Mud Ghecko

Its six months since Operation Munchkins, when we ran after a little stray heifer for 4 hours in a tropical thunderstorm, trapped her, jumped her and got vets to cure the hideous nose wound made by a rope that was eating into her flesh. We didnt know where she was from - there were two theories that she was an escaped slaughter house cow, and the second theory that she had been releasaed in fullfilment of a vow as is done by some Buddhists and Hindus. I personally go with the slaughter house story because the "Vow Cows"in Sri Lanka usually have a little branding saying PINg so that people know they are sacred or whatever. Munchi dosnt have the branding.   ​ Thats a psychedelic camera phone image of a photograph of Munch after the rope was cut away.​ Belongs to Zeenath Amanath my partner in crime   A neighbor of mine named Zeenath and I became the best of friends as we sat in the evenings after work, looking after her, swatting mosquitoes, bringing her kilos of food, dancing a...

Its six months since Operation Munchkins, when we ran after a little stray heifer for 4 hours in a tropical thunderstorm, trapped her, jumped her and got vets to cure the hideous nose wound made by a rope that was eating into her flesh. We didnt know where she was from - there were two theories that she was an escaped slaughter house cow, and the second theory that she had been releasaed in fullfilment of a vow as is done by some Buddhists and Hindus. I personally go with the slaughter house story because the "Vow Cows"in Sri Lanka usually have a little branding saying PINg so that people know they are sacred or whatever. Munchi dosnt have the branding.   ​ Thats a psychedelic camera phone image of a photograph of Munch after the rope was cut away.​ Belongs to Zeenath Amanath my partner in crime   A neighbor of mine named Zeenath and I became the best of friends as we sat in the evenings after work, looking after her, swatting mosquitoes, bringing her kilos of food, dancing a...

​​and so now that I live in Ratmalana I hardly visit the mothership, except on occasions, and yesterday was one. Mahagedara is half way across the country that could be a problem too, just the sheer aggravation of getting there in public transport. But duty occasionally calls. So there I was yesterday evening, at dusk on Dickmans Road (now called Lester James Pieries mawatha to confuse both tourists and three wheelers alike) pondering slow wittedly and with genuine dread, as to whether i should take a bus, or a train or a combination of train, bus, and threewheel to get there, when an adorably wizened old lady practically falls against me, and hangs on to me for life, saying she is feeling faint and asking how to get to Maradana. Sigh. OF course. Just what I need right now. I ask her why she wants to get to maradana- where is her home and she says Colombo in a firm and defiant voice. (Reminds me a lot of my mother, this one)  Completely lost and pathetic and angry at the world too. She...