She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain

A getaway was long overdue. Google and tripadvisor were raped for budget-friendly ideas and visions of serenity ensued; sipping tea on a hilltop and enjoying  much-needed rest over a good book.  This trip would feature peace, tranquillity and endless sleep, lulled by the soft winds of the emerald hills, waited on by some culinary genius of an Appu at a plush boutique hideaway.

“I’m going on a holiday to the hills, who wants to join me?” said the Whatsapp message to friends, to which immediate positive replies were received. “Yes, let’s! Shall we hike on Knuckles?”

Wait, what? Hike on Knuckles? As in, walk one’s toes off in leech-infested mud and grime and weather the monsoon madness? Who is their right minds would want to do something so vile when they could be toastily nesting in a cloud of quilts next to a fireplace instead? There was no way in hell that this holiday would be ruined by a hike.

“Ok”.

Sometimes, we holiday planners are wimps when it comes to being decisive. If hiking was the only way to have company, then it would have to happen. Perhaps after about 15 minutes of a brisk walk amongst the tea bushes we could go back to basking in the dream holiday. And so bags were packed, leech socks procured (you wouldn’t believe how Godsent these are) and we were off, singing ‘the hills are aliiiiive’ in the car, all the way to a budget bungalow at the foot of the Knuckles range (the boutique hotel prices, it turned out, had to remain filed under ‘dream’).

“I have a something special planned” announced the trip’s adventurous itinerary planner, along the way. How apt a description for the detour she had in store, at the end of a ride deep into no man’s land. It began with a suspended bridge over Bambarakiri ella that seemed to have been taken straight out of a movie, followed by being literally ‘blown away’ atop the breathtaking Mini World’s End, and ended with perhaps the most phenomenal waterfall experience at the magical Sera Ella. If creeping behind the fall itself and being mesmerized by the cascading sheet of water wasn’t treat enough, swimming in the pristine waters below it just took the day to Fantasy Island levels. Perhaps the hike to come would not be as bad as assumed, if this was the kind of delight on offer. Trepidation turned to happy hope.

The next day, we set off in the wee hours for the rocky range, picking our guide up on the way- a tiny sprite of a man named Raja who looked like he couldn’t say boo to a goose and carried nothing but a worryingly evil-looking knife, as opposed to the rest of the group all kitted out like they were auditioning for Survivor. In no time at all, the charm of the previous day’s activities vanished. A hike on the Knuckles range is anything but a walk in the park, especially if one is a middle-aged cat lady who has never seen the inside of a gym. After 7 hours of climbing up slippery rocks at the pace of a snail’s grandmother, screaming filth at the mobs of leeches that appeared out of nowhere with every step, 2 and a half hours of being left behind in the heart of the forest next to leopard kill while the rest climbed on to the peak (because yours truly busted her knee) and earning tree-frog like Raja’s disdain, the hike was complete and legs wobbling like jellyfish. But dare I say the achievement felt glorious, and the views along the way spectacular. A truly spiritual encounter, in more ways than one.

The holiday had turned into something very different to what was originally anticipated, but a memorable one nonetheless. However next time, tea and quilts it is, without leeches.

Hello, me.

Dear 16-year old DramaQueen,

Hello, you little bitch. You disillusioned loser. You have no idea how uncool you are. I, unfortunately, do, having suffered 20 years more of your tiresome little life. When you tried to hang yourself from the karapincha tree that other day, why the hell didn't you go through with it? We could have reincarnated as a nice fat housecat or something then and lived a life of utter indulgence surrounded by choice cuts of rat. Instead, you chose to live a little more, didn't you, you pathetic ingrate?

What do you MEAN the boy next door wasn't watching out from his balcony and therefore couldn't come to rescue you from committing suicide and ask you to marry him? He was never worth the vying for attention from in the first place. Leave him alone. You'll find out soon enough that he's not interested and thinks you're a bit of a loon. What... you thought those are REAL excuses he keeps giving you every time you ask him if he wants to come over and see your barbie dolls?

Btw, think it's about time you threw the barbies out. Outside that silly little bubble in your head, 16 year olds don't play with dolls anymore. You sad, sad thing. No wonder I had to write to you... to set your funny head straight and give us a chance at being normal in the eyes of society. But I know you.... no amount of ranting and advising will change a damn thing; we've always been pig-headed that way. It'll get you into a damn load of trouble in the future, but you still won't care. Nevertheless, I might as well try my luck and see.
Lets categorize the lecture, shall we?


Being 16.

Act it, for heaven's sake. Like, in a relatively normal, Sri Lankan girl kind of way, please. It will save you and your mother a lot of embarrassment along the way (trust me on this one).
No dear, life is not a Disney movie, so stop making Disney princess expressions and gestures with everything you say. You don't look pretty and alluring, you look a downright nutter.
No, your hair doesn't look like Ariel from The Little Mermaid. Backcombing it won't help, though you won't realize it until you start balding at 25. The birdy on the tree is not talking to you and neither are your dolls. The cat, perhaps. Cats have been having conversations with us for years. Quite intelligent ones too. Just today, I discussed the merits of sawdust litter trays with Socksy, who you'll meet in 11 years. You'll love her. She's cool.
Back to you, though.

Despite your convictions, the socks in your bra don't make you look like you have boobs. Besides, everyone knows you've got stuffing in there, your technique is horrible enough to make it obvious. I know you hate to admit it, but Mum is right. We're late developers, darling. There will come a time when you'll finally grow a pair (though it might not be the pair you wish several times in your life that you'd been born with) and won't want to stop displaying them. That'll give your mother headaches much worse than the migraines you're causing now. Chillax. If you wait it out, boobs will come. I am sorry, however, to inform you that the good news ends there, because along with the boobs comes a heap shitload of flab and fat that become your gripe subject of choice as you age. Good luck. Ms. Sri Lanka, you ain't. Get that into your head and stop parading up and down in front of your mirror in your mother's kaftan.

Try not to harbour too many dreams of that veterinarian job. We end up in advertising. Different kind of zoo, though for some strange reason it accepts us wholeheartedly and makes us feel good about ourselves. And we know how much we like ego massages.


Family

Your dad will be fine. You don't need that coffin, even though the doctors told mum to get it ready. Believe it or not, you'll witness your first miracle long before you're enough of a religious nut to imagine it. In fact, it's your growing aethism that convinces you that it IS indeed, a miracle. The sheer fact that you don't believe in them and it happens to you will turn you into a religious nut for a few years. Good luck when that happens. Anyways, Dad will be back and bouncing in no times, and give you plenty of reasons to wonder why. There will be drama with him for the rest of YOUR life, if not his. Where did you think you got your particular brand of eccentricity from? Yes, you'll want to kill him more than a few times, but hang on... don't do anything rash. He'll leave the country on work and you'll have some peace for a while. Mum, on the other hand, I can't help you with. You think she's a pain NOW? Hahahaha. Honey, don't for a second be fooled into thinking that age is gonna bring you any benefits. It gets worse and worse the older you get. To the point where you'll contemplate suicide once more, this time because you cannot get away from her. Yeah, she'll be cool and all... but she will never know who you are, nor understand you completely. In about 8 years, you'll watch a TV series about a guy named Raymond. Watch closely. His parents? Those are yours. Ten times better than yours, in fact. Might I suggest you start plotting a strategy right now, because otherwise when you're 30, you'll be still under her roof, as neurotic as she is.
Our brother will remain the bane of your life. In fact, this year he's gonna start selling your information to the older guys at school for toffees and hotdogs from the tuck shop, earning you a marvelous reputation that will haunt you for the rest of your life. When you're 30, you'll meet some of these guys and they'll have amused looks on their faces while you struggle not to dig a hole for yourself closeby.

Stop avoiding family gatherings. You're missing out on the food. Stop avoiding visiting your grandparents. There will come a day when you wish you could do it more often and when they'll be the only people on your side. Having said that, do tell your grandmother where to get off when she proposes that you join the Carmalite Convent this year after your O'levels. And once you're done with the 'evil dead nun' anonymous calls to her at midnight, don't you dare start contemplating getting thyself to the nunnery. They won't take you in, anyway.... not after you tell Mother Superior where to put her rosary, when Grandma takes you there for a visit next month.


Friends

That's right. You have none at school. But it has nothing to do with your presumption that you're too mature and cool to hang with silly girls. It's coz they all think you're weird. I think your animal rights motion of climbing on the canteen roof and staging a hartaal has something to do with it. Also because you stick up for the underdogs and occasionally burst into Disney songs in the middle of exams cos you don't know the answers. It might also be because they know you stuff your bra and the primary school students think you're amazing for knowing all the Disney songs. They also hate your guts since you get all the plum roles in the school plays and you manage to over-achieve despite that lose screw in your head and your inability to get good grades. Girls can be cruel like that. But hey... don't worry... we're never gonna relate to any of those chicks anyway. Down the line you're going to meet some people just as weird as you and make some pretty solid friends. Much better than the school variety. In ten years you're also going to be pretty successful and a wee bit better known than your classmates, so you can shove it down their pretentious throats at school reunions. Muahahahaha. High five.
Note to self, though - that girl you hate? Don't punch her in the bathroom next year. You break her nose and get suspended for a week. Sometimes, bitches need to be left to their own devices.

Boys

Oh please. Stop puking all over the place, they're not that bad. The guy next door is a wuss and you know it, and for your information, other boys in general are NOT piles of poo. Some of them are pretty nice and yes, you ARE capable of being turned on by a man, when not trying to turn INTO one at several points of your life (that will give Mummy a few reasons for acute alcoholism too). Just not yet. You're gonna make some pretty heavy mistakes, though. That guy you just met at the inter-school play? Avoid him at all costs. Yeah he's the lead actor and yeah he's cute, but mark my words young lady, he's a cocky, chauvinistic son of a gun and when you start dating him next year, you're going to be sorry. He'll unknowingly make mincemeat of you and make you so ashamed of yourself that it'll take you 8 whole years to figure out he's not right for you, by which time we will have lost a great deal more than our self respect. But hey... par for the course I suppose. You'll be friends with the guy whatever the outcome, and the experiences with him will turn you into the kick-ass sister you are today. I particularly love the way you give him an actual, physical boot the day you wake up and smell the toe jam.

The player you meet after that ain't interested in you and I think you need to remember that when you meet him. Falling for him after an initial hardcore 'I hate him' campaign will be your biggest mistake yet. You turn into such a needy little pig after the wretched man turns his tricks and leave you wailing. Well, at least we find out that we've got emotions. But really... hon... we know better. By all means stay well away from the Romeo coz that face... that's all make-up. Fake as fake can be.

You know what though... if you don't have those last two flings with demons, then you probably won't recognize the angel we meet next. It'll take you some time to see it, of course, because you have your head wrapped up in your god-awful 'perfect man' checklist as tight as a virgin leech's arsehole, but you'll eventually open your eyes. He's a real sweetheart. We gush about him and all that. Did you ever guess we'd gush about a guy? We do. Not bad for us, if I do say so myself. So I suppose the whole 'kiss a few frogs' strategy does work, eh? Daddy, being daddy, will get in the way stop you from having him forever though, and you'll hurt for the rest of our life. But all is not lost...the boy stays firmly lodged in our heart and becomes our best friend, and whilst this does not bode well for any future suitors (you build yourself a nice big wall to keep 'em out), you still have Mr. Amazing to give you and your baggage the companionship you seek. You won't believe me now, but trust me... the single life becomes the best time we have and you'll discover what it is to find your own strength.

Life

If you keep continuing to be you, we'll do ok, in between psychotic depressive episodes, long periods of alcohol abuse followed by abject teetotaller-hood, unending drama with family, work and friends, at least two embarrassing situations per day and some rather exciting successes. I guess we're one of the lucky ones, albeit one of the more-than-slightly off ones. People will laugh, wherever we go. At least we don't make them cry. Except for Mother. Mother cries. Alot.
Stick to the drama, stick to the cats (there will be dogs, rats and elephants too), and for God's sake never stick to the plan. It doesn't work for us that way and you'll find that out soon enough.

Good luck. You're a right royal pain in the arse, but enjoy being one. At least you grow up to be way cooler than you are now. I think.

Big hugs! (Oh shut up, you forget I know you secretly like them).

An older, fatter, sluttier you.

P.S. - My boobs are bigger than yours. Ngyah!

A Walk on the Wild Side

 Published in LMD Living- June 2016

With the month of Poson poya finally here and the greater Buddhist populace making extra efforts at spirituality, it was quite nice to happen upon the legend of how Buddhism seeped into this little island of devils. Amongst the fascinating stories is the tale of how King Devanampiya Tissa (Sri Lankans never believed in naming kids anything even mildly pronounceable) took up compassion as his personal mantra and established the world’s first animal sanctuary in 247 BC. 

Fast forward to about 2500 years later and you have a Sri Lanka that’s a far cry from the Buddhist nation it promised to be all those centuries ago. One doesn’t have to traipse all the way to Mihintale to be rudely slapped with the reality of what a mess we’ve made today on the animal welfare front. Ol’ Tissa would roll in his grave if he knew. So would the stag whose life he spared, if someone were to reveal that a good portion of its future generations are now packed up in a smelly concentration camp called the Dehiwela zoo. Those who still remain in the wild run the daily risk of being renamed venison.  Oh deer. 

One of the more endless tales of woe would have to be relayed by the elephant – that giant guardian of mystery and spirituality. If there’s one thing to be said about us puny Sri Lankans, it’s that we can take our David Vs. Goliath mentality a little too far. It’s certainly no joke that most of today’s dwindling local elephant population are more often found shackled and swaying in broken-spirited stress in some concrete shed, than they are lazily plonked in jungle mud-baths like they should be. Apparently, the interpretation of Ceylonese compassion is to dress them up in gaudy carnival attire complete with electrical wiring and parade them on long stretches of tar road amidst fire, drums and gawping humans. When not being poked with the ankus on the street, they’re found being prodded to stand on their heads or sit on miniscule stools at the zoo, for the entertainment of more gawping humans. We do this, of course, not in the name of Buddhism but more in the name of foreign currency, but it is ironic that a country so staunch in its belief in the power of karma would resort to enslaving, chaining and abusing the very creatures it deems sacred, all for bragging rights and a few bucks. Then again, ignorance and defiance is something we voluntarily relish in sunny Serendipity. The few eles who escape the greedy clutches of private owners and tourist attractions might have it easy in their bit of hideout, were it not for the inhabitants of surrounding villages raising sarongs and voices above the noise of the lethal hakka patas tossed casually at hungry pachyderms who visit for a cup of sugar. Today, Sri Lankans are to elephants what Isis is to the world, with the precious few activists who raise concerns being speedily thwacked in the bum for speaking uninvited.

The elephants are joined in their fundamental rights petition by almost every other four-legged, feathered or scaly being in little Lanka. What once roamed freely is now scurrying to avoid speeding safari jeeps, butcher’s knives and bullets, when not going slowly mad inside a holding cell due to no fault of its own. A visit to the zoo will not only present you with that delightfully packed deer enclosure and acrobatic elephants in chains, but also ostriches who have plucked all their feathers out (no, not because nude is in fashion), an assortment of monkeys all holding their starved arms out and begging for the paracetemols and razor blades thrown into their cages by our highly intelligent youth, and penguins suffering from heatstroke because the air conditioner can’t quite reach arctic temperatures inside the room painted white to trick them into believing it’s snowing. 

We are, after all, the land of Metta and Karuna. How beautifully we live up to our own preaching.

I'm Still Around

3 years since I last blogged. Halley's Comet, the Olympics, leap years and compliments about Justin Bieber have nothing on me. At least I popped around now and its the thought that counts, no?

Clearly you haven't missed me. That's ok. I didn't miss you either.

Niceties aside, I wasn't really hopping in excitement to start blogging again, but reading my last post made me realize that some of you may have assumed that the long silence was a result of me committing suicide or something. My goodness, the angst I projected! Quite proud of myself. Such passionate freedom of speech, that age and a couple of years have quelled considerably. Or is it that I have found some semblance of peace now and therefore am less aggressive? Not completely zenned, mind you, but definitely a little more passive than the younger me who wrote the previous post. The time bomb has stopped ticking, or perhaps it's just suppressed under multitude layers of reasons to be content with life... who knows, it may resurface sooner or later.

Thinks are certainly different with life. Much has taken place since 2011; tragedy, devastation, and loss found ways to co-exist with joy and hopeful new adventures. Not that you're interested, but let me bring you up to speed on some of the highlights anyway, since I like being public about myself. 

I lost my paternal grandfather two years ago - a man who made a profound impression on my life. I was his first grand-daughter and he was my first love. I suppose you could say we were the apples of each others' eyes and I have yet to get over his passing, even if it did happen over the course of 5 years as he slowly withered away following multiple strokes. My theatrical pursuits, love for dance, music, gastronomy, appreciate of the arts and general flair can all be attributed to his influence. Everyday I miss him a little bit more. In a way, delivering my final farewell in the form of a eulogy and carrying the casket at his funeral woke me up a little from my little princess slumber and I think I grew up just a tad. It was the first time I'd lost a grandparent and bereavement was a new concept to me. Handling the grief matured the maverick in me and I realized the all-too-cliché 'life is too short' philosophy.

The tragedy also brought out lots of monsters and skeletons hidden in the cupboard known as my relationship with my parents. Arguments at decibels that raised the roof both shocked my system as well as proved to be cathartic in the long run - everyone stopped hiding truths or avoiding conflict and just went for the kill, so much so that tough decisions were eventually made and I ended up having to let go of the man in my life in exchange for my total independence. Having to make a decision I wish I didn't have to make, broke me. I know for a fact that I will never truly forgive my parents for the hurt they caused in clinging onto to their misguided prejudices. Luckily, the wonderful man I love and still love understood, and to this day remains my best friend and constant support, which is a great solace. Someday, I hope we will be able to address our individual demons and reunite, but if not, at least I know there will always be a mutual love that transcends physical closeness and that comforts me. Having emotionally cut myself off the things that stressed me out has given me much of the calm and peace of mind that I so dearly craved for far too many years. My time bomb was defused! Along the way to healing I made some mistakes... ones that I will carry with me for a long time, but ones that I realize I had to make in order for me to know better and gain understanding. I made peace with the fact that I cannot ever be perfect and I will do some stupid things from time to time... all part of my learning curve.

When I learned to let go, lots of good things began to happen. Positivity has the strangest way of manifesting into wonderful experiences. I moved out of home (FINALLY) and am a proud and very excited home-owner. We will not dwell on the fact that I actually still live next door to my mother, but the wall dividing us is much needed and a welcome thing. My new home is a haven for contemplating life and the passion for home decorating and gardening have been therapeutic. For once I love going home at the end of the day. My cats, insane dogs and books provide endless entertainment and my beautifully rustic little kitchen is constantly filled with the delicious aroma of Masterchef experiments.

Outside the house, life is still a constant surprise, but I embrace it with a better attitude now. I was blessed with the good luck of scoring a sponsored trip to Broadway where I spent ten nights marveling at the best of theatre and even went backstage at two of my favourite shows to meet with the cast and get a sneak peek into production secrets. Pure magic! Back in Sri Lanka, in the last three years I had the opportunity to play three amazing lead female roles, each being a personal triumph for me. I am currently working on a reprisal of a role I almost played 12 years ago, had the production not been cancelled at the very last minute due to unavoidable circumstances. At the time, we were all scarred and broken from the unforeseen disaster. We didn't think we'd ever make peace with that chip on our shoulders but here we are, doing it bigger and better this time around, thankfully secure from something else going wrong.

Makes me realize a few things. Sometimes when stress, tragedy or heartbreak takes place, our personal trauma stops us from seeing the silver lining. Our eyes close to the possibility of recovery or promise and darkness envelopes all thought. If awareness doesn't come quickly enough, the results can be dangerous. I teetered on the cliff..I was, in my own words, an explosive about to go off. The clinical depression I was going through could have ended a lot of goods things, including my life, had I not had God's presence to open my eyes and force me to become strong again. I gave up focusing on the negatives and began an exercise to seek the positive in everything and every day. Yes, I have my off days, but for the most part, I can sense contentment creeping back in to my life and for that I am grateful.

It's true what they say. It gets better.

Here's hoping it continues to do so. Watch this space.

HOO!

My DAHLINGS! How how?

Yes I know. I have been MIA for yonks now and I don't mean that nasty-mouthed rapper girl.Though I can be nasty mouthed too. I can't rap, though.

Admit it, you missed me and my digressing.

Aiyo I have so much to tell you... so much to pontificate on... so much to bitch about. Vhere to start, ja? Shall I just blabber at random? Yes, I think I will. Sorting out thoughts and news into different blogposts will take too much time and you know how often I blog.


1.

So I started a new job and all. Methinks it was high time a change happened (I don't think anyone should be surprised, going by the 'woe-is-me' references to my work in the past), but strangely this new shift was not propogated by me. You see dearies, the COO (Chief Operations Oxbrain) of the last office- a baby-faced snake whom I never really liked to begin with - pulled a fast one and made off with the agency network and the utterly fartly client who made up 80% of our business. There are lots of different versions of the story circulating in the ad industry, but those of us who worked in the place know just exactly how the conniving lowlife and his conniving arse-buddy the client manipulated things to suit their purpose. It was quite a trying time for most of us, but one we all saw coming. Wonderfully enough though, 95% of the staff refused to jump ship with him and basically left him hanging with only three groupies that he'd brought in. The rest of us found work elsewhere and moved on after a few tears and the office we worked in closed down. It wasn't all sad, though. Most of us have come to the realisation that things really worked out for the best, given that we're all pretty happy in our new jobs and we no longer have to service that awful, awful client anymore. I also hear that ex-COO was recently almost beaten up by the husband of a woman he'd been having a fling with. Muahahahaha. Karma at its best.

I was fortunate enough to be retained by the old group and transferred to a sister agency, along with a charismatic LD and a couple of other chums. So far, so good. Although I am no longer working in the creative division, the new stint is good fun and I am loving the energy and good vibes going around. It's quite a pleasant change to have actual HUMANS to work for and with. I've realized I've been decidedly happier with the world since I made the switch, so it must be a good thing. Tralala and all that for now. Wish me luck, sweethearts.


2.

I have, out of a the classic glutton-for-punishment-itch, also taken on two new side jobs. It has nothing to do with money and everything to do with the fact that I am in denial about my ageing energy levels. One afore-mentioned side job is actually a bit of a dream come true - I've been commissioned to host my very own travel show on TV! Cue fanfare and general cheers for life's little ups. It's a budget travel show where I get to traipse aimlessly around Sri Lanka and get my hands dirty off the beaten track. Very very exciting stuff. At the mo it's all in planning and production phase, but by God it's thrilling. To top things off I am presenting the show with a long-time buddy which makes it funner, if there be such a word. So far we've shot the pilot episode which was a bit of a sorry disaster but one for the memories nevertheless. I am hoping the actual episodes to come will be slightly more colourful. Once we are officially public about it I will let you all know which channel to watch and when. :D

Side job no.2 is my dibs on grandmotherhood- I have started... wait for it...(drumroll)...baking cakes. This is my small contribution to the health ministry's efforts in population control. It all started off with my very first cake of all time that I baked for my dad's b'day. On realizing it didn't look half bad (actually cake-like),I went and did that whole boastful, gloaty thing of posting up pictures on FB. That made things skyrocket to a whole new level and people started placing orders. Thinking I was cat's whiskers and quite pleased with the new-found skill, I took on the orders to finance what became a hobby of sorts and have now come to a point where I have to turn most of the orders down because I just can't handle the load. One of these days I promise you I will die of exhaustion, but for now I spend my nights and weekends raping my mother's oven. I even managed to attract a magazine review out of it. Martha Stewart will be proud, before she tastes my cakes and dies of food poisoning.



3.

My animal welfare activities are on a new high. I have taken advocacy to near-extremes and can be often seeing parading the streets or abusing social networks priviledges to save the planet. People have stopped talking to me as a result, like most ignorant and stupid humans are wont to do when they're informed that they are not the most important thing in the world. Happily enough, I don't care. I have even attempted to become vegetarian, much to my carnivore boyfriend's dismay. But he is being a good soul about it and even occasionally supports my lunacy by foregoing meat on dinner dates without my telling him to. Bless him. The new diet is working so far, though I have to admit to the odd slip-up here and there. 'Tis a difficult business, getting certain habits out of one's systems, but a meat-less meal certainly has the benefits of a drama-free conscience and I actually sleep easier now.

I am extremely supposrtive of the organised effort to ban ritual animal slaughter at the Munneswaram Temple in Chilaw. Google it if you're not aware of the stories. It is beyond me how fucked up some people can be when it comes to interpretations of religious dictates. Good on Mervyn Silva, as much of an idiot as he is, for creating enough of a public spectacle by barging in there and confiscating those poor animals lined up for merciless hacking up. Religious tolerance and respect is one thing, but choosing to turn your head and spout nonsense about 'to each his own' when there's a life at stake is another. What's fucked up is fucked up and intervention in such circumstances is ok in my books, as unpopular a view as that may be. I can deal with the PROPERLY carried out sacrifices at religious events, such at the Islamic haj rituals. I say 'proper' because according to the laws of Islam, the slaughter is supposed to be carried out with minimum harm or distress to the animal, whereby no trauma has been inflicted. The problem is that more often than not, these mandates are rarely followed due to sheer incompetency or disegard in the name of human convenience. I wish there were more control methods put in place at these rituals, where proper supervision ensures that, if you MUST please your God by killing something, then at least the animal is kept comfortable and knows/feels little to nothing. Munneswaram is a whole different story and I'm not sorry to say I have absolutly no regard for foolish buffoons who think they can invoke luck and prosperity by violently murdering a life in the most callous way imaginable. I pray for a day when I am empowered enough to mete out the same treatment to said violators. May they rot alive.

Now you know why people avoid me.



4.

I have added yet another child to my already festering brood- a puppy named Smurfette. She is overtly active, destructive and consistently happy, which stresses the cats out no end. Smurfette was left in a box at my doorstep by someone who obviously had a bigger heart than the monsters who usually drown or throw away baby animals. After a few weeks of unsuccessfully trying to re-home her, she ended up as a permanent installation and now drives everyone batty. Neighbours are witness to the number of my bras and panties that she insists on dragging out into the garden for exhibition and I am constantly smelling of puppy drool. This is the life.


5.

The good things in life still mingle with the not-so-great. but I am too happy today to get into all that. Maybe someday you'll find out.


And just like that my boredom threshold has been reached and I am lazy to write anymore. Sorry. I have a few more thoughts up my sleeve which I will share with you shortly, but for now I have a Facebook storm to start.

Watch this space.

Making Babies

Just the other day, an aunt was pestering me for the umpteenth time, in that way that Sri Lankans who have no other business to poke their noses into but yours do, to marry and have children. Not even eventually, mind you. QUICKLY. Because my biological clock is ticking its way to its death, said she. Because she needed to see me rocking a child in my arms or she would DIE.

I’ve reached a point where demands of this nature have ceased to get under my skin. You come to a point where you become immune to people’s silly notions that one must live by ridiculous norms.

But, like every woman is wont to do, this lady wouldn’t shoosh. For the sake of some quiet, I dabbled with my font of excuses that I usually mete out to annoying, uninvited personal advisors. Then I decided not to go down the tried and tested route of laughing at the thought of a piece of paper validating your commitment to someone, or putting on a superficial pageant for the sake of relatives who want to show off their latest sari acquisitions. All in favour of giving up your identity and independence in order to breed and run behind a whining, hairless HUMAN who does nothing but poop and opinionate.

I decided instead to present some hard-core facts to this clearly ignorant female.

“Look, aunty...” said I, trying very hard to mask my annoyance, “I refuse to drop babies on order because –

• Elephants in this country have no space to live anymore. To make room for the planet, we need to drastically reduce the number of humans. I advocate mass sterilization of women, therefore, and not impregnation.

• There are plenty of children who are brought onto this earth and neglected or thrown away. Why not just parent them instead?

• Neither my body nor I are willing to undergo mind-fucking pain to squeeze something the size of a large watermelon out and thereafter suffer the saggy aftermath for the rest of my life. God knows I’m flabulous enough.

• Global temperatures are in an accelerated rise. The best of scientists have reported that in the next 15 years, the ice caps will melt and raise ocean levels by as much as 20 feet. Much of the world as we know it will drown.

• Have you seen the news? Everybody’s fighting with everybody else. The Gadaffis and Rajapakses of this world are here to stay. If the planet doesn’t destroy itself, then these buggers surely will.

• According to reliable sources, we won’t have enough drinking water by 2020. That’s just 9 years from now.

• The money I earn should be used towards justice for suffering animals, not pampers and exorbitant school fees.

• I’d like to see the world and make a difference before I die and I can’t do it dragging a carry cot around.

• Ragging in schools is the fad of the day. Crimes against children are at an all-time high. Perverts, paedophiles and rapists are commonality in today’s society.

• Drugs and alcohol have a thumbs up from the younger generation everywhere. Already Marijuana usage laws are being passed, it’s only a matter of time before Coke has its day. Have you been to a rave party with teens? If you’re not getting high then you’re weird. Can you imagine how kiddie’s parties will be in a couple of years?

• The arts are dead. Lady GAGA is what kids define as a role model these days.

And you want me to have babies? You must be fucking kidding me.”

I was satisfied that I’d finally given her enough reasons to realize her own foolishness.

That was until she opened her mouth again and replied, “But you can have such CUTE babies!”

It's only a matter of time before I kill the next person who approaches this subject with me ever again. You have been warned.

I Decided to Like Women

Let me give you pervs out there a second to wipe off the excited sweat before I proceed.

Calmed down? Ok.

As if my workload and commitments are not enough already, I went and got myself activated over a new obesession last weekend- Women.

Please stop grinning lecherously. I promise I will burst that bubble of yours very soon.

Whilst mulling over what dramatic onslaught to present to my long-suffering boyfriend with on that gloriously commercialized joke called Valentine's Day, it suddenly struck me that not every woman out there would be plotting and planning like I was, because not every woman out there had a boyfriend worthy of plotting about. Given that I anyway have a thing for ball busting, I'd been doing some recent reading on the issues of domestic violence in the country and was pretty horrified to learn that an estimated 60% of the country's females are victims of violence in their homes. I say 'estimated' because there is no national survey conducted yet to assess the real numbers. All they have to go by is the number of reports logged in to the police and charity organisations. So it's safe to say that the ACTUAL number is probably far higher.

60%. SIXTY percent. That's 3 out of every 5 women. Logically, that means it could very well be your own wife, mother,sister,daughter or aunt. Or more than just one of them.

You don't have to be female to be shocked by that statistic. You just have to be human.

What was worse still was finding out that in most cases of domestic violence, all that's done about it is diddly squat. Either the victim is too afraid of the consequences of speaking out or her family is too ashamed to air their dirty laundry. More often than not, reports to the police (those champions of justice and paragons of virtue who do fuck-all for the betterment of society) result in the cops asking the woman what she's done to piss hubby off, and then advice her to go home and sort it out. After that, nobody cares anymore and life goes on. It only creates a minor buzz when her body is found chopped to pieces in a village well, and that too only if anyone feels like they need to alert the media.

Apparently, the most the authorites have done towards punishing a perpetrator of domestic violence is fined him a pittance and 'tsk'ed at his naughtiness.

Needless to say, I was incensed. I may not have had acid thrown at me, but I know what a slap on my face from someone who claims to love me feels like. I know how it all starts with a few derogatory remarks and then propels into full-blown physical acts. I also know how no matter how many people advice a perpetrator or how many apologies he makes, he's going to go back to being the same sorry bastard he always was.

And now I'd found out that 3 out of 5 women in my country are going through the worst kind of hell imaginable at the hands of such insects. I wanted to go out there and crush every testicle in the land into a fine dust and then feed it to the fishes (I would, too, except I don't think the fish are interested). I have always thought of myself as not belonging to this pathetic race called humans, with their apathetic attitudes and selfish ways. I had to do something... anything. But what? If only I had some help in the matter.

And then it struck me. I would get help. I could put out the statistic to everyone I knew and gather up some like-minded souls, and then together we could possibly make a noise loud enough to get the lazy-ass retards in government to put some goddamn justice system into place.

Valentine's plans were speedily forgotten. The boyfriend would understand. I rocked to and fro like a maddened monkey trying to figure out how to get people interested until it hit me... of course... Valentine's Day! What better day on which to shock the public into realizing that, as they traipse about like blithering romantic fools buying roses and gifts, there are women out there who will receive bleeding noses and black eyes instead. Those were THEIR 'gifts of love' from their husbands. If enough people realized this, then maybe enough people would give a shit and speak up about it.

Highly excited about the fact that I coincidentally happened to work in an industry where it's all about communication to the world, I spoke to my superiors about my idea. Could we do some work on this and get it out to the world? Could we make people care? Could we make a difference in the status quo?

My boss thought we could. We gathered arms immediately and put together a cracking team to work out the nittygritties. We contacted an organisation that works in women's welfare and got them excited too. They came on board and gave us the support we needed to put the plan to work. We contacted venues that could host our message and danced in glee when they offered to do it for free. Then we rolled up our sleeves and tried to help women. I spent days and nights living, breathing, shitting and dreaming of any research I could get my hands on. Even though I had a few bumps on the road with certain people exploiting the cause to their advantage, others at office were nothing less than inspiring, with their positivity and kick-ass attitude. People like LD, who weren't involved at the beginning, jumped on board voluntarily and helped with whatever support and advice they could. That in itself was awesome.

Three days afterwards, on the morning of Valentine's Day, we launched. Displays went up in major malls in the city, showcasing the kind of 'gifts' 60% of Sri lankan women receive - knives, acid, iron chains, hammers, poles, etc. We handed out brochures on action that responsible civilians should take when witnessing domestic violence. We directed people to a facebook site that we'd set up with the objective of educating and inspiring more people to speak out against the issue. I stalked out some of the venues that day and nearly pee-ed with thrill when people starting taking notice of the displays and reading the brochures.

That was three days ago. Today, I've got over 300 followers on the FB page. And counting.

This morning, a friend's nephew called me. He wanted to tell me that his dad sometimes beats his mom and he always thought that was ok, because it's all he knew. After reading our brochure and educating himself on the FB page, last night during a particularly violent argument he'd called the police, his extended family, and then stood up to his dad. Although the police never came and his father wasn't taken away and punished, he had nevertheless backed off and for the first time had apologized to his mother. It was a start. The boy now wants to get more involved and be an endorser of the cause in his school.

I have to tell you.... hearing that felt... and still feels... fucking good.

Please do join the page and help us out. Follow 'His gift of love' on FB, or log on to www.facebook.com/hisgiftoflovethisvalentines

I don't have to be the only one bothered about this. You're a blogger... can YOU take it up too?