There are moments when I feel I’ve lived through these times
before. I have heard others say the same
thing. Life is replay, it seems at
times.
Yesterday I got an email from someone who reads my articles
regularly and offers comments now and then.
He related a story. He had on a
whim wanted to find out how Chinthana Vidanage was faring at the Commonwealth
Games. It was a re-telecast and focused
on some other event. He had started
flipping channels and chanced on a television interview of yours truly. He doesn’t enjoy political discussions much,
but claimed that he agreed with everything I said. There was a commercial break. Back to the Commonwealth Games and there he
was, my friend said, Chinthana doing his thing.
‘When he won the silver medal, our village boy, I almost
cried, could not control my emotions.’
He had another story.
It was about another medal winner. Susanthika. He said that when she was going through a
difficult time he had prayed to god to help her, to grant her some important
achievement and make her happy. He had wanted her to win a medal and she
did. It happened on his birthday.
‘It was the best ever birthday present. I couldn’t control my emotions. I cried. While I was praying for her I very well can
remember that tears were rolling down. But prayer was answered to the fullest.’
This is not the time to discuss the notion of spuriousness
so I shall let it pass. The story (well ‘stories’)
touched me. I did not watch
Chinthana. I remember watching
Susanthika win the Silver at the World Championships in Athens , 1997.
It was late night. My niece,
Duranya, then less than a year old, was sleeping. My father and I watched the race. There were tears when she won the medal. My father brought his hands down on the
dining table. Hard. Loud. ‘Yes’.
‘You’ll wake the baby up!’ I chided him (I was annoyed with
him for some other reason). ‘That’s ok.
She will be happy’. ‘She doesn’t know
what this is all about!’ I countered. ‘She will, someday,’ he said.
I know that the books and articles written about nation and
nationalism would make up a massive library.
Identity, sense of belonging, citizenship and related issues have been
discussed in ideological terms, sociologically and with reference to paradigms
of political science. And it is not just
academic treatise we are talking about. There’s been so much literature on
subjects such as these. I can only speak
for myself.
Something stirs within when the most beautiful image I can
think of, the map of my country, finds representation one way or another. When
Sugath Thilakaratne bested Michael Johnson in the Olympics (yes, in a heat, so
what!) a lump materialized in my throat. So too when Rosy Senanayake became
Mrs. Woman of the World, even though I think beauty pageants are ridiculous
things. Way back in 1973, I was too
young to ‘choke’, but when I read that Lafir had won the World Billiard title,
I ran out, bat in hand, into a world that seemed to have been painted in fresh
colours the minute before.
There are stories that made the news. And a million stories
that did not. Reading what my friend had
written, I felt, as I said, that I’ve lived through these times before. I realize now the true secret of this feeling
is that there are enough reasons to celebrate.
Not every act of courage, determination and skill gets rewarded with
medal or even media-mention of course, but that doesn’t take away anything from
act or personality.
I remember, like it was yesterday, watching my first child
struggle to keep her balance and walk a couple of steps. I was there to catch
her as she faltered. This morning, I had
to explain to my younger child Dayadi, now 7, that I will not be able to make it to
her swimming meet because I was scheduled to judge a drama competition in a
school at the same time. I explained
that nothing would give me more joy than to see her splash around in the pool
but that there are other children who need me at the same time.
As I explained I realized that I was ‘picking’ some other
children over mine. I backtracked and in
the process got quite incoherent. She
reached out, touched my arm and said ‘eka honda deyak appachchi’ (‘it is
a good thing’). She was no Chinthana Vidanage,
but what a weight-lifter she was at that moment. Left me in tears; which too she wiped.
We are not short of heroes.
This world has enough to celebrate. Enough reason to hope that tomorrow
will be even more beautiful. I am
looking out of the window right now.
Yes, it is 1973 all over again. The world has been painted afresh.
PS: My sister, Ru Freeman, domiciled in the USA, upon reading this, sent me the following email. Her daughter, Duranya, was 14 years old then and was quite an athlete (she later captained her high school athletics and crosscountry teams)
"Someone sent me a
photograph of Susanthika with the flag draped around her when she won the
bronze. It made me cry. I still have it on my computer at home. I used to tell
Duranya that if she were ever good enough to make the national team, she should
relocate and run for Sri
Lanka . Why? she asked. I said because that
is where it matters. Where running for your country would mean something to
people. Not here where athletes are bought from all over the world to run for America and
they win forty gold medals......
"I don't know if she'll ever
be that good, but if she were, I hope she will go home.
"Give Dayadi a hug from me.
I asked Appatchi to come to a film with us. He didn't want to. I told him this
is what life is, going to silly children's movies going to their performances
and practices, that is what it is. He was never there when we were young. The
three of us learned how to be parents from Ammi. It is her in you that makes
you cry. And you in Dayadi that makes her forgive."
*This was first published in the 'Daily News' in October 2010.
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