The late Lanil Kalubowila once offered some interesting reflections on language and politics. The last time I met him, along with our mutual friend Kanishka Goonewardena, he informed us that he had restricted reading to the perusal of encyclopaedias. They were, he observed, to the point. No frills, no editorialising, no propaganda, he said. True, for the most part.
He also said he had a problem with a television show called ‘Good morning Sri Lanka.’
‘Why only Sri Lanka?’
Good question. Sri Lanka is not a planet in and of itself, although some may think so. One says ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’ to an individual, but you are, whether you like it or not, saying ‘good morning’ to more than those in Sri Lanka when you say this on some mass communication platform. What if aliens are listening in, for example. We don’t know about aliens, but we know that Sri Lanka is an island in a planet, a country in a world of nations, an economy that does not allow us to remain an island in the strictest sense. What we do impacts the world. What a country does and indeed what an individual does has an effect on the entire planet.
He said that he had considered an alternative: ‘Good morning, earth’ in the spirit of International solidarity or rather in recognition of interconnectedness. And then he said, ‘We don’t have the moral right to say “good morning” to the earth. We should rather say “Sorry, Earth.”’
We don’t say ‘sorry’ enough, do we? The human species is marked by love, kindness, compassion etc., but our footprint on this planet also contains indelible streaks of cruelty, arrogance and selfishness. As individuals and as small collectives, we can and are generous, compassionate and sensitive to the world around us and the denizens therein. As a collective?
‘Sorry’ just doesn’t seem adequate, but ‘Good morning, Earth’ without reflection or remorse would sound that much more out of order.
Tammana Begum in an article titled ‘Humans are causing life on Earth to vanish’ published in the National History Museum website, shares some interesting and worrisome facts.
Only 3% of land on Earth still qualifies as ‘ecologically intact,’ studies show. There was never a 100% ‘intact’ planet. Not even before the first humans appeared. That said, what we’ve done is simply atrocious. We have directly altered at least 70% of the Earth’s lands. Deforestation, land degradation, depletion of biodiversity, pollution are some of the more visible crimes. We have land, freshwater ecosystems and the oceans.
‘Live coral cover on reefs has nearly halved in the past 150 years and is predicted to disappear completely within the next 80 years. Coral reefs are home to some of the most diverse ecosystems on the planet,’ Begum claims, citing multiple studies.
Greed, selfishness and ignorance have played their hands well.  
It
 is good to say ‘good morning’ to the Earth for all that we have been 
given. It is good to say ‘sorry’ too for all the harm that we, as 
individuals and collectives, have caused. It is good to say ‘thank you’ 
or ‘bohoma pin’ to those who knew very well that living leaves an 
imprint and there made it a practice to live consciously of possible 
wrongs and include in the life practices conscious, compensatory, 
actions. 
We ‘intervene,’ for example, when we build a reservoir,
 even a ‘village tank,’ but what we also do is harvest rainwater, raise 
water tables, make things green, provide for other creatures etc. That’s
 a ‘thank you.’ That’s an indication of true remorse. True ‘sorry.’ 
There
 are ‘village tanks’ we can build in the city. There are many ‘village 
tanks’ we can build in our gardens, in our households, as we walk, as we
 greet one another. 
‘Sorry, Earth,’ then, is a good way to start the day. And for this I am eternally grateful to my late friend, Lanil Kalubowila. 
['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a
 column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day,
 Monday through Saturday. This is a new series. Links to previous articles in this new series are given below] 
Other articles in this series: 
The lost lyrics of Premakeerthi de Alwis 
Consolation prizes in competitions no one ever wins 
Blackness, whiteness and black-whiteness 
Inscriptions: stubborn and erasable  
Deveni: a priceless one-word koan 
Recovering run-on lines and lost punctuation 
'Wetness' is not the preserve of the Dry Zone 
On sweeping close to one's feet 
Kumkum Fernando installs Sri Lanka in Coachella, California
To be an island like the Roberts... 
Debts that can never be repaid in full
An island which no flood can overwhelm 
A melody faint and yet not beyond hearing 
Heart dances that cannot be choreographed 
Remembering to forget and forgetting to remember 
Authors are assassinated, readers are immortal 
It is good to be conscious of nudities  
Saturday slides in after Monday and Sunday somersaults into Friday
There's a one in a million and a one in ten 
Kumkum Fernando installs Sri Lanka in Coachella, California 
Hemantha Gunawardena's signature 
Architectures of the demolished 
The exotic lunacy of parting gifts 
Who the heck do you think I am? 
Those fascinating 'Chitra Katha' 
So how are things in Sri Lanka? 
The sweetest three-letter poem 
Teams, team-thinking, team-spirit and leadership 
The songs we could sing in lifeboats when we are shipwrecked 
Jekhan Aruliah set a ball rolling in Jaffna 
Awaiting arrivals unlike any other 
Teachers and students sometimes reverse roles 
Colombo, Colombo, Colombo and so forth 
The slowest road to Kumarigama, Ampara 
Some play music, others listen 
Mind and hearts, loquacious and taciturn 
I am at Jaga Food, where are you? 
On separating the missing from the disappeared 
And intangible republics will save the day (as they always have) 
The circuitous logic of Tony Muller 
Rohana Kalyanaratne, an unforgettable 'Loku Aiya' 
Mowgli, the Greatest Archaeologist 
Figures and disfigurement, rocks and roses 
Sujith Rathnayake and incarcerations imposed and embraced 
Some stories are written on the covers themselves 
A poetic enclave in the Republic of Literature 
Landcapes of gone-time and going-time  
The best insurance against the loud and repeated lie 
So what if the best flutes will not go to the best flautists? 
There's dust and words awaiting us at crossroads and crosswords 
A song of terraced paddy fields 
Of ants, bridges and possibilities 
From A through Aardvark to Zyzzyva  
Words, their potency, appropriation and abuse 
Who did not listen, who's not listening still? 
If you remember Kobe, visit GOAT Mountain 
The world is made for re-colouring 
No 27, Dickman's Road, Colombo 5 
Visual cartographers and cartography 
Ithaca from a long ago and right now 
Lessons written in invisible ink 
The amazing quality of 'equal-kindness' 
The interchangeability of light and darkness 
Sisterhood: moments, just moments 
Chess is my life and perhaps your too
Reflections on ownership and belonging 
The integrity of Nadeesha Rajapaksha 
Signatures in the seasons of love
To Maceo Martinet as he flies over rainbows 
Fragrances that will not be bottled  
Colours and textures of living heritage 
Countries of the past, present and future 
 Books launched and not-yet-launched 
The sunrise as viewed from sacred mountains 
Isaiah 58: 12-16 and the true meaning of grace 
The age of Frederick Algernon Trotteville 
Live and tell the tale as you will 
Between struggle and cooperation 
Neruda, Sekara and literary dimensions 
Paul Christopher's heart of many chambers 
Calmness gracefully cascades in the Dumbara Hills 
Serendipitous amber rules the world 

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