The average Sri Lankan - part one

One of Hubster's good friends visited us today. After a round of chitchat and tea the conversation turned to the word 'appachchi'. The friend's idea was that anyone is free to call their fathers any name they wanted, as we are one Sri Lankan nation and there should not be an up country-low country division. 

True. We agreed. There should not be an up country-low country division. It's not as if we don't have enough divisions already. But here's the catch. Lately everyone I've met seems to be calling their fathers appachchi. Even those who addressed their fathers thaththa or some other denonym. Most of the little ones are taught to call their dads appachchi these days. I even know a family with two boys out of whom the elder calls their father thaththa and the younger calls him appachchi. I also have friends whose whole generations have called their fathers appachchi. They are the authentic ones. For me, I call my dad thaththa and my son calls Hubster thaththa and none of these posh name calling for us thank you.

Which is what I first thought it was. A fad. The new posh thing. But today, while talking to our friend, I realised, while it may be posher to call your thaththa appachchi these days, for the average Sri Lankan there's a bigger, almost subconcious reason for it. Racism. The sudden Sinhalese uplift. It's more Sinhalese to call one's father appachchi. They are embracing their true Sinhalese selves.

This is how the BBS and the RB and the whatnot are stealthily, sneakily snaking into the subconscience of the populace.

It's mastermind, that's what it is. Also kind of sick, in the worst way possible.

Also, oh please!

Thirty going on seven

I will be thirty years old in about another half an hour. If I were living in Australia or China I would be thirty already.

A few years ago, thirty seemed so old. Practically ancient. And I thought that I would have my act together by then.

Turns out, not so much.

When I was young(er), I wanted to be a surgeon. A female McDreamy if you will. Then I worked at a bank and there were no specific dreams as such. Then I wanted to be a judge.

Today I was thinking about all those things as Baby and I took a nice evening stroll and I realised that throughout I always wanted to be a writer. The thing is that as I go about my day, everyday I make up stories. They maybe brand new ones, different endings to things I face, alternative endings to books and movies long after I'm done with them. I even make up sort of epilogues for books I read and movies I watch about what happens to the characters afterwards.

Today it hit me. What an idiot! If only I had written these stories down, the collection I would have amassed by now.

What am I now? I like to think that I'm on the path of becoming a home maker. What about all your education, people are quick to ask. So what about it? I will still use it. Just at home.

I cannot in all certainty say that I will never work outside home again. A time might come where Darling being the sole provider will not be enough. One can never tell. Even if we had to scrape through I am happy to be home raising our son. I surprise people when I say that. I think I was the most surprised when it dawned on me. That I want to be a stay-at-home mom and home-maker. It is something that I never envisioned for myself.

Why then?

Beacause I want to make and bake and sew and garden and grow our own veggies and have chickens and have a cow and make cheese and write stories and most most importantly raise my son.

That is what I want. And looks like this dream is here to stay.

You with the devious eyes

You, with the devious eyes
Spare me a glance.
You, with the devious eyes,
Looking everywhere but at me.

You, with the sincere smile,
You, with the mischievous grin,
Merry making with your friends.
Moving like a hurricane,
Around me,
Wrecking havoc in my heart.

You, with the devious eyes
Spare me a glance.
This treacherous heart
Yearns for but one simple glance.

You, with the devious eyes,
Spare me a glance.

Bit**ing

I have this habit. I tend to bitch about people. No. I don't usually use bad words, but in this case it's the only one that fits.

If someone does something that I don't agree with, don't like, that makes me uncomfortable etc etc I talk bad about them with those who are closest to me.

The worst is that I bitch about my closest with each of them too.

I just realised what a bi*** I'm being.

It's not cool. It needs to be broken.

Also why waste life complaining about one person to another.

What if I found that someone was bitching about me to another. I would be heart broken. So would the subjects of my complaints.

Phew!

Self criticism and finding that one falls short of ideal is never easy. But well, here I am bitching about myself and not another.

It's a start right?

The downward spiral : dealing with depression

This is a post on something rather private. But as I realise that there a lot out there who might now be in the little dark hole I was sometime ago, I get a strong compulsion to share this.

After Baby was born, I was diagnosed with post partum depression. I was weepy, crying at the drop of a hat, constantly worried about the baby, getting angry for no apparent reason, again bawling my lungs out for no reason and having strange, terrible thoughts. Worst still, feeling guilty about those terrible thoughts.

Initially, I considered them to be normal baby blues. But as time passed it only got worse and I had to seek medical help.

The first doctor went to gasped as I described my thoughts to her, which I thought was rather unprofessional as she was a psychiatrist specialising in such things. I did not go to her again.

Later an aunt of mine who had also suffered from post partum depression directed me to another doctor who was kind enough to assure me that what I was going through was normal and that many new mothers go through the same. What was important was that I sought help.

What I wanted to share was not only the above. What I wanted to tell you was, don't give up. Don't give in. Be defiant.

Whether it is post partum or depression of another kind, you can get through this. People will say all sorts of stuff. Let me list some out for you.

1. What do you have to be depressed about?
2. You were brought up so pampered that you can't deal witjlh it when you hit a rough patch.
3. You are loved by everyone so much, how can you be depressed?
4. If only you were a little more religious!.
5. I think voodoo would help.
6. I know this person who was depressed and electric shock thrapy was the only thing that helped. Maybe you should try it.
7. Are you sure you need medication? Can't you handle this on your own?

Here's the deal. They mean well. It is just that they have probably never been where we have been and hence have no idea what we are talking about. They are also worried that we might be mental and are secretly terrified.

Nope. Just because someone is depressed it doesn't mean that the last cookoo is about to leave the nest. It doesn't mean that we will become axe murderers. Or the seven psychopaths. (on a side note, how cool is that movie?)

So what I'm trying to say is this. Let the people talk. Let them offer their unsolicited opinions. Don't let it bother you.

Count your blessings. Trust me, it helps. Write your thoughts down. Build stuff. Cook. Sew. Crochet. Knit. Paint. Draw. Write. Doodle. Sing. Dance. Exercise. Go for a walk. Take pictures. Whatever that takes you to your happy (or less depressed) place.

But most, most importantly DECIDE TO BE HAPPY. Happiness does not come easy. You have to DECIDE to be happy.

Stop obessessing that you're depressed. The more you worry about it, the more you get depressed. The more depressed, the more you worry. It's a viscious cycle. You have to break it somewhere.

Start right now. DECIDE TO STOP BEING DEPRESSED. DECIDE TO BE HAPPY.

Also, seek medical help. It can do wonders. Trust me. I know.

P.s.
This is not a medical blog or a medical article. I'm neither qualified nor experienced to offer medical advice. This is just to tell you what worked for me.

Rock-a-bye baby

Everytime I put my baby to sleep I sing him a lullaby. I keep on singing it until he dozes off and then I just hum it in an undertone.

But every single time, up until he finally falls asleep, even with his eyes closed, Baby protests having to go to sleep ( at least I thought so). He always goes "gnnnnnnnn" or "mmmmmmm" or " ahhhhhh".

Today, while I was putting Baby down for his morning nap Darling said "stop humming". I looked at him in wonder. What did he mean? Did he not want me to sing to the baby?

"Trust me". He said. "Just stop humming for minute".

I stopped humming. So did Baby.

I started again. So did Baby.

All this time he had not been protesting at all. He had been singing and humming along with me.

New resolutions

After Baby was born I've been kind of slack lately. I take care of him and that seems to be pretty much all I do. I've been told countless times by loved ones that I better get back to my usual self and not be a lazy, fat person who (in a moment of insanity) cut her own long hair short.

I have to start doing many things. I have to start taking care of myself. I just realised that I don't want Baby to have slob for a mother or for Darling to have a slob for a wife. They deserve better. I deserve better.

So it's time to start making some changes. Starting tonight. I thought if I write this and send it out into the universe that it might help me.

So what am I going to do?

For starters, work out everyday. Secondly try my hand at some craft project every day. I don't necessarily need to finish one every day, just make something.

Above all else, I just want have strength of mind.

P.s also hope that my hair will grow back faster.

Thank you,nose

I rock my baby for a good twenty minutes and he finally falls asleep when my nose decides that it is the perfect time for  a sneeze.

Not just my nose, something always seems to get in the way of my baby's sleep.
1) He's in my arms and I HAVE TO scratch my back.

2) I close the curtain. crrrrrreee.... go the curtain hooks on the curatin rail.

3) I close the window. The window latch goes click.

4) Someoneone has to use a wheelbarrow right outside the window. eeeooooeeeeoooo

5) I'm nicely lounging next to himusing the laptop. I click on the moisrpad.

6) It is right outside our gate that a van driver devides to brake. screeeechh....  

7) I'm cautious like a spy when I get out of bed and CRASH..  Topple the nappie bucket over.

8) I kiss him.

9) A car honks.

10) Our three dogs have a barkfest.

11) My mother calls me to come have dinner.

පුතු

මා පළමු වතාවට මවක් වුනේ මේ ඊයේ පෙරේදා ය.  නිදි නැති රැයවල්, මගහැරුණු කෑම වේල් මට දැන් පුරුදු දේ වී  තිබේ. 

පුතා පාන්දර සිට නිදි නැත. කුකුළා හඬලන්නටත්  කලින් ඇහැරෙන ඔහු අත පය ගසමින්, "ආ ඕ" කියමින් සිටියි. මම අමාරුවෙන් ඔලුව කෙලින් කරගෙන, බාගෙට ඇරුණු ඇස් වලින් ඔහු දෙස බලා හිඳිමි. විටෙක මා දෙසට හැරෙන ඔහු කිරි ඉල්ලන්නට කට  හදයි. කකුල් දෙකෙන් බයිසිකල් පදියි. අත් දෙකටත් නිනව්වක් නැත. 

ඔක්කොම මහන්සි නැති වෙන්නේ පුතා මදෙස බලා සිනැසෙන විටය. සමහරක් විටෙක මා ඔහුට ආදරේ බව පවසන විට ඔහු ඉතා සතුටෙන් හිනා වෙයි. හරියට මා කියන දේ තේරුණා සේය. මගේ මුහුණ දෙස බලා "ඕ ඕ" කියයි.  මා ඔහුව සිප ගන්නා විට වේගයෙන් අත් පා  ගසයි. 

මීටත් වඩා සතුටක් ලෝකයේ තිබෙන්නට විදියක් නැත. මා මෙතරම් වාසනාවන්ත වූයේ කෙසේදැයි සිතෙන විට මගේ සිතට අනියත බියක් දැනෙයි.  සෑම නව මවකටම එසේ සිතේදැයි මම කල්පනා  කරමි. 

පුතා කිරි බොනවා ඇතිද, නිදනවා ඇතිද, වැඩීම හොඳයිද, දාහක් ප්‍රශ්න මගේ ඔලුවේ සැරිසරයි. මගේ මව අතේ සිට මා ඉල්ලා හඬන විට මම ඔහුව වඩා නොගත්තොත් ඔහුට එය මානසිකව බලපායිද? ඊළඟ ප්‍රශ්නය මේවා වෛද්‍යවරයාගෙන් ඇසිය හැකිද යන්නයි.  

මවක් වීම ලේසි නැත. 

Meena

Meena was only fourteen when her mother left. One morning she woke up to the wails of her one year old brother crying and found out that her mother had left sometime in the dead of the night. Her father sat in a corner, not knowing what to do or how to console a crying one year old. As cries got more high pitched and louder, the other siblings woke up. There are three more of them. Meena is the eldest of five.

It was only years later that she found out that her mother had eloped with her lover, leaving her husband and five children stranded. Meena's father had had no clue and was in shock for months afterwards. Which is how it became Meena's responsibility to look after her four siblings.

Meena learnt to do everything. She would get up at 3.30 in the morning. Cook for the day. Wash all the clothes and get ready to go to school. She would then dress the two oldest siblings for school and wash the other two. On her way to school, she would deposit the two youngest siblings at her paternal aunt's. On her way back from school she would pick up the little ones. Most days she missed school, trying to calm baby tantrums, sooth growing pains, teething pains and hunger cries.

One day, when the one year old had grown up to be two years Meena found that the little fellow was having breathing difficulties. He seemed to be in pain. When she tilted his his head back she could see that there was something stuck in one of his nostrils. He was howling by this point and everything she had tried to dislodge what was stuck in his nose was proving to be futile. She was about to drag him to the bus station to go to the hospital when inspiration struck.

Meena threw a handful of dried chillies into the fire burning in the stove. The fiery smoke achieved what she could not all that while. At the smell of burning chillies, her brother sneezed, sending out the little peanut that was stuck in his nose hurling out.

Meena is twenty seven years old now. She doesn't miss her mother. Her only regret is that the mother who was never there would not see how they have grown. How they have fared without her. That is all.

බල්ලාගේ මරණය රසාස්වාදනය කිරීම

අපේ ගෙදර සුරතල් බැල්ලිය මරණයේ දොරටුව අභියස සිටී. මිය යාමට තරම් වයසක් තවමත් නැතිමුත් හදිසියේ රෝගාතුර වූ ඇය යන්තම් හිසවත් ඔසවා ගනු නොහැකිව ඔහේ වැතිර සිටී. ඇගේ නමින් කථා කළවිට වලිගය  හෙමිහිට සොළවයි. ගෙදරට පැමිණෙන අමුත්තන්ට ගෙරවීමට උත්සාහ දරයි. ගෙදර සියල්ලන්ම දුකිනි.

ඒ අතර මගේ පියාගේ විද්වත් මිතුරන් තමන්ගේ ශෝකය ඔහුට මෙලෙස ප්‍රකාශ කරයි. 

ප්‍රවීන ගත කතුවරයෙකුද පුවත්පත් තීරු රචකයෙකුද වන එක් මිතුරෙක් මගේ පියාට මෙසේ කියයි.

"අර මගේ, මේ පොතේ, මෙන්න මෙතන, බල්ලෙකු ගැන මෙහෙම කථාවක් තියෙනවා. කතාවේ කථා නායකයා තමාගේ සුරතල් බල්ලා, බලු පැටියෙකු කල දරුණු රෝගයකින් බේරා ගන්නවා. මහලු වී ලොම් හැලී ගිය පසුද එම බල්ලා නැවතත් තමාව බේරා ගනී සිතා ඔහු ලඟටම වී සිටිනවා."

තවත් මිතුරෙක් මගේ පියාට දුරකථනයෙන් අමතා මෙසේ කියයි. ඔහුද ලෝකප්‍රකට සිනමා කරුවෙකි. 

"බල්ලට කොහොමද? සිරි ගුණසිංහගේ අභිනිෂ්ක්‍රමණය පොතේ බල්ලාගේ මරණය නමින් කවියක් තිබෙනවා."

ඔහු එයින් නොනැවතී බල්ලාගේ මරණය නම් එම කවිය මගේ පියාට දුරකතනයෙන් පවසයි.

ඔහු එයින්ද නොනැවතේ. ස්වල්ප මොහොතකට පසු මගේ පියාට කෙටි පණිවිඩයක් එවමින් සිරි ගුණසිංහගේ කවියේ තතුද බල්ලන්ගේ මරණ ගැන ලියා තිබෙන වෙනත් කවීන්ගේ තවත් කවිවල තතුද අනුපිලිවෙලට දන්වා සිටී.

බල්ලාට කෙසේ වෙතත් මටනම් නැට්ටටම තදවෙන්නේ එවිටය.

Short story: Under the leafless Oak tree

You are silent, like me. You don't talk much, You don't feel the need to express everything in words.

You are silent, sitting here with me, on this park bench, under this leafless Oak tree. Between us there is no need for words. You just look at me.

You have a handful of blueberries in your palm. The last bounty of an already gone summer. I don't know from you where you found them. You are eating them one by one, as if to savour the taste of each of them. You look at me and silently offer me one.

Unlike her.

She would have said a million things about the berries by now. From "Ooooh darling, don't they remind you of little blue gems" to "OH! That's sour" scrunching up her face. You eat your berries knowing they are berries and nothing else. The sourness doesn't take you by surprise. For her each berry would be a new experience, always exclaimed in words. For you they are berries. You just look at me.

How I revel in the silence!. It's getting colder now, each evening. Trees are mere skeletons of what they used to be. I can see two last leaves hanging from the tip of an Oak branch, about to get caught in the wind, about to fall to the ground. She would by now, have cried in sympathy for the leafless trees. You just look at me instead.

With you, there is peace. I need not ask for silent time. I need not ask for time for my own. You understand. You are like me. We are like these two last Oak leaves drifting in the wind.

There is a slight breeze coming from the East. The trees are waving their branches as if saying goodbye to the summer. It soothes my soul to just sit here with you in this silence. She would have by now, held on to my shoulder shouting "Oh darling, isn't it romantic?". We just look at each other instead.

In a while, I have to get up from this bench and leave you, to her, where I call hearth and home. I have to leave this companionable silence and go where there is always noise. Where everything needs to be spoken aloud.

In just a little while, as the moon comes up, I have to get up from this bench and leave you under this leafless Oak tree, eating blueberries.

She would be waiting for me.

The rut

Hi there...

Remember I said darling left the country? It's been two months now.. I have moved in with my parents. I also have a little secret growing in my belly. :)

I also have exams which started last week and will drag on till mid-December.

But here's the deal. My getup and go has disappeared. I'm usually a very upbeat, bubbly person. Nothing can keep me down for long. But now, nothing seems to work. I don't know what to do. I don't know if I should see a shrink. I don't know..

For a while I cried a lot, day and night, and my parents got worried. So I stopped that. Now it's just nothing. Just blank and empty. I stare into my books, not seeing anything. I watch my favourite tv programmes, and I don't remember the story later. Music doesn't seem to make sense anymore. Hours go by and I don't remember what I did or what I thought. It's just one big blank.

I can't tell darling, he's thousands of miles away, and has enough on his plate as it is. I can't tell my parents, they worry too much. I can't tell my sister, she jut got married and well, why on earth should I be selfish to disturb her happiness? I can't tell my friends, they've all go their lives going on and I really don't want to be a pain.

So, as bad as it is, that leaves you. The last thing you need is to hear my miseries bestowed (for the lack of a better word) upon you.

Am I going crazy?

Being selfish

I sometimes want to do selfish things and say selfish things.

I sometimes want to say things like "No one loves you more than I do, no one else would let you go like I did"

Sometimes I want to say "Don't hang out with your friends, stay with me instead".

But then I remember that if no one loves him as much as I do, then I wouldn't say those things. Because if I said them, my love would be meaningless.

It is hard sometimes to remember that love should be about giving. We are in such a world that reminds us everyday to puff our own egos that we forget true giving. We forget that it's not always about us.

Sometimes, I have to remind myself. Over and over again.

What do fish eat?

So I was at the hospital waiting for the doctor to come.

You know how most hospitals have gigantic fish tanks everywhere? There was one right next to me and a little boy about three years old and his father were looking at the fish.

Suddenly the kid goes " Thaththi.. What do fish eat? Don't they get hungry?"

Dad says " People give them food kiddo, they don't go hungry"

kid: "aaaaahhhh... "

Thinks for a moment and says " Ah that's good neh thaththi.. So easy for them.."

Dad: "Why putha?"

Kid: "They can eat and drink water also.. ".


I almost fell out of my chair.

Potatoes and pots

She watched him do the dishes, Her heart was breaking and she wished she was the one doing the dishes.

"Do you think the potatoes are done darling?" he asked.

"Let me see" she said. "Prick them with a fork and see"

"Ah, they're done" he said, drained the potatoes and turned to the sink to wash the pot.

It was heart breaking for her to watch him do the dishes, alone in his apartment, through a video call, over the internet.

He was continents and continents away.

And she wished she was the one doing the dishes.

Greener pastures

This is why I've been under the radar lately.

Darling has left the country for greener pastures. While I know that he'll be back, and he will probably be back before I know it, I can't help feeling so desolate and empty..

I'm back with my parents.. Dad has taken it to his heart to fatten me up.. :)

I was supposed to go with him too, at some later point. But for reasons best explained later, I couldn't go with him..

So here I am, feeling sorry for myself..

Anyway, I thought I'd regale you with my misery..

Elevator talk

So I got into a lift from the third floor of my dad's office today. Here's how the conversation went.

Professional Sounding Lady Voice (PSLV) : " Going down"

Me : mhhh....

A few seconds pass in utter silence.

PSLV : "Ground floor"

I said "Thank you" and got out rather hurriedly.



On a side note, if you've read Douglas Adams's Hitchhiker's Guide to Galaxy, remember the neurotic elevators, doors with pleasing personalities and morose robots? Personally, I don't think we are far behind.

Tides of change

It has been forever hasn't it? I meant to write. But couldn't bring myself around to it.

The past few months have been crazy. My whole life has been upturned, turned inside out. It's still shaky. It's not all bad actually, but even good things in a momentous scale can be a little hard to digest.

I will write all about it. In just a few weeks. Maybe.

Till then, take care of yourselves. See you on the other side. :)

To give away..

I was thinking up on my bucket list when I remembered my organ/blood donor dream.

One I was reading the paper when a particular request among its pages caught my eye. A fifty five year old mother of five was requesting for a kidney from a benefactor. The reason why this caught my attention was because she had asked for a kidney of the same blood type as mine. I immediately went into the "I think I should give my kidney" mode. Called Darling on the spot and told him of what I intended to do. Here's how the conversation went.

Me:    Darling, there was an ad in the paper asking for a kidney, shall I donate? It's the same blood type as mine.
Darling: kidney? You want to give one of your kidneys? Won't there be any side effects?
Me: No I don't think so. I have two kidneys and this woman has none so I don't see why I shouldn't give, don't you think?
Darling: mmmmmm... yeaaahhh... I guess sooo.. If you really want to...

End of conversation. Happy that Darling was on my side I texted my Doctor Cousin. It was a simple text. There was nothing to get worked up about. It simply said that I was think of donating one of kidneys and asked what she thought of it, you know from a purely medical point of view.

The next moment, I get a hurried call.

"AKKKKKAAA!!! Are you nuts! You can't give away one of your kidneys. You haven't even had a child yet. wait till after you do, if you really want to. And do you really really want to live on medicine forever?, It could lead to complications".

I said "OK, point taken. Won't donate a kidney just yet.".

Maybe I gave up too easy. I don't know.

It's just that I've always wanted to donate blood, but have never been able due to constant presence of asthma medicine in my bloodstream. I once almost lied to the blood bank that I was not under any medication so that I could give blood, but at the last moment the mortification of having to lie hit me and I told the good doctor who was there "I'm on an inhaler". That was the end of that dream.