well. That deadly aim that never misses. She was Death. And Death never missed. She has to be careful, so as not to target the wrong man, because that would mean the end of him. It was a cold chilly night. She exhaled and chilly vapours rose out into the midnight. She adjusted her hood, not only to make sure that her face was hidden, but so the cold wouldn’t get to her. But maybe the cold already got to her… a long time ago, because she never smiled. She went back to adjusting her posture. “I need to be perfectly calm, if I am to do this right” she thought. Although, she was the best, she never enjoyed what she did. But she made sure no one knew that. In her line of work, every detail counts. Even the smallest detail or misstep could tip the scales and that would be the end of her.

Perched up high on the tree, the assassin waited patiently. She liked the heights. The only few moments that she felt free and in control of her own life. She didn’t know who the target was. She wanted it that way. She liked it that way. The lesser you know about the person you want to kill, the lesser you feel the guilt. “But maybe I am just fooling myself”, she thought, because the guilt never went away. She was only given the directions. He would appear in the regal quarters, of the Eastern tower of the Castle Drogon, at half-past midnight. It was apparently his habitual time to sleep. That’s all she needed to know. “Yes, it was better this way”, she thought reassuringly. She took her aim again. One shot… that was all it took. Her arrows were deadly. She never left survivors, because she knew exactly what she was doing…. Because she was taught by the best.

The whip cracked. “Your posture needs to be perfect Katrina” her master roared. “He took out the whip”, I thought, “That was bad”. I tried to remain straight, arching my back to what perfection it could try to achieve, with no avail. I just collapsed to the ground. My juvenile battered body could not process his commands.  My body was still tired and hurt from the last strenuous session of ‘physical training’. “That’s what he called making a 12 year old fight a bunch of seasoned older assassins, till you blacked out” I thought, mustering some energy for a sad smile.  “Again” he roared, cracking the whip. He was mad now and I had no choice. I tried again, but my body betrayed me. I heard the hard footsteps, thundering towards me. I closed my eyes, readying myself for the next blow. He pulled me up by my hair, making me face him… to look into those piercingly blue eyes. It wasn’t the beautiful blue of the ocean, calming the observer. No… it was a blue that chills you and impales you with the slow horrifying knowledge of inevitable death.  And then the whip cracked, and I screamed.

My mind was back in the present, back on the tree. I was Death again. I adjusted my posture one more time and knew I was ready. I took my aim and waited. And then he came. His back was turned so I couldn’t see his face, “All the better” I thought. One less face to haunt me. And with my heart hammering, I readied myself to release the deathly arrows, when he suddenly turned. His face... the piercing blue eyes of slow death, met with mine. And in a long time, I smiled.

So I was experimenting with some medieval assassin/ femme-fatale genres. This is my first attempt at fiction :)

It's basically a simple portrait of a few moments of what goes on in the mind of the assassin before her kill. 

Drop a comment and let me know what you think :)

Surangana Kirilliye and Marxism

Peeps, its a very very very funny set of thoughts that I felt while doing Prof. Maithree's assignment on Research Methodology. I was getting bored,  and started playing a playlist ( an old hits list AKA millenial hits by several page admins on facebook) . Once Surangana Kirirlliye by Iraj and Infaas started playing , even without seeing the music video , visuals of the innocent bread delivery boy or the bakkare started popping up in mind. As the song progressed I came to end of the visual mentally where his breadbox drops infront of the girl and he runs away. 

So, as a child when the video was first released, it was one of these repeatedly played videos on several chart shows by different media stations. The whole Bread-boy and Rich girl love story fascinated me as a child . I was also mad at the rich girl who kept on ignoring the poor bread boy's love. OK. 

NOSTALGIA ASIDE 

With all our interesting sessions with Dr. Prabha on Marxism , I think the whole song-incident made me think of the class factor that operates throughout the video, with two strong symbols of the two polars . A well dressed , upto-shape , girl in sneakers jogging with an Ipod ( probably) symbolizing the bourgeois and the lean looking bakkare , clad in slippers who pushes the bread bike , symbolizing the working class. Marx claimed that the struggle between these two classes would be 'endless' ( as clearly seen in the video , their unison happens in the form of a  day dream). Can't a bread-boy love a rich girl? Has love been commercialized ? Why?  Or is it the result of the articulation of this commercialisation by diverse agents like media?
Ladies, your thoughts first.. Gents of course are welcome too.. ;) 

( Isuru, I am sorry for choosing a graphical content in this post. It was a very spontaneous moment. However, I am 100% sure that you know this visual which hit all of us a decade ago :D and who doesn't know Iraj :P ) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70VUYE4Z2lI  

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

                       Most of you who read this post might have come across this poem by the famous American poet Robert Frost, either in your literary studies or even in your day to day life.  For those who don’t know the poem, this is an example for Frost’s use of deceptively simple life incidents to talk about not so innocent realities of life.

Enough of poetry studies for now!

By the way, aren’t we always faced with the not-so-easy task of making decisions in our day to day existence? From the simple fact of selecting a topic to write about in this blog to the things we consider as crucial like selecting the most suitable professional career, the weight of choice becomes something that is unshakable.  Don’t go so far.  Think how difficult it is sometimes to select one out of hundreds of food items when you step into a McDonald's or a KFC.  On the top of all is the nagging sense of regret that, you could have tried a Tower Burger instead of a Big Boss in your last visit to a KFC!

                       Let me go back to our A/Ls to talk about the power of choices.  When I was half way into my A/Ls, I regretted selecting English as a subject because of the extra effort I had to put on for that subject.  I realised that, I could have done my A/Ls with one third of the effort I was putting and be successful if I didn’t have selected English.  I am sure at least few of you sometimes have experienced a similar kind of frustration with whatever the subject you have selected for A/Ls.  However, I honestly believe that, it is that single decision which finally rewarded me with a wonderful under-graduate life at Kelaniya uni.  I am sure the number of times I sang with batch mates while arranging or volunteering for certain events in the university pay off all the hard labours of those years.

                       I do not intend to be over optimistic by saying that, all the life choices yield memories that we can cherish.  I also have a catalogue of unpleasant memories resulted by my decisions and choices.  But dear friends,, what really counts is the experience each choice brings to our life.

                       The vibrancy of life is its experiences.  Each new day can be a way to a new experience.  The ground rule here is that, we should not regret the choices we have made in our life.  Whatever the outcome of that choice, it surely rewards you some experience that finally constitute the person whom you are.

                       If you ask me my dear friends, there are thousand different ways that we can live our life.  If you take a minute now and list out the things you wish you could have done differently, it would give you tangible proof to what I am talking about.  However, we should remember that, those choices can be the very things that constituted our identity as an individual.  At the end  of the day, what really matters is the experiences we gained from our choices.  It is true that we have to choose wise but we also have to never regret our choices in life.  So unlike Robert Frost, never say sorry when you are forced to choose one out of two roads.  Be proud for having a choice in your life!

Death might not be a bad idea after all!

Recently I had to kill some time near the zebra crossing at the famous Kelani Kanda (the main  road to enter the University of Kelaniya). It was bit early in the morning and all the bustle around the university was starting to build up. I just sat on a concrete bench gazing at a traffic sergeant who was taking an enormous effort to minimize the congest. He was signing the vehicles to pass in a rhythmic style and sometimes grinned at a motorcyclist or a car driver who tried to scurry their vehicles through a smaller gap neglecting the pedestrians who crossed the road on the cue of the traffic sergeant. What I saw was a typical morning around the Kelani Kanda! Nothing unusual! Nothing extraordinary! Then suddenly out of the blue it hit me! It hit me so hard that I was taken aback and I made sure that I clutched the concrete bench so hard! Death! All the drivers in the traffic and the impatient pedestrians near the zebra crossing will have to face the inevitable death one day or the other. What followed was a horrible thought that gave me the creeps for two or three minutes. White flags began to swivel through all over my mind! Then this weird question came to my mind in a flash. Does that car driver who is perhaps humming to a fancy song cozily inside his car is seriously aware of his death? Does that traffic sergeant who yells at drivers has ever pictured his own death? Does that aunty who is vigorously mopping the dusty Cargills entrance to welcome the busy customers in ten or twenty minutes is aware that she has to leave her beloved ones? Does that security uncle who is dozing off in his own chair after a hell of night workload aware of his death? My instantaneous answer was ‘no’! My troubled mind seemed to find its way to calm down. Yes death is a bad concept and a bad word to many of us. Some of us, no, I cannot generalize people, but I can talk of myself, for I am very afraid to die. However, the concept of death might not be a bad idea after all! When I looked back at those people I understood that all of them (including myself) are equal in a wonderful manner. Even though we like to categorize ourselves in thousands of ways that does not matter at all in the end! For a one moment, I could not distinguish the difference between the car driver, the sweeping aunty, the traffic sergeant and the dozing security uncle (please be kindly noted that I am using the professions as a mere signifier). They all appeared to me as human beings. Human beings who tried to smile, to earn a living amidst thousands of untold miseries. They might be different in so many ways, but all of them are equal. I personally think that it is a good thing to feel death now and then! (I might be melodramatic here, but I mean this as a positive thing). The idea that we all keep remembering the fact that we will leave everything behind will make us better people since I believe that thought could function as an amulet that scares away all the negative feelings and ideas. People will respect each other better, show humanity to the fellow beings if they are constantly made aware of the impermanence of life. After all what is the point of being hateful, deceitful or jealous if you have to die? Death might be scary, but it also can discipline us in a wonderful manner. It can heal our all wounds if we are smart enough to use that concept creatively. With that happy note I wrapped my philosophical thoughts and got up to climb dear beloved Kelani Kanda.

A country by the people, of the people, for the people

I found the following poem on my newsfeed on facebook.

Dear Sri Lankan,

NAVINDRA FERNANDO·THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 2018

When did ‘she’ become so humiliating to you?

this land that nurtured you?

that you must mock her flag or adulterate her anthem?

to laugh at her plight or ignore her loss?

Have her sandy shores ever ceased to amaze you?

have not her hills the tall mountains never left you mesmerized?

A nation needs leaders, who act justly and protect it

our leaders may have failed us

but she has not

Her fertile soil still bear crop

her waters still quench our thirst

her beauty still bring us joy

She is being pushed to breaking point

yet

she strives to survive

Believe

that amidst those who try to rip her apart

there are those who still bring her pride

those whose actions still feed the hungry

educate her young and heal her sick

for no cost at all

Those gone before us and many beside us

still bring her glory

Honour to her name

Ally with them

By all means unite to undo the wrong

that has now engulfed her

To bring back law and order

Unite to end corruption and violence within her

poverty and pollution which destroy her

to restore her worth

Still think twice before you choose

which path you take

For her sons and daughters may have failed her yet she never failed them

She only loved and loved and loved..

So never forget to be kind to her

in her chaos to be true to her

to pray for her

to cherish her

for she will always be ‘the Pearl of the Indian Ocean’

nothing else but

real treasure.

It was written following the coup d’état in Sri Lanka that was initiated by President Maithreepala Sirisena on the 26^th of October 2018. President Sirisena stripped Ranil Wickremasinghe of his post as the Prime Minister of the country and appointed Mahinda Rajapakse, former president, in his place. Following this, many Ministers of Parliament changed their political party. The context in which this poem was written is one where a facebook user posted an image of the flag of Sri Lanka in which the lion was replaced by a frog. This was meant to represent the Ministers who changed parties following the coup d’état.   

This poem, written on the 8^th of November, promotes the idea that though the Ministers of Parliament and the President have been a disappointment to the people of the country, the beauty of the land has never faded. In this article, I shall argue that a country is not just its scenic beauty but the minds and behavior of the people living in it. I shall explain why I am not proud to be identified as a Sri Lankan. Following is my reaction to the post:

A land is a land. But a country is something more than that. A country is the people who live in that country. A country is not just beaches and mountains and grass as the poet here suggests here,

“Have her sandy shores ever ceased to amaze you?

have not her hills the tall mountains never left you mesmerized?”

and

“Her fertile soil still bear crop

her waters still quench our thirst”

A country is not just these things. Actually, in my opinion, even this scenic beauty of the country, is adulterated by the people of this country, which is a reflection of the hearts and minds of the people in it. A country is all the hearts and brains and consciences of people who live in it.

            The poet also writes about the disappointment that the leaders of the country have brought upon the people in it,

“A nation needs leaders, who act justly and protect it

our leaders may have failed us

but she has not”

Here, I would like to bring to the poet’s notice the fact that the Parliamentarians of the country are a cross-section of the people in it. They are representatives who have been sent to parliament through elections. None of them forced their way into the parliament, just as MP Anura Kumara Dissanayake said at a media conference. One could say that they are a compact picture of the people of the country. The behavior of the leaders of the country is thus a representation of that of the people in it. ‘Every nation gets the government it deserves’ as the French philosopher, Joseph de Maistre stated.

            The poem has a section where the poet demands of the reader since when the country ceased to be their pride,

“When did ‘she’ become so humiliating to you?

this land that nurtured you?”

It is not true that it was the ‘land’ that nurtured the people. The land is an inanimate object. It is not the scenery of the land that nurtured its people. It is the adults, the family, that brings up a child, that nurtures it. Therefore, when I say that I am not proud to be a Sri Lankan I mean that I am not proud to be identified with the rest of the people living in this country. I shall explain.

“there are those who still bring her pride

those whose actions still feed the hungry

educate her young and heal her sick”

I agree with the poet in this respect. A country is made of good and bad. But, it has a lot to do with the percentage of relatively good people in it. You might say that other countries have bad people too. But what matters is the percentage of them. I have met only a handful of good people in this country.

Most of the people here are selfish: look at the way they pollute public places with plastic, polythene, waste. 

Most of the people here are jealous: count the number of people who are not given promotions in their jobs because others slander them. I personally know many who work hard but are jealously not rewarded. Most of the people here are racist: look at how politicians make use of this to get more votes, like Prime Minister Bandaranaike made Sinhala the only official language of Sri Lanka to get the votes of the Sinhala majority in the country. Most of the people here are homophobes: look at the way people look at others who are neither male nor female, the way these people are laughed at. Even homosexuality is a crime in this country. Homosexual conduct between two or more consenting adults is illegal. Even President Sirisena himself implied that the Prime Minister and his supporters were homosexual, in his comment where he compared them to a group of butterflies and Sirisena’s supporters, including Ragapakse, applauded this comment. Most people here are sexist: look at the way a girl or woman cannot walk on a street without being catcalled. So, tell me: are we good people? Wrong question. Are MOST of us good people? Yes, there are good people among us, but only a handful.

The writer claims that though the people in the country have adulterated the country- politicians and the people who replaced the lion in the national flag, with a frog- the country has done no wrong to the people.

“For her sons and daughters may have failed her yet she never failed them

She only loved and loved and loved.”

I would bring to the notice of the poet that a land cannot possibly do wrong to anyone. A land is an inanimate object that simply exists. It is the people of the country who do wrong to each other, who hurt each other. Again, I say that not all people are like this; but the majority of the people are as I have explained above. This is a reflection of what the country is.

My dream country is one where there is little or no pollution. Where people are not laughed at or judged for being themselves. Where people don’t hold grudges against each other. So, remember: a country is not simply its beaches or mountains and its scenic beauty (even there, Sri Lankans pollute this country). A country is what the people in it make it. It’s all to do with the love of the people who live in it. I am not a proud Sri Lankan. I am not ashamed of not being a proud Sri Lankan.

-Nati

Photo credits : Google Images