Grandma Issabelle

And so , since all stories must have a beginning , my life story probably starts with this  wonderful ancestor, grandma Isabelle.

        Now if that name makes you think of sweet, genteel colonial ladies with delicate fans, parasols and elbow length white gloves, partaking of "Tiffin" or groping tremulously for their smelling salts, let me bust the bubble because Grandma Isabelle was – different. [1]

        I remember her looking sternly at me over her thick spectacles and saying "are you sure you are wearing decent knickers, child? Otherwise  skirt going up and people will laugh- big shame,  no"

        I remember looking back at her and nodding humbly "yes, nana" ; I dare say your own grandma probably told you stuff like this too, when you were a kid, but the difference here was probably that I was 30 at the time, and had come to visit her, riding a small Indian Yamaha, without a valid license. …(ouch!)

        She boasted of language that could out-swear the hairiest Pettah drunkard and was not afraid to use it. Words like thoe, yakoe, and bung, and rolled off her tongue with as much dubious ease as the lyrics of Edelweiss and old Nat King Cole numbers…

        She was maybe a tad over five foot high and as light as a thistle but ate like a Marine, and knew how to enjoy life to the fullest.  I remember she loved anything packaged in England (peaches, tarts, wheetabix) for the same reason that children do, that its bright , flavorful and generally not locally  available, and she would cheerfully guzzle chocolates, fig biscuits  and apple tarts with a devil may care "to hell with the diabetes" attitude.(Blood sugar, predictably, didn't dare to rear its ugly head and try cramping her style, because I suspect she would have told it to go take a hike)

        My art, writing and sense of esthetics I believe I owe to her side of the family and she taught me, I remember, how to paint ostriches in the African Savannah. I can still mix the exact color of an ostriches butt feathers which are a "bluish greenish black with a slight touch  of yellow in it for depth".

        It was later on that I actually learned that Colombo's"Morotuwa" people are somewhat famous for the arts, (art, music, sculpting and writing ) and that "down south"  people sometimes don't really value this much because they are way more practical in useful talents like cooking and making broods of exemplary offspring…intermarry these two and there will always be gentle disdain from both sides about what the other cant do.

        Grandma Isabel's favorite movie was "Colomba Sanniya " which although I have never seen in my life, I have listened with delight to the detailed accounts of,  since I was 7 and thus can actually picture clearly in my minds eye, right down to the white scratch marks on the movie.

        The hero was played by Freddie or Eddie someone  who won a lottery as the story was repeated to me on torpid tropical Ceylon afternoons, which along with ambul bananas , large Marie biscuits(no longer produced) and good Ceylon tea, makes me now realize how ancient I must be…it is  classic 1940s style comedy about some village godaayaas[2] who get a luxury house in Colombo that they don't know what to do with. Around the point where they start doing their laundry in the commode, grandma falls into numerous microsleeps and I have to start nagging her for the balance.

        By 90 and bordering on Alzhimic, Grandma Isabelle had a distinctly selective and very volatile memory, something computer junkies would have called "Need Only Memory" because she remembered things only if they suited her, and otherwise resorted to a an extremely blank and innocent expression of pleasant non recognition which she had perfected down the years.

        So questions like " would you like another piece of angel cake ?" would be met by a carefully worded and vague " what angel cake ? did I just eat a piece?" which meant of course but don't tell anyone I ll be having two.

        I don't believe Nana worried about death at all, even thought she was past 90 when it got her. Although she sometimes discussed passing concerns like globalisation, deforestation and whether young Tushi was having an unsuitable affair in her office , she accepted inevitable eventualities like illness and mortality with the calm don't care attitude of a tattooed underworld thug.         

        In fact quite predictably she went down singing and joking and her last recorded words where a cracked baila very loosely translated as "shall I tell you of the love I have for you? In the afternoon come to the bathing pipe-and ill tell you" and I know she went laughing all the way.

        Grandma was a rebel in her age, like I am in mine.

        They say that each person will somewhere be duplicated in her ancestry or among her descendants, and if so I wonder if I will someday have a pixie faced, happy go lucky tomboy of  a grand or great grand daughter, who will write about me.

        Just maybe she will be called Isabelle, too.

---

[1] This sort of explains me, but not fully

[2] Pardon the haughty colonial reference.

PUPPY LETTER TO SANTA

Dear Santa,

 

Firstly, I would like to thank you for visiting us once a year and giving us presents. That's really sweet of you.

 

In all my early letters, I have asked for things like "elimination of pollution" and "increase of moral values in mankind" and "better treatment towards animals and women" but I think none of it has happened.

 

Men, women, children, animals, plants and earth herself is dying of starvation, wars, abuse and all sorts of nasty things. So I take it that you probably have a lot in your plate and that's why it's still going on. I hear God is pretty busy too. I don't read the news or watch television much but from what I hear Daddy say, the world has become pretty much a poop hole. But not in so many words. Id have to put a penny in the word jar if I said the word he used. That and I probably wont get this years present from you too.

 

I wrote a letter to God asking why he hasn't looked into all these stuff that's happening. I didn't get a reply yet. He's probably busy looking into it. So I thought I'll try you.

 

There is this picture I saw on the internet. It's very sad. I love animals and I even have a rescued kitten . Seeing this doggie like this made me wanted to cry out and hug my poopsy. I don't understand why anyone could do such a thing to a sweet soul like this. I mean, look at those eyes. What wrong has this doggie done to receive such treatment? What moral misconduct has he done to be treated like this? I don't know the whole story behind it but maybe he stole a loaf of bread or something and he was kicked out on to the streets. He has all sorts of wounds in his body and I cant for the life of me imagine what would have made such horrible wound. Doesn't anybody know that it hurts the same way whether they're humans or animals? I hear people throw gasoline at doggie's backside so that they wont get more puppies. Is that true, Santa? Do they really hurt these defenseless animals like that

                                  

After several months of poor treatment like this, someone had come forward to rescue this soul. It had been a group of people who go looking for injured animals who had taken this poor animal to their shelter to try aand help them in any way they can. This would have been difficult as nursing sick animals back to health is quite expensive. ( I should know, Poopsy was bitten by my doggie, Mickey and had to be nursed back into health. Poopsy cant use her right leg now but apart from that she's perfectly fluffy and happy. Daddy paid quite a lot to get her better again)

 

Apart from rescuing puppies they also hold sterilization camps. I think what they want to do is reduce the number of puppies on the road so that poor doggies don't have to starve and suffer a lot. But some people don't like that too. Because apparently it is against God and it is his will that girl doggies have babies without being stopped. I don't think God will mind . Because at the end of it all, they are helping the doggies by eliminating the beginning of suffering. 

 

Some ask them why they do it for animals, and why not human beings, like children in the cancer hospital. Yes humans should be given priority compared with animals but don't animals feel pain and distress just like we do? Don't they also feel hunger like we do? Don't they like to get a decent bone or two to munch once in a while? Don't they feel pain and sadness when pelted with stones when they try to make friends with you? I think love and compassion should be felt towards animals as well as humans because we both feel the same things in the same way although we don't communicate it in the same way.

 

This group of loving and caring people did come forward to help this dog. Not just him, but many many doggies on the road. Some with terrible wounds like these and others who have been dumped on the road by mean people. What's more, these aren't those fancy wooly doggies you on magazines and TV. People dont hesitate to take them home even though they are very expensive in buying as well as maintaining. But what about the street doggies who have no one? They need someone to care for them too.

 

So maybe God does send his angels on and off to help around. And he does show that whatever someone does, may it be a giving a biscuit to a cat whose starving on the road or offer a ride to an old lady, if they do it with a good heart and in the genuine hope of giving someone a helping hand, it makes a difference.

 

Maybe it doesn't have to impact a whole group of people or create a huge announcement in mass media. Maybe it'll just touch one soul in a way that makes that his or life a happier place even if its just for that one day. A small group of thoughtful people can make a difference.

 

It is a fight for them. Money is a major issue. Social opinion is another. But I don't think they are willing to give up just because they don't have any money. They cant help all the sick doggies in this country. But they are trying by beginning somewhere. They know what they do will change the lives of atleast one soul that is need of help and comfort. They cant do it all by themselves. They are called Adopt a Dog in Sri Lanka. And they need your help.

 

I'm sorry if my letter is too long but I needed to tell you everything. And for this year's Christmas  it would be make my wish come true if you could help them out.

 

Whenever you can. With whatever you can. It will make a difference. I promise.  J

 

--visit their page on fb on https://www.facebook.com/adoptadoginsrilanka

and explore how you too can make a difference for a street pup this Christmas.

A Vow for Munchi

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 about after her trying to spray maggot repellent on her sore nose which she thoroughly resented. 

Then there was the incredible Christmas eve drama of how we had to work around the clock to get the government papers and transport ready to whiz her out of Wellampitiya which was not safe, teaming as it is with druggies and abbatior lorries ready to get hold of a vulnerable walking beef. 

We spent another tense couple of weeks watching over her as we tried to integrate her into the rural environment more suited to a lady of her vegetarian requirements...and she very literally dragged a number of strong men over drains and ditches in her stubborn attempts at escape. Our ideas of her gently grazing while tied to local trees were rudely shattered by a stubborn little barrel of bovine determination who insisted that she would not be tied, would not live in anyone's backyard and damn well wanted to go whereever she wanted.

So for the next three months as we trailed uselessly in the background biting our nails

​, falling in ditches and getting lost in the jungle (me mostly, and thats when my husband said, "the cow I can find, but where the blazes did you go!")​

 ​

and whatsapping photos of her latest exploits, she managed to integrate herself with a little herd of fellow 

​bovines, in a small community of newly developing houses, there to retire gracefully... or so we hoped.

​This month July was incredibly difficult for me. Not only did my beloved mother in law pass away,(peacefully and gracefully as was her way) marking the end of a chapter in my life, and bringing me closer to my mortality...but an incident of wanton cruelty resulted in my favorite cat dying a gruesome, ghastly ​death after prolonged suffering due to someone having thrown boiling water on it. Biscuit suffered for days and his dying took hours, and hours of agony. 

I was with Biscuit all along and the worst part is not every one will understand the pain this process caused me, as after all, Biscuit was a cat. 

the adorable chubby Biscuit so named because he liked eating said confectionery 

​

IN the midst of trying to recover from this difficulty came the news that Munchi was missing, and, when we followed up, some of our more smart ass young neighbours insisted that she must have been "taken"

Now you know what I mean, "taken" as in kidnapped by a passing lorry of cattle smugglers, to be sold at the nearest abattoir for a quick buck and some beef. My mind imagined ways in which parts of Munchi would be roasted, grilled, boiled, fried...for the alcoholic evening enjoyment of groups of loud local three-wheel drivers (you have probably picked up that I hate this entire sub section of society.) It was like imagining gang rape. 

I could not stay calm.

I went blind with rage at the whole idea.

There were seven cows in just the herd she belonged to, and there were about twenty cows i personally recognised in my neighbourhood, black ones, brown ones, white ones, spotty ones, grainy ones etc and who the HELL were these people (including my husband) to stand there and calmly suggest that Munchi alone had been taken ?? for that is what they did, as if they knew it all. There was supposed to be a white van of all things, taking cows. 
But why Munchi? 

Because she was fat looking? gingerly suggested my cowboy husband, and got a truly poisonous look from me...

I didnt know what to do. 

Spent some time actually crying.

I had been playing with being a vegetarian for a couple of months, but this time I decided to put my foot down on it and reject any temptation this filthy universe sent my way. No I would not be part of a system which tormented innocent beings the way this world did. No I would not put innocent misery in my stomach again.

I hated the world, hated nature, hated the whole of Godforsaken Hanwella including my husband who I insulted and bullied as much as I could, implying that his manhood itself was to be doubted if in the whole of his hometown,where he was such a figure, only his cow got lifted out of the dozens I could see. 

He refused to be insulted but was genuinely sad about the lost Munchkin. 

the kovil inside- not sure if its allowed to take photos though

Then some village woman suggested we make a vow at the local Hindu Kovil, which was actually a place with a large stone cow kept as an effigy- supposedly a vehicle of the Gods, or a favorite of the Hindus or some such thing. I liked the idea. I loved the kovil as i had earlier visited out of curiosity, and this time I was here on business.

Making a vow (not to be confused here with the original vow made by the people supposedly releasing Munchi from a slaughterhouse death) means you promise to do something that the Gods want, and ask them to grant you a favour.  

I had to resist the impulse to ask for uncounted riches and fame, helicopters and a yacht as well as food for every starving cat and dog in the world,- and instead tied a modest 5 /= coin and lit some lamps and joss sticks and reasonably asked instead that the Gods please please look after this stubborn BITCH of a cow and keep her safe into her old age, and also send us a sign soon that she was ok. 

My promise was that I would bring them a fruit basket (big deal?) and also incidentally, by the way, if anyone cared, that I would be vegetarian for the rest of my life. (apparently this could mean something)

Pretty colorful pooja items, fruits, and coconuts, innocent stuff that Hindu Gods seem to like

I loved the camphor and the joss sticks, and the Swami was actually a rather dishy young dude though very full of himself, and principled I understand as he had put up a board saying he would not do magic and curses, but for other matters to contact him ( I guess he would do the vows thing) He made us buy a ticket for the upkeep of the kovil, and also told us to walk three times around the place with the burning coconut and wish hard in our minds for what we wanted while he also said something very iconic in some other language, which is presumably how he communicated with the deities...and I was supposed to break the coconut and make the wish.

I did, and the coconut broke at once, meaning that the wish would be successful.

I hoped so and I felt good.

I dont know.

I didnt know what to think 

And yet, just a day afterwards, just this morning the message reached us from the village that Munchi had been spotted and was fine.

I like to think it was my vow and my prayers, but  I also feel it was the luck of one very blessed little street cow.

Ive decided Im not going to look for her any more, but I will trust in the Gods, the goodness of the universe, and her own powerful destiny to keep her happy wherever she is until the end of her time and mine. 

A Vow for Munchi

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 about after her trying to spray maggot repellent on her sore nose which she thoroughly resented. 

Then there was the incredible Christmas eve drama of how we had to work around the clock to get the government papers and transport ready to whiz her out of Wellampitiya which was not safe, teaming as it is with druggies and abbatior lorries ready to get hold of a vulnerable walking beef. 

We spent another tense couple of weeks watching over her as we tried to integrate her into the rural environment more suited to a lady of her vegetarian requirements...and she very literally dragged a number of strong men over drains and ditches in her stubborn attempts at escape. Our ideas of her gently grazing while tied to local trees were rudely shattered by a stubborn little barrel of bovine determination who insisted that she would not be tied, would not live in anyone's backyard and damn well wanted to go whereever she wanted.

So for the next three months as we trailed uselessly in the background biting our nails

​, falling in ditches and getting lost in the jungle (me mostly, and thats when my husband said, "the cow I can find, but where the blazes did you go!")​

 ​

and whatsapping photos of her latest exploits, she managed to integrate herself with a little herd of fellow 

​bovines, in a small community of newly developing houses, there to retire gracefully... or so we hoped.

​This month July was incredibly difficult for me. Not only did my beloved mother in law pass away,(peacefully and gracefully as was her way) marking the end of a chapter in my life, and bringing me closer to my mortality...but an incident of wanton cruelty resulted in my favorite cat dying a gruesome, ghastly ​death after prolonged suffering due to someone having thrown boiling water on it. 

I was with Biscuit all along and the worst part is not every one will understand the pain this process caused me, as I tried everything I could to save this cat. 

the adorable chubby Biscuit so named because he liked eating confectionery 

​

IN the midst of trying to recover from this difficulty came the news that Munchi was missing, and, when we followed up, some of our more smart ass young neighbours insisted that she must have been "taken"

Now you know what I mean, "taken" as in kidnapped by a passing lorry of cattle smugglers, to be sold at the nearest abattoir for a quick buck and some beef. My mind imagined ways in which parts of Munchi would be roasted, grilled, boiled, fried...for the alcoholic evening enjoyment of groups of loud local three-wheel drivers (you have probably picked up that I hate this entire sub section of society.) It was like imagining gang rape. 

I could not stay calm.

I went blind with rage at the whole idea.

There were seven cows in just the herd she belonged to, and there were about twenty cows i personally recognised in my neighbourhood, black ones, brown ones, white ones, spotty ones, grainy ones etc and who the HELL were these people (including my husband) to stand there and calmly suggest that Munchi alone had been taken ?? for that is what they did, as if they knew it all. There was supposed to be a white van of all things, taking cows. 
But why Munchi? 

Because she was fat looking? gingerly suggested my cowboy husband, and got a truly poisonous look from me...

I didnt know what to do. 

Spent some time actually crying.

I had been playing with being a vegetarian for a couple of months, but this time I decided to put my foot down on it and reject any temptation this filthy universe sent my way. No I would not be part of a system which tormented innocent beings the way this world did. No I would not put innocent misery in my stomach again.

I hated the world, hated nature, hated the whole of Godforsaken Hanwella including my husband who I insulted and bullied as much as I could, implying that his manhood itself was to be doubted if in the whole of his hometown,where he was such a figure, only his cow got lifted out of the dozens I could see. 

He refused to be insulted but was genuinely sad about the lost Munchkin. 

the kovil inside- not sure if its allowed to take photos though

Then some village woman suggested we make a vow at the local Hindu Kovil, which was actually a place with a large stone cow kept as an effigy- supposedly a vehicle of the Gods, or a favorite of the Hindus or some such thing. I liked the idea. I loved the kovil as i had earlier visited out of curiosity, and this time I was here on business.

Making a vow (not to be confused here with the original vow made by the people supposedly releasing Munchi from a slaughterhouse death) means you promise to do something that the Gods want, and ask them to grant you a favour.  

I had to resist the impulse to ask for uncounted riches and fame, helicopters and a yacht as well as food for every starving cat and dog in the world,- and instead tied a modest 5 /= coin and lit some lamps and joss sticks and reasonably asked instead that the Gods please please look after this stubborn BITCH of a cow and keep her safe into her old age, and also send us a sign soon that she was ok. 

My promise was that I would bring them a fruit basket (big deal?) and also incidentally, by the way, if anyone cared, that I would be vegetarian for the rest of my life. (apparently this could mean something)

pooja items, fruits, and coconuts, innocent stuff that Hindu Gods seem to like

I loved the camphor and the joss sticks, and the Swami was actually a rather dishy young dude though very full of himself, and principled I understand as he had put up a board saying he would not do magic and curses, but for other matters to contact him ( I guess he would do the vows thing) He made us buy a ticket for the upkeep of the kovil, and also told us to walk three times around the place with the burning coconut and wish hard in our minds for what we wanted while he also said something very iconic in some other language, which is presumably how he communicated with the deities...and I was supposed to break the coconut and make the wish.

I did, and the coconut broke at once, meaning that the wish would be successful.

I hoped so and I felt good.

I dont know.

THe last I heard this morning was that Munchi had been spotted and was fine.

I like to think it was my vow and my prayers, but  I also feel it was the luck of one very blessed little street cow.

Ive decided Im not going to look for her any more, but I will trust in the Gods, the goodness of the universe, and her own powerful destiny to keep her happy wherever she is until the end of her time and mine. 

Stay safe stubborn willful Munchi and may you be blessed like we are to have known you! 

Gods they sure Must be Crazy

​​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. Shes not begging for help but demanding the universe help her. and if course when you are pathetic and demand things like that along comes a sucker like me.

Worst of all, when I again ask where her home is she says Salamulla which is of course a town next to where Im heading

so I bundle her in a threewheel and off we head

about an hour and a lot of taxi fare later, we the tuk tuk driver and me both urgently tell her to tell us how to get to her home, but she is vague and also slightly defiant about it. Knows where it is and dosnt actually. No we should have turned off there. No that way. NO no its this way. 

Intersperced with grateful mutterings that God must have sent me along(if so I demand to know why me)were also scary moments when she seemed to be in some other world. 

So after some rather giddying sightseeing of the entire wellampitiya region, and a number of mistaken landmarks, grilling resident tuktuks who by the way knew Exactly who she was and where she was from with chilling certainty (though quite often she didnt !)... we landed her safe at home, and with much happy cringing, wrested ourselves away from a grateful family and ran along. My fare was of course half my weekly transport budget, but it seemed to have brought some comfort to a tired person so I wrote it off.

This of course brings me to what I would be doing at that age. 

At least she had a houseful of kids and grandchildren who seemed cheerfully eager to have her back regardless of her geriatric disruptiveness. Im not sure about if I want to cause that much aggravation, and if that was the case, what I would do, and if anyone would stick around and tolerate it. Not sure what a lot of people around would do, because they seem to have far fewer children, and also humans seem to be living separately as much as possible, and rejecting the whole concept of family, in many places. 

because like it or not there just might be a time when you clean forget who and where you are. 

more about dementia and aging at 

http://www.who.int/features/factfiles/dementia/en/

at https://www.agingcare.com

New survey reveals startling facts that everyone suspected were true anyway

​

●     Legendary "Milk for Colombo" not so good for health after all, says CRaP report

●     Gamata Kakiri movement grows following launch

 

Al Juhara/Colombo:

Hard-hitting Colombo based think-tank the Centre for Regional Alternative Proposals (CR-P) recently issued a timely and voluminous piece of ground-breaking research on the subject of Human Satisfaction in Rural Sri Lanka in the backdrop of "kakiri" consumption statistics, based on a three year long research exercise which involved thousands of interviews, field trips and Focus Group Discussions (ie meeting with people) and a budget of only $ 2 million.

Startling findings from the epoch-making 240 pg survey, which was printed sparing no expense since it was funded by gullible generous Nordic Donors, conclude that rural humans in Sri Lanka are actually happier than they look, in spite of a bucolic diet of previously maligned vegetables like manioc, talana batu and the supposedly inferior "Kakiri" of yore.

 

"The report is well researched, thought provoking and printed on expensive glossy paper," MD of Barbell Printers, the CRaP regular pointed out enthusiastically when interviewed at the launch, concluding that "I recommend it as a Must Read." He added that he was available for similar contracts and had extensive experience in printing CRaP reports.

Findings include the conclusion that Colombo folks who regularly imbibe of "Kiri" or the expensive imported dairy products are known to be prey to diabetes, cholesterol, obesity and a general discontent in life stemming from a feeling that regular village folks have it good after all.

 

The revolutionary survey which also compared such factors as air and sound pollution levels, commuter density and  the price of Tea in China, went on to conclude that nothing really changes and urban people keep looking for greener pastures wherever they are anyway.

 

In contrast the grassroots appears to be witnessing a revolution in terms of a reverse flow of youth who will NOT be migrating to the urban metropolises but instead will be content to continue farming and living the pastoral life, satisfied with a simple diet of fibrous organic vegetables and exhilarating five mile treks to the pharmacy around twice a year when they need a Panadol.

"It's always a case of us ending up with Kakiri but now we are realising the health benefits of its roughage and antioxidant properties and lack of 'bad' cholesterol," according to citizen PunchiSingho hailing from Thooththukudiya, famed for its legendary inaccessibility.

 

 

BOX

Produced in all the official languages of Sri Lanka, in four colour, on 250 GSM artboard paper, and weighing a mere 1.2 kg, this NGO report is a true collector's item and can also be used as an ornamental conversation piece, to prop up  a lopsided coffee table,  and even in self defense. More information at www.craplanka.lk

Check that Need

 

(old article written 7 years ago and guess what Im still running around! Photo from http://zenchick.com)

Last Sunday, I slowed down.

I mean, seriously:  I was fed up with running around, beating deadlines, meeting schedules, pleasing other people and doing my duties like a perfect person – I went on a small discrete personal strike and took a cruise down the highway with my speedometer set at 20 kmph.

Now finally I can in fact recommend everyone to try this once at least ... It changes perception, it puts things in proportion, and it totally surprises. Its almost as funny as being able to put the rest of the world in fast forward and sitting back watching their curious antics with total detachment.

Well, this is how it felt.

The rest of the country seems to be obsessed with speed. Sonic wooshes as cars, lorries and bikes overtook on a race somewhere where good things were happening, where regular mortals did not want to be left out. (And since this was Sunday morning it could not be the office crowd or the Sunday evening crowd returning from their families outstationed…) so there was I sitting day dreaming about life and time and the need for speed…

Ever noticed how rushed people are today ? Stop, slow down a minute and look around . From around day break when the school vans wake non school going people rudely with their raucous honking, to the daily rushes at banks for example and finally the evening daily office returning crush; are all these desperate house husbands really speeding and cussing and ploughing their way HOME? You wonder- are there so many dedicated family men on the roads at 5 30 pm or is it something else Im missing? Are these guys ALL running home to help the wife with dinner or take over the toddlers so that Missis can put her feet up and  take a break?? wow!!Im impressed !…

 People are so obsessed with getting to the head of the queue or winning this race, the man in front of you moves half a step and the man behind you is practically panting down your neck to urge you on. And trust me  the "ladies" in ATM queues are worse, they actually poke you with the edges of their check books or umbrellas or sharp things which you don't dare turn around to face…

The amazing thing about this modern rush is that it happens in a time when science has fine tuned time saving devices to next to absolute perfection. Civilization never took less time than this to , for example, get you your so called "daily bread" and no, lets be honest, its not the price of that bread which is keeping our noses to the grindstone.

Coffee machines make your beverage in two minutes, rice cookers, pressure cookers and washing machines finish your work for you unsupervised and grinding grain and curry powders is the work of minutes, and the ubiquitous computer spews out spreadsheets and reports that would have taken months in a matter of seconds. Isn't it wonderful. Just one question-  where did all that saved time go? You would think it meant that we can  practice a minute or two  of patient

​Tai Chi

 , when we are in hospital cashiers queue, instead of scuffing the heels of the person in front?

The cost of living is high but then that's not what kills us, its this need for speed, because we don't eat properly, take walks or exercise and we don't talk to our parents or children any more,let alone having a meaningful conversation with someone who may actually need us, or time for a pet.

 Before you know it you are hit by diabetes, cholestrol and thickened arteries not to mention a whole horde of mental hang ups caused by the sheer stress of the race- and this too in a time where things have never been quicker ,easier and smoother than right now.

There was admittedly a time when people got around by bullock carts and elephants which mean maximum speed was about 20 kmph. A time when you did your own laundry near some well, with the birds singing around nearby and took time off to grow your own vegetables and cook them slowly over wood fires. And there weren't these wonderful ATM machines which saved your time, or the Internet over which you could manage your finances without having to step out onto the street in the first place.

Did all of that give us more quality family time? And if not, what happened?

Return to Nirvana

I must say I have lost the ability to work well under pressure. Frankly I just crack up and start screaming and keening pathetically. Its a drag on my family the two or three individuals that I do have left. It makes me wonder what happened to the quiet laid back person I was. I was happy at one time. 

In a way maybe that is part of how the world runs, you cant always be in one state. No there are many states you are in and you will be in. You may seem like the same image on the surface of it but underneath you may seethe and writhe and struggle like a fish in a drying pond. Thats part of what this cosmos seems to be about, us feeling and us reacting. We have been given sensory organs to feel. Living would not be the same if we didnt have eyes, ears, skin, tastebuds, the sense of smell and a mind which grasps all the stimuli we throw at it. But then you wonder if living is all it has been made out to be. Maybe there is an existence which is more satisfactory than this living which is being battered and blown about by this organic organism we are tied to on this Earth. Not another planet but another plane, where things are always Om and that is never boring...
​

The Poor the Old and the Ugly

     

(these photos are merely representative, but closely representative actually)
​

So last MOnday I struggled to my halfway halt and had to embark a bus at about 7pm to get home. It was the wrong bus and would only get me half way there but it was late so I was desperate. I sat next to a dear elderly lady of, perhaps late sixties. In a while she told me worriedly that she was taking medications which made her sleepy and to please wake her if we came to the Galagedera bus halt. She pulled out a left leg, which looked like it was from a horror movie about leprosy and filaria combined and elaborated that she had these sores which had worsened over the years and there was a "germ in her body" for which she was taking medications for a long time. She described in some detail the appearance of the kind of pastules that she had had to suffer on her lower body, saying they looked like the "naval" in Kawum. I frankly did not want to know any of this and sat quite still. Then she started coughing, and with the bus starting up, I realised that each cough was coming my way with the wind from the window. She told me sadly that the medications she had been taking for months did not seem to be working. She had t o travel anyway, because she was a poor woman, and she sold fruits at some market place, so as to earn some money for the food. the bags of fruits left behind from Mondays sales, were collected around her oozing feet. 

Ok what would you have done?

personally I froze in a rictus of (hopefully irrational?) terror, tried not to breath much, but told her I would tell her the halt, and also continued to discuss her problem with her. Because you know, this could be you or me, too, except that we temporarily feel privileged and feel it wont happen to us. If you look at the statistics, it can happen to anyone.

Im a Buddhist. Buddhism works in the face of festering diseases, leprosy, filaria, AIDS, suffering starvation and old age. Because all that stuff about a powerful God who made a pretty world, tends to fall apart when you look at people like this. Is it because they prayed to the wrong God? Do you seriously mean to tell me there are no Christians or Muslims praying properly to the right God who do not have diseases and who do not face old age and feebleness?

Anyway here she was and there I was.

and the statistics are that one in every four people in Sri Lanka will be old, by 2040. 

Being old, if we go on neglecting our health, and not making plans for our future,

​our old age statistically speaking mostly ​

involves illness, feebleness, and often even NCDs such as heart disease, hypertension, diabetes and its complications, and worse, upto even paralysis.

​ ​ Poverty added to this, as well as an administrative structure which does not help the elderly at all is just about right to make such a future well nigh intolerable.

​

 

And Im ashamed to say that before she got down at Galagedera I got up and walked to the front of the bus, without helping her.

Because I didnt actually want her to brush too closely against me as she got down, and I didnt want to touch her bags, and I wanted nothing to do with her. 

Im sorry, but seriously I have enough problems of my own at the moment and I didnt need more, and I did not need to worry about having more.

Im average, that way. 

​Are you a better person?​

The Poor the Old and the Ugly

     

(these photos are merely representative, but closely representative actually)
​

So last MOnday I struggled to my halfway halt and had to embark a bus at about 7pm to get home. It was the wrong bus and would only get me half way there but it was late so I was desperate. I sat next to a dear elderly lady of, perhaps late sixties. In a while she told me worriedly that she was taking medications which made her sleepy and to please wake her if we came to the Galagedera bus halt. She pulled out a left leg, which looked like it was from a horror movie about leprosy and filaria combined and elaborated that she had these sores which had worsened over the years and there was a "germ in her body" for which she was taking medications for a long time. She described in some detail the appearance of the kind of pastules that she had had to suffer on her lower body, saying they looked like the "naval" in Kawum. I frankly did not want to know any of this and sat quite still. Then she started coughing, and with the bus starting up, I realised that each cough was coming my way with the wind from the window. She told me sadly that the medications she had been taking for months did not seem to be working. She had t o travel anyway, because she was a poor woman, and she sold fruits at some market place, so as to earn some money for the food. the bags of fruits left behind from Mondays sales, were collected around her oozing feet. 

Ok what would you have done?

personally I froze in a rictus of (hopefully irrational?) terror, tried not to breath much, but told her I would tell her the halt, and also continued to discuss her problem with her. Because you know, this could be you or me, too, except that we temporarily feel privileged and feel it wont happen to us. If you look at the statistics, it can happen to anyone.

Im a Buddhist. Buddhism works in the face of festering diseases, leprosy, filaria, AIDS, suffering starvation and old age. Because all that stuff about a powerful God who made a pretty world, tends to fall apart when you look at people like this. Is it because they prayed to the wrong God? Do you seriously mean to tell me there are no Christians or Muslims praying properly to the right God who do not have diseases and who do not face old age and feebleness?

Anyway here she was and there I was.

and the statistics are that one in every four people in Sri Lanka will be old, by 2040. 

Being old, if we go on neglecting our health, and not making plans for our future, involves illness, feebleness, and often even NCDs such as heart disease, hypertension, diabetes and its complications, and worse, upto even paralysis. 

And Im ashamed to say that before she got down at Galagedera I got up and walked to the front of the bus, without helping her.

Because I didnt actually want her to brush too closely against me as she got down, and I didnt want to touch her bags, and I wanted nothing to do with her. Im sorry, but seriously I have enough problems of my own at the moment and I didnt need more, and I did not need to worry about having more.

Im average, that way. 

Handy Phrases

A few handy Arabic phrases translated to English -- in case you're ever kidnapped by terrorists. 

AKBAR KHALI-KILI HAFTIR LOFTAN.= Thank you for showing me your marvelous gun.

FEKR GABUL CARDAN DAVAT RAEH GUSH DIVAR.= I am delighted to accept your kind invitation to lie down on the floor with my arms above my head and my legs apart. SHOMAEH FIKR TAMOMEH GEH GOFTEK BANDE.= I agree with everything you have ever said or thought in your life. 

AUTO ARRAREGH DVATEMAN MAMO SEPAHEH-HAST.= It is exceptionally kind of you to allow me to travel in the trunk of your car. 

FASHAL-EH TUPEHMAN NA DEGAT MANO GOFTAM CHEESHAYEH MOHEMA RAJEBEH KESHAVAREHMAN.= If you will do me the kindness of not harming my genital appendages I will gladly reciprocate by betraying my country in public. 

KHREL JEPAHEH MANEH VA JAYEII AMRKAHEY.= I will tell you the names and addresses of many American spies travelling as reporters. BALLI, BALLI, BALLI!= Whatever you say! 

MATERNIER GHERMEZ AHLIEH, GORBAN.= The red blindfold would be lovely, excellency. 

TIKEH NUNEH BA OB KHRELEH BEZORG VA KHRUBE GOYAST INO BERGERAM.= The water-soaked bread crumbs are delicious, thank you. I must have the recipe. 

BA BODENEH SHEERELL TEEGZ.= Truly, I would rather be a hostage to your greatly esteemed self than to spend a fortnight upon the person of Cheryl Tiegs. 

source: http://www.jokes4us.com/religiousjokes/islamicjokes.html

I found them funnyyyyy so Im deviating from the usual policy of only having my writing here! 

And then came Hope...

Picking up the pieces,

And then came Hope...

 

    
​

Book Launch: "Picking up the Pieces" by Marilyn Wouters Venue: Black Cat Cafe B&B 11, Wijerama Mawatha Colombo 7 Date and Time: 11 December Sunday 11am-5pm To order the book locally: email Wouters.marilyn@gmail.com or call 0778 002136. Internationally available from Amazon.com Find Marilyn on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mwouters

 

By Chandrika Gadiewasam

 

"Picking up the Pieces" is the inspiring, uplifting and adventure filled autobiography of Marilyn Wouters, a self proclaimed "crazy cat lady," who has showered her love and dedicated caring on countless abandoned, desperate and disabled stray cats and kittens in Sri Lanka for a number of years now.

 

Marilyn who was searching for a nice warm country to retire and relax in, picked Sri Lanka in preference to Thailand, Indonesia ,and other south Asian countries and came over in 2010 with a rescued husky and two hunting dogs, because she found a house by the beach with a wall around it. She  didn't know what life had in store for her when she adopted two abandoned kittens who had strayed into her backyard.

 

You'll read about various incredible trials, tribulations, and adventures spanning many countries in continents from Europe, UAE, Africa, UAE  and then Asia,and how a Dutch/Swiss Dental Assistant became a successful educationalist and then hardcore animal rescuer, for many years carrying her work through only on her pension funds.

 

PICKING UP THE PIECES shares those moments of hope and success that make worthwhile the life of any animal rescuer from foraging for halmasso at the local pola, to difficult budgeting and funds management and to fighting courageously to save the lives of numerous blind, day old  orphans dumped at the Ark. Marilyn is expert at how to save the almost-certainly-doomed. For the most part there is no one to really help Marilyn who has to feed, care for and clean up after the many furry patients, because her domestics turn their noses up at this "ikky" work.

Marilyns first rescue 2012 was a dumped kitten called Gypsie, many others followed then such as Milou in 2014 with paralysed back legs,  who was incapable of moving for about 14 months until it was decided to amputate her back legs. This was a courageous and difficult decision but now Milou is one of the extra feisty stars of the Marilyns Ark Facebook page,and climbs trees, chairs and obstacles and defends her turf from other cats with aplomb.

In 2016  "HOPE" became a Star Survivor, a gentle crippled black beauty who was discovered pregnant and paralysed, and in need of constant care, who however herself adopted and mothered a number of helpless newborn kittens. Hope's story is one of great courage and luck and she now has a fan following of thousands from around the world, including people who have been through comparable hardships.

There are a number of established organisations in Sri Lanka looking after dogs, but none for the cats so Marilyn's dream is to set up Le Kittenerium, a shelter for abandoned, disabled, and paralysed cats in Sri Lanka, including a free cat clinic. ALL PROCEEDS of the sales of the book will go towards this the support of her work helping desperate cats and kittens so if there is one book you buy for Christmas, please make it this one. You can also, on FaceBook, like Marilyn's Ark or LE KITTENARIUM to keep in touch with the wonderful antics of Hope, Milou and Marilyn's other special fur babies. Picking Up The Pieces is available on Amazon USA, UK and Germany.