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This
bunch is light years away from us No, I'm not
bordering on middle age. It's just that I recently conducted a couple
of "informal chats" with a bunch of "relatively"
young mortals. They seem to think, talk and act differently to when
I was their age. As a result of this I am quite afraid to face the
future, which has fallen into their hands. Confused? Well
take the example of seven-year-old T. I spoke to her right after
she had visited a month-old-baby boy. How was the kid, I asked.
"Oh, he was so cute," she responded, "His mouth was
shaped like a tiny butterfly." A sigh and a slight smile followed.
She's dressed in a denim skirt and top. Her legs are crossed in
the manner of a perfect lady. It's my cue to act stupefied. "A
butterfly mouth?" I asked. "Yes," she nodded. "It's
shaped like a butterfly." "Have you conducted a scientific
analysis of the butterfly's mouth?" Fine, I am wicked. But
I couldn't resist it. She left in a huff. T also enjoys
calling up adults. Her number one reason for calling people up at
inopportune moments is to say; "But Ma asked me to call you.
That's enough of talking; keep the phone down now, Ok?" Older
relatives usually receive her "Oh-so-important-telephone-calls"
on a regular basis, especially in the midst of vital meetings. "Hi,
this is T here. How are you doing?" The only method in which
one can guarantee a short conversation is to quickly say, "I
heard that Patrick (one of her many Goldfish) is not feeling very
well." "Oh yes, I have to see to him." This "Maturity
Bug" hits males of this age as well. I was unable to contact
six-year old S due to unavoidable circumstances last week. "I
have been very busy defending Planet Earth," he haughtily answers.
From whom exactly? "Aliens." Where did they come from?
"Didn't you know that they are already among us? Every bush,
plain and tree is infested with them." Right. Time for my
new string of questions. "What kind of books do you like? "Action
ones of course." Famous Five? Secret Seven? "Baby stuff.
Only immature kids read those." Aladdin? "He should have
known better than to visit a lonely cave." I seem to be running
out of options. Asterix? "He went cuckoo after meeting that
lady. Women are the main cause of destruction." The conversation
has gone from being a polite conversation to a philosophical discussion.
What exactly do you mean by that statement? "You women are
all such a pain. There's this girl called R in my class, who never
lets me be. Why can't women find better things to do?" Firstly
R at the age of six cannot be a proper woman. Secondly who gave
you the right to judge women? "C did." C happens to be
all of nine-years-old. And who exactly does C think he is? "Michael
Jordan." That's it.
That's why both S and C mutter "Jordan" and make circular
movements with their arms all the time. "No," they frown.
It's just that the latest computer game they've acquired shows little
but Michael Jordan. "What kind of games do you play?"
I ask smiling, meaning of course games played on a playground with
others of the same age. "Well there's Space Quest, Driver,
Mafia…" Hold on for a second, what about Lock and Key
and Hopscotch? "What scotch? Nope, never heard of those."
I turn off the computer. "Well if that's how you want it to
be." They too make their exits. But rush back as soon as an
action packed half an hour of cartoons turn up on TV. Time now for
P. Ten-years-old and she's already got the world twisted around
her little finger. Her interview was conducted thus. "May I
speak to P please?" "She may
or may not be in, who's calling?" "I'm calling
from the Sunday Times, how may I contact her?" "How do
I know that you are really from the Sunday Times?" The voice at
the other end of the line was obviously P. Me: "Does
P have an aversion to journalists?" "It's
just that there are so many kidnappings taking place that P is very
careful about whom she speaks to." "Any idea
as to where these ideas originated from?" "Books."
World Authority huh? "Beyond any reasonable doubt." After much
deliberation she agreed to speak for "Just five minutes. I'm
so busy these days. There's music, swimming and dancing to go for."
I meet her. That's a lovely pair of jeans you have on. "There
was also a glitzy belt that came with it. It was a bit "flashy"
so I chucked it out." Who chooses your clothing? "I do,
of course." "I wouldn't dare choose for her," P's
mother mumbles from nearby. And your inspiration comes from? "Shakira."
Who? "Are you that outdated? The singer." Your favourite
band? "Creed." My 'Arms are
Wide Open' in agony. Five-year-old
identical twins Z and V are much the same. What do you both want
to be when you grow up? No response. Z is thumping away on the piano.
Do you want to be a composer? "Like, duh." Do you go for
classes? She replies in what I have now come to realize is the standard
haughty response of all mortals of that age. "No, I do my own
thing." A kindergarten
teacher narrated the following to me. A is three-and-a-half-years-old.
On the first day of pre-school he seemed saddened by the proceedings.
The teacher kindly inquired as to what was wrong. "Though I
seem like this, my mind is made of rock," he stated, not appreciative
of any sympathy. When the interval propped up she offered to feed
him. "I am not a small kid anymore. I know very well how to
feed myself." These kids are the epitome of "coolness". I've either got to change my language or questioning methodologies in order to get through to them. My conclusion? Wonder if there's a potion that one can take to go back a couple of years… Colourful
Strokes The eight artists
are between the ages of four to ten and are students of Lyceum International
school. Each one of
them have their individual topics. The one hundred and eleven paintings
on display will be proof af their hard work, put together in an
atmosphere of fun and laughter. They have chosen
to use their talent to help those who are less fortunate than them.
The proceeds of the exhibition are to be donated to the Hope Cancer
Hospital. HSBC's children's savings account is proud to be associated with this exhibition of paintings. Short
Story - By Aditha Dissanayake The first to
leave had been Nuwan. He lived in Battaramulla now with his wife
and three-month-old baby. Dihan was in America, still unmarried
but with no intentions of coming back. Until two days ago, Dilushi
had been with them. But she too had got married and was now on her
honeymoon. Jinasena had
a wash and came to sit beside Kusum. He realized that seeing Kusum
seated in front of the TV for more than half an hour was a rare
sight. Usually the
moment she sat down one of the kids would come asking her to find
something they had misplaced. "Amma have you seen the library
book I brought home yesterday? Amma where is my blue shirt? Amma
do you know where I kept my glasses?" But today she had all
the time in the world to sit and watch her numerous teledramas -
uninterrupted. "What's for dinner?" he asked her. "Rice.
I forgot only the two of us are here now and kept the usual amount
in the morning." Jinasena decided
to make himself a cup of tea. While the kettle boiled he opened
the tin of biscuits. Usually he found only crumbs in it. But today
it was filled to the top with milk toffees and ginger biscuits.
"There is dodol in the fridge," said Kusum from upstairs.
But Jinasena did not feel like eating any of the sweets. He knew
if the children had been there, the tin would have been empty. Dihan
was the one who consumed most of the sweets and dodol had been his
favorite. Jinasena searched
the cassettes on a side table and found an old cassette of Amaradeva.
He placed it inside the cassette player, and took his cup of tea
to the front verandah. Soon Kusum joined him. They sat on the white
cane chairs listening to the strains of Hanthane kandu muduna sisara,
in companionable silence. After a while, Kusum began to hum the
songs to herself. Jinasena stopped listening to the music from the
cassette player and began to listen to Kusum. He recalled her singing
to him in the early days of their marriage. He remembered one particular
evening in a rest house in Badulla, where they had spent a weekend
together. He had urged Kusum to sing to him and was pleasantly surprised
at the soft gentle way she had sung Nanda Malini's Sannaliyane.
He looked at the face of his wife, now seated beside him. Silver
strands ran through her hair. There were wrinkles on her hands.
But to Jinasena she looked even more beautiful than when he had
stared at her in much the same way, that evening in Badulla. All
of a sudden he felt as though the intervening years with the children
had never been there. He threw an arm around her and drew her to
him. He was alone once more with Kusum, the way he had been at the
very beginning of their life together. On Friday he
threw two railway tickets on to Kusum's lap. "We are going
to Badulla tomorrow," he said. "Do you remember that rest
house we were at during the first Christmas, after we got married?"
Kusum nodded her head. A misty, faraway look came into her eyes.
She said with a smile on her lips "Yes. I forgot to wear my
wedding ring and the proprietor thought we were two lovers who had
run away from home." Jinasena laughed at the memory. "And
his wife felt so sorry for you. She was convinced I was a good-for-nothing,
who will abandon you the moment we got back to Colombo." The Observation
car of the Udarata Menike on Saturday morning was filled with one
large family travelling to Badulla. Jinasena and Kusum found themselves
the only outsiders among a group of forty-something parents and
their offspring representing almost every age up to sixteen. Jinasena
and Kususm felt sorry for the harassed parents for they too had
gone through the ordeal every school vacation. The family made themselves
at home in the compartment, opened bags and distributed sweets and
having singsongs. They offered whatever they ate to Jinasena and
Kusum too. By the time
the train reached Polhengoda, however, most of the early enthusiasm
had waned and some of the children had begun to doze. The four teenaged
girls in the group left their seats and stood at the entrance to
the compartment. They wore high-heels, figure hugging T-shirts and
trousers with flared edges. Jinasena smiled to himself remembering
how he too had worn trousers like that in the 1960s. The wind carried
the words of the girls to where Kusum and Jinasena sat. Not knowing
she was being heard, one girl asked the others "Did you notice
that old couple? They don't look married." Someone giggled.
"How can you say that?" asked another. "Well, married
people don't talk the way they talk. Did you see how he pointed
out interesting places we passed to her. Look at our own Ammas and
Thaththas. They just sit next to each other looking glum and wrapped
up in their own thoughts." "That's true. My father and
mother are always cross with each other. Perhaps those two are lovers.
Perhaps they are married to other people and are going on an illicit
holiday to Badulla..." The train entered a tunnel just then and the noise drowned the girl's words. Jinasena made use of the temporary darkness and placed his hand on Kusum's. He touched the thin band of gold on her finger - the wedding ring he had given her twenty-nine years ago. |
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Copyright © 2001 Wijeya Newspapers
Ltd. All rights reserved. |
to
7.30p.m. on the 15th.
