LION MOUNTAIN

Sigiriya…
What does this name invoke in you? Is this picture about a place or about a person? A heritage or a human? For me it brings an eternal sense of awe, a silent marveling, curiosity and a breathless freeze on time. I shut my eyes and I can see this paradise from a time long ago.
Quite, for a moment the din of vehicles, media and bustling Sri Lankans caught in this modern frenzy of activity , and please switch off your mobile phone.
Sigiriya will take you back in time, if you still your racing soul and let the orange afternoon scenes take a hold of you. Haunting earth colored pools, sunlight slanting across flat green gardens and an atmosphere thousands of years old. Can you hear the princesses laughing and playing in the water?
Remove for an instant the paraphernalia of modern civilization, your plastic bottles, gadgets, denims, IPods, Nike, Nokia or whatever; lead your mind gently back through the ages to a time when life was enjoyed at a slower pace; you have heard about this so called God- king who built a wonderful fortress on a rock a thousand feet into Ceylons light sapphire sky….think, every inch of its architecture fitted to a complex logical plan of breathless esthetics and practicality ,a breathtaking union of science and art, two thousand five hundred years ago.
This is what your ancestors accomplished.
Sigiriya was constructed using only Ceylon’s bountiful natural resources, there were no imports, no foreign consultants, no bribery and corrupt contract deals, no electronics, no computers, no construction equipment and no animals (or people) were harmed in the production of this paradise on earth. Or anyway that’s what I like to think…
Time for me, warps gracefully, around Sigiriya.
Yet I have a thousand timeless questions ….
What was the king like, and his Queen? Did she poison him or was that just defamation? Did he kill his father or was it because his father was trying to kill him that things happened like this? Are there descendents of his walking, driving and cycling around Dambulla, and do any of them resemble him even remotely (after all, he was supposed to have had 500 women and there was no “family planning”those days added to which birth control was probably not high on his agenda) (and anyway what is it with successful men and their drive to accumulate so many women in the first place ?) and lastly, if he reincarnated ,and I do believe in reincarnation, is he walking among us? Was this really about brother killing brother and are they still involved in that perpetual conflict?

I first climbed the rock twelve years ago with my daughter who was an infant and came tripping and tumbling happily along in a frilly white cotton dress. We dragged her to the top, her father and I , each holding a hand when she stubbornly insisted on not being carried, and allowing her to swing gleefully in the space between us, like a small primate. Predictably we were accompanied by relations, my in laws, her cousins , impish, skinny twelve year olds and I was a harried young housewife of mid twenties, those were what should have been the best years of my life.
So much has changed
My daughter is now taller than me, and sometimes looks after me, her cousins, the cheerful tomboys who argued their way up the steps clicking with complicated Japanese digital cameras, are now doctors, and one is married,; I have changed from a naïve, insecure young housewife , to an independent and self confident adult; I think, watch, appreciate and note life around me the way I have never seen it before.
I have learned so many lessons in life, they have changed who I am. Like a river which from moment to moment changes its composition, there is almost nothing in me of the girl twelve years ago, not even the physical features.
But the Rock Citadel somehow, remains the same doesn’t it.
Thousands of feet attack the steps each day , possibly more than King Kassyapa ever thought possible, and the steps are just as strong and stony now as they were then.
Hair rising accounts of bright ideas of turning the Rock Citadel into a Disney style theme park have thankfully been quashed,(for now anyway) and citizens mercifully have had to stop writing on the mirror wall, an old form of self expression resorted to in a time before internet blogging…so the Rock Citadel will have more time.
I don’t know how long this treasure will remain unchanged in this our modern atmosphere of smoke, pollution , global warming and mindless greed.
But I feel very privileged to have been there, seen it as it was.
I also feel I’ve been there before, sometime long ago….

Weighty Concerns

Last week I made my regular pilgrimage to the weighing machine in our central pharmacy and was pleasantly surprised by the large digital computer which spewed out a small note reporting that not only had I reduced two kilos in weight– but that I was also of “IDEAL BMI”.

I know its sad to be reduced to worrying about the opinion a digital weighing machine has of you but this is what my life has come to.

There comes a time in life, and mind you, to some people it comes earlier than others, when weight becomes a serious issue we lose dinner over. IN some cases it sneaks unexpectedly on us and a few lucky people wont even know what I’m talking about, but its called the middle aged spread- and for some it happens so much earlier than middle age.

It’s the beginning of the end of eating dinner and then you start having to resort to miserable substitutes such as soup and vegetables and pretending you actually like them. Its when you begin considering spending your evenings cycling when you have already reached exhaustion point from the work anyway; its when you consider putting on those silly sporty pants and sneakers and jogging about in the park or in the beach, and trying to look as if its making you really happy. Sadly if the actual evidence is true, all you are getting is lung fulls of greenhouse gas and enough repetitive stress on your joints to really ensure that your old age will be crusty and rigid…

This to me is bosh: give me dedicated couch potato- ing any day. Its sloppy its slouchy and its slow but its my ideal existence and has always been. But its with a sense of grim sasara kalakereema (that’s disillusionment) that I notice that this is just not to be the case for me anymore. I crave to be able to do some of the things that I did when I was young, or well, younger. Such as cramming my stomach with half a loaf of hot hot so called roast paang and excellent Soya curry and then eating that slowly with a good book, whilst lying like a slim young reptile on the sofa. Its not something I can even contemplate now since my stomach has got so used to being deprived, that a half a loaf of bread would probably send it into convulsions.

Starvation, paradoxically has become a part of my life, and mind you, just when I reached the stage when I can actually afford to eat anything I want and there is not much point even being philosophical about it. Eat vegetables and drink lots of water they say, to give you a full feeling. I’ve tried this and if feeling like you are a waterlogged garbage bag full of cellulose is supposed to make you happy – well I prefer feeling starved. It’s the rebel in me. I don’t want to feel full when it’s being self-deceiving and I’m actually empty as a vacuum. Let that traitorous metabolism monster do the worst it can I ve decided I’m actually going to get used to feeling starved (since I’m lucky enough to actually have some choice in the matter whereas millions don’t) and probably accepting it and living with it. ...

Either that or one fine day pretty soon I’m going to totally let go and accept the tires. .. Since what’s wrong with being fat anyway? To be honest, I have noticed that some of the jolliest, happiest friendliest CUDDLIEST people I know are fat, and loving it! And I’ve also read that paradoxically somewhat overweight people are healthier –they try to keep their weight down by exercise and diet control whereas the people who don’t have to worry a bit about weight usually don’t have boundaries when it comes to indulging themselves…
So at the end of the day maybe after all its that famous “Middle Path “ we need to stick to.
...Anything to keep from having to drink silly spinach soups! Yeauch!

Sunscreen

Just woke up to the fact that my life seems to be absolutely following this song.
I still love the words and Im ok so far so Ive decided to post it here in case you have not seen it
you can also wiki for the Sunscreen Song , to get at the credits....

Everybody's Free (to wear sunscreen)

Mary Schmich Chicago Tribune

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of '97... wear sunscreen. If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be IT. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now. Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are NOT as fat as you imagine. Don't worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday. Do one thing every day that scares you. Sing. Don't be reckless with other people's hearts, don't put up with people who are reckless with yours. Floss. Don't waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself. Remember compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements. Stretch. Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't. Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're gone. Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't, maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't, maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself, either. Your choices are half chance, so are everybody else's. Enjoy your body, use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it's the greatest instrument you'll ever own. Dance. Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions, even if you don't follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. Get to know your parents, you never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography in lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young. Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel. Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you'll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders. Respect your elders. Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out. Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85. Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth. But trust me on the sunscreen.

NIFTY...

Dialog users can enter #132# and then just SEND it and youll receive an automatic service message with your Name, NIC No and Mobile Number which I suppose can be used to prove that the SIM is yours .
Im sure you will have fun trying it..at the same time I dread to think what phone thieves will do with your full name and ID no, so... hang on to those phones!

BLOCKED

and I dont mean writers block - Im referring to being stuck out side the backside of the BMICH for two hours due to some Pain-In-the-Propeller ( well, trust me I was thinking lots of worse words to call him during that whole time ) parking his car in front of us and walking off to the Rugby match or whatever. the Motor Show was disorganised enough so it took us about half an hour to get them to make an announcement and then I didnt even bother to walk into the match -it sounded like a Roman festival of feeding Christians to Lions. ..
meanwhile good ole dear Mr Sanath whatsis name (the famous cricketer) rolls up in a vehicle the size of a small apartment and parks it totally blocking ANY chance of us even scraping our way out and that resulted in me unfortunately giving him a look of the kind he was probably not used to (well the Medusa hair would have fascinated anyone-so he did happen to glance at me) - I found out from the fawning lackeys near the gate that he had indeed given them his cellphone number in case anyone needed to escape - but not the gray civic ...so there we were - having lots of FAMILY TIME -(although the small hisses of escaping cuss words somewhat took away from the quality of the experience - till out rolls the charming and ok, CIVILIZED looking youth whos vehicle is blocking us and I sally fourth to give him a piece of my mind - but then remember too late that there is after all nothing much I can get him to do , but apologize , which he did , and profusely- ( seems like a decent kid and evil plans I had of making him hold opposing ears and do squats on the main road were given up -) so I said gruffly "my brother has a few words to say to you, young man!" and of course they shook hands and that was about it....

pic shows my son falling asleep on our bonnet and since the owner of the Blocker car apologised I have left out his license plate...
moral of the story - take dinner, reading material and lots of water if you park anywhere in Colombo, because if someone blocks you and doesn't have his phone number around there is pretty much nothing you can do about it.

Of Gnats, Geckos and Creepy hairy things..

Now where DO I start? When did it dawn on you that Sri Lanka is full of things that buzz, creep and slug about, and we don’t mean just the wanainchi.(1)

probably just when you stepped off the plane and had to choke on a few kamekazi houseflies…
Vermin in Sri Lanka range from curious to positively deadly with lots of slime in between and none of them taste good so don’t try this kind of revenge. Although we are poor and very bored we still have not started eating our insects; and there’s a reason for that, no doubt very cultural.
Here are the worst offenders I can remember and not necessarily in any particular order except that I scream loudest in this order, when I see them.
1. Dalam- boo-wars:
These are nasty hairy little caterpillars which descend quietly from particular trees, on invisible threads like spider web. Onto your towels or drying laundry no doubt and then they stay there until you unwittingly rub them into your skin , where they cause itching and pain worse than a centipede which lasts for about a month. This is Sri Lanka being really mean. Any landlord who harbors trees which drop dalambuwars should be abandoned forthwith. This is another good reason to really dust your clothes before you wear them and have a good look at them, because this lot are sticky and may not actually fall out even if you do walk around for ten minutes bashing your nightwear across the furniture ; besides a suspect which is just half an inch long and two millimeters across can still cause the same amount of suffering. Oddly the best first aid for both these torturers and for centipedes (see below) is a bit of garlic which has been sliced open –gently rub the area with that liquid garlic. Or mash it and apply it if you don’t mind the stink because it is very soothing. Really.
2. Garudas:
To not be too scientific about it, centipedes fall into three categories
Wiry
Hairy and
Dead Scary
The first are hardly visible like fine bits of running fiber, the second are larger and bite worse and the last are the so called garudas who fall from coconut trees and are about a centimeter in WIDTH , and have SEGMENTS which carry their hundred thick MUSCULAR legs about. I don’t want to find out what their bite feels like but if you are sensitive enough, the reaction can bring you to an inch of death. This is why it makes sense to batter your clothes before you wear them, and don’t hang clothes in damp bathrooms because centipedes usually come in through the drains. Occasionally you may find one in the laundry bucket or half dead in the suds. This is a nasty experience; cats sometimes alert you to the presence of these and other horrors, but most of the time they just cause another set of problems so, the only solution is to keep things dry and cool if possible.
3. Roaches:
You have these in any country since biologically they are an evolutionary success story that has hung around for thee million years in spite of the fact that every thing from the dinosaurs downwards tried to stomp on them; but I have heard that in comparison to the Americans, Sri Lankan cockroaches are particularly large, shiny, MEATY and HEALTHY LOOKING. Nothing a spot of bug killer cant handle so this is probably the least of your worries.
4. Mosquitoes:
Hurt and they are deadly; the list of diseases they carry is expanding from Malaria Filaria and Dengue to Chikunguniya and did we forget to mention insomnia ? There is four ways to deal with them that come to mind. Coils , Mats , Vapors and Nets.
5. Rats:
Being mammals are maybe the least revolting, but they are just as dangerous as they harbor obscure ratty germs. They don’t always take to the rat poison you may lay out to them. What can I say, a case for cats again.
6. Geckoes aka Hoonaas :
I don’t actually scream about geckos unless one lands inside my cleavage (and it has happened…) and I actually think they are quite cute friendly little beggars, which actually reduce the rest of the insect population from your walls anyway. I have named the two fat characters that live behind my writing desk at home ,Freddy and Mr Hide, and they often come out and give me a beady cross eyed stare (they have curious pupils shaped like + signs). However they can be deadly if they fall into your tea or curry while its cooking and you imbibe of this. I’ve heard of families dying of this , although Im not sure why and the internet is curiously mum about it too. Cats who eat hoonas are just very sick for sometime and don’t do it again, but boiled hoonas I hear is absolutely caustic. Don’t fry them either , I mean we have lovely little dried anchovies on the market which are much safer. And if you haven’t been frying anchovies but the kitchen smells like it – the reason could be that you have a rotting hoonar in the door jamb. Use a twig and a polythene bag and don’t worry , it wont bite *
7. Leeches:
This subject is too revolting for me to even consider writing about so please refer to some other guide book, or the internet. You are reading the work of someone under trauma. I have just two words on the subject. Salt and Pee.
8. Snakes:
The smaller they are the deadlier and sadly we don’t have any solutions for them except that so far they have left foreigners alone, mostly ; needless to say Sri Lanka has one of the highest snake bite rates in the world, not to mention apparently the highest rates for alcoholism and for suicide; a definite sociological conundrum which needs investigation. They hide in laundry and shoes and yes, again, cats notice them earliest.


(1) Lovely swahili word meaning "People". And why am I lapsing into Swahili ? I m darned if I know but Hakuna Matata!

aljuharas first attempt at advertising :-)

BOOK SWAP EVENING

Just to prove I have something of a personal life too, I went over to Sumathys yesterday for her “BOOK SWAP EVENING” and had a lovely time meeting a whole host of new contacts in the “NGO Field” (mind you the fun part is meeting people you already knew who already know people you know , slightly FACEBOOKY if you know what I mean )
Not only was the food great but I found some fantastic books too including STUPID WHITE MEN (Michael Moore) which as the critics say is right up my street , written as it is in PLAIN ENGLISH (ohhh so hard to find) which Im on to now. ...

The concept of BOOK SWAP EVENING is so simple I wonder why I never thought of it before– your kind host/ess arranges the ambiance and snacks and you bring any books you have which you are tired of and everyone else in the circle brings whatever they have, you throw it all in a pool and take what ever you like .
It really works.
Drop me a line if youd like to be invited next !

THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH AND NOTHING LIKE THE TRUTH

If there’s one recurrent trait I notice about Sri Lankans, its our Gross National Propensity to lie.

I figure this tradition started about two thousand five hundred years ago when a rascally Indian exile said “I love you bebes, and I Swear I always will” to a local wench with his fingers crossed behind his back; since then we have simply fine tuned fibbing into a National art…financial standing, number of Exes, boob size, age, you name it , we seem to compulsively alter it and present anything but the truth.

Even really mundane day to day facts get twisted with the calm aplomb of dedicated professionalism. Concepts like “ I only had one glass” or “Im just passing Borella (and how many times I have heard that in the Kosgoda bus!)not to mention the mother of all small corporate fibs “Im at a meeting , can I call you back?” from guys on the way to a bit of afternoon diversion…
Passive lying (which is when you have to listen to ground splitting inaccuracies being vocalized in front of you and have to shut up and let them go on) is almost as important as the original sin and I confess I have not had the courage to stand up and object to my moral space being thus violated, which fair makes my skin twitch.
You see, when I was a kid I was told that if I lied the ground would crack and Id fall through and end up in really hot water .To add serious worry to my juvenile concerns there used to be a sizeable crack in the concrete in our front driveway which seemed to expand each time I attempted to so much as stretch a fact or two, circumvent the absolute truth,, or even slightly waiver from the straight and narrow.
I have since figured this was faulty masonry but thanks to this crippling fear I have never been able to polish my fibbing skills to even a remotely passable national standard.
I paint and write passably well, or so I think , but unfortunately professional pretense is a talent I have not been able to master to even a half presentable level compared to the local pros, somehow coming from me, it just dosnt work. I honestly find myself marveling with respectful awe at some of the poker faced, effortless gems of linguistic misrepresentation I see around me on a daily basis..[1]
Mindboggliingly, considering the murder , corruption child-trafficking and an entire list of offences from grave crime to civil misdemeanor (and lots of good old fashioned garden variety adultery too) which goes on around us and is entirely impossible without the use of effective lying , it would appear that this is the one talent this nation excels at
--And this in spite of the fact that Sunday Schools and daham paasals are packed with earnest cherubic little patriots being lectured against lying till teachers and students are both blue in the face…which is a pity because if you consider very carefully, isn’t it obvious to you later on that the better you lie the higher you go!?
And I don’t mean to be a prissy little hypocrite here- so I assure you, that were I actually capable of remembering the facts, I would very much value the strategic advantage in being able to lie my way through life. Unfortunately some bits of wiring seem to have malfunctioned and the few honest attempts I made at properly perjuring myself led me to such obvious red faced perspiring embarrassment that I was forced to give up and retire to the comparatively safe ground of being entirely honest (or at least staying mum) because it was that much easier to remember the facts if they were true. I have trouble remembering things that DID happen (genetic, what with Grandma Isabelle) so trying to make up stuff which didn’t would probably be the giddy limit. So in my case its sheer necessity that makes it important to stick to the truth.
As a nation where we have collectively become so used to subtracting the exaggerations by default, and adjusting for dishonesty, the problem then is that if someone were to go around actually telling the truth , the strain of it all would probably be too much for our lie conditioned hard discs to handle and we would freeze and malfunction.
This does have a funny side, if like me you have given up trying to convince people anything. Sometimes the urge to lie is tied up with the urge to defend yourself against wholesale inquisition leading to large scale gossip- so a good way to nip things in the bud would be to quell speculation at the start and for example give them the information exactly the way they want it, before they have to fish and dig for it .

Try some of my unusual answers guaranteed to make people thoughtful:

· Oh, him ? he’s my Secret Paramour
· Thanks for the complement; I think I’m looking fairer today because I had my monthly bath…
· I’m sorry I got late; I was looking for dry underwear….

Now obvious truths like that should certainly seal the cracks in your masonry if nothing else…
............................................................................................
[1] “But I SENT you the spreadsheet last Friday; just check your junk box it may have fallen there”

THAT FIRST GREAT FEMINIST

Consider Gautama.
Two and a half centuries ago in a land called India, a great land of traditionalist thinkers, there were alas people who then as now treated their women as chattels, as merely beasts of burden, to be bartered , trafficked , used and disposed of as convenient, …there were powerful people who wanted this to go on.
But consider Gautama who was a Radical, a Extremist Pacifist if you must, a fearless and staunch feminist, daring enough to give us equal rights , to recognize our humanity and potential and ensure women the respect and honor they do admittedly deserve.
No other religious leader has quite elevated the childish and capricious, reputedly confused female human to such a position of esteem and honor in society.
Some have given women equal rights but Gautama placed them higher. Some considered them too immature to know their own minds, deemed them an inconvenient distraction to men, for which they were restricted, penalize and disadvantaged.
Gautama elevated the mother to the head of the household , the divine force within the house.
Consider Buddhist women today.
We are not restricted by undignified rules over our freedom, our dress codes, our choice of whom to marry or speak to or be seen with, we don’t have to dress in carcinogenic colors to please our men-folk, the rules which apply to us are exactly the same as those that apply to our men.
Thanks to this great and gentle feminist we can learn, study, work, be ordained, marry, divorce and basically live the lives we chose. With freedom comes responsibility and if some of us do not recognized this it is perhaps because we do not stop to actually consider how comparatively lucky we are as Buddhist women and respected citizens. The respect is ours to keep or lose through how we live..
Women are welcome to find solace in places of worship, unlike in some faiths where they are considered unclean or unfit, we are welcome to leave the lay world if we so decide and be ordained, unlike in other cases. Recognizing the spirituality within us and the potential for greatness, no where have equal rights been so equal.
A Buddhist mother is the divinity in her household;but this is not to say she exploits the position and abuses her gentle reign.
We are not ostracized of blamed for the misfortune of being a widow.
There is no “love and obey” clause because a Buddhist marriage is a partnership of mutual respect..
There is a clear and beautiful constitution which governs the marriage contract , a set of simple rules which if followed faithfully are guaranteed to make earth like heaven, the famous Sigalovada Sutta. Touchingly a man who takes on a wife is instructed to provide for her and see to her comfort and in turn the wife is supposed to make his home a peaceful shelter from the outside world, so that he can concentrate on earning a righteous living.
Marital fidelity is a responsibility of both parties and so monogamy is our benefit there. …if you ask a woman of any race if she wishes to share the attention of a husband and in her heart of hearts the answer would be a resounding “No”. Amazingly, in India which prized glittering splendid harems as veritable trophies, this quiet, thoughtful teacher with the persuasive personality caused a strong paradigm shift when he laid out a clear foundation for marriages of mutual respect, giving women dignity and self worth. More amazingly he succeeded in a time without mass media, PR drives or body guards, in an environment of the usual hostility without a single life being taken in support of his doctrine.

In a era full of fear and uncertainly Gautama was in fact the first world leader to say to us, “Yes , you can win if you want !” and then point the way.
Its up to us to follow.

Strange and True

here, for the benefit of all good Colombites are two things I learned yesterday

1. It IS possible to collide with a crow. I used to think that the kamaikazi dives they make into the middle of traffic were precision timed foreys of daring skill, but it turns out they are just greedy dimwits like the rest of us and if they see some food speck on the road they go for it with wretched single minded concentration , and that not on the traffic. I dont know if this has happened to other people but I tangled with a CROW near the General Hospital mortuary and the only reason its lived to fly another day is that I was doing a modest 40 kmph and riding near the drains as usual. Im lucky to be alive too, because, for someone who loves all things furry and feathery it was quite distracting to be mixed up in lots of shiney black feathers and small bits of tripe it had picked up from the road...

2. Sri Lankas Police uniform makes then WELL NIGH INVISIBLE at night and they think they have the right to JAY WALK all over the place, so the most hazardous traffic I have seen by far is cops jaywalking in unlighted areas of Flower Road at night. Yikes.

I also did enjoy Ashok Ferreys article on traffic in this months MONTAGE.
Happy reading, folks

dont you love Chinese?

Im sorry about this , be careful if you are the sensitive type, but ,pass it on.
Perhaps we can make a difference , or perhaps this world is too far gone.Perhaps there are better worlds elsewhere. Makes you start to think.
http://www.peta.org/feat/ChineseFurFarms/index.asp

PROOF

There are lots of things we hate about this country, but at the same time I love Sri Lanka for many valid reasons like my friends of all ethnicities, the lovely sunlight and color and the wonderful food; Beautiful though it undoubtedly, is there are lots of things wrong with Sri Lanka like people killing each other at the drop of a hat and other people not seeming to mind this at all.
So over time Ive had this increasingly uncomfortable feeling that something is wrong and this is not how people in the rest of the world live.

Finally last week I found the proof I was looking for- yes its true, Ive always suspected this but never had it in print and here it is; Foreign Policy Magazines ranking of Sri Lanka as among the top 32 “RED ALERT” locations of possible failed State : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_Failed_States_Index


You read me right - Sri Lanka is officially up there among the crap countries list, last among equals like Niger, Iraq and North Korea, and steadily gaining foot hold! The conclusion is drawn from a list of twelve selected indicators, a few of which are uncannily familiar -
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Failed_state

The list includes, “Massive movement of refugees and internally displaced peoples” “Chronic and sustained human flight (including brain drain of middle class professionals…) uneven economic development, endemic corruption or profiteering by ruling elites and resistance to transparency, accountability and political representation, widespread loss of popular confidence in state institutions and processes and Progressive deterioration of public services (some things like hospitals and public transport would seem to have hit rock bottom, you will agree) and last but not least … (drumroll)…. widespread violation of human rights….

PIZZAZ NEW YEAR

Ive said it before and Ill say it again- this April New Year thing gives me definite mixed feelings. There is a lot of hype about it , but what it boils down to is a oddly placed holiday at almost the hottest time of the year , and lots of strange rituals and firecrackers. My beloved pets are consistently reduced to gibbering silent wrecks from the trauma of constant explosions. Which strikes me as particularly odd for a country were bombs go off all the time- you would think our citizens have reached a saturation point where it comes to explosions but no, it would seem, the obsession with gunpowder goes on…
Some problems we had around New Year time never seem to leave us; one of my good friends was in a bus accident (due to a case of too much holiday spirit in the driver) and needed four stitches to her chin., she still has a dimple in her chin and a horrified shudder when ever she thinks about the New Year. Another Person I Know was involved in a sandwich accident where a drunk vagrant jumped into the road in front of him and the over enthusiastic young SUV driver behind him braked too late. …the vagrant is dead, but the court case is likely to go on for a few years…

Traditional New year is supposed to be “women’s time” I once heard someone say cheerfully on Radio….the time when Mother takes Pride of place around the home, organizing ,providing food for you ,lighting the hearth, and being in charge. Mother is now the Goddess in the household…well, actually nice try but Ive seen through it all. Call me a lonely rebel but I have realized its actually just another cunning Sinhala (-and Tamil-) strategy for the guys to sit around doing nothing as usual (except getting drunk and lighting fire crackers) while the women (as is usual in any festival time around the world) break their backs shopping, sewing, frying, cooking, cleaning and trying to out do each other.
However oddly the guys do join in shopping. Ladies, do us all a favor, don’t drag them out shopping. Never have I seen such a collection of bored, morose, tortured looking male mugs in one location at one time, as at the famous Colombo Dept Stores I visited just before NY, clutching sadly onto armloads of female apparel , being constantly elbowed and shoved around and not being allowed to openly ogle the other ladies, either , such a cheerless, unhappy bunch they look, one wonders that they have done to deserve this misery. Plus it just doubles the crowd, so please do consider sending them off to the pub or something instead in future, that way you are both happy…

And what is Traditional New year in Sri Lanka about ,you say? Well, the crux of the matter is doing things at the RIGHT time , or the auspicious time, even if the right time falls at a very odd time. So you have times when you drag the complaining groggy kids to the dining table to have breakfast at about 1.30 am…and then you believe everything will go right for you, that you will succeed…. That prosperity and success will follow.
And yet a most notable fault about sri lankans in Sri Lanka, to visitors, is that they never seem able or willing to honor an appointment. If they are supposed to meet you at 3 pm ,they will walk in calmly at about 3 45 with some pathetic excuse, and without even bothering to call and tell you that they were running late. (this is something that totally annoys my aunt who was a manager with Lloyds in London, and she has taken to summarily discontinuing any ganu denu with someone who does that to her with or without good reason, because it smacks off complete un-professionalism ) Office events are a nightmare with trying to get lots of people to congregate at the correct time and weddings usually are over by the time half the people come in, since this country seems to be entirely alien to the concept of doing anything at the correct time, except for this midnight binging. And the worst stand ups I have experienced are from people im waiting to meet who call and say they are “almost there” but don’t mention that they are stuck in some traffic two towns away …why do people undertake things if they cant follow through?

The traditional New Year is rife with exchanged wishes for prosperity. And yet we end up calling our selves a poor country (and expecting aid from foreigners whom we subsequently insult and accuse of hidden agendas…) Poor in what, is what I often ask my self. Tell me honestly; is Sri Lanka poor in natural resources? Then what do you call Somalia and the Chad. Half of Kenya is just sand. Most of China is freezing cold. Australia is mostly desert. Human Talent? There’s now 20 million of us and Sri Lankan students consistently turn out the best in universities all over the world. Are we an ugly looking peoples? Are we poor in Opportunities? Only the ones we lost ourselves. We were given the wealth of the English language by our colonists although we threw it away. We were given a culture of tolerance through Buddhism and we reject it. ………Are we disadvantaged in Global positioning ? Where would that put Iceland, Greenland and Japan which is almost off the world map? What exactly are we poor in, except discipline perhaps, so that we cant seem to do anything on time unless it’s the New Year? Face it, we are not a poor nation. . Corrupt, drunk, stubborn and set in our ways maybe and socially unjust, but certainly not poor…

Meanwhile, I personally had only two days of leave from office after ages, and so I wasn’t in the mood for frying Kavum and Kokis but instead since the time for eating was scheduled at 7pm which was logically dinner time, and the kids wanted something different ,we decided to order pizza instead. And, man, that was good.
……………………………………………………………………………………..
So here’s hoping you had a prosperous New Year absolutely swimming in milk and honey and lots of pizza if you prefer alternatives!!

Topless photo...

Well,um …not really… but you can always paste this onto some nude greenish torso and try to blackmail me…. see if Id care…

Firstly this is not a Janet advert but yes, I bought one of her “home facials” and “did it myself”
This is the most pampering I have ever had for just 125/= bux and it left the bathroom smelling lovely for hours afterwards.
You will agree the photo leaves nothing much to the imagination- that there is avocado, and the eyes are red because Im bathing –(something I don’t do often) – and one bit of advice , do this at home by all means but not on an empty stomach , because it is torture.
The orange mud pac is ssso delicious to smell and at the point where you reach strawberry mask you are pretty much incoherent with wanting to eat this stuff. (But I suggest you don’t because after all it’s a facial, ie, for your skin, get it?)
Meanwhile the Home Facial must have worked because lots of people were saying that I looked, well… cleaner.

0774 343791

Free Media Movement Treasurer receives threats and asked to pay ransom

18th April 2008, Colombo, Sri Lanka: The Free Media Movement (FMM) is appalled to place on record that its Treasurer, journalist K. Rushangan, has received threats demanding the payment of a ransom before 25th April 2008.

K. Rushangan is the Editor of the Tamil language news and information website www.inllanka.com and the Tamil journal Saamadana Nokku (Peace Monitor) published by the Center for Policy Alternatives. He also edited the Tamil language daily Thinakkahir published in Batticaloa from 2000-2002.

On Sunday, 13th April at around 4pm, a person who claimed to be “Ealaventhan” from the LTTE demanded that Rushangan handed over a motorbike or the cash equivalent of 1,500 US Dollars. The first deadline given was 16th April. The phone number registered on Rushangan's mobile phone was 0774 343791. This phone number is still accepting incoming calls. When Rushangan refused to pay saying that he is not in a position to do so, the caller threatened to abduct the journalist.

Though Rushangan lodged a complaint at the Dehiwala Police on 16th April, no one has been questioned or arrested by the Police to date, a situation the FMM finds wholly unacceptable in light of the seriousness and urgency of the situation.

The FMM does not have any information on the reasons for or the persons behind these threats. However, given the impunity with which extrajudicial killings and abductions take place in Sri Lanka today, the FMM hold the Police responsible for the safety and security of Rushangan and urge them to take immediate action to bring the culprits to book.

yamaha pose

THE OTHER OUT THERE

Ever wondered what it seems like from their point of view?

Yesterday one of my overzealous office buddies forwarded to me a sensational photograph (as she thought) of half of a mangled bomb victim who happened to have been a prominent public figure; I told her off for it but when I walked around the office I found clumps of my colleagues staring at this photograph on office computers and commenting over it.
Im sorry but I really don’t get it, Im missing the point here. I honestly don’t have any thing against cheery powerpoints of smiling orangutans that you receive in your email in the mornings, or heck, even a bit of quality pornography ( actually its called erotic art-) but hello, dead bodies? Before breakfast? And of Sri Lankans? Somehow, just like in porn, the fact that these are people of our own nationality is an added jar to the system.
Its not that I don’t find dead bodies quite fascinating, I admit I did my odd share of impromptu scientific experiments with ghekhos in Marmite bottles when I was a kid, and resignedly cut off the head of one of my beloved pets who had died of suspected rabies ( mind you my shoulders were aching for days afterwards, but a woman’s got to do what a womans got to do ) and I did actually have an odd ambition of being a forensic pathologist like Temperence Brenan, which didn’t happen because I got married early and had kids and in laws etc.
But leaving aside how much I love to gaze at other peoples gutted and charred earthly remains, I honestly baulk at the thought of forwarding them to friends on my spam list, simply because there is a sneaking suspicion in my mind that I would not like to find one of my loved ones stripped and hung on display on the internet, because I figure in my heart of hearts that apart from the misery of having lost someone you love to a terrorist attack, the second human rights violation would be to have your fellow citizens standing in little groups ooohing and aaahing over the naked dead and burnt torso of your husband/brother/son or father…are you ever going to be able to put THAT picture out of your mind?
Im left wondering , since I want to try hard to understand them, who these journalists are who grab that brief moment of desperate fame by attaching their names to this kind of cheap thriller. And what kind of people continue this cycle by forwarding this mail around to their friends and relations. Do they think that they are immortal ? that they will never find themselves at the other side of this lens/ or in the subject line of such emails ? you have to wonder.

New Gadgets and Gimmicks in the Gender Standoff – are we bound to lose?

Ahh, those were the times… long ago amoebas simply split in two. But then they started complicating things by needing “sex”, which of course led slowly and steadily through millions of years of evolution, to a bunch of bipeds named Homo Erectus….who then began dabbling with technology …(and we know why)…its because they wanted to develop the ultimate X ray vision binoculars to see through our clothes…. or camera phones to film under our skirts …or Photoshop to paste our unsuspecting virginal heads onto hot naked torsos…
girls, I tell you there has never been a time like today when our modesty and integrity as the "chaste" sex is so under unfair threat…!

Where has it been all my life?

its the book I have searched for all my life, from the guru I have longed to meet, about the mysteries I have longed to confront.
its an ordinary looking paperback and it was in a cardboard box in VijithaYapa Bookstore (the Thurstan Branch) (but dont go rifling through their boxes I think there was only one copy)
it cost a measly 400 rupees but I wont sell it to you for 4 laks if you ask. (although for 4 laks in GBP I may consider taking a photocopy and letting you have it)

it is the ulitmate guide.

and this book starts with the words

NOW THAT YOU HAVE FOUND THIS BOOK,
-DONT TELL ANYONE ABOUT IT!

the Ninth Day of Christmas

Ok folks this is it, Ive decided to jettison a lot of nice new books (Wilbur Smith/ Alistair McClean etc) at half the price (how I got them is a long story) and bits of clothing that I picked up from sales which I cant fit into, plus a glitzy riding helmet(Unused) and some really useless electronic things which are lying around my house, and my daughters Nokia in preperation for an upgrade.

It’s a charity sale – you heard me- this is really charity , and Im hoping to be able to pay at least in part for my dentures.. I mean, dental upgrades ...and next years' contact lenses and routine maintenance like that, so well, give me a chance....
No -seriously, I mean ...there will be other people there selling normal useful entirely legal things. ...


NINTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS – A CHRISTMAS FAIR

Date : 9th Sunday December 2007
Venue: Royal Collage Sports Complex (Rugby Grounds) off Stanley Tillekeratne Mawatha (just next to the Indian Restaurant)

Time 10.00 am to 6.30 pm

Stalkers be warned: I’m not alone. There are two other ngo people with me and we know our rights. White Rabbit: dont even think of it.

Sri Lanka's Lion King by Walt Disneynayeke

"Hit men always sneer. They follow a two-week course in Effective Sneering."...


It was the year 18 hundred something and King Rajadi Rajasinghe got Malaria and asked for Chloroquine. Chloroquine had not yet been discovered so they gave him Koththamalli instead.(Even if Chloroquine had been invented the idiots in the Health Department would have had a shortage of it! The Director of Health Services and his yes men could not tell the difference between their chloroquine, arses and their elbows!) The King died.
His last words were "AaaaaaH!"





the rest of the story,which is not mine, can be found here


http://www.crazylanka.com/historyrajasinghe.htm but this here illustration which is mine will be in Tuesday's Colombo Post .
Enjoy.

zimbabwe, anyone?

Rather Scary

yesterday of all days , on the way home,I forgot my wallet , meaning no ID (and no money...)
plus two good friends of mine (who happen to be Tamil) were dropping me home...
so I had this scarey experience of being on pins and needles all the way during the trip...
of shuddering every time we passed an army uniform...
of wondering what to say or do ...
and mind you this is in spite of the fact that I have excellent contacts in the forces who will vouch for me and bail me out of any problem within minutes....
this got me thinking about my friends who dont have that security...who have to always worry each time they pass a checkpoint...who get stared at coldly... who even if they do have an ID card, get penalised and suspected because of their names...
this is so sad, my friends , I know how you feel and I do feel for you.How do we solve this? when will it end?

on a lighter note my buddies in the car were thankfully not too worried about the predicament I had put them in and were joking about what they would say if they were caught (they would probably be in trouble for trafficking some unidentified female object -)
things like
* oh sorry thats just my mentally retarded domestic assistant she has let the dog chew her ID again...
* sorry officer, but the people at the previus checkpoint put her in and told us to take her to Kandana

* oh, officer- you mean theres a woman in the back seat ? wow?

yes there was a blast

and its in Nugegoda in what has always seemed to be the busiest crowdiest place a blast could possibly hope for; for those of you monitoring Sri Lankan websites from abroad, the stuff we see on TV is lots of people milling about and quite a lot of broken building plus a small half hearted fire.
I also just saw two people walking really briskly and purposefully with the lower half of a person on a streatcher. Sometimes I wonder idly whether this is really the priority at a time like this. I think we should have a lot more First Aid Training on what to do in Energencies , instead of focusing on body parts which ostensiably cannot be resold( but then knowing Sri Lankans - anything could have been on their minds-) shouldnt we be doing more about the half dead...
the official count is ten injured so far but i think I saw at least 3 dead on TV and this IS Nugegoda.
sigh...

MY BITTER NOVEMBER

Last week I felt crushed.
Really, I mean it- I don’t know what hit me. One day I was smiling, glowing, happy ,joking handling anything that came my way with the aplomb of an Amazon, my blog profile said “ contented, happy go lucky & placid” in description of me, then – suddenly I woke up at 3 am one night in a cold sweat of depression and panic, and it was officially the beginning of an all time low. My whole personality crumpled inwards as if its superstructure had collapsed. It was horrible.

Before you direct me to the nearest reputed psychiatrist, or send me links on the subject please let me assure you I have handled this sort of thing perfectly well previously and emerged visibly unscathed but somewhat older, so from afar this isn’t as serious as I make it sound; but when Im in it, this is genuine tangible depression as black as tar and as scary as Voldemort – and, what’s more , I’ve noticed this is what happens to me each year around November!

It’s when I realize another year is almost over and I can’t even remember what I set out to do this year in the first place, but there are more crows feet and less teeth, plus my toes are looking worse and there is more grey in my hair. Weight is becoming progressively more difficult to shed and my knees are beginning to act funny.

I honestly feel grouchy, self pitied, selfish, mean, low and totally anti social in November. I suddenly realize that I still don’t posses any of those critical success factors that society judges you by- a swanky residence, a posh set of wheels, a handy spouse (ok not necessarily in that shallow order) and a large impressive Doberman or two… the fact that I don’t has never actually bothered me from January to October so I cant for the life of me figure out why I feel like a total and abject failure in November….perhaps it’s the weather…if I believed in demonic possession Id say this was a classic example of standard low intensity interference and probably my friends in the medical profession would sign me up for a month of contraband Prozac. – but the good news, dear friends, is that one way or another each year I beat it, each year, by myself .

How?
Religion has always helped me. Any religion. You sit inside a temple or a church or heck you even sit in front of a shrine in your own home ,alone with candles and beads, there is beautiful magic in that.

Empathy helps me, involving me in the problems other people have , some of which make mine seem laughable, trying to help other humans and animals in this difficult obstacle course called life, making old people smile again, and doing something small for someone which they didn’t expect.

My friends help me; year after year I find that there is always someone, it doesn’t have to be the same set , but inevitably I have been blessed with friends who go out of their way to lend me a helping hand and pull me out of this strange darkness. To scold me out of it , to drag me away from it, to distract me and cajole me – my precious friends are a formidable team that no obscure condition can ever hope to beat. Thank you all, you know who you are!

And of course, family.
There is family I had from the time I was born and there is family I discovered recently, there is family who joined me a few years before. There is also family that I have adopted. What makes them family is how dependable they are, how close, and not necessarily the ties of blood. That first and last refuge for the weary, a place to rest ones soul.

Looking at this list of precious resource I have, I wonder how I could ever possibly feel dejection in the first place - but then considering the laws of Universal balance, perhaps just to make up for the optimism I feel eleven months of the year, I must experience one month of inexplicable somberness.
That would be November.

SIMBA's STORY

Long long ago , Egyptians actually worshipped us as Gods. …I’m lucky in this day and age, to find a nice, amendable biped.

So folks, if Ive heard it once, Ive heard it a hundred times. The account of how I was found. On a roof of all places. After two days of mewling and almost getting croaky and incoherent in the throat. How I got there no one knows (we suspect it had something to do with Colombo crows, evil , devious critters aren’t they ) but I guess something sad had already happened to my dear old mother, god rest her soul. Luckily I was picked up by a biped (that’s a two legged upright walking anthropoid of primate descendent, in case you don’t get the word ). A nice warm blooded, gullible one.

Between you and me , when you pick a biped, or, as they think , allow one to pick you, there are a few things you have to consider. Does he live alone, and does he wear baggy pants and does he look like a doggy person. See, if he has a mate, one that doesn’t like cats , you’ve had it from day one – I mean Ive heard these women wait till the chap is out to do mean things to you like throw you out of the house or forget your dinner. And they don’t think its funny when we squirt at the laundry basket. Nasty. And about the baggy pants , well its easier to climb up his legs and watch what he is cooking without having to actually sink your nails into him- they react to that with strangled-cat like howls and you may get thrown across the room by the scruff of your neck by mistaken reflex, so after a few weeks I learned only to climb their legs if they have long lose pants on. Let that be a lesson to you young, potential biped owners.
As for the doggy person look, if you have to share your biped with a dog, seriously this takes much of the joy out of life. They are noisy, clumsy and smelly and they have rotten breath and they constantly try to whine their way in to your biped’s heart by being unselfish and constantly devoted! Disgusting.

Although they are sometimes not exactly maternal,(and sometimes sit on you by mistake if you are the same color as the dining chair upholstery ,) male bipeds make much better catches than females, because the latter may actually reproduce themselves and that involves cunning little offspring bipeds who sometimes purposefully do horrible things to hapless cats, regardless of which religion they are brought up in. I have heard nasty urban legends about kittens , freezers, microwaves and Barbie Dolls…I wont go into the depressing details here. Males are also about 3 degrees warmer because of some obscure biological detail as in they don’t have to grow layers of fat for childbearing. This is good news for any cat, you will agree. When I was a kitten I would sleep in the crook of his neck until I grew so big and furry that one morning, January the 1st I think , I honestly thought I had asphyxiated him - and so decided to move onto his stomach for both our sakes.
To be honest, life wasn’t all plain sailing – I did have to train him in a few aspects of good bipedal etiquette .He now knows to pick the best chicken parts from the local supermarket and pressure cook them to that degree of perfection any gourmet would envy (otherwise I puke all over his bedroom tiles or lose my voice.) I’ve organized for a special entrance for myself, hand picked flannel for our bed and organized regular cleaning of my toilet. Also it is considered rude to move until I say so, if I’m sleeping on his chest. And I’ve impressed on him that he should STOP bringing home more cats, because this cramps my style. (Meechee and Matty Pooz are quite enough for me to feel species companionship with)
And female bipeds has been out of the question, he tries once in every couple of years but I give them a beady eyed look and sit radiating hostility at them and they get the idea and clear off . This is in spite of him being a very presentable specimen all round, or so I hear.
Afternoons are the best. My biped uses his treasured tubes of pigment to create lifelike representations of me and of larger cousins of mine and hangs them on his walls, to further revere me I suspect. And then people come over and admire the visualizations and look at me in Great Awe too, and some even supplement his chicken purchasing power by BUYING his realistic visualizations. He sure has thought about everything, wouldn’t you say?
Suffice it to say, Ah, we have a good life, my biped and I….as my hero Garfield once said “John and I have everything I could possibly want .”
But to be honest, at times I regret the selfish way I own him and wonder if it is better to let him find a mate too since he has been very nice about me and not snipped me anywhere and Im sure in time he will need those of his own kind, plus off springs to look out for him (and us) when he is old and beyond it.
So maybe one of these days I shall actually approve of one of his pretty visitors and give them my blessing.
But probably not just yet.

WEANING SRI LANKA

As of late all we seem to be able to talk about is the alarmingly rising cost of powdered milk; whose direct “fault” this is we have yet to stay up late nights to figure out –and in quite a few homesteads this may indeed be the scenario if a sizeable percentage of the population is below the age of two, due to the time honored traditional emphasis on reproducing first and then worrying about financial stability later…
Ah , Sri Lankans…,
Anyway ,dear Citizen, neither the wails of the milk-less mites nor the profusion of cartoons and media critiques on the subject, nor late night political chat shows ,nor ranting nor raving nor whining nor kutukutu is going to make a jot of difference here (as if it ever has! ) so as a nation we might as well buckle up, and resign ourselves to being compulsorily weaned of the glorious substance in future . And hey, maybe that isn’t such a bad idea after all. In time honored sour grapes tradition lets blast a few of those myths about that lovely liquid symbol of love, peace and prosperity…
The Facts on Factory farms: here’s where the cheaper imported milk comes from….
Factory farmed animals are trapped inside large, stinking, windowless buildings on factory 'farms'. They never feel fresh air and their natural freedoms are brutally denied. The goal is meat and dairy products as cheaply and quickly as possible like tins of beans. Intensive farmers forcibly generate their animals via rape racks, artificial insemination, etc and this industry produces animals so cheaply that although they die by the millions - from disease, suffocation or maltreatment - profits are still not seriously hurt.

The dairy cow is forced to keep producing a calf (or two, or three, artificially, by Caesarian) every year until she dies or is killed (within 5 years).

The calves she gives birth to are taken away from her after only 12-24 hours. If it is a male calf (a 'byproduct') it may be exported and forced to endure 16-20 weeks of torment in veal crates.

In her natural state, a cow's udder produces enough milk for her calf, holding approximately 2 litres of milk containing about 3 times as much protein as human milk - in intensive farming conditions she has to produce 10+ litres. Every year over 50% of dairy cows suffer lameness due to deformations caused by huge udders (which may be so large that they drag on the ground), poor housing, and very painful diseases such as laminitis and mastitis. Symptoms of systemic mastitis include hot, swollen, acutely painful udders, fever, loss of appetite, and mammary glands so inflamed they are as hard as stones and bubble blood into the milk.

Sometimes milking machines give cows repeated electrical shocks, causing them prolonged trauma, sometimes leading to death. A single farm can lose several hundred cows to uncontrolled electric shocking. Milking machines are used anyway, because they enable a single farm worker to milk 86 cows in 2 hours.

And every year in UK alone 150,000 pregnant cows are slaughtered for hamburger meat, many approaching full term. The calves, unwanted by farmers, may still be living when their mothers are disemboweled. When the womb tumbles out onto the concrete floor, the still-living calf thrashes and drowns in the pile of bloody organs.
Source : http://www.carn-age.org.uk/
Other lactose intolerant websites you can visit:
http://www.milkgonewild.com/
http://www.vegetarian.org.uk/
and that mother of all animal rights sites:
http://www.peta.org/

So although the advertising people show you contented looking animals in lovely rolling green fields, that’s actually cow – hollywood and/or bullshit. For the most part powdered milk does not come from organic farms. For the real scenes visit any of the websites mentioned in this article and be prepared for a few unholy surprises.
Moot point- this milk of “human kindness” is extracted through a process that causes untold animal trauma on an unbelievably large scale. For a majority Buddhist and Hindu country, whose fundamental tenets are avoiding causing suffering to any living being, and indeed positive veneration of the cow, respectively, factory produced powdered milk is an abominable hypocrisy. Why then do we continue to be so fixated on it?

Myth No 1
Milk is nature’s ideal food! That’s what your mother always said, and for a nation of middle aged juveniles who still get their mothers to cook and do their laundry for them till they are fifty, mother knows best. It is nature’s perfect food—if you are a baby calf, have four stomachs, and are trying to weigh 1,000 pounds by your second birthday. Otherwise, it’s not so perfect. Think about it: No other species drinks milk beyond infancy or drinks the milk of another species. It’s just not natural! Medical studies indicate that rather than preventing the disease, milk actually causes osteoporosis and leads to cancer. Dairy products definitely contribute to the health problems of the one billion people worldwide who are obese. Cow’s milk is also the number one cause of allergies, according to the American Academy of Allergy, Asthma, and Immunology.
Myth No 2
Dairy products are a main source of protein! In practice protein deficiency is actually rarely heard of unless you live in a famine-stricken country. You will get all the protein that a human body needs from legumes (beans, peas, and peanuts), vegetables, nuts, seeds, yeast, and tofu.
Myth No 3
But our babies need milk!
Actually the average human female is still perfectly capable of supplying her child’s milk requirements for as long as they are necessary. The benefits of breast-feeding above expensive unhygienic indigestion inducing substitutes have been recounted at countless forums down the ages. What remains is to engender a paradigm shift towards responsible procreation where young people make long term plans for the off spring they intend to produce, which include some quality family time where young mothers do not work, but take time off for the important first years of a child’s life, and where this is VALUED. Unfortunately in our society rat race the fact that a woman stays at home lactating could set her career back by four or five years for the average two children family. Tragic isn’t it. But on the bright side, she would save quite a packet on milk food…that’s some recognition of our value at last! Not bad.

Modera's Baby Twisting Nightmare

ok , if the photo is spooky, wait till you read the story...its in WOW of Daily Mirror this week.

and what I havnt mentioned there is that this is a true story.

This story revolves around an average house in Modera which is one of three houses belonging to siblings now long dead and gone. In the left of the row of houses there had lived a ravishingly beautiful but somewhat vain Sinhala woman named Sriyankanthi, who unfortunately had a personality totally in contrast to her name and angelic appearance. Neither more nor less vicious than the average Ceylonese woman she appears by all accounts to have been obsessed with the usual shallow local pastimes of comparing peoples wealth, status ,castes , race and judgmental gossiping, and back biting. Her son was one of the most good looking young colts in the whole area at the time and the apple of her proud maternal eye, although his personality turned out different and he selected for his wife a woman of less social standing and little wealth based on his genuine affection for her. Probably someone of more human values and intelligence from the stoic way she bore up her future miseries as you will see, and a girl of another race or caste , either way – unsuitable in Sriyakanthie’s eyes.

Sriyakanthi was furious with her sons choice for all the usual superficial reasons. This would be a serious social let down and the girl did not have the wealthy background she had been hoping for. She had spent her life looking down on this sort of person and now chose to consider it a slap in the face from the son she had invested so much love and care in, although naturally most of the blame went to the potential bride for be-witching him.
However to Sriyakanthie’s consternation the son was adamant about his choice and went ahead and married the despised girl. She ranted and raved and caused scenes, totally rejecting the daughter in law from the start and effectively drove herself ill with this reaction to the situation. Maybe it was a terrible consequence of this prolonged hysteria or maybe some other medical condition hitherto undiagnosed, either way, within a few years of her sons marriage, beautiful Sriyakanthi lay wasted on her death bed and eventually passed away but not before uttering a final curse on her own son and his wife, to the effect that she would personally make sure they would never children.[1]
Life for her relations was quieter after her death and she was soon generally forgotten except perhaps on anniversaries either way, the son and daughter in law who had faced so much rejection, made the best of their new life at that home.

Months passed and then Sriyakanthie’s daughter in law was with child, and then in time duly gave birth to a son. Sadly, and perhaps we can speculate here, due to the psychological tensions she had undergone, and the subconscious dread of what she had heard, her child was indeed lame and misshapen, club footed and rickety from the start, in short looking as if it had survived some terrible accident. . But being stoic Buddhists, they accepted this as their lot and never considered the child a burden but did their best as parents to take care of it.
Within another year another child was born to this unfortunate couple, again sadly, a misshapen and deformed little girl.
You can imagine the sadness in the lives of these two because their destiny according to my friend, was to give life to a third child and it too was an physically deformed and slightly mentally handicapped too. Apparently the burden of looking after the three special children was simply too much for the young woman to handle and she pleaded with her husband to shift the family and live with her parents in a different town. He conceded to this plan and Sriyakanthie’s accursed house was whitewashed to be given on rent.
The house itself was a very pleasant and presentable piece of property and many potential tenants expressed interest. Then as now , the newly wedded couples were the majority of applicants usually in their quest to evade interfering in laws or be closer to a place of work.
A young couple who was already expecting a child rented Sriyakanthie’s house
Within a few months of moving in ,the young wife suffered a miscarriage of her fetus, in a very tragic and terrible mid night drama in which she too almost died. They did not know about the background of the house or indeed have any reason to even suspect any background worth mentioning but now the neighbors were beginning to speculate about this series of events.

To be continued next week.

Another Day in Paradise

OCTOBER 16th 2004
Al Juhara writes…
…unfortunately for you, gentle readers, quite compulsively. Be it dairies, letters, emails or heck, even the odd “To Do” list, I find an entire waffle of literary produce emerges when I lay pen to paper. Or finger to keyboard.
I remember when I was eleven and the subject at school was “My Ambition” I waxed eloquent about wanting to be a writer. How I filled a three-page essay with that basic decision is currently a mystery to me, but it must have worked as I know I consistently got marks like 99 for English. What being a writer actually entailed I had not bothered about and still do not and the dream continued as you can see from a page out of my 2004 dairy.


7am
Have decided I must write a book to surpass “God of Small Things,” ”Harry Potter,” and “Lord of the Rings,” combined, which will shoot me to Instant Fame and Riches, so that I can buy a house, but have not decided what exactly to write, or if its actually easier to instead dictate into borrowed micro cassette, as handwriting in busses not really that legible.
But stuck for ideas.
Also not sure if grammar and syntax correct.
(Mosquitoes munching me under table – vague visions of dying tragically at young tender age of thirty three, like desert rose, five minutes off to light the ARS coil)
One thing for sure:
I need to get richer! Quicker!
Because if I go on at this pace with the librarian job in the NGO , I will need estimated four hundred and seventeen years of desperate savings and scrimping to buy myself the house of my dreams.
Which brings us to issue of “what is wrong with house already inherited”(for more details see page ….)
Am late for work today and will have to sit through long bus trip and not looking forward to it. Although admittedly gives me a lot of time to think of subject for Blockbuster Novel. Also ends up in me day dreaming and falling asleep on way to work ,and subsequently imagining derisive public speculation on what had been doing last night…

Have you noticed the amazing color in a Ceylon bus?
They are really story book vehicles
painted gaudily
adorned with rows of Hindu Gods
Windows are stuck
Water gutters inside alongside windows (occasional drips of puke here)
Not enough leg room for a tall woman
We burn them when we get really fed up with them.(Colombo traffic ,pg…)
Give you a long time in which to think about life and being poor in a third world mega city.
Occasionally therapeutic as in when I have had a major row with 927862.
and get into a bus and go off without my mobile phone, to make him worry. I did that one poya day , went off to discover myself and having reached Dematagoda, returned all in about forty five minutes. Brother dearest admitted that was quick. He had known people who took five years off in Tibet to find them selves and still couldn’t..
Noisy
Smelly and
Have a knack for stalling alongside garbage dumps.(For Colombo Garbage see page ….)

Every morning I pass a hardware store which is opening up for the day .There are ceramic squatting pans hung one atop the other , and colorful plastic mops, aluminum buckets and sinks and this wonderful old Turk in a white fez , who very patiently with a bucket and a small plastic cup ,cleans the ground in front of the shop. Smiling at him is pointless as he concentrates on this floor cleaning as though his hope for Moksha depends on this , and limited by the size of his plastic tea cup I am sure the process takes up at least forty five minutes each morning. A kind of Japanese Tea Ceremony in an aluminium ware background…
7.35
Checked again to see if phone has lost its charge: 927862 said he would call…

Looked over the flyway into the railroads below in Maradana and regretted it :
Then there is the Pola, in Dematagoda.
In the morning it is not the smell for sore throats. In other words, the cloying early morning stink of garbage is something alive and pulsating, kerchiefs and helmets are flimsy arsenal against this determined blanket of bio degradation. Year after year it continues to mark Dematagoda like a large in-your-nose landmark to your sense of olfactory direction.

Decided that I am looking quite hip in bus taking notes like some kind of casual social scientist . Peeps are staring at me rather curiously-

However, regretfully, sometimes that dreaded monster called Writers Block stands in your way and you go days months or even years without being able to create anything remotely presentable. Perhaps this is one of those phases. Or maybe its just that I’m cooking up a surprise…

a one in a million publication…

IF ONLY someone had broken the silence- by Kamla Bhasin (illustrated by Bindia Thapar) 50/- available at Social Scientists Bookshop, Col 5 or online at http://shtriishakti.org/booksonsale.html

As adults we know that pedophiles lurk everywhere, in buses, schools, family gatherings...you name it, we are paranoid; but like the little girl in the book says “why didn’t the people who loved me warn me about people like this?”

IF ONLY someone had broken the silence is a poignant little booklet, ably illustrated with adorable caricatures, on one of the most sensitive subjects in Asian society today- sexual violence against children.

Sensitive, professionally written books for children, on sexuality are generally limited to very expensive imports from USA and UK and available in upscale outlets mostly unaffordable by the average middle income family anyway. So I must say I have been searching for this sort of a book for ages, and its disappointing that there doesn’t seem to be any like this around in the local market, and oddly even this booklet is “for limited circulation only” .

The truth is maybe we parents do tell children about these things but just like all the other advice you give a child, sometimes it becomes difficult to make things exactly clear and to get their attention for long enough to emphasize the gravity of these problems.
The difficult subject of child abuse is approached from the first person account of a little Indian girl growing up among a typical extended family of diverse family members and relations. A theme so sensitive must be handled carefully and this booklet can be regarded not just as a work of art in its own right, and timely reading for children on ground realities of life, but as an obviously professional output.

Ms Bhasin’s little booklet can be called an excellent opening point, or conversation starter or perhaps a revision of things already discussed. Either way it’s a book that I recommend parents to invest in and perhaps the powers that be should consider translating it, because child abuse is one of the best kept secrets in local society and as Dr Martin Luther King Jr said “We Have to Repent, Not So Much for the Evil Deeds of the Wicked People But for the Appalling Silence of the Good People"

now heres a picture worth a thousand words...

in fact I kept bursting into laughter whenever I saw it or even remembered it - its just so speechless...

If I wus President for a day...ok, make it a year

Im often being asked, by otherwise completely normal and stable characters , in what they probably think are flashes of blindening witticism and humour, whether I am "not Bandaranaiyeke, no?" when I say that my name is Chandrika, over the phone.
....to this my cold and somewhat scathing reply is "I should think not,” because considering my reputation for spending time blogging, drawing cartoons, making Facebook entries and lurking on Kapuwa, I should think she had better things to do in life , such as for example... run the frikking place
....but just last week I got to seriously thinking what life would have been like if I was indeed the president of the Republic. ....hm. in a word...if I wus the President of Sri Lanka it would be a much odder place...

for example:


Cable TV would be subsidized. Research down the ages has proven that mind numbing addiction to Hallmark and HBO will keep the citizenry off the streets and unaware of the real political implications of their franchise. It’s also a accepted scientific hypothesis that Attilla the Hun, Genghiz Khan and Hitler would never have been so intensely single-minded with destructive urges if they had other ways of keeping themselves entertained, like WWF. *

Human Reproduction would need a license and written declarations that you are entirely responsible for all the arson, looting and general rapine that your decedents may engineer. Reliable witnesses** would have to guarantee that you are indeed a responsible, experianced human who can handle the consequences of your uncontrollable urge to procreate, not to mention feed, clothe and educate it. This means you would have to intern a couple of years at least, free of charge, helping bring up someone else’s children. This would solve our domestic labour problem too. See, two birds.

Dogs would never be taxed. They are our best friends and its a downright sh*tty thing to do. Ten thousand years of defending us from wolves, marauding rival tribes and the crafty little mind tricks that cats play, and you do this to your best friend? shame! Un-neutered TomCats on the other hand should be serially taxed. Ever considered the noise pollution they cause with all that caterwauling at night, not to mention the royal pong in the neighborhood, and when you run over one you have to sell the vehicle or it is inauspicious.

Dowry would be compulsory. Yup, if you wanted to get married you both would have to pay a heavy bond to the government. That’s for putting a strain on the mental health sector, and possibly burdening us with more people who look and think like you….and it will help pay for all the milk food subsidies you expect later on…


Bullock carts would be given auxiliary motors. That’s to make them stop obstructing the traffic and go a bit faster; the only reason I would not be totally banning them is that rich foreign people think they are quaint and like to take photos of them. (Anyone knows if you are going to effectively rule the place plus strengthen the economy you mustn’t negatively repercuss tourism.)

Crows would be trained and exported in batches. They are very intelligent and can carry out all manner of complex procedures. Plus we have rather a surplus in Colombo. Either that or we have to start cooking them soon. And Ive been to Bangkok , trust me they taste like chicken! What do you mean cruel? What we do to chickens isn’t, what with all the tetracycline injections and stuff?

the Capital would be Tamil Nadu, because I like the food there ,or if they objected to that on the grounds that I am messing with their territorial integrity I would at least transfer it to Anuradhapura. This is to shake up all the Colombo 7 people and make them watch land prices plummet horribly so that they stop being so elite. Imagine: Cinnamon Gardens would be the new "Grassroots” and they would have poor infrastructure .

Local Guys who married foreign women will be forced to pay large fines and give up all their property in Sri Lanka. This is cause we don’t have enough guys here what with them being involved in ethnic conflict and the old ones all being lazy, reading papers all day and getting heart trouble so they are all becoming superior about the imbalance. On the other hand, local ladies who manage to net a foreign dude and get him to stay here will be richly rewarded. Cant help it , desperate times call for desperate measures.

Elephants would be treated much more strategically . We could farm them, you know, fatten them and export them. Just think of all the protein. What do you mean cruel? You kill one elephant its more beef than 20 cows, or 2000 chickens and its only one death! Be PRACTICAL!


And last but not least, I would appeal to the International Court of Justice to MAKE Indonesia take out third party insurance and pay a massive amount in compensation each time they start an earthquake which affects us. It’s just not fair; I just know they are digging too deep for oil or something over there that’s why this keeps on happening!

………………………………………………………..
* that’s da World Wrestling Federation in case you confused it with the World WildLife Fund
** ie. Government Officials/ Heads of Pirivena’s with fixed assets of over five million…

on "Provoked"

Last week, dear readers, I’m proud to say I watched a Meaningful and Intellectually Relevant film, as opposed to the trashy special-effect-laced exorcism films I usually unwind with.
It is a film about an Indian lady in England who gets assaulted, humiliated, raped and generally treated very badly around her own home, by the guy who was supposed to care for her (that would be her husband). A common tale as ever, you would say but this time it had been handled by British film makers and Aishwarya Rai took the lead part; which unfortunately very nearly prevented me from watching it in the first place, although I have nothing against her, bless her cotton socks; it was just that her name at the start hinted at lots of gaudy and frivolous scenes by default and so it was difficult to imagine how this would turn out and whether I could actually stomach it.
But, since I had nothing much to do on Sunday evening I took the dare and managed to sit myself down with fruit juice, peanuts and a tub of citronella paste,(for the mozzies) the better to truly appreciate this tropical movie experience with, on my cheap pettah DVD player hooked up to our family Telly which needs to be started up about half an hour before you watch anything because a blown capacitor means it is “ bondha vela” for some time , till it does “heat up”…
I know its not the done thing to approach a serious topic like Domestic Violence with jokes, but since I find that a sense of humor has occasionally effectively saved me from self destruction and feel that if people spent more time watching comedies and being jolly they would not have the time to give their wives black eyes –its probably time to take a step back and take a long hard tongue-in-cheek look at the human race it self and why this whole domestic abuse thing is allowed to happen in the first place. …
Wife beating is an Eastern Tradition. No, hold on, it’s a Western Tradition too. No come to think of it , it’s an inherently human tradition . Even you kids reading this will agree with me that in the case of cats and dogs and swine and such like , apart from tenderly sniffing each other ‘s rear ends, male animals certainly would never be caught assaulting females animals -its just not the done thing!!! Male monkeys wont come up with a large coconut and bash a female monkey on the head with it , with a “that ll teach her !” kind of expression, neither to my knowledge (mostly gleaned the usual way from National Geographic by listing to Sir David Attenboruugh’s stealthy whispering and Crocodile Hunters noisy yodeling ..) would say a bull elephant trunk a cow elephant over the head with a tree branch or a guy wildebeestie stick a lady wildebeestie with his horn rack just to show them who’s boss: Its just so totally “no no” in the Savanah although it seems to be accepted among the Punjabis and the Brits and so on.*
Since this film was based on a true story, this one too was generally predictable; there are complex psychological terms for the various cycles in abusive relationships that you can probably google or wiki for, but the crux of the matter was : there’s a glittering Asian wedding and then boy meets girl, boy cheats girl, boy beats girl and after ten years of this, girl napalms boy, which really need not have happened if only society had provided her with feasible alternatives. It really need not end this way!
Token Bully Husband did a brilliantly convincing performance I must say, slit eyed, mean, and so unshaven and drunk that you could almost smell his BO off the screen and I’m sure if I was less educated and saw him walking the streets of Liverpool I would spit copiously in his direction and swear. (Plus he showed off truly hideous legs at one point, for which he simply cant be forgiven…)
The lady in the film paradoxically found real peace in prison which I quite understood after the in depth introduction to a English clapper that viewers were given. They have good comfortable facilities with clean decent cells, washing machines for the clothes, games hours and a library, although continuos exposure to British food may have constituted one of the more unusual forms of torture you could possibly overlook it just this time…
In come The Sisters, a bunch of feminist NGO ladies who unfortunately in spite of all the good work they do, have a compulsion to smoke cigarettes continuously and drink the nights away not to mention wear tons of mascara and chunky wooden beads, sending out a rather regrettable message about feminists as bossy painted women with lots of baggage…however I did like the very natural way they all act in this film , from the Cops to the prisoners to the Court people , and right down to Aishwarya whose “Englees… note good” , I found the acting smooth, genuine and generally very believable.
The rest of the story is on how to get her Appeal through and try getting a milder sentence on the basis that she was provoked due to years of systematic abuse, and this case is one of the precedents which changed British law on the subject so it’s a worthwhile watch for the legal people too.
Somewhere in all of this there are serious lessons to be learnt, for wives, husbands and mothers in law. I think its all about not getting pushed into corners where the only alternative is to set fire to your spouse in order to get some peace around the house. Divorce, while sometimes equally messy, is comparatively a less destructive way out and women should be given that alternative in practice by society they live in. Make it simpler for pity’s sake, especially when the fractures begin…
I find paradoxically that this is a film I would suggest the whole family watches, (or at least moms and kids together) unsuitable though it is for youngsters, since real life is generally more unsuitable anyway. I imagine moms will lecture sons by saying “that’s a very bad Daddy, isnt it , now when you grow up that is not the way to treat your wife , ok?” (The added threat of incineration should provide some incentive if nothing else does, I’m sad to say) and to their daughters, in a very Beatrix Potter tone , “Now my dears, that sort of patience is not called for in Marriage. If anyone tries to iron your face, you MUST report it to the nearest Police AT ONCE ” (duh?)
I don’t know about anyone else but its certainly what I intend to do…
……………………………………………….
*And the Chinese, and the Africans and the Latinos and so on and so fourth , you get the drift…