The usual chaos at the scene on the television. While I munch dinner at the parents. The commute back to the nest is going to be hell so might as well camp here and feed and wait till the traffic thins. Cut to another bloodied person being trundled through the chaos at the hospital. Then dull details from spokes people over the phone to the impassive newscaster. The food is simple but yummy. Try not to think of people who might not be seeing or will be seen by their folks. We had done the usual round of calls incase the phones jam. A skill acquired through practise during the 80s & the 90s. Everyone is ok.
I think of American friends who would be utterly freaked out by this sort of thing. All we do is turn off the TV. We do that at family dinners. Nothing new. Afterwards a spin at monitoring the blogs.
What’s worrying is that I’m not even vaguely scared. I should be but I’m not. Despite seeing one of these things happen when I was a kid. Even when waiting for calls to connect. All that happens is well understood routines kicking into autopilot. The usual resigned mental shrug that this is life in paradise. A reality moulded and maintained by generations of stupidity.
I never did get around to buying the book with the same title by Sandaruwan Madduma Bandara. But I did flip through it in a distant library. Can’t remember any of it as it was long ago. I suppose the same will apply for today’s blast (accept for those directly affected by it). Perhaps the LTTE will say they were trying to hit a MiG hanger. And missed like they usually do. Something for the BBC on a slow news cycle.
Safe travels. The traffic is far deadlier than any bomb.