Dejavu

So sometime last year my body decided it was going to rebel against being healthy and landed me in hospital. The fun times lasted about 5-6 weeks and when it was over I thought, phew. Only, a few weeks ago I felt a pain that was painfully familiar as well as just plain painful. Oh no, oh no, oh no, please please don't let it be a repeat I hoped. Went to the doctor who told me to go to another doctor who told me to go to a surgeon who said, it IS that. Can we sort it out with medicine, I asked and he said Yes, the meds seem to be working. Come see me in a week. In a week I was as good as new...for about three weeks. Then it seemed as if life was on rewind-repeat. Went to doctor who said go to (a different) surgeon who said Putha, you need surgery. Oh noes!! Surgery means theatre and needles and things that cut. Sorry putha, but we must. Fine, let's do local. No, I think general is better. The pain was getting to a point where I couldn't argue anymore, and there really wasn't any other way around it so general it was to be.

So last Friday I went in. Hospitals are such cheerless places, with their strange smells and grey/white/dirty yellow walls and fluoroscent lights. Yes, that's me describing to you what a hospital is like. Like you didn't already know that. The theatre wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, although I did turn my head away the moment the anaesthetist ripped open the carton of syringes. It must've been her years of experience at work, because I must admit I hardly felt the jab of the cannula even though she poked it into a particularly bony part of my wrist (after the usual ko oyaage veins, gedara thiyala aavada etc). Then they put the mask with some foul tasting gas and the next thing I know I woke up to a bad taste in my mouth, a nurse saying hondata husma ganna, pain and a feeling that it can't be over so soon and that I should go back to sleep.

Luckily, the surgery was a minor one (you know the type, where the doctors brush it off and forget to tell you it's the recovery that's going to suck). Was allowed to go home after the wooziness induced by the anaesthesia wore off. Unfortunately, this time I got stitches and a warning It's going to be painful for about a week ah. Yes of course, because it was rainbows and butterflies last time without stitches. Speaking of pain, when people say think of something pleasant and you won't feel it as much, they're bullshitting you. While I was waiting to go into the theatre my painkiller wore off and since I wasn't allowed to drink anything, I couldn't take another either. For those fifteen minutes the voices in my head went Think of the beach, think of the sunset OWWWW beach sand FUCK sunset breeze in your face MAKE it STOP! The nurses didn't help with their not-so-gentle examination of the wound. Sometimes, when they were poking about the plasters it took all the self-control I had to not say Oye, there's a human attached to those plasters!

Now it's been a week and I've been at home, in bed for its entirety. The weekend was the worst. Spent the better part of it drugged up and asleep. Though it does worry me a bit that I spent this long at home, in my room and didn't go nuts.

The worst part though was not the pain, or the surgery or the recovery. The worst part was the surgeon, when I asked what caused this, saying "These things happen child". No no. Don't tell me that. That's an answer my mother can (and does) give me. You with your expensive degrees and fancy gadgets and millions of years of experience, you have to give me something better dammit. Will this recur? Well, that's hard to say. WTF?! I think twice in two years in quite enough.

I hate being sick. Who doesn't, I guess. I was never the sick kid. That honourable title went to the brother who was always down with something or the other and when he wasn't sick with something in particular his asthma would kick in to fill the void. I hate doctors, I hate pills and I hate being sick and losing my appetite and feeling nauseous. I complain to the voices in my head, wonder how I'll get through this (esp when there is pain involved). Like you probably guessed, I'm nothing but a ray of sunshine to be around when I'm not well.

So much for the long weekend. I'm told the stitches might have to come off on Tuesday and then it's back to work. I won't even think of the backlog there until I have to.

Did I mention how much I hate being sick? Whine whine whine

Just Go With the Flow Yo

The past few days (or weeks even), I notice, I have taken to complaining about the weekend and how fast it goes by. In case this sentence gives you the impression that I have only recently started complaining, and that too only about the weekend, kindly note that I complain on a very regular basis, about everything.

So anyhoo, my whingeing skills aside, if you abstract out a bit (oh noes, I've started talking like the folks in office) the past few weekends haven't been that bad. Actually, the ones that involved minimum planning and was more spur of the moment was much better than the Bradby weekend where too much planning resulted in it just barely not flopping.

Weekend #1 was three weekends ago. The Happy Hippie called with a hey PP-I have the house-you wanna come over. Before any of you get ideas, of the gutter variety, he meant to hang out. He and his girlfriend Emz then picked me up from class and what followed was the most random Saturday I've had in a long while. First we bought food - more than three people could/would normally eat. Then he insisted on going to the fish shop. By fish shop I mean aquarium. Not sure why I didn't just say so before. Anyway. The shop is the one on the Thimbirigasyaya Road, near the Fab. I've always noticed it but never thought twice about the place. It's fascinating in there. Fishies of all colours and sizes. Strangely, it seemed the aquarium had a first and third world too - on the left were big, shiny tanks with a few big, bored looking fish swimming lazily about. On the right were smaller tanks with lots of water plants and lots of smaller fish in each tank. Prettier, more crowded. Yes, I imagined he fish wolrd was like the human world. No, I wasn't smoking anything. Saw a beautiful turquoise Siamese fighter fish that I'm tempted to go back for, along with a few crayfish to keep him company. Anyhoo, the Hippie got what he came for, wriggly, wormy looking loaches that both Emz and I thought were disgusting, and we headed out. Next stop was at another out of the way shop, this time to buy "paper". Again he insisted we come see the place - Come come, see the place, you won't see a lot of places like this around Colombo. So we went. He was right. The place was fascinating. Afterwards, it was onwards in the direction of home, at least ,the Hippie's home. Cleopatrickus and a friend joined us, where we finished all the food minus the doughnuts which were saved for later and watched fishy porn - one of the Hippie's many fighter fish mated and he described the whole thing including the "nuptial embrace", with the sort of reverence most people associate with all things holy. Buddy, the Hippie's friendly Rottweiler who then came up to say hello to us, mysteriously disappeared for longer than he would normally be gone for. He was later found happily making his way through the box of doughnuts that were meant for us. Oh well, 'twas a good weekend regardless of the missing doughnuts.

The next weekend was a disaster of the proportions of a minor epic. Well no, not really. I've just always wanted to say epic proportions. The best part about it was the five (yes, five) plates of cuttle fish D and I ate, and the mustard lamb and the OR and the kangkung beef - in short, the nourishment.

The weekend just past was also good. Skipped lectures with intentions of sleeping in and bumming around doing nothing at home which at one point was a way of life but now has been sadly forgotten and is dearly missed. Halfway (is that one word or two?) into the day Puss Cake calls with a what's up are you busy. No, I say, and I intend it staying that way. Come come let's do something - something Damayanthi was telling me a while before that. A few calls and hours later, Damayanthi, Puss Cake and I were on the beach at Buba, watching a somewhat-cloudy-but-still-beautiful sunset and digging into chocolate mousse (and amargarita and devilled sausages and devilled beef and garlic bread. What??! There were three people there) while discussing the various interpretations of "boobs" and "blonde". After the sun left us to rise somewhere else we dropped off a somewhat giggly Damayanthi in the backwoods that is her home. Then it was an onion bagel and cream cheese at the Coffee Bean (which is a place I must try out more often) and home sweet home. Sunday was a combination of cousins, cricket, pork and vodka punch. Good times in all.

Have now decided to stop planning so much. 'Tis always best to just go with the flow and not stress about the minor details.

I suppose this is as good a time as any to note that paan waati is now two years and eight days old. Here's a wish for you and an apology for the neglect that has been coming your way. I can't promise things will change in the near future, but rest assured out of sight does not mean out of mind.

Get Married Miss, and the Lord Will Bless You More and More

The cousins suddenly decided to have one of our dinner dates, since we haven't had one in a while and I needed a ride to Kohuwela. Determined not to pay the inflated prices the tuk tuks near office charge, I called up the meter taxi service and hoped they would have a tuk available. 10 minutes after I made the call, I get a call and someone speaks to me in crisp English. "Madame, this is meter taxi calling. I'm in Colombo 5 now, I will be there in 15 minutes. Thank you madame."

True to his word, 15 minutes later a tuk tuk draws up outside office and I get a "Good evening madame, welcome. I will safely take you to your destination". And the ride with Mr. Balasubramanium starts.

Mr B: So madame, what do you do here?
I tell him what I do.

Mr B: So you have a degree?
I tell him that I do.

Mr B: Are you a Christian by any chance, madame?
I tell him I'm a Roman Catholic. Had a feeling it might lead to religious talk so decided I couldn't be bothered explaining to him why I don't go to church/can't be arsed with religion etc.

Mr B: So madame, now what you must do is get married.
I laugh, because it really was funny.

Mr B: If you don't mind madame, how old are you?
I tell him my age.

Mr B: Goodness madame, it's already late! Now you're educated, you have a good job, you're parents should've given you to a good god fearing man no madame! Get married madame, and god will bless you more and more. When you're single god blesses you, but when you're married he will bless you extra.
Me: With the price of things as they are, he better bless me extra Mr. Subramanium.
Mr B: Aiyo madame, that's only an excuse people use. Look at me"....

And he managed to tell me his entire life story in that 20 minute ride, interspersing the importance of finding "god fearing man" and getting married every three sentences (I'd hate to think what he'd tell my cousins who are both in their 30s, unmarried and happy) and adding a liberal dose of "Praise the Lords". He's a staunch Pentecost who got married at the age of 18 to a Sinhala Buddhist who converted out of her own will. When he married he was unemployed but within a year he found a job. I forget the order of the employers and the number of years he spent with each one, but at some point he had worked at Quickshaws and Walkers Tours as a tour rep. His two children are educated ("I spent all my money educating my children as much as I can madame, and now they're both in England. One is a GP and the other has a PhD"). Now instead of moping around at home feeling sorry for himself, he's supporting himself and his wife and playing John the Baptist to his passengers.

Usually Evangelists and people who go about telling people it's time they got married top the list of people I want to kill slowly and painfully, but Mr B was so convinced of his message and was just such a happy person in general that I amused and had a good laugh all the way. The little man was absolutely convinced of the happiness the combination of god and marriage can bring me, it was a refreshing change from the usual tuk tuk drivers who complain about the price of things or praise the government etc with whom I usually engage only in the obligatory bargaining/direction conversation.

He insisted on dropping me right outside my cousin's doorstep (No no madame, I don't let young ladies walk by themselves), stayed until she opened the door for me and insisted he gives me back the exact change when I said it was ok that he keep the extra five rupees (The bible tells us only to take what we worked for. I will give you your five rupees) before speeding off with a cheerful "Thank you madame, may the lord be with you".

So thank you Mr B, for an amusing ride. I think I'll take my chances on being single and happy, but I hope for myself and everyone else I know, that we can be as cheerful and happy to be alive as you are when we reach your age.

By the way, dinner was at a new place down the Nawala Road called Crossroad which I highly recommend. Food is excellent, ambience is great (try to get the table out in the open) and the service is good (though yesterday the place was pretty full and the food took a while getting to the table).

Question

A few actually, but all related to each other.

a. Do you think marital rape should be recognised legally?
b. Do you think it's a problem or a figment of someone's overactive imagination?
c. Even if it is a problem but not very widespread, do you think it should still be dealt with by legislation?

Would be a favour, so please spare a minute and answer (in detail) :)

Edit - eek! sorry folks, I meant the concept of marital rape in (b) - whether marital rape is "real" so to speak or whether it is the product of some jobless feminist's imagination (as some of our policymakers, in all their wisdom, seem to think it is)

Tag

Aiyo, another tag going around and I get tagged.

How do you reduce a 30 year old war, and what you feel about its end, to five words? Oh well, five words it must be and five words it is - and mine are
1. Can
2. we
3. now
4. move
5. on?

About time no?

Meet...

the latest addition to the family.

It's a hard life, really.

Poser.

"Aww, look at me and try saying no"

"Who is this and why is she on my bed?"

Peek-a-boo.

Bootylicious.

Isn't she the cutest? She's a handful though.

What it means to be young on liberation day*

Yes, it's another one of those posts.

So much has happened (possibly the under-statement of the week), so much to wrap my head around but events in the personal universe (new puppy, trip to Jakarta, work, study - reserved for other posts) have taken precedence over what is going on in the big, bad world. Decided to make an entry so that I can remember what I felt now in 10 years.

What I feel (in typical Colombian fashion I suppose) is a mixture of nothing and everything. For as much effect as the war has had on me, I might've lived in another country. The closest I've come to it is when the Central Bank bomb went off in '96 while we were playing in the school grounds and we heard it (since school was pretty close by). Other than that, it was just something that was happening in a far off corner of the country and I would occasionally get jittery when something happened close to home. Even that jitteriness got more and more dilute as the years went on.

And then the news came that VP is dead. Celebrations all over. I come from a notoriously racist area where "Sinhala" is the norm (to the extent that we have an all-Sinhala trade mafia. Billboards, banners and posters with the entire Rajapakse brotherhood, the chiefs of the armed forces and the armed forces themselves are plastered everywhere (with a little picture of Uncle Merv thrown in, just so that no one comes to any false conclusions on who sponsored the material). Only last morning there was a kiribath dansela outside one of the local government offices where people who didn't look like they had ever missed a meal were feasting on great slabs of kiribath. The national flag flutters from every possible height and mobs(?) go around waving and cheering. Drunk groups of men dance on the street and I couldn't help but think how one wrong word said in the wrong tone could completely change the picture.

Me, I think "What a waste of food and money". I wonder what is there to celebrate. There are still people, those who've been suffering for years, still stuck in overcorwded camps with no food, water or freedom and here we celebrate and talk about liberation. But I remember when 9/11 happened and there was all the outpouring of patriotism in America and I watched and wondered if we will ever be like this. So then, why this feeling when it IS happening here. After all, shouldn't the end to something that has been plaguiging the country, something the political leadership always used as an excuse for the lack of both development in the country and lack of a political solution, be celebrated at least a little? Should we not wait until everyone in the country can celebrate before we break out the champagne? Why did we have a national holiday on one day and the parade to honour heroes on another? What is going to be done to help the many hundreds of people from both sides who need help?

A few weeks ago the boss, in one of our casual conversations, asked if I was for the war or against the war. How do you answer questions like that? What if I didn't really have an opinion (which I didn't). How do you come to these conclusions? Who decides whether a war is worth fighting or not - those who've been affected by it? Those who just have an opinion about it? Civilian lives have been lost, maybe even unnecessarily so in the last few months, but what of all those lives that were lost over the last 30 years? Do we forget them? Does the fact that such a lot of lives were lost mean we can just push ahead with "just a few more and the job will be done" sort of attitude? How many lives can you expend for the greater good, what's the magic number? Who decides this?

We need the international community to help us move forward, but how much room should we allow them in our actions? Does the fact that we're a sovereign country mean we can effectively tell the countries who control the donors on whom we depend to fuck off? How do we tell Miliband and Hillary C to fuck off without causing diplomatic wars? Who is going to question the US and UK over Guantanamo bay, Iraq and Afghanistan? Just because they did it, does that mean we can also do it? Why do we have such incompetence representing us in the international arena? Does it take exceptional intelligence to understand that statements like this only work to cement the claims of racism that are being hurled against Sri Lanka?

How do we solve the ethnic problem we have here? When will the Sinhalese stop patronising the Tamils? How do we get the message across to those campaigning on the streets of London and Canada that while we have a problem there isn't "apartheid" or "genocide" in the country? Why don't they come here to see how it really is? How can you take seriously the claims and the demands of people who support a terrorist organisation, one that is responsible for many lives lost? How can they claim to know what's going on on the ground when they're thousands of miles away and get their news from biased sources? How can we claim to know what's going on on the ground when we're happy and safe in Colombno and get our news from biased sources? Why do the Sinhalese diaspora also take an equally militant stand, going to the stupidest extreme of nationalism? Why do they not understand that their hardline stand will only make the other side more defensive, further perpetuating the problem instead of solving it?

How do you separate black from white in these times? Will this really change anything? Has change finally come to Sri Lanka? Who has the answers?

This is why I go the way of the ostrich.

*Borrowed from an album on FB of some friends who were partying on the beach because we were liberated. I wish I had that kind of enthusiasm/thickheadedness/patriotism (take your pick) to celebrate (why, yes. I am judging them. I thought I was being subtle)