Sunday, April 8, 2012

Easter Sunday, April 8th 2012, Colombo, Sri Lanka – A sweltering day

A day when two showers is definitely not enough but 4 would be too extravagant in keeping with the need of the day to conserve the Earth’s water resources.

A thunder shower or two, not even relieving the misery, but adding to the humidity, where windows were closed and had to be open again for airflow to reduce the stifling feeling.

A day full of hot blooded souls saying hot blooded things, but a day nevertheless where work and the end product with a timetable was the order of the hour.

It was Easter, where church had to be foregone, a sudden breakfast invitation at the Rajagiriya McDonalds relieved the pangs, but nevertheless showed the nature of patience to be a virtue.

A customer screaming for better service, getting his order in parts, and letting the manager know what he thought of them, and on the look of the servers faces told a story of lack of standards.

We had to scream for service, with a girl who knew not what she was doing! So much so that the hash browns, all 4 were completely over-fried and had to be returned for replacements.

A day when the coffee was sickly sweet, what planet are they from, when on a hot day a sugarless coffee is the only savior when too much sugar makes us hyper active and today hyper agitated.

A day in the office to meet the deadline, a staff one comes in at 10.30 the other at 12.30 and yet another at 1pm when I was in after breakfast at McDonalds at 9am.

A day we go for lunch when all were eating, with time only to eat and leave the table with not a moment to relax and unwind. A truly blessed day of communion, fretful nevertheless to achieve.

Dropped off by a kind soul all three of us, with a lunch packet for a fourth and back to work in a steam room, no matter what speed the fan did not keep exhaustion at bay.

It is all about Provinces, Districts, Electorates, and Active Members; of those that have been enrolled and it is all about numbers. It is a spreadsheet to show the trail.

A deadline met, an office shut a drop off of the document at the door of the Leader, and finally back home to more tiredness. All windows open, a breeze forced in and listless moment before the next phase of HBP (high blood pressure)

A farm of fools, all phones not answering or not working, tempers flare, and the heat is too much. Frantic attempts to contact end in failure. Threats to sack the lot for this transgression go unheeded.

Finally lying in the dark, contact made, more tempers flare, more choice words said, more accusations made, and innuendo becomes gospel. No chance of seeing a different perspective.

Poddi says one thing Menike another, the poles apart have no common thread and who to believe. Why does it matter who said what? But that is Lanka where mountains are made of molehills.

The daughter the bait, the cursed, and the betrayed. She lies hurt refuses to go to school. He is adamant he wants blood of who made this dastardly accusation. The saga goes on with no resolution.

I lie there wondering why I bother. Being self centered sounds so much better, that worrying about each one’s well being, when no one cares of one’s own, least of all myself.

So who said Poddi slept the night with Panditha Arachchi? Menika says it is him, and he says he never did and does not even know the person who made the accusation. When the mother says she knows the boy who said!

What do I do? Who do I believe? I have to trust my Poddi, though I know he loves a plot to thicken when none exists. I am caught between a rock and a hard place!

Menika threatens to leave, Poddi refuses to go to the farm for shame. I tell him what shame if you have done nothing wrong? After all accusations especially of the unfounded kind in how the country thrives and survives.

So what pray is the truth? But then again who cares? Does it really matter? Why worry? I say when we are fighting far more serious issues of the day. We are facing death threats for our cause.

For them this is a matter of honor. It is a matter of shame, the girl a victim of vicious finger pointing when none should be directed. We live we die. THE END

Wednesday, December 7, 2011