['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 217th article in the new series that began in December 2022. Links to previous articles are given below]
‘A
 Wanderer and a Memory Keeper,’ is the title of a guest presentation by 
Tharindu Amunugama organised by the Photographic Society of Sri Lanka. 
It’s a perfect description. 
Tharindu has, over the years, 
inspired me to write on all kinds of subjects. There have been many 
times when photographs turn into magic carpets upon which my thoughts 
travel to destinations I hadn’t previously known or thought of. At times
 they inspire me to write poetry. And sometimes, they make me go silent 
because they leave me speechless.  
That’s when he’s a memory keeper. 
I
 have been privileged to travel with him. So we have shared memories, 
but more than that, conversations about things we love and worry about, 
places that make us stop and of course the timeless questions of being 
and becoming. 
That’s from Tharindu the Wanderer. 
The blurb from the flyer announcing the event is spot-on.   
‘Tharindu’s photography is about weaving narratives. He can feel this soil; hear the heartbeat of our people. He knows our vaevai, dagaebai, gamai, pansalai connection.
 His camera clicks by heartstrings which stem from deep-rootedness. 
There is depth, strength, substance in his art. “My photos are for 
others, not for me. When I hold the camera before my eyes, I forego a 
precious opportunity to experience a raw, beautiful moment,” Tharindu 
says.’
Of course he knows this land as much as anyone else. 
Probably better than most. He has captured, moreover, the natural beauty
 of our island. Hills he has climbed and valleys he has crossed. He has 
immersed himself in rivers and other water bodies, literally and 
metaphorically.  
He has captured what SinhaRaja Thammita-Delgoda
 calls ‘Eloquence in Stone,’ the title he gave a collection of 
photographs of Sri Lanka’s archaeological treasures by the late Nihal 
Fernando, a collection whose aesthetic beauty he completed with 
exceptionally crafted text. Tharindu has Nihal’s eyes and not just for 
the history congealed in stone. 
He is fascinated by archaeology 
and history, and is a keen student of both. He is also a student of the 
present when it comes to things that are culturally associated with both
 archaeology and history. 
‘In our country,’ he once told me, 
‘what we have is living heritage.’ There’s life that is at once personal
 and societal that is evident in places that are primarily considered to
 be of archaeological interest, he said: ‘you will find even in the 
middle of a jungle, amid the ruins of a monastic complex, a clay lamp 
that has been recently lit, some wilted flowers and other evidence of 
intimate religious connectedness. 
For all of the above, what really caught my attention in the blurb on the flyer reproduced above, was the quote, 'My photos are for others, not for me. When I hold the camera before my eyes, I forgo a precious opportunity to experience a raw, beautiful moment.’
This is his most admirable quality. Tharindu is a giver, a sharer. He experiences raw and beautiful moments. He knows our island has natural and human-made treasures that cannot be experienced in a single lifetime. He wants to make the most of the time he has. That, clearly, isn’t enough. He is a student of photography, always looking to improve his art, and yet I sense that the primary compulsion is to capture and share.
Tharindu is amazed by the photography of fellow wanderers and memory-keepers, to whose work he directs the gaze of his friends. The beauty lies in his transparent love for all that is wonderful in our island and the readiness to experience it all collectively, gathering people through photography, travel and conversations.
malindadocs@gmail.com.
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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