The Sweetest Thing

There is nothing sweeter than finding a ‘thank you’ letter on your desk, first thing in the morning when you walk in…

Thank you for making my day!

Nothing fits

In the jigsaw puzzle of life, nothing fits

The written word

Since of late, people have been frequently telling me about how interesting my blogs are and that I should be a journalist/ writer and the Lord knows what more. To be honest I don’t agree about the writing. I am also not modest enough not to confess that journalism would be too low a thing for me. (Evil – yes I am). At school, I only won a few of the many essay and creative writing competitions. This, I believe was mainly due to the illegible handwriting. If only teachers could pay more attention to subject matter than to silly mistakes that were the results of over-consideration towards the time factor. (eh… I dont actually mean all of that)

Apart from that, writing is a hobby that started off very young and never managed to lose touch with me. It is one the very few things that I sincerely fancy about life. I would describe it like fire or water - a bad master and a good slave! Not even the days at the pit with miserable nights of unfinished work kept me from my love for writing. The joy it gives me no picture would express in any number of words. (if I have blogged this before please excuse me – somehow it seems familiar). Writing about ‘writing’ is however pathetic.
I do hope I could work on it later on in my life when peace would be generous enough to spread its wings above me. Until then it is going to be just me going wild and wacky in absolutely any form that I want – cutting the c*** and getting right to the point whatever it takes. And who the h*** gives a damn about what people have to say? Hate me, but then I actually don’t live to be loved!

The Garden

My previous post brought back memories of the long lost past – and the garden. People living in and around the city of Colombo are often hardly privileged to have anything more than a few square feet of land for garden space. It was a different story for us.

The garden was the only reason I went to school on certain days with incomplete homework. It was much more than the movie watching and game playing experience that the kids of today engage in. First, there were the trees – the big bread fruit, jack fruit and coconut trees. There were so many others too. But not all of them – were climbable. There were also snakes and the occasional visit of a big black monkey. (no, it wasn’t from the zoo; just the former residents of the place). The experience of sitting on the grass with magnifying glasses to observe lady birds and grasshoppers is one that the kids of today will never see.
We had the joy of cycling all around the garden and right to the lane top in spite of the barking Alsatians. Learning cycling was a painful experience. Everyday we came back home with cuts and bruises that were the results of so many falls off the bike. The brother once almost broke his skull.
Then there were the games. Cricket was not only my favourite but was also among the most commonly played ones. There was also racing and silly ones like hora-police, lock & key and hide & seek in the big old deserted house. We also played ghost and imaginary home stories. Then, it used to be so much fun. Cartoons then popular were – ‘Casper, the friendly ghost’, ‘Flint Stones’, ‘Thunder Cats’ with the sword that grew and of course the ‘Silver Hawks’ which always ended with teaching kids something new. We never missed ‘Small Wonder’. With only two channels available there were not many choices.

We also had the fragile tree house and the very uncomfortable swing. It was like a fairy tale. The paan-karaya (bread-man) would come sharp at 3:00pm with kimbula buns (crocodile shaped with sprinkled sugar) that we purchased for Rs. 3 and made a good tea party of. The fathers would then arrive one by one while the mothers get very afraid of the darkening skies and want everyone back inside to wash and start home work. The bats were usually the go home signal. We then prayed and recited the Quran with the hazarath (trainer) who sometimes would even hit us.

The house was made up of the third and the fourth floor. If stationery, novels or anything at all was lost we knew where to look because the youngest of the brothers had the hobby of throwing everything that he could get his hands on outside the balconies. When night came we use to sit at the breezy balconies to either chat (advice mostly) or say good night to the neighbor kids. It made up the day and we would eventually pray and go to sleep, dreaming about visiting the garden first thing after school the next day.

It would never be the same again. It was almost like a different lifetime altogether. It is like a part of you that is dead and gone and never to be seen again. It is like a part of our memories that could never be written over on. Is it because that free innocent soul is buried inside somewhere never to be reborn? Is it because time has been trapped deep inside a prison in our souls? Whatever the reasons are, there would never be another chance for sure…. There is nothing that could have made it any better…

Cleaning out my closet

It happened right in front of my eyes... My whole childhood was wiped out of my sight within a matter of what seemed like milliseconds.

It’s been not more than a decade since we moved in but I do remember taking precautions when carrying my insect skeletons from the nature collection when shifting house. Yes I did collect dead things. When we were leaving, I faked tears about Timothy the cat (no., didn’t get that name from the famous five) and the jam tree that we used to climb. I mean I was actually sad but crying is always difficult for me. I remember the day I made it right up to the garage roof after climbing my highest on the old jam tree that grew with us. It was amazing for me then. If only I could have got a picture of my achievement. If only I did not have to do it hiding so much. If mum or dad had seen me, I’d feel like running away from home to umammas (grandma). And then there were the dolls. Not many but when shared with the neighbors ones, the number definitely grew. (Now don’t get thinking).

Last night: I tell the mother that I want the dolls kept exactly where they are. (swear I don’t play with them anymore – just use them as bedroom ornaments). But she says no. She has them piled up in a big box and tied to be given away. I seriously wanted to cry. My handwork and insect collection goes out next. My journals – oh no I’m not going to have them out – no way. And then in a few minutes I see my entire childhood piled up in boxes and lined to be taken out. No way! This can’t be happening. It’s just a bad dream…. I’ll wake up and everything will be alright… only this isn’t childhood anymore to be having bad dreams and wanting to sleep in the parents’ room… this is real life and in real life there are no bad dreams… its bad enough!

Not funny

Woman at delivery: “Yuk! That thing did not come off me!”

Kids never lie
Mum: so what have you been doing while I was away?
Kid: homework

Friends forever
“Anything that’s mine is ours but if you steal my boyfriend your dead meat”

Worst thing to forget: Get into a pool with your contact lenses on

Worst thing to miss: a good lecturer’s class

Dentist with hands inside someone’s mouth
“Now, where exactly is the pain?”

Learning is not necessarily academic… it is a continuous process of adding value to your life.

Unfortunately in this part of the world…. Paper qualifications do matter even more than what you are or what you know!

Respect

Nobody commands it; they either deserve or don’t deserve it

Yeah true, my life is not mine at all!

Just like men!

Women - they only have problems to talk about to the men...
and the men – they have nothing at all to talk abt!

Mondays

Mondays are tough. And yes, when I’m angry, not anything… Not anything in the world can make me smile!

Zzzzzz……

I’ve been thinking about completing my final year research. Yeah, I know ‘thinking’ is not good enough. Hmm… but I require finances as I need to travel for it. It’s a tough choice to make. Especially when it’s tug of war between time, money and work. With roughly about 30 more years to go (don’t intend living very long). I feel the spice of life has already ended leaving nothing but mere hope. I wish I could stop feeling that way. Having not slept well in ages, I’m looking forward to the weekend. I’m going in to a 100 years of sleep…. I wish I can wake up into a perfect world and oh no here I go again…