This was going to be my first Hindu Funeral. So I was kinda excited and looking forward to it! I was also going to meet my old buddies from uni.

“Hey do you think we should take pictures? We could use them to like get a reward or sumthing if someone happens to be a suicide bomber.”

I clenched my jaw, trying to hide the bitterness in my stomach. Somethings never change.

Siva’s father had died yesterday after three years staying at the hospital. His sister is still studying for an HNDE, and his mum retired. He has become the man of the house. And generally a more sensible human being.

I gave my hand. And he hugged me back.

“He was a technical officer,” Siva said as I paid my respects. “He was very proud that I became an engineer. It was the only thing he kept saying for the last few months.”

Siva’s family was originally from Vavuniya. They’re now residing in Wellawatte, in a small apartment; Siva, mum, sister, gandpa and grandma. Apparently he has no privacy. Can’t even watch porn and jerk off, he says, with a chuckle. But the twinkle in his earnest eyes tells me that he’s content with the way things are.

“You’re a buddhist, right?” he asks me. “Do you believe in life after death?”

“Not really,” I reply. “I think that there was Nothing before birth, and there will be Nothing after death.”

“You’re still the pessimist I see,” Siva laughs.

The ceremony started, and for the next 30 minutes Siva cried. He wore a white traditional sarong and nothing on top. While the priest was sitting in a corner and babbling some voodoo stuff with king coconuts and colourful herbs surrounding him, the disciple guided Siva, mum and sister to do what they had to. The body was sprinkled with blessed water several times over as the chanting got louder.

Even if it was ridiculous, at least they knew what they were doing.

I later learned that his father’s brother was not allowed to come to Colombo, and was stopped at the Madawachchiywa checkpoint. It seems they had all the documents (National ID included) but the police were “not sure”.


To End the Ethnic Crisis

March 28, 2009

We should give 1 Million Rupees to every interracial marriage occuring in Sri Lanka from now on.

How’s that for policy?

The bugger can snuggle into the deep freezer somehow. Think he’s having a go at the ice, cause the meat’s packed in polyethene.

The bugger also has a habit of eating the bananas on top of the fridge.

I don’t mind though. It’s just me, him and the cockroach in my apartment. And we kind of respect each others space.

Evening Meditation

March 15, 2009

Paramount as the task may be,  uncluttering and reducing the noise inside, usually ends up worth the while.

The evening breeze with it’s delightful flavour makes it easier. There are two crows sitting on electricity cables, probably waiting for the rain to pour. Two konda kurrula’s tease an alley cat at the edge of the road, doing somesort of mating dance or whatever. There are a couple of middle-aged women laughing out aloud in the street in a language that I cannot understand.

I can feel my own breath hitting my chest as I exhale out – time seems to slow down. I feel. I listen. I am.

Troubles of the past and fears of the future come to mind. Memes invade and tempt me to judge. Lust, loathing and cravings try to engender a false sense of meaning to life. I listen, observe and let go. Trying not to create an ego out any of these things.

I’m here, right now.

Life cannot get any better than this.

It’s true that the male libido has fallen inside marriage. One of my female friends conclude this to a consequence of declined masculinity in modern men because women are now the predominant breadwinners of the family.

I have another theory.One of course which is more sympathetic towards men.

The cost of having sex inside a marriage for a man has risen compared to having sex outside marriage. Therefore a man no longer marries to have sex. He marries to have children and build a family. This was not so in the past. Even though a man could have only one woman, the guarantee of intercourse would be an incentive for a man to get married. So men in the past married for sex, while men in the modern age marry for other reasons than sex – hence the loss of male libido within the marriage.

On the other hand female libido has increased. Thanks to the contraceptive pill, the biological, social and economic costs for having sex for a female has come down.

This has had two effects.

1.) More women are having sex outside marriage, and hence the cost of having sex for men has decreased. Which (as explained above) leads to loss of male libido within marriage.
2.) Married women expect more sex than before, which leads to further disappointment, and not getting what is expected.

Poya Day Serenade

March 11, 2009

It’s just amazing to wake up on a rainy day to realize it’s a holiday.

Sipping on my morning tea safely hidden away in my balcony, I languidly gaze upon the earthlings walking about hurriedly in the street. The men choose to run and avoid the rain. The girls jog a little, then stop and walk, then start to jog again – as if not quite sure whether their feet can achieve such a monumental task. The lazy drizzle makes elegant waves of resonance in the mud puddle across the street. Occasionally a child would ruin it, and I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

Time to make myself useful, so I trod along to the Supermarket. Buy a heap of things I dont’ need, and somethings I do need. The meat stall is closed, so I buy two packs of beef sausages three packs of back bacon. I’m usually a chicken guy, but it’s the poya day no – the government wants us to buy processed meat.

Damn, I have three quarters of the day left. Wat to do? I go to the Serendib Book Shop. Closed. I go to the Sadeepa Book Shop. Closed. I go the refrigerator man to fix my AC. Closed. Oh well. I guess they’re all enjoying the poya day, like me.Yay for them!

I come back home. The cold weather is killing me. I need to cuddle  someone. I try to chat up one of my ex’s for a booty call. She says she has to go the temple on the afternoon with her mum. I tell her that it’s just going to be 30 min tops. She knows me better than I do and tells me that what I really need is an intellectual whore, not a real whore.

Wanting to prove her wrong, I trod along to a massage parlour. Most of the massage therapists it seems, observe sil on Poya Days, and it so happens that the available girls are all busy.

I come back to me lofty abode, rejected, dejected and neglected.

Mix up some Heladiv Lemon Ice Tea with a little Red Label. Ahh…. Heaven. I wondered why I bothered to go out in the first place.

For some reason Dinidu’s blog is no more. Perhaps he had some “personal issues” like Narayana Murthy.

I don’t know him as a journalist. But I do know him as a blogger.

In a thoroughly subjective world, he was objective.
He was a traitor to a nation which was drowning in its own glorified shit.
He was a stupid atheist, when he could’ve taken the easier path of clever and blissful religous ignorance.

As a lotus blossoming out of the mud, the young bugger preferred rational reasoning over grandma’s patriotic tales of Dutugamunu.

It always takes effort to go against the common crowd. It also takes guts to speak out aloud without anonymity. Dinidu was full of both.

Big Match Fever

March 3, 2009

It’s the time of the year in Sri Lanka where you can bump into overgrown boys in their jocks running around half naked in Colombo, trying re-live a past they have not quite come to terms with.

I’m forfeiting the whole fiasco as I did last year because the cultish-group-masturbation program can get a little out of hand sometimes. Not that I’ve grown up or anything… I’m probably the most puerile male living on Earth my age, and I say that proudly -even more so than Dinidu criticizing the regime.

Big match fever is not about being childish. It’s about being a groupie. A cultist. The mob mentality of 83 was perhaps our nation going through a big match fever on steroids.

Enough said.


March 1, 2009

Where the bouncers are friendly, the shots are pungent and djs are awesome.

The crowd is young and harmless. The ceilings are low and heavy. Hell, the place actually smells good too.

As opposed to H2O where they play michael jackson, and dance the rhumba at 2am, while most of the buggers are drunk to the point of throwing up (even the women)…