Is ISON on? That’s the question which was on every amateur astronomer’s mind over the past ten days or so. The celebrated comet was fast approaching perihelion, fame, and possibly immortality as the brightest swathe of light in the sky since Halley’s (1986) or Kohoutek (1973). What happened next was something of an anticlimax. A very close encounter with our native sun left the fire-haired visitor from the deep cold reaches of the outer solar system a pale shade of its potential or much hyped glory; an un-dead celestial apparition, a zombie-comet.

Is censorship (back) on, or in again? That’s the other question which was on every amateur Arsiklander’s mind over the past weekend. The celebrated farce had been rapidly reaching its zenith as the country’s only credible political satire in any shape and form, or medium. What happens now is something of a cliffhanger. A very close encounter with our native sons has left our fiery players and fiercely imaginative playwrights a shadow of their former selves: chastened, chastised, censored, censured, and chagrined.

For those who came in late… It was the umpteenth performance of that side-splitting comedy, Pusswedilla (for those who don’t know Sri Lanka, that’s the vernacular for damp squib). The eponymous antihero – a self-seeking, self-serving, self-centred (you get the pic) politico – is uncomfortably close to home… For the names, situations, and characterisations run true to form and perilously close to the rottenness in ‘Arsikland’ (a fictional anagram of a real state – go figure).

Last time I checked, way back in mid-2011, the increasingly popular original play was becoming something of a thorn in the side of our powers that be. So much so that the Censor insisted that all references to the state of Denmark (its crime, corruption, creeping cronyism, etc.) were to be struck off – or run the risk of the production itself (and the purveyors and partakers thereof) being stricken. Pusswedilla rose to the challenge and came back with a bang… It agreed to veil direct references to Sri Lanka, and invented a curious portmanteau language: a hybrid of English consonants and Sinhala vowels. That incarnation of the interesting, vastly entertaining, and most importantly satirical original play went on to wow home and theatre audiences.

This time round the Censor went for the jugular of a dinner-theatre event for the distinguished old boys, friends, and well-wishers of a prominent private school. An irony was that the Public Performances Board squelched a private (as close as dammit) showing of a publicly appreciated performing arts pièce de résistance that everyone knows reflects the state of Arsikland as well as any piece of political satire.

Let’s get one thing straight, dears. I don’t really enjoy StageLight & Magic’s diverse and sundry productions. These have smacked of amateurism, gratuitous sexual innuendo, and shallow interpretation of deep and meaningful plays. But to each his own taste. That said, though, we must take umbrage and even exception to the high-handed proscription; to the point of dismay, indignation, outrage. You might even essay that we would defend to the death the right of these impresarios to be wrong, silly, and a waste of time and money.

Having got that off my chest, let me add that there’s probably much more to the PPB’s intervention in preventing Pusswedilla’s Part 4 from being staged than meets the eye. And in a culture and society piece bordering on the pertinent political inside story, any speculation may be more than impertinent. Let Pusswedilla and the PPB thrash about and sort it out until the pus comes out! Let’s just keep in mind – all of us who love our democratic rights and republican privileges that enable weak thespians to send strong messages – that the writing could well be on the wall for all of us who love our democratic rights and republican privileges that enable weak thespians to send strong messages – Let’s just keep that in mind…

There’s something rotten in the state of Arsikland when the powers that be cite polls, post-war prosperity, and the ostensible freedom of the press to prove that we are a democracy; but employ petty tactics such as censoring private (as close as dammit) performances that simply preach to the choir and play to a gallery that is in no real danger of treason or un-patriotism. Unless, of course, seeing our politicos and sporting heroes in a funny (peculiar or ha-ha) light is particularly treasonous or unpatriotic?

If that’s the case, Comet Sri Lanka (a meteoric star of the south with its fortunes on the ascendant) may as well plunge into the furnace of its own bright shining sun. If our powers and sportspeople can’t see that satire shows we (kinda) love them – warts and all – then you might as well censor cartoons (which some politicos reportedly like), sycophantic op-eds (that we assuredly deplore), and less than charitable parlour gossip on blogs and social media about the state’s principal players. If not, let us (satirists of all stripes) publish and perform, and be as close to the truth as dammit – without censure or censorship. That’s what makes the Democratic Social Media Republic of Arsikland good (if not great) to live in these days…

A last word. One audience member previously congratulated Puss on being “clever and current”. We conquer. The playwright asserts that “the only society worth living in is the one that can – and will – laugh at itself”. We agree wholeheartedly. That the powers which are will see the sense in allowing this – no, affirming it – will be the true test of whether we are, in fact, a “vibrant democracy” (as no doubt something of a satirist himself said).