More than 40 years ago, a student around 15 or 16 years of age, made a rather unkind observation about a cricket coach. The said coach, referred to as ‘Colonel,’ was a no-nonsense, expressionless man who used words sparingly. The boys were not necessarily in awe of the man although his cricketing and coaching credentials were excellent.
Before we get to the comment, let me relate a side story that might shed light on his character and coaching methods.
Colonel was in the position of the head umpire, as typical of many coaches. There were two batsmen out in the middle. A field had been set. The others were beyond the boundary line, watching the proceedings.
The batsman on strike glanced a delivery on the leg stump towards fine leg. Neither batsman needed to call the run. They ran. As the striker approached the bowler’s end, he shouted, ‘turn back.’
'Colonel' stopped play then and there. He called out to everyone, including the spectators. Here’s the gist of what he said.
Addressing the striker first, he said, ‘You said “turn back” without knowing where the ball was and what was happening behind you.’ He didn’t have to say that the other batsman may have slipped, the throw might have come in quicker than he thought or list other possible developments. The boys understood.
Addressing the entire group he said, ‘There are only three calls: yes, no and wait.’
Back to the incident. And the comment: ‘Colonel has no personality.’
To this day I don’t know how this boy understood ‘personality.’ Maybe screaming and shouting, endless chatter, a few jokes and guffaws was what he equated (good) personality to. To this day I don’t know if he heard what one of the other boys said, softly. I heard and remember: ‘personality should not be judged by outward appearance.’
‘Real men wear real clothes,’ is a tagline used by a popular and flourishing men’s clothing outfit. What do other men wear, I wondered when I saw this line. What’s ‘real clothing’ and who are ‘real men’?
There’s always the ‘out’ of convention. There’s always ‘When in Rome do as the Romans do.’ How did Romans decide to be the Romans they came to be, though? Preferences can and do change. Preferences are constructed too. That’s how convention, typically, is wrought.
We have all seen invitations for weddings and other events that come with ‘dress code.’ Out of respect for the host, we comply. There are dress codes that are not written down anywhere, but we abide by them. ‘Sunday best to church,’ we’ve heard. White to temple on Poya day. Remove headwear and footwear when entering certain places of worship, this too we know.
In Sri Lanka, a tropical country, we wear coats and ties at times, even to work places uninsured against the heat. To each his or her preference is a decent and civilised prescription, though. But sometimes we do notice disapproval, disdain or even outright horror when a dress code is considered to have been violated. ‘Good for that, but not for this; good over there but not here,’ is said or else is apparent in expression.
I’ve experienced all this first hand. ‘You look nice’ or ‘that shirt looks nice,’ I’ve been told, and I tell myself, ‘at other times I don’t look nice and my other shirts are considered ugly.’ A dear friend wanted me to ‘dress well’ for a particular occasion. I didn’t wear the crumpled white shirt that has been over-worn to the point of discoloration that she had once seen me in. It had a couple of holes. My sandals I was wearing were broken and the denim trousers were torn at the knees. I indulged her. I wore ‘something nice.’ I wore shoes. She was pleased.
And she invited me again for another event. I was to be part of the audience and wouldn’t be seen on stage. This is what happened.
Here's a choice:
"torn clothes if you like.”
Distinction is a social construct
this truth we know
this truth we unlearn
with singular determination
and train eyes to worship
fashion and trend
those deities manufactured
as all deities are
to obtain confirmation
and make profit on the side,
and not everyone is like Voltaire
able in five minutes
to talk away his face
so he could bed the Queen of England
if he so wished,
not everyone can erase with ease
consecrated inconsequentiality
and not everyone can peel away makeup
unlayer deceitful garments
and bring forth the heart
resplendent with blemish and wart;
as for me, I wear clean clothes,
some torn and some not
in adoration of preferred comforts
for I have no eyes
to see eyes that will not see.
We are all lesser personalities in someone’s eyes. We are judged and we judge. We wear clothes and the clothes we wear often wear us down. It’s all very tedious and that makes us comply. We don't want to suffer discomfort; we ‘fit’ so we don’t invite caustic comments.
Such a waste of time, I sometimes think.
malindadocs@gmail.com
Other articles in this series:
Every mountain, every rock, is sacred
Manufacturing passivity and obedience
Sanjeew Lonliyes: rawness unplugged, unlimited
In praise of courage, determination and insanity
The relative values of life and death
Poetry and poets will not be buried
Reunion Peradeniya (1980-1990)
Sorrowing and delighting the world
Encounters with Liyanage Amarakeerthi
Letters that cut and heal the heart
A forgotten dawn song from Embilipitiya
The soft rain of neighbourliness
Reflections on waves and markings
Respond to insults in line with the Akkosa Sutra
The right time, the right person
The silent equivalent of a thousand words
Crazy cousins are besties for life
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
0 comments:
Post a Comment