Curfew, moonlight, and Sri Lanka’s War

Curfew. An adult word. Floats across the power cut dark to the veranda. To us kids sitting around the carom board. Lit by a candle on an upturned Milo tin. Curfew. A thrilling word. It means no school. Waking late. Street cricket. Assorted fun with the gang along the lane. My ears pick up other … Continue reading Curfew, moonlight, and Sri Lanka’s War


Original Sri Lankan Hackers

They built Sri Lanka’s bridges, roads, power grid, dams and other infrastructure we take for granted. You may have heard a few names - Wimalasurendra, Kularathne - in passing. The rest never got the recognition required to be forgotten. Yet their work still stands. Despite a decaying state bureaucracy poisoned by Sri Lanka’s feudal politics. This … Continue reading Original Sri Lankan Hackers

School drop off music

These days I drop the offspring units at their schools. It's a consequence of my new schedule. Though I would rather like to brag that my secret short cut skills had something to do with it. To keep the critters quiet, I've devised a play list that's off the main stream road. Here's a sample: … Continue reading School drop off music

Emergency bird sitter (jailer)

I was an emergency bird sitter over the weekend. Delighted offspring units told me my new status when I staggered home from work. The cage with it's chirping prisoner was already on the living room floor. I was not delighted at all. As a vegetarian I don’t like animals. Beyond that, I feel that life … Continue reading Emergency bird sitter (jailer)

Have you spoken to your cousins lately?

Three kids meant a small family in my parents’ generation. That vast cast of aunts and uncles is unthinkable now. In my generation, that crowd of siblings is replaced by cousins. Looking back, not being siblings made friendships easier. Our relationships escaped the inevitable frictions between siblings. In its place a sense of kinship through … Continue reading Have you spoken to your cousins lately?

Surrendering my fashion choices – P.O.W Style

“You dress like a P.O.W” (Prisoner of War) sighs my father. A sweeping generalisation of course. But he’s right. The accurate version is "you wear the tatters of a German P.O.W after a decade of Soviet hospitality in Siberia". Yet this parental grumble marks an interesting experience. Which has taught me about the unspoken social … Continue reading Surrendering my fashion choices – P.O.W Style

Stirring the painting

This painting is going no where. So some of the voices in my head moan from their cushions. True. There are layers and layers of paint and oil pastel and gel medium. A casualty of being the Sunday painter. With an occasional peck of the brush during the lone spare minute of a week night. … Continue reading Stirring the painting