Pic courtesy www.alltravels.com |
A student of the Arts Faculty, University of Peradeniya
who was also a member of the Student Council was found guilty of misconduct and
suspended for three years. This was in 1997.
The boy’s nickname was Meeminna.
Meeminna was from Bandarawela. He had got involved in student politics
not on account of party membership but out of a strong sense of justice. Universities are not perfect and there is a
lot of hanky panky that warrants agitation.
That political parties abuse these conditions for their own purposes is
a different matter. Meeminna was drawn into politics and before he knew it was
in the thick of things. He was by
default supporting the JVP agenda.
Reality hit him when he was suspended. He did what he had to do. At a time when
university students didn’t have mobile phones, he decided to cross the river to
use the pay-phone and inform him older brother of his fate. He was stopped on the Akbar Bridge
by no less a personality than the then JVP ideologue at Peradeniya, an
engineering student who was known as ‘Gurula’. Now Gurula was a heart-and-soul
JVPer and one who was lacking in intellect even by JVP standards. He had immediately launched into a lecture
which I reproduce in translation thus:
‘Comrade Meeminna, you have been granted the favour of a
long vacation. You are good with words, you can write. We have several
newspapers such as ‘Gamana’, ‘Seenuwa’ and ‘Niyamuwa’ and you can write to any
one of them.
‘Now Meeminna Sahodaraya, look at the Mahaweli. The water flows and flows. The fish swim
downstream and upstream. Look at the bamboo.
They bend over the river with so much grace. But Meeminna Sahodaraya, you are not
permitted to write about such things. You have to ask, “why is it that the
river is so brown?”’
Meeminna had muttered an apology and made his escape. He told me later that he didn’t have the
heart to tell Gurula Sahodaraya that it must have rained upstream and that’s
why the water had such a bora-colour.
I’ve heard the story about glasses, half full and half
empty. There are two sides to a
coin. The betel leaf is polished and
smooth on one side, but its underside is rough and ungainly. I know about the ata lo dahama, the play of
praise-blame, profit-loss, fame-notoriety and sorrow-joy and the virtue of
treating these vicissitudes with equanimity.
Different eyes see different things, attribute reason in different ways
and respond differently.
This morning I traveled the road I travel almost
everyday. There were vehicles. There
were people. The world had woken up not very different to how it had the
previous day and probably as it would tomorrow.
I am not on Akbar
Bridge right now but if I
were I could describe the view in Gurula terms.
Or be silent. The river would
flow as it had the previous day and as it would tomorrow.
All I know is that it must have rained heavily upstream for
the river of life is in spate on account of a death, ironically.
A week ago I visited a friend at the Maharagama Hospital (see 'Some games don't get thrown, Sidath taught me') . Ward 17.
I was worried that I might not recognize him. I looked for ‘face cut’. Found. Went right up
to him. Looked at him. Concluded that I was mistaken. I walked away and swept my eyes across the
room, pausing at each bed, each patient.
Then I heard a voice.
‘Samadanie, anna balanna, maalinda maava hoyanava’ (Look
at Malinda, Samadanie; he is looking for me).
I was with my wife. I recognized
the voice which contained intact the entirety of his identity as a good humoured,
genial, laid-back individual. I went to
cheer him up. He cheered me up
instead. As he always had. Sidat was one of the few individuals I know
who has never ever held a grudge against anyone. He was wronged by many but he never betrayed
even an iota of ill will towards his detractors.
It must have rained hard but who am I to complain or judge,
for perhaps it rained just to make a life-boat go faster from here to
there. The water is murky but a smile
arrives from a long ago, a voice seeks me.
Wipes a tear. Leaves a smile, leaves me without adequate words to say
‘goodbye’ but says nevertheless ‘see you soon’ or ‘ennam’ (I shall
arrive) as we are wont to say at parting.
*This was first published in the Daily News of December 29, 2010.
Malinda Seneviratne is a freelance writer who can be
reached at msenevira@gmail.com
0 comments:
Post a Comment