I wrote this sometime ago--reflecting on a different episode in my life. However, now, given the theme of "Sri Lanka" and "belonging" that i seem to be rambling on about, this short poem seems most pertinent. Enjoy...
The ugliest man
his soul, full of despair
yearns for belonging
where ever he turns
he sees
bloody eyes, cruel nails
loneliness
but wait…
as she went pass him
silent
that she blushed
he saw it well
by that he knew her for butterfly
for salvation
Suddenly
he grows warmer
the coldness of his body
gone!
What has happened to me?
something warm refreshes me
I am not ugly anymore!
unknown she is
she circles me
her warm breath touches my body
But as he peers away from himself
seeking in her the comfort of his loneliness
behold! she asks
what do you seek here?
what do you seek here you ugly man?
Same as you
to learn of loneliness
to afflict myself of this wretchedness
to feel your heart, eyes, soul
to feel beautiful again
to belong
—Mustafa, ‘The Ugliest Man’
Monday, April 16, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Scream 2
In an instant
Gun shots will explode
The quiet will shatter
Flies And street dogs, sometimes
Will take up arms
The wind, grief aden
Will shudder
As if to say
‘That is the way it is
In between times’
—Balasoorian, ‘When Our Peace is Shattered’
Gun shots will explode
The quiet will shatter
Flies And street dogs, sometimes
Will take up arms
The wind, grief aden
Will shudder
As if to say
‘That is the way it is
In between times’
—Balasoorian, ‘When Our Peace is Shattered’
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Scream
I came across this picture on some website. The painting appeared after a bomb attack in colombo. The wall was, obviously damaged during the bombing. Interestingly, the picture makes much sense even if we gaze at the image without worrying too much about its "original" independent meaning.
The Bling Chandiya & The Yuppy!
This entry has something to do with the yuppies of Colombo and the rather new phenomenon known as Bling ChandiyaISM which has taken Colombo by storm! More importantly, it has something to do with how individuals use their bodies as cultural signifiers of certain frustrations and ambivalences existent in postcolonial Sri Lanka society.
Hence the importance of New Years Eve, 2006/07!
Last year, a couple of good friends and I found ourselves with absolutely nothing to do on new years eve. So we decided to go out for dinner to this place called "the commons" and then call it a night after a night-cap at the coffee shop popularly known as Baristas. This night, apart from the brouhahas of a New Years Eve, where everyone is supposed to be out 'celebrating', became a retrospective evening filled with allusions to the subtle, yet O so obvious ironies of life.
After dinner at "the commons", which on the one hand is a wonderful restaurant, and on the other hand an entire irony to its name—with its flush carpets, rather pricy menu and big lounge couches which almost swallow you up in the name of 'comfort', "the commons" is actually more "the bourgeoisie" than anything else.
Nonetheless, after the ironic yet filling dinner we made our way to Baristas, yet another space colonized by adolescent bourgeois kids.
As a friend and I made our way down to order our five-dollar "coffees" the clock struck mid-night. Woohoo! It was the new year! Me—being the walking Gujrati stereotype, suggested to the coffee chef that our drinks should be on the house in light of the hour and because we were the “first” customers for the year. Little did I notice, amidst the cacophonic celebration, to our far right stood a sixteen to seventeen year old boy (who apart from his trophy girl-friend was also brandishing a BMW car-key) who exalted (almost offensively): "no way man! I was here at midnight exactly! I figured I should spend new years eve here since I have been here pretty much every night of the year". Now amazingly, at this moment, I began to think more about what he said, than the lovely coffee that awaited me. Hence stepping outside for a quick breather!
Now, the significance of this experience I suppose, is that as the B-mers and Coffees flowed in and out, and as I stepped “outside” Barista, I noticed another space, a stretch of beach, just a block or so away. This beach is popularly known as the Galle-Face-Green (although there is very little green to be found). Here were the “masses” or "The Commons". People who too were celebrating "New years eve". they did not have BMWs or 5 Dollar coffees at their disposal. But here too was another party!! Quite a wild one at that. Kids running everywhere! Daddy’s and mummy running behind them!
Interestingly, at this party, there was BLInG too! Yes, the very shiny things people wear around their necks! I noticed one guy wearing a stereotypical FUBU Baggy T-shirt and some metal chains around his neck. To top it all off, he had an ALARM CLOCK hanging around his neck too, just so he would know the “time”—I think—I hope. He did not look rich to me, he did not look like he had Daddy’s BMW to drive around in an pick up babes. He looked like (to put it crudely) a westernized chandiya or as i choose to call him--my very own Bling Chandiya!
Now its been more than fifty years since our colonial masters left us. And as Sri Lankans attempt to reflect on their postcolonial experience as a nation, I cannot help but see something so obviously similar, but at the same time conflictually-different between the 'rich BMW boy’ and the 'not-so-rich-alarm-clock-hanging' Bling Chandiya!
This is the similarity: As a nation goes to war with itself, the nations individuals over time, begin to start questioning, not just the very essence of their being but also of what they are becoming.
This is the conflictual-difference: It seems to me that the Bling Chandiya quite obviously emulating an American or western sub-culture, such as the likes of ALi-G or Eminem or Snoop Dogg suggests to us a growing frustration in terms of an identity crisis located within the complex weltanschauung of globalization. The Bling Chandiya is lost, almost-batty, confused—but also—confusing. On the one hand he says I am mimicking the black African American because its “cool”. But passively, he is also crying and screaming out loud in silent shrills--look what has become of us! These class polarities, the lack of economic opportunity has made me oppressed—pissed off—a nobody forced to mimic another nobody!
Alternatively, the rich-boy, almost ambivalent to the "other" party just a block away, is the Bling Chandiya's anti-thesis. He spends $5 at the least on just coffee everyday. An amount the Bling Chandiya would have to labor all day to earn! Such is the pity of dehumanization in Sri Lankan society today. Such is the case for many people who live in Colombo—all the while—thinking: "everything is alright! Oh yes, there is a war, but as long as we stay behind our air-conditioned cars and high-walled homes, everything should be alright...."
And then what of the pompous old me who patronizes Baristas and celebrates the "plight" of the Bling Chandiya?!! Well, sometimes, its difficult to break away entirely from such structures. I am as complicit and guilty as anybody else. For what would my friends think if I went around with an alarm clock around my neck? (comments are most welcome hehe!) Could i become a Bling Chanidya too? Maybe, Maybe not!
To wrap up a rather long and lamenting post, the alarm clock was not just BliNG! It was a metaphor reminiscent of the chains that the poor in Sri Lanka's rapidly globalizing economy wear almost willingly. Amidst the broken smiles of a nation at war with itself there exists a frustration of expanding polarities between the rich boys and the not so rich boys. Between those who can afford to say, "daddy I need money to party" and those who don’t or cant “afford” to.
A Happy & Belated New Year Everybody!
Hence the importance of New Years Eve, 2006/07!
Last year, a couple of good friends and I found ourselves with absolutely nothing to do on new years eve. So we decided to go out for dinner to this place called "the commons" and then call it a night after a night-cap at the coffee shop popularly known as Baristas. This night, apart from the brouhahas of a New Years Eve, where everyone is supposed to be out 'celebrating', became a retrospective evening filled with allusions to the subtle, yet O so obvious ironies of life.
After dinner at "the commons", which on the one hand is a wonderful restaurant, and on the other hand an entire irony to its name—with its flush carpets, rather pricy menu and big lounge couches which almost swallow you up in the name of 'comfort', "the commons" is actually more "the bourgeoisie" than anything else.
Nonetheless, after the ironic yet filling dinner we made our way to Baristas, yet another space colonized by adolescent bourgeois kids.
As a friend and I made our way down to order our five-dollar "coffees" the clock struck mid-night. Woohoo! It was the new year! Me—being the walking Gujrati stereotype, suggested to the coffee chef that our drinks should be on the house in light of the hour and because we were the “first” customers for the year. Little did I notice, amidst the cacophonic celebration, to our far right stood a sixteen to seventeen year old boy (who apart from his trophy girl-friend was also brandishing a BMW car-key) who exalted (almost offensively): "no way man! I was here at midnight exactly! I figured I should spend new years eve here since I have been here pretty much every night of the year". Now amazingly, at this moment, I began to think more about what he said, than the lovely coffee that awaited me. Hence stepping outside for a quick breather!
Now, the significance of this experience I suppose, is that as the B-mers and Coffees flowed in and out, and as I stepped “outside” Barista, I noticed another space, a stretch of beach, just a block or so away. This beach is popularly known as the Galle-Face-Green (although there is very little green to be found). Here were the “masses” or "The Commons". People who too were celebrating "New years eve". they did not have BMWs or 5 Dollar coffees at their disposal. But here too was another party!! Quite a wild one at that. Kids running everywhere! Daddy’s and mummy running behind them!
Interestingly, at this party, there was BLInG too! Yes, the very shiny things people wear around their necks! I noticed one guy wearing a stereotypical FUBU Baggy T-shirt and some metal chains around his neck. To top it all off, he had an ALARM CLOCK hanging around his neck too, just so he would know the “time”—I think—I hope. He did not look rich to me, he did not look like he had Daddy’s BMW to drive around in an pick up babes. He looked like (to put it crudely) a westernized chandiya or as i choose to call him--my very own Bling Chandiya!
Now its been more than fifty years since our colonial masters left us. And as Sri Lankans attempt to reflect on their postcolonial experience as a nation, I cannot help but see something so obviously similar, but at the same time conflictually-different between the 'rich BMW boy’ and the 'not-so-rich-alarm-clock-hanging' Bling Chandiya!
This is the similarity: As a nation goes to war with itself, the nations individuals over time, begin to start questioning, not just the very essence of their being but also of what they are becoming.
This is the conflictual-difference: It seems to me that the Bling Chandiya quite obviously emulating an American or western sub-culture, such as the likes of ALi-G or Eminem or Snoop Dogg suggests to us a growing frustration in terms of an identity crisis located within the complex weltanschauung of globalization. The Bling Chandiya is lost, almost-batty, confused—but also—confusing. On the one hand he says I am mimicking the black African American because its “cool”. But passively, he is also crying and screaming out loud in silent shrills--look what has become of us! These class polarities, the lack of economic opportunity has made me oppressed—pissed off—a nobody forced to mimic another nobody!
Alternatively, the rich-boy, almost ambivalent to the "other" party just a block away, is the Bling Chandiya's anti-thesis. He spends $5 at the least on just coffee everyday. An amount the Bling Chandiya would have to labor all day to earn! Such is the pity of dehumanization in Sri Lankan society today. Such is the case for many people who live in Colombo—all the while—thinking: "everything is alright! Oh yes, there is a war, but as long as we stay behind our air-conditioned cars and high-walled homes, everything should be alright...."
And then what of the pompous old me who patronizes Baristas and celebrates the "plight" of the Bling Chandiya?!! Well, sometimes, its difficult to break away entirely from such structures. I am as complicit and guilty as anybody else. For what would my friends think if I went around with an alarm clock around my neck? (comments are most welcome hehe!) Could i become a Bling Chanidya too? Maybe, Maybe not!
To wrap up a rather long and lamenting post, the alarm clock was not just BliNG! It was a metaphor reminiscent of the chains that the poor in Sri Lanka's rapidly globalizing economy wear almost willingly. Amidst the broken smiles of a nation at war with itself there exists a frustration of expanding polarities between the rich boys and the not so rich boys. Between those who can afford to say, "daddy I need money to party" and those who don’t or cant “afford” to.
A Happy & Belated New Year Everybody!
Friday, February 9, 2007
The Chronicles of PETTI Peruma & AAPA Dorei
It seems that my previous entry has been misunderstood by some of my readers. Now when i talk about everyday bodily extensions such as slippers, i do not mean to universalize my claims in any way. For to claim that all those wearing helth slippers are sri lankans would be problematic. Firstly health slippers may be worn by tourists 'patronizing' the beaches of Hikkaduwa or the more remote beaches near Galle! Secondly, what about those not wearing the hybrid slippers? Well, as I alluded to last time around, no need to feel any frustration...You too are Lankan--in your non-healthy slippery way ;)
All that talk about McDonalds, got me hungry and thinking.
Which is when i remembered my childhood friend by the name of 'petti'. Yes Yes, the ‘petti pan’, with its brown, and at times teeth cracking crust, semi-soft interior and half-burnt under layer!
The story of petti paan, from the fragmented social memory that i can muster, is interestingly a political and social one. My generation of readers may recall the year 1994! Someone by the name of KBC came to the realm of bread making supremacy on promises of a solution to the bread-makers problems. O those days, when the petti paan costed just 3 stones and 50 pebbles! To quote a newspaper report gone awry: Lankans sell bread for country, Only Tunai Panahai! Did the journalist ever stop to consider that the bread actually tastes good?
Apart from the politics of it, we should also recall the narratives of bread-making itself. The yuppies of Ko-lerm-bow would say, “have you ever been inside one of those bakeries? i prefer sandwich bread” Yes i have been inside those bakeries! And frankly, they smell good and the bread tastes even better!
Now apart from the parody of food and consumption regimes in SL, much remains to be said about the bread itself in the diasporic context. As Lankans living abroad, apart from the family, friends and significant loved ones that we miss; we also crave for that authentic lankan taste of crackling petti pan, dhall and pol sambol... to taste lanka!
Of course this notion of ‘authentic’ needs to be problematized a bit. Let me demostrate this by calling upon, the well-known cousin of petti, Aapa! Aapa, many would claim is a Sri Lankan construct, born and bre(a)d. I would phrase my claim differently by asking, how much of it is a Sri Lankan construct?
If we are to ask the genealogist, he/she would state something entirely different. As a good friend once exclaimed, “I dont think Aapa was born in SL, didn't he migrate from South India many many years ago?” And anyways, does it even matter where he came from? He is here now, lets eat him!
I would like to make two points in this regard. First, there is no such thing as “authentic” lankan or “watever” cuisine. Second, (and i claim the first because of the second) is that there is no way to find out the “origins” of Aapa or petti. For the more you dig, the deeper the whole gets, we discover more and more Aapa's of a kind. But no true Adam or Eve of Aapa’s. So then who indeed own Aapa? No-one, Aapa is not a slave! Aapa is free! Maybe thats why he chose to make SL his “home”.
Maybe (and this is where i openly celebrate my biases), we should stop “looking” for whats authentic about 'us' or 'them' and just appreciate the 'actual' for what is. For after all, does this not make us hybrid creatures? Lets celebrate how “messed up” Aapa is, and not let it be a fault line like the one which lies between KBC and Prada! Maybe, and this is a big maybe mind you, its time we all stop worrying about who made Petti first or where Aapa came from and just eat them!
Oh hold on, i think Petti is at the door, but am i not in Singapore...? He just got himself a new passport! Petti's going global! See what i mean?
All that talk about McDonalds, got me hungry and thinking.
Which is when i remembered my childhood friend by the name of 'petti'. Yes Yes, the ‘petti pan’, with its brown, and at times teeth cracking crust, semi-soft interior and half-burnt under layer!
The story of petti paan, from the fragmented social memory that i can muster, is interestingly a political and social one. My generation of readers may recall the year 1994! Someone by the name of KBC came to the realm of bread making supremacy on promises of a solution to the bread-makers problems. O those days, when the petti paan costed just 3 stones and 50 pebbles! To quote a newspaper report gone awry: Lankans sell bread for country, Only Tunai Panahai! Did the journalist ever stop to consider that the bread actually tastes good?
Apart from the politics of it, we should also recall the narratives of bread-making itself. The yuppies of Ko-lerm-bow would say, “have you ever been inside one of those bakeries? i prefer sandwich bread” Yes i have been inside those bakeries! And frankly, they smell good and the bread tastes even better!
Now apart from the parody of food and consumption regimes in SL, much remains to be said about the bread itself in the diasporic context. As Lankans living abroad, apart from the family, friends and significant loved ones that we miss; we also crave for that authentic lankan taste of crackling petti pan, dhall and pol sambol... to taste lanka!
Of course this notion of ‘authentic’ needs to be problematized a bit. Let me demostrate this by calling upon, the well-known cousin of petti, Aapa! Aapa, many would claim is a Sri Lankan construct, born and bre(a)d. I would phrase my claim differently by asking, how much of it is a Sri Lankan construct?
If we are to ask the genealogist, he/she would state something entirely different. As a good friend once exclaimed, “I dont think Aapa was born in SL, didn't he migrate from South India many many years ago?” And anyways, does it even matter where he came from? He is here now, lets eat him!
I would like to make two points in this regard. First, there is no such thing as “authentic” lankan or “watever” cuisine. Second, (and i claim the first because of the second) is that there is no way to find out the “origins” of Aapa or petti. For the more you dig, the deeper the whole gets, we discover more and more Aapa's of a kind. But no true Adam or Eve of Aapa’s. So then who indeed own Aapa? No-one, Aapa is not a slave! Aapa is free! Maybe thats why he chose to make SL his “home”.
Maybe (and this is where i openly celebrate my biases), we should stop “looking” for whats authentic about 'us' or 'them' and just appreciate the 'actual' for what is. For after all, does this not make us hybrid creatures? Lets celebrate how “messed up” Aapa is, and not let it be a fault line like the one which lies between KBC and Prada! Maybe, and this is a big maybe mind you, its time we all stop worrying about who made Petti first or where Aapa came from and just eat them!
Oh hold on, i think Petti is at the door, but am i not in Singapore...? He just got himself a new passport! Petti's going global! See what i mean?
Friday, February 2, 2007
Hybrid Slippers!
I have to say, I have always made fun of people who seem to "blog away" their lives on this "space" we commonly refer to as the internet. However, given the sort of experiences that "life" as we know it, has chosen to throw at me this past year, I can’t help but think--maybe it is a good idea to express thoughts into a wilderness, which seems oh so untamable. Call me a hypocrite, for seeking the very medium that I rejected for so long?
As I sit down to write this first and entry, nothing seems to come to mind. And I am not a fan of publishing my personal life on the net (that is, assuming I actually have one). Maybe I should start with something that I am currently working on in terms of my honors year thesis, which is on the Internally Displaced Persons in Sri Lanka due to the ethnic conflict. So what about them? well, for starters, its amazing how, when most people think of Sri Lanka, they either imagine stereotypical images of clear blue beaches or a "bloody" war. Of course, and to tell you the truth (if there is such a thing), Sri Lanka has been on the news for all the wrong things of late. And by "of late" I mean the past twenty years or so. Emerging from the colonial construct of the "model colony", it seems to have gone to the "model case study" when it comes to understanding "ethnic conflict" in modernity. Yet, and running the risk of sounding truistic, the picture of warred bodies is more complicated than that. But that is a topic best left for another day.
The aim of this blogspace or blog or whatever it is that you may choose to call it, is to actually produce a "systematic" (but in no ways hegemonic) critique of the "Sri Lanka story". For after all, what is this idea of Sri Lanka that we all have? And as this blog seeks to highlight, we must look to explore alternative conceptions and understandings of "Sri Lanka" that don’t seem to make it into the news. Let me address, first of all, the idea of Sri Lanka by moving away from its territorial boundaries. In other words, what does Sri Lanka mean to those living abroad?
The notions of "Diaspora" and its related theme "Identity" have been explored heavily by academic discourse; and intellectual constructions of such problematic categorizations is far from complete. For instance, one postcolonial critic by the name of Rey Chow asks the question: Where have all the natives gone? By this Chow is referring to the idea of 'how', for instance, people in the Diaspora produce an imagined and at times romanticized idea of the "nation" which seems to await them back home. Whether such an imagined homeland is true or not, is anybodies guess. Yet, until they return home, certain other mediums and bodily extensions begin to emerge, so this sense of longing can be quenched. Temporarily at least.
Now why am I talking about such amorphous theories? Are you bored? Hold on, it just gets interesting here--I think.
Well, let’s take Slippers as an example to explicate my point. Yes Slippers, the rubbery things which you and I wear and walk around when we go about our business. As I choose to label them, slippers represent the true "wretched of the earth". So here is the story of a slipper called Health... Two friends and I were seated sipping on our "cuppsa tea" (excuse the expression--postcolonial hangover :p) couple of weeks ago, and we noticed, that for many Sri Lankans living abroad, the idea of wearing HEALTH SLIPPERS is very appealing. Personally, I admit buying a couple of pairs every time I go back, and it would be very hard for you to spot me around campus or Singapore without them. (Now at this point, some of my readers may just reject this stupid nonsensical observation and claim that it just means "nothing"--or by the most convenient question--SO WHAT?) But hold on just yet!
This is what I think---Why most Sri Lankans do wear this particular brand of slippers is that, even though they are living away from home, they would still like to "think", to rationalize, and to "imagine", that they are "grounded" in Sri Lanka. Let me make this clearer. The tingle one gets, when those little spikes prick away--is Sri Lanka! The comfortable numbness is a sense of "psychological identification", helping the person wearing the HEALTH SLIPPER "feel closer to home"! In other words, I am Sri Lankan, hear me step!
The most amazing thing about these slippers is their "hybrid" identities. Yes! Yes! These slippers are "alive" in the most liveliest of ways. Despite what’s going on in Sri Lanka today, the slippers are worn by every Sri Lankan. No racial or ethnic boundaries seem to matter. It seems to me, the slippers have enabled us to transcend petty ideas of primordial ethnic bonds! Now don’t deny it, but how many times have you spotted a "Lankan" by his slippers? These slippers, to use a most apt Backstreet Boys quote, are: Larger Than Life!
As such, this roaring of Health Slipper Fans all around the world, I suppose, is a reconcilation of some form of a Freudian frustration of "identification"; that we all, as Sri Lankans living abroad attempt to negotiate at one time or another. For after all, we are all, in some sort of an "exile", and the longing to go back home is ever present. Right?
Until then, health slippers, where are you?
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