Camera Shy

T: Put Camera on please!
E: No
T: Put Cam pls
E: Nooo
T: Put, put
E: Nooooo
T: Put to see
E: Noooooooooooooooooo
and so on...

Cornered!

Disagreements, flared tempers, scathing looks thrown like darts, speaking the unsaid. The air is tight with a mixture of bitterness and triumph. The hulk who wants to dominate, to be superior, stands cornered; for what was tried, was to tower over and tread upon those who refused to be trodden. Those who themselves wanted to govern. Those who did not feel dwarfed in the face of superiority. These are two factions speaking two different languages, in a strong tone and a loud voice.
The self - appointed leader coils away, deflated; cornered by the herd, who, together forms a shield against her inflated truth.
Forced to leave, a search for the inferiority has begun. An inferiority that is unequal and would accomodate and accept the yet unvoiced dominance; her truth.

The Fall of the Giant

Spectacular is what would describe its crash. One of the biggest in the world and it came crumbling down. Partners and competitors tried desperately to formulate a magic portion but nothing prevented the fall. And what a fall it was. The giant worth billions shattered into tiny bits of worthless heap of paper. Not all the kings men nor his horses could put it back together. And I am lucky enough to be in the midst of it all. I am still to report to work; but last I heard people have run off with what they can. The pictures, Dilberts and the orchids - i heard - are all gone.

May you, also, live in interesting times.

Back in the Day

The sun shines bright upon the shining concerte roofs of the buildings. I guess they were tin back then. The light rail - a tramcar - chugs along like a worm squeezing between the buildings making stops at the stations. Cars that share the road with train revs impatiently waiting for the lights to turn green. Those were different; probably lacked the bright shine and half the the colors in the rainbow that paints them. In fact, most must have been black except for the few who braved to own one in white.

Every three minutes, I calculated, a plane descends over the buildings and the monumental iron structure that is the Pulasky highway. I doubt the imposing, unpretty, structure has changed much. But a plane? If anything was airborne in those days, it was - notwithstanding the Wright Flyer - was definitely a bird. May be a plastic shopping bag blown away by the wind. But were there plastic shopping bags? No. It must be a bird.

the value of a second

We are headed towards the HSBC ATM in Dharmapala Mawatha having just turned in to the road from the Victoria Park entrance. I am driven today and as usual I am on the phone yacking away. We are in the inner lane and stopped for the red traffic light at the Piththala Junction. The driver sees opportunity and puts on to the outer lane and moves forward.
A mere second after pulling to the front, we are deafened by an explosive noise. I look behind, my eyes are met with red, orange and yellow flames, clouds of black and grey smoke rising up to the skies and showers of white debris falling down like rain.
A motorbike in flames, flies over and lands on the no man's land at the junction, just beyond the traffic lights, in front of our vehicle. A charred pillion rider falls on to the road. He and his fellow rider are the 'only' fatalities. Two lives given to the nation in return for posthumous promotions. They are STF officers, a part of the security provided for the Minister of Defense. His bullet proof Beamer is unharmed.
It's as if everything is happening in slow motion. I can hear my voice telling the driver to move ahead, to get out of there as fast as possible. The only vehicle moving, we go ahead, past the soldier who lay dead on the street. We turn in to the nearest basement parking lot. I get out of the car which was covered in smatterings of blood and pieces of flesh along with debris. My whole being is trembling. I feel tears threatening to fall. I stand staring in to the road outside, shaken and numbed by what I'd just witnessed. The driver goes to take a look at the scene. I can hear my cracked voice telling him not to go. But he's already joined the throngs of people crowding to get a better look at the bomb that targeted the defense minister. The suicide bomb that took only two lives and destroyed 6 vehicles. Well, isnt that how it will go down in history?
The evening news shows the defense minister being welcomed and hugged by his many relatives that occupy various portfolios in the government. His brother the President of the country gives him a hug. They are laughing and hugging in a moment of joy. Someone points out a blood stain on the creamy white shirt donned by the Minister. "Oh it's somebody elses" they laugh, oblivious to the filming by TV news crews. I switch off the TV.
Yes I know the value of a second, so do they. I live to see the next day and so do they. But whose blood stained the clothes of the minister, who laughed it off? Did he live to see the next second, let alone, value it?

the solitary pelican

Each evening, heading back home from work, I see a single pelican perched on a street lamp on the middle of the road getting ready to roost for the night.
The clumsy looking bird with an awkwardly large beak and a heavy and graceless body sitting atop the lamp post preening itself is a funny sight and never fails to bring a smile to my face.
The traffic below flows oblivious to the feathered creature sitting silently above them, and the pelican couldn't care less. It would go about its business of smoothing its mass of feathers undisturbed by the clouds of emission, dust and noise rising from the traffic below.
Sometimes I wonder why the bird could not consider more greener and leafier surroundings as a perch, rather than that of his choice. Although the area is fast becoming prey to concrete structures, it is still quite a green part of the city.
May be it is estranged from the flock. May be it is an introverted loner bird. Or may be it is trying to blend into to the scenery, knowing little of the fact that its hulking, inelegant self, stuck like a sore thumb over the evening skies of colombo. Or may be it just likes the bird's eye view of the choatic messy streets bursting at the seams with its rowdy traffic.
Whatever its reason be, the solitary Pelican may take solace in the thought that it unfailingly puts a smile across the face of one commuter out of thousands who journey the stretches of road below its chosen perch.

Arts - The Office Girl

The Office Girl - (c) Eshan 2008

body talks

The mere movement of my lips starting the formation of a word sounding like his name, brings a smile to her face. The smile reaches her eyes. Her eyes start to sparkle. They sparkle like early morning rays on dew drops.
His presence makes her squirm with pure delight. Her head cocks to a side. Her eyelashes flutter and her smile dazzles. Her voice is honey sweet. Her tone gives her joy away. Her body speaks volumes, but her heart is reluctant.
Or is it? Is she living a lie? A lie for the sake of a false sense of loyalty?