['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 the 220th article in the
new series that began in December 2022. Links to previous articles are given
below]
Political
borders were redrawn and certain assets were divided through the Indian
Independence Act 1947. That’s what came to be known as the Partition of
India, coinciding with the dissolution of the British Raj in the
relevant territory. The logic or otherwise of this act has been debated
endlessly since then. Words and bullets have traveled in both
directions. All over a line drawn across a piece of paper and, with
time, engraved in imagination associated with nation. Let’s not dwell on
the bad news which has filled newspapers and clouded the airwaves.
There have been solidarities that have ignored borders. The wind passes over them, the sun minds not the foibles of the species. And, in rare moments, lines are made absolutely irrelevant.
I remember the year 1996. Many Sri Lankans, especially cricket fans, still talk of 1996 and Sri Lanka winning the Wills’ World Cup, defeating Australia in the final played in Lahore. And most of those who were glued to television sets throughout that tournament remember a moment when Sri Lanka was made to feel small by certain countries.
Australia and the West Indies refused to play in Sri Lanka citing security concerns. The two teams would forfeit their respective matches against Sri Lanka. Eventually, Australia beat the West Indies in one of the semi-finals and, as mentioned, went on to lose the final to Sri Lanka. A bit of poetic justice, one might say.
The better, more compelling and indeed indelible poetry came before the tournament started. India and Pakistan virtually said, ‘no, not in our region, we will not let anyone belittle Sri Lanka off the ground.’ A Wills’ India-Pakistan XI traveled to Colombo to play a friendly ODI against Sri Lanka.
Indians and Pakistanis played together, in a single team. They played together against Sri Lanka, that’s what the scoresheet shows. In fact they were all playing together, celebrating the sport they all loved but more than all that, celebrating commonalities that went beyond the game, the idea of a nation and even a region. Borders were crossed, yes, but then again one could say borders were erased.
India and Pakistan would rekindle the rivalry a few weeks later in a quarterfinal encounter. Obviously the citizens of each country would have cheered on their respective heroes. India won and faced Sri Lanka in the semifinal. Again, citizens would have cheered their teams. Sri Lanka won. The final was played in Lahore’s Gaddafi Stadium. It was as though Sri Lanka was playing at home, because the Pakistani fans overwhelmingly supported Arjuna Ranatunga and his men.
Somehow, somewhere, something had happened that made national boundaries meaningless. Put another way, one could argue that while the cartographers were not troubled and lines written on a piece of paper were not erased or altered, things that were bigger than borders and boundaries had been affirmed.
Notions of a larger South Asian political entity someday in the future, then? No. Nothing like that. It was, I feel, about solidarities that are not amenable to body-checking at borders.
On Monday the 11th of September, 2023, India thrashed Pakistan in a Super Four match of the Asia Cup in Colombo on the back of two spectacular centuries, one by Virat Kohli (122 not out) and K L Rahul (111 not out), and a splendid effort with the ball by Kuldeep Yadav who took 5 wickets for 25 off 8 overs. It would have pleased Indians and made Pakistanis sad.
And on that note, for what it is worth, led me add my voice to those who would love to see a full India-Pakistan series including tests, ODIs and T-20: ‘Come, play in Sri Lanka, this time not to send a message to those who willingly or otherwise belittled Sri Lanka, but to affirm a common regional love of cricket and by way of allowing Sri Lanka to say, yet once again, “Thank you India and thank you Pakistan for that memorable gesture 27 years ago.”’
malindadocs@gmail.com.
9/11 and the calm metal instrument of Salvador Allende's voice
Whitman, Neruda and things that wait in all things
Thilina Kaluthotage's eyes keep watch
Profit: the peragamankaru of major wars
In loving memory of Carrie Lee (1956-2020)
Mobsters on and off the screen
We're here because we're here because we're here
Sha'Carri Richardson versus and with Sha'Carri Richardson
A stroll with Pragg and Arjun along a boulevard in Baku
Daya Sahabandu ran out of partners but must have smiled to the end
Sapan and voices that erase borders
Problem elephants and problem humans
The 'inhuman' elephant in a human zoo
Ivan Art: Ivanthi Fernando's efforts to align meaning
Let's help Jagana Krishnakumar rebuild our ancestral home
Do you have a friend in Pennsylvania (or anywhere?)
A gateway to illumination in West Virginia
Through strange fissures into magical orchards
There's sea glass love few will see
Re-residencing Lakdasa Wikkramasinha
Poisoning poets and shredding books of verse
The responsible will not be broken
Ownership and tenuriality of the Wissahickon
Did you notice the 'tiny, tiny wayside flowers'?
Gifts, gifting and their rubbishing
Journalism inadvertently learned
Reflections on the young poetic heart
Wordaholic, trynasty and other portmanteaus
The 'Loku Aiya' of all 'Paththara Mallis'
Subverting the indecency of the mind
Character theft and the perennial question 'who am I?'
Saji Coomaraswamy and rewards that matter
Seeing, unseeing and seeing again
Alex Carey and the (small) matter of legacy
The insomnial dreams of Kapila Kumara Kalinga
The clothes we wear and the clothes that wear us (down)
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
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