The Girl with Specs

May 1, 2009

So I drive along the pitakotte junction minding my own business and there’s this huge traffic jam. We’re all perfectly still; me the other cars, and the big private bus which has blocked the road.

The universe has its own way of amusement, and so a young woman brimming with youth and overflowing with sexual confidence walks across the suspended street. She’s wearing a simple white top, a blue denim, and one of those neardy glasses so characteristic with the naughtyamerica videos that feature my-first-sex-teacher, that I feel the tension in several parts of my body.

Her poise is backed with a rhythm that gets stronger with every pair of eyes that gets lost in those tightly held breasts. She smiles at me and holds a gaze which is a rare sight with Sri Lankan women.

She was aware of the three wide-eyed schoolboys on the footboard of the bus that were unable to stop staring at her. She looks at them and smiles. The boys obviously surprised and taken aback by the boldness of the woman, try to look away.

She looks at me, nods and dissapears in to the traffic.


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”.

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.


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)…


September 23, 2008

is my hobby these days.

Those tight nike hairbands (bought fresh from the pavement) make a great do-it-yourself blindfold. So far, I am able to roam around freely in my annex without making much noise & clutter.

Yesterday I drank a chicken/mushroom soup blindfolded, and I must say, that was one of the most delicious things I’ve had in a while. The aroma enhancing the flavour is pretty cool and the numbing of other senses brings in a sort of Ganzfeld effect. Rice & Curry isn’t really an option, but I will try eating one of those cheeneth-nethi-chineese pizzas today, and see how it goes.

Planning on having sex blindfolded as well, but convincing ze current partner and ensuring that it’s not some sort of domination fetish will take some effort. Provided that I survive the sea of humiliation, I’m sure it’ll turn out to be better than the soup.