ababuo's space

2010-05-22T05:16:00.000-07:00

It is strange how so much of life can pass you by
During moments undefined
With no memories or emotion to give them meaning
They stretch out into space in one continuous motion
With no start or end or interlude; with no life or death
The hands of the clock go around and around
The light of the sun on my face gives way to darkness
In the darkness I cease to exist until the light reminds once again that nothing has changed
My limbs take on different shapes in the light
Sometimes they lead me through different places only to realize they are not so different
Just like day and night are not so different unless I give them purpose
A life wasted like rain drops that fall in the sea
Not fortunate to fall on leaves and flowers, or give birth to fresh earth with its most intoxicant smells
Just mingle with large expanses of nothingness
With no thoughts or inspiration
No need for food or water
An endlessly passive state of being
No passions to ignite the senses, no beauty to derive pleasure from
Just space divided by night and day; sleep and wake
And yet no dreams; no colours or shapes.
Eyes wide open as I sleep; the mind remains closed when I am awake

bomb scare in the neighbourhood

2008-07-21T04:38:00.000-07:00

A black parcel turned up in the neighbourhood the other day. Nobody dared go near it. The warnings in the media, on the road, in the head, seemed to have worked well in building the paranoia towards anything that seemed not to fit. The little voices inside screamed so loud that everyone could hear each other’s souls cry: “Oh my God what if it’s a bomb!” even as an odd silence took over the tangible realities of their lives.

“Yes, it could be a garbage bag…but, the garbage men came just this morning, how could someone have dumped something in the evening…it can’t be a garbage bag….”

People gathered, eyeing the bag, eying their neighbours, eying everything suspiciously.

A neighbourhood patriarch raised his voice as others whispered amongst them wondering what to do. The man was a Sinhalese.

“Let the Sinhala people handle this. We should not get involved, what if they accuse us?” My mother and another friendly neigbourhood Tamil lady mumbled as they discussed their options under their breath.

“What do we do; should we call the police? I think we should call the police; who is going to do the calling?” the man’s voice boomed, growing louder with each syllable.

“Yes we should call the Police… maybe you should do it… do it now… what if it is a bomb?”

The voice was that of a Sinhala woman; also from the neighbourhood. She had said it. She had voiced everyone’s fears. The moment the word bomb was said out loud, things seemed to ease up, people started to talk.

The Tamils remained silent.

The Muslims spoke, but remained noncommittal. They threw questioning glances across at the Tamils. Or so the Tamils thought so. They nodded, and the Tamils looked away.

It was left to the Sinhalese to do something about the parcel. In what was normally a close knit neighbourhood, where everybody knew one another, the possibility of a “terrorist” presence was too much to handle.

And so they called the police.

One by one the Tamils left the scene and went into their respective homes. My mother had turned pale, she was worried about something. “No,” she said, it was not the fact that we could potentially have a bomb go off in the neighbourhood. She was worried about something worse than a bomb, she was worried that I was home and the police were coming.

Her logic seemed reasonable given the context. I had retuned from India a couple of weeks earlier. I was the odd one out. If the police came, I would be in trouble. The fear Other Tamil mothers, equally afraid of the same fate, cautioned their young sons and daughters.

“They will come and search our houses; they will arrest us if they suspect it is a bomb. Better to stay indoors and not draw attention, we will say we were indoors all day.” The thought seemed to have popped into every Tamil mind.

The patriach continued to shout, “Do not worry people, we have called the Police, they are on the way. We are safe now.”

The Tamils shuddered; they hoped that it would not be the STF. They went indoors and shut their doors. They prayed the STF would not come to arrest them.

The STF did not come.

A group of local constables were sent to detonate the potential bomb. One of the constables was forced to poke the package with a large stick. He did so positioning himself in a comical fashion reaching out with one arm and its extension; the stick. If it had, in fact, been a bomb, his positioning would not have done him any good, but he preferred to do it that way.

The Sinhala man watched. Maybe the bomb warning messages in the media were not consistent enough, because he did not seem to want to protect himself from it, and instead preferred to watch. He raised his voice once again and told the neighbourhood that everything was ok now that the police were here. He then turned around and shouted at the police for taking so long to respond to his call. All this he did while he watched the cop prod the parcel with his stick.

Luckily the bag was just a late edition garbage drop. Someone at the scene must have been aware of this fact, but was too afraid to own up.

The police left and the Tamils heaved a sigh of relief. “At least they did not come in to check us….” The sigh was for the absence of checking not the detonated hoax bomb

Everything returned to normal within minutes of the police leaving. Everyone was back to being friendly. The ethnic divide disappeared…. “Thank God it was not a bomb no?”

Thank God!

Yes I write...

2007-10-24T02:07:00.000-07:00

I tried to revive this blog a couple months ago, and failed misearable. This time I write, just to keep the blog from being deleted by the blogspot folks.

But that does not mean I don't still write. Yes I do write. Infact I write everyday, for one of the biggest newspapers in India. But then again I don't know if I really write. And I certainly don't call what I write, writing.

I mostly write about some odd meeting happening in the city of Chennai. I write about a rotary president being elected or about one more of those many college functions that take place in the here. I would be relecutant to call all that writing, but if anyone asks me what I do, I tell them, "well I write." Becuase that is in fact, in writing, what I do.

I friend of mine recently told me "Ababuo,you write so well, why don't you just write," and I told him, well becuase writing is what I do, everyday, I write so much that I am tired of writing. I write so much that I have forgotten how to write.

I'm back...

2007-05-23T09:46:00.000-07:00

Yes I am.... After struggling for a couple of days to remember my password, I was told by the blogspot people that I could just sign in using my google ID. So that's that.

Why was I missing? (Not that anyone cares-- but the irony must be spelled out to that poor soul who's been pulling his/her hair out wondering where i was)

I was at a journo school, that blocked our access to blogger! Yes, that is the plight of our revered principle of the modern world; the freedom of expression.

It's time to fight for its survival.LONG LIVE THE BLOG!

I was ashamed to be a part of the deafening silence…

2006-06-05T22:55:00.000-07:00

I found myself sinking deeper into a form of depression. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this way…And then I visited Anoma Wijewardena’s Quest at the National Art Gallery last Sunday and realised exactly why…

The exhibition was a painful reminder of my inadequacy, of the hope that we all hold in our hands but choose to forsake. I felt ashamed to be a part of the deafening silence that surrounded me…. The images stared starkly at me and the words screamed at me making me feel hollow and inconsequential like as if I was stranded in front of the large waves of an ocean, ship wreaked and alone. My head throbbed with guilt, for the words were known, the images familiar and yet I had chosen to ignore them; ignore others like me, those others wanting to sing with me. Some images teased my guilt with traces of what could be if the chorus was loud, if the words that accompanied were echoed by all of us. But I continued to feed the silence.

Part of the process of healing is remembering and remembering is always agonizing that’s why we choose to escape its forces, shamelessly absolve ourselves from responsibility; choose to live with the silence. The silence kills each day more of the soul and yet we trick ourselves into believing the silence is normal, that it is all we can expect, that it is us. I hear whispers of dissent, but they are not loud enough to break through the silence.

I left the exhibition feeling even more depressed because. I carried my guilt and walked away. I remembered but did not heal, for I cannot heal alone. Until we all release our clenched fists we will not see the hope, only the starkness of the images, the words will not inspire they will only continue to condescend.

Losing face…!?

2006-05-14T22:16:00.000-07:00

Losing face…!?

I’ve always had difficulties saying no. While I’ve often thought it was a personality trait that was exclusively mine, I’ve discovered of late that I cannot be so selfish.

There’s something in our culture that makes it difficult for us to lose face. The inability to say “no” is one way this trait manifest’s itself in our part of the world. Maybe it’s all to do with our much maligned (secretly revered) system of social hierarchy; remnants of our colonial past or our feudal origins, whatever it is, you all know what I’m talking about.

Let me start at the micro level of our day to day lives.

Example 1:
I’m utterly and completely broke, my friend invites me for a drink or something and I go grudgingly. I end up spending too much money- including my taxi fare home- and curse my friend for no fault of his/ hers…but somehow it was easier than saying no…phew I did not lose face!

Example 2:
My date is one busy guy. He promises to leave work early the next day just to see me- how sweet! I fall for the line hook line and sinker and forget all our previous episodes. He swears he’ll come, he even says “don’t bail on me right!” The next day I wake up slightly earlier than usual, make sure to iron my half decent (for a change) clothes! I shave my legs, put on some jewellery and even some cheap perfume. The morning hours are less cranky than usual….Morning turns in to evening, the minutes tick and well… no call. I text and…no reply, I text again…still no reply. I call… a hurried voice answers “I’m at a meeting, I’ll call you back ok”…call me back my ass! fuck you! And suddenly I feel a strange sense of de ja vous…hmmm… strange feel like I’ve been here before…My date escapes, phew he didn’t lose face.

Example 3
I’m throwing a party, I call my friends…”oooh how lovely!! Yes of course we’ll come, do you need some help?”...oh no don’t bother just bring yourself.
The day arrives, I’m slaving at the stove, one friend calls up and sweetly offers to help once again, such a darling now isn’t it? No no! don’t you worry…ok could you bring me something cold do drink and come a tad early? “Sure hon, see you there…4.30?” great! Ok ...4.30, 5.30, 6.30…
Another friend suddenly texts, “sorry sweetie I’ve got a fever, have fun!”…10 minutes later another friend “sorry darling, I got the runnies, have fun!” ??? what’s this some kind of collusion!
7.30, 8.30,…party starts, we have fun, get drunk, go to bed…wake up the next morning, clean, the place…oh what I wouldn’t do for a cold drink right now….HEY!! Hang on a minute wasn’t my friend supposed to bring me one yesterday?...and she didn’t even bother to call and excuse herself…phew she didn’t lose face.

Sounds familiar anybody?
Anyway let me move on to the macro level, to my “ah-ha moment”, my realisation that this phenomenon is inbred in our genes.

“The Ceasefire Agreement is in tact”

This seems to be the buzz statement these days, regurgitated by those SLMM folks the Government, the LTTE, the media….

“X number of navy officers killed in yesterday’s attack, the Government and the LTTE reiterate the importance of the peace talks…”

“Y number of young men shot in their homes, we condemn such attacks and reiterate our commitment to the CFA…”

“Suicide bomb attack in Colombo, retaliatory air strikes… the ceasefire agreement stands!...”

What CFA? Where CFA? Whose CFA? People continue to die, but just in the right numbers to maintain the façade of a ceasefire. Life goes on, we pretend as best as we can that everything alright, we stop counting. We fall for the propaganda slogans once again, we begin to take sides. The country is at war but we’re not going to tell anyone…phew we didn’t lose face!

Maybe it’s some strange coping mechanism, maybe we are all just a bunch of escapists. We were taught to keep our feelings to ourselves, because it’s bad manners to talk about your problems (read bad manners to be honest) we beat around the bush and feel comfortable in our little zones. We cheat, we lie and the next time we meet those same people we are sugary sweet. Because we are comfortable with a “no shows”, we know that people are not going to believe us and that they might even think bad about us behind our backs…but behind our backs is acceptable…we just want to lose face!

coffee shop blues

2006-05-08T23:09:00.000-07:00

Coffee shop blues

Coffee shop lounge
On a late night out
Watching people pass each other by
Still in some sort of a slow motion rush
A surreal modern ritual
Incomprehensible yet instinctively followed

Some sit with their computers
Waiting for some one to steal them away
Some intently take their late night dose of caffeine
Addicted more in spirit than taste
Weariness of the endless rat race
Or aimless wastrels wasting away

Laughter of the intoxicated
Empty gazes of the lonely
Rings of cigarette smoke…
Texture the waves of the late night blues tunes
While a tired singer loses a note,
Insomniacs sit and ponder
Sleepwalkers stroll by…
Fighting their way through thick nicotine clouds

Slouching on the ample couch
Stealing a glance now and then
Playing with a memory
Shared with the once familiar stranger…
Sitting across
Hiding a boundless longing
Shrouded now for loyalty’s sake
For the friend who sits between us
The smile on her face we dare not lose
Of the few things still of worth

Like the old time blues
That draws those sleepless souls
Like the coffee that brews
Keeping awake the night’s fools

The ritual continues till it’s time to go home
But only for tonight…
For tomorrow the doors will be open
Many stories like this I’m sure it holds
Of nights and patrons guarding the gloom

2006-04-17T22:42:00.000-07:00

The reluctant writer

The art of writing practiced in one’s mind
The flow of a gentle stream
Through the pathways of memory and thoughts
Distant dreamlands and fulfilled lives
Through tragedy and smiles
Imagination’s banks and passion’s falls
Easy its style, strong it’s control
Generations in one line
Epochs reproduced in fine rhyme
Deepest wounds and discriminate views
Empty passageways and open domes
Careless routes and aimless strolls
Captured in the richness of prose
Enriched with a deepness of the sea
Words spoken casually

Paper placed before, pen forced into arms
Defenses raised and shadows fall
Sweat begins to drain out the images
Falling out from the soul’s pores
Words forced, bleed an aching forbearance
No longer the fearless avenger of literature,
The manifestation of all things seen and felt
But prisoner of manuscript
Of structure and external boundaries of reality
Constructions of a society
Of bias and infidelity
Expectations and fear of expression
Of what creatures will say
Stifled in one’s comfort zone
Feeing suddenly naked

Prefer to write on brain cells
Threaded like pearls on a string
Private and precious still
Shy away from paper and pen and
The unknown world of opinion outside
Causing a permanent writer’s block
An excuse not to come out
A fear of the unknown
Parallel lives lead
One of brilliance and content
Another of mediocrity and contempt

Is it the mating season or am I just frigging losing it??!

2006-03-23T08:28:00.000-08:00

I’m sure most of you must have gone through this scenario at some point or the other…Only for me it seems to happen way too many times(groan) and each time it just seems to get all the more loathsome…Perfect! The stage is set for the “mid spring day migraine”

Waiver: The following are excerpts from the rare insecure mental ramblings of a (mostly) confident and smart young woman; any similarity with real life incidents or persons is purely coincidental.

Scene I

You’re quietly minding your own business staring blankly at your computer and contemplating where to start on the pile of work that extends itself in front of you. You look up and the rest of the world is busy falling in love. Sigh! Ok if that’s not hard enough for someone who’s been single for a million years…

Scene II
Conversation begins
So you Ababuo you’re still single right?
(Smiling sweetly) Yeah (thinking: what’s it to you?)
Oh ok!
(Fine now let me be, groan! just what I needed on this hot afternoon)

Scene III
Enter office Romeo

How are the ladies doing today?
I try hard to pretend I did not hear
Look how beautiful Ursula looks today, it’s all because of her new found love. Look how her face radiates, isn’t it Ababuo?
(I smile sheepishly and try hard to mean well) Oh yes it’s this new found love…yes sir! Why Ursula it certainly is good news, we should all go celebrate (Curse curse!! @#*#*@!!??)
Ursula blushes as Romeo continues teasing “Oh no Romeo it’s not like that- giggle giggle”
(Puke puke…blaaasphff!)
Ursula leaves the room for more privacy on her telephone call with her new found love (Thank the devil’s lucky stars)

Scene IV
So Ababuo how come you are still single
Well Romeo maybe you can tell me??!! (die die die!!)
You know you’re just so aggressive, why do you always want to fight? (die die die!!)
Ursula is so sweet and submissive (doesn’t this amount to sexual harassment or something?!) and you are too (yeah right!) but I can never tell when you will charge like a lion (rather a lion than submissive any day thank you very much)

Scene V
Romeo leaves
I begin to ponder feel full of pride to be called a lion(I can live with that idea) but a bit sad that …well…I am still single
Ursula’s back texting away and pretending not to be so into the whole thing, and just for one insane instant I wish I was her! (Note that even in this dire state it’s still just an instant)

Enter pretty Daniela
Ok guys I have a confession to make I’m seeing someone!
Ursula giggles which seems to mean so am I…(giggle giggle)
And you Ababuo you’re still single?

That’s it… that’s the line, SOMEBODY GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!

Is the frigging mating season or what??? Oh great and I’M STILL SINGLE

Epilogue:

See what the world does to poor folks who try to mind their own business…but then all of us engage in some mental slander once in a while don’t we? J Unfortunately it’s the only way to maintain a degree of sanity in this insane world.

Yes I’m still single, but that’s ok cos my spring afternoon migraine’s passed and OH NO!! the pile of work still remains(curse curse @#*#*@!!??)

Post script:

Despite the apparent insecurity in the ramblings I’m still the (mostly) smart and confident young woman. Romeo and Daniela are darlings although Romeo needs a good rap on the head soon, and Ursula…hmmm well she’s ok…

Everything’s back to quiet dejavous, I’m staring blankly at the computer wondering how to get through the work on this lazy spring afternoon when the birds are out singing and the bees are out buzzing…sigh!... continue with my busy staring…Hmmm…Margaritas tonight anyone?

"5 minutes"

2006-03-22T19:33:00.000-08:00

The east coast under a mid day sun
Politics divides a people who share one language
Yet on a short journey on an old fashioned ferry across the sea
Is a time to reflect
A passionate conversation of the generation’s politics, and a time gone by
Or of daughters and wives
Of the waves that destroyed lives
Of the strangers in their marked cars
That crowd the precarious ramps
The unfulfilled promises to rebuild
Of the boys and girls with their guns
Have you heard Lakshmi has eloped with Abdulla
Sacrilege I say!
The rent is due tomorrow
What will I do my friend?
The sun burns but washes not the deep blue of the sea
It is strangely calm today
Just like on that day
“Allada kaval”… “poittu vaaren”
Till we meet again.

first attempt at blogging...must say i'm sold!!

2006-03-22T02:37:00.000-08:00

Thought I’d start with something that comes up in every single dinner conversation of late…The recent cartoon controversy!

It certainly was unique in that it seemed to create new hallmarks for that which can be described as absurd. All boundaries of rationality were surpassed and excuses based on assumed standards of morality and religion formed the base for extremism and antagonism.

What disturbed me the most about the cartoon “crisis” was, how each camp across the divide was unwilling to recognise how insensitively it acted and reacted to what the other held sacred. But the angle of this story that I find most interesting is the role the media has played; and by this I don’t mean the actual publishing of the cartoons at all. The cartoonist and the newspaper had every right to do so, but it is the subsequent creation of a dizzy level of hype that has fuelled extremism causing this seemingly irreparable division and intolerance between the West and the Muslim world. In a way the story was good copy for the western media obsessed with the Muslim world and a skewed notion of global terrorism. This is by no means to say that the Muslim world has acted in a way that deserves approval, on the contrary it is my opinion that western media’s irresponsibility in the manner it covered the events was exploited by the fundamentalist Islamic leaders to propagate their agendas of hatred and polarisation. It has thus been used by both parties-to use a popular cliché here- as a self-fulfilling prophecy!

The story also provides a good topic for debate on certain civil and political rights notably the freedom of expression and speech and the concept of media freedom. The freedom of expression is a concept deeply enshrined in any society bound by international law and progressive values. It is a basic human right sacred and to be enjoyed by all peoples of this world. While this freedom forms the base of media freedom, the media in my opinion should not simply be a manifestation of the freedom of expression. It is and ought to be more; it is a social institution and therefore should ideally embody the concept of fairness. A progressive media thus is not just free but also ought to be fair. Further it must be pointed out in this sense that any right which is enjoyed in excess without a certain degree of restraint and responsibility ceases to be a right and instead transforms itself into an abuse of privilege.

The BBC reported that legal minds in London were debating the issue of incitement with regard to the protests. Protests and slogans carried by Muslims calling for people to be killed have been seen by many as constituting the offence of incitement- a common law offence where the prosecution does not need to prove that the incited offence was later actually committed. The maximum sentence for this is life imprisonment under British Law. While this may in fact be a plausible case of incitement, weren’t the same overtones visible in the media hype that followed and the role it seemed to have play in perpetuating the violence?

The cartoons portrayed the Prophet Mohammed in a series of ways some innocent and others more controversial. The Islamic faith prohibits the depiction of the Prophet in any way. I do not know what the primary intentions of the cartoonist were, but I suspect that they were not malicious and instead based on what some may call a culturally inappropriate form of satirical humour. But even if they were meant to be offensive the freedom of speech protects the cartoonist and the newspaper’s right to publish it. This is not what is so hard to digest; it is the media action that followed this initial publishing which is. Interestingly when I queried a few people in my circle on what they felt about the cartoons, their responses which were consistent were nevertheless rather shocking. While I expected them to say “Oh you know it probably was just some guy trying to be funny…” their responses were not so straight forward. Neither did I get the expected reflection of the fact that if people thought they were offensive “well tough” because the cartoonist had the freedom to do it. No one thought that the sequence of events were absurd in the sense I saw them to be, instead they reflected a petty and childish tit for tat mentality in that they did not see how the Muslims could taunt other religions and get away with it and at the same time get so unpleasant over depictions of their own faith. They referred to images that appear from time to time in the media of the Muslim world depicting Jewish and other religious leaders in insulting ways, and the burning of effigies and flags as other examples. I do not challenge the truth and importance of these statements in providing additional shades of colour to the background of this incident, but what concerns me is the underlying resentment that this generates and seems to permeate even the so called more enlightened of us. The media in reporting the protests and surrounding events have also not failed to mention these previous examples from the Muslim media in their coverage. Is the message then one of genuine concern for the sanctity of the freedom of expression or one of “You insult me, I insult you back”? It seems to me like the notion of freedom of expression has been used as a scapegoat in this case. Various media around the world in an effort to show solidarity with the Danish cartoonist and make a collective stance against the threat to media freedom have insisted on reprinting these cartoons. Is this a sign of a fair media, does this not have the elements that constitute incitement?

What is so different about these cartoons? Indeed what is it that has caused so much passion and anger over and above news items of thousands of Muslims dying in various parts of the world? What immediately stands out in this current scenario is the media coverage. These cartoons have been flashed all over the international media and if the cartoons themselves have not, then the issues and protests have been given extensive coverage. The unfortunate trend that followed was that the more the media covered the topic the more countries joined in the largely violent protests

The Sri Lankan Muslims also joined the protest against something so remote that it could have amounted to absolute insignificance. Instead it has stirred passionate emotions. I am not espousing a theory of selective information or censorship but information can be a powerful tool and a dangerous weapon that has to be handled with care. It is the responsibility of the media to respect this characteristic of information. The irresponsibility of the media becomes clearer by the fact that the Danish cartons were first published in September last year in a “local” Danish newspaper. No body had heard of them at that time. It was the media that resurrected the issue and channelled the hatred and the continued insistence with which the cartoons have been featured has only ensured continued violence.

The power of the international media to shape events is undisputed. It is the same media hype that just over a year ago quite ironically ensured an unprecedented humanitarian response following the Asian tsunami disaster even; though harsh natural disasters are common place and numerous populations continue to live in silence requiring the same level of humanitarian assistance. Today’s media has proved its extensive powers to both inspire and incite, it cannot afford to be irresponsible and hide under the cover of the freedom of expression. Unfortunately it has done just that and in the process it has played straight into the hands of the Muslim fundamentalist leaders. These cartoons have allowed thousands of people fall prey to the Muslim fundamentalists and their narrow ideologies. The constructed reactions and the furtherance of extreme retaliation are all methods of inciting and indoctrinating the public used by Islamic fundamentalist leaders. But like mentioned at the onset it is the outright tussle between the sides on whose morals and values are superior that is even more saddening. The reaction of the Muslim world, the extreme protests and deaths over something which is a false understanding of what is sacred and worth dying for represents the sad trend that is developing in the world we live in today and signals a death in moderate and peaceful practise of religion. A cartoon certainly is not worth dying for, neither is a Victoria Secrets bikini with the image of the Buddha. Cannot the true meaning of freedom of expression be respected and apparent shortcomings forgiven through education rather than arson? At the same time the media needs to be aware and sensitive towards diverse cultures and views. This scenario has presented both camps with an opportunity of personifying an abstract enemy. Both parties have jumped at the opportunity of creating as much division as possible and both sides now have an example to point to. Even more worryingly both parties now have a reason to show the moderates in their camps and smirk with a “I told you so!” The media has provided them with the ideal grounds. An average man in Afghanistan would probably have not (1) heard about, (but for the media hype) (2) cared about, (but for the extremist religious leaders)… a Danish cartoon published in some local newspaper, just as he probably never heard about or cared about the entire Muslim population been driven out of their homes in a Northern town in Sri Lanka.

It seems to me that this new breed of fanaticism and a false obligation towards a constructed partisan identity on the one side and an irresponsible flaunting of ideals and values on the other, has distorted certain priorities of peaceful co-existence. Each holds on to a perceived notion of superiority but only succeeds in further diluting the very the essence of these values.